Woodsong Notes

A Sad Sweet Place

2012-01-30T14:16:00.001-06:00

Almost a year ago, I decided to try again to finish an essay I had been writing for many years about my great grandfather. At the same time, a stranger in California had found my website Down on the Farm with Sue Glasco (http://sueglasco.tripod.com/) and wrote me inquiring about Martin ancestry.

She was not a Martin descendant but her teenage grandson was, and she was researching family history for him, which I thought was a delightful gift. Our family here knew that one of my father’s first cousins had gone to California many years ago, but that was all we knew. I’d had a local lady phone and inquire about him years ago as she was arranging a school reunion at a country school where he had once taught. I had to tell her no one had his address. This new California friend and I had quite a bit of email correspondence, and I learned a lot about my great Uncle Jim’s only child and the great grandson, whom she loved so much.

My efforts to finish that long essay last spring were aborted by life’s busyness. Recently I once again dug out family notebooks to try and end this project of many years. (Never mind that now the article is much too long for publication in area genealogical magazine; and if I ever finish it, I will have to shorten it.) I wanted to include this new information about Uncle Jim’s family. I also wanted to check the local cemetery where he was buried and make certain his wife (who had finished her life with her son in California) was buried there too.

The rain had stopped, and Saturday was a beautiful sunny day despite the temperature in the low 40s. I had some afternoon time to spare before I was supposed to show up at my daughter’s house at 4. After Gerald’s and my lunch, I quickly cleaned the kitchen and phoned my cousin Dick in Goreville to double check where Friendship Cemetery was. I had been there once many years ago, but I wasn’t sure I remembered. I really wanted to run by and see Dick and his wife Irma while I was in Goreville, but there was not that much time.

Dick gave me excellent directions and even told me this rural road was actually a loop that would take me to the Interstate and a quick way back to Marion and my daughter’s. Sure enough a cemetery sign on the first road going west from Goreville pointed me onto Friendship Loop road just as Dick had described it. I was glad the cemetery was far enough from the main road to allow me to enjoy the hills and hollows, which now contain many attractive new homes built by people who must enjoy that lovely rustic scenery as much as I do.

I wondered if Friendship General Baptist Church would still be there by the cemetery since so many rural churches have died when former populations moved away and newcomers prefer larger churches in town. A large welcoming sign beside the small well-kept church building let me know that this congregation is still functioning. I parked in the parking lot there and felt a little dismay at the size of the cemetery, which also was still being well used. I wondered how I would find the one grave I was looking for when I had no idea were it was located. Shivering, I closed up my winter jacket and wished I’d brought a hat to keep out the bitter cold that was more obvious than the sunshine once I got out of the car.

Obviously many of the graves were quite old, but most were much newer including a grave still covered with fresh dirt and the many flower arrangements which were just beginning to wilt away. A gravel road down the center beckoned as I tried to decide which side of the road to explore. Immediately I saw many tombstones for Stanleys on the north side, and I wondered if these were graves of Dick’s paternal family. Then I figured that probably the oldest part of the cemetery was that directly in front of the church building and that would be the most likely place for 1940s graves. So I decided to explore that south side first.

I headed out on the very damp and thick matted grass and was grateful that despite the rains the previous two days, the ground was not muddy. Some long ago graves were marked with small carefully shaped rocks probably from a nearby creek, and a few of those were not even shaped but just left in their natural state to mark where someone’s loved one lay. Some older style tombstones were elaborate and especially interesting with information on all four sides of tall shaped spikes.

I was seeing names familiar to me from my childhood summers on the farm near Goreville: Maze, Jenkins, and then several Joneses. Uncle Jim’s wife was a Jones, so I walked in that direction and found her parents Louis G. and Sarah buried with their children Oscar and Cordelia beside them in their plot. After a moment of sadness for these children lost so many years ago, I glanced up and quickly saw one Martin tombstone near the Jones’ graves. There it was where Great Aunt Viola Jones Martin, whom I never knew, had buried her husband James Wesley in 1942. In less than five minutes, I was standing by the grave I was looking for. The name and birth year (1872-19) for Viola, who was called Ola in one old census, was there with Uncle Jim’s name (1867-1942). The final two numbers for her death year were never completed, but since her granddaughter remembered that as a very young child she had made a long long trip to bury her grandmother, I was certain I had found her grave beside her loved ones.

I continued to walk around the silent cemetery looking at familiar sir names and some not so familiar. In the older part, there were so many graves for infants and young children, and I felt the gratefulness we all feel for more healthful times. A cemetery conveys grief and sorrow, but there also is evidence of loving family relationships. Walking back to the car on the gravel road, I was gawking at gravestones and did not notice I was walking through a pool of accumulated water. Thus, my feet were wet and chilly when I got into the car, but my heart was warm. From inscriptions and wreaths, I was able to once again sense the sweetness of family love and the deep sadness experienced by others who had trod there before me.

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Recomending Jim Loewen and Sundown Towns

2012-01-25T01:10:00.000-06:00

In a waiting room before an appointment, Gerald picked up a Carbondale Times and read about Jim Loewen’s upcoming lecture at the John A. Logan Museum at Murphysboro. He commented that he’d like to attend. We seem unable to do many such activities, so even though I knew I would also like to hear him, I did not think much about it although I did fold the Times and put it in my purse just in case we needed the information. Then on Sunday before last, a longer even more enticing article appeared in the Southern Illinoisan. Again I figured we would not make a night event.

But at noon last Wednesday, we decided there was really no reason we could not attend. I had been to the museum only once a few years ago, and I knew Gerald would enjoy the displays there as well as the lecture. What Mike Jones has accomplished with this museum in his retirement is very fine, and he is definitely not one of the history teachers Loewen had indicted in Lies My Teacher Told Me: Everything Your High School History Textbook Got Wrong.

Our friend Marilyn Schild had introduced me to Loewen when she loaned me Sundown Towns: A Hidden Dimension of American Racism. I was surprised when the first chapter started out with some very ugly examples from my home town of Anna-Jonesboro. I knew as I grew up that people sometimes said that there was an unwritten law that no blacks were allowed in town after dark. But I never heard it said as if that was a good policy—but simply a statement of historical fact. (Other than that occasional comment, I do not remember hearing many overt racist remarks as I grew up.) But I grew up many years ago, and I assumed attitudes had changed. And I think the attitudes of the majority of people there are quite accepting of all races.

Nevertheless, Jim Loewen not only explained the beginning of that racist sundown rule in Anna, but he made me realize that among some people, attitudes may have gotten worse. Some smart aleck had used the word Anna (named after Anna Willard Davie whose husband started the town) as an acronym for the sundown rule that ain’t no blacks allowed. Evidently this tickled enough people’s fancy that the saying took hold. I do not know when that explanation for Anna started, but I don’t think it existed in the 1950s when I lived there. (I may be wrong. Maybe it was just the scum bums who said it, and I was blessed to not know those folks.)

Lowen’s thesis was that by the turn of the 20th century, many communities joined the common pattern of refusing to allow blacks to live in their midst. This was often spurred by some violence or imagined violence by a black resident. This would be an excuse to forgo a trial and cause a town to drive out all people of color and forbid any others to live there after that.

In the case of my home town of Anna-Jonesboro, a young local woman moved to Cairo and was raped and murdered, and a black man there was accused (probably falsely) of the deed. At least a sheriff trying to protect him from a mob became convinced he was probably innocent. But he was lynched nevertheless, and people of Anna attended that social event and raised money for a fine tombstone for the victim in the Anna cemetery. (We cannot blame her that her tombstone became a instigator of prejudice. I feel so sorry for her not only for having her life cut short by a terrible crime but then having emotional frightened non-thinking people use her death to create hatred. Oddly her first name was Anna.)

What the book makes clear is not the sordid story of the real rapist still uncaught while likely the wrong man was hung, but that all over the nation this pattern was repeated. At his lecture last Wednesday night, Loewen said there were 500 or so communities in Illinois that could be classified as sundown towns. The rich suburbs with excellent schools but with their un-American racist injustice were revealed for what they are just as Lorraine Hansberry told us.

Loewen’s lecture was announced as centering on the lies that were told about the Civil War. He used the original documents to show that states declared they were withdrawing from the Union because of their fear that slavery would be abolished. (These same states were definitely against new states having the right to be allowed to decide whether they would be free or slave.) He explained how the text books much later started claiming that states rights was the cause of the war and how that misinformation was carried from one edition to the next, so that many in the audience admitted with raised hands that they were taught that.

It was a stimulating evening with a record crowd, Mike Jones said when he welcomed Loewen. It was interesting the next day to read my favorite local reporter Linda Rush’s account in the Southern. I need to get Marilyn's book back to her and acquire my own copy. I definitely recommend it to help you understand why our inner cities are in such distress.

Thinking about Answered Prayer on MLK Day

2012-01-17T23:52:00.002-06:00

So much seems to be going on all the time that I have had trouble blogging twice a week. Today Gerald took Katherine to have some teeth pulled, and so I ran by her house to see if I could help afterward as I had gone to Sam’s Warehouse to buy some Greek yogurt for her and stuff for the Angel Bags our church is doing this month. I couldn’t resist taking her one of the pots of bright yellow tulips there. I figured she could use the encouragement that spring will come. So do I. By the time I left her house, it was 8 o’clock when I carried in a boxed supper from the DQ for Gerald.

Kim Barger suggested that I post the devotional I gave last night at our women’s class meeting. The middle part was excerpts from the prayer journal my sister gave me, and I read directly from the journal some of the answers to prayers that our congregation prayed for people we all knew back in 2004 and 2006. I thought they might bring back memories to others just as they did to me when I re-read them recently. So I can’t really post those. Then I closed by reading briefly from the last speech Dr. Martin Luther King gave before he was assassinated the next day when he had the honor of going to glory on Good Friday. So here is the first part of the devotional:

Remembering that last year I talked about unanswered prayers in my devotion here at Carmen’s house, I quickly decided a few weeks ago that this year I would talk about answered prayers. Last year I quoted from the prayer journal my sister gave me that there is not such thing as unanswered prayer: “God always answers our prayers, but He may say ‘No.’ Some things are outside the will of God…” Last year I talked considerably that God does not always answer yes or no immediately but often says, “Wait.”

Although I originally thought the topic of answered prayer would be an easy topic, I found it difficult to know what to say tonight. Just Saturday I thought about today’s holiday being in honor of Dr. Martin Luther King, and I thought maybe my devotion should be on his ministry.

I realized I really need to do considerable more study on prayer than I have had time to do. And I always remember a long ago sermon, where a pastor warned that often we do more talking about praying than actual praying. As I thought about prayer, I ended up wondering exactly why and how we are to pray. Jesus knows everything we need before we ask. Jesus made it clear in his sermon on the mount--my favorite sermon of all time--that we are not to pray publicly for the purpose of impressing others. He advises us to go into a room and shut the door. He advises us not to just babble like pagans as if by much repeating we can force God to do our will. Yet he also told us that the persistent widow who kept asking is an example of what produces results when we pray. In this sermon, he gave us the model prayer that like his sermon was not long in length but powerful in educating us on proper prayer. Let us say it now in unison together: Our father …

I think it is terribly important that we pray as Jesus did in the model prayer that God’s will be done. So it goes without saying almost, that we as Christians should not want things outside God’s will or to pray in that way. We have all sometimes had a no answer, which turns out to be a beautiful thing in our lives and we understand the no. Other times a no confuses us and we have to assume it will work for the kingdom of God to come in some secret way that we cannot understand but that we must accept on faith is a beautiful thing. And so I continue to struggle as I pray that my daughter might walk again, but I watch her body deteriorate and her struggle in life become harder and harder. Somehow I have to reconcile these two realities with faith.

When I first starting thinking about answered prayers, I realized that God blessed Gerald and me early in our marriage with answered prayers probably to encourage us as young Christians to seek His will and know He would take care of us. Although Gerald was still a student at SIUC when we married, he had savings from his work in the Air Force, and I had a small savings account from my one year of teaching. He owned a car, and I owned an ironing board and iron, clothes left over from high school and college, and not much else. Gerald had a family friend that would allow us to go to St. Louis to a warehouse and choose furniture at that store owner’s discount, and so we started married life with a new bedroom suite that it still in use at our house today, a couch that wore out long ago but the chair recovered several times is in a classroom at Center, and a table and chairs that also wore out long ago. We acquired a new gas stove. a refrigerator, and wringer washer for our tiny four-room house with no bathroom or running water. Our rent was $10 a month.

I felt very rich with all this new furniture. This puzzles me as I look back on it because I was definitely one of the lucky ones who believed it was romantic to start life on a shoe string. I have been thinking a lot about this belief lately and am concerned that we may have let that concept of living on love for newlyweds to slip away from our young adults today. They deserve to know that a lack of material things need not destroy happiness and often a lack enhances happiness. Nevertheless, I simply followed Gerald’s direction that we should start life with new furniture.

He finished his degree and we ended up going to Urbana to get his masters, where he had a fellowship stipend to add to his G.I. bill. A professor showed us around the town to try and find an apartment we could afford. The four rooms in our rented rural home were all tiny rooms, but they held our furniture. As the professor took us to the listed vacancies, none of the one bedroom apartments, sometimes on the second floor, would hold our bedroom suite even though it was not hugely bulky and had a standard size mattress. Kathy‘s crib loaned from Gerald‘s mother was quite small.

We were growing alarmed. What would we do with our new bedroom furniture? (No storage businesses in those days.) The idea of being penned up in those tiny apartments was giving me claustrophobia just walking through them. Finally, as a last resort, the professor told us about a listing of a big old house not far from campus. There we met Carl—I have forgotten his last name--who was just finishing his PHD in chemistry, and who had rented this house for his family to live in the three rooms on the first floor: a tiny kitchen but with a small walk-in pantry, a dining room area to be used as a bedroom that would hold our bed, dresser, and chest—all three, and a very large living room that provided space for whatever you wanted including plenty of space for a crib and for a toddler to play.

Carl and wife had bought cheap make-do furniture to sublet the three upstairs rooms to three quiet grad students, who shared the bathroom on that floor with the family below. Carl showed us his record books for their three years in Urbana, and how the rent, utilities, and other expenses when reduced by the $30 room rent from each upstairs renter plus $10 from the neighbor who rented half the outside garage ended up costing Carl and family only $90 a month--far cheaper than any of the tiny apartments we had looked at.

We had a yard and a garden out back to share with Gerald’s cousin Pat and her husband Bill Tweedy, who was studying for his PHD. We had a full basement for my washing machine and lines for winter drying, steps going to a third floor full attic for any storage we needed. The house was very old but had been a fine house in its day. (Someone told us a rich man had built it for his mistress.) We went through that year in what I considered pure luxury. Like Carl’s wife, I kept the shared bathroom clean and vacuumed the three men’s rooms once a week. We knew it was God’s will for us to take over that house from Carl because when he showed us his records, we observed that each month, he had tithed his small assistantship income to his church. God had taken care of Carl’s family, and now he wanted our family to have this comfortable place. We knew we were blessed by God answering our prayers for His assistance.

Gerald finished his course work in nine months and was almost through with his thesis. That summer he had the opportunity to start a training program right there in town while he completed his masters work. By then I was pregnant again, and I walked toddler Kathy all over town in a borrowed stroller from a dear church friend and prayed for a son if that were God’s will. We were also praying that we might rent a farm in the Mississippi River bottoms that might or might not be available.

Suddenly at the end of summer, the farm was offered to us, and Gerald needed to resign his job quickly. But the farm would not be available until January. What would we do? Where could we live? And on what?

Within one or two days, Gerald was offered a one-term appointment at Illinois Western at Macomb that would not only support us but allow us to save a bit. Summer term was over and the grad students were gone. We had to clear the house, so we quickly gave away or sold the upstairs furniture. We rented an apartment in Macomb, which was half of a sweet divorced woman’s home and shared it with her two year old and teenage son. I marvel now that she was willing to rent it to us for just three months, but as I thought about it, I realized that we might have been an answer to her prayers also. Bill Tweedy helped Gerald load our furniture on a rented truck. Gerald and I went to bed with little Kathy on a mattress on the floor.

In the middle of the night, she became sick with a very high fever. No one could sleep. Gerald called Bill and they took off for Macomb. Somehow I got a taxi to the train station to go down to Anna as planned to my parents’ home for the weekend. I found myself sitting on the train with one of Gerald’s favorite professors coming down from Chicago, who happened to be childless. My live-wire toddler was so sick that she was a perfect child and the professor kept bragging on how quiet, calm, and well behaved she was. I did not tell him any difference. I think I got a cab from Anna to Jonesboro. Mother was through her day’s work across the street at the school, and we raced to Cape Girardeau for Kathy’s former pediatrician to see her before closing hours. With an antibiotic for her tonsillitis, we were able to be in Macomb for Gerald to go to work on Monday.

I was young and conscientious and I did fall housecleaning on that apartment and cooked three meals a day for Gerald, who could come home for lunch. I took care of little Kathy and prepared her for Halloween since I expected to be in the hospital and did not want her scared by masks. We had our son Gerry in McDonough County hospital. Gerald’s teaching career and salary were over in early December, so we spent a few weeks at Gerald’s folks and my folks until we got into the cold cold house on the rented farm by Christmas. To avoid drafts, I put Gerry’s little cradle off the floor and on top of the couch by the nearby heating stove.

This was the cradle my great grandmother bought for 50 cents for my grandmother when my daddy was born after his mother had lost two baby girls. I like to think that Great Grandmother Louisa said a prayer back then for all the babies who might sleep in the cradle. And there have been many. I continued praying for the babies sleeping there in our lifetime. We studied Sunday in Deuteronomy that God promised to show love to a thousand generations to those who love Him and keep His commandments. I am not sure what generation our family is in right now, but I am grateful that God has answered prayers said long ago.

After reviewing some answered prayers in our congregation, I closed:

In closing, I want to quote from MLK’s speech--made in Memphis where 1300 sanitation workers were struggling for rightful treatment. This was the day before his assassination as it turned out, which happened on Good Friday, which I feel positive was no coincidence.

MLK taught us that if we pray believing, things can change. We can see the substance of things hoped for. And if we want to do God’s will, death is a victory--a victory that overcomes the world.

(If you want to read Dr. King’s speech, google “I’ve been to the mountaintop.”)

A Rainy Day Ride

2012-01-12T23:13:00.002-06:00

Although we share the same house and usually lunch and supper every day, with all the busyness of Christmas and family coming and going, Gerald and I haven’t really spent much quality time together. So I was pleased when he invited me to go with him to Carbondale yesterday for the standard check-up for his new hearing aid. Then we were to meet friends Bill and Mickey Tweedy for lunch at Denny’s.

It had started raining lightly at midnight the night before when I went to bed, and it continued damp and soggy with light rain all day long. At supper last night, Gerald went out on the deck and checked the rain gauge and found we had accumulated nine-tenths of an inch.

As usual we had trouble getting away from the farm precisely at 9:15, our planned get-away time; it was more like 9:25. Nevertheless, we made it to The Hearing Place at exactly l0 a.m. right on time for Gerald’s appointment. I didn’t join him for a few minutes because I was in the car putting in my own hearing aids that I had grabbed as we left the house. I’d learned on our last visit that it helped one adjust and profit from the aids if they were worn every day, so I have been trying to do that. I have trouble remembering to take that extra two or three minutes to put them on after I have combed my hair and before I put on my glasses and dash away from the bathroom mirror. So just in case someone asked me if I had them on, I lingered in the car to finish my day’s attire.

Of course, they didn’t ask; and after we hurried to get there on time, there was still a 30 minute wait before Gerald was seen. That was okay. They have great magazines, so I thoroughly enjoyed the wait while he was seen and wished it had been longer. I hadn’t quite finished the National Geographic article I was reading.

We had an hour before lunch time, which was also fine since we needed gas and I had loaded the trunk down with all the Christmas cardboard and other recyclables the night before. Southern Recycling at 300 West Chestnut Street is the most comprehensive recycling business in our area because they take glass, electronics, and almost everything. They are even open on Saturdays from 8:30 in the morning until 1:30 in the afternoon. I had a terrible time finding them when they first relocated, and no one I knew could tell me where they were. It is easy to get there. After the railroad tracks as you arrive from Marion, turn right and go north on Route 51 just a little ways down the road almost as far as the Southern Illinoisan office. There’s a sign there on left.

You get to drive your car right in the building to unload, which was certainly nice on a rainy day like yesterday. They do not pay you for aluminum soda cans, and I was surprised yesterday that they had changed the labeling on the huge cardboard holding boxes so that you are asked to put tin can and aluminum cans in the same bin. Hmmm. I wondered why. (I usuallly take our empty soda cans to Cimco here in Marion out on Route 148 and feel smug for the few dollars I receive for my efforts.)

It had been too long since we’d met up with Bill and Mickey, so that anticipated lunch-time visit was very enjoyable. Because of Denny’s nearness to the hearing aid place and the Carbondale Clinic (which now has a silly new name not nearly as succinct as Carbondale Clinic), this was the third time since Thanksgiving that we have lunched at Denny’s after years of not being there. When we took Katherine after a recent doctor’s appointment, all the Christmas decorations were up and she thoroughly enjoyed it reminiscing about her socializing there back in her college days—just as Gerald and I do from our decades earlier times.

Bill was telling Gerald about his grandson in the Marines and now in Afghanistan sleeping on a cot without a mattress. Naturally Bill was torn up about this young man and all the others over there. It was great last night to see grandson’s new-born son in the Facebook pictures that its grandmother—Bill’s middle daughter Glenna Orr--had posted. This new little Billy was an exceptionally beautiful newborn, and both his mother and his grandmother Glenna were quite beautiful as well. I wish his daddy could be back in the States enjoying this time in his baby son’s life.

Reluctantly we ended our noon-time visit, but not before Mickey had given us a bag of yummy home-made cereal snack mix and another plus a pretty tin of candies for Katherine. We had accidently parked side by side, so we were tempted to linger longer visiting in the parking lot, but the damp weather probably encouraged us to get inside our cars and go on with afternoon duties.

Next Gerald and I headed down Route 51 to Anna and beyond as he had to take some more papers to our farm management field man, who is already working on our taxes as well as others in the Illinois Farm Management Association sponsored by the University of Illinois.

The winter landscape was dark with barren leafless trees along the hillsides of the highway and the constant rain on the windshield, but it was warm and cozy inside our car making the ride seem snug and pleasant. We arrived at Doug and Beth Hileman’s lovely farm on top of a high hill looking down on pleasant meadows. We were greeted by their friendly dogs when I opened the car door briefly to better grab hold of my book at my feet, which I’d brought to read while Gerald went inside to converse with Doug. The bigger dog escorted Gerald in. This was strictly a business visit, and Gerald had said he’d be quick, so again my reading was cut short when he was back in the car and we were again driving country roads.

I had commented as we drove to Doug’s that I did not think I had ever been to Balcom although I had heard about it all my life when living in Union County. So Gerald took us out through that tiny cluster of houses just so I could know I had visited Balcolm. If there was ever a post office or village store there, you could not tell it now, but I imagine that once upon a time there were both and probably a country school house also.

The day was pretty well spent by the time we arrived back at Woodsong and I fixed us a bite of supper. Gerald commented that it probably would be snowing when he got up this morning, but he expected it would have quit before I woke up. He was almost right. It started snowing on him as he walked down the lane to the mailbox—his first activity every morning. But it has continued snowing all day long, so I have been able to enjoy it also. It is truly beautiful and was quite slick out when I took Thursday night supper into my daughter’s family as I try to do each week. I was glad to be safely back home to enjoy the beauty looking out the windows with inside comfort.

Starting the New Year at Woodsong

2012-01-07T20:56:00.001-06:00

The half boxes of child-friendly cereals bought for the great grandsons’ holiday visit have been passed on to a friend with a little one in her home along with the extra gallon of milk I somehow ended up with in the garage fridge.

The New Year’s Day black eyed peas are all eaten up. (They made me remember little Jeannie from long ago who couldn’t remember their name and called them “cockeyed peas.”)

With all the holiday decorations boxed and put away in deep closet hidey holes and high closet shelves for another year, the house seems very plain right now. Perhaps especially so because we have had unusually warm winter weather this week, and the sun shines so brightly into the living room that it seems to highlight its emptiness.

I’ve gone through the addresses on the envelopes of the Christmas correspondence to make note of any address changes. I still look forward to a leisurely day when I can go through the basket of cards and re-read and really enjoy them. For many years it was my tradition to do this on New Year’s Eve or New Year’s Day, but in recent years I don’t seem to get around to it. Maybe we will be snowed in soon, and that will be my special time for this pleasure.

I have caught up with the laundry, and as of today, the larger serving dishes used during the season are finally off the buffet and back in the china cabinet. At the first of the week, Gerald folded up the little table that held the desserts and Christmas treats, The ones we didn’t eat were passed on to Katherine’s house since Sam and his friend Josh might eat them after school.

Three books I ordered from Amazon arrived yesterday, and today I have sampled a bit of all of them. Evan Hayden Pullins’ slim collection called Blogging Through Life contains his beautiful and searingly poignant sharing of the mental illness he has suffered for many years now into his young adult years. His talent is enormous and his health difficulties are huge. We can only hope and pray that he can find peace with living with this disease and that he can continue to share with us his vision of the world. If you have a loved one with mental illness, you might want to order a copy to understand what they are suffering.

I am working again on the story of my great grandfather William Felix Grundy Martin and his wife Louisa Craig Martin. This endeavor has continued for many years, but I had not touched it since last March. I can only hope I can finally finish this and get on to the other essays I want to write for future generations about loved ones I have known. Especially I wany to write about my parents’ lives. The only thing I have written this past year were four short essays on Martin family members for the new Johnson County Historical Society book to be published in 2012. I always like to imagine how someone a century or so from now will happen onto my stories about my ancestors, who are also theirs, and how thrilled and appreciative they will be of my writing it down for them. Since I won’t be alive for them to thank me, I just enjoy their gratefulness with my imagination.

A Strung-Out Christmas Celebration

2011-12-30T23:32:00.000-06:00

After our Thanksgiving with the entire family, Jeannie was down the first weekend in December, and I gave her some of her family’s gifts. When Leslie came through here on her way home after her exams at Belmont, I sent the rest of them with her. Her visit spurred me to finish decorating the trees by then.

Next Mary Ellen’s family came on December 23 this year, which was different than past Christmases, but I was happy they could go to be with Brian’s mother in Florida this year. They are still there to celebrate their wedding anniversary on New Year’s Eve at Disney World—one of their family’s special places.

Gerry and Vickie arrived on December 24 in one car, and Geri Ann rode up with Erin, who had been in Georgia to have their family Christmas before that. Gerald was so excited that Tara and Bryan (the Archibalds) were coming with our great grandsons because he had traded tractors and he wanted to break in the new “buddy seat” with those three little guys. However, it turned out that was not to be on that day or the next.

Bryan had received word his mother had been admitted to the hospital up in northern Illinois. So instead of leaving Georgia for our house, at first they thought they’d keep going straight to Chicago-land to arrive there as soon as possible. However, as they received better news, they decided to break up that long car ride for the boys by attending the Johnson Christmas Eve gathering at Gma Shirley’s house down the road from us as originally planned. Then they could travel on north through the night with the boys sleeping in their car seats and they would be there for his mother’s scope procedure at the hospital on Christmas morning. (That turned out better than feared, and she was able to leave the hospital the next day.)

We were invited down to Gma Shirley’s also if we wanted to see the Archibald family. And we did, of course. The three great grandsons were in great form and high spirits despite the long car ride up from Georgia, and we loved seeing all of Vickie’s family since we don’t see them as often as we did back in the day when Vickie invited both sides of the family to her Johnston City house for birthday and graduation parties down through the years.

I’d seen pictures of Kinsley, Tara’s cousin Jeremy’s pretty little girl, but the photos did not show how sweet she was. Watching her carry Gma Shirley’s little dog Buddy around was so cute, and it was fun seeing her interact with our great grandsons and to realize they were very much a part of that large extended family. Maddux’s tight hugs clinging to Gerald was almost enough to compensate for our disappointment that they wouldn’t be coming over to spend the night and be with us Christmas morning.

Of course, to go to Gma Shirley’s house is to eat very well also with counters and tables full of food offerings. She had three tables pushed together to make one long one in the dining area beside her kitchen, and the table and holiday decorations were everywhere to please our eyes. I had not known that cardinals were her special bird, and those bright red creatures on her white tree were so pretty.

There was a lot of laughter, of course. I have been concerned that little Payton would be taken advantage of by his older brothers, but that was quickly disproved when I saw him hit out at the older two to get what he wanted. I enjoyed seeing that, and the older two boys could have cared less for their tough little brother showing his spirit. However, the most memorable event of the evening was seeing Erin, age 25; Sarah, age 21; and Geri Ann, age 17, swaying and singing together on the couch waving their Justin Bieber toothbrushes that Gma Shirley had given them.

Reluctantly we said good-bye to the Archibalds and everyone else, and I hurried to do some last minute details at Woodsong before Gerry and Geri Ann came over to sleep. With our invited guests decreased by five, I had extra time to spend with them on Christmas morning, and it was quite leisurely before the morning worship service at our village church, where Vickie met up with us.

We arrived back at Woodsong with smells of the baking ham and dressing filling the house. Unlike many years, no one had a second place to go to on this day. For the first time in perhaps decades we only had one table with ten for Christmas dinner. The Cedars had celebrated with David’s family on the Eve, and Dave. Katherine, and Sam arrived about the time that Gma Shirley did. We were so glad she came because she and Katherine have always had a special bond and they were able to have a good visit together.

Gift opening was much less chaotic than usual with fewer families here, but it was still fun. The weather was fantastic all week including the day we woke up to a beautiful snow that had melted by evening. Gerry had arrived with the squirrel dog that Steve Smith had loaned him to hunt with Aidan in Georgia, and he and Gerald enjoyed hunting as soon as Gerry arrived on Saturday and again on Monday and Tuesday. Long after the men had gone down to Union County to hunt with Keith and DuWayne, I was startled but enjoyed being woke up by our grand-dog Chloe that Tuesday when someone left the front door ajar and Chloe untied herself and joined me at the foot of our bed.

Wednesday we had to say goodbye to Gerry, Vickie, and Geri Ann. We drove into town with them for breakfast with Erin, who’d driven over from Cambria, before her family returned back home to Georgia. Erin was preparing to fly down to College Station later that day to meet up with Texas A&M friends, and now we are following her vacation there on Facebook.

The rest of Wednesday we continued eating Christmas Day left-overs and the Italian beef sandwiches I’d prepared when I thought the Archibalds were coming earlier. But Gerald was excited as a little kid knowing Aidan, Maddux, and Payton would be arriving Thursday to enjoy one more Christmas celebration. They were in Galesburg by this time with Bryan’s father and step-mother for that Christmas celebration, and the boys were enjoying the children’s museum there before driving downstate.

Since our Thursday night meal was ready (more left-overs) when the Archibalds arrived, I really wanted us to eat while it was hot before we opened the presents under the downstairs tree with them. But realizing there were presents waiting made the boys more eager to open than to eat. Three tractor-type toys still upstairs saved the day, and they played madly with those by the living room tree until we got to the supper table. At last I got to put out the three little special Christmas cups I had all prepared for Christmas Day.

It was a pleasure to see the three boys eat like hungry boys do. I had planned for Gerald to sit between the two youngest. However, Maddux, 3, happily sat in the high chair that I had ready for one-year old Payton, who his mother explained, thought he was too old to sit in the high chair. So he sat on the other side of Gerald by his mother. After supper we went down and opened presents in the family room, and everyone was ready to go to bed early so the tractor riding could begin this morning.

Even Payton was ready to join the two older boys for a tractor ride this visit, which he had not been enthusiastic about before. Then Aidan, 5, remembered the lime pile that Gerald created just for him originally, and all three boys had to play there digging with their little shovels, sliding, and filling their shoes with lime. Gerald got a kick out of Aidan taking charge and giving orders, which Maddux followed but Payton simply ignored, which did not bother Aidan in the least. Tara said Payton is not a follower, and we could see that this visit.

Meanwhile, Tara and Bryan were packing one more time after all their stops of this holiday vacation. We are always amazed at how organized they stay with the constant commotion of the boys and all the families they visit. Final hugs and kisses are always somewhat sad when we aren’t sure when we will see each other again The lime left on the kitchen floor has been swept up, and the tree lights are glowing.

The Lights of Christmas--Especially on Cherry Valley Road

2011-12-24T01:06:00.004-06:00

Have the lights ever been more beautiful than this year? I love all the lights in our village of Crab Orchard and at the homes Marion and on the square there. The new bright multi-colored lights this year are such a visual treat as I do the season’s shopping and many errands. And all this beauty is free for us to enjoy!

Many families in our area make sure they take a drive to Candy Cane Lane in West Frankfort, and it is certainly worth the drive. But if you don’t have the gas or time for a trek to West Frankfort, consider driving out Old Creal Springs Road until you see the darkness broken by the magnificent display just west of there. (If you are coming from Creal, you will turn left. If you are coming out from Marion, you will turn right. This road only goes west, so you really cannot miss it.)

A couple of years ago I discovered these two houses in deep country on Cherry Valley Road with breath-taking excess of light. Going to see those lights has become an important part of my personal Christmas celebration.

This year only one house is decorated, but the lawn and house has sufficient light for an entire block. Cherry Valley suddenly turns south right after this beautiful light-filled experience, and I like to continue on the road up and down the hills and hollows past the homes back there until you come to West Ellis. Driving this narrow rural road is the sort of back roads adventure that I relish; and though I know no one along here, I like thinking of their lives off the beaten path and so close to nature. You may find this drive a little daunting, but it is perfectly safe. Just go slow. I would advise you to be alert for deer although I have never seen one there. I hope you don't either.

At West Ellis at the top of the last hill, if you turn left, West Ellis will lead back to the Old Creal Springs Road. At the Old Creal road, you could turn left there to drive back to Marion. Or if you want, you can continue on West Ellis which is briefly one with the Old Creal road. Then the road splits with Old Creal Springs going south. If you continue on West Ellis, you will go through the wooded swamp area I love especially when the leaves are on the trees overhead. Then you will quickly come out at the village of New Dennison and Route 166. Turn left (north) to go back to Route 13. At Route 13, you will reach Marion if you turn left (west) and reach Crab Orchard if you turn right.

No matter where you live in this nation, many people have gone to much trouble to put a lighted tree or wreath in their window or sometimes to much expense and hard work to decorate their entire lawn and outside of their homes. The bright lights can add color and excitement during these darkest days of winter. I hope you have the chance to enjoy them.

Glasco Christmas Letter 2011

2011-12-20T12:08:00.002-06:00

Woodsong Christmas 2011

Dear Friends and Relatives,

This verse has meant much to be recently, so I will share it as my Christmas gift to you: Be still and know that I am God.

We had several school and class reunions in 2011 as well as our annual SIUC Baptist Student Union reunion. My Anna-Jonesboro Class celebrated our 60th anniversary, which was made especially wonderful because Lois (Ferrell) Doctor and husband Tom and grandson Josiah came from California and Oregon, and we had a great visit with them as house guests at Woodsong. Gerald finds plenty to do in shop and helping out others. I participated in Trail of Tears and Writers Guild activities and still blog usually twice a week.

Here’s a run down on our children:

Katherine and husband David Cedar and their son Sam
have their lives darkened by her progressive multiple sclerosis. Katherine keeps her faith and can usually be cheerful despite constant pain and multiple health problems. Around the world millions suffer from various causes including starvation, but it is heart breaking when you see the suffering up close. David tries keeps his spirit up by hanging out at his friend Jim’s hunting camp and actually got three deer this year--a buck and doe will provide them lots of meat. He makes excellent venison sausage. The third deer actually got David as it hit his car and almost totaled it as he was on the way to see Katherine at the hospital. That car was replaced with a new one, so Sam was made happy. He has over a year yet for a license. Sam is a joy and he keeps us aware of the youth scene in Marion band circles and at Second Baptist Church. We enjoyed visiting evening services at their church when Wendell Garrisons was interim pastor for a few months.

Gerry and Vickie’s family had many changes. Erin is in her second year at SIUC as assistant softball coach and loves her job. Her year’s challenge was a torn ACL the second night she played with a local coed softball team. Because of infection, she has had five surgeries, and months of therapy. She is doing great after a tremendous amount of work. Tara with her Southern Force 16U won the prestigious Boulder tourney and for fifth time went to Final Four at the ASA nationals. This fall she became assistant softball coach at the University of Georgia. (Gerry is now associate head coach.) Tara’s husband Bryan is still with the same architecture firm in northern Illinois, but commutes from their home in Georgia. The Archibalds and Gerry and Vickie rent and share a big house with three floors. Vickie is the official baby sitter for Payton, 1; Maddux, 3, and Aidan, 5, who just started kindergarten, and she also still sits for Matthew! Geri Ann helped lead the Oconee High School softball team to another state championship and was again named as Player of the Year by Athens newspaper. She has signed to play next year at the University of Georgia with her dad and sister! Softball must make girls beautiful. At least Gerry and Vickie’s three are!

Jeannie and Rick are busy with both teaching other people’s children and nurturing the three talented Eiler kids--our music and acting grandkids. Leslie and her fiancé Mike Thompson will finish their degrees at Belmont before their June 23 wedding. Elijah had the lead in The Foreigner last spring and spoke at his high school graduation. He is now studying at Illinois State to become a teacher for the visually handicapped, a long time interest of his. Cecelie is in 7th grade and as beautiful as her sister. In addition to her intense interest and talent as violinist, she was in the Freeport High School musical this fall when they did Annie. Rick still heads up math department, coaches and runs. Jeannie amazes us with long-distance bicycle rides.

Brian and Mary Ellen keep their dual careers going full blast. Mary Ellen now is a buyers agent for Jane Hay Sales and Staging of The Real Estate Group in Springfield and loves it. Brian continues his work at Stone Seed while also increasing rented acreage here. We are grateful for high yields he consistently grows on our farm with Stone Seed and other Monsanto brands. Trent graduated from Lincolnwood High School with high ACT scores and is enjoying his freshman year at Lincoln Land Community College. He hopes someday to work in a film-related career with his computer skills. Brianna, another of our blond beauties, is busy with band, junior class vice president, and student council. Sam went up to see her in the Homecoming court and to attend the dance with one of her friends.

Gerald and Sam traveled to Tuscaloosa to see Georgia play softball. Nephew DuWayne and Gerald saw Southern Force at Chattanooga and Oconee at Watkinsville. I went along for the Oconee state championship at Columbus. We managed trips to Freeport and Waggoner to see other grandchild events. Vacation Bible School at Center was great with Elijah, Trent, and Brianna here to help. Easter and Thanksgiving weeks were special times with families coming and going as they will this season.
　

Love and Merry Christmas,
Sue

The Good News of Answered Prayer

2011-12-15T23:25:00.001-06:00

Late this afternoon, Katherine received a call from her infectious disease doctor saying that after 48 hours the culture taken on Tuesday was clear. What a lovely Christmas present. She was trying to be prepared if necessary to do another round of infusions and continue in fear that this antibiotic might fail again. Instead of fear, there is celebration. If the next step of oral medication succeeds as hoped in preventing the return of this infection, which has weakened her and exacerbated the multiple sclerosis, we will really have cause for rejoicing.

Once again we feel the enormous respect and appreciation for the medical profession when it provides answers that not only prolong life but improve its quality. I pray regularly for medical researchers, because those in that profession are my heroes. I do not know their names, but I know their worth. I am also grateful for young junior and senior high school students who right now are studying and working hard to get the background needed to palliate illness and discover the treatments and cures for the diseases that destroy life and happiness. Anything we can do to advance science in our schools is a wise use of our tax dollars.

Perhaps almost as wonderful for her comfort as the doctor’s report was the find of her husband last night. David and I were surprised to bump into each other at Wal-Mart after he got off work and after I left Katherine’s house. Both of us were wandering all over that huge store that I usually avoid like a plague. (I get lost both inside the store and in the parking lot.) We were in search of jell or gell pads that Katherine had heard about. Neither of us was successful. (I had asked at least seven clerks but no one knew anything about jell except for shoe linings, which was not what we needed.)

We had to laugh since both of us had our shopping carts filled with possible devises that just might eliminate some of the pain that comes to anyone who must sit all day in a wheelchair. (I recently read where a nursing home let their workers volunteer to spend one day in a wheelchair, and these volunteers found out just how uncomfortable a chair was.)

David and I started showing each other our selections that might be experimented with in Katherine’s care. I had seen the pair of foot warmers David had, but didn’t even stop to look at them. I don’t even know what these warm cozy foot thingies are called, but both feet fit into this snuggling looking container for feet. Today Katherine had this invention on, and the heavy padding beneath her feet had reduced the pain from the hard foot rest. Gerald had long ago worked on the footrest with padding and helped, but the problem was still severe. Aides were placing comfort devices between her feet and the footrest, and fretting with her. But nothing really solved the problem.

Now not only were the soles of her feet protected, but somehow this device held her feet in place where they were not sliding off the footrest nor painfully grinding against each other. If it continues to work as successfully as it did today, this discovery is a minor miracle for both her comfort and for the workers trying to help her balance in her chair.

It has been a good day.

The Busiest Time of the Year

2011-12-10T16:57:00.000-06:00

This always busy season is even more so this year because our daughter Katherine has been very ill fighting an infection. After her brief hospitalization, she was sent to yet another doctor and is being treated at home. Unfortunately, her usually excellent insurance will not pay trained personnel for this treatment. If it were not for her husband at night, her beloved morning aide, and her dear and highly qualified friend Michele Otto, who happens to be on “vacation” until we ruined it, I do not know what we would have done. We have gone through a series of being told one thing by those in charge and having things be another way. Yet we are very hopeful that this excellent doctor will find a way to end this infection. Gerald will be taking her to Carbondale on Tuesday to see how well these at-home infusions have worked.

After months of more surgery and therapy, we are thrilled that granddaughter Erin has conquered the scary infection caused by her summer knee surgery. She is all smiles these days when she drops in without crutches. She is working out to make that leg as strong as her good one.

Erin and her dad both were among those softball coaches in Los Vegas last week for conferences during their “dead” non-recruiting period. And I guess our great niece Tracy’s husband Cody Brown was there about the same time winning the World Series of Team Roping with his partner Tyson Campidilli. They split the $200,000 prize money. Tracy’s family members here in Southern Illinois are as involved in roping as our son’s family is in softball. I find it interesting but understandable that families seem to gravitate to the same fields and competitive passions. Our daughter Jeannie’s family is our music-drama bunch.

Gerald took our grandson Sam up to Assumption today to meet his Uncle Brian who took him onto Waggoner to participate in the first ever Homecoming at Lincolnwood High School. Lincolnwood’s basketball game was last night, but Sam could not go up then since he was playing with the pep band at the high school basketball game here in Marion. Tonight is Lincolnwood’s coronation, and he will be there to represent our family as his cousin Brianna participates as a member of the court for the junior class. I can’t keep from wishing I were there. Brianna has Sam fixed up as a blind date with one of her friends at the dance afterwards.

Gerald enjoyed visiting with Sam on their trip and then visited a John Deere dealer up there—always a pleasant outing for a farmer. He was home after 3 p.m. and said he realized after he got here that he had forgotten to eat lunch. (He and Sam had plans for a late breakfast in Mt. Vernon, so I imagine that he why he forgot lunch.) Kindly he found left-over pizza in the fridge and had fixed his own lunch before he told me anything about it.

I made some very good beef-veggie soup Wednesday morning, so that is what we are having for supper tonight. For my lunch, I had finished the left-over plate of the spaghetti that I’d made for us and the Cedars on Thursday night. With left-overs in the fridge plus things bought at Senior Citizens Day at Kroger Wednesday, the fridge has been overfull, so I am glad we can use the leftovers.

With no cooking today, maybe I can have Gerald get down the big boxes of Chirstmas decorations in the guest room closet and I can start going through them. Earlier this week, he got down the two boxes in our closet, and those swags and accessories are already in place. The two trees must be unboxed also and put together to hold all the pretties in the boxes, and I hope that can be accomplished early next week.

Part of my Christmas shopping is done, part is ordered, and part is still to be done. None is wrapped. My sister’s little birthday present was mailed yesterday to Amarillo. Oh, yes, I also really want to send out the Christmas cards that are waiting. I bought the stamps this week. These are all fun things that in the grand scheme of things will not matter whether I accomplish them or not. Being busy is part of the holiday tradition, and I am glad for the good part of the busyness—and praying that her time-consuming medical treatment brings better health to our daughter.

Goodbye Turkey; Hello Christmas

2011-11-28T20:14:00.000-06:00

Many things did go better during this last full week of November. Only two days left now until the Christmas season. I drove home from Katherine’s last night enjoying all the beautiful lights so many people put up over the weekend.

We celebrated my birthday last Wednesday when Gerry, Vickie, and Geri Ann arrived from Georgia. Gerry phoned from Paducah and said to meet them at Steak and Shake (Geri Ann needed to visit it just once while in Illinois) and he’d buy my birthday dinner. I was already preparing to see Katherine, and Gerald went with me to meet them. So Gerald brought Katherine in her van, and Sam went ahead with me. Erin came over from her house. It was such a leisurely relaxed reunion—a perfect start for the holiday. The annual Turkey Tournament at Crab Orchard High School began that night, and our family was involved since Gerry and Vickie’s nephew Drew Johnson, a senior, is one of the basketball stars again this year. I stayed home and rested while Gerald and the Gerry Glascos joined the Johnsons to cheer our Trojans on.

Later that night the Eilers arrived--actually it was Thanksgiving morning. Fortunately they ran late or the house might have been locked when Brian dropped off Brianna and Trent. (No, let me correct that. I think Trent arrived later at their camper with Mary Ellen, who had been tied up in Springfield with someone’s paper work) Sometime Sam arrived, of course. I can’t even remember when. People were coming and going to our house and to and from the Taylor camper, the Cedar house, and Gma Shirley’s house.

But in the confusion, the important things happened. Jeannie got in her bike ride and then went to help David get Katherine ready, which was a good thing since her wheel chair control broke and created a crisis. (On top of everything else, David now has the coughing cold that has plagued Katherine and me.) Mary Ellen was busy helping me in the kitchen. Younger grandkids—two now in college, two in high school, and Cecelie in 7th grade were rapidly involved together with their latest projects. Those six are the ones who always sit at the kitchen table.
I didn’t have Gerald put in the extra leaf since the Archibalds were celebrating Thanksgiving in the Chicago area with Bryan’s family. (The new table that can be expanded was bought before holiday time last year to accommodate great grandson Aidan, who certainly thought he belonged at that table with the big kids.) Our engaged couple Leslie and Mike arrived from Nashville even though they had to drive back that same evening. Erin was in and out all weekend, and those three were at the young adult folding table, so Erin finally got to meet Mike. Since Mike is an only child, we were wondering how he could stand the noise at our house, but he took it in stride.

Everyone had brought in food and colas including the deviled eggs that our kids had a lot of fun planning. (Thanks, Vickie, they were good.) We feasted all weekend on all the pies I had prepared and all the wonderful goodies Jeannie brought down from Freeport—and on Saturday we were able to enjoy her cauliflower salad she had planned. Mary Ellen’s casseroles are always delicious, and by the time the buffet and two narrow fold-up tables were filled up with food, we definitely had a feast—with so many left-overs for the rest of the weekend that thanks to the Walt’s pizzas that Gerry brought out Saturday night, we never even got around to the chili Jeannie brought. So it is in the freezer for the next clan gathering. I tried to lure everyone to have a bowl of chili after church yesterday morning along with my meat loaf—but they were all eager to get on the road to get back home in the heavy holiday traffic.

On Friday, the Eilers went down to Nashville for another Thanksgiving dinner that Leslie prepared in her little apartment. I think her co-workers helped her with part of the preparation, but I was impressed that she could do this. Mike’s parents had arrived from Ohio, and the two families that are merging in June had this special time together and even managed to see the beautiful Christmas lights at the Grand Ole Opry Hotel. Once again the Eilers arrived back at the farm long after midnight to fall into bed—but I suspect Trent, Brianna, and Sam were still up and going strong to greet Elijah and Cecelie. I didn’t ask; I went to bed at eleven.

People were going to the Turkey Tournament Friday and Saturday, and Jeannie got in a bike ride both days as well as doing some investigation on wedding bouquets. Rick was able to visit his Carbondale friends. The teens enjoyed running into town to eat and shop. They persuaded Mary Ellen to go with them to Carbondale on Saturday. Someone’s new board game soon took up half the dining room table. Gerry visited friends and was given a squirrel dog by Steve Smith, so he not only took the dog out but was very excited to be able to take Aidan and Bryan when the Archibalds arrived. I think there are still squirrel in the garage fridge. I better move them to the freezer too. (Maybe during Christmas break I will get the courage to cook them and the mushrooms from Arkansas that Steve sent us.) Son-in-law Brian finished combining the last small plot for our neighbor Scott, and Gerald hauled that corn to the elevator this morning.

Saturday’s biggest attraction was the Archibalds’ arrival with their three sons. Maddux had to immediately get out his Batman Cave from their car to show everyone. His 3rd birthday is not until December 11, but his northern Illinois family had given him an early party with a Superman birthday cake. (The Batman Cave adorned our living room the rest of the weekend and was popular with everyone.) Bryan just shook his head at their car loaded to its limit—and it not even Christmas. Little Payton,18 months, got up his nerve to pet the new squirrel dog Gerry had tied in the front yard, and all of us loved seeing the boys cavort with Ribby, Erin’s newest puppy she had finally brought over to meet us.

In addition to the championship Turkey Tourney game, Gerry and Vickie’s bunch had two local family birthdays to attend, so they and Gma Shirley, who had come to greet the Archibalds, were soon scattered, but Gerry and Geri Ann came back for the night. (We won the tourney, btw.)

I stayed up way after midnight to enjoy the games and final talk in the living room. Geri Ann and Sam had us laughing their jokes. Gerald shared his funny boyhood stories when he and his brother Kenny were Boys of Woodcraft and participated and marched in the adult rituals wiih axes on their shoulders. Their father wanted them to be serious. My favorite Saturday nighr memory, however, was the game when Rick played the part of the Great Houdini and enlisted Aidan, 5, to be his assistant. Aidan was more than adept at imitating Uncle Rick in costume and manner. I think we may have another actor in the family.

Families began to leave Sunday morning, and the last two groups left before lunch. I noticed though that the mothers all picked up and folded the blankets and sheets all over the place and neatened things. (There were nine to fourteen sleeping here each night.) Mary Ellen left the downstairs towels all folded neatly as only she can. Gerry had washed them, and Rick put them into the drier. (The kids are pitching in more all the time because they think I am getting old. Of course, I am not despite the birthday, but I appreciate all the help.)

Well, today's mail brought our first three Christmas cards, and I better quit writing and go upstairs to read them.

/

Things Gone Awry

2011-11-20T00:30:00.001-06:00

This evening our granddaughter Brianna was again in concert with the Illinois Music Teachers Association annual performance at Eastern Illinois University at Charleston. She had been there all day practicing with the other band members from throughout the state. Since I did not get to go last year, when I first heard the date, I was hoping we could arrange to drive up for this. But nature had other plans for me this week.

After almost two weeks of coughing, last Saturday I cancelled joining other Writers Guild members to sell my book at the annual Autumn Fest at John A. Logan College. Since I did not expect to sell more than a book or two, this was to be a social event for me as I enjoy being with the other writers and seeing people I know in the crowds who attend. However, I knew I would not want to sit by me even though I was coughing much less and did not think I would be contagious. Knowing I could sleep in, I went to bed with happy contemplation of using the Saturday morning at home to catch up with all the things my lack of energy from the coughing cold had caused.

Alas, I did not sleep in. Even before Gerald woke up, which is always early, I was awake with terrible pain in my neck. I told him I needed someone to go google neck pain and figure out what was wrong with me. In my pained and groggy mind set, the only malady I could think of was infantile paralysis and I was pretty sure my polio shot was still good. Gerald assured me I was correct that it was not infantile paralysis, and later I found a google print out on neck pain by my pillow. First, however, he had grabbed the heat pad and put it under my neck and I did go back to sleep for a couple of hours.

When I woke up, I learned the hard way how dependant we are on our necks. Every step, every head movement in any direction, seemingly every word spoken caused my neck to hurt. A lot. A wry neck was not in my plans for the day. I already had a standard checkup scheduled with my doctor on Monday, so I was not about to venture to ER about my sore neck. Instead I just slept and moped and worried a bit about all the stuff not getting done.

I did run in to Katherine’s that afternoon, but I warned her when I got there, that I probably would not be much help. I had not realized not being able to turn my neck freely would handicap my driving as much as it did. But I went to town on back roads and was super careful and made it safely.

After her 3 p.m. lunch, we watched television together and I promptly went to sleep again. If I could stay asleep, I did not have to feel the pain. Again I drove home the back way and very carefully. I went to bed early. I craved sleep to block the pain. I can’t take aspirin because of being on a blood thinner, so I really did not have any meds to take.

We had planned to go to our church’s annual Thanksgiving feast Saturday night. I knew I could show up empty handed for the pot luck, but the pain made me sick all over, and I did not feel like being around people. Gerald had gotten involved with our son-in-law Brian who had finished his own harvest and volunteered to help our neighbor Scott combine a soybean plot he had on the field between our homes. (Scott had just had surgery.) I fixed Gerald a sandwich and left on the kitchen table and a can of soup heated on the stove and came down to watch the Republican debate hoping Gerald’s recliner might prove comfortable. It didn’t, and when Brian and Brianna came down to see how I was doing, of course, I couldn’t even turn my head to look at them. I moved to the couch to support my neck better, but I went to bed early.

The next morning I figured that I might as well hurt at church as to hurt at home, so Gerald and I did go to Sunday School and worship service. I’d told him he could take us out to lunch before we went by Katherine’s because I did not feel like cooking. I was pleasantly surprised when the pastor announced that there had been so much left-over food from Saturday night that volunteers had offered to serve them up for anyone who wanted to stay for Sunday lunch. So we stayed, and I felt as if we had gotten in on the Saturday evening’s celebration a little bit although when I heard about the program and some good things that transpired the night before, I knew we had missed a special service. (A man who had been on the wagon for many years and just now lost his job had a downfall. He had seen our church’s lights on and came to the service and was embraced by friends and congregation. Everyone had been glad our lights were glowing that night.)

Not only did we get a free lunch at church, we also got a bag of turnips. Charles Graves had brought a large box to share and even the bags to put them in. I fixed some the next day, and we will have turnips for Thanksgiving although Gerald and I may be the only ones eating them.

Later on Sunday, Katherine felt up to going to her church’s evening service, so after a lazy afternoon at home, we took her in her van while David rested. We picked up Sam at church and even went to the Dairy Queen after the service. Katherine had not been able to go for a long time, so the service and getting out of the house was good for her. I sat as quietly as I could to keep my wry neck still and knew I’d sleep good when I went to bed—quite early as soon as we got back home.

Gerald kept his dentist appointment Monday morning, and then he took me to my doctor appointment that afternoon at 3. Afterwards we went by Katherine’s and visited with her. We kept trying to kill time in order to pick up the pain pill and muscle relaxant that my doctor prescribed for me. Somehow, the prescription order did not arrive, and then we were under a tornado watch and it was beginning to storm, and we decided to go on back to the farm rather than risk being in hail or wind. Gerald swung though a drive-in to get us a bite for supper.

Soon I was in bed asleep again. I called the pharmacy when it opened on Tuesday hoping my meds were waiting. I was told a couple of other orders were ahead of mine but they should be ready in an hour or so. Gerald ran in and got them for me and finally before noon I took my first meds. The doctor had warned me that they would make me sleepy. Since I was sleeping as much as possible anyhow to not feel the pain, that sounded good to me.

By Thursday, most of the pain was gone and I could turn my head--not perfectly but much better. Yet all I wanted to do was sleep. Vaguely I remembered that I’d planned all kinds of work for November when we returned home from our trip to Georgia but between first the coughing cold and now the stiff neck, none of that work had been accomplished. Although I very much wanted to go to Writers Guild that night, I did not think it wise to drive that far as sleepy as I stayed. I went to bed early and slept.

Yesterday morning, I did not take my meds because I needed to drive to town to meet up where the Woman’s Club was getting in their orders for frozen braided bread—an annual fund raiser. Afterwards, I shopped for some needed groceries including canned pumpkin for Thanksgiving pies. Usually I cook a pumpkin after using it for fall decoration, but I never got around to acquiring a pumpkin this year. I thought after lunch that I would clean the kitchen and take my last pills since I was so much better. And then after a nap, I might start making pies.

I was still at the lunch table when the phone rang. Katherine’s aide had taken her to Carbondale that morning for an appointment with her urologist as she could tell that despite two rounds of strong antibiotics she still had infection. The doctor would not let her come home, but put her in the hospital where she could be closely monitored during the next round. So I skipped that final dose of meds that I planned to take and went to her house where the outstanding aide had brought home the van and gathered items needed to be taken back to the hospital.

Sam was going to a weekend youth retreat with his church, and a friend was to pick him up to take him to the church bus. I was there to explain where his mother was and that she said to tell him that she was fine. Sam and I were both trying to phone her then, but her new phone, which has been very cranky about only working part time, would not let us get through to her even though I had called her earlier. Then Gerald and I took her stuff over to the hospital at the end of the afternoon. I was delighted to see the care being given her and finding out that she was going to have a good many tests she had needed but had been unable to arrange.

This was supposed to be David’s big deer hunting weekend at his friend’s farm with out-of-towners coming down for the annual family ritual. He had arranged for someone to stay with Katherine for the two nights that he would be away. By the time Katherine had gotten a garbled text to him that she was in the hospital, David had already gotten a 9-point buck and then a nice-sized doe. All he had to do was butcher them, and their winter meat supply was accomplished. He certainly did not expect his wife to be in the hospital; but as Katherine said, this weekend was probably as good a time as any since Sam already had a scheduled activity and David had not planned to be at home either.

We came home around l0 last night. Gerald went on to bed. I ate a bite of supper and checked email and surfed and evidently fell asleep at the computer. At 1 a.m. I went to bed and decided to take those two final pills I had laid out. At 11 this morning, Mary Ellen phoned and I stumbled out of bed assuming it was 8 or 9. Well, obviously I was not going to get much work done before lunch, so I thoroughly enjoyed a rare phone call from her. (Our kids keep in touch with Gerald by phone regularly and he reports the highlights to me, but I like the occasional long talks that I get.)

Gerald left to visit with his brothers in Union County and have lunch with Keith, so I ate a combination breakfast/lunch and read the morning paper. I was still in my pajamas at the table when granddaughter Erin came by for a rare visit since she is so busy right now with all the softball practices and recruiting trips that her job requires. In addition to this, she must take a great deal of therapy for her wounded leg. I thoroughly enjoyed her visit before she left to go on down the road a way to visit Gma Shirley, her other grandmother. While Erin was here, Jeannie called for a brief visit and talk about Thanksgiving before she went for what she expected to be her final bike ride in northern Illinois before she puts her bike into winter mode for “riding” inside the house. She has challenged Erin to a bike ride Thanksgiving morning.

I went back to the kitchen and started doing some of the many put-off chores—cleaning and sanitizing the hummingbird feeders Gerald had brought in and I had been ignoring, putting groceries away that had sat on the counter across from the pantry, all those kind of things. I finally started on the pie dough and put a bowl into the fridge for the next step tomorrow. I cleaned the kitchen and garage fridges enough to not be ashamed of them next week although certainly not as thoroughly as I ordinarily have done in past years. Then I brought up the frozen turkey to start thawing in the garage fridge. By this time, Gerald was home and had a nap, and I fixed us a bite of supper before we prepared to go to the hospital to visit Katherine.

Because her phone was not working, I phoned David to see if he had taken her special pillows that brace her neck and help her legs. I did not want to have to go by her house if she already had them taken to her. He said he was on the way back to the hospital again and had the desired pillows in the car. I told him we’d see him at the hospital.

But again things went awry. We had gotten as far as Marion when Gerald’s phone rang. On the other side of Crab Orchard Lake just before Ike’s Honda, David had hit an 8-point buck which tore up their car—the Civic Honda they love so much. Would we stop and get the pillows? He had called the police and a wrecker which would tow the car just around the corner to Ike’s. We got the pillows, and Gerald told David we’d be able to pick him up after the wrecker arrived. But David said his friend Jim would come and get him. So we left him stranded by the highway just as the police arrived. The traffic was so heavy that the odds were slim that David’s car was the one the buck chose to assault, but that is what happened. We went on to visit Katherine, and she had a hard time figuring out that I meant the third deer had hit David rather than vice versa. She was already using the pillows by the time of her second visit of the day with David—by phone this time. He had called Gerald to tell him that both the wrecker and Jim had arrived, and by the way, he told Katherine that they had figured out her phone trouble. We did not get to ask for that explanation because we left when a therapist came in to give her a breathing treatment.

I have found out that many people have had stiff neck trouble—many much younger than me. The stories have been interesting. I realize I am blessed that I’d never suffered this before and that mine has cleared up as soon as it has. Now I am expecting things to go better for the little that is left of November.

Geri Ann Glasco signs for University of Georgia

2011-11-19T15:38:00.000-06:00

If you are following Geri Ann's softball career, check out this story and the quotes from U of G's head coach Lu Harris-Champer:

http://www.georgiadogs.com/sports/w-softbl/spec-rel/111911aaa.html

Lacey and Geri Ann

2011-11-14T12:01:00.002-06:00

Theodore, the shih tzu, greeted us Thursday night proudly wearing a Saluki bandana around his neck. Inside the Newbold house, family members had on their identifying T shirts as Saluki Mom or Saluki Sister. The evening’s honoree, Lacey Newbold, had a shirt that explained how many bulldogs, wildcats, and other mascots there were in the sports world and then explained on the back of the shirt that there was only one Saluki. As a Saluki alum, I could not have been more pleased that Lacey had signed a national letter of intent to play softball next year for Southern Illinois University Carbondale.

Lacey is the first female athlete to sign for a Division I school from Crab Orchard High School, our small rural school district located in the tiny village of Crab Orchard. She is a three-time All-South and two-time Great Egyptian Conference most valuable player and was named to the first team All State Squad last year. It will be exciting for fans to see her play her final senior year next spring before we have to travel to Carbondale to watch her skill. Her family and best buddies had been invited to celebrate the achievements of this beautiful young lady, and it was fun to see the replays of the previous evening’s newscasts when she signed for the Salukis and Cierra (C.C.) Hutchinson signed for Southern Illinois University Edwardsville.

Our granddaughter Geri Ann down in Georgia, where their high school softball schedule is completed in the fall rather than next spring as in Illinois, had also signed that day for the University of Georgia. After winning the AAA division state championship, the very next weekend Geri Ann was playing with her travel team Southern Force. I was exalting that they had beat the California Bat Busters. Then this past weekend on Saturday, she did double duty traveling back to Columbus for Georgia’s high school all-star tournament. There she played three games, and in one game was able to pitch four innings with nine strikeouts. Having to leave early to get back to Watkinsville for the Southern Force tourney, she hit a home run, hugged her coach, and their family hurriedly took off for home, where she played two more games that evening.

Today’s young athletes have more playing time and more experience by the time they leave high school that was ever possible just a few years ago. I do not know if that is always a good thing, but for their skill level it certainly is. They often have to decide early which sport to concentrate upon and what other extracurricular activities they have to sacrifice.

(There are exceptions, of course. Right under that story in the sport section about Lacey and C. C., was a story telling us that local baseball standout Lucas Hileman from Anna was urged to join his school’s football team. A transfer to Indiana State after a year playing baseball at Baylor and a year at John A. Logan, Hileman, who will be a senior outfielder, acted on the suggestion by his strength and conditioning coaches that he should help out the Sycamores, who had a linebacker who was punting out of necessity. Hileman, 21, walked onto the football field, and helped Santino Davis go back to defense. In 28 kicks this season, he is averaging 41.9 yards per punt. Although Hileman was named Southern’s Baseball Player of the Year back in 2008, he also played six different positions on his high school football team.)

Dean Newbold, Lacey’s father, enjoys telling about Lacey and Geri Ann, when they were very young pitchers for their summer teams and played against each other. Lacey was playing for Creal Springs and Geri Ann for Johnston City. Each little girl wanted to beat the other one. One pitched, and the other got a home run. Dean said a big tear ran down the pitcher’s cheek. The next inning the other girl pitched only to have the opposing pitcher also hit a home run—and another tear ran down the second pitcher’s face. That was years before their playing together on Southern Force.

They have both come a long way to be playing next year for Division I schools, and we are so proud of their hard work and accomplishments.

First Cold of the Season

2011-11-08T17:02:00.000-06:00

Fall pleasures have been severely diluted by my first cold of the fall-winter season. GRRRR.

A week ago I started thinking I had a mild cold, and it grew more obvious in a couple of days. During the day, things weren’t so unpleasant. There was little runny nose with this cold. No fever. Then the coughing became extreme at night, and I had no left-over cough medicine from last year.

I figured the whole thing would be over by now—aren’t colds supposed to run their main course in a week? Or did I make that up? But, man, by the weekend, I felt bad. I would wake in the middle of the night and not be able to go back to sleep because of coughing. I had not replenished my cough drop supply yet this fall either, and I was getting nervous I might run out of those. My sides would be sore from the coughing.

The next day things would seem better, and I figured I was on my way to recovery—only that night to go to bed needing sleep but coughing would make that impossible. I’d leave our bedroom lest I kept Gerald awake. (Going to bed at l0 p.m. was a definite sign of how bad I felt. I usually blog or play on the Internet until midnight and then go to bed.) I’d grab a blanket from the closet and transfer to the living room couch where I could sit up when I needed to cough. By this time, Gerald had taken me to the drug store and I was taking cough medicine as well as sucking on a new supply of cough drops.

During the days, my thoughts have been hazy, my energy level very low, and my ambition to do more than absolutely necessary non-existent. I’ve made the bed, put simple unappetizing meals on the table, tried to keep up with the laundry, finished re-reading The Tipping Point, and not much else. I had forgotten most of what I had read in that book and wanted to refresh its content in my mind. It would be valuable to think you could know how to start a social epidemic to effect good changes. The book is fascinating, but I have not been able to figure how I could apply Maxwell Gladwell’s ideas. So I guess I will just have to rely on stating my opinions on matters I consider important and hope my opinion influences anyone it is supposed to influence.

Because of my low energy level, I have sat in front of the kitchen television more than usual as I took long lazy breaks from the small amount of kitchen work I have done. (I still have some groceries from last Wednesday’s monthly shopping trip to finish putting away.)

Hearing the Penn State horrors and all the accusations against Herman Cain have made that TV listening unpleasant and mind-boggling. Because I do not want a nine percent national sales tax, I did not have to make up my mind on Cain’s innocence to decide if I would support him. Yet probably like most women, I would not want him even to be a major-party candidate if the four women’s accusations are true. So if she is telling the truth, I greatly admire Sharon Bialek’s courage in coming out publicly to defend and support the other three accusers. She came forth knowing she would be attacked, and any past mistakes will be made public. Most women cannot afford to live through the attacks that come if they publicly announce sexual misconduct.

And other than a desire for notoriety, I don’t see any reason for Bialek to be lying. Yet for many people, a few days of fame is very seductive. I suppose some rich person opposed to Cain might be paying her to make up this story, but I think that while that is not impossible, it is unlikely. Nevertheless, many many people lie for reasons we cannot understand. And I think I know enough of human behavior to know that four women could be lying. Or four men. For a woman to lie about this sort of thing strikes me as a serious offence as what she is accusing Cain of having done. (He did stop and take her back to her hotel as she requested.) To destroy a good man’s reputation is a terrible deed.

Someone has suggested that it would be possible to check with the hotel in question to see if Cain did pay for an upgrade to Bialek’s room. I wonder if hotels do have access to that ancient a record. Or if the restaurant association has such a record that their CEO used funds to do this. A reporter might dig for those facts.

Anyhow I will definitely be listening to Cain’s 5 p.m. news conrference. I hope he tells us he is willing to take a polygraph to help clarify that these four women have lied about his behavior. If he fails the polygraph, I hope he steps out of the political race and resigns as associate pastor of his Atlanta church.

I hate it that the youth of America have to hear about such scandals on the news. They deserve so much better from the nation’s adults.

Super Man, Super Wins, and a Super Vacation

2011-11-01T21:53:00.000-05:00

Gerald and I left Woodsong on Wednesday as soon as we finished the lunch I’d carried in from town. Bags had been packed early in the morning, and the trunk was loaded with folding chairs and bags. I’d laid out the sun screen, and our straw hats were in the car’s back window ledge.

We met our nephew DuWayne at Vienna and spoke briefly to his daughter Andrea who’d brought him there. Then the three of us were off towards Columbus, Georgia, in Muscogee County and just north of Fort Benning. We were headed to the South Commons Softball Complex, where our granddaughter Geri Ann would be playing with the Oconee High School team, which was one of the Elite Eight teams striving for the Georgia High School Association AAA state championship.

Oconee had won this championship for the seventh time in 2008 when Geri Ann, fellow pitcher Courtney Poole, and catcher Caitlyn Glenn were freshmen. After not getting to Columbus the next two years, these seniors were determined to win the championship again and were excited to say with the rest of the school: We’re back!

The roadside kudzu and the Winn Dixie, Publix, and Piggly Wiggly groceries let us know we were in the South. The fall leaves were lovely all the way down to Athens, Alabama, where we spent Wednesday night. Like everyone but the bravest independent souls in Southern Illinois, our family members are all St. Louis Cardinal fans, and were having fun arguing with Texas kin folk supporting the Rangers. We searched the motel TV for Game 6 but found out rain had cancelled it, so we went to bed early. After a fine breakfast at the motel Thursday morning, we only had a short drive until we crossed over the Chattahoochee River to arrive in Columbus in plenty of time to meet up with family after we stopped for a hearty lunch at Shoney’s knowing we’d be in the ball park the rest of the day.

Soon we were hugging our son Gerry and wife Vickie, Geri Ann, her sister Tara, and our great grandsons—almost three Maddux (AKA Super Man) and beautiful Peyton who is no longer a baby but a little boy. I wanted to also hug Aidan, the great grandson who is now in kindergarten, but he ran away and looked back grinning. (This brings memories of Gerry who shyly ran from his Gpa Ern the first time we came home after moving away.)

Unlike Gpa Ern who chased Gerry down much to Gerry’s delight, I did not dare chase Aidan. The wide sidewalks at this complex are bordered with steep little custom-made hills that hold welcome shade trees beside the playing fields. The hills provide good viewing for those with lawn chairs but are covered with slick pine needles that everyone warned me about. This softball complex was where the practice games for Women’s Fast-pitch Softball took place prior to the medal games at the Columbus Golden Park when Atlanta hosted the 1996 Olympics.

After the greetings and salutations and admiring Maddux’s Super Man uniform and his Spider Man backpack which he found necessary to bring, we soon headed to the nearby stadium for the opening ceremony. GHSA has five divisions for its softball tournaments—A, AA, AAA, AAAA, and AAAAA. All eight teams in each division marched in proudly at the stadium and we heard a beautiful rendition of “The Star Spangled Banner.” After the pomp and ceremony provided for parents’ photo taking, we were free to start watching Georgia’s best softball teams. With Gerry’s guidance, we knew where to spend our time until our 3:30 game with Veterans High School from Warner Robins. By then, Tara had changed Super Man’s shirt to an Oconee fan T shirt.

Courtney pitched the first game. The southern sun beat down intensely, and since I’d stayed inside most of the summer because of our extreme heat, I got my first slight sunburn on my face and remained red-faced throughout the tourney. Oconee ended the 8-0 game in five innings, and I saw Geri Ann make her 23rd home run for the season.

We grabbed a ball park hot dog to eat as we watched Geri Ann start as pitcher in the 7:30 game against Heritage-Caboosa High School. After a slow start, Courtney was brought in, and we won 6-5 and knew the pleasure of seeing Caitlyn hit a three-run homer. In one of these first day’s games, Courtney hit two home runs, so all three seniors had hitting moments to remember when the first day ended.

Feeling good about our two wins, we went to our motel rooms for the night and planned to watch Game 6 of the World Series. We were emotionally prepared for Game 6 to be the end of the St. Louis Cardinals. We were not prepared to see the game go to an 11th inning victory 10-9 over the Rangers thanks to the David Freese homer. We fell asleep tired but happy over the day’s super wins.

I told Gerald that I’d sleep in Friday and he could come back from the ball park and get me in the afternoon. I knew he and DuWayne would want to see all the best players that Gerry would be following throughout Friday, but I didn’t want additional sun damage and also needed to save my energy for Oconee’s 5 p.m. game against Ringgold.

In fact, I barely got up in time before the breakfast room closed, but I was glad since I saw Tara and my three great grandsons there. They and Vickie went onto the games also, but I went back to the room to take a leisurely bath and then to read one of the books I’d carried with me. That turned out to be more difficult than I’d hoped. Leaving the room for the maid to do her magic, I moved to the couch in the cove above the downstairs lobby. Everyone down there seemed to be talking with their outdoor voices. Soon the housekeeper showed up with a very noisy vacuum.

I moved to the downstairs lounge area and soon another housekeeper and her vacuum joined me. By this time, Vickie had brought the three boys back to their room for an unsuccessful attempt at a nap, so she was taking them out for a drive to put them to sleep. (She said it worked.) So I enjoyed seeing those little guys again.
When Gerald came back, he confessed he had not slept well the night before and needed a nap, so I continued reading in the lobby. After his nap, he needed to do a couple errands and he figured we ought to find a restaurant rather than plan on another ball field hot dog for our supper.

We returned to the park just in time to greet our granddaughter Erin who had arrived after driving all the way from Southern Illinois with her Gma Shirley. They were delighted with being with family again just as we had been the night before. Aiden was soon in Auntie E’s lap and they were making plans for a doughnut date the next morning. Shirley was still high from the beautiful time they had together driving down through smoke-filled mountains glistening with sunlight through the rain. It was so good to observe Erin walking without crutches and most of the time without even a limp.

I claimed Geri Ann’s home run on Thursday night was for me, so I let her 24th home run in this game be especially for Gma Shirley. Geri Ann did a great job pitching, and we beat Ringgold 8-1. Having these two top-notch pitchers alternate pitching and playing first base has been one of Oconee’s great strengths. Courtney and Geri Ann began alternating as pitchers as freshmen when Oconee won that 2008 state championship. Although most of this evening game was played in pleasant weather, the last two innings were played in a light rain. I kept hoping they would call the game but there was no lightning and the game continued. Our hair was stuck to our heads, our clothes and shoes were wet, and the three little boys were not only wet but muddy.

We all met up in Gerry and Vickie’s rooms to watch the Cardinals and Rangers in Game 7 and enjoy the pizza and cola party provided by DuWayne. By this time, Tara had bathed the boys and dressed then for bed. Maddux now had on his Buzz Lightwood pajamas. All three boys were in great spirits with the kind of wild kinetic activity that comes as children wind down expending their last remaining bit of energy.

We enjoyed watching the little guys jump, roll, and wrestle around the room and across the beds as much as the game on TV. Tara refereed to make sure no one got hurt in all the bouncing and tackling. The noise level became pretty bad since they screamed in their rough and tumble play and we screamed at the game. Although it was early, we became a little nervous we might be kicked out of the motel, so we tried to quiet down. As the evening progressed, one by one, Tara took the boys off in the other room to sleep. Then we could only blame ourselves for any noise.

Gerry, Tara, and Erin have all played, coached, and given lessons, so being with them at any tournament means seeing lots of past players or their families re-connecting, catching up, and discussing old times with them. Their phones are filled with text messages, and Tara excitedly shared one: Alicia DeShasier, a Southern Force alum, had just won the gold medal at the Pam American games javelin event. We watched Game 7 with held breath until the end and again went to bed quite happily after a 6-2 score in favor of our Cards and the third win for Oconee.

I didn’t want to be late for the Saturday morning championship game at 11:30, so I was not much behind Gerald and DuWayne in the breakfast room. Ringgold and West Laurens were playing at 9:30 to see who from the losers’ bracket would play Oconee. The weather had turned quite cold over night, so we all layered on all the warm clothes possible and went to watch who won that game. It was West Laurens.

Tara’s husband Bryan arrived back from his headquarters in the Chicago area, and Oconee fans had made the three-hour drive down for this important game. Maddux was as socially involved with a gathering of little ones on blankets on the grass as Aidan has been for years now. By our game time, the weather was actually very pleasant despite strong winds.

If we lost for the first time, we would have to immediately play West Laurens a second time since this was a double elimination tourney. Fortunately, that was not necessary. Courtney was pitching. The crowd caught their breath expectantly thinking Geri Ann had made that 25th homerun, but the wind blew it foul. After no scores in the first three and a half innings, Brianna Dickens had a two-out single and then stole second base and scored when Savannah Stoker singled. In the seventh, Caitlyn got on base with a double and scored when Dickens made a one-out double. Molly White and Mattie Daughtery also made very important defensive plays; all these underclassmen contributing as they did is an indication Oconee County may be ready to begin another seven-year run as state champs.

Gerry could not have had a better 53rd birthday present than seeing Geri Ann’s team win Oconee’s 8th state championship. Without the need to play the 1:30 game, we were able to get on the road back to Illinois sooner than expected. We would have liked to take Gerry and family out for birthday dinner, but Oconee’s plans were still fluid for the champs’ dinner celebration, which was likely going to be on their way back to Athens, Georgia.

DuWayne assured us he was up to helping Gerald make our nine-hour trip in one lap, so we left at 1:00 and crossed back across the Chattahoochee into Alabama retracing our way on Route 280 through Athens, Huntsville, and Birmingham, and finally stopping for a leisurely lunch to celebrate victory at Ruby Tuesdays before we drove on through Tennessee, Kentucky, and met DuWayne’s wife Vickie at Vienna. We were in bed at Woodsong by midnight, and we rested up Sunday morning.

That afternoon I went in to visit Katherine expecting her to be planning on evening church as she had done the previous Sunday. But her cough had gotten much worse while we were gone despite the antibiotic she was on for another infection. I helped her get a light afternoon lunch. Her stomach has been torn up by meds, so she hasn’t wanted to eat. She jokingly said she had found out you can live on bread alone. Our sweet neighbor and her fellow church member Janet White had sent her a loaf of home-made bread and a jar of home-made grape jam. She found she could heat and eat that bread without it crumbling and causing her to cough as bad as her usual flax bread. So that bread and jam were a welcome dietary help. Sometimes she added cheese or an egg for protein.

Later after David and Sam went to evening church, I’d found and heated up a can of cream of chicken soup. Just then David brought in a huge baked potato for Katherine from an after-service pastor appreciation event. He smashed it with the sour cream she likes. She said the soup and potato turned out to be the perfect combination for her upset stomach. While the men watched a sports event in the family room, we watched TV in Katherine’s pleasant bedroom as she ate her late supper. I was able to spend the day with her again yesterday as Gerald took her in their van for an appointment, which he is also doing this afternoon.

Today I have been unpacking, washing clothes from the trip, catching up on the vacation packet of newspapers, and seeing who said what on Facebook while we were gone. Unless I am remembering wrong, it had been over two years since I was able to see Geri Ann play softball. To see her in this final high school tournament and have it turn out so well while we also celebrated Gerry’s birthday has made this a vacation to cherish.

Starting a Second Decade of Woodsong Autumns

2011-10-24T15:00:00.001-05:00

Fall change is in the crisp air. As I drove home from Katherine’s on Saturday night down our lane, two deer were munching a late night supper in neighbor Scott’s fields. Their alert raised eyes reflected the car lights briefly, but they quickly went back to eating. Soon those crops will be harvested and the deer will have to find another soup kitchen. Last night as I drove down the lane, I saw that Brian, Mary Ellen, and Brianna had been there during the afternoon to move their parked farm equipment on down to their Harrisburg fields.

Hearing a wild goose call this morning made me look out the window hoping to see an overhead feathered friend flying south, but I only saw our two remaining ducks swimming together on the lake. We have gone from having an over abundance of wild fowl at the lake to a much diminished population since Gerald stopped feeding them. We have finally accepted the fact that baby fowl will not live long here with all the predators waiting to ponse sometimes even before they hatch.

When I changed our sheets Saturday morning, I went ahead and put the extra blanket on the bed that I had just been tentatively laying at the foot of the bed just n case we needed it. Fearing front, Gerald picked a bucket of ripe tomatoes and a bucket of green tomatoes from the garden for fear of frost. I have tried to share the ripe ones; and last night as I watched Book Notes, I wrapped the green ones in newspaper to continue ripening and carried them into the garage. I know many people like fried green tomatoes, but somehow I have never tried to make that dish. I feel guilty enough when I fry okra, which our family loves, so I don’t feel inclined to experiment frying tomatoes. But we will enjoy having home-grown tomatoes probably into the beginning of winter as these green ones ripen.

The sweet gum tree out by the garden is now gone all red, and I so enjoy looking at it out the kitchen window. Gerald planted that tree as a tiny plant no bigger than an onion slip over ten years ago before we moved here. Gerald found the baby tree in a flower bed at the north of our other house, where evidently a bird had dropped the seed since we did not have any gum trees in our yard there. Now it is such a lovely shaped tree and taller than the martin house on the other end of the garden. It is beginning to shade the north part of the garden, so I suggest that is another reason to make the garden a little smaller next summer. The tree must definitely stay.

Another tree I look at almost daily when I awake is outside our bedroom window-- the pin oak that Gerald planted after we moved here ten years ago. Its branches usually have a bird or two lighted in them. It has been such a pleasure to see that tiny slow-growing tree reach its present adolescent height.

Many years ago when we would drive home from the University of Illinois where Gerald was in grad school, we would pass a beautiful new farm house beside the road. One of Gerald’s professors had told the class that the farmer who lived there built that new house towards the end of his career and almost immediately he had died leaving his widow alone there. I could never look at the house without a lump in my throat. When Gerald started getting very serious about building this house, that story was one reason I was reluctant. (Besides the sadness of leaving behind the house that held all the memories of rearing our children.)

Finally, Gerald asked me if we’d likely both live five more years, and I knew we likely would. And then the question was: would it be worth it to build and move if that were so? We both decided it would be worth it. In the memory-ridden house, we recalled that Gerald had knocked out walls, put up walls, enclosed porches, made the bathroom work when we first moved in, remodeled that bathroom at least twice while adding two more in a major remodel for the entire house, and on and on. No wonder Gerald was sick and tired of working on that house. Well, we moved into this house on October 14, 2001, when it was not yet completely finished in order to accommodate the family who had bought our old farm house.

So we have now lived here ten years, and I am realizing that referring to this as our “new” house is no longer accurate. It has definitely been worth it. Twice, we have had families living with us—part of a family one summer while Jeannie took classes in three different colleges to get the art classes she needed and Katherine’s family for six months while a slow and incompetent contractor did a major remodel to make their house more accessible. One summer while the Taylor camper was not available, Mary Ellen’s family spent a lot of weekends with us. And with Gerry and Jeannie’s family members divided between north and south of here, we have been able to provide bed and breakfast when needed. We could have done all these things in the old farm house, but certainly with a great more difficulty and not much comfort for those involved. I don’t think much of that would have happened. People asked us why we wanted four bedrooms, and I suggested they come sleep on our floor with our holiday overflow, which would be much worse if not for the Taylor camper. There really isn’t any room that has not had considerable use.

I knew one of the things I would miss most when we moved was the beautiful old maple trees at the other house. Yet it seemed like every time I finally got the limbs picked up after a wind storm, that very night we’d have a rain and branches would be blown out to be picked up again. We felt bad for the new owners who have twice had devastating disasters from those wonderful old trees, and they have had to remodel and repair resulting damage to the house. At our age, those problems would have been even more difficult for us. We have thoroughly enjoyed watching all the trees Gerald planted grow, but he put them all away from the house. We no longer have to pick up limbs or rake leaves each fall as we did over at Pondside Farm.

Has there been upkeep on this house? Definitely. If you are not renting from a landlord who does repairs, you have to expect that. From the beginning, things had to occasionally be finished up, repaired, or changed. Yet I think it was more pleasant for Gerald to do those tasks in a new house than one he was bored with working on. For the past two years, I kept telling myself I’d repaint the ledge of the window over the kitchen sink, but I dallied enough about doing it, that by this summer I was afraid of crawling on top of the counter to do it. Of course, Gerald did it along with getting the garage door and front entrance doors changed. I am wondering what our second decade here will bring.

Rainy, Chilly Fall Weather

2011-10-19T17:30:00.001-05:00

Cloudy, drizzly, rainy weather makes me want to stay home and inside. Gerald switched us over from AC to heat in the house last night because of this pre-taste of the climate to come. Down in Georgia, Gerry said there was rain and chill there too, and so Geri Ann’s tourney game was cancelled today until tomorrow.

I am grateful Brian has our crop in and grateful that Gerald finished up some of the “junking” he has been doing to clean up excess metal stuff that had been cluttering back fence rows. I think he paid for it with a sore back and so declared yesterday he was through working. He took off for lunch with his brother Garry down at Dixie Barbecue—our famous eatery in my hometown of Jonesboro. But this morning he was busy tightening up both our front and back doors to work better at keeping the house warm this winter. I didn’t expect his “not going to work” resolution would last long.

Everyone seems to be making chili or soup for supper these days. I made soup Sunday night, but I still haven’t stocked up on chili ingredients. The local food writer gave us an interesting article today with anecdotes and recipes for chowder made from Big Muddy River buffalo fish—like her daddy used to catch with his handmade net.

We had delicious fish from a vendor at a lake in Kentucky on Sunday when our church had its annual fall fish fry after morning services. Everyone was saying the fish and hush puppies were the best ever. (That may be like every year we think our Christmas tree is the prettiest we ever had.) Regardless, the fish and all the side dishes and desserts carried in to go with it were delicious. Again I was so grateful that those with servant hearts cooked up this feast for us. The weather was wonderful, and I was glad to have a out-of-town daughter and granddaughter able to be present to enjoy it with us before they began their long drives home in opposite directions. Katherine also enjoyed some of that fish for her lunch yesterday.

I took a couple small bags of tomatoes into Katherine’s aides yesterday. Until recently, the dry spell we had reduced our over abundance of tomatoes to just enough for our own table. When production started up again, the bottoms of the fruit were broken with ugly black cracks that had to be cut off. Gradually the newer tomatoes are in better shape. The vines are loaded, and I even made a bit of juice and stuck it in the freezer for that upcoming chili. We will have more than enough tomatoes now until frost, which may come sooner than we'd like.

Tomatoes and melons were all that Gerald planted this summer—but plenty of both. We had cantaloupe to share as well as tomatoes and really enjoyed indulging in them until the vines quit producing. I was very grateful when I heard about the cantaloupe deaths that we had not had to buy any from the store. I am not sure I want to know how those melons became contaminated.

Phone calls are not as frequent in today’s world, but we have had two from long-ago friends that pleased us. The first on the answering machine on Sunday afternoon was from our dear long-ago neighbor Joyce Combes, who was back in town for a high school reunion. We were sorry we missed our opportunity to have her visit us before she flew out back to Virginia. Gerald was here but did not hear the phone ring. I was visiting Katherine as I do each Sunday afternoon.

Our nephew Bryce, our great nephew his son Lex, and our great great niece Bryce’s little granddaughter Josie were here visiting that afternoon, and Gerald was perhaps too enthralled with Josie to hear the phone. As usually happens as families keep expanding with new generations, it is impossible to see one another as we did back in the day when we were the only older generation.

It is hard to realize that all those nieces and nephews have grown up and many are grandparents themselves. Although she lives in a nearby town, I have only seen Josie a few times during her lifetime—the last time at her Gma Opal’s house--but she thought when she came here that she was going to get to play with “Gma Sue.” Since I know Bryce and Lex would have called me Aunt Sue, I don’t know why she was calling me that—but I was honored. And a little jealous that Gerald had the pleasure of her companionship as she explored our great grandchildren’s basket of toys in the family room.

Today Gerald was lying on the floor fixing that kitchen door when his cell rang. Brad Jowers, who grew up in the Crab Orchard community before his parents Bobby and Katherine Sanders moved the family to Texas, was in Portland, Oregon, getting ready to fly to California and from there to New York. He wanted to know who Gerald was going to be yelling for tonight when the St. Louis Cardinals play those Texas Rangers. I bet Brad’s days as a Cardinal fan when he lived in Southern Illinois makes him feel a tad torn. At least it inspired his phone call to Gerald, and we were glad to hear from him.

Not so pleasant was a call yesterday and another today wanting me to change my credit card interest rate. I had finally got on a do-not-call list for those bothersome calls, but evidently that only lasts so long. Both times I clicked the number to talk to an operator and asked for the calls to stop. Unlike the last time I went through this routine, there was no courteous response—just a quick click when I expressed my desire to not have my life needlessly interrupted.

Well, I think I better go fix another quick bowl of soup for go with our supper sandwich again tonight. That game will be starting soon.

Autumnal Tumbling

2011-10-14T02:00:00.001-05:00

Red and orange are gradually being added to the green, brown, and yellow leaves in Southern Illinois. Only a few leaves are falling so far. Yet autumnal tumbling describes our recent life at Woodsong. We seldom finish one activity or thought until another tumbles in to interrupt or change our direction.

Harvest on our farm is finished thanks to the great efforts and management skills by our son-in-law Brian. He also has winter wheat sown already. He must wait awhile to harvest the rest of his acreage—rented fields over near Harrisburg-- which were sown later. I hope he has been able to get some rest before then to make up for those nights he was still working at 3 a.m. the next morning.

Granddaughter Brianna was down to help her dad over the weekend as well as to enjoy her cousin Sam Cedar’s first Homecoming parade on Friday afternoon, the football game that night, and the coronation the next night with her mom, who had also shown up on Saturday to help with the harvest.

Despite heavy traffic, I made part of the parade, which Bri was watching with Katherine and David, but I hurried off to attend (late) the Women’s Club meeting at the library since I had missed the previous month and I especially wanted to hear Jon Musgrave’s program and his latest research for his next book.

Gerald and I went to our first football game in years in order to see Sam march in the pre-game show and at half time. We left early since we had to park so far away and would be walking near the edge of the street on rough ground. We didn’t want to do that in heavy traffic. Although we walked a long way, many more people were parked further up that road than we were, and I am sure it was the same on the other side of the school. We heard the end of the game just as our car arrived in the garage—and Marion won by one point. It was Centralia's first defeat this season.

Before we left for the game, we had a message on our answering machine from my sister that their daughter Candy was in the hospital and might not live through the night. We found out she had made it, but she was still unconscious; we were still worrying about that on Saturday afternoon when my brother Jim and wife Vivian came by for a visit after being in Union County celebrating with the Class of 1946 the 65th anniversary of their high school graduation. It was a two-day affair and they also added the third day so they could visit friends, Vivian’s sister Ruby, and us.

On Sunday we were enjoying all the photos posted on Facebook of Sam and his beautiful date for the Homecoming dance. We came home from church to find that Mary Ellen, Brian, and Brianna had carried in dinner for all of us from Kentucky Fried Chicken. So we had a good visit over lunch with no effort on my part before I drove in for an afternoon visit with Katherine to hear all about Homecoming from her perspective and their anniversary celebration the night before. Before David got home from his friend’s farm, where they are making preparations for hunting season, I got to take Sam to his youth meeting—that was after he came home from a friend’s house. My sister phoned that afternoon on my cell to give me an update on Candy while I was still at Katherine’s.

Katherine herself was still receiving intravenous antibiotic every twelve hours by home health aides and David. On the previous Monday, various complications at the Cedar home kept happening so that we helped out by taking Katherine to the ER at the Carbondale hospital for tests and to be given the right antibiotic with the insert of a receptacle left in her arm so that she was given the antibiotic every twelve hours at home. Since the extreme busyness at ER that night kept us there seven hours until 2 a.m., we were thankful we had taken her and that David was home with Sam. Katherine had been told that they were dealing with three heart attacks and the arrival of four ambulances.

It was a strange experience because the waiting room was filled with weeping people, and the crowd kept growing as the night progressed. The grief was so raw and intense that I wondered if a child was dying, but it was such a diverse crowd that I could not figure it out. We were shocked and very saddened ourselves when we learned that a kindergarten teacher in a local school had hung herself in a classroom after school and was found by another teacher. As the word spread, her fellow teachers were coming in praying she might live and trying to comfort one another. She did live until the next morning when organs were donated. The school, as shown on the news the next day, was in mourning and tried to help with counseling for the students, but who can explain suicide, let alone to children.

We were so pleased with the very sharp ER doctor that night. Katherine knew from previous infections what was needed and he listened carefully and was not threatened by questions by an intelligent patient. Instead he called her urologist and found out she was right, and consequently everything was done correctly. It is difficult for patients to advocate for themselves, but a good physician appreciates it. There was the sweetest and most understanding nurse taking care of Katherine in the ER that night, and it made the long tiring experience much less difficult.
On Tuesday afternoon this week, a visiting nurse came to remove the receptacle for the antibiotic and to write the final report. And this home nurse was so intelligent, informative, and supportive that I find myself really high on the medical profession right now. We have had some bad experiences with doctors and ER people in the past, and so has Katherine, so that makes you really appreciate the good people.

Some people are scared of any kind of government employees and, thus, are scared of government involvement in medicine. I am convinced that competent and caring people work in the government bureaus just as they do in private situations. And unfortunately incompetent, arrogant, ignorant, lazy, and cruel people also work both in private businesses and in government bureaus. All of us, whether we want to be or not, are at the mercy of other people. Most of us are not unfortunate enough to be in a beauty shop, on an air plane, in a church house, or at a political rally in a supermarket parking lot when a crazed individual shows up and starts shooting. All we can do is try to encourage one another to be one of the giving people and do what we can to prevent incompetents and crazies from hurting others.

Meanwhile down in Amarillo, Candy is better though still in the hospital, and her daughter is up from Florida to visit her. Her Oklahoma sister is coming this weekend. Her local sisters are hosting their niece, and when Katherine talked to Rosemary this week, Rosie and Phil were fixing another family dinner in addition to their regular Friday night supper for their clan.

While all this family unhappy happenings have been going on, we are also carefully following and celebrating granddaughter Geri Ann’s high school softball career down in Georgia. She and her fellow pitcher Courtney Poole, both seniors, are continuing their winning ways on the mound and with their bats. Geri Ann has just broken both the all-time season record and career record for homeruns among Georgia high schools. The playoffs with several more games will continue for the next two weeks. Someone may catch up with her, especially since no one will pitch to her now, but her grandparents in Illinois believe she will finish on top.

We are also excited about our granddaughter Leslie down at Belmont University at Nashville. Her Facebook page is filled with congratulations on her stunning performance with the Rock Ensemble there on campus Wednesday night. We find it hard to believe that our little blonde is a senior in college, but we aren’t at all surprised she is winning praise for her powerful voice. Hearing her called a rock star by her band friends and Belmont audience is somewhat unexpected. Anyone who has heard Leslie sing in her high school musicals, with her guitar at coffee shop concerts, or leading worship at church would not think of her as a rock star. Yet this was the campus ensemble she was asked to perform with, and obviously her virtuosity includes rock. Here is a link to one of their concert performances now on You Tube:

Panic Attack by Dream Theater-Belmont University Rock Ensemble
www.youtube.com
From the Rock Ensemble's 2011 Show Written by Dream Theater

Tonight our computer is moving so very very slow. A slow computer in addition to all the busyness contributes to my not blogging in a timely fashion lately.

Harvest Time Thoughts

2011-10-06T21:29:00.000-05:00

Our son-in-law Brian is down and working very hard at harvest. Gerald has helped him all day today by hauling grain. (It is usually too damp to start before l0; but Gerald did things here at this farm and then joined Brian, and he was ready for rest in his easy chair in front of the TV when the day was over.)

Brian works before and after time in the field in their camper analyzing crop results and keeping in touch with his home office at Stone Seed. (If he is lucky, he may even get needed sleep there.) At noon, I was fascinated that Gerald brought in a map print-out of the fields. Brian’s combine evidently records what it is harvesting, and Brian downloaded the information and took the chip into Twin County farm service to create this map. The same technology can be used for future fertilizing so that just the areas of the fields that need more fertilizer will receive it in just the right amounts. This is all over my head and my ability to understand, but I do understand that this is remarkable technology that is changing crop production in important ways.

The other Bryan in our family—granddaughter Tara’s husband--is now with his family in Georgia but continuing to work for his Illinois firm with the help of high speed technology that sends his work to his home office. I am amazed at these important advances in communication. I am so glad he able to be with his family now instead of depending on Skype to keep in touch with his wife and three little guys. A former Southern Illinois University football player, he was able to take Aidan, age 5, to a Georgia football game on Saturday afternoon, which was a dream come true for him. Of course, he will be making frequent trips to northern Illinois, but modern transportation makes that easily done also. Like most people, their family has been impacted by the recession since the house they purchased with high hopes and made improvements on has lost value and is awaiting a purchaser.

On TV tonight, I saw where a church in Oregon or somewhere in the Northwest had been given permission to create a tent city on their parking lot for homeless families since the city’s homeless shelters were full. While I am grateful to the church for providing this help, it is heartbreaking that families must go through this. Especially when many many beautiful homes all over the nation have been foreclosed on and are now standing empty marring their neighborhoods and often being vandalized by thieves stealing copper and other marketable items. I keep wondering why some innovative bankers cannot figure out a solution to these lose-lose situations. Again this is all over my head and my ability to understand, but I keep thinking there surely are some brilliant minds out there able to figure out a solution. As the world pays tribute to Steve Jobs, let us pray that some other creative geniuses and problem solvers will find ways to help us get families out of our present problems.

My contribution to complete the harvest has been to be available a couple of times to drive Brian and Gerald to new fields after they finish one field and have to move machinery on to the next. My skill sets are still back in the 20th century; and unlike many farm wives, I never even learned to drive the tractors or combines back then. I am not dumb, but I never had adequate training to overcome my fears and limited aptitude, so I spent a life time caring for children, vacuuming, mopping, cooking, and washing dishes—all of which I consider very important work. I was not only where I chose to be, but I think I was where I should have been with the particular geographic opportunities and peculiar set of circumstances and abilities that I had.

Nevertheless, as technology keeps improving and growing ever more complicated, education and training is increasingly important and must grow more available to everyone and more effective. We must believe in our people. There are millions of young men and women in inner cities, suburbs, and rural areas that are not dumb just as I am not dumb—but because of their limited education and lack of the skills needed in today’s economy somehow appear that way to themselves and others. As a nation, we have to figure out how to use human potential all around us. There is plenty of work to be done, and we need to prepare our citizens to be able to accomplish all the work needing to be done.

Fun and Fellowship at "The Nifty Fifties"--and Hope

2011-10-02T01:13:00.002-05:00

Before I even drove home from our 19th Annual Baptist Student Union Reunion Friday afternoon, I felt I must drop by a young friend’s house to share the hope that Nate Adams had given us with his afternoon presentation. The personal story he told convinced me that five or six people praying could bring about important results.

Former Southern Illinois University classmates and other BSU alumni from the 1940s, 50s, and 60s had met Thursday evening for a bountiful supper in the fellowship hall of Lakeland Baptist Church in Carbondale to start our reunion. Hamburgers and hot dogs with all the fixings topped by banana splits as dessert were served by friendly Lakeland members. That menu and the colorful juke box decorations surrounding us made clear “The Nifty Fifties” theme.

So did being greeted by Jim Cox of midwest radio/television fame in his Rock and Roll T-shirt and our president Ginger Wells and husband Gene in their blue jeans. Another attendee had on 1950s style church-going outfit complete with cute hat atop her head. One bright red poodle skirt with multiple petticoats beneath it certainly caught my eye, and there were others brave enough or ambitious enough to rise to the challenge of dressing the way it was. Rosie Robinson registered us, and as usual George and Jerry Casey took our pictures—this year in a Route 66 automobile. We will be receiving those photos in the mail soon. Pastor Phil Nelson welcomed us, and Gerald and I were pleased to see this friend of our daughter Katherine from their 1970 BSU days together.

We moved from the fellowship hall across the driveway to Lakeland’s new worship center for an evening of fellowship, inspiration, and games led by Bob and Oleta Barrow. We liked hearing about the SIUC Campus Mission from Chase Abner again and also from two cute twins Ashley and Andrea Dimitroff, students from DuQuoin. You may want to check out the Campus Mission Facebook page to share with the young people in your church.

The former BSU quartet—Roger Deppe, Bill Eidson, Darrell and Harlan Highsmith--proved they can still sound good even after 50 years. Jo Nell Cannon was the best liar in the Liars Game, and she said the next day she had a lot of explaining to do to a fellow church member who showed up from Mt. Vernon and kept hearing people tell her what a good liar she was. The close harmony of Les Snyder and his sons Brent and Chris was beautiful and powerful. Then we finished the evening singing 1950s songs under the direction of four couples who got into the swing of things—especially Verona and Darrell Highsmith smooching behind their big hats.

For me, the best part of Thursday evening was people’s stories. Finding out that multi-talented Jim Cox had never expected to go to college and took vocational classes in high school not only surprised me but filled me with appreciation for his Johnston City pastor Bob Walker who took Jim to his mother’s home and arranged a free room for his first term to encourage Jim to try college and see how he could work his way through—which he did with a job at the Baptist Foundation.

Then there was George Casey telling us about growing up in Tunnel Hill, attending a one-room school with only three in his class. (All three of his rural classmates ended up with masters degrees, which says something good about one-room schools with the right teacher.) Turning down scholarship offers from McKendree and University of Illinois, George came to SIUC at age 15. He felt the support and fellowship of Christian students at Doyle Dorm not only helped him make the adjustment to university life but also convinced him he wanted to become a Christian, which he did during his junior year. He also gave us a quick history of student work at SIUC from Myron Dillow’s history book about Baptist life in Illinois. You can read George’s “BSU Story” on the website our president emeritus Helen Galloway created for us: www.bsu-siu.com.

Helen too told about what BSU meant to her during 1945-49. When George earlier told about the BSU float winning in the 1948 Homecoming parade celebrating SIU’s progression from Southern Illinois Normal University, why did we figure that Helen was on the committee that used “We Ain’t Normal Anymore” for their theme? Kidding aside, however, as many wonderful laughs as Helen has provided for us these many years, her servant heart has always been in the right place and accomplished so much for our Illinois churches, her students during her guidance counselor career, and now in her home church and for our BSU reunion that grew from a garage-full of friends at a rummage sale to the large gathering we have now that inspires and blesses us, Helen already has the October newsletter up at bsu-siu.com and lots of updating already accomplished with the promise this year’s reunion pictures will be posted soon. Check it out at bsu-siu.com and drop Helen a note of appreciation.

Gerald and I had gotten up early Thursday to bid farewell to California friends who had been with us for a week and who left Carbondale when I drove them to the train station Thursday morning. So we were grateful we didn’t have to stay for the late night practice of the Reunion Choir under the direction of Barbara Eidson. However, the next day when I heard them sing, I was grateful that they had the energy and dedication to stay late and prepare the lovely songs we heard on Friday.

Coffee, fruit, and bite-size yummy pastries awaited us Friday morning in the fellowship hall and at ten o’clock we went back to the worship center for praise and worship under the direction of John Davis and Carol Smith. Darrell Highsmith led us in a thoughtful memorial service before the Reunion Choir sang, and Carol thrilled us with her piano tribute.

It was inspiring to hear Becky Searles, teacher and trainer of teachers, interview her husband Dr. Howard Searles about his years of work with Emmanuel Hospital Association in northern rural India. Becky is in her 45th year in education and now serving Trinity International University and Judson College. Howard is still recruiting for EHA and has seen seven hospitals grow to twenty-one and returns to help often even though he retired from medical practice seven years ago. For more about EHA’s work, visit http://eha-health.org/.

Lora Blackwell explained again the Fellowship of Baptist Educators program in which she participates and which not only provides teachers for other nations but also collects Bibles and books for overseas libraries with limited resources. See www.shelby.net/~baptisteducators.

Just back from weeks working in northern New York, Jack Shelby told us about our Illinois Baptist Disaster Relief Volunteer program and its 37 teams, who pay their own expenses and do everything from supplying hot meals and child care during disasters to having chainsaw crews ready to clear fallen trees and repair roofs. He told of cleaning up one little 90-year-old lady’s lawn covered with limbs as high as fence around the yard. When she thanked them, she explained when she looked out and saw the damage and mess outside her house, she knew she could not do anything about it. So she prayed the Lord would send angels to clean it up for her. She was delighted with the crew that came and she told them that she now knew that “Angels aren’t always pretty.” Another encouraging tidbit Jack shared was that at one table during one of the 19,000 volunteer days Illinois provided that year, they discovered that every man at the table had had open heart surgery. For more information, see www.ibsa.org/dr.

At our fantastic catered lunch, I met or should say re-met a neighbor I had not seen since her childhood. As she dipped my salad. she explained that she was Melody, the second daughter of Jay and Winnie Payne and she and her husband were the ones who had moved a mobile home to Jay and Winnie’s place. They sometimes bring Jay and Winnie fishing at our lake. Then I noticed her T-shirt and realized we were being catered by Marion’s Western Sizzling. Winnie is an outstanding cook, and so are her daughter and husband.

After lunch, Jim and Rosie Robinson led us in group singing. We listened to the men’s quartet again and heard Helen Galloway introduce special people—the missionaries in our midst. But I was most looking forward to her introduction of our Illinois Baptist State Association Executive Director, because she told me she had been working on that introduction for a week. She did not disappoint. She had us laughing, Nate blushing, and our hearts open to what he had to say.

He did not disappoint either. He is more than aware of the importance of trying to provide for our present young adults the kind of nurturing and educational opportunities that the adults in the Great Depression sacrificially created for our age group when we were young. With young adults of his own, he understands the need to tell the good news of Christ so that it will be understood by this generation and they too will enjoy community and relationships that will bless them throughout their life on this planet and beyond. The method needed? Prayer and caring people reaching out and sharing their journey and their struggles as they make the effort to follow the teachings of Jesus and the leadership of the Holy Spirit. Knowing that many listening would do that filled me with hope as I left the reunion and headed home rejoicing.

Our Oldest Grandchild's Newest Job

2011-09-30T21:06:00.001-05:00

UGA Softball Announces Tara Archibald As Assistant Coach - The University of Georgia Bulldogs

http://www.georgiadogs.com/sports/w-softbl/spec-rel/093011aaa.html

www.georgiadogs.com

Catching The City of New Orleans

2011-09-29T14:11:00.000-05:00

There was a time when going to the airport seemed exciting, but now train travel seems exotic to me. For the first time in many years, I took someone to the train station this morning. We have had a wonderful visit with Lois and Tom and their grandson Josiah, but today was the day they had to leave us.

We were all apprehensive about getting to Carbondale on time for their 7:30 a.m. train to Chicago where they will transfer to go to the west coast. We’d been sleeping in, and one always imagines the horror of not hearing an alarm clock when doing so is important. Gerald has an internal alarm clock and does not sleep in, so we had him primed to wake us all up if necessary. But we went to bed early last night, and the nervousness about our needing to leave Woodsong at 6 a.m. served to wake us.

Interestingly, Lois’ cousin Tony Ferrell and wife from Albuquerque were also in our region visiting at the same time that Lois was here for our high school class reunion. Tom, Lois, and Josiah visited the Bible class Gerald and I are now teaching at Center and worshipped with us Sunday morning. They had to skip our church potluck to drive to Anna. Tony arranged a Sunday afternoon family reunion at the fellowship hall at St. Mary’s Catholic Church, where his late sister Tammy was a member. Tony and Lois are both very interested in genealogy research and are in frequent email connection, but this was a rare opportunity for them to meet face-to-face before the Ferrells go off to Australia on one of their many foreign jaunts.

Lois has had a good life in California, and since two other of her five siblings moved to the west coast, a photograph of a recent reunion out there had 50 or so family members. Nevertheless, Lois always knows some home-sickness for this area and the more distant relatives here in the county that was home for the first 18 years of her life. So the Sunday reunion followed by another trip to Union County on Monday to visit cemeteries and to meet up again with Tony and other cousins were highlights of her visit.

And she was able to get copies of her birth certificate from our more than 150 year-old Union County courthouse that somehow will be needed by a granddaughter currently living in Italy. Of necessity, a new courthouse is being built behind this old one that the public is very fond of, and I think Lois enjoyed walking into the familiar building with public servants well known for their kindness and efficiency with visitors.

Yesterday was needed for getting their breaths, returning the rental car, and packing for the journey home, so we scheduled our one “touristy” day on Tuesday. We drove down the beautiful hills and hollows to the Ohio River at
Golconda and Elizabethtown. On top of the Golconda levee I imagined as always load after load of the Cherokee arriving there in autumn 1838 on the steam ferryboat from Kentucky. We drove through town past the wonderful old court house there and looked at the large Victorian houses throughout the town and finally past the deteriorating mural of the Cherokee Removal painted on one of the flood walls. (The town is making a terrible mistake letting that mural fade, and I keep hoping a high school art teacher or some local artist will make its restoration a successful project.)

Driving on to my other favorite Ohio River town, we reached Elizabethtown in early afternoon for the very generous river catfish dinner served on a small floating restaurant. I love eating there while we watch the barges go by and feel the sway of the river as it gently rocks the boat. This meal on water reminded us of one of my all time favorite dinners that Tom and Lois treated us to beside the San Francisco bay while we watched the ocean gulls come and go outside the huge glass windows. The down-home riverboat atmosphere was in sharp contrast to that fine restaurant atmosphere, but the company of good friends was the same and the body of water outside very pleasing.

We are so glad the owners rebuilt after the restaurant fire a couple years ago. Then last spring’s flood shut them down for 37 business days, and I am glad they also survived that also. The restaurant floated up up up as the river widened and deepened. Ribbons tied high on tall telephone poles many yards west of the river’s edge now astounded us as we thought of the amount of water there just a few months ago.

The gazebo on a huge rock formation beside the river in front of the Rose Hotel next door was also inundated last spring. I knew that because innkeeper Sandy Vinland posted pictures on Facebook. And yet looking at the gazebo now high on its rock base made it hard to even imagine the river ever being that much higher.
We had to wander in the backyard of the Rose Hotel and visit the graves there including one for Mr. McFarland, who built that much storied two-story brick building in 1812. Then we visited the gift shop in front and walked into the lovely ancient dining room where Sandy dresses in Victorian dresses to serve breakfast to the guests at the hotel. I was sorry she wasn’t there to say hello to, but I enjoyed the memories of our celebrating our 50th wedding anniversary there.

We still had time for our visit to the Cache River wetlands area that delights with its 1,000 year-old tupelo and cypress trees. The plant and animal life in the swamps there are amazing in their diversity and so different from the rest of our area filled with bluffs and rock formations left by the glacier melting here eons ago.

We were very disappointed to find out that our Illinois fiscal problems had shut down the Barkenhausen visitors’ center. The displays there and the brief interpretive film, which is one of the best of such films I have ever seen, were something I was looking forward to showing off to our guests. But we did take a brief hike back to the viewing platform beside the green algae-covered swamp filled with cypress knees and the champion trees. We only saw one other visitor—a nearby resident who had brought his dog and gun out to the hunting area we walked past. Gerald visited with him before we hiked on, and evidently he was successful in his hunt since we heard his gun go off and his truck and dog were gone when we came back to our car.

Although yesterday was planned as a slow day to rest before our friends’ departure, while we were in town returning their rental car, we did work in a visit to the Kenneth J. Gray museum in the mall. Although many did not mean his nickname “The Prince of Pork” as praise for his many years of service as a Representative in the United States Congress, I personally appreciated all he did for our region—including Rend Lake, Interstate 57, elderly and low income public housing, the federal prison, and so much more. A child of the Depression, a veteran of World War II, a pall bearer at John Kennedy’s funeral, Ken Gray knew the mighty but cared for the common people including those coal miners with black lung disease and the many unemployed in our end of the state. I am proud to have the beautiful book about his service co-written by my friend Maxine Pyle on my coffee table in the family room. She and Marleis Trover named their book Pass the Plate, a quote from Gray who said, “If ‘pork” means housing, education, roads, and jobs, then all I have to say if “Pass the Plate’”

Woodsong seems quiet now without Tom and Lois to converse with and their delightful grandson Josiah to make us feel in touch with what is current in today’s youthful world. As their visit wound up, we spoke of outings we did not accomplish this visit as something we would do “next time” and the possibility of a visit with them in California again – perhaps when Geri Ann plays softball out there during her upcoming college years. And so as we hugged goodbye at the train station, I tried not to think it might turn out to be the last time we’d see each other.

Long Live the A-J Class of 1951!

2011-09-26T00:41:00.000-05:00

It does not seem possible it has been over 60 years that five or six of us stood in our high school graduation gowns on the stairs of Bar-San Hall and had our photograph taken together. We were the closest of friends. We were happy about graduation but yet sadly aware that we might not be having our photo taken again any time soon. I don’t think I ever saw that photograph, and as it turned out the entire group was never together again—ever. Nor will we ever be on this planet.

Nevertheless, thanks to some local hard working committee members, the Anna-Jonesboro High School Class of 1951 celebrated their 60th anniversary with a reunion last night at the Giant City Lodge.

That reunion invitation was the impetus for our special friends, Tom and Lois Doctor, of Oakland, CA, to make a trip back to Lois’ roots. They were traveling by train and plans were all made. However, their two daughters were not too happy with all the intricacies that train trip was going to involve with their train from Chicago arriving at almost 1:30 in the morning in Carbondale.

Happily, the daughters enlisted grandson Josiah to travel with them, so we are finally able to meet the grandson we have always heard about. It is so good to have him here at Woodsong with Tom and Lois. Josiah is between jobs following his bachelors degree in liberal arts from a small Oregon college, and while on this trip, he is busy preparing a portfolio for applying for graduate school. So this break in his schedule worked out just great for this delightful young man to be a companion to his grandparents and to break bread with our Class of 1951.

Actually, Lois graduated with the Class of 1950. But her grade school years and her first three years of high school were with our class, and she served us as a class officer and student council member. We have continued to claim her as one of ours just at the Class of 1950 does. With enough credits, students were allowed to graduate early at that time in Illinois. By taking advantage of that, Lois was able to get a year of college accomplished at Southern Illinois University Carbondale while the rest of us finished high school.

Then on a fall day in October 1952, she and our friend Lynn stood at a street corner in our small town and sadly said goodbye since Lois was leaving with family members to live and work in California and eventually get her art degree there.
In a few years, Lynn also ended up making a life in California. The two of them saw each other occasionally despite their busy lives rearing their families, going to school, holding down jobs, and so forth.

Although I always saw Lois or Lynn when they were back in Illinois, the three of us were not together again until Spring 2001 when Gerald and I went to California to see our oldest granddaughter, Tara, play softball with the SIUC squad. We stayed at Lois and Tom’s house and they showed us the San Francisco area and drove us to Tara’s ball games. And they arranged a dinner visit in Concord with Lynn, a final visit I will always cherish. Although Lynn had planned to return for a visit here in retirement, she died of leukemia in December 2007.

This year our reunion programs listed 22 of our classmates whose names were read in memoriam. Those names included Margaret Ann Keller Petty, who died a few years ago. She had collected names and addresses for our reunions. Richard Hase, who worked again on this year’s reunion, passed away before it came about.

Also not able to be present this year was Lotrell Tweedy Hileman, who has worked on several of our reunions including this one although she had a stroke after their first committee meeting. Martha Ury Dillow and Tom Bacon have faithfully served our class with all the paper work and foot work that such gatherings require, but they are ready to turn the job over to anyone else who has the time, energy, and health.

If no one takes up the challenge, we voted to turn our left-over funds to Anna’s Stinson Memorial Library. Hearing of the deaths of spouses and children and health crisises was sad but not unexpected after 60 years. Yet there were many heart warming moments and many laughs and chuckles. Our class president, Richard Youngs, read messages from members who could not be present. Despite her upcoming catarack surgery, Martha is going to take on one more job and mail out the reunion photos that Gerald took for us and is busy printing here at Woodsong.

We have had a good run. and getting together with classmates was a wonderful event.

Time Flies and Life Changes

2011-09-19T13:55:00.001-05:00

For three nights last week, I enjoyed the large moon hanging high in the sky above me as I drove home to Woodsong from Marion. How could it be time for a full moon already I wondered. Is there anyway to keep time from passing so fast? I’d been warned that time seems to pass more quickly as we age, but I thought somewhere in my distant past I had also heard about time dragging for the elderly. Well, we take what we get, don’t we? Somehow the week passed as rapidly as the past month, and I failed to blog midweek.

Just as pleasant as the great moon was driving to and from Marion yesterday in gentle rain. It continues to be wet this morning; and although we have only accumulated seven-tenths of an inch thus far, we are grateful.

When I returned to the farm from Katherine’s last evening, our son-in-law Brian’s truck was in the driveway. He was down to check on the upcoming harvest, and we will see him again soon. He will not be renting a combine this year. His first combine is on the way and will arrive Wednesday. There is a smile on his face when he speaks about it. How many good memories this brings to us of the excitement of a new combine. Down through the years, we have observed that the price of a combine is usually about equal to the price of a new home, so it is a major purchase filled with new technology and the pleasure of a sparkling clean interior with good smelling seats. (Often the new technology on farm equipment means the farmer must expend considerable effort to get any bugs worked out. I hope that is not the case for Brian this year because he has a contract to fill very soon.) Moisture and the weight of the sample he collected indicate a good harvest.

Jari Jackson and I traveled to John A. Logan College Thursday night to attend our monthly Southern Illinois Writers Guild meeting. Jon Musgrave has been working hard on collecting information on venues for group book signings for the Guild. Since he will voluntarily provide the news releases for the group, this sounds like a wonderful opportunity for our many individual authors to get their books out there to the public and to promote our Guild anthologies.

I came home with Lois Barrett’s newest novel Shuugh, God and Lulu and started reading it but made myself quit and go to bed. I did not do as well Friday night when I stayed up to 1 a.m. to finish. Wife abuse and women who return to chance it again and again is a puzzling problem in our society, and Lois was trying to help us better understand it. Many times these women don’t believe in divorce, and neither do I. Divorce is a sad ending to high hopes. But once the vow to love and honor is broken by brutality, I don’t think true marriage exists anymore. Divorce is just a legal piece of paper acknowledging the reality that the marriage vows were destroyed. That is simple common sense to me. However, Lois’ book shows a more complicated look at some humans’ ability (perhaps addiction?) to accept flawed relationships and to risk physical danger to enjoy the times between abuse. Forgiveness and loving in spite of injury and insult amaze me. Newspaper accounts of murdered spouses concern and scare me for those in abusive situations.

The next morning before I left for routine blood work after the mandatory fasting, Gerald, who had been able to enjoy his daily coffee and newspaper, told me the sad news on the obituary page of two friends’ deaths. I don’t remember ever going to two funeral visitations in one day before, but on Saturday I did.

One in the morning was for the mother of one of Katherine’s best friends, one of the teenagers who used to frequent our lives. Although it has been many many years ago, it seems only yesterday that Bernetta Hill and I stood outside a high school graduation ceremony in the Crab Orchard gymnasium, and Bernetta shuddered at the thought that in a year or two, our daughters would be on that gym floor with caps and gowns on.

Katherine said Bernetta, a secretary who worked in the high school office for 28 years, was the “school mom” always ready to quietly and discretely help anyone with a needed band-aid or safety pin. But neither Katherine nor I knew that Bernetta was a poet. Among the many photographs displayed at the funeral home were some of her fine poems matted and framed, and one grandson read one at the graveside service. He told how she wrote him every week while he was away at college—even when arthritis reduced her to typing with two fingers. Katherine related to that since in recent years she also can only type with two fingers and much effort. (The ability to play the piano was one of the first losses that multiple sclerosis brought, and eventually her handwritten journals of poetry ceased.)

That night I drove down to Goreville to the funeral home. Jim Terry was born and stayed his entire life in this small town working at the family business and devoting much time and energy to voluntary service to its residents just as his parents had before him. His parents lived down the street from mine when my parents returned in retirement to Daddy’s roots.

Jim and Dixie, both only children, also lived down that street and reared their five children there while Dixie had a child care center in their home and attended to countless Goreville preschoolers. (This was before their move to nearby Lake of Egypt to a big house that eventually was three generational--a home to their parents and a returning kid or two.)

In recent years, they moved back to town to a home built to accommodate Dixie’s excellence as a cook and her extraordinary organizational abilities where she entertained not just their large family at a multitude of gatherings but also frequently catered tea parties for women’s clubs and groups of friends. Through all of their lives, Dixie was writing for both local, regional, and national publications. (At one time I was aware that she was doing six columns in addition to constant feature and news stories.) Jim was right there with her supporting her efforts just as Dixie went to the many area sports events that Jim never missed.

When Jim received a diagnosis of pulmonary fibrosis in April, they made a decision to live the remaining time to the fullest. Together they spent their last summer attending family outings, Cardinals and Miners games, concerts, picnics, and making daily drives through Ferne Clyffe park to see the deer. And they read the Bible.

Wanting good things to last forever, I have never liked change. But Bernetta’s son Jeff reminded us that his mother, who had not walked in over a year, was now pain free and dancing in heaven. The Bible in Jim’s hands at the funeral home and the many memorial donations given to charities in addition to the abundance of flowers demonstrated that people can die well just as they lived. Change and time passing more rapidly than we like is the way life on the planet is ordained to be. Wise people adjust to that reality. I am working on it.

Sowing in Tears

2011-09-13T02:32:00.000-05:00

Thinking again on the many lives lost a decade ago on September 11, Americans shed many tears yesterday. A visitor at our village church yesterday had come back home where he was ordained for the ministry over 49 years ago. Now retired but still preaching, Ed Handkins answered our song leader’s request that he sing for us.

Before singing “It Is Well with My Soul,” Ed reminded us briefly of the familiar story of how the hymn was written. Ed knew this would be a needed song yesterday when much of our nation, still suffering and still grieving from the attack ten years ago, was also trying to hold tightly to the belief: “God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble.” Not only had the anniversary reminded us of great loss of lives in New York, Pennsylvania, and Washington, D.C., but as I looked around our small congregation, I realized so many monumental personal problems that people were living with.

And I was reasonably sure that there were many more problems that I knew nothing about in that small sanctuary. I have enormous respect for pastors who know of so many human hurts in their congregations and are helping people deal with them but often cannot share these heavy burdens with the rest of us. None of us understand the pain and destruction caused by nature nor by human nature. We wish such troubles could be annihilated and that the sorrows like sea billows would go away. They obviously don’t. But as I listened and thrilled to Ed’s powerful voice, the message in song penned by the grieving Chicago lawyer brought me comfort and a sense of God’s care.

I’d briefly heard the Horatio Spafford story before, but listening to his hymn yesterday sent me hurrying to Google today, and I learned a much larger and longer story. An even more complicated story.

Horace G. Spafford was on his way to Europe in 1873 to meet his wife Anna, who had wired him of the shipwreck that had taken the lives of their four beloved daughters. At the point in the ocean where the wreck had occurred, the captain told him where they were. Spafford, who had been a poet from his youth and who wrote lyrics for songs, found it in his faith to write the hymn that has been sung all over the world for over a century now.

Despite their work for the abolition of slavery, serving in their local congregation, given to hospitality, and helping friends such as Dwight L. Moody and musicians Ira Sankey and Philip P. Bliss, the Spaffords had never been exempt from troubles. As a young teen, Anna had lost her immigrant parents soon after they came to America. After their marriage, Spafford had made land investments in northern Chicago shortly before the terrible Chicago fire, which resulted in deep financial losses for him and a harrowing experience for his wife. He was away, but Anna took in refugees from the fire only to become sufficiently threatened by the approaching flames that the guests and she and her four little girls had to evacuate.

The family trip to Europe was planned to help Moody and Sankey in their evangelistic endeavors and to provide a time of healing and rejuvenation for their family.

At the last minute, Horatio had business prevent his going with Anna and their daughters on the luxury ocean liner. He would come later. A ship from England rammed into the S. S. Ville de Havre one night. Within twelve minutes, the steamer sank. Life boats were unavailable held fast by a recent paint job. Surrounded by Annie, Megan, and Bessie with the youngest daughter Tanetta in her arms, Anna was on deck when heavy winds took her child from her clutch before all were thrown in the ocean.

Anna was one of the small number of survivors when she was rescued semi-conscious on a piece of planking and taken by the rescuing boat to Wales. Horatio was on his way to bring her home when he composed the famous hymn.

Back in their empty house in Lakeview near Chicago, Horatio and Anna grieved and resumed life. They went on to have a daughter Bertha and a son named after his daddy. Now they continued their spiritual life with an entirely new set of values. Then a scarlet fever epidemic in 1880 claimed the life of the son when he was four. Some people wondered what the Spaffords had done wrong to be so punished with such losses.

As they intensified their Bible study, they became intrigued with the second coming and with a desire to go to Jerusalem. As soon as their baby Grace was born in 1881, the Spaffords led a party of thirteen adults and three children to the then Ottoman Palestine to start a Christian community trying to pattern after the New Testament church. Their mission was to serve the poor, and they made no distinction in serving Jews, Muslins, or Christians.

They tried to help whoever needed help and won the appreciation and respect of the people living in Jerusalem who called them The American Colony. Of course, they also attracted jealousy and criticism including that of two United States consuls. A court case exonerated them, but some of their beliefs and practices are still questioned today.

They adopted Jacob Eliahu Spafford, a talented and bilingual son who continued work with the colony in his adulthood as did his two sisters and other children reared in the commune. Horatio had died in 1888 at age 60, but Anna assumed leadership until her death in 1923.

Relief and charitable work was then continued under the direction of the second generation of The American Colony’s children and even the third generation until the 1950s when inner tensions in the group caused the communal group to cease.
Many people disdain the group for its unorthodox beliefs and for human errors and less than perfect lives.

But down through the years since the tragedy at sea in 1873, health care and hospitals have been provided, schools made available, orphaned babies and children have been cared for, and thousands of people were fed in times of food shortages during wars or plagues. The Spafford commune has produced an amazing abundance of good fruit that has helped and blessed people of all faiths. Read more about Horatio and Anna’s heritage at:

http://www.loc.gov/exhibits/americancolony/amcolony-holyland.html.

Wolf Lake Class of 1948 and Labor Day Weekend

2011-09-05T14:26:00.000-05:00

Gerald was one of 16 in his Wolf Lake High School graduating class. One alumnus and wife were in the habit of coming back for a late summer visit and a McClure grade school reunion. A few years back, the local social leader of the 1948 class—Irma Dell Eudy Elkins--started calling the rest of us to meet for dinner at Fox Hollow, the East Cape fish eatery.

Others who went to school with this class and some relatives might also show up for the gathering. I finally began to get acquainted with those long-ago buddies from Gerald’s high school days. A couple of classmates have died and a couple of the locals don’t feel the need for seeing long-ago classmates, but still there are always two or three long tables of us. When this year’s reunion was planned, last spring’s flood caused the fish place at East Cape to close. There was some question whether Foxy’s could reopen, so Irma Dell reserved the room in a Mexican restaurant at Anna for us on Thursday night before the holiday weekend began.

This year everyone was missing “Doc” Knupp whom classmates had sent funeral flowers for earlier in the summer. He had been brought with his walker from a nursing home the last couple of years, and we were glad to again see his sister Mary Ellen from Cape who had brought him last year.

We enjoyed picking up Ruby Morrison Treece from her assisted living quarters in Marion, where she had moved when her multi-floored Cape Girardeau home became too much to take care of. She is still recovering from open heart surgery, but is looking good. She and Gerald shared a birthday when they went to the rural Miller Pond School as children. (That building was just torn down this summer, and Gerald’s brother Garry acquired those bricks) For a few years back then, a small country church congregation met in the school house on Sunday, and Gerald and Ruby made professions of faith there on the same day. Ruby married a young farmer in the Mississippi River bottoms, and Jim was the brother of our sister-in-law Opal Treece Glasco. In small communities, there are often layered connections between people, and this has always fascinated me.

(Anyone who digs into genealogy when populations were more limited immediately begins to find such overlaps--siblings marrying siblings and such. When we had two daughters living in Nashville, TN, I became convinced from their stories that this was also true in city circles because they learned that a stranger at a party might turn out to be connected to someone they already knew. I regretted I had not majored in sociology to better understand these inter-connections of people better. I guess this is similar to the six degrees of separation that mathematicians and academics explored for us and popular culture embraced.)

Ruby was an excellent student with a wonderful sense of humor and later became a successful business woman when they left the Mississippi bottoms and moved to Carmi after Jim became an insurance agent there. We enjoyed talking all the way to and from Anna, and Gerald and Ruby caught up on many mutual acquaintances.

A sad message from my cousin Ken Johnson in California waited when we came in that evening. His brother Eugene up in Collinsville had passed away. So the end of that evening was filled with my reflections and reminisces of my Rockenmeyer family connections. Ken and Gene used to bring their Boy Scout tents to Mount Airy Farm, and we kids would all camp out in the front yard with cups of meat grease to put on our chigger bites. More recently, Gerald and I took our grandkids to Cahokia Mounts one summer and on to Gene and Elsie’s house, where Gene had an entire museum room devoted to his rock and Native American collections.

Suddenly we were into Labor Day weekend, and we had made no special plans. I realized as I read the weekend papers that many people were making the most of this late summer holiday weekend with visitors, reunions, cookouts, or going to the DuQuoin Fair, and I felt a little left out. Our nephew DuWayne had become sick at work on Friday and was in Cape Girardeau hospital for tests, so yesterday afternoon Gerald went with his brother Keith to see him. I was at our daughter Katherine’s as usual on Sunday afternoon. She and I were highly delighted when her sister Mary Ellen phoned. She and Brian had come down to clean out their grain bin today for this year’s crop and found no one home at Woodsong. So Brian brought her into Katherine’s, and soon Mary Ellen had Kate and me in stitches as only she can do. When David brought teenage Sam home from his youth group, Sam added to the hilarity with his impersonations and witty remarks and the belly laughing continued. I knew this was better than any comedy club, and I no longer felt left out of the holiday celebration.

Mary Ellen and I finally went home and joined Brian and Gerald at the kitchen table, where everyone fixed themselves hot pockets or pot pies from the freezer and visited more while also enjoying tomatoes and cantaloupe from Gerald’s garden. Since Brian had taken their camper up last week for the Farm Progress Show where Stone Seed had an exhibit, they and Fifi stayed over night with us. So there was more visiting this morning. And today Gerald brought in the first watermelon from his garden to finish our lunch menu. With no planning, my Labor Day weekend has been a success.

Sad Farewell to Jerry Stapleton, Age 60

2011-09-01T00:40:00.000-05:00

As we knew it would be, the parking lot of the funeral home was full last night when we pulled in. We were dreading the fresh grief inside although the accident that cost the life of Jerry Stapleton had happened over a week before. He had been taken to a Saint Louis hospital by helicopter and lain there for over a week on a breathing machine with broken neck and paralysis and then a massive stroke. Some thought that perhaps a light stroke or some such event had caused the accident with its catastrophic results in the first place. As far as anyone knew, he never had to suffer the anxiety of knowing about his injuries as he never became conscious.

From a large and highly regarded family, Jerry had been in the community’s prayers ever since an accident. His sister’s sister-in-law kept us all abreast with Jerry’s condition on Facebook, so we were prepared for the bad news.

During the thirty-six years we lived at Pondside Farm just a half mile from here, there was only one house between ours and the Stapleton house just down the road. Russ and Mildred Stapleton had three boys, all tall like their World War II veteran father, and one little girl named Debby, who was the right age to play with our youngest two—Jeannie and Mary Ellen. Steve, Jerry, and Mike were all several years older than our son Gerry, and they also had cousins Gordon and Paul on down the road apiece. Our brother-less son found the Stapleton homes a bonanza of boys with fishing, ball playing, horse, and hunting interests. As soon as he was allowed to ride his bycycle on our rural gravel road, he would head there with promises to me that he would be home before dark. Poor little guy got in trouble a lot when he would break those promises. Because of the age differences, I worried about his being a pest, but the boys made him welcome.

When I wrote our kids about Jerry’s accident, our son emailed back: “That is so sad! Paul, Steve, Jerry, Gordon and Mike were my closest neighbors. Good families. Never, ever did one thing mean to me! That is really a testament to how good of boys they all were!” Down in Georgia, he was torn that it was not possible for him to be in that huge crowd at the funeral home. But he was so accurate about “Good families.”

Russ farmed and worked in the mines. In addition to all her homemaking duties and cooking for her own family, Mildred worked in our village school lunch program for many years. When she retired, she used her expertise and for many more years volunteered to head up her church’s participation in Marion’s lunch program for anyone who shows up to eat five days a week. Participating churches take a week’s turn to prepare meals. Mildred would be there all five days. Only long after health problems plagued her did she finally retire from this unpaid job.

Russ and Mildred are perfect examples of bad things happening to good people. Their son Steve served in the Marines in Viet Nam and was exposed to Agent Orange. He came home and worked in the mines, but he had to fight cancer for many years. Like so many of our veterans, he died early at age 61 in 2008. Parents never get over losing children. As one of my high school classmates said to me about his son’s death: they are supposed to live longer than their parents.

Mildred and Russ celebrated their 70th wedding anniversary at the party their kids threw for them July 4th weekend at their church fellowship hall. We had a family reunion and could not attend, but I thoroughly enjoyed the invitation with an adorable poem telling the story of their romance and marriage. I found out from Mike last night that Debby had written it. Somehow I take comfort from knowing that they had that special time together with all their children, grandchildren, and friends before they had to go through this second sorrow of losing another son.

Jerry’s wife Pam and his two sons and daughter are all living productive lives that speak well of Jerry’s heritage from his time on earth. The community will continue to share their grief and pray for comfort for all of them as they face life without him.

The death toll is rising from the terrible destruction of Hurricane Irene, so many Americans families are facing great grief right now. We know that grief is to be expected in this life, but somehow it often surprises us when it happens.

Tammy Morris, a writer in our community, gave us this scripture paraphrase on Facebook a couple of days ago: ""weeping endures for the night but joy comes in the morning...' -- life brings hills and valleys and each has something that add character, so if you are in a valley and weeping during the night, just remember that there is a hill and a morning full of joy up ahead." Thank you, Tammy.

Reliving Cobden's Glory Days

2011-08-27T02:00:00.001-05:00

Our meals have been enlivened this week as Gerald excitedly tells me what he has read in The Amazing Appleknockers: Illinois Cinderella Basketball Team of 1964. Despite a very busy week getting a replacement for a broken draw bar, which he was still out in his shop adapting today, he was snatching moments to read the book, and I was getting his updates. He was eager to finish the book and find out all the details about the Appleknockers’ story, which he did yesterday afternoon, but he was still talking about it at lunch today.

For a school with 147 students to become one of the Elite Eight out of 735 high schools in the state was pretty incredible. They traveled by train to the state tournament, and were pleasantly surprised to see people along the way holding up signs celebrating with them and cheering them to victory. They were rapidly the crowd’s favorite and the reporters’ dream team. The village of Cobden was almost deserted as residents traveled to support the team in Champaign at the University of Illinois.

Everyone up there was asking what an Appleknocker was. In our end of the state, we all knew where the term came from. If you grew up in Union County, your older brother or the neighbor boys probably picked peaches and apples in the fields around Cobden. The authors explained that by knocking apples off of over-loaded limbs, workers could bring about better quality apples. They repeated the story that the town mayor told to newspaper reporters that the school adopted the name in the 1940s after they made it to a sectional tournament even before they had a gymnasium. When Cobden won, one spectator supposedly said, “Whoever heard of a bunch of appleknockers winning such a thing?” That was the impetus for the school to officially and proudly adopt the Appleknockers as their mascot name.

Like most Illinoisans during March Madness 1964—especially those of us in the southern part of the state—we were sitting in front of the television watching the Appleknockers as they played in the state tournament. I don’t think we owned a television in 1964, so we probably came over to the hog farm to watch with Keith and Barbara in their living room. We watched with pride and held breath to see these kids from our end of the state keep winning. They advanced to the championship game but sadly were defeated 50-45 by the team from Pekin. For kids who thought they could win the whole thing, the deep disappointment made that second-place trophy totally unappreciated that final night. They listened to Coach Ruggles’ consolation talk and politely attended the party in their honor at their motel, but they had come to win, not be to be runners-up.

The train trip home was quiet and solemn as each player relived the loss and knew what should have happened differently. They had just lost the most important game of their lives. Coach Ruggles wanted to help them feel better but nothing he said or did changed the dark mood. As they approached Cobden, they saw cars outside the train windows and thought there must be a funeral in town. What they did not know was that cars from the region were backed up on Route 51 from the curve north towards Carbondale and down to Anna in the south. Some estimated four to five thousand had come to Cobden to celebrate their second-place win. American flags, a giant welcome home banner and bands from area high schools were playing. Cameras flashed as the boys stood amazed at seeing more people than they had ever seen in the village before.

Convertibles were waiting for them to crawl into for the parade. While spectators cheered, the parade with fire truck and crepe-paper decorated vehicles three times circled the loop—the two parallel main streets with railroad track between them that cause people to claim that Cobden has the widest main street in the world. They proceeded to the high school where people crammed the gym decorated with streamers and flowers, and there was a fifteen-foot cake made to look like a basketball court.

By the time the speeches, recognitions, and continuous ovations were almost over, the boys began to realize what they had done and were able to share the pride and joy being heaped on them. Finally, bushels of plastic apples were brought to the stage for the players to autograph and toss to the crowd who begged for them. Apples were flying everywhere, and I suspect most of those who caught them have them still someplace in their homes. People in our region have never forgotten this team and their amazing performance. Now thanks to the story in book form, those too young to been alive back then will have the opportunity to remember it also.

Co-authors Teri Campbell and Anne Ryman both grew up in Cobden hearing the wonderful stories about this Sweet Sixteen team when Sweet Sixteen meant something in this state. (Now teams are divided by size, so no team from a tiny school can ever again play the larger teams in a state tournament.) Teri spoke to Southern Illinois Writers Guild last Thursday. Someone asked Teri if writing about the games was difficult for her, but she explained that in her job at John A. Logan College, she had been writing up JALC’s sports stories for eleven years, so that was the easy part for her. Co-author Anne Ryman lives in Phoenix, Arizona, with her husband Scott Cancelosi and daughter Maria and works for the newspaper there. They started the book in 2003 and collaborated by phone and Internet. I grabbed one of the last of their books from the first printing and Teri autographed it for Gerald. More books are likely printed by now and available on Amazon, but I knew Gerald would not want to wait when I told him bits and pieces from Teri’s talk. The book was definitely one of my most successful gifts to my husband.

Good News! The Knee Bends!

2011-08-22T13:39:00.000-05:00

Gerald and I woke with one thing on our minds. We must drive to Carterville area to the surgery center where Erin was facing no one knew what. Erin’s boyfriend Rick had picked her up and taken her there shortly before we arrived, and he was asleep in the waiting room since he had gotten off work at 2 a.m. and had not had a full night’s sleep. Gma Shirley also arrived, and we all tried to distract ourselves from worrying about what was happening to our Erin, who was to be anesthetized in order to have her stiff knee bent.

A nurse appeared at the door ever so briefly and reported that the manipulation procedure was starting. After four recent surgeries for the ACL, none of us could bear to think about a fifth surgery today but we knew it was a possibility if too much scar tissue prevented the knee from being bent. (I don’t know enough about the knee or surgery to know why the two earlier times first at the surgical center and then the hospital were called two surgeries each time and not one, but I assumed it was because they made two incisions.)

Within a half hour, we were all invited into the conference room where the surgeon told us Erin was in recovery and everything had gone as well as he could have hoped for. No incision and further surgery had to be done. He had heard some scar tissue popping, but evidently it broke up without need for further scraping or whatever we were fearful he might have to do. He illustrated with his own leg movement how good Erin’s was now. She must go home with anti-pain meds, continue the antibiotics, and move, move, move the knee and then start more physical therapy in the morning. Gerald phoned Vickie and Gerry knowing they were as focused on what was happening here as we were.

Soon we were all invited into the recovery room to sit around her bedside where she was drinking a coke and smiling and very happy that she could bend her knee again. When it was time to go, her crutches were brought out and she declined a wheelchair. Rick would be taking her through a drive-in for breakfast. We all hugged goodbye with great relief and gratefulness.

Changes

2011-08-20T15:20:00.000-05:00

When Gerald talked to Gerry this morning, Gerry and Aidan were on the way to the first of Geri Ann’s three tournament softball games. Gerald asked Gerry what he was doing, and Gerry replied, “I’m explaining the difference between an hour and a second to Aidan.” I am sure Gerry is re-learning how five-year-olds think now that Tara and the three little boys are in Georgia while Bryan is still in Aurora preparing their house for sale and completing the seven exams he has to pass to be a licensed architect in Illinois. Tara is already at work as the new assistant softball coach at the University of Georgia, and Gma Vickie is swamped, I am sure, with the move to a house large enough for two families, which will facilitate her helping with child care.

Gerald misses these three little boys so much himself that he is very sympathetic to Bryan temporarily stuck up north, so he phoned him to commiserate and check to see if there is any chance of catching a ride down for one of Geri Ann’s senior softball games at Oconee High. We have to follow their team by phone calls or by checking newspaper accounts on the Internet.

Maybe all our transitions will be over soon, and family members will settle into their new fall roles and residences. I am unsettled just from watching and vicariously experiencing what everyone is going through with new rental houses, new schools, new jobs, and on and on. I don’t even know the addresses for half of my kids and grandkids right now! (I never like change and rarely like anything new, so no wonder I am unnerved.)

Trent starts college with a calculus class on Monday night and is in the new house in Chatham. Brianna has already begun her junior year in high school there. Elijah is settled into his dorm room at Illinois State University and has his first classes on Monday also. Leslie and fiancé Michael are in Freeport visiting her folks and attending a friend’s wedding and will start their senior year at Belmont next week. I am wondering if they will get to stop at Woodsong on their way back to Nashville.

Probably the most unnerving event will take place on Monday when Erin has to go back to the surgeon and surgery center for a knee-bending procedure. I was pleased to unexpectedly see her other grandmother, Gma Shirley, last night at a women’s social gathering at our village church. We are both waiting to find out what time Erin has to be there for this procedure—and we are praying there is no scar tissue found inside that knee. Meanwhile, today Erin is meeting with the new SIUC softball team and is excited about her upcoming second year as assistant coach there.

Her good friend Toni Whitfield. a grad student, has already moved for this school year into the little house Erin rented last year. That’s appropriate since Toni’s folks were the ones who furnished much of the house last fall with their extra furniture and they serve as Erin’s substitute parents in this area. Toni is one of those multi-talented people— athletic, artistic, and academically gifted. She can sew and do things practical as well; and on top of all that, she is quite beautiful. I hope we again get to see her occasionally now that she and Erin are housemates.

Sam has started high school and is already busy with all that entails. His mother says there has already been plenty of homework. (I though maybe all the summer academic work he was assigned would make this semester easier. I guess it does not work that way.) But I think Sam likes the challenge. I feel a little awed when I pass his old grade school and the junior high and realize that he has already moved on to bigger things and I don’t need to read the announcements on the schools’ public bulletin boards. He is contemplating that driver’s license that will eliminate the need for me is his life, and that is as it should be. But my contemplation of where has time gone is also understandable and as it should be.

Visiting Summer Visitors

2011-08-18T15:17:00.000-05:00

Gerald’s cousin’s daughter Lynn and husband Brent Carter are visiting her dad, Bill
Tweedy, this week at his Cobden area farm. Lynn and Brent’s daughter Tiffany and two little girls--Aubrey, 4, and Kylie, 2—are there meeting up from the far sides of America. We wanted to see them before everyone returns to their side—the Carters to North Carolina and Tiffany to Oregon. Gerald suggested an outing, but their schedule didn’t allow it, so they invited us down last evening.

We left a little early since Gerald had planned to go to a Carbondale office supply store on his way home from physical therapy yesterday morning, but since this would be on our way to Bill’s house, he postponed that shopping stop until our evening trip. After obtaining the sale items we both found, we were back in the car heading south towards New Route 51.

Soon we came to the bright yellow water tower at Makanda, the sweet memorial to our late Senator Paul Simon, who lived in that village and always wore a bow tie. The smiley face on the water tower wears his signature tie, and we remember the impact for good that he accomplished for our region and our nation.

There we headed down Old 51, which always bring memories since it was the only way from our hometowns to Carbondale for so many years. We passed Dead Man’s Curve and the second sharp curve soon after and knew gratefulness for New 51. Going past Flamm’s Orchard, we remembered the peach cobbler being served on the picnic tables there. Turning at Limestone Baptist Church, we headed down the more narrow but lovely tree-lined Union Springs Road.

All through our journey, I was enjoying and so grateful for all the attractive and well cared for homes of just ordinary people who live on these rural lands. I had just finished re-reading Cora Alyce Seaman’s book that gave such an accurate account of Depression- era farm homes and lifestyles, and these homes re-enforced my acknowledgement of how fortunate Americans are today. Our wealth and comfort compared to then are so great. The next two generations younger than us with their phones, computers, and other luxuries, which they rightfully consider necessities in today’s world, have no idea what hard times really are. I am so glad.

Finally we came to the Tweedys’ beautiful home with its lovely vista. Brent and Bill and little Kylie were outside working on new back seats for Bill’s Gator that obviously pleases his great granddaughters as much as Gerald’s does our great grandsons.

Inside I was happy to see Lynn again and to meet Tiffany, whom I surely saw during her childhood but not often, and to make an acquaintance with blond Kylie and sandy-haired Aubrey, who were such pretty little pixies sharing their delightful charm and energy as they bounced around in our midst. (We missed Mickey, who was in Omaha with her daughters, but Bill assured us that her evening’s phone call had included an inquiry about Katherine, whom she faithfully prays for.)

Bill was scheduled for supper and a youth group he works with at his church, so he had to excuse himself before we sat down to Lynn’s delicious supper she had prepared for us. The two little girls were seated at the counter near us with their glasses of milk and plates of food, and I noticed they seemed to enjoy supper to replace all the energy they had expended. Brent and Lynn said they would soon be in bed and quickly asleep after their hard day’s play and activities.

We talked long at the table even after the yummy fresh Flamm peaches were served with hot-from-the-oven homemade cookies. We were still talking when Bill came in from his youth meeting explaining he was later than he intended because of a health crisis in one youth’s life that everyone was dealing with. Soon he was on the phone in the other room continuing for a long time to deal with the situation.

I knew so much gratitude for people like Bill who are ready to share their time and talents immersing themselves with the lives of other people’s kids Never mind, that he might excuse himself claiming he had done his part many years before with his three daughters and friends. Or he could claim fatigue that was certainly present from his recent participation in an agriculture conference in Hawaii. Or he could easily sound quite reasonable if he chose to skip youth work because of all the trouble his back is causing him recently—probably requiring more surgery very soon. But he is ignoring all his own pain and the reasons he might not be able to serve and is gladly investing in these kids’ lives.

Finally still talking around the table, Gerald and I were yawning and knew it was past our bedtime and probably our hosts’ and we started into the country darkness to head home. We were richer with the biggest cantaloupe I think I’ve seen from Bill’s garden and with some of the peaches he wanted to share from Flamm’s. We were also richer from an evening with loved ones from both coasts of our nation who are filling their lives with service to others as they also care for their children and grandchildren and participate in America’s 21st Century with all its benefits and challenges.

Pleasant Weather Returns

2011-08-15T23:03:00.000-05:00

Cooler weather has been most welcome although we would also welcome another summer rain. Crops still look good everywhere in our neighborhood though. The moon is almost full again, and seeing it shine down on the lake is one of my favorite sights.

Six beautiful gray doves were outside on our patio as I started up the stairs to fix lunch the other day. Unfortunately, my movement inside scared them away and they have not been back as far as I know. Our ducks are down to one pair and seem to stay on the other end of the lake right now, and geese have all disappeared too, so we are especially grateful for an increase in the quail in the fields around the house.

Gerald is continuing physical therapy for his injured rotator cuff, and he is not certain the therapy is working. So there may be another step coming. Erin has been back at work for a couple of weeks, but she is still on crutches. She and her cousin Drew (and later her Uncle Louie and Aunt Chris) were here fishing at the lake on Saturday. She had forgotten her crutches, which is permissible for short periods, but her knee is still stiff and unbending, so we are praying that her therapy will kick in soon, so she won’t have to be anesthetized for yet another procedure.

Our oldest grandson Aidan started kindergarten down in Georgia last Tuesday, and he was so excited that the next two days he woke up at 3 a.m. to go to school. On Friday, however, he told his grandmother that he believed he’d take that day off. Oh dear!

Sam has finished marching band camp and starts high school tomorrow. Last night Gerald and I went to his family’s evening worship service and heard Sam and his youth group share their summer experiences at church camp and then at their mission trip to Joplin, MO. It was inspiring to hear how the people of Joplin have reacted to the tornado damage, and it was inspiring to hear these young teens tell about learning to roof and to use hammers. It was good that their work in moving school furniture will help the kids at Joplin begin school on time. Knowing the kids did all this in temperatures over an l00 degrees was especially impressive. We were grateful for the parent volunteers who helped keep the kids hydrated.

This past week has been unusually busy with extra activities going on at Katherine’s house, so I did not get around to blogging. I really have done very little of anything although I have been involved with helping pass on an entire wardrobe for a family member who has lost weight. Our family are great passers-on. What no one we know can use will end up at Salvation Army.

Also I have helped share Gerald’s abundant tomato crop with Katherine’s helpers. This year’s tomatoes are especially tasty and uniformly large and luscious. There is now another bucket full in the kitchen that Gerald picked today, so I may need to freeze some juice or find some more recipients.

Summer Ends Before Labor Day Now-a-days

2011-08-09T00:59:00.001-05:00

Tall walls of corn line many country roads, deer feast in soybeans up to their necks, tomatoes are finally ripening, and the heat tells us it is definitely summer. Yet dental and eye appointments fill parents’ calendars, newspapers ads feature school supplies, kids sweat through marching band and football practices, and schools are about to start. Some even tomorrow! I feel sorry for children going back to school in the middle of August, but as hot as it is, maybe enough schools are air conditioned these days that it will be okay.

Jeannie and her younger daughter Cecelie came through last Monday and spent the night and visited with us here the next morning on their way to Nashville, TN, to see the older daughter, Leslie, and admire her new engagement ring.
This afternoon they came back by briefly but couldn’t spend the night. They had to hurry home because they’d stayed a bit longer than they hoped in an effort to find the perfect dentist for a tooth problem that Leslie won’t have time to take care of back in her home town when she goes briefly for a friend’s wedding. The mission for the right dentist was accomplished with a first appointment tomorrow. Many good comments online gave Jeannie confidence.

Of course, they talked wedding plans while there and visited bridal shops and even thrift shops. (The current reception dreams call for lots of glass and vintage lace and unmatched plates and glasses. These early ideas may change by June, but Leslie and Jeannie are both original, and I am sure whatever transpires will be fun and a work of art.) So while Cecelie took the Gator for a spin, we drank a coke together at the kitchen table and heard Jeannie’s report of their visit. Her daddy listened on with typical wry male comments (just put a ladder up to the window and save time and energy) and I openly relished hearing the report on all their girl talk. He did too, but he knew he was supposed to make those kinds of remarks or we’d been disappointed.

After that brief break, we were off to Katherine’s and, of course, she wanted to hear a repeat of the Leslie news. She loves to hear Nashville activities and music scene talk since that was her life once upon a time. Just last week she received a childhood Winnie the Pooh book left behind with other things in a friend’s Nashville attic when she moved back to Illinois.

Very soon Jeannie and Cecelie had to be on the road again for the long many-hour drive to northern Illinois. Jeannie has already been working in her art room and will throw herself into school prep in the morning.

After Jeannie and Cecelie left, I was helping Katherine with paper work for Sam’s high school registration in the morning when she realized she had never made the call to the new dentist to schedule her and Sam’s needed appointments. (When you can’t use your hands, a phone call is often a challenge and sometimes impossible. The usual phone problems are exacerbated by a beautiful new phone David chose for her because it was supposed to be more handicap convenient—but for some odd reason, something is not working right and it keeps losing its power.)

While it was recharging, even though it was long after 5 p.m., I grabbed my cell phone and dialed the 800 number for the new dental place in Marion that at least has longer appointment-making hours. Suddenly Katherine was trapped in a time-consuming Q&A for new patients by a very kindly speaking young man in who-knows-what city. In the middle of that, David walked in with their very special friend from Israel. We thought the 800 phone call would never end, but with all that time invested, it had to be completed. Finally she was able to join the two men in the living room.

I don’t think Katherine has ever met his wife, but she has talked to her on the phone and keeps a Hebrew dictionary handy since neither woman speaks the others’ language. Somehow they communicate. David opened the present she sent Katherine, and I left the three of them happily visiting.

I’d taken Katherine sweet corn from her Uncle Garry that he passed out at his brother Keith’s birthday breakfast at Jonesboro this morning. Gerald attended on his way to Cape to get our car serviced. I also took her tomatoes from Gerald’s garden, and Jeannie had some of each put into her northern-bound car too. Finally, as I left town tonight, I delivered the bucket full Garry had sent to our sister-in-law Opal. I did not take her tomatoes since she always has them in her own garden along with the beautiful masses of flowers and plants lining her sidewalks that make a visit to her home so pleasing.

Although it was much too late by now to stay and visit, I had the special treat of seeing her three-year-old great granddaughter Josie, whom Opal was watching while Josie’s mother gave dance classes. I hadn’t seen her since she was a baby. I enjoy Josie’s photos posted by Jinna, her mother, on Facebook, but she was much more grown up than the photos revealed. I was delightfully surprised when she followed Opal’s example and suddenly she snuggled close and gave me an unasked for hug. I left with a smile on my face.

Back at the farm, Gerald had long before fixed his own supper. I hurriedly fixed myself a bite including one of Garry’s ears of sweet corn. Garry and Ginger live on the home place where Gerald grew up, and Garry is walking in their late father’s footsteps growing extra food and freely passing it around to more people than you can imagine. Dad Glasco would be proud his tradition continues.

Today was not only Keith’s birthday, but our niece Vicki, Garry and Ginger’s daughter, reminded us that 28 years ago her baby son David Brandon was born. We lost him at Christmas time that same year, and our family shed some more tears for him today even as I also shed tears for the babies dying tonight because of the famine in Somalia.

Putting Small Summer Miseries in Perspective

2011-08-05T15:00:00.003-05:00

Is there any greater minor misery than a cold in the summer time? Since I am in the throes of one, I naturally do not think so. I keep losing the tissue box, and I definitely do not feel like looking for it—but I have no choice. I kept hoping this was allergies, but realized yesterday morning at a very sad funeral that allergies and tears were not the only thing making my nose run. (A 35-year-old man that so many people loved left behind a young widow and two sons. That is true misery, and a cold is inconsequential.)

Gerald and a nephew have gone to Chattanooga to cheer on the two Southern Force softball teams at the ASA national tourney. Theoretically I wish I were there, but with this cold, I am very grateful that I am not.

Fortunately I had already cancelled out on meeting Jeannie and Leslie in Paducah today. I am driving Gerald’s pickup while he is away, and I knew I had no business going on strange streets looking for a bridal shop I had never been to. I wanted to go since Paducah was where Jeannie and I went to choose her wedding dress so many years ago. I wanted in reminince and enjoy dinner at Olive Garden, where I think Jeannie and I ate when we down for her fittings. I cannot remember the name of that long ago bridal store or how we got there, but oddly I remember the woman clerk telling us about their recent family tragedy where a neice and brother-in-law took refuge beneath a tree during a summer outing—and were both killed by lightning hitting the tree. (That is consequential misery.) I also remember that the AC in our car was out when we made those trips, and I was upset about it. Jeannie would ride her bike to the farm from Carbondale and we would go to Paducah from there, and I felt she should have AC at least on the trip to Paducah. Again when I look back, I know that was inconsequential although it tore me up at the time.

True tragedies put life’s minor flaws and inconveniences in perspective. A young friend I sat by yesterday at the funeral wrote on Facebook last night that her son had hit a deer and then a car hit his car. But everyone was fine except the deer. She was so grateful and rejoicing—even though an older teen son had an accident a few months ago.—and I know from personal experience how difficult it is to keep teens in safe cars. Yet she was able to bounce back and come out knowing that an accident that left her son unhurt was not a serious problem. She urged us realize how quickly life can change and she paraphrased Francis of Assissi urging us to show love at all times and if needed use words. Such good advice when small summer problems seem larger than they are when we are hot and tired and praying for rain and wiping sweat off our brow. (Or in my case, wiping my nose.)

The link to Leslie and Mike's love story...

2011-08-01T21:55:00.000-05:00

Here 'tis:

http://weddings.theknot.com/pwp/pwp2/view/MemberPage.aspx?coupleId=9768998700132418&MsdVisit=1

Enjoy!

Transitions

2011-07-31T23:21:00.000-05:00

Three teen grandchildren—Elijah, Trent, and Brianna--spent last week helping in our village church with Vacation Bible School. Seems impossible that the little kids who used to come yearly to attend VBS are now old enough to work with the younger children—and they did a splendid job. I have to fight to keep from still seeing them as the little group that used to follow me into the grocery store like little ducklings. People would smile as we went by, and I would be so proud of those little guys.

But summers come and go, and seemingly suddenly these same kids are all grown up—two will start college in just a couple of weeks. They still make people smile, and I still know pride that they are my grandkids.

Our summer evenings used to be spent in local ball parks watching Gerry’s girls play softball. (We also watched Leslie at the Carterville park one summer and attended a game or two watching Elijah and Trent in far-away parks. If I remember right, preschooler Leslie was picking flowers in the outfield or something like that.) We still go to softball games, but now those games are usually in college stadiums or on TV. This spring we were cheering on the Southern Illinois University Salukis, for whom Tara used to play, because Erin was there at first base as assistant coach.

Now Gerry and Vickie’s youngest, Geri Ann, is about to enter her senior year of high school, and this week she is playing with Southern Force for her sister, Coach Tara Archibald, at Chattanooga at the Amateur Softball Association 16 and Under national tournament. I can remember tiny Tara playing with a broken arm one summer—with her doctor’s permission, of course. I’d be rambling around the park with Erin, and then a few years later when Erin was playing, I followed Geri Ann around making sure she did not fall into the creek that goes through Marion park—or was that just Erin? Elijah was there in a stroller and sunglasses for some of these long-ago games. At Harrisburg and Johnston City, Vickie always brought Geri Ann to the park in spotless condition fresh out of the tub--but with sand bucket and shovel. No child ever left the parks with dirtier clothes and face than she did. I remember that I supervised Sam in that Johnston City sand pile also. That was back when he would watch big league games on his living room television and run the imaginary bases there making a home run every time.

He came home Saturday night from his youth group’s mission trip to Joplin, MO, and I was blessed to be there at his home when he arrived. As we anticipated, the week working in Joplin had been life changing. He was fortunate to be on one of the groups working indoors—repairing things, salvaging filthy tables and other school equipment, and painting walls. He said that the roofing crew knew temps in the three digits on top of the tar-covered places some days. Major chain stores there are still operating in tents while new buildings are being built. He just kept remarking that photos cannot begin to capture the devastation there. And yet he said people have come together to solve their problems. Prayers are frequent on a daily basis in a downtown tent.

One of our families moved last week within their city, and two more will be moving soon to other locations. Our oldest great grandson will be starting kindergarten on August 9. Erin is still hobbling and taking antibiotics and enduring a major life style change, being confined to her house and watching more television than she has ever watched in her life. Her doctor says her knee looks good, and we hope she will soon be back to her usual active life.

While it was hard to act surprised, our family kept the Facebook messages flowing as we congratulated Mike Thompson and our granddaughter Leslie Eiler on their announced engagement. At his parents’ home in Ohio, Leslie finished reading Jane Eyre and received a proposal and she stammered yes. We are all admiring the ring on the posted photos.

Oh, there have also been promotions and awards in the family this month. And Leslie’s mother Jeannie rode 60 miles the other day on her bicycle, which deserves an award. So many changes and transitions have taken place this summer. Makes my head swim. But life was meant for transition. I was helped to appreciate all the summer’s growth and change by Sandra Henry, the daughter of my second cousin Shirley, whom I used to meet to play in the creek between Mt. Airy Farm and their farm home on another hill. Sandra posted today on Facebook: ”Once told that if you always did what you always did that you will always be where you always were. Much truth in this simple statement!“

Beach Ball Bible Basics

2011-07-28T15:56:00.000-05:00

Beach Ball Bible Basics

1. What are the two main parts of the Bible? Old and New Testament.

2. How many books are in the Old Testament? 39

3. How many books are in the New Testament? 27

4. How many books are in the entire Bible? 66

5. What are the Ten Commandments? These were the ten instructions for people to live by written on stone tablets brought down from Mt. Sinai by Moses.

6. Where do you find the Ten Commandments in the Bible? Old Testament. Exodus 20 and Deuteronomy 5.

7. If you want to know about Jesus, what testament do you look in? New Testament

8. What are the four books in the New Testament that tell the story of Jesus? The first four books--Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John--the Gospels.

9. Where can you find the story of Jesus’s birth? Matthew 1 and Luke 2.

10. Where can you find the longest recorded sermon that we have of Jesus? Matthew 5:7. Challenge: Read the Sermon on the Mount outloud and find out how long Jesus’s sermon was.

Directions for the game:

Child throws beach ball to another child to answer the question. Then draws a question from the basket and reads it.

If first child answers correctly, he gets to be the next thrower. If first child does not know answer, he/she throws it to someone else until correct answer is given.

Crops Are Maturing

2011-07-21T00:18:00.000-05:00

Bright green corn plants have replaced the golden stubble of harvested wheat in the field beside our lane. The plants seem a foot taller each passing day. There are no soybeans here on this farm, but as I drive through the countryside, tall green soybeans blanket former empty brown fields with their thick bushiness as far as the eye can see. I enjoy watching the growth. The fat deer I saw tonight enjoyed feasting on that growth. With this heat, I would not want to be out in those fields right now, but evidently the deer, who was on the edge of the field, can handle the heat.

One of the scariest times I ever had was when someone left a farm gate open and our three-year-old son escaped the yard and had taken off down that machinery road beside a field of corn in this kind of weather, Everyone on the farm started yelling for him and running down that road praying he stayed on the road and did not go into the field. Fortunately, he did and was having a wonderful time with his freedom when we found him. A little boy lost in that that maze of corn would likely have passed out for want of oxygen before dark came.

Gerald is feeling better and had his first physical therapy appointment today for his hurt shoulder. We will likely never know what caused his temperature to spike over the weekend. Maybe allergic to the pain pill prescribed for the shoulder? Whatever, he has not missed a day spending several hours outside in this steaming heat. Of course, with air conditioned tractor cabs, working out there is nothing like the old days when he ate dust and stayed drenched with salty sweat running down his face. But time outside the tractor and hours working in his shop still give him a daily dose of high heat. He claims his shoulder and other aching joints and muscles hurt less with the sun beating down than they do when he is nodding off in his easy chair in the air conditioned house. Nevertheless, I am always grateful when he is in that chair or on his computer during the hottest times of the day.

After two unexpected surgeries over the weekend because of infection caused by the previous surgery, Erin was able to go home Tuesday morning. A port will allow the constant supply of meds for two weeks as she hobbles around on her crutches with the rolling tower with its bags of antibiotics following her. Vickie, her mother, stayed with her constantly at the hospital and is there with her now in Erin’s house. The surgeon has assured her that the second weekend surgery showed her knee was without remaining infection, and the cultures came back without any bacteria growth. So we are hopeful that all is well except for the pain and the time lost. It has been a very scary time.

In the meantime, on Monday afternoon, I did some of the Carbondale errands that I had meant to do last Friday. I was able to join Vickie and Gma Shirley in Erin’s hospital room for another brief visit. My mornings this week have been studying Vacation Bible School materials in preparation for next week at our village church.

Tara’s family is coming down for a softball tournament here this weekend, and Gerry and Geri Ann are coming back up from Georgia. Sometime my three teenage grandchildren who are going to help in VBS will be arriving also. Only our youngest grandchild is still young enough to attend VBS, but she can’t come this year because of a camp conflict.

One by one the older kids have switched from being a student to being a VBS helper, but they still want to come and I am glad. Although Sam helped last year, he will be unable to this year because he is going with his church youth group to Joplin, Missouri, to help there with the World Changers organization. He has new heavy duty work shoes and his mother made sure his shots are all up-to-date. The kids here at Woodsong are going to miss him terribly, but we know he will have a life-changing experience in Joplin.

Erin was expecting during her work-filled summer to have a bit of fun keeping in shape and spicing her evenings with slow pitch softball. Instead she is experiencing the tough irony of an athlete being knocked off her feet by a sports injury. She’d had surgery on both knees a couple of summers ago because of years of catching, but she did the physical therapy work afterwards to be able to play in Europe all last summer and be active all this year as she coached and gave lessons. As tough as she has been, she has always been empathetic to others, but I do not doubt that this misfortune will make her even more so. This too will be life-changing. More than crops are maturing around here this summer.

Still Busy and Weather Still Hot and Too Much Going On

2011-07-17T00:44:00.000-05:00

Teachers were asked at the Trail of Tears Institute how much they spent each year for class supplies out of their own salary. If you had heard their answers, your admiration for today’s teachers would increase. Some of these teachers were very young (possibly with student loans yet to repay) and with houses to buy and little children to support. Some were older with possibly older children in college. All were probably taking graduate classes and facing those tuition expenses. Yet every one of them spoke of spending a minimum of $300 to supplement their provided supplies. Some of the older teachers estimated they might spend $2000 or so. If it is true that your treasure is where your heart it, these teachers’ hearts are in their classrooms with their students. The very classroom we were sitting in was filled with books, posters, and all kind of learning accessories—all provided by that particular classroom teacher.

Some of us from the Illinois Chapter of the National Trail of Tears Association were meeting with these teachers who are preparing to use the Trail of Tears through Southern Illinois as their theme for this year’s project using original resources. There were interesting sessions and I was glad to be there for three of the four days of the Institute. I hated missing Tuesday, but I had other obligations that day. I also left at noon on Thursday and didn’t attend the field trip to the Crabb-Abbott Farm in Pope County. I knew from personal experience that Joe and Ethel Crabb would be terrific hosts for this field trip, but I needed to get back to the farm for a previous Thursday afternoon commitment.

As I drove home, I just relaxed and enjoyed the wonderful tree-covered hills between Vienna and Woodsong. New Burnside’s steep hills are one of my favorite spots in our region, and the leafy trees are at the height of their summer green glory. With responsibilities behind me, I looked forward to a deliberate agenda of doing as little as possible for a couple of days so that I would be ready to dig into my study of Vacation Bible School materials next week.

I had lots to think about as I drove home and most of it was pleasant. Gerry and Geri Ann had been at our house Monday and Tuesday nights, and Vickie had driven up with Ansley, a Southern Force player, on Tuesday. There had been fishing and playing with their new puppy Molly along with the visiting.

On Wednesday morning we had waved them off as they headed for the home run hitting derby that evening in northern Illinois. That would be followed by Thursday and Friday pool play for the tournament that started today. A phone call Wednesday night had reported that for the second year in a row, Geri Ann had won the home-run derby, and so as I drove home Thursday, I was eager to hear how they had done in their first games that day.

Gerald had a standing doctor’s appointment that morning, so I expected to hear that all his blood work and other tests would come back good and he would be feeling chipper about that. And I was hoping the doctor would do something positive about his shoulder that was hurting him. Erin was meeting with her surgeon to get her “stitches” out after her ACL surgery, and she was so excited. I was very happy for her.

Sure enough, Gerald was able to report at our late lunch that everything was good on his check up, and he would start taking some physical therapy on his shoulder next week. Later he reported Southern Force won their pool play games that day. I checked my Facebook messages and saw Erin’s happy report that she would be seeing the surgeon. I usually take a light supper into town on Thursday afternoons for Katherine’s family, so that David knows that one night’s meal is taken care of. At their house, Katherine told me with tears in her eyes that Sam had seen a later Facebook entry from Erin. She was in Carbondale Memorial Hospital because there was infection in her knee and she would have to have two more surgeries this weekend. Suddenly life had taken a scary turn, and I could no longer anticipate a pleasant weekend.

By bedtime, Vickie had driven down from the top of the state and was already sitting up with Erin at the hospital. I doubt that she got much sleep that night, because Erin was in enough pain to make her restless. Rick, her boyfriend, who is working nights this week, had already been up for 24 hours but was preparing to sit up all night too. But Vickie and Erin persuaded him to go home for a little sleep. He was back at the hospital very early the next morning as the first surgery was scheduled for that morning. Gerald and I arrived at the hospital by 9:15, and a lonely teddy bear with its leg in a bandage was the only occupant of her room. Erin was already long gone being prepped.

A helpful nurse took us to where Vickie and Rick were waiting. The four of us waited together, and a nurse would report to Vickie every hour or so. Finally before noon, the nurse reported the surgery was over, and the surgeon would meet Vickie to explain all that he had done. When that time came, Vickie invited us all to go into the consulting room with the doctor, and we heard him explain how he had flushed and cleaned out the infection. He had made the decision to put in “beads” which were infused with antibiotics so that Erin would have the antibiotic right on the site of the infection as well as antibiotics given through the veins. Because of this, the second surgery would be tomorrow rather than today so that the “beads” could continue their work a little longer. The cultures taken on Thursday would not be back for a day or two yet, so a general spectrum antibiotic would be used until they knew what specific one to use. And we will be holding our breaths until then.

While Erin was in the recovery room, we left to meet friends for lunch that had already been planned before Erin’s bad news. Afterward, a phone call to Vickie told us that Erin was back in the room and it would be okay for us to come in and see her. We stopped at the gift shop to get a couple of roses to take up, and Rick came in to buy a beautiful balloon bouquet to go with the teddy bear. In her room Erin was wide awake and quite pert and smiling entertaining one of this year’s top softball players, her Gma Shirley, and her Aunt Chris. We added our roses to Gma Shirley’s and visited a little while and said our goodbyes.

After one brief errand, we were back at the farm and Gerald and I both felt a nap coming on. He put a heat pad on his shoulder and sat in his easy chair and was soon fast asleep. His sleep has been interrupted lately by this shoulder pain, so I felt very glad he was inside in air conditioning instead of outside working as he usually is despite the extreme heat and the painful shoulder. He had taken one of his prescribed pain pills, and I was not surprised that he slept as long as he did. I had had a full night’s sleep, so my nap was not so long.

At supper, he complained he really did not feel good at all and felt feverish. When our kids were little, I could almost give an accurate temp reading with my hand. I cannot do that anymore, but a single touch of his forehead let me know that he had more than a little fever. I put a thermometer in his mouth and it registered over a 101. He slept through the evening, but had a very restless night, and at 3:30 I could tell his fever was higher. We both assumed we’d be looking up an urgent care center today since his doctor does not have Saturday appointments. Nor would we be going back to the hospital to visit Erin as she recouped and prepared mentally for tomorrow’s second surgery. (I have never understood the two surgeries, but from the Thursday appointment on, that was the announced plan.) She wrote on Facebook: “Surgery went well. In pain but surrounded with people who love me :)”

When I got to the breakfast table this morning, I was glad I had prepared the breakfast coffee as usual and laid out dishes because Gerald was there already dressed reading the paper he had walked down the lane to retrieve as he does every morning, and he had no fever. His pajamas had been damp when he woke up, and he said that he guessed this was what the old timers meant when they used the expressed “sweating out a fever.” The next thing I knew, he had changed into his overalls and was outside working with the weed eater. I think he did take a nap this afternoon while I ran into Katherine’s, but when I returned, he had already fixed himself a supper sandwich and was out on the lawn mower again for an hour or more.

Meanwhile, the Southern Force lost their game today in this single elimination tourney, so the rest of Erin’s Georgia family will be driving down tomorrow instead of Monday. I am sure everyone is sorry about the loss, but Gerry and Geri Ann are eager to be here to see Erin. Gerry told us on the phone that he had his grandson Aidan sleeping in his hotel room last night, and Aidan had already told him he is going to sleep there again tonight.

There is always good mixed with the bad if we look for it hard enough, and I am sure Gerry and Geri Ann have enjoyed seeing Tara and Bryan and those three charmers—Aidan, Maddux, and Payton. But it is difficult to concentrate on the good when you are waiting for cultures to be returned from the lab.

Too Hot and Too Busy

2011-07-09T23:03:00.000-05:00

Since I stay in air conditioned rooms most of the time, I should not complain about the 90 plus degree weather, so I won’t. I must complain about too many projects going at once and life not allowing me to finish one thing at a time. I have worked hard all week on various things and still stayed behind all week. That is why I have failed to blog.

I had not done anything this week that could be called recreation unless it was a little bit of reading and some research which I admit I consider fun. (My research is rarely original research. Mostly I find myself exploring other people’s research and sometimes my own to try and find an understanding of a subject.)

If anyone saw my book and paper-cluttered office, he/she would wonder how in the world I can get any work done in here. Me too. I love my roomy office hidden away in the back of our walk-out downstairs, but when a deadline for a presentation looms, I often find myself needing to spread out to the dining room table not only to have a clean surface for an over abundance of notebooks and papers but so I can keep an eye on whatever kitchen work I am involved with. Even with the proximity, I still may burn something as I divide my attention. (Of course, as an absent minded person, I can burn stuff even if I am not too busy.) Oh, if I must confess as I seem to be doing, I also have a pile of reading material to review in the living room too.

Geri Ann, our Georgia granddaughter, flew into St. Louis Thursday morning in order to o have a brief reunion with local friends and to attend the softball series between the National Pro Fastpitch USSSA Pride (with its former Olympians) and Diamonds at the Miners’ park. Her sister Erin and Erin’s boyfriend met her at the airport and brought her down.

So after the work week I’d had, I was delighted when Geri Ann and her friend CC Hutchinson (whom I don’t get to see often since Geri Ann moved to Georgia) and her cousin Sam came out to fish on the lake yesterday. I hurriedly fixed them a late lunch. I know I can always please my grandkids if I serve friend okra, and I thawed the remainder of the German chocolate cake from last week’s potluck that I had stuck in the freezer to keep from tempting Gerald and me. CC had never eaten fried okra, so she got initiated. (Since Gerald is cutting back his garden to mostly tomatoes and watermelon plants this summer, I don’t know what I am going to do when the okra in the freezer is gone. I guess I will have to check out local farmers markets.)

I was just as delighted when Erin hobbled in on her crutches to do some laundry. I had not been to see her since her ACL ordeal. I was reluctant to go by her place for fear she would be asleep or needing to go to sleep. I think I guessed right on that since she told me yesterday that she usually only gets four hours sleep until her meds wear off and she has to get up and ice her leg for awhile before she goes back in hopes of a second span of rest. I knew her cousin Sarah and her Gma Shirley and her boyfriend were in and out taking good care of her and seeing that she got to physical therapy when she couldn’t drive. I knew she would phone me if she needed me. This week she was able to drive short distances and began working some at the university again. Yet I know she is bound to be feeling pain.

Gerald was keeping Sadie so she would not jump on Erin, but the abundance of ticks here on the farm had us all worried despite the precautionary pill Sadie takes which keeps her tick-free in her own backyard where the tick population is evidently radically less than ours. So Gerald and Erin gave Sadie a bath, and she went home again with Erin, where she is often an inside dog unlike here. Hopefully she will sense that Erin can’t rough house with her and she’ll not be banished completely to the backyard.

Since CC left after the fishing to go to her grandmother’s, Gerald took Geri Ann and Sam to see the first softball game between USSSA Pride and the Diamonds. Erin sat in the handicapped section and was able to watch her old Texas A&M buddy Megan Gibson pitch again, and the Glasco fans were especially interested in the two University of Georgia alums—Brianna Hesson, who just graduated, and local standout Kristin Schnake of Nashville, IL. With Cat Osterman pitching for Pride, we were proud that Brianna got the only hit. Schnake, on the other hand, was hit by Osterman—twice.

I stayed home to continue working on a presentation coming up Wednesday for the Trail of Tears Institute this week at Vienna sponsored by Southern Illinois University Carbondale. A grant has enabled 12 local teachers to be chosen to help their students not only learn to use the Library of Congress primary sources but to study the Trail of Tears through Southern Illinois. When Sandy Boaz, president of the Illinois Chapter of the National Trail of Tears Association, was invited to have the Illinois TOT directors help with this project, she quickly accepted. Our TOT chapter has long hoped to increase the study in our schools of this historic event in our region and of the way our nation interacted with the people living here on the lands that eventually became the United States of America. This TOT study will provide a microcosm of this for these lucky students, and their knowledge of history, economics, politics, psychology, the depravity of humanity, and the goodness of humanity will be broadened. The teachers at the Institute will be from Pope, Johnson, and Union County where most of the 1838-39 TOT in Illinois took place. Joe Crabb will be telling about Pope County and Gary Hacker will share about Johnson on Wednesday. My responsibility will be to share about Union County and also the legend of Priscilla who was freed from slavery at Jonesboro.

There is so much information, misinformation, and twists and turns in this complicated story of the TOT that it is difficult to decide what would be most helpful to these teachers. I expect the dining room table will stay in service, and I have no hopes of straightening my office this week. And I may not blog again for another week. Now I need to go turn on the porch light because Dean and Lacey Newbold will be dropping Geri Ann off soon after tonight’s NPF game out at the Miners’ Rent One Park. Although he did do some ditch work at the other farm today, Gerald decided to stay in the air conditioning this evening and read about the games in tomorrow’s Southern Illinoisan.

Seeing the Countryside and the Family

2011-07-02T20:34:00.000-05:00

Rocky Comfort Road, Water Valley Road, and Buffalo Gap. These road names are indicative of the terrain and the atmosphere we enjoyed as we traveled to and from the annual Glasco gathering at Gerald’s cousin Troy’s farm. This gathering originated as a birthday party for Gerald’s Grandpa Ben, his cousin Patsy, and cousin Paulie’s wife Stella. Ben and Patsy are no longer with us, but Pat’s daughters and granddaughters come long distances to be present for this occasion.

I’d had a frustrating morning discovering that I did not have enough eggs in the house for the cake and meat loaf I had carefully planned a couple days before. I had bought the ground chuck, checked that I had the right cake mix and icing (German chocolate) but never once considered my egg supply since usually there is an extra dozen or so in the little fridge in the garage. There wasn’t, and I told Sadie all about my sad story as I went in and out of the kitchen with her lying in the garage doorway blocking my entry whenever I came out.

I had no other meat thawed, so I had no choice but to jump in the car and drive as rapidly as I could to the little grocery on our side of town. I watched that I did not drive too rapidly because holiday traffic means extra cars and necessary police on the road. Fortunately, the grocery was almost empty and I was in and out quickly with a dozen eggs in my hand.

I had already cooked potatoes and carrots to add around the meat loaf, and I’d started both the cake project and the meat loaf mixture before I realized the egg shortage. Soon both were in the oven. Gerald had unexpectedly helped Brian move some farm equipment down to Brian’s leased land, so I was almost ready to pack up the food when Gerald was able to leave.

I was looking forward to the drive through tree laden hills on both sides of steep roads that lead to Troy and Bobbie’s farm. Often the trees meet overhead, and short bushes and vines beneath the trees fill one’s vision with green, green, green. When we were not in forest areas, there were black-eyed Susans, Queen Anne’s lace, and tiger lilies at roadside.

As usual Troy and Bobbie were prepared for a crowd with multiple picnic tables under their towering maples and a garage full of tables and chairs along with the tables there for potluck offerings and soft drinks. As always, there was an abundance of food including someone’s home-made chicken and dumplings and a delicious selection of cakes and other delicacies.

And later in the afternoon, there was two freezers of home-made ice cream. Gerald’s cousin Wilma had made the freezeer full (the one I sampled)at l0 that morning. After emptying all the ice and repacking it, she had a firm and delicious cream for us to enjoy all those hours later in the 93 degree heat, which fortunately was softened by the shade of the trees and sometimes a touch of a breeze.

Coming home I was delighted when Gerald decided go a different way and to take Buffalo Gap. Here the black top road is replaced with gravel, the hills are even steeper, and you wonders what you’ll do if you meet another car on the one-lane road that goes on for miles. It made me think about what the early Glascos had felt when they traveled that same road in wagons and buggies. Troy’s grandson Spenser had brought out the original large Glasco family photograph in its ancient scarred ornate frame that hangs in Troy’s house. There was William Price Glasco and his third wife Lucretia from whom our branch of the family descended. In addition to their children, there were also children and grandchildren from the first two wives. Our Grandpa Ben was the youngest son and just a young teen when this family with multiple branches gathered long ago probably around 1890. It was likely that they ate together around loaded boards held up by carpenter horses that day when the photograph was taken. We are thankful for a continuation of that family fellowship and love.

Summer Birds and Home-made Ice Cream, Surgery and Softball

2011-06-29T00:13:00.000-05:00

At dusk, I stood at the living room window. The supper dishes had been put in the dishwasher, and I had a book in hand to begin reading. A strange looking duck or goose walking down by the lake captured my attention, but then it suddenly raised its head and extended its long neck, and I realized it was a gray heron. We see white and blue ones frequently, but I had never seen one this close to the house. The big bird quit walking and stood very still almost up to the martin house. The martins were swooping and swirling with their usual early evening intensity, and the hummingbirds were darting merrily around their feeder on the deck. The heron stood stock still so long that I finally became bored and sat down to read my book only occasionally looking out the window. I stood up later to move to a different chair with a lamp beside it after it had darkened inside although there was still some daylight outside. The heron was gone now and not a martin was in sight evidently already settled down for the night.

Gerald’s native grasses have greatly increased our quail population. I never go out on the deck but I hear “Bob White!” repeatedly although I usually don’t see the birds. We have observed wild turkeys this summer, and one hen flew to the island where she evidently had her nest. We probably won’t see any babies, however, since varmints usually break up nests before they are hatched. Gerald did see a baby coyote run into the corn field up at the other farm when he came upon its mother.

We were able to take Katherine to evening services at her church on Sunday to hear our friend Wendell Garrison’s final sermon there. He had only agreed to this six-month span as interim pastor as he has a deadline looming to finish his fourth devotional book which goes to the printers at the end of summer. We will miss him and Mary as it has been a treat having them in our community on the weekends. The congregation will miss them too. We stayed for the home-made ice cream fellowship in their honor and were astounded by the varieties of both ice creams and homemade cakes and goodies to go with the ice cream. Before we left the sanctuary, Wendell had teasingly quoted Willard Scott’s favorite Baptist benediction: Let’s eat! We were able to visit with friends, and it was especially good that Katherine had the opportunity to visit with so many during this social hour. Because of the steady stream at the Garrisons’ table for hugs and goodbyes, I only said my goodbye to Mary, so I have just emailed Wendell. Katherine and Gerald did get to talk a bit with both of them. Finally it was time to go home. David had not been able to go with us, so Katherine took home some of the delicious frothy summer treat for him. (Sam is at camp this week.)

It was good this evening to hear Erin’s voice—strong and lively after she was finally back home after a very delayed surgery this afternoon for her torn ACL. I thought she would sound groggy, but I told her she sounded sassy instead, Her cousin Sarah is bringing Erin’s dog Sadie over to the farm in the morning for Gerald to take care of for a few days. The surgeon said she did not need to wear the heavy brace some have to after surgery because her legs are so strong after years of catching, She was supposed to be in Colorado scouting this week, but she had to miss this tournament where all her family are and where she had planned to see many of her college friends. But our Illinois contingent of the family rejoiced with Southern Force at the news they had beaten the California Cruisers today.

Varying Sleeping Patterns

2011-06-25T13:49:00.001-05:00

Hearing raindrops on our bedroom window, it was lovely to turn over and continue sleeping. It had been a busy week requiring me to go to bed earlier and get up earlier than usual, so I really appreciated returning to my usual late uprising. (This is the reason I have not blogged this week because I write at night.) Gerald had long before left to drive to Jonesboro to have breakfast with his brother Garry and wife Ginger and to pick up a boat motor he had repaired down there.

Although we have many commonalities, Gerald and I have completely different body rhythms. By 9 p.m., he is ready to go to sleep (unless he is at a granddaughter’s softball game), and he is likely to wake up any time between 3 and 6 a.m. even if he did go to a ball game. Sleeping to 7 a.m. is extremely unusual for him.

When we were dating, I’d go in to the dorm at the required hour and then stay up late studying. Gerald would go to bed at his place and get up at an early morning hour to study. So we knew we had this difference, but figured we could manage it. Actually children managed it for us. Getting four kids on the school bus made an early riser out of me whether I wanted to be or not—no matter how many times I might have gotten up with a waking child during the night.

As soon as I retired in 1998 after my very brief out-of-home career, I started learning to use the Internet. This was before Facebook, but I became hooked immediately because of unexpected contact with some distant relatives who had all the answers I had wanted to know about my Martin family roots.

At this time, Gerald who had just retired from farming, decided to become a truck driver—a childhood ambition that had been whetted by owning trucks to haul hogs or crops from the field. Not full-time truck driver in retirement but almost a hobby one because he enjoyed the entire activity so much. He spent hours on the phone with his buddy Richard Hays talking trucks and how to somehow convert a 14-wheeler to carry the same load as a 16-wheeler or something like that which I never fully understood but knew gave Gerald great pleasure and satisfaction. He loved his new truck with all the embellishments he created, and to this day when we take a trip, he reminisces about hauling something back in the mountains there or to such and such a business in some city.

He continued trucking until we built our retirement home here at the farm, where he did all the dirt work. (He also loves to move dirt.) Watching his Peterbilt go down our lane when he sold it was a sad event for him, and meeting up with it on the highway brought him joy.

But I digress. Trucking required his getting up very early to be at the proper place at the designated time, so he might arise at 2 or 2:30 a.m. which was not difficult for him to do. (I think he liked this confirmation that these were proper wake-up times.) Tracing down my family roots after a day of homemaking required me to stay up late—maybe till 2 or 3 a.m. The time he got up to go trucking and came into the office to tell me goodbye as I was just preparing to sign off the Internet and go to bed illustrated our different body rhythms perfectly. Somehow we tolerate our differences and try not to be smug about our ability to stay up late or to wake up early.

Our neighbors Winnie and Jay were back fishing at the lake on Thursday, and yesterday morning, Winnie called to tell me they were bringing over all the fish they caught—all cleaned and dressed ready for frying or the freezer. I tell them that is not at all necessary, but I would be dishonest if I did not say it is a lovely gift.

When granddaughter Erin showed up to do some laundry in the late afternoon, I was especially glad I had not frozen the fish yet and was able to fry some for our supper. We were very glad to see Erin since she tore her ACL muscle at her first slow pitch softball game—her recreation of choice for this summer. The next day she was working on crutches, but she was walking without them now. She’d had an MRI, saw the surgeon, and her surgery is set for Tuesday. We were eager to see her in person and hear all the doctor had told her. And, of course, Gerald and I both were able to get in a few questions about her new boyfriend.

When I did get up today, I did my Saturday morning routine and read a bit in the book I had to close last night and decided I really should blog since I have neglected that this week. Gerald phoned that he and Garry are over in Cape or Sikeston, and that they’d be eating there. So I don’t have a meal prep until this evening. Now maybe I can finish that book. I have another one to stay up reading tonight.

Mid June Under a Full Moon

2011-06-20T01:14:00.000-05:00

We woke up on our 55th wedding anniversary on Wednesday with the Eilers in the house as they had stopped by the farm the night before on their way home from their vacation in Tennessee with Leslie. David had also brought Sam out at Elijah and Cecelie’s request, and the kids stayed up late and slept in Wednesday morning. But at least they had their late night visit and their routine giggling session at the kitchen table snacking, (I understood that Jeannie shushed them, but I was sound asleep and did not hear a thing.) I did enjoy the full moon making a million stars on the lake when I got up during the night.

Gerald and I had breakfast alone first although I don’t usually get up that early. I am not very good company early in the morning, but it was a special day. People got up at various times, and as often happens at Woodsong, everyone had to help themselves to coffee, cereal and fruit if they wanted breakfast. (All were able to sleep as late as they wanted except Elijah in the brown room who had to be waked up for lunch, but then he was disappointed he had not had a morning visit with Sam.) It was good to have a fine visit with Jeannie and Rick before lunch since they had to return to Freeport and their many duties that afternoon. Jeannie worked in a bike ride, and, of course, the kids were out on the Gator riding around the lake.

Feeling in a romantic mood, I thought I still had a couple of large pink roses beside the front porch that would go well with the pink roses on a set of china that I once bought at a second-hand store many years ago. (All my china has come from thrift stores. I’d used those dishes when Rick’s parents came to meet us over in the other farm house after our children were engaged.) Unfortunately, the roses were past their prime when I looked, and so I used a small vase of pink petunias in the center of the table instead. We had a leisurely lunch together. Elijah has always liked the canned puddings I try to keep on hand from the local warehouse store, so I made a quickie banana pudding for our dessert and another one that I took into the Cedars when Cecelie and I took Sam home in time for his afternoon basketball camp.

Soon after lunch someone knocked, and the small petunia vase had to be placed elsewhere. Gerry and Vickie had sent us a beautiful bouquet, and they went into the center of the table which Jeannie had already cleared. Two gorgeous coral-colored roses were in the midst of the variety of flowers, and I have enjoyed watching them get larger and larger each day since.

By three o’clock, Rick and Jeannie had loaded up the bicycles and their luggage, and I’d told Lucky and Leah goodbye. And with hugs and kisses, they were gone with Elijah at the wheel. Gerald and I had a date to have supper in town, and he let me choose my favorite sit-down restaurant. We watched the full moon behind dark clouds peeking out through their opening with a shadowed golden glow on our way home. It made the world seem smaller to read on Facebook how much my niece Cyndi was enjoying it in Oklahoma City with her daughter’s family and her sister Gloria in Amarillo.

Thursday is always a busy day for me with errands to run and the weekend looming. A fresh haircut from my favorite cosmetologist that afternoon perked me up to enjoy driving to Carbondale with my retired journalist friend Jari Jackson to attend our monthly Writers Guild. We’d both had to miss the last two meetings and so were eager to meet up with some of the members coming early to have supper at a favorite place across from the Arts Center where we were having our meeting instead of at the college.

A few years ago, Varsity Theater, a long standing institution in Carbondale where Southern Illinois University students collected many memories, had closed. The theater stood empty for years, and the owners rifled seats for parts to repair seats in other theaters in other towns. Finally the stage company needed a new home, and the group ambitiously took on the project of resuscitating the vacant movie theater.

Poet Jim Lambert, our former Writers Guild president, has been active with this group, and we were invited to meet there in their large attractive meeting room and tour their facility after a program by the two women who have put together a 400 plus page hard back book about Carterville, Crainville, and Cambria. We were able to see a bit of the rehearsal of Charlotte’s Web in the small intimate theater the group has created. Then we continued the tour backstage and through their dressing rooms, but for some of us the highlight of the evening came when we visited the usually off-limits old theatre now dark and dusty waiting for dreams yet to come true but redolent with reminiscences of past shows and our youth.

Friday Gerald was mowing grass despite a spill in the creek the day before. But he had landed in soft mud, and he claimed by wearing a sling holding his arm close to his body, his shoulder that he landed on did not hurt enough to warrant a trip to a clinic since his own doctor was out of town. By evening, he was convinced that he was in good shape to get up early the next morning to go with his nephew DuWayne and wife Vickie to Chattanooga to see Southern Force play. So they drove through the early morning rains while I slept through then here at home.

I was able to do some work going through my mother’s photos and writing the final essay of four on Martin family history for the new book that Johnson County Genealogical and Historical Society are creating. I had failed to write an entry in their last book, and I was determined to be more diligent this time. I am finding this last story about my parents is the hardest to write. It will be hard to cut out so many things I’d like to include.

I stopped to drive over to our village church to be one of 60 women gathered there to shower our pastor’s daughter Krista, who is being married in July. It was a beautiful party for a beautiful girl, who managed to open a mountain of gifts but still made sure each of us heard her genuine appreciation. Then a good visit at Katherine’s house completed the afternoon before I came back to looking at old photographs.

This third Sunday is usually Gerald’s and my day with the preschoolers during the morning worship service, but one college guy and one younger boy are always faithful to take their turn with us. We only had four children this morning, so with Cody and Tyler’s help, I made it fine and did not even have to get a substitute.

After lunch, I went in to help Katherine. She was outside in her chair getting Vitamin D, and together we watched Sam shooting baskets in their driveway hoop. David had grilled chicken and other meat, and they had a nice Father’s Day dinner together. He had made special phone calls to his dad and Gerald.

This evening, I phoned to see where the Southern Force fans were on their return trip and heard from Gerald how sweet those two great grandsons were during this weekend outing. Tara and those two boys were already ahead of them in Nashville, and he wasn’t sure if she would stop at the farm for a few hours’ rest or not if the boys are sleeping good. I have unlocked the downstairs door and turned on the porch light just in case. DuWayne and Vickie will let Gerald off at his brother’s to get back in his pickup for the final lap home.

The moon is no longer full but nearly so and quite beautiful here above the farm. I’ll go out on the patio and take one last look at the moon and head on to bed.

Life's Small Pleasures

2011-06-15T16:52:00.000-05:00

Driving down our lane and seeing Jay and Winnie fishing at the lake and their daughter with them. (Winnie had told me their kids don’t want them out by themselves because of health issues.)

Planting red petunias in the planter Phyllis and Patty gave us a dozen years ago or so over at Pondside Farm when they were visiting from Florida for an Anna-Jonesboro High class reunion.

Picking out a huge container of pink petunias for the front porch. (Petunias make me think of my mother who always had a planter of them on her front steps at their Goreville home.)

Listening to grandson Elijah play the piano when the family was here coming home from Leslie’s in Nashville.

Pondering how our youngest grandchild Cecelie suddenly became so tall and beautiful. (She has always been adorable, but suddenly she is grown-up beautiful.)

Lige and Cecelie wanting Sam to come out for the night while they were here.

Having our friend Wendell out for dinner and reminincing.

Buying a couple books I’ve wanted for years for 20% discount from Bookworm at Illinois Centre Mall. (The pain is greater than the pleasure, however, since local writers and readers wanted Carl and Kelley to be there forever, but they must close this store. They too had certainly wanted it here for the future. They were wonderful to tout local authors. Thankfully they still have a great book store in Carbondale we can go to for new and used books.)

Seeing Jon Musgrave’s photo and story about an upcoming reading and then bumping into him at Bookworm for a brief visit and hearing about some interesting research he is doing.

Watching the hummingbirds enjoying supper on our deck while we enjoy ours inside.

Spring Winding Up

2011-06-09T23:55:00.000-05:00

We only watched the Women’s College Softball World Series two nights since Arizona State won both games, so the third game was not needed. Brian and Mary Ellen with Brianna’s help finished up the planting of their newly leased farm.

Now we will wait and hope for rain for them. It sprinkled for awhile at Katherine’s house yesterday while I was there, and she was excited thinking about Brian and Mary Ellen’s seeds in the ground. She was remembering how she delighted over rain back in her gardening days. (I enjoyed her lilies from those days as I walked into her house.)

Gerald has a small vegetable garden in good shape, and the huge lawn, which he spends a great deal of time mowing, is looking absolutely fantastic. My golden day lilies are blooming profusely beside the kitchen wall, and there are roses begging me to pick them for an inside bouquet. With all the rest of the nation, we are experiencing very hot weather that reinforces the calendar telling us that spring is almost over.

Summer activities have started. Sam and Josh came in, hot and sweaty from open gym at the high school yesterday afternoon, and joined us in their family room. Katherine handed them the remote control since we could watch reruns of Oprah anytime. It took me awhile to realize that those were not real basketball players on the screen as Sam and Josh played a virtual game complete with cheering crowd and some kind of costumed mascot parading around.

Sam had his bag packed and waiting in the living room since Brian and Brianna were going to pick him up to visit them in Waggoner and attend the Irish Days festivities up there.

Our downstairs door is unlocked tonight; and when I go to bed, I’ll turn on the outside lights for Tara. She, Maddux, and Payton are on the way down and will stop briefly before going to the first Southern Force tourney down south. Aidan,5, could not come because he has his first baseball game this weekend. That sounds young, but he is physically and mentally ready.

Jeannie just asked me on Facebook if they could stay here tomorrow night. That means they are on their way to Nashville to see Leslie’s first apartment and to attend one of her gigs singing and directing preschoolers towards healthy living.

Families must hurry to plan summer trips, vacations, and camping because school no longer starts after Labor Day but in the middle of the heat of August. Over a month of summer will be spent in the classroom by today’s kids. Lazy days of summer are a thing of the past.

I must get off here and call my sister and wish her a happy anniversary. Her daughters have been touting their parents on Facebook today.

Cyndi wrote: “Today..62 years ago.. God united in marriage two very unique people…Mom and Dad. Praying an abundance of blessings on these two very special people in my life!!!"

Gloria wrote: "We have the best parents!!! Anyone who can look at a picture of 2 little girls they’ve never met, drive l000 miles to get them & love us the way they have, deserve an abundance of blessings!!! Happy Anniversary to my Mom & Pop!!!"

Those two little girls are now beautiful women with beautiful grown children of their own, and Rosemary and Phil delight in those grandchildren’s children.

Farming and Softball

2011-06-06T10:42:00.000-05:00

Farming (in absentia) and softball games (via television) have consumed a great deal of our weekend time—or at least our thoughts. At the close of her birthday on Thursday, Mary Ellen and her daughter Brianna came downstate to help Brian farm rather than just Brianna coming that morning with Brian. They were only able to stay briefly at our house because they were on the way to the field.

I haven’t seen Mary Ellen since, but I read on Facebook that she’d been on a huge tractor with tracks, as she and Brian formed a dynamic duo to complete planting before a deadline. I am eager to get an update of their accomplishments because those two have a record of doing the impossible when they combine efforts—whether it is painting rooms or keeping a seed corn plant operating during crunch time.

Brianna, age 16, has worked like a trooper right with them. Gerald helped Mary Ellen haul anhydrous ammonia tanks once or twice although he has been very busy chopping fragmite grass off the island and around our lake and cleaning out the drainage ditch at the Pittsburg farm. Sam even got exposed to farming when he came out to visit with Brianna.

Brianna and Sam were in the house briefly on Saturday night watching softball on television with us until they went to the Taylors’ camper on the Pittsburg road to spend the night. Gerald and I had fallen asleep watching games, so they left us a note when they left.

I have always called the place on the Pittsburg road Wayside Farm starting when we lived there for a couple of years and I learned the even then long-before story of a young man fatally injured in a car wreck on that highway. He had been carried there under a large mulberry tree in the front yard to die. I knew his widow who had remarried and had a family, but the thought of his too early death by the wayside always saddened me.

The house we lived in and that tree have long been gone as has the old barn and outbuildings where our children played. There’s no longer evidence of the well in the back yard. After we moved out, we rented the house awhile to one fine family, but after they moved away, we had some unpleasant experiences with renters and it seemed wise to tear the old house and barns down. (After one renter left with unpaid for second-hand appliances still in the house, Gerald was almost accosted when the store owner cane out and thought he was the renter!)

Gerald built a machine shed there and always used it, and in recent years Brian put up a grain bin after he started farming the land. Brian and Mary Ellen parked their camper there and put up a basketball goal for their kids when they were down to farm. They entertained there with campfires for hot dogs and marshmallows. But they didn’t have time for entertaining this weekend as they concentrated on completing field work.

Our minds have been filled with television images of a different kind of field this weekend. We have watched great hitting, pitching, and fielding as the top eight teams in the national have battled it out at the NAAC Division I Women’s College World Series at Oklahoma City. At this double elimination tournament, one Saturday night game ended after midnight as Missouri and Baylor went 13 innings before a Baylor homerun put them into the semifinals yesterday.

After returning from church, we hurried through lunch with the kitchen television on before we went down to the larger screen in the family room. I hoped yesterday that Baylor would make it to the finals; but not surprisingly, Arizona State--all rested and fresh from the winners’ bracket--defeated Baylor to remain unbeaten. I have to admit, I would have hated for Baylor’s tough Whitney Canion to have had to keep pitching yet another game if they had won that game. I have never quite understood why the teams in the winners’ bracket are given the strong advantage of a Saturday off to rest. If they are truly the best, why do they need the breaks?

Two SEC teams, Florida and Alabama, also had to play two games yesterday.Florida was victorious both games. We watched the ending of the final game after we came home from an evening church service, where we heard Gerald’s friend Wendell preach a very helpful sermon. I was for both Florida and Alabama. I hated for Pat Murphy’s Alabama team to return to tornado-torn Tuscaloosa without going into the finals, but they have plenty to be proud of making it as far as they did.

Tonight we’ll be watching and cheering Florida against Arizona State. If one team wins tonight and tomorrow night, the championship will be determined. If necessary, two out of three wins will be completed Wednesday night. Go Gators!

Cicadas, Mary Ellen's Birthday, and Biting Flies

2011-06-02T10:36:00.000-05:00

When we step out of the kitchen into the garage, the roar of the cicadas fill our ears. It took Gerald a couple of days to figure out what he was hearing because he thought surely something mechanical was happening beyond the woods that borders our west field. After sleeping 13 years, those creatures have a need to make noise.

Sounds of farm machinery also fill the air in our region as farmers finally are able to get into their fields again. Our son-in-law Brian has been working day and night trying to complete his crop planting. He had our farm done before it began raining again, and now he is trying to get his own fields and other leased land planted. I met him at their camper and the machine shed last night at l0 where he finally brought his tractor to stop for the day. Delivering him to his parked truck on his acreage, I worried about his having to make the long trip yet to their home in the middle of the state.

Today is a special day because it is our youngest child Mary Ellen’s birthday. So maybe Brian was able to wish her a happy birthday in person before he comes back down. I already knew he was going home and would be back today because Sam was excited he’d gotten a text from Brianna that she was coming down. Mary Ellen had tickets for them to go to the softball World Series which would have been an exciting start to the summer; but since Georgia lost, that trip was called off to everyone’s disappointment.

Sam is already feeling bored with unplanned summer freedom, and his mother Katherine and I had a conversation with him about that at their house. I’d just heard the technician at the doctor’s office complain her son (same age as Sam) was driving her nuts already wanting to invite a buddy every night to break the boredom. I just laughed with her, but Sam got my usual response to my own kids when they complained about things being boring: There’s not boring places but boring people. So get busy and become interesting. Of course, Katherine remembered my other solution in boredom complaints: Here’s some work for you to do. Maybe Brian will find some work for Trent and Bri and Sam to do today.

Yesterday before I took off to town to get an INR test and to visit Katherine and then do my monthly senior citizen discount shopping , Gerald had me take him to Brian’s leased land over near Harrisburg in order to haul back empty anhydrous tanks to be refilled in Marion. Gerald guaranteed I’d see a place I’d never seen before.

There was a brief ride on Old Route 13, and that felt familiar and pleasurable like seeing an old friend. Then we turned onto the country road and went a long way north on the constantly curving road until that road ended with a long closed broken down bridge. There we turned right onto a rough narrower road—one of those tree-lined roads where the limbs make a roof above you. I enjoyed that road and those woods before we bounced into the rough fields where the truck with the anhydrous tanks was awaiting us.

I had to get out of the pickup and go to the other side to drive it home, and Gerald had to go to Brian’s truck. That allowed us to experience the buffalo flies (not sure of that bug identity) that have been swarming there every time Brian gets out of a vehicle. I’d never seen the pesky little buggers before, but I made it to the other side of the pickup with out a bite. Oddly I did not hear any cicadas in those woods surrounding those fields. I wondered why.

Temperatures are in the 90s; with Memorial Day behind us, people here are calling this summertime. Summertime and the living is easy—unless you are farming and then it is sometimes very hard. Lazy unplanned days are sometimes difficult for our over-scheduled kids to adjust to. They have to catch on that they made need to choose between being busy or bored. And they will.

Good Times

2011-05-30T23:56:00.000-05:00

Ever have one of those times when there are too many things you want and need to do than is humanly possible? We have just had too much on our calendar lately—two grandsons graduating from high school, one grandson graduating from 8th grade, end of semester plays, programs and softball games, reunions, medical appointments, and storms, and a great grandson’s 5th birthday party up in Aurora that we could not attend.

In between the rains and storms, our son-in-law is trying to get crops planted. In addition to all his own projects, Gerald wants to be available to help a little bit if Brian needs a ride to another place or something welded. One of Gerald’s most time consuming projects right now is mowing our huge lawn that is growing beautifully because of the excess rains.

I didn’t finish my list of errands nor go by to see Katherine on Wednesday while I was in town because I kept hearing warnings on the car radio that our region might be getting tornadoes at any time. I knew the chance that the tornado would hit in whatever area I might be in was slim, but the constant reports about Joplin made us aware that we needed to be careful. Activities and ball games were being cancelled; students and people were sent home from school and work early. Storm shelters were opened in churches and public buildings for those who needed a place of safety.

I was relieved when our car was in the garage again and out of danger of hail that hitting various spots in our region. And I was glad when Erin showed up to spend the night in our downstairs bedroom that is actually underground. Her car and her dog Sadie were sheltered in Gerald’s shop. I remembered two frozen pizzas in the freezer and fixed those and carried down to our downstairs family room where we ate supper and were glued to the television. Local weather reporting had replaced regular programming. Although we were not really afraid, we were prepared to run into the safe room under our front porch area if necessary. I was worrying about Katherine’s family, and she phoned to check on us.

One tornado was seen over Marion but did not touch down. We seemed to be between the two worst areas that were showing bright red on the screen. One tornado touched down and did a great deal of damage at a little town north of Mt. Vernon named Boyd that none of us had ever heard of before. We heard Union County, our home county, was in path of the storm, but it was Saturday at a family gathering down there that we learned that a tornado had actually touched down and damaged a cousin’s trees and other people’s property in a fairly small rural area there.

We grew bored by weather reports and the danger seemed to have passed, and we went on to bed. Erin was up early the next morning for her and Sadie and her cousin Sarah to head to Athens, Georgia, to visit her family and be there for the Super Regionals softball tournament to start at Athens on Saturday. Gerald fixed her an egg in the microwave for an egg sandwich and she was gone before I got up.

Thursday we both had appointments with a dermatologist way over at Murphysboro, which is why my face is temporarily scarred up from some zapping. But we had a good report, and that is what matters. We had stopped in Carbondale on the way over to empty our garage of all the recyclables and we had to stop by the audiologist in Carbondale on our way home. That night we hurried to Sam’s 8th grade program at 6 p.m. in a very crowded gymnasium with parking spaces all taken before we arrived though we were on time.

As some places do, the school avoided using the word “graduation” but called the evening a Recognition Program. The large class sat in folding chairs and filled the floor of the gym with a row of teachers at the side and dignitaries on a temporary stage. Many many awards were given before finally row by row each youth went forward to get a diploma or whatever you call what is given if it is not a graduation ceremony. Sam was one of the 15 students in the class that had made all A’s their 7th and 8th grade years, so we enjoyed seeing him on the front row although neither of us could hear in the cavernous gym. Evidently no one else could either because the audience kept a lot of conversations going all around me, and for some reason, there was a steady flow of people going in and out.

Gerald and I lost each other in the crowd after he came in from parking the car. I had to literally crawl up the bleachers to one of the few lowest seats available since the lower seats were all taken. I saved a spot for Gerald, but he did not find me even though I stood up and was waving. I began to wonder during this long program how in the world I was going to get back down without a handrail. I get dizzy in this kind of steep seating, and I was concerned. I was on the end of a row, and finally I got up my nerve and reached over and asked the sweet young man across from me on the other side of the un-railed steps if he’d let me hold his arm going down. As I knew he would, he was the perfect gentleman and agreed with a smile to help me. Only then I could relax and watch the graduates, and I clapped for every one of them as they were handed their rewards.

Afterward we hurried home and watched the ending of the first of the eight women softball NAAC Super Regionals strung out across the nation. Our Super Regional was not starting until Saturday night, but we were interested in all these 16 winners of Regionals who were going to be reduced to eight teams for the World Series in Oklahoma City starting at the end of this week.

We wanted to go to Elijah’s graduation up in the northern part of the state and especially so since he would be one of the speakers. We had heard him as an 8th grader give a great speech at that graduation, and we wanted to see him complete the circle. But a seven-hour trip was just a little overwhelming at this time as Gerald has been having some back trouble. So we stayed home, but I believed I’d always feel some pain that I did not get to attend. Of course, there was also that birthday party in that end of the state. (I am greedy about life.)

We were watching whatever softball games we could, but Saturday was the annual reunion of the students who went to the old Wolf Lake High School, which became a part of the consolidated Shawnee High School in the 1950s. We could not go when we were still farming, so Gerald especially likes to go now. This multi-class reunion always brings out-of-town oldsters back to their roots, and the local alumni go all out to give a really nice gathering. Gerald enjoys seeing old friends and catching up on their lives. I have tagged along enough that I know many of his high school friends, so I enjoy seeing them too and always meeting new ones. I happened to sit by Bob and Betty (Millis) Larrison, and I had a great time getting acquainted with them. I was surprised to find out that Betty was a sister-in-law to Gerald’s cousin Marjorie and they were headed there after this reunion ended.

We had just time to buy some flowers and head to the Jonesboro Cemetery before we were to go to a 5 p.m. 25th anniversary party for Steve and Debby Haldeman at her sister Irma’s house. We have talked for years about needing to have another Glasco-Wenger get together, and Gerald’s cousin Irma had invited us all there to do just that. It was a wonderful party with lots of time to see new little ones in the family and to visit with all the relatives. Tender ribs and yummy scented kabobs were carried in and added to the groaning dinner buffet for everyone to help themselves as people showed up as their schedules allowed.

The lovely tiered anniversary cake was made by Irma—something she and Debby used to do together. It seemed impossible that it had really been 25 years since we attended Debby and Steve’s wedding at the Wenger family farm. That particular wedding was memorable to us because Jeannie was doing a lot of long distance local bike riding in those days and had ridden to our farm from Carbondale. During our lunch we watched a show on television about these bicyclists riding across the nation. That afternoon we arrived at the site of the wedding and found out the bikers we had just watched on television were there on their bikes having ridden down from Chicago. They were the groom’s brothers. These young adults went on to start a successful bike touring business and have been riding here and abroad ever since. It was fun to see Steve’s parents again and hear a little more about these bikers that had impressed us so.

We were not very good guests because after dinner several of us hovered around the television set to watch the first Georgia-Baylor game in the Athens Super Regionals. Nor were we very happy when we lost. Since the winner of these tourneys must win two out of three, the final two games for us were yesterday afternoon.

After church yesterday morning, Gerald took me down to my family’s cemetery at Goreville to place flowers on the graves there, and then we enjoyed dinner at The Old Home Place—Pat and Tina Barger’s restaurant. It was good to see my cousin Joe Martin there, and he came and visited with me a long time. (He is a second-cousin once removed.) Like most people, I have great admiration for Joe because he has accomplished a great deal despite difficult odds. As a youth, he was a finalist in Special Olympics and even went to New York because of his ability. He keeps himself in great shape and dresses with crisp neatness and style. He proudly told me he had worked at the local grocery for 30 years now. He has collected thousands of dollars for charity by riding in bike-a-thons, and now he says he has added bowling and karaoke to his activities.

We hurried home to sit in front of the television again as we watched ESPN as Georgia hit five home runs and beat Baylor 14-2 in the second game of the series. We had forced the third game, and we were relaxed during the 30 minutes between games because we felt assured our Bulldogs would beat those Baylor Bears without any problem since we were on a roll. Sadly for us, Baylor came back and quickly pulled ahead and won handily with a 9-2 score. So Georgia will not be going back to the World Series for the third year in a row. Our family felt devastated, and soon remarks came up on Facebook expressing our disappointment.

I went upstairs to clean up a messy kitchen and turned on the television there. A news report was showing Tuscaloosa one month after their tornado. (One of the Super Regionals was held there where the campus had to be closed and graduation postponed till September, but the stadium was ok. Tournament visitors saw and experienced the destruction there.) Although I had rooted for Danielle Miller on Stanford’s team, who is such a great kid, I had to be happy for Alabama’s team, who after that terrible tornado trauma, won the right to go on to Oklahoma City. Seeing that news report about how many are without homes quickly put the softball loss into perspective. As our son Gerry said, “Some days you get the bear, and some days the bear gets you!” Nevertheless, he is already at work for next year.

Leslie started downstate after her brother’s graduation yesterday, and she arrived at Woodsong at 2:28 this morning. I had slept on the couch and been up at 2, but still slept through her arrival when I lay back down. I woke up again at 3 and saw her car in the driveway and the unlocked door now locked, so I went on to my own bedroom. Like everyone, Leslie slept fine in that underground bedroom that is completely dark and quieter than the other bedrooms. It was mid morning when she came upstairs.

We had a good visit before she was back on the road to Nashville and her red-headed boyfriend, whom she was missing. She took a video of Elijah’s speech, so I can look forward to her putting it on You Tube. It won’t be a good as seeing/hearing it in person, but I have my perspective straightened out now. I am through pouting.

Les has worked as an R. A. in the dorms at Belmont the last two years, and she was eager to have her first apartment for her senior year. She and a girl friend have secured an apartment in their youth pastor’s home, and she is working two part-time jobs this summer to pay for it. Her car was loaded down with stuff from Freeport to add to her thrift-store finds, and she was so excited to have today to finish setting up her very first place before she starts back to work tomorrow.

Seeing her joy and anticipation helped my attitude also. I just changed the title of this blog from "Too Busy Times" to "Good Times."

Thinking of those who died in WWII

2011-05-27T14:11:00.000-05:00

Memorial Day is coming, and graves will be decorated. But the longer we are from World War II, the fewer Americans remember it. My childhood memories are already dim although at the time our lives revolved around that war. Our days were darkened by knowledge that the war was going on. My mother could not sleep well at nights thinking about her older sister Mary’s sons fighting overseas. Daddy’s sister’s sons were also “over there,” and I am sure they worried just as much about them. Older cousins Dorothy and Kathleen had husbands fighting also, and Kathie lost her husband, and her mother had to tell her while she was still in the hospital after giving birth to their baby son.

The war started for me when I came home from visiting my special adult friend Mabel Perry, who had been my infrequent babysitter and whose mother did laundry and stretched lace curtains for many in the community. Somehow I would be invited and allowed to walk to Mabel’s house, a few blocks away, and I would always be entertained royally. Mable would tell wonderful spooky “true” tales that caused me to be scared, but Mother did not know that. Drinking out of her late father’s mustache cup was a special privilege. Her father had been a lawyer but had been dead many years and the family’s living was made in the wash house just a step away from the kitchen door. Later Mabel gave me the cup.

So it had been a typical happy Sunday afternoon for me when I walked into our house and was told about Pearl Harbor. I must have realized from my parents’ voices and the looks on their faces that this was a terrible thing. I only remember going from the living room into my sister and my bedroom and kneeling down and praying. I knew to be scared. I have no memory of what I thought or expressed to God, but praying in the middle of the day was not a normal thing for me to do. Something enormous had happened.

My parents had already planned a trip to El Paso to visit Daddy’s sister Myrtle and husband William Ball as our one-time Christmas celebration. It was decided to go ahead and carry out those plans, which was a good thing since gas and tire shortages would not allow traveling during the war years. We were not going to have a tree this year nor exchange the usual presents. However, since I was the youngest, I was given my last doll that year—my first “big” doll, which I am sure I had longed for. Our family of five took off as soon as school was out—my older sister Rosemary, brother Jim, me, and “the folks” as we often called Mother and Daddy. Christmas Day dinner was in a diner in Texarkana, and that seemed quite exotic at the time and was probably the only thing open. Eating in a restaurant was rare for us, and the folks always made things fun. The visit at El Paso was good but definitely over-shadowed by Aunt Myrtle and Uncle William’s knowledge that their sons were going to war. I remember the concern.

When we got back to Southern Illinois on the Sunday afternoon before school started the next day, my parents stopped on the Jonesboro Square to pick up their mail from the post office box inside the lobby. There a letter was waiting for my mother to start teaching the next day at the one-room Meisenheimer School, grades one through eight, where the young teacher had been drafted. As a married woman with children, my mother was not considered suitable to teach under ordinary circumstances. But overnight it became her patriotic duty to do so, and she did.

Mother not only taught, but she was responsible for picking up students in her 1937 Ford car, starting the fire in the school stove, and keeping the building clean. (I think she hired one of the older boys for part of this janitor work.)

I hated coming home from the school across the street to an empty house even though Daddy was in his office at my school and I was welcome to go up and see him if I needed to. I was supposed to go home and practice my piano. I did not like to practice anyway, and I would imagine burglers in the basement beneath me, so practice was probably often cut short.

Mother was soon home and had supper on the table by five since Daddy very often had to be back at the school before six. Daddy was the 8th grade teacher and principal; but with the war, he also became basketball coach since the coach was drafted. (At away games, he piled the players into that 37 Ford and was the “bus driver” also.) When our school had a day off and Mother’s did not, I was able to go with her to visit all day, and I loved that. Looking back, I am sure Mother’s teaching career made possible by the changing attitude that the war brought about was a very good thing for our family; but for a third grader, it was a difficult change.

However, in all honesty, I enjoyed most of the exciting things going on with the war— the community scrap drives that Daddy headed up with piles of metal in the school parking lot almost as high as the school building, the war stamps sold at school with our fourth grade class making a little stand with red, white, and blue decorations in the corner of our room, the big rallies where the pig King Neptune was auctioned off again and again to sell war bonds. (Yes, this really happened, and he was buried beside Route 146 with a tombstone and supposedly exhumed when I-57 disturbed his grave. You can see his tombstone now in the north rest stop of I-57 around the corner from Route 146.)

Patriotism permeated the society, and that made just being an American a special virtue to be enjoyed by us youngsters. I made a scrapbook of airplanes although I was not really interested in planes but it seemed patriotic. The main purpose of our two rival neighborhood clubs—the Busy Bees and the Junior Commandos—was to help win the war. We were on the alert and always on the lookout for German spies that we kept hearing about. (Both clubs together had only four regular kid members until we made up, united, and had a picnic with the Junior Commandos’ money contributed by adult friends.)

As the war continued, we outgrew the neighborhood clubs, and I became more aware of the sad side of the war. I knew the limitations of sugar, tire, and gas rationing,, but they were considered part of being patriotic and not sacrificial. I wrote notes to older cousins in service and knew my mother’s worry. I became aware of how many people went to the movies just in hopes of catching a glimpse of their son or brother in the news shorts, which were a part of every movie showing. A short story in The American Girl told of children in Holland having to hide out, and that story deeply affected me and helped me begin to understand that the war was terrible beyond the battlefields in other nations. I felt the grief for the loss of her husband by my cousin Kathleen, way out in California. By the time the war ended in 1945, I was going into the 7th grade and I had learned the horror of atom bombs and knew the world was changed with a threat that would never again allow tranquility even during times of peace.

Celebrating with Trent

2011-05-23T01:08:00.000-05:00

The parking lot at Lincolnwood High School at Raymond, IL, was almost full when Gerald dropped me off closer to the door and he went looking for a vacant spot. Obviously graduation is a big deal in this community. As I entered the packed gymnasium, I remembered the heat associated with such programs in my distant past and realized I perhaps should have worn a cool summer dress.

I wondered how in the world we would find seats since bleachers on both sides seemed full and many people were milling around yet. However, Mary Ellen was standing and waving at us and had reserved seats waiting for us. Gerald, Brian, his mother, and I settled into the chairs on the gym floor marked “Taylor,” and I was quite comfortable for the evening. (Some things had come up for Sam, and he had not been able to go with us after all much to his disappointment.) I appreciated the school’s thoughtfulness with making such advance preparation for us.

Brian’s brother Steve and wife Salena and their three daughters—Jasmine, Kaitlin, and Larissa—had come downstate from Sycamore, Brian’s home town, and they had gotten there early enough to find seats on the bleachers. So Trent had a nice size cheering section for him.

Brianna was up front playing in the band. When the familiar “Pomp and Circumstance” started, I thought for a few moments that I might cry. Soon I was eagerly straining my head backwards to catch the first glimpse of Trent as he solemnly marched in but with a smile on his face. From then on, I was mostly happy, but the many tears I saw around us when graduates came to hand their parents a beautiful rose did make me cautious that I did not let them be contagious. Again Trent’s big smile as he gave up his rose to his parents and then hugged all of us one at a time made the joy replace the tears.

It had been so long since I had been to a graduation ceremony that I did not know kids now decorate their mortarboards, and many of these seniors did--including the three top students who gave short speeches. Although the traditionalist in me preferred the solid black caps, it was interesting to see the various designs on the top of their heads, which were most often symbols of colleges they intend to go to or a career they aspire to. One girl’s cap, which I was seeing through the crack of heads in front of me, was a dolphin. Is she heading to Florida? I thought one guy had a miniature football sewed on his cap and I assume he had been on the team. Unquestionably the most interesting and certainly them most noticeable was Trent’s friend Tim Marten, who had lights outlining the edge of his square.

Finally the formalities were over, the kids had received their fake diplomas, tassels had been pulled to the other side, and then the Class of 2011 had their way with hats high in the air and silly string flying everywhere. Trent was really smiling now and that smile lasted as he marched with his class back out of the gym.

It was still daylight outside after the service. Groups clustered around their particular graduate. An adorable red haired toddler had kicked off his shoes and was sunning barefoot in the grass. In the cool of the evening, I was glad I had not worn a summer dress because we took time there for a lot of picture taking of Trent with various groupings of his family members. The large grassy lawn was quite magnificent with many huge trees towering over us, and I commented that I bet not another school in Illinois had such an abundance of enormous trees.

No one had had time to eat before the ceremony. In fact, Brian and his mother had arrived up from Southern Illinois even later than we did because he was in the field down here planting until the last possible moment. I think we were all glad when Mary Ellen said the plan was for us all to drive to nearby Litchfield, where she and Brian treated the dozen of us to supper at Denny’s.When we headed for their house five miles in the country from Waggoner, Trent and Brianna went onto yet another one of the many graduation parties being held.

It was late enough that we all settled down quickly back at their house, which with its finished basement, can hold a large house party. Unfortunately, as life often typically slings at us, company in the house makes things break or causes plumbing to cease working properly. I am speaking from experience. So several were downstairs solving that problem while Gerald and I fell into our bed upstairs and were quickly asleep.

The next morning I slept in and hoped Mary and Brian had, but Brian was on the tractor mowing and May Ellen was already thawing out the many veggie dishes she had prepared for the day’s crowd. While some of the cousins were quickly into the swim pool outside the breakfast nook door, Gerald and I went with Mary Ellen to Litchfield to pick up ice, the special congratulatory cake and other supplies for the afternoon.

Later Brian and Steve were in Litchfield for some farm purpose, so Mary Ellen had them go by for the fried chicken she had ordered. The store told them that Mary’s order was for Sunday, not Saturday, and they came home empty handed. Mary Ellen said that by then with the previous night’s plumbing problems keeping them up to all hours, she simply decided to simply stay calm and not let it bother her although she knew she had ordered correctly.

She thought we’d just have a vegetarian meal. (Frankly, she had so many veggie dishes available that we would have eaten well without chicken.) But then the store called that another family named Taylor had ordered chicken for Sunday, and that her order was ready after all. So Brianna made yet another trip to Litchfield and carried in two huge boxes of wonderful smelling chicken. The feasting began, and other families and kids’ friends kept arriving. Trent was still smiling.

Everyone was eager for Tara and Bryan and their three boys to arrive from Aurora. Aidan, of course, was immediately in the pool with the teens. This was the first family gathering since Easter, and it was somewhat disconcerting to see how much baby Payton had grown up in that short amount of time. He was immediately attracted to Salena’s dog Alex and the Taylors’ Fifi. He was so gentle petting them over and over, and both shitzus were just as gentle with him in return. He still wants to be close to his mother, but he was ready to socialize and soon after arrival held his little arms up to Gerald. Before the day was over, he had so favored others of us, and he even let Gerald take him on a tractor ride in the plot behind the swimming pool although he kept his eyes on his mother watching him.

Maddux, our shy charmer who almost makes people swoon with his shy cutting of his eyes, had a big boy haircut and seemed a year older instead of four weeks older. His latest cuteness is keeping both hands on his hips probably in imitation of Woody or some cartoon character he watches. He still liked riding as much as always though anything with four wheels (all called “tractor”), and he had several men and teens ready and willing to provide him with rides.

Jeannie and Rick’s family arrived from Freeport, and Elijah and Cecelie joined the teen crowd. However, when our natural entertainer Leslie arrived from her long drive up from Nashville, TN, her siblings were eager to come in the living room to hear about her latest adventures including two new summer jobs—one decorating cakes at Kroger and the other as a health care performer who is going to lead children at various gatherings and parties. Evidently she auditioned at a regular event, and the two-year-olds stormed the stage trying to reach her, so she instantly got the job. She and Trent had to do a long standing tradition of some dance moves they perfected long ago at Vacation Bible School together and which Leslie dubbed “The Trent.” Les is always a happy addition to any crowd, and we all liked her excited anticipation of her senior year at Belmont living in her first apartment.

While the kids were mostly in the pool, we relaxed in the beautiful high ceiling living room and watched NCAA women’s softball regional tourneys, which Tara’s knowing comments made more interesting. (She has coached so many of the girls on Southern Force before their college days, so she had memories and anecdotes to share.) University of Georgia games weren’t televised, but Tara had kept up with them for us, and we knew before Trent’s graduation ceremony that they had won their first game. And by the time we were eating lunch yesterday afternoon, we knew they had won their second game, and that one more win today would give them a regional championship allowing them to host the super regional this coming weekend at Athens. (They did win today.)

The teens eventually piled into a car to head to a movie, and some of the men were busy with the plot behind the house. Others were swimming, while adults sat around the pool visiting. It was darkening, and Gerald and I realized it was past time we should be starting the long trek back to Southern Illinois. So we grabbed another piece of chicken to eat for our supper and shared with Fifi who had joined us on the concrete steps going down to poolside.

Reluctantly we made our goodbyes and were grateful when we back home safely to Woodsong in our own bed once more.

Spring Activities Keep Us Occupied

2011-05-20T13:52:00.000-05:00

This week went by way too fast for me. Less scheduled than usual, so I would have thought it would have gone slowly. Ah well. I did get my INR and catch up on laundry, but I really can’t claim anything else done. Our irises are blooming beautifully, and I picked one bouquet, which had already turned ugly this morning except for three tall blooms I saved for a smaller vase. One thing I did do last night that I have been wanting to do for a long time. I read Tori Huftalin’s posts for the last three months in Haiti:
http://heartforhurting.blogspot.com/2011/05/why-love-until-it-hurts.html]
I was both inspired and awed at the work this beautiful young talented nurse is doing there taking care of malnourished and orphan babies—and doing it all with great joy. I had checked her blog once after the first entry, and she had not yet arrived and entered her first post from Haiti. She is home briefly right now as her blog originally explained, and when she goes back, it will be for a year. This morning I wrote a couple of bread and butter notes for last weekend, and I have started laying out clothes to put in the suitcase for this weekend.

Mary Ellen posted pictures of Trent as a toddler on Facebook this weekend, and I want to reach into the computer and hug that adorable little guy. How can he be walking across the stage as a grave old senior tonight? We’ll be going up this afternoon after we pick up grandson Sam to travel with us. (He graduates from 8th grade next Thursday night.)

Tomorrow Mary Ellen and Brian are throwing a come-and-go all afternoon party in Trent’s honor at their house from 2 to 8. It is supposed to be a poolside party, but with 70% chance of rain, we may be inside listening to ball games or playing charades. Brian’s mother flew in Wednesday for Trent’s baccalaureate and was up at the farm with Brian yesterday and today at the camper while he worked feverishly to continue spring planting.

Jeannie and Rick are coming down with Elijah and Cecelie for the Saturday celebration. Leslie is driving up from Nashville after getting settled in her new apartment and summer job there. She will be at Freeport with her family next week. Tara is coming down, I assume with her sons, although I don’t know that. She was once a summer live-in nanny for Trent and Brianna, so she feels especially close to her cousins.

University of Georgia is hosting the softball regionals at Athens, and they play Georgia State tonight. We’ll probably not learn that outcome until after the graduation. Gerry’s cousin DuWayne and his Vickie are on their way down to the game right now. When Gerry phoned his dad this morning, he already knew about his cousin Bryce’s son Lex hitting the winning home-run yesterday in Johnston City’s baseball regionals. Keeping up with everyone’s spring activities keeps the whole family occupied. Elijah’s high school graduation is next Sunday afternoon, and I am hoping we can get up there for that. We are hoping that Mary Ellen again gets to celebrate her birthday in Oklahoma City while the Women’s College Softball World Series is there. Sam is planning on going with her and his cousins if Georgia gets to go again.

The outline of my glasses with bruises on my face is beginning to dim, and I hope to look presentable for this weekend. I will definitely be looking down on any concrete pads I walk on.

Falling Flat on My Face

2011-05-17T02:43:00.000-05:00

When I turned off of Route 39/51 and onto Route 20 going west to Freeport in northern Illinois, I was greeted with bright clusters of blooming redbud trees—something that had faded from our southern end of the state a month ago. Arriving at daughter Jeannie’s house, I saw Rick mowing the side yard. Their big lilac bush was blooming beautifully behind him. Then I opened the car door, and in between the driveway and the neighbor’s yard was a carpet of short green grass decorated with multitudes of tiny blooming violets. I had to hope that Rick did not mow that far, and because he didn’t, I was able to enjoy the violets all weekend.

Gerald was not feeling up to driving the long length of our state, but my desire to see grandson Elijah in his last high school theatrical performance gave me the courage to make the drive. (I am always nervous and unsure of myself when I leave the comfort and simplicity of driving familiar roads.)
When I got up the nerve to decide I was going, I threw clothes in a suitcase and carried outfits on hangers to lay in the back seat and head out for a road trip. I have been wanting to see my brother Jim and wife Vivian at Mattoon; and for years when I stopped to see them, I wished I had a little more time to run over to nearby Charleston and visit my childhood friend Shirley Karraker. I decided to treat myself to those two visits, which would make a nice break in the long trip up to Jeannie and Rick’s.

I left on Wednesday—later than I meant to, of course, since my last minute planning caused me to have a list of things I needed to do before I left the farm. Gerald was tied up with Erin, who had brought her dog Sadie over to stay while she went by bus to their conference tourney, and Gerald was to take her to the team bus and her car to her Uncle Louie’s who was going to fix her brakes while she was out of town. So despite my dislike for GPS gadgets and all the ugly things I have said about them—yes, there are some stories that caused that dislike—I decided I better drag the GPS out from under the seat and put my friend’s address in.

Gerald wasn’t home to help me, but anyhow I wanted to feel competent and independent enough to travel on my own. I thought surely I could figure out this ubiquitous 21st century guidance technology. However, the problem was that I could never figure out where to plug the thing in.

But what are cell phones for? I could call my friend when I reached Charleston and let her give me directions to the retirement condominium she and her husband had moved into shortly before his death a few years ago. (I had been to their other home, although I could not have remembered how to reach it either.)

Shirley was out to morning coffee with friends when I phoned that morning, but I talked to her daughter and the daughter thought there would be time for a visit before an evening appointment. Long before I reached Charleston, Shirley had called my cell and said that the directions to their new place were simple. I said I’d call when I got to town and let her direct me.

I arrived in Charleston in plenty of time for a long afternoon visit. However, I went into town a different way than I had thought I would when Shirley and I talked on the phone enroute. Thus, when I told her I had pulled into a shopping mall to phone her with my pencil and paper in hand, she thought I was further west than I was. (Or was it further east? I am directionally challenged.) Anyhow because I was not where she thought I was, when she said make a left turn, I should have made a right turn on to University Drive. There were a couple more confusing phone calls with her saying, “Sue, where are you?” and me saying, “I’m not sure.” But I did make it to her home, and once I did, I could see she was correct that the way there was simple.

Our visiting time was reduced, but we still had a good catch-up visit. I enjoyed this new place that exhibited so well Shirley’s decorating finesse just as their earlier family home had done. I can remember a time in high school when she wanted to be an interior decorator, and she certainly would have been good at it. But she was good in many things and became a chemistry major. Then came her housewifery years, but when her daughters were older and computers were new, she had headed up the computer lab at the university where Robert taught. She explained to me once that career was the reason she deliberately chose to have little to do with computers afterwards. She was bored before many of us had our first computer.

In retirement, she and Robert had always gone to way-down south Florida after Christmas each year where he relished the abundant bird life. (Some of the sleek birds this chemistry professor had carved were there in their new retirement home.) During the grandchildren’s spring break each year, their daughter in New Jersey would bring the children down to enjoy the Florida sun and sand before Shirley and Robert came back for the summer and fall and holidays at their Charleston home when they were not away on travels or Elderhostel activities. Shirley continues the Florida tradition, so I was able to hear about her new first-floor condominium there, which of course she had enjoyed decorating.

Reflecting on this more than 70-year friendship, I drove back to Mattoon to visit my brother, a retired school administrator, and my sister-in-law, a retired elementary teacher. An added bonus was having my niece Judi Jines there when I arrived. Judi has done considerable free lance writing, so I have always felt close to her. She has helped her daughter and son-in-law with their daughter Willow while they were at work. Jim and Vivian were chatting excitedly about Willow’s recent musical program to celebrate her moving from that building which houses only pre-school and kindergarten children and onto first grade. So I am eager for Judi to find time to freelance again, but we had so much to talk about that I failed to even mention that.

There was much anticipation of their other great grandchild’s second birthday party coming up, which was being held in conjunction with a graduation party for his parents, Sean and Payge Jones, both of whom just finished their bachelors at Eastern Illinois University, while holding down multiple part-time jobs. A beautiful hand-made quilt, which Vivian had just finished for him, was displayed on the sofa waiting to be wrapped for little Vincent Indiana Roland Jones, better known as “Indy.” Judi finally had to go, but we three talked until almost midnight knowing we’d sleep in the next morning although they had appointments and I would have to get on the road again.

In the guest bedroom, I enjoyed the framed baby photo of “Indy,” whose mature vocabulary I had heard about and which made me eager to meet him one of these days. Of course, I heard news about the other children and grandchildren also.

The next morning I enjoyed cereal with fresh strawberries and a choice of pumpkin, banana, or apple nut bread with the coffee Jim made for us. He and I visited while Vivian kept her appointment, and she came in as Jim had to leave, so we had our girl talk too before I needed to leave if I made it in time for Elijah’s play. I made it and even settled in before we had to leave for the Jeannette Lloyd Theater. I soon heard Cecelie in her bedroom practicing her violin, and I enjoyed that all weekend, but I knew not to ask for a performance.

A deer head on the wall above the fireplace was spotlighted when we entered the theater and found our seats after collecting the tickets Jeannie’s friend Jean Kimpel had picked up for us. . A stuffed turkey and a scary looking bear skin rug with the huge bear head intact made us know we were in a hunting lodge. Elijah was playing Charley Baker in Larry Shue’s The Foreigner, and we did not have to be told he was pathologically shy when he fearfully entered the lodge behind his old army buddy Froggy LeSueur.

Froggy had brought him over from London, to give Charley a respite from his hospital duties attending to his dying wife. Froggy knew the talkative warn-hearted widow running the lodge, a long and dear friend, would take good care of Charley while Froggy fulfilled his assignment teaching explosive devices to men on a nearby army base there in Tilghman County, Georgia. He had not anticipated that Charley, his former army officer, had become so painfully fearful of ordinary conversation after twelve years as a magazine proofreader that he became panicky when it was time for Froggy to leave.

To solve the problem, Froggy told the widow, who wished she had traveled the world like he had, that Charley was a foreigner who could not talk English. The widow was thrilled with this exotic guest and intuitively believed the louder she yelled, the more likely the foreigner might understand her. This ruse seemed unethical to Charley but before he had a chance to tell the widow this was all a mistake, he overheard various private conversations of other lodge residents and only having the widow explain that he had not been able to know what they said saved Charley from their fury.

The predicament provided one hilariously funny episode after another because these kids under Tim Conners’ direction are marvelously talented. All six of the play’s characters were main characters, and all six had the ability to take an audience with them wherever the improbable script took them. We were sad, happy, shocked, and most often laughing with these performers just as they wished. When the Klu Klux Klan entered, we were even afraid just as the late playwright Larry Shue wanted us to be.

But even that scene too soon became hysterically humorous as Charley put the bear skin rug on and scared them away with made-up sorcery. The sweet-talking fiancé of the beautiful young woman, who had just inherited big money, was revealed as the evil plotter he was and ordered away. Charley, whose wife in far-off London managed to get up off her death bed and wire him of her latest and 24th dalliance explaining she had run off with the hospital proctologist. Charley got the beautiful girl, the widow’s lodge was saved from the scheming fiancé and building inspector and everything ended hunky dory except our sides hurting from laughing. We knew that Charley’s extreme shyness had been cured.

My desire was to be able to attend all three nights of the production, seeing the difference in audiences’ reactions, hearing the funny lines that I didn’t catch the first or second night, and watching the cast grow increasingly adept with both the slapstick and the subtle character development.

On Friday afternoon after a long week of her very difficult teaching schedule in different classrooms at different schools, Jeannie learned at 4:30 that Elijah was planning a cast party at their house after that night’s performance. Rick was away coaching at the sectional track meet, so there was no parental help there. Jeannie pulled it off with amazing ease, however, after feeding us homemade potato soup. She hurriedly made her signature chocolate chip brownies (chocolate chip recipe spread in a pan and baked to just the right gooeyness) to go with other store bought cookies, everyone’s favorite burger/cheese, salsa dip in a crock pot for chips, iced-down colas, and a generous order of pizza delivered to the house after the play.

We hurried off to the play where we were to meet Jeannie’s mother-in-law and her special friend who always drive over from Rick’s hometown for the grandkids’ plays. We were almost to the door dashing through the rain when somehow one minute I was walking uprightly and the next minute after stubbing a toe, my nose was down on the concrete, my glasses thrown off ahead of me and my Birks somewhere behind me.

Jeannie looked around and saw me lying on the concrete and was horrified. Seeing and hearing her fear, I was quick to assure her I was okay. I knew I wasn’t exactly okay with a slightly bleeding forehead and skinned nose, but I also thought except for the breath knocked out of me that I was probably okay and that was what she needed to hear.

Jeannie said with relief, “Oh, here is Dr. _____...” (I never did get that name, but hearing that felt good.) Immediately a man and woman were hovering over me along with Jeannie, retrieving my glasses that fortunately did not break, helped me upright, and put the shoes back on my feet. (Jeannie blamed the Birks and she may be right about that although I have worn them for years because of nerve damage in my foot and I have never fallen with them before.)

When the woman asked me if I had hit my head, I was still addled enough to say no despite the skinned place on my forehead. It was only while Jeannie and I talked and watched television in my bedroom that night while the cast laughed and enjoyed the living room that I learned the man and woman were not a couple but two individuals who just happened there at the same time. And the woman was the doctor--revealing my own sexism that I had assumed the sweet caring man was.

Jeannie provided me with antibiotic cream and tried to give me something for pain—but as long as I did not touch my nose, I had no pain whatsoever. I slept very good when Jeannie left to put up food and hang around until the last guest left. They were still laughing in the living room when I drifted off around midnight. Cecelie and her over-night friend were playing music and giggling in their bedroom.

Saturday was restful with late sleeping in for everyone. At noon it was off to Jeannie’s friend Jean Kimpel’s RN pinning at Highland Community College. We picked up their mutual friend Diane, and after the pinning, they presented her with a beautiful bouquet Jeannie had acquired that morning from her favorite florist. (Watching her skillful work is an artistic treat Jeannie gives herself.) Jean’s daughter Lauren was the comical widow in the play and she along with the beautiful girl were Elijah’s leading ladies. That afternoon Elijah went after the other two lovely bouquets Jeannie had ordered since his tradition was to give flowers to his leading lady and in this play there were two equally important cast members.

Rick took us all out to dinner except Elijah who was already at the theater long before that. Again it was raining lightly and we hurried in, but I watched that I did not fall flat on my face a second time. Cecelie looked very pretty carrying the two bouquets in to the theater for Elijah. Once again I had a great time watching the show with perhaps the most enthusiastic audience yet.

The final handclapping and standing ovation ended and the audience dispersed. In addition to the relief and great happiness that the play had been successful and that six weeks’ work was over, it was sad as always back stage after the final performance—especially so for the seniors. I heard sadness too in Tim Conners’ voice as he walked among the cast and said his last speeches to these very special kids he has worked with for four years. After the hugging, visiting, and flower presentations were over in the hallway back stage, the cast traditionally goes back on stage for cast pictures, and we watched that too before separating with Elijah going to the Saturday night’s cast party.

Again on Sunday we slept late. In fact, I slept so late that Jeannie had to wake me and I did not have time to pack my car trunk as I had planned to do before church. I’d told them the night before that I’d like to leave immediately after worship so that I could be on the road and use the lunch time as a break from driving since I was planning on driving home without stopping over night at my brother’s or Mary Ellen’s as I did last year.

By now my face is not only skinned, but quite discolored with bruises. The outline of my glasses, which evidently only flew off after I hit the concrete, is etched on my face with bruising under my eyes and across my nose. Maybe by tomorrow, I can cover it up with enough makeup that I won’t get the sympathy that my face now inspires. I will miss that.

Flowers and Flooding

2011-05-08T21:40:00.001-05:00

The doorbell ringing yesterday morning started my Mother’s Day early since the local flower shop in our village was delivering me not one but two bouquets. One lovely multi-flowered one in a unique square-shaped vase with clear glass outside and wine inside is now on the dining room table for me to enjoy each time I pass, which I do several times a day. (Since the wine will also look beautiful in our living room, I expect I will be filling that vase with flowers for years to come.) That was from Katherine, David, and Sam.

The gorgeous dozen red roses were from my husband, and they were placed in the living room where I also pass each time on the way to the kitchen in our very open upstairs. By the time I walk by the two bouquets, I am brimming with joy because of their beauty and the love they represent.

The owner of the flower shop was in high school with my two older kids, and knowing LaRonda created the arrangements make them even more special to me. She is very talented, and she and her sister Melody, who has opened a restaurant, have begun a business renaissance in our village. Cards, phone calls, and Facebook messages completed my continued celebration today.

Just as joy-bringing were reports on the grandkids’ lives. We have two high school senior grandsons this year—one living in the middle of our state and one about as far north as you can go without crossing into Wisconsin. Knowing they both had successful proms last night was happy news. Next will come the photos. And Sam’s eighth grade band did great at super state in Champaign on Friday, and I will be checking his friends’ photos of that trip on Facebook too.

While the instant communication with loved ones is one of the many blessings in today’s world, the knowledge of all the suffering around us keeps us aware that life can be very difficult and many people are in sorrow or trouble at any given moment in time.

Shortly after the doorbell rang yesterday with the flowers, a phone call came from our pastor A fellow pastor in our community was sending out an invitation to collect food this morning for flood refugees in our town—with the admonition that these people had only a microwave to prepare food in—no fridge or stove. Evidently the facilities with food being supplied or with better kitchens are now full.

So we made a stop on the way home from Southern Illinois University Carbondale softball double header and tried to thoughtfully figure out a variety of non-perishables. With everyone’s contributions this morning, our pastor had a job to take all of them to add to the other offerings from our community’s congregations. Yet I am sure there are tremendous needs all our area not being met.

We were shopping for the refugees next door to the empty parking lot where a tent city is now set up with a row of outdoor latrines. These state-of-the-art tents were extremely roomy and neat looking, and, as I understand it, are for the National Guard and other volunteers who are down at this end of the state helping with sandbagging and other rescue efforts. The explosions of the levee at Bird’s Point, MO, saved the levee at Cairo, and water levels here are going down. Yet the citizens there and in many small towns all over our area are still kept out. Water systems are not functioning, and many homes, cars, and fields are flooded. Now the mighty Mississippi River is headed to Memphis and further south, so all those people are frantically preparing for the floods as people here try to recover from them.

SIUC split yesterday’s double header with Drake, and we got there to see the end of the first game and the entire second game, which we won. Before we went, we’d taken time to watch the video taping of senior day for the University of Georgia’s softball team. Georgia had lost to Mississippi State on Friday night, but it won yesterday and again today, and we enjoyed watching today’s game and the homeruns in Gerald’s office as we ate lunch sandwiches.

I’d planned to surprise myself and get this blog written and posted before we went to evening services at Katherine’s church. But I was pleasantly interrupted by a visit from granddaughter Erin who had somehow found time after today’s game to come over and see her Gma Shirley and me. Now as I finish this blog, I also have a beautiful dozen white roses in my living room. Knowing Erin has to leave with the team Wednesday morning for the Missouri Valley Conference Tournament at Springfield, MO, makes the roses even more appreciated. And with all the attention I’ve received today, I feel appreciated too.

Face Tag and Dixie Barbecue

2011-05-05T01:12:00.000-05:00

Smokey sweet smells of barbecue greeted us when Gerald and I stepped out of his pickup at Dixie Barbecue just west of the Jonesboro Square. Dixie Barbecue is locally famous and it has fans of former residents all over the country who deem a visit to Dixie a necessary part of any trip back home. It opens at 10 in the morning, and it is soon filled with retired men gathering to discuss the day’s affairs and exchange banter and reminisces.

I’m a late sleeper, so I was still at the breakfast table drinking my second cup of coffee and absorbing the news as I simultaneously read the Southern Illinoisan and listened to CNN when Gerald came in from his shop and suggested we go to Union County to meet up with his brothers and the coffee drinkers at the Dixie. Then we could go on down to see the river overflow from the Mississippi.

His knees and back were objecting to the long day he put in on the concrete floor out at the shop yesterday trying out his new log splitter. He achieved a woodpile for his new heating stove, and he was having so much fun that he wanted to keep at it today, but decided that would not be a very smart thing to do. He knew if he stayed at the farm, he’d spend the day out there again so he decided on a drive to the Bottoms. So faced with the choice of doing the housework I ought to do or to run around with him, I chose to tag along to the Dixie.

I hurried and got ready so we would arrive not too much after the place opened. I knew I’d see my as my brothers-in-law Garry and Keith, who would be taking a break from their morning’s work. Like Gerald, they are early risers. I also knew I would see my buddy Harlan.

Harlan is the youngest of the six Coffman boys who lived in our neighborhood behind the school house on a small farm. I remember when Harlan was born. I woke up one day and my mother was not in the house—perhaps for the first time in my young life. My sister Rosemary or my daddy or someone explained that Mother had gone down to her friend Zella Coffman’s house to help her with a new baby.

The Coffman family was entwined in many of my childhood memories. All the neighborhood kids gathered in their front yard to play Kick the Can. There were week-long Monopoly games in the summers and wonderful games of Sorry in their living room when the boys got that game one Christmas. Their family took the daily St. Louis Post-Dispatch and we took the Globe-Democrat, so every Sunday we kids exchanged the two papers so that we could read the two sets of colored funnies and I assume our parents the editorials.

My brother Jim and the Coffman boys had marvelous adventures together, it seemed to me. I can remember going to sleep with the night-time sounds coming in my open window of a game the older kids played called Barbaree Lost Trail as one group hunted for another group by hollering that phrase back and forth. Jim and the Coffman boys built a telephone out of tin cans and wire out in their barn. Jim kept his horse Tony that he rode up from Goreville in their pasture. Since Harlan and I were the youngest of both families and not always welcome in the older kids’ activities, we hung together.

At some point in our lives, we started playing Face Tag. When our mothers would call us to supper or our time together was over, we would each try to be the last one to see the other’s face and yell triumphantly, “Face Tag!!” We played it for years in our neighborhood and after evening church services at the Baptist church. While the adults visited in the evening after church, we would run in and out hiding behind the parked cars along the street trying to be the last one to see the other. Then being about five years older, I left Jonesboro and went off to college. Harlan played great basketball for Anna-Jonesboro and then went on with a scholarship to play college ball in New Mexico.

When Harlan and Carmen moved back to Union County after his career in the FBI, he became the county sheriff and I would see his name in area newspapers often. Finally we all retired and we began to see one another occasionally, and the game of Face Tag resumed. I knew I would be at risk today, but planned as we drove down that I must be alert at leaving time.

By the time Garry and Keith arrived, there were probably a dozen guys at pushed together tables, and Harlan was at the first table quite away from us although we spoke when we came in. We had been there quite awhile when a waitress came to our third table and handed me a neat white sack. Inside was a saran wrapped pack of sliced pork and a cup of Dixie’s sauce. I waved my thanks to Harlan because I knew who had sent it.

Quite awhile later, the first table began breaking up. I was really expecting Harlan to come back and sit down at our table and was slow to realize he was leaving, and of course he won our Face Tag game. I was left holding the bag and knowing I had lost.

We went on down to the Bottoms and gasped at the fields flooded from the recent rains which cannot run off into the already full nearby river. We drove around Gerald’s old Wolf Lake High School building now vacant and surrounded by the sprawling Schaefer enterprises that engulfs the village with its enormous inventory of huge machinery parts spread out on every inch of ground available—something you have to see to believe and as ugly as anything can be if you are not a machinery buff. Nevertheless, an impressive sight to know that people all over the world through the Internet find the part they need in that small village. Boys were riding bikes through the village streets among the houses crowded by the metal carcasses of dismembered machinery since Shawnee schools were called off with so many roads closed by flood waters.

It was now past noon. And we spotted one of the few remaining businesses in the town—a very small restaurant with a sign saying they served lunch. I love to go to non-chain eateries, but I have gotten us into some real dumps a few times—some dirty and a couple where we really weren’t sure we were safe as locals eyed us. But I like being in the midst of the hometown people who know where the coffee pot is and are at ease walking into the kitchen to visit with the cook. This clean Rendleman restaurant proved to be a winner filled with men in jeans who had either been sandbagging or perhaps dismantling heavy equipment for the Schaeffer business.

Despite its small size, there was a drive-up window where people who had ordered ahead could collect their food. With pennants of school colors, patriotic decorations, a couple of retired high school sports uniforms on the wall, and plenty of Cardinal paraphernalia, local sentiments were aptly expressed. The large folding tables had metal folding chairs saying they belonged to the Wolf Lake community center down the street.

Without much thought, I ordered a hamburger. The lone waitress-cook who worked at a fast pace with a pleasant expression despite no time for chitchat during this rush hour delivered us the biggest hamburger I think I have ever seen. It had taken a long time to be delivered, but I understood why when I saw the size of that patty cooked well done and leaving no fear of food poisoning. With onion, pickle, lettuce, and tomato on top of this humungous piece of beef, our mouths could not widen enough to encompass the meal on a bun and we had to start out nibbling the edges.

Next we drove up into the Pine Hills, a part of the Shawnee National Forest that is found throughout our river region. The narrow well-kept graveled road wound ever upward through magnificent tall trees as we looked down on the tree-filled leafy ravines on one and sometimes both sides of us. The green was encompassing until we came to the Lower Magee lookout past the Magee campground area.

We pulled off to look at the flood-filled LaRue scatters below and the Muddy River and the Mississippi River beyond. We went on to stop at Crooked Tree lookout and Horse Saddle lookout with their astonishing displays of the swamp lands below filled with the overflow. We watched the tiny cars going up Route 3 and the train on the track beside the highway all protected by the levee systems with roads on top of them.

We avoided the poison ivy ground cover but enjoyed the patches of violets (only one bloom that I saw) and the May Flowers with pristine white blossoms hanging beneath the bright green leaves. There were a few other small wild flowers I don’t know the name of. The only time we met anyone was fortunately at one of the wider lookout areas. The lady was talking on the phone and her large German shepherd was in back looking over the cab of her pickup obviously enjoying the forest sights and birdsong as much as we were. We went back down to Route 3 and traveled through Grand Tower and then on through Murphysboro and Carbondale and finally to Marion, where we split the grocery list and gathered what we needed for the coming month since seniors get a discount on this first Wednesday each month.

Erin, her dog Sadie, and a friend had been over fishing at Woodsong yesterday, and she came back tonight to get a load of clothes out of the drier she’d left. She got to enjoy one of Harlan’s Dixie barbecues with us at the supper table. Afterwards she listened and watched the Texas A&M softball game against Texas on Game Tracker with Gerald despite her disappointment that our part of the nation chose the Cardinal game on television instead of the softball game close to her heart. Since A&M won, there was quite a bit of hollering at Woodsong and she left a happy granddaughter when it was over. I’m still pouting a bit that I lost at Face Tag, but my sister phoned me tonight, and all in all, it has been a good day.

Two Days at Dixon Springs and Tough Times in America

2011-04-30T18:51:00.001-05:00

Rain has finally stopped, but more is expected. Large areas of Southern Illinois are inundated. People in Cairo, at the confluence of the Ohio and Mississippi Rivers, have been told to evacuate by midnight tonight. Floodwalls there were built to protect against a 64 foot water level, and the river is likely to reach over 60 feet tomorrow. The long period of stress there, however, creates danger of the levees breaking. Our state is holding our breath that this historic town with close to 3,000 citizens will not be flooded.

Meanwhile, two barges with 265 tons of explosives are waiting to possibly break a two-mile stretch of the levee at Bird’s Point, Missouri, if the Army Corps of Engineers deems it necessary to save Cairo. If this happens, 130,000 acres of prime farm land may be flooded making the land unusable for perhaps as long as a decade. I have read estimates of from 75-l00 homes in this area. I am holding my breath for these people also.

A lawsuit was settled quickly when Missouri tried to block Army Corps of Engineer plans. The federal judge in Cape Girardeau ruled in favor of the Corps of Engineers, who have been given responsibility and authority by Congress to make such decisions.

Sandbagging has been going on in many areas of our state including Union County, where Gerald and I grew up. Although Tuesday and Wednesday had to be cancelled, we did get to have the last two days of Stewardship Week at the Dixon Springs Agriculture Center, where school children come in for the day and experience the out-of-doors walking from station to station and learning about many environmental and nature topics.

Despite the fact that their home in Karnak had to have its water shut off in these unpleasant times, Scott Morris, who became interested in Indian languages when he was just 15, kept his commitment to help me at our Trail of Tears station. He taught the children some Cherokee words and sang “Amazing Grace” in Cherokee, Choctaw, and Creek. When Scott told how Cherokee boys used blowguns to help obtain game for the family table, we saw some little boys’ eyes light up.

Today’s kids are so well behaved and polite (thanks to conscientious teachers whom we heard reminding the kids before they came into our station), and it is a joy to share history and information with them.

We were in a tent this year, and the ground inside stayed muddy—very muddy. I brought an old piece of carpet the second day to put down after I had a shoe stick in the mud on Thursday. Teachers had advised kids to wear boots if they had them, and many did. I cleaned a great deal of mud off two pairs of Birks first thing this morning —but I noticed after they dried, that I still need to give them a second cleaning.

I am not about to complain, however, knowing how many people in our area are suffering and that a large part of the southern states are devastated by tornadoes. It was interesting on Facebook, that one young woman from our community, was serving as“information center” with her daughter and friend at Tuscaloosa where there was, of course, no electricity or land line phones. She was watching damage and weather reports on the web and sending the information down to them. Somehow she and they were able to text each other on one phone (not the other) during the scary ordeal when the friend’s parents were missing. (They were safe.)

It has been a difficult week for so many people, and I am glad it is over. I told the kids at our Trail of Tears station about the Cherokee kids who were their ages and walked a 1,000 miles under terrible weather conditions. Those Cherokee kids proved that humans can do tough things if they have to, and I tried to impress on these school children that they too can do tough things if they are required to do so. I wish I were not hearing thunder right now.

An Easter to Remember

2011-04-25T22:46:00.000-05:00

A co-worker with the preschoolers yesterday during the morning worship service asked me how many were at our house. I went blank and realized I had no idea. People were coming and going, so I really could not keep up with them.

Since Tara had phoned Thursday night that they and the three little boys would be leaving Aurora soon and would arrive around 2 a.m., I decided to follow her instructions to go on to bed and not wait up. I was almost in bed shortly after midnight and heard people in the house and was confused since I knew the Archibalds could not have gotten here that quickly. When I saw the edge of a blond head, I thought maybe Leslie had arrived, but it was Brianna and also Trent. Their dad had brought down their new camper and was sleeping in it outside although it was not completely set up yet.

When I woke up the next morning, not only were the Archibalds there, but Vickie and Geri Ann had also arrived and had picked up Leslie at Nashville. Jeannie, Elijah, and Cecelie had come in also around 3 a.m. Everyone has to take responsibility to find a couch and linens when the bedrooms ran out.

Jeannie although sleepy was ready to go biking if the weather had cooperated. She and Leslie went shopping instead. Afterwards, they ran by to pick up Sam, who wanted to get out here with the other cousins, and David had Leslie bring Sam to the farm in David’s car so the teens had an extra car.

There was a softball double header on Friday at Southern Illinois University Carbondale, so several were headed over there. Jeannie went with her dad, and after the game, she helped him finish up the last-minute grocery shopping for me. When the teenagers took off for the Dairy Queen in Marion, little Aidan who had stayed behind just to play with them, might have been upset. But Leslie put aside her home-work book and entertained him so well that he did not miss them. After all, he had an exclusive date with a beautiful blond giving him all her attention.

After rain cancelled the Saturday noon game, two groups had left to shop and/or meet other relatives, and I realized as we sat down for lunch that there were nine of us at a table that only sits eight. Gerald went downstairs to listen to Georgia’s game at Fayetteville, Arkansas. That game series was keeping Gerry away from Woodsong, and a track meet in Freeport prevented Rick from being able to join us.

Brian had gone back to Springfield area on Friday, and he and Mary Ellen came down late that night travelling through terrible storms—Brian with a trailer of farm equipment behind his pickup and Mary following in their car. (The plan was for Brian to plant this week and to stay down until he finished, but the continuing storms made that impossible.)

Because everyone had to leave Sunday afternoon to get back to school and work the next morning, Gma Shirley (Vickie’s mother and that set of grandkids’ other grandmother) was kind enough to have the Johnson family Easter celebration on Saturday night.

It was a full weekend and lots of fun and with some scary moments as well. We thought one of the visiting dogs had run off after two stray dogs in the storm when searches could not find her--actually she had crawled back in her bed after hiding from us. Aidan woke up with pain sobbing on Saturday night and told his mother his jaw hurt. Very bad. This is a child with a very high pain tolerance and who never complains even when seriously hurt. It was after midnight when Tara drove to town to get Tylenol for him and much later when he finally got back to sleep. By the next morning, he was no longer in pain, and we all relaxed and assumed it was perhaps a tooth coming in.

Gerald was kept busy giving Maddux tractor and boat rides. Payton, who is in a clinging-to-his-parents phase, made Gerald’s holiday by putting out his arms and going outside with him and riding the tractor also. Although just not quite five, Aidan is already blending in with the older teen cousins, and they are great to include him in their activities. The teenagers died the eggs and decorated the Easter bunny cake this year. I’d boiled extra eggs to make deviled ones since I know Erin especially likes them. Jeannie made those eggs for us Sunday morning before church. Leslie and Elijah sang for our village church’s morning service although none of us made it to the sunrise service. Somehow Mary Ellen and Brian arrived home from church before the rest of us and turned down the oven and saved the ham, dressing, and scalloped potatoes before they burned. Mary Ellen’s made the green bean casserole and fixed her store-bought corn casserole (not as good as her own) and the mac and cheese casserole for the kids (that we all liked) in the oven in the camper.

I think by now you understand why I did not know how many were at our house. But there were twenty-one for Easter dinner. Vickie and Geri Ann had taken Vickie’s mother and gone to her brothers’ church at Stonefort, so she brought Gma Shirley to our house to extend their visit with her just a bit. Erin, of course, had been coming and going after the Saturday game was cancelled and she had Easter surprises for her three nephews. David and Katherine were finally able to come out despite the rainy weather, which of course made placing her in the van more difficult, and despite a cancellation of an aide to help that morning. She and Shirley are special friends and were happy to be together. We were able to sing “Happy Birthday” to Katherine since her birthday is tomorrow. They were on their way to another family dinner with David’s family, so Elijah drove their car loaned to the teens back to the Cedar house in town as the Eilers left for Freeport.

We won’t forget this weekend, but neither will the many in our river region called “The Land Between the Rivers.” Although our lake has never been higher and is running steadily out the emergency overflow pipe, we are on a hill and have no danger of the house ever flooding. Yesterday was very frightening, however, for many in the Ohio and Mississippi River bottoms as the rivers rose. Some highways are closed, and the flooding has started. I am praying that levees don’t break. I was supposed to tell the story of the Trail of Tears to school children this week at the Forest Service Stewardship Week in the Dixon Springs area. This is an outdoor event. The first two days have been called off, and I expect Thursday and Friday will be also. Ten inches of rain down there in seven days has the ground saturated and some areas closed, and heavier rains are predicted.

Gerald had an eye appointment this morning, but I was able to go to a neighbor’s funeral held in Carterville. We have known this farmer’s four sons ever since we moved here, and then watched as these boys grew up and married. Now we know most or the grandchildren and some of the great grandchildren. His wife Mary died a year ago after 64 years of marriage. It was raining again as we left the funeral home. Although a beautiful sunshiny day for a funeral is helpful, I always think that nature is weeping with a family when the rains come.

After the funeral, family and friend were going back to the G. B. Morris home for a final dinner there in a now empty house filled with memories and the vibrations of years of family gatherings. A house where grandchildren and visiting neighbors were always welcome. For the past decade, the sons and their wives have kept careful watch and finally a constant vigil as the two parents grew progressively weaker and incapacitated with numerous serious health problems.

Three sons live in houses on land on the farm and one son lives in nearby Marion. Often twenty-four seven care was needed, and these families supplied it by taking turns when hired help was not available and by coordinating and cooperating with the outside help when it was. The sons’ wives have had care responsibilities with their own families during all their time as well. It has been a challenging and demanding responsibility for the four couples as they have lived through their own health problems and surgeries and with their own growing families.

As someone from down the road a ways and only vaguely aware of all the illnesses, problems, and stress they have endured, I am inspired by their faithfulness in dealing with the pain and suffering even as they rejoiced over all the good things and the good example that their father and mother provided them.

Bouncing Between the Past and the Present

2011-04-17T20:50:00.000-05:00

When I first read that this year’s annual Illinois State Historical Society Symposium was to be at nearby Southern Illinois University Carbondale, I knew I wanted to attend. Before I found the misplaced newsletter with registration form and wrote my check, emails began arriving saying that SIUC alumni and students could attend free, so I phoned in my registration as directed and prayed nothing prevented me from enjoying this rare opportunity. Amazingly, I was able to attend all three days.

One of the attractions for me was the subject of this year’s Symposium: “Sacred Oaths, Shallow Graves: Illinois in the Civil War, Part 1.” There are many mysteries among the veterans of that long-ago war which took the lives of over 600,000 and some experts say perhaps 700,000. I have many questions about the service of my great grandfather in the infamous 109th and also about the death of his baby brother who supposedly died at Andersonville. Nine Martin cousins volunteered for the Union army despite their Tennessee roots.

Any time you explore a topic, the information needed immediately broadens, and so presentations included slave spirituals,the Metropolis ship building industry, use of archives, our Mound City National Cemetery, life stories of individual soldiers whose lives became examples of many more, various ethnic groups in the Civil War, free black settlements in pre-Civil War days, emancipation Baptists, Oberlin’s anti-slavery agents, and on and on so that it was terribly difficult to have to select which break-out sessions to attend. I wanted to go to them all. The credentials of the presenters were impressive and their broad knowledge very rewarding in terms of how much one could learn in such a limited time.

There are always off-topic offerings too and I especially enjoyed Kara Allison’s report on “Chicago Convention 1968” when she was one of a panel of three students from Milliken University. The other two panelists spoke on Camp Douglas in Chicago, and women, slaves, and Indians in French Illinois, which I missed part of by arriving late. I always want young people to study history, so I was delighted this professor engaged his students for this fine presentation. The three young women fared very well in comparison to the majority of presenters who were recognized history scholars—both academic and independent scholars.

On Thursday, I wanted to hang and talk briefly with Ron Nelson, whose research is fresh and will be seminal for future abolitionist scholars. But he was surrounded before I could get to him. It was five o’clock and I needed to get home for grandson Sam’s 14th birthday surprise party. I stopped by Katherine’s to leave our card and money gift hoping this would throw Sam off a bit. I was also checking to see if Katherine needed me to help set up at the scheduled restaurant, but she had everything under control and urged me to go on to Woodsong, so that Gerald and I could come back to town together.

With fresh lipstick and a quick brushing of my hair, we were soon back at Mackie’s Pizza where a delightful fireplace area was reserved for Sam and his young teenage friends.

David had taken Sam and his neighbor friend Josh out to buy Sam new shoes for his birthday, and then the plan was to meet Katherine at Mackey’s. Since Josh and Sam frequently go out with each other’s families, this seemed normal to both boys—neither of whom knew about the party. (Katherine did not want Josh to have to try not to leak the surprise.)

A few balloons tied to a sports bag, crepe paper streamers and the carried-in birthday cake all in University of Tennessee orange increased the festive feel of the attractive area. (Since our grandson-in-law was one of the SIUC architecture students who participated in planning and decorating Mackey’s, our family feels pride in the pleasant results of their class project.)

A table-full of his friends were there to greet Sam and yell, “Surprise!” and soon they were digging into the cheese sticks and pizza. Both sets of his grandparents were there, and we went through the annual amazement at how our grandson had grown. Food and pitchers of cola were laid out by the fireplace in buffet style and a salad served in a huge lovely glass serving dish was absolutely delicious. Sam’s youth minister and family came, and one of the kids’ mother worked very hard handing out plates of pizza and drinks while the kids cavorted, laughed, took cell phone pix, and generally enjoyed themselves.

We adults were all sitting in booths surrounding these junior high students at the center table, and it was fun to see how comfortable they were with each other. These youngsters are very close, and I am sure last weekend’s 8th grade band trip to the Chicago Heritage contest, where they did very well, contributed to their obvious affection for one another.

I hurried to bed afterwards, so I could be up to drive to Carbondale for the second day of the Symposium. And Friday night I did the same although I mentally started planning for our weekend trip to our grandchildren’s home in mid-Illinois about 30 miles south of Springfield. Brianna, a sophomore at Lincolnwood High at Raymond, was participating in their school musical Oz. I missed their play last year with Brianna and Trent, and I was determined to be there this year for this adaptation of the famous story.

A dark cloud followed me from Smalls Store to the farm Friday evening. I’d bought sandwich fixings for our supper because we were going to be in Gerald’s office listening to Georgia play softball against Ole Miss. I had just reached our garage when three or four hail stones hit the top of our car and many more banged on the concrete garage floor with deafening noise before I could get the door closed. Hail was huge and lasted long, but the only damage we think was a torn screen door out to the deck.

Gerald reported after his Saturday morning walk down the lane to get the paper that it had turned cold. I was so tempted to hunker down and stay home, but I really did want to hear the Saturday morning presentations at the Symposium. I was glad I did, and we finished packing, listened to Georgia softball again, and took off in time (barely) to reach Mary Ellen and Brian’s country home out from the little town of Waggoner (population: 200) and ride over bumpy rural roads to the musical.

The kids in their high school at Raymond (with around 250 students) showed an abundance of talent with their singing and dancing as well as acting. Their music and drama teacher has been there for four or five years and done a good job doing a play one year and a musical the next. She was emotional as she said goodbye to the seniors who were in their last production, and I knew her affection and passion had influenced these students to willingly share their talents.

Gerald was amazed at the scarecrow who stood stock still and unblinking for probably 10 minutes or more before Dorothy freed her from the wooden post holding her. We loved the cowardly lion and tin man and, of course, sweet Dorothy and all their solos. And as Brian said, the girl playing Toto never missed a line: Arf arf! There was also a wall display in the auditorium by the art class, and we were pleased to see Bri and Trent’s work as well as the other students’. It was so good to have the rare treat of seeing these two grandkids in their high school milieu with friends we have heard about.

Mary Ellen had sloppy Joes and fresh banana bread waiting for us to indulge in before and after the musical. And Trent had the Apollo movie set up and ready for us to watch on the big screen in the living room after we’d had table time after the show.

I slept late this morning even though I heard Gerald visiting with Mary and Brian downstairs and would sleepily think it might be nice to be downstairs with them before I turned over for more sleep. But I joined them for Mary Ellen’s good breakfast. The exhausted kids were still sleeping, but we adults were able to get to l0:15 worship at their church in Raymond and had a wonderful lunch at the very attractive buffet where locals gather at a scenic motel.

One of the interesting aspects of this park-like place was a large steam boat replica sitting in a small pond, and we enjoyed that view and the rest of the scenery out the generous windows as we ate and had out final visit. (Mary Ellen told us that this was the site for a gathering of college friends for someone’s wedding. Mary Ellen was singing at the wedding and she was concentrating on preparing. Neverthelss, she and Brian, who had dated in college, did have some time for visiting and updating their friendship while there before he went back upstate and she went back to Tennessee. When they moved here two years ago, she realized that this was the town and the motel for that long-ago wedding gathering. I thought that was very romantic.)

After our drive home with lovely weather observing folks fishing in the bar pits along the highway, it was good to learn SIUC Salukis had swept Indiana State and that Georgia had swept Old Miss. Georgia Coach Lu Harris-Champer had earned her 750th win during her 15-year collegiate career as a head coach.

Now the Dogwood

2011-04-13T22:22:00.001-05:00

The redbud are dropping off their pinkish blooms and are greening for the rest of spring and summer. Meanwhile the flowering white dogwood has come into its own and has decorated lawns and the roadside woods. Gerald’s tulips have replaced the hyacinth, and the iris bed is getting ready to strut its stuff. A large circle of mayflowers in a neighbor’s meadow promises that soon there will be a white flower beneath those green umbrellas. People have been bouncing between turning on their heat and then the air conditioner. Today it was likely to be air on. Schedules are full with end-of-school plays and concerts, graduation events, and bridal and baby showers postponed for pleasant weather. For many of us, softball and baseball games keep us busy.

My friend Marilyn Schild and I exchanged notes on our Christmas cards that we must get together for lunch as soon as the Christmas rush was over. It seems to me that we’ve not really had much slow time since even though winter is usually a breather before spring. So finally on Monday, Marilyn and I met up for lunch. Usually we meet at a Mexican place in Marion, but I had been wishing to try to the new bed and breakfast in town that serves lunch for the public. Marilyn had not been there yet either but had heard good reports from her neighbor, so we met up for our usual two-to-three hour lunch there.

The historic house at 1414 Main Street has always been attractive to me. After standing empty for a few years, it was offered for sale with a large enticing sign on the lawn. Each time I would pass that corner on the way to pick up our grandson Sam at the junior high, I would fantasize about how much fun it would be to live there. It was not a real desire—just something fun to think about.

Then I read it had sold to Debbie Hayes last March and she planned to open a bed and breakfast there. I can’t remember if the feature article said she had Marion roots, but she came here from the East with some New York recipes to share. The name Jasones was in memory of her son Jason Rowcliffe who died on Christmas Eve 2002. Jason had a dream of someday opening a 5-star restaurant after he attended Jjohnson & Wale Culinary Institute to become a Master Chef. Debbie explains on her menu: “All my love and passion has gone into this house, and I am pleased to share with you the joy of Jasones Bed & Breakfast.”

We had the tomato soup with basil first. We both tried the Beef-On-Weck so we would not have to envy the other one’s choice as we might if we had ordered different items. The sandwich was labeled a New York delicacy with this description: “Tender and juicy aged angus beef, sliced thick, soaked in au jus, piled high on top a kimmel weck roll, served with a side of au jus, ketchup and horseradish." Our waitress thought we must try the white pie, and Marilyn ordered a piece with the idea of splitting it with me. I said I’d just take a bite to sample it, but she insisted I needed a half. I am glad she did because it was good, and that also gave me an excuse to ask for the third coffee fill-up as we continued our conversation catch-up.

Even though we did not get around to talking about politics as we usually do, we had a very satisfying conversation. We shared problems and sympathized with each other. And I was thoroughly entertained hearing about Marilyn’s latest adventures and activities which are always interesting and vastly different from mine. There is nothing like a long talk with a good friend to brighten one’s life and to stimulate one’s mind. I left Jasones refreshed and hoping (probably vainly) that we would not have to wait as long the next time to meet up for lunch.

SHOWTIME!!!

2011-04-11T21:36:00.000-05:00

Freeport is covered with SHOWTIME signs and other recognitions of this long-time tradition that combined with the outstanding speech and drama department makes Freeport one of the best cities I know about for high school kids interested in the arts.

Although the trip upstate is getting more difficult as we age, I could not keep from having some sadness knowing this is the last Showtime I will probably ever see since grandson Elijah is a senior this year. The lasting hold that this annual show has on its city was developed in the filmed skit of some of the parents of 2011 Showtime kids. These parents too once walked the boards and now claimed they were addicted to Showtime and burst out singing to prove it. Likewise, I am convinced that the Showtime experience will stay with these kids for a lifetime and boost their self esteem every time they remember just how talented they were.

After the annual excellent jazz band concert directed by Bill Petersen and a brief intermission, the magic lights come on revealing this year’s set for Showtime. Every year the elaborate set is visually stimulating and satisfying. The show band is revealed high above in the back of the stage and it blasts forth the Showtime theme. The audience expectantly settles down for over an hour of music, dancing, laughs, and an ending with some important serious messages that will endure and enhance the lives of these young performers as well the viewers.

The most impressive thing director Jeff Lehman does, in my opinion, is to get this kind of cooperation from this many kids year after year. I doubt if many or even any of the guys in the show ever had a dance lesson, yet they are so good. They throw their hearts into each skit that will feature their singing and dancing, and the result is true theater with each face and muscle expressing the song.

Another impressive aspect is the rapid timing that never lets the audience feel impatience. By the end of the men’s song, they will have probably be joined by the young women dressed in new costumes and without a break, the audience will take in the new aspect of whatever theme is then being explored. Kids will have seamlessly changed props and backdrops if needed. There is never a lag or time for boredom.

Once again there was a three-screened photo report on the Showtime’s annual trip during their spring break, a trip where they perform at other schools and often notable venues. This year’s destination was Colorado, and they sang in the chapel at the Air Force Academy and climbed mountains and had the usual annual working vacation that demands more organization than I can imagine.

Finally, after multiple skits and songs that allow many different students to have their turn in the spotlight with solos or key roles, the final segment caused us to remember the upcoming l0th anniversary of 9/ll. I consider myself very patriotic, and for me, part of that patriotism is not getting silly sentimental. I judge patriotism by pitching in to help your neighbors and the community to succeed as well as doing your best to use your own talents and strengths. I judge patriotism by voting and willingly paying taxes to keep this nation healthy and solvent and our stupendous highway system in good shape. I do not like huge flags being used to pull people into a gas station to buy gas there. The flag is too important to be used in that way.

So although I expected to appreciate the students’ patriotic endeavor, I did not expect them to stir my emotions as they did with their high-powered renditions of songs with national importance while the giant screens reviewed September 11 for us. Suddenly, local uniformed fireman and police marched solemnly out on stage, and the audience instantly rose en masse with wild applause to show their appreciation for those public servants and for their New York colleagues who served and sacrificed so much on that fateful day. There may have been some dry eyes in the house, but mine were not among them.

This was followed by flag-bearing veterans marching in one by one down the aisles – many showing their age as well as dedication to our country. Balloons and confettti thrown down on the audience at the show’s conclusion to enchant the children was a remembered tradition, and this year added the sudden appearance of multiple huge red, white, and blue star-studded banners to hang over our heads.

We had driven half way up state the night before to Mary Ellen and Brian’s country home south of Springfield, and grandchildren Trent and Brianna were up and ready early the next morning for the long drive to Freeport. We arrived a little later than hoped for at the Eiler residence to pick up Cecelie, and we were delightfully surprised to have Elijah come out with her as he was unexpectedly free to spend the afternoon with us. (Jeannie was in a workshop at the Chicago Art Institute and Rick at Moline for a track meet.)

We checked into our hotel and went in search of lunch and a ESPNU station showing Georgia softball team playing Kentucky.
The manager where we ate was kind to search but reported they did not have that channel. Trent saved the day for us by finding the game on his new I-Phone and we kept up with the Georgia Dawgs’ success. (Both Georgia and the SIUC Salukis had 3-game sweeps this weekend.)

It was after 3, when we finished eating lunch, and we took the kids back to Jeannie’s house where they planned for a walk to Krape Park while Gerald and I rested. We’d prepared to take Lige to the theater at 5:30, but a college friend was home and he ended up going with her. I knew we had plenty of time to go back to our hotel to change for the evening show. I was relaxed because Jeannie had chili going in the crock pot and a fridge full of sandwich goodies, so I did not have to worry about kids getting hungry.

Then Rick came in from Moline and he could take Trent, Bri, and Cecelie to the show. Jeannie, who would be arriving late from Chicago, had secured tickets for us and Rick had a teacher friend usher us to our excellent seats. After the show, Elijah was involved with the cast party, but the rest of us headed to the Eilers for chili and food. The kids still had not eaten, but they were more excited about being together than eating. They grabbed sandwiches and were quickly off to their own projects in another room while we lingered at the dining room table and caught up with Jeannie and Rick’s news.

We left them to cope with the teens and we went back to our room in the landmark hotel in downtown Freeport instead of our usual home away from home, where a wedding in addition to the Showtime crowd make rooms scarce. It was late, and we slept extremely well until late the next morning where breakfast on the house and a newspaper awaited us downstairs.

We met up at the Eilers’ church and worshipped together before picking up the kids’ suitcases at Eilers and going out for a final meal together. I’d offered for Trent to sit up front on the way up, but he preferred whatever he was doing on his
I-Phone and Bri was glad to sleep going home since the cousins had stayed up a lot longer past midnight than Gerald and I had at the hotel. We made the trip back to First Road leading to the Taylors without incident despite a high wind making steering difficult and making us nervous of swaying vehicles.

We were greeted by Fifi when we dropped off Trent and Bri and quickly headed back to Woodsong since Mary Ellen and Brian were not home. We ate at Mt. Vernon, and were relieved when a call to our next-door neighbor told us the electricity was back on shortly after their return from Florida. Earlier in the afternoon, another neighbor had kindly called and warned us of the outage. Gerald laughingly told Sonje we had been thinking we might have to sleep at a neighbor’s since we had forgotten to take a house key and our garage door can’t be opened if the electricity is off. I am sure she was more relieved than ever that their lights were shining brightly and our pole light was back on. We slept good again last night.

Redbud Are Aflame in Southern Illinois

2011-04-05T21:38:00.000-05:00

Jeannie and Cecelie did pull of the highway to get a few hours’ sleep here. At midnight Saturday night, they still weren’t here, so I went on to bed with lights left on for them. Jeannie had phoned and warned me it would be quite late when they arrived and they had to leave very early the next morning to get back to Freeport for responsibilities there. When I woke up at 5:20, there was no van with bicycle attached parked out front. My heart skipped a beat wondering if they had trouble. Then I was relieved to see things laid on their bed for them to take home were gone, and I breathed a sigh of relief. I just didn’t expect her to pull that off as early as she did, but I had to be impressed.

Almost all day Sunday the winds were wild. In over nine years living here, I had never seen white caps on our lake, but they were there that afternoon. Rains came, which was good for the grass seeded Gerald planted Saturday. After morning church, Gerald and I snuggled down all comfy and dry downstairs in his office to eat quickly prepared hot dogs for our lunch as we watched on Game Tracker as Georgia won over Tennessee Martin. (SIUC split up at Iowa.)

Katherine had an aide helping her that afternoon, but I had told her I’d be glad to come in if she needed me. So before David took Sam to his youth meeting and the aide home, he called about 4 to see if I could help Katherine with her hair after a shampoo. I ran on to town, and Gerald said he’d come in later. I have never had hair talent, but we all made it to the 6 p.m. service at Katherine and David’s church where our friend from college days is preaching as an interim pastor. Wendell and his wife Mary come down from the Belleville area and stay at a local motel on the weekend.

While getting out luggage that afternoon, the wind had been so strong that it had blown the trunk lid of his car down on him. He had to start his participation in the service with an explanation for the small but noticeable bandage on his bald head. He said he was just grateful the trunk lid had not decapitated him. After the services, the Cedars needed to pick up something, and since we were in separate vehicles, Gerald and I came on home. I fixed us soup and a bite to eat. It seemed quicker and simpler than meeting up somewhere in town with the high winds that did not make getting in and out of the car very inviting.

The winds brought more cold temps back, so Gerald has worked this week with his coat on. He finished up the lawn work this morning by rolling one small area that he had not yet rolled. Then he kept a routine doctor appointment, and when he returned, we took off for Cape Girardeau for some things he needed there.

He had invited me to go along saying he’d drop me off at the mall. I am not much of a shopper, so I grabbed Don Barnett’s novel They Shall Take Up Serpents that I have been eager to start reading. It is a good thing I did because when I started to get lunch at the mall I discovered my billfold with credit cards and money was missing.

The check book that usually is inside the billfold was in my purse, and I found enough change thrown to the bottom of my purse to buy a huge muffin at Barnes and Noble. So as I ate my muffin, I was soon engrossed the Barnett’s story. I am really wanting to get back to it right now.

I still had most of my Christmas gift Penny’s gift card left, and I found a very soft warm cuddly jacket on sale with nice spring colors, and I paid for it with the gift card that was safely in my purse.

By this time Gerald was there to pick me up and we did a few more errands that allowed me to continue reading in the pickup before going back over the breathtaking Bill Emerson Memorial Bridge to Illinois. We stopped for supper at the Lake of Egypt and picked up our mail at the end of the lane. We switched over to the car from the pickup and went to vote a couple of country roads away. Then I came into the house hoping to see my billfold lying somewhere on a table or desk. So far I have not found it. I am totally puzzled. I would not worry about the few bills if there were not two credit cards in there.

It’s been a good day. The red bud is at the height of its glory in Southern Illinois right now, so the drive to Cape was lovely, and I continued to enjoy its colorful pink/purplish flowering on the way to and from the polling place. I still need to fix the morning coffee and put a few things away before I get back to They Shall Take Up Serpents. I would enjoy it much more if I knew what I had done with my billfold.

Spring Break for the Freeport Family

2011-04-02T16:20:00.001-05:00

Jeannie was able to ride the bike trail here quite successfully although not altogether pleasantly since it remained cold most of the time she was here. However, when we waved her and Cecelie off on Thursday after lunch to head to Nashville for a visit with Leslie at Belmont University, it was quite beautiful and considerably warmer, Weather has a frustrating way of being perverse that way.

Spring breaks have been less than cooperative weather-wise this year. All of our grandchildren have had breaks at different times, and that has also been less than conducive for their visiting here at the same time. I read on Facebook that Geri Ann has break this week, so I hope it is warm for her. Trent and Brianna will have a break at Easter time, which to me is the best time for a break since families often want to travel that weekend. And with Easter coming late this year, I hope we have warm weather.

Although in school, Sam was able to come out Tuesday when Cecelie and I picked him up after school after taking him by his house, which let Cecelie visit a minute with her Aunt Katherine. Later all of us here at Woodsong returned with Sam to Marion to the junior high school to hear his special 8th grade concert. As usual, he looked stunning in his black tux matching his black hair. After dropping off Sam, Cecelie, and Jeannie at the school, Gerald and I went on to Katherine’s house and picked her up since David was away on a business trip.

Sam’s band will be heading to Chicago this coming weekend for contest, and Tuesday night was a workshop-type dress rehearsal. A visiting music professor from Southern Illinois University Carbondale was there to critique and give them suggestions. It was an interesting format.

Jeannie was impressed both with the band and also the art class self portraits displayed in the school cafeteria that we have to pass through on the long way to the cavernous second gym. The gym, as you can imagine, that has less than good acoustics, so we were unable to hear all that the director and the visiting professor said, but the music was outstanding for this age students. Jeannie was more than a little upset that there is no planning or welcoming arrangements for family or friends to sit with those in wheelchairs. It seemed unfair to her that anyone in a wheelchair had to sit alone on the gym floor many feet from the rest of us.

While Jeannie was on the bike trail, Cecelie was enjoying getting to drive the Gator around the farm by herself for the first time. Gerald was impressed by her driving, (She even chauffeured Sam the afternoon he was out.) She was also working on a big school project that involved writing and typing up her autobiography. I did hear her practicing her violin downstairs where she sat up her music rack in the kids’ den, but unlike her older siblings, Leslie and Elijah, she does down like to perform by herself, so I only heard her from a distance.

In fact, one of the reasons Leslie wanted her mom and sister to come down to Nashville, was to have them in the audience when she sang at a fellow student’s junior recital. Leslie was performing from the time she was a toddler as her mother said she never simply told you something, she always acted it out as she told you. She and Elijah have both been very generous in being willing to perform almost anytime requested because they are very comfortable in front of any size crowd.

Gerald has been busy all week working on our yard and reseeding it. Now he is waiting for rain to bring up the seed. I thought it already looked lovely when I came in last Friday night and saw how green it was. But the unwanted presence of crab grass had been bugging him, and he had seed stored and ready for spring planting. I have been teasing him about tearing up and yard and making it look ugly, but in the near future, I am sure I will like the lush grass that he has worked so hard this week to provide.

I certainly was grateful yesterday for his beautiful bulb garden when I needed spring flowers for a centerpiece for Women’s Club. I had missed the last two meetings and had not opened our year book when another new member phoned and left a message that yesterday was our day to be hostesses.

Thankfully, when I called her back, she had already bought all the needed tableware, soft drinks, and the ingredients for an absolutely yummy cake. I was so glad she had been alert to our responsibilities, and I said I’d bring the centerpiece and coffee fixings. I also took my signature grapes since that helps anyone unable to eat sweets.

Coming home from picking up Sam from his trombone lesson on Thursday afternoon, I stopped to pick a couple of sprigs of white pear blossoms off the John Combes property. The ancient tree has been damaged by storms, but the remaining limbs were abundant with blossoms. I liked thinking how the ground used to be covered in the fall with pears off that tree, and how Mr. Combes had made our young son Gerry welcome to eating a pear from the roadside tree.

I want to write his daughter and my friend Joyce a note and tell her I used her blossoms. When she left our neighborhood to teach at a Virginia college, I grieved her leaving. And I am sure she grieved departing from her ancestral home where her great grandparents had farmed and where the two-story house was finer than that of most black families had at that time. Now that farm house is no longer there, for when Joyce left, it was beyond repair at a reasonable cost. Typically, Joyce donated the house to the local volunteer fire fighters to use as a practice in fire fighting. I grieved again when I saw those flames. When we first moved to this neighborhood, my mother-in-law recalled that as a little girl coming home from visiting grandparents in Creal Springs, their family had a break down. I have assumed this would have been a wagon in those days. They stayed there with the Combes family who welcomed them until they were able to travel the next day.

Yesterday morning I picked a few more sprigs off an ornamental tree awash with white flowers in our front drive-way circle. Then I went down to see what was left of Gerald’s early blooms. There were a couple of tall white and yellow daffodils and I picked one of each. Then a pink, a bright blue, and two white hyacinths. And some of the “Throne of Buddha” wild flowers that had sneaked into the edge of the bed to place in the bottom of the bouquet because I like this little flower that some might call a weed. I ended up with a sweet smelling flower arrangement that I was pleased to take to our meeting. Now it is in the front hall giving out nice aromas.

I had no intention of joining the Women’s Club when Jari Jackson asked me to speak there on the Trail of Tears. I explained to her that I was in the process of getting out of organizations—not joining new ones. When I saw the lovely older ladies who belonged, however, and realized that the “young ones” my age were keeping the meetings in the afternoon just so those dear women could continue their monthly outing, I wanted to know these 90 something inspiring women. So I joined with the warning I would be a poor member, but I would attend when I could. I am so glad I did.

I’m not sure if Jeannie and Cecelie are stopping back by here on their way home from Nashville or not. It will depend I guess on how much time they allow for a return to Freeport and back to school on Monday morning. Elijah and the high school Showtime gang were already back in Freeport on Wednesday night after their annual trek giving performances and seeing sights. This year they went to Colorado and were able to visit the Air Force Academy there. We are all feeling the mix of sadness and joy as Elijah and Trent finish up their senior years of high school.