The Last High School Musical

Well, I will admit that “The Last High School Musical” may be a bit over dramatic a title for this blog, but it definitely encapsulates how I feel. From the moment we begin to read on Facebook about the fall musical at Freeport High School, Gerald and I began to feel nostalgic and sad and proud and excited all mixed together. I am usually the one most interested in theater, but Gerald beat me in saying we must go up to see Cecelie in this show. She is our youngest grandchild and the third of the Eiler kids, who we have seen perform so many times in plays, musicals, and shows of all sorts. Now that Cecelie is a senior, we are facing the fact that that part of our lives is over; and it is a bit overwhelming emotionally. So we were sadly excited but happily anticipating seeing her as Aquata, one of the mersisters (princesses) in The Little Mermaid.

As it turned out, this musical production was pretty dramatic and not just for us. On Monday night at rehearsal, Brynn Schiffman, who played the lead mermaid Ariel, had a serious accident on stage and ended up with a severe knee injury. Suddenly everything was up in the air. What to do? Would they cancel the show with tickets already sold? Jeannie texted me, and I felt sick at heart for what this young woman had happen to her just two nights before all her six weeks of hard work were supposed to be rewarded and enjoyed by the community. I felt enormous sympathy for what director Tim Connors must be going through. And then complete disbelief when Jeannie said maybe Cecelie would be doing the Thursday night show so that Brynn could heal for the later performances. What? Two days to learn an entirely new part: songs, dances, lines?

But that is what happened. The other five mersisters would absorb Cecelie's lines, and she would play Ariel for the Thursday night performance, so Brynn could heal enough to get doctor's permission to perform Friday and Saturday, which she did beautifully. Cecelie was excused from her Tuesday classes and half of Wednesday's, and Connors and the vocal director and the choreographer and others pitched in to give her six weeks of rehearsals in two days. The show must go on, and it did! (This sort of group endeavor and determination and insistence on “making it work” is one of the many values of theater for high school students.)

It helped that in part of the story, Ariel could not talk because of the evil sister's curse. During that time when Ariel's song was just supposed to be her thoughts, Brynn actually sang it off stage and that was one less song Cecelie had to learn. But Cecelie was superb, and there was not a hitch that I could tell.

It was not until we were in the back-stage hallway with a large part of the audience crowding in to congratulate the cast that I heard Cecelie coughing and coughing while she held a bag of cough drops as the clutched her bouquets in the other arm. Somehow on stage, she had carried on, and I did not detect this awful cold. Her mother had had her to the doctor, who said it was just one of the coughs going around town that would last four weeks. She was sent home to treat herself with over-the-counter meds. I imagine the doctor told her to get a lot of rest. Ha.

The next night we got to hear Brynn's beautiful voice, and she somehow danced well with her knee brace despite what I imagine was considerable pain. Cecelie was also terrific as Aquata, and we were thrilled to see her in both her roles. I must say she made a beautiful mermaid both nights. I'd have liked to stay for the Saturday matinee and night performance, but we needed to get home, and we wanted to stop at my brother's home on the way back to Southern Illinois.

Jeannie was swamped with Veterans Day observances at both her elementary schools, where she needed to hang art work for the crowds coming to those two programs. On Thursday, she went from hanging art for the public to see and on to a baby shower in a nearby town and then made it to the Thursday night performance.

She invited us to hang out with her kindergarten students Friday morning, but Gerald planned to shop at a big rural store there, and I like to sleep and lounge and read in the mornings. Because Chicago schools were closed on Veterans Day, Elijah had driven in late Thursday night, so we were able to see him and Rick at Culvers for lunch across the street from our motel.

Jeannie explained the Friday afternoon programs were so close together in time and the two schools so far apart that we could only go to one. Fortunately we got there early as cars lined the streets, and Gerald had to find a place less obvious to park. The little gym required lots of walking down halls and stairways, and we were among the last to find a seat. Parents and grandparents and veterans kept coming and stood lining the walls. We have observed how great Freeport people support their students. The Jeannette Lloyd Theatre at the high school is usually packed, and these veteran programs were also. Jeannie couldn't even get in after rushing from the other school, but we met up afterwards.

By this time, we realized that Jeannie too had that awful cough making her even more exhausted as she rushed from one duty to the next. And the almost funny part (because it is so typical in the life of parents of high schoolers) is that Cecelie had reminded at the last minute that Jeannie had said if no one else had the cast party, they could have it at their house after the final Saturday show. So Rick had shampooed the carpets, and I imagine Jeannie spent Saturday shopping and cooking for the party.

The Little Mermaid is the second Disney classic in a row that director Tim Connors choose to produce. Little girls like to come to the shows dressed in their princess outfits. This year the mermaids wore long wigs with curls down to their waists, and they were lovely. The large all-school cast gives so many students theatrical experience and life-long memories. The pit orchestra is always excellent, and colorful costumes and sophisticated props are always visually delightful.

Last fall we attended Beauty and the Beast when Cecelie had the lead and we saw our blonde granddaughter become a brunette to be Belle, and she kept that hair color through the school year and summer. Right before we left to go upstate, I had some odd shoulder pains, but very few. I saw my doctor, and I was determined to use the tickets we'd ordered. Every thing went fine. Gerald went home Saturday morning, but I stayed through all the performances and rode home with Cecelie's big sister Leslie and and husband Mike. In fact, they came over to our hotel the last night to avoid sleep deprivation by all the noise at the Eiler household where last year's cast party lasted till 3 a.m. before the last stragglers left. That night was when I had longer and harder shoulder pain, and I kept thinking I really did not want to ruin Mike and Leslie's plan for a good night's sleep by asking them to take me to the emergency room. So I went back to sleep. I went to the heart doctor when I got back home, and two stints solved that problem.

This year Mike was on duty with the police force, so Leslie was thinking she would go upstate with us. She was more than a little perturbed when she realized that the Christmas show tour she auditioned for started rehearsals the same weekend as Cecelie's show. She will be singing on this tour in Georgia and Minnesota and I do not know where else, but unfortunately not in Southern Illinois. I will have to enjoy her performances vicariously just knowing she is doing what she loves to do and hearing about it later.. And while I grieve a bit over The Last High School Musical, I will also enjoy the many memories and know there will always be other events and highlights that come with having nine grandchildren.

A Family of Teachers

After a weekend here to celebrate her tenth high school class reunion, granddaughter Erin left us with hugs and we waved her off. There was a text when she arrived in Saint Louis with the rented car to be gassed up and turned in. Another text when she was ready to catch her flight. And just as I was drifting into sleep an hour or so after Sunday midnight, I heard the loud musical signal that Gerald’s phone plays when a new text comes in. Loud enough to hear over the noise of a tractor, I suppose. I had not been waiting for it, but I knew instantly who it was and why. Gerald slept through it, and he would find it on his phone when he woke up at five or six. I rolled over and thanked God our granddaughter was safely back home in her apartment in Texas. I knew she would be getting up in a very few hours to go spend the day teaching 7th graders and then after school coaching the season’s sport for girls.

Erin is one of four women who together coach volleyball, basketball, track, power lifting. Seems like there was a fifth sport. Right now I think the season is volleyball. No softball for that age group, and oddly with all her softball coaching experience, Erin seemed to find that refreshing and less pressure on her. I do not doubt she is a fine coach.

But what I really am deeply pleased about is her class room and the 90 kids who come through it daily. I love hearing about her activities to help these kids be better writers. I enjoy hearing her enthusiasm and understanding for her “sweet babies” who may smart off or cuss her or who might even in an extreme case throw a desk across the room. I like knowing she is teaching them that is not the way to be. I like knowing that she does not take personally the bad behavior that results from a child’s life-time of home or neighborhood mis-education. (And sometimes even a lifetime of brutality.) I hate hearing the teachers who shake their heads and talk about how bad the students are today and, thus, excuse themselves from trying to earn their paycheck. This is Erin’s third year of teaching and the first in this city, and she has every intention of making a difference in students’ skills and, consequently, in their lives. And she will.

Many years ago I listened to Katherine’s stories when she taught inner city 7th graders sometimes taller than herself. Some were dangerous. Yet I never heard her talk bad about a student or hesitate to go talk to a parent in the projects if needed. She deliberately never locked up her purse; and if I am remembering correctly, she only lost one twenty dollar bill. Good teachers love their kids and never give up.

I love hearing our daughter Jeannie tell how she interacts with students in her classroom turned into an art studio. The kids are sometimes put into shock mode when they realize they must create and are not expected to do the same thing at the same time as a neighbor. For many kids this is an unsettling new experience. The freedom of not coloring within the lines (so to speak) has to be dealt with emotionally before their innate talent begins to express itself. This takes lots of time and lots of patience.

My own little long ago teaching experience was always in schools with less of the behavior challenges that Erin. Katherine, Jeannie, and my niece Kyna have faced. And I never taught long enough to master some things. So I vicariously enjoy hearing these descendants’ successes. Yet what many people do not understand is how far we have come from the days of one-room schools when teachers were routinely run off by over-grown 8th graders who liked to throw their weight (and fists) around. Yet the successful teachers—even tiny young women sometimes—could subdue the miscreants and charm kids is into learning, which all humans love to do if they find they can. (I am sure the teachers today who have died from guns would prefer yesterday’s fists, but I am avoiding that subject.)

I suspect teaching is like everything else—its success depends on determination. If one method does not work, something else needs to be tried. Quitting is not an option for a good teacher. I loved hearing my sister-in-law Vivian, whom I am sure was an excellent teacher, tell about a night class she took on discipline near the end of her career and how much she learned from that class. Good teachers are always learners and open to new ways if the new ways are better.

I did not mean to blog about teachers tonight, but education is one of my strong interests, and I got carried away. There are three or four teachers in our area whom I consider master teachers, and I always follow their careers when I can. My grandfather, who died before I was born, was a teacher. I had his teaching exam results framed for a gift for my brother, and I am ashamed to say that I loved it so much that it is still hanging on my wall. I always delighted in my brother’s stories of teaching also. One story: he became a principal in a poverty-stricken area and the basketballs were constantly being stolen by kids who did not have them. He quickly let them check them out and take them home with them, and then they were returned and none were ever stolen again.

My great grandfather did not want his son to leave the farm and ride his horse so far away the 20 miles or so to Carbondale to become a teacher. An older man in the community loaned him the money, and he was always grateful to that kind man, my daddy told me. Both my parents were teachers, and I heard them arguing their somewhat different teaching philosophies at many meals. (I saw how they respected differing opinions, and so today I value honest debate.) I saw them pile into a car with other teachers to go to Carbondale to take yet another night class in hopes of completing their degrees. Besides the loved ones I have already talked about, I have one granddaughter who taught before she had her three sons, and I have two grandchildren in their last year of college who are planning on careers in special education. I like to think this pleases that grandfather I never met.

Falling Flat on My Face

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.

Gotta Get Up in the Morning

I better not write long tonight, because morning will be here before I know it. No sleeping in this week as I usually do. The grandkids have been unusually good this year to go to bed early and not giggle too late. They are growing up. Of course, they are also tired from outdoor play, hiking around the lake, and all the activities they dream up. When they act bored, I try not to make suggestions. Then they come up with a plan.

For many years when they were small, I went to bed with them and we told stories to each other and tried to settle down that way. They don’t need that anymore.

The girls went over to Katie’s house next door this afternoon. It was really nice of her to invite them because she is extra busy not only with her daily swim lessons, but it is also 4-H show week. She will have to have her projects ready to be evaluated. Bri and Cecelie left Woodsong wearing amazing garbs with picture hats. I figure Katie was somewhat surprised. Elijah drove them over in the “mule.”

Sam had left Vacation Bible School with one of the teachers in order to be home in Marion for his trombone lesson, but his dad brought him back out to the farm afterwards. That gave Sam and Lige some afternoon man time together before they drove over in the “mule” and brought the girls back home.

I fixed a large meat loaf for supper, since our kids seem to like it. They were hungry I’m sure. After supper, there were more outside activities. In fact, I got nervous when they were out in the “mule” after dark. We hollered across the lake at each other and I had visions of their being stuck—but they were just having a good time and were ready to call it quits and come back to the house. More giggling and play acting.

They have been preparing a skit for the opening exercise each day since Elijah makes a great director as well as actor. (He should because there is not doubt that Freeport’s high school drama coach is one of the best in the state, so he has a mentor.) Lige did a good job explaining how to project your voice. When it gets really noisy, I might wish he hadn’t done so well.

That’s all folks. I am going to bed now.

Busy. Busy.

The martins are back to their apartment houses Gerald had all ready for them. As they create their nests and prepare to please us with a new generation, they are busy swooping and twirping and twittering . I am happy the barn swallows are back dirtying up our front porch with their annual mud and straw nest there. I cut dead branches off the rose bushes, which seemed to tall up over night and are green and healthy after their winter sleep.

Neighbors and our son-in-law are all busy getting ready for planting. Gerald has been tied up trying to get the sprayer he is modifying for Scott just right. He keeps redoing it but believes he has it correct now, so he repainted it and took it back down to Scott yesterday afternoon.

Friends and family are out on the lake fishing, and Gerald has planted the first of his garden after Scott tilled it. I urge him to make it small this year. I wonder if he will listen.

My spring took an unexpected turn when a reporter mentioned that I was looking for a photograph of Priscilla the Hollyhock Girl. Betty Baker read the story and dug into her box of ancient family photos to find a group picture of the Harrison family, which included Priscilla who had taken care of little orphan Laura Annear at the Silkwood Inn.

After the Silkwoods’ deaths, it was arranged for Priscilla to live with Laura, who was now married to Isham Harrison, the executor of Silkwood’s estate. (One of the tidbits I have learned is that the name Isham has a silent “h,” and the older generation pronounced it Isom. Proof of this is his son’s funeral notice, which Betty also shared that has the father’s named misspelled just as the local folks pronounced it.)

The photo of Priscilla is not as clear as we would like, but it is extremely significant that she is included in this family picture, which gives evidence that she was considered a family member. The picture was passed down to Betty by her grandmother, Effie Harrison Snyder Penrod, who looks about five in the photo. Effie was rocked by Priscilla just as Laura had been at Silkwood Inn.

I have had emails and phone calls from several who have their own Priscilla or hollyhock story to tell me. That has been delightful, but time consuming. I have talked by phone to two women over ninety years old, and on Wednesday I was able to interview Roma Craft at the Hurricane Memorial Assisted Living facility. It was an exciting interview, and Richard Kuenneke was there to make an audio recording of the visit.

Consequently, I still have one more flower bed to clean out a bit, and books I’d planned to read have been neglected while I have reread one book and perused numerous articles and notes refreshing my memory on various facts and legends.

Nevertheless, we still have taken time to watch softball games on game tracker often. Last night we were able to watch Erin on ESPN when Texas A&M played University of Texas. Today they were back on game tracker as they played a make-up game against Baylor. We had seriously talked of going to Arkansas to see University of Georgia play, but the weather predictions made us change those plans. Yesterday’s games were postponed, and they played a double header today. Our friend Bobby in Texas phoned rejoicing for all that rain down south.

Next weekend will be conference tournaments for both “our” teams. We want to be in both Knoxville and Oklahoma City, but are planning on going to Oklahoma since this is Erin’s last year and Gerry’s team can be watched next year. Our grandson Elijah is playing the role of Eugene in Brighton Beach Memoirs up at Freeport High School next weekend also, and I guess I have to face the fact that we cannot be there and Oklahoma at the same time. I like to be busy—but I wish things were spread out without conflicts, so we could do everything. Ah well.

Everyone is Home Tonight--for Now

Well, everyone is back to their individual homes, and I am back on my blogging schedule while things are calm again. Because Gerry and Erin both had at-home games today, they got to stay there. I was in meetings at their game times, so I didn’t get to watch on the computer but Gerald did. He even had to fix his own supper. I think Erin and Gerry will be playing at home Friday and Saturday also. Both are free on Easter Sunday.

Leslie, however, will be arriving in Freeport tomorrow night from Belmont for the weekend, and we have reservations there for the next two nights. We are really excited about getting to see Cecelie and Elijah on Friday night in the annual extravaganza Showtime that knocks me off my seat and up on my feet every year. This is Cecelie’s first show since the grade school kids don’t always participate. For Elijah, it is his second year, and I am very eager to see him and the other talented crew since I had to miss his fall play.

I spent this morning looking at old 19th century photographs loaned to me by Betty Baker. I visited her yesterday afternoon after I had spent an hour on the phone interviewing 92-year-old Nola Hertel that Betty had connected me with.
At Betty’s, I heard more family stories and then was entrusted with the photos of the Isham and Laura (Annear) Harrison family of Mulkeytown, who were so important to Priscilla the Hollyhock Girl rescued off the Trail of Tears by Brazilla Silkwood. Priscilla spent the last 16 year of her life living with this family.

My morning was short today because I slept late after staying up late last night sorting and studying these Harrison family photos that Betty inherited from her grandmother Myrtle Snider Browning Penrod. Working with the photos at the dining room table, I was able to get noon dinner on the table for Gerald and me.

Then I shared the photos and information with two other folks this afternoon and evening, attended two back-to-back meetings at church, and in-between activities I got to pick up Sam and his trombone after jazz band practice and then visit with his mother Katherine awhile. She is excited about his upcoming concert next week with the high school band, so maybe I will finally get to hear this group that recently received a superior rating at contest.

Oh and I visited with Scooter, Sam’s dog, too. I forgot to put my large over-the-shoulder bag up when I entered the house, and Scooter rapidly found it and started scattering coins and stuff across the floor. I understand that when he escapes the front door, he gives everyone merry chases in the park next door. Yesterday it took their big dog Lucy, the golden doodle, to chase Scooter down and stop him until he had his lease on again. Today he scared Sam when he ran in front of a motorcycle driving through the park. I am sure he scared that driver too. Scooter is one of those little dogs who just seems to be everywhere. He is an adorable fluffy white puppy, and we can’t help but forgive him for his mischief.

Where Is It? Let's See Now

Mary Ellen called from up the road apiece on Friday that they had discovered the controller for the TV in the den was accidentally in their basket of games picked up just before they left our place to head to their other family’s home. Should they return it? Naw, just wait until Christmas when you come down. They can also then retrieve Trent's black left-foot shoe (a thong it is too cold to wear often now). Later Mary Ellen reports that Elijah’s coat was left in their camper. Brianna’s coat, however, was left at Geri Ann’s Grandma Shirley’s house.

Leslie and Gerald assured me that Erin’s winter A&M jacket was left behind at Woodsong deliberately because she won’t need it down there until she is back for Christmas break. So it is in the coat closet waiting for her. Geri Ann’s charger for her I pod is ready to be taken to the post office. Trent’s Nintendo is on the table in the den. Jeannie left behind ingredients she brought down for a cooking project she started but didn’t get to finish. Someone’s electric toothbrush is still in the guest bathroom. I recovered my purple comb from Katherine’s vanity yesterday, where evidently someone must have been primping with it there.

Katherine got tickled thinking that all over America, families are trying to find and retrieve and figure out where their possessions are after all the Thanksgiving holidays. Most families in our area try to visit both sides of their families, and it is a challenge to keep belongings under control.

I used to marvel many years ago at the goodness and the energy used when my daughter-in-law would bring her little ones to my parents’ home in Goreville and then hurry on to another Christmas Eve gathering at her grandparents. The next day after she and Gerry observed Christmas morning at their house, they would come to ours for Christmas dinner and then onto her folks’ home for yet another dinner.

After the grandparents no longer had their observances on Christmas Eve, life did temporarily get simpler. However, now Gerry and Vickie are in far-off Georgia. Tara, their oldest, is in Aurora far north of us. We are all eagerly awaiting the birth of Tara and Bryan’s second son any day now, so holiday celebrations are definitely complicated. We will welcome whoever is able to show up before, on, or after Christmas.

Jeannie and Rick are entertaining his family at their house for the first time this year, so they won’t be down from Freeport either. She’ll experience left-behind objects at her house no doubt.

We received our first Christmas card on Saturday from cousin Valerie, who wins that contest every year. Our second card came today. I better start thinking about mine. When we can’t get together with friends and family at this time of year, it is lovely to connect by mail. And belongings stay in their rightful place when we visit by that method.