A Spring Week at Woodsong

As I drove into the Shawnee National Forest on Tuesday, the pinkish purple blooms on the redbud trees brightened the still bare tall black-limbed trees all around them. The drive there had been stunning with the redbud at the height of its glory. Inside the forest, there were also a few scattered dogwood showing white blossoms and foretelling that time was running out for the redbud. Sure enough by this morning, though still lovely, the redbud trees had begun to shed the blooms for green leaves. And everywhere in yards and roadside, the white of the dogwood was beginning to dominate.

Tuesday Gerald left the house early to go with his friend Herman on an Angel Flight. Before I was through my breakfast and coffee, however, he was back home because the weather had cancelled their flight. I unexpectedly needed to figure out something for his lunch before I left the farm, and I did and hurried on to errands in town and my plan to consider going up Hamburg Hill to revisit the cut of the 1838 road there.

I knew I would not go unless I completed errands quickly enough that I could go there and back in time for our grandson Samuel’s jazz band concert that night. Since this group of youngsters had just won superior at state recently, I wanted to hear their performance. Sam’s junior high band was playing at the high school before their jazz band played, and Sam and fellow trombonist Ben were going to be improvising together. Coming home, I cut through the country by way of Goreville, one of my favorite towns in the universe (cause my grandparents lived there), and I was home from the forest in time to fix our supper. Gerald and I were sitting in the auditorium as the curtain was ready to open.

Gerald did take the Angel Flight on Wednesday, so he wasn’t there for lunch. But I had the same sort of rushed day with emails and phone calls to take care of as I worked on the final collection of handouts to mail to Rend Lake College for copying for the thirteen participants who will be on our river-to-river van trip this week. On Tuesday we will traverse Route 146, the designated Trail of Tears auto tour across our state.

After I completed the handouts and stopped to replenish our fruit supply, I went through the drive-in for supper and then hurried to the car wash to get the mud from Hamburg Hill taken off so Gerald wouldn’t feel he needed to do it. I arrived early at our village church in Crab Orchard for a First Place meeting at 6. I had neglected the Bible study all week and needed to attempt to catch up before the others arrived. With only three of us there, we lingered sharing our thoughts, our troubles, and our opinions in addition to the Bible study review. Consequently, it was later than usual when I arrived home to hear Gerald’s stories about the day’s Angel Flight and find out who won Georgia’s and Texas A&M’s games. The stories were interesting as always, and we had won both games.

Thursday afternoon I left the farm with all kinds of extra trucks there as once again some service was helping Gerald burn off our fields of native grasses. I thought this was a government requirement for these fields, but he explained that it was just the recommended plant culture. The two women in charge were careful to burn by creating V-shapes that allowed wildlife to escape safely. The eggs of one turkey nest, however, required our brother Keith and nephew DuWayne to come rescue them for their incubator.

Again I had a tad of shopping to do, ran by Katherine’s, and got a sandwich at Subway before meeting Jari Jackson to go to our Southern Illinois Writers Guild meeting. It was a Critique Night. I had hoped to have something new to read, but hadn’t completed anything. I did grab an article out of the file cabinet marked for revision and was amused to see it was written when my youngest daughter was still in high school as her son is now. I decided it was a little too old to share, but I may yet revise it someday.

It was fun just to relax and listen to the wide variety of offerings presented by more prepared members. When I got back to the farm, Gerald was in bed with the light on and his book of Appalachian humor in his hands and was fast asleep. I debated whether I should wake him and tell him good night or let him wake on his own when the book fell from his hands. That seemed the simplest, so I went on downstairs to check emails and surf a bit.

Friday morning for me started with a long welcome phone call from that youngest daughter who has been too busy with house revamping lately for leisurely calls. The weekend soft ball games would start on Saturday, and Gerald was hurrying to mow the yard and finish his shop project of modifying a sprayer for Scott, the next-door neighbor. This lengthy project turned out to be more complicated and challenging than Gerald, a perfectionist, anticipated. He was glad yesterday to take the completed sprayer home to Scott. In the meantime, our son-in-law Brian had arrived at the other farm for some weekend farming, and at the end of the day he dropped in and ate a waffle with us.

Yesterday Vickie and Geri Ann had gone with Gerry to Auburn University to watch Georgia play, and we were following them and also Erin at Oklahoma University at Norman, where she started the first inning with a RBI double. Gerald was also trying to follow Lucas Hileman at Baylor in the other room on TV.

Interspersed with the games for me was a trip to the village to return overdue library books and collect Revolutionary Road that the library had ordered for me. The florist shop where I owed a bill was closed but the wonderful owner/hostess of The Mustard Seed in adjoining quarters assured me she’d see that LaRonda got my check. There in that haven of crafts and antiques, I could not resist a small good-looking and inexpensive alarm clock for a downstairs bedroom. Then I took a drawing and some photographs that needed framing up to Tom Ribedeau, photographer, wood craftsman, teacher, and owner of the most beautiful long driveway imaginable through a certified wildlife habitat. I went back to Woodsong for more softball inspired by the beauty of the drive and Tom’s delightful personality.

After sleeping with the sound of rain on the camper all night, Brian dropped in to say goodbye before he headed home to the city. I was able to hand him John Elder Robinson’s Look Me in the Eye that I had told Mary Ellen about and wanted her to read.

As always today I was inspired by siblings Miranda and Caleb as they participated in various learning activities in our preschool classroom. Watching their faces as they learn new things and discover new words and new concepts is a joy. Since our story was about Jesus healing ten lepers and only one saying thank you, we played with band aids and wrapped bandages. Miranda had noticed my tiny “owie” on my hand and her band aid is still there tonight. Caleb was very interested in counting the ten pennies, ten marbles, and ten pencils that Miss Kim brought. He quit his independent play to go over and sit on her lap to try and figure out what this counting was all about. He could say the word “two.”

Since Erin’s game today was on ESPN, we watched as we ate lunch and then went downstairs to the bigger TV to see the rest of the game. David dropped in to pick up some left-over vinyl for a project he was working on to try and make Katherine’s chair more comfortable. We were quite unhappy to see Texas A&M lose, but despite our sadness, we had to be proud of Oklahoma’s D. J. Mathis who was back on the mound after a shoulder injury. D.J. played with Erin for Southern Force here in Illinois and won everyone’s hearts with her enthusiasm, and probably knew she needed to keep walking Erin.

At our evening service, Becky Belt handed me her copy of The Shack that Kim had finished, so it looks like I have plenty to read in the week ahead.

Going to Lake Saint Louis

As soon as we eat a bowl of soup and sandwich, we will be packing to go to our daughter Mary Ellen's in Lake Saint Louis. We have been wanting to go up to visit with her and Brian, Trent, and Brianna, and this worked out well.

We have our annual reunion of the 1940's, 50's, and 60's Baptist Student Union members from Southern Illinois University Carbondale at Meadow Heights Baptist Church in Collinsville on Thursday and Friday. We have 94 registered thus far. Gerald has been busy running to the bank to deposit everyone's checks.

In fact, Gerald is in his office right now trying to get the database to print out the way he wants for a register. I tried for an hour or so to see if I could figure it out. However, I have not been able to figure out how database stuff works since two computer crashes back. I was proud when I conquered the first computer we had. I tried when we got a new one because I liked having our snail mail addresses to print out for Christmas cards. My handwriting leaves a lot to be desired. But I could never learn the new computer.

Six months or so ago, Gerald's cardiologist suggested some routine check-up tests at his office in Saint Louis. We were perturbed when we realized recently that these conflicted with our BSU reunion. Gerald was able to change them a bit, however, so he has the stress test tomorrow morning and appointment on Friday afternoon. So with price of gas like it is, maybe this conflict is a good thing.

We plead guilty to being prodigal in our use of gas for many years. We used to try to limit out trips to town from the farm to once a week. With cheap gas and a little more affluence than in our younger days, we relaxed our standards. (We also have had a need to travel to town more often as we helped with our grandson's transportation to school for a few years and other needs when he was younger.)

Nevertheless, we need to reign in our wasteful use of gasoline wherever possible. To keep making ourselves dependent on foreign oil is the most unpatriotic thing any of us can do right now perhaps. Patriotism during WWII was not judged by waving flags and patriotic talk, but rather how people abided by the rationing rules of tires and sugar. Making do and doing without and saving resources for our war effort were the true tests of patriotism. Black market users were shameful traitors. Now is the time for us to cut back on gas usage whenever possible. We need to make heros of our motorcycle riders and car pool folks.

Touching Base with Tossie

Traveling north on highways through eastern Georgia, we stopped at a roadside stand of an orchard owner for directions, a bag of apples, and a jar of sugarless Muscatine jelly, which has added the sweet grape flavor to our breakfast toast here at Woodsong. I also couldn’t resist a paper bag of horehound candies, a treat my father used to bring home from Rixlebin Pharmacy in Jonesboro and our mother would have us cough to receive our piece.

We crossed the bridge at Ellijay and continued north into Tennessee, where we passed more villages reminding us of the Cherokee--Ducktown, Turtletown, and Tellico Plains. Somewhere along here we saw a sign pointing to White Path Springs, and I wished we had time to go I thought of the death and burial of the revered elder chief who at my age had to be left behind buried in the foreign soil of Hopkinsville, KY, with a make-shift wooden monument painted to look like marble. A tall pole with white linen flag was placed so the following detachments of displaced Cherokee could mourn his passing.

During this twilight drive, where out road ran through the southern part of the Cherokee National Forrest, I could certainly understand his people’s heartbreak at being forced to leave their homeland in these beautiful mountains. Soon it was dark and the winding road spiraled through the tall green trees. As the night darkened and the curving road was constant, we hoped we wouldn’t meet anyone. We begin to think about the need for a motel. Most of the time, there were no houses and no lodging in sight. Light rain started making the darkness lit by our headlights magically lovely but diminishing driving visibility. We passed the little town Mount Vernon with few houses, and once we enjoyed the delightful scene of small children playing outside in a lit church yard evidently after the evening service while their parents lingered and visited.

As the rain intensified, we were grateful we seldom met a car and were relieved when we found a motel in Madisonville and could pull off the road. After we secured a room by using the phone placed outside the locked office, we went next door for a sandwich before retiring. With the car backed up to our room, we unloaded our bags from the trunk under the cover of the large umbrella we had used for shade at the softball games. We were soon in bed and slept well until almost 6 the next morning.

On up the road, we called our friend Tossie from Shoneys, where we had a great breakfast and abundance of coffee. After driving through the rest of Tennessee, we passed Jellico and entered Kentucky and were soon at Williamsburg. This was our first visit with our long-time dear friend since she moved down from their mountain home and into town. That home on the mountain was one of my all-time favorite houses with two of my very favorite rooms—Chester’s large formal library where he studied and wrote and a dining room built to hold the antique table where wonderful meals and conversations took place. .

After Chester’s long illness and death, Tossie had donated Chester’s library to his alma mater Berea College. She had started giving away furniture before she went to American Samoa to work in a library there, but plans to sell came to a halt. She stayed on top of the mountain by herself for a few years after the Samoa adventure. We visited her there once more and enjoyed the new sunroom and watching the birds as well as eating with her friends at the dining room table. That visit on a drive around town, she even showed us the apartment she thought she might move into someday. However, we knew she had changed her plans. Instead she moved into a house next door to a friend, who had decided to completely redo a small house instead of tearing it down.

We found the yellow house without difficulty and Tossie was outside to greet us. She had once more moved her mother’s iris and mint to a bed in the front yard,. In the large back yard, she had beautiful trees. With plenty of privacy to play her piano as loud as she wants, the house seems just right for her: aesthetically pleasing, comfortable, practical, filled with antiques in use and mementoes of a life well lived. Soon we were hearing stories of how everything worked out perfectly as she gave away her furniture and sold the mountain home to a friend. I loved knowing the antique dining room table was still in place on top of the mountain.

Gerald showed his photo albums, and they reminisced about the Hawaiian children in the church where Chester served as pastor. Tossie was able to bring Gerald up-to-date news of the successes of some of the boys he had coached and driven around the island in the church van while the boys teasingly tried to get him lost. And, of course, we wanted updates on all her children and grandchildren, whose pictures were scattered around.

Since she had a long-scheduled check up with a doctor at Corbin that afternoon, we left behind the yellow house and had lunch in Corbin so we could use every minute talking until time for her appointment and our departure. She had the guest room ready in case we decided to accept her invitation to spend the night, but we were anxious to find if everything were okay after the 60-mile winds left-over from Ike had hit Southern Illinois the previous night.

Before we returned to Woodsong, we drove to the other farm to see if Brian’s corn crop was still standing and it was. Gerald was pleased that Bryce had done some more improvement on the ditch he and the highway people have been working on. Everything looked good there. As we drove up to our house and saw that our crop of sunflowers, which were still blooming beautifully when we left, were now all blown over and comically askew on the ground, we had to laugh. Unlike many homes in our area, our house’s electricity had not gone off, and we settled in for an evening of reading the accumulated newspapers.

The Eve of 9/11

Our son-in-law David is celebrating his birthday tonight. I hope their family party is peaceful. Last night was supposed to be, but someone drove out in front of his mother, who was out on an errand. So David was to and from the hospital and finally followed his dad home to help get his injured mother out of the truck and into their home with her broken foot. Her car and the other car were both totaled, and so were her plans to go to a wedding in Chicago and afterwards stay to visit and help her sister. David is to be best man at this friend’s wedding, and sometime he has to find time yet to acquire a buttercup yellow tie for that occasion since he didn’t get to shop for it as planned last evening. Life has a way of upsetting the best laid plans.

Certainly in 2001, things changed horribly for all America. In addition to the sorrow, fear entered our lives in a new way. David was in Virginia and was not allowed to leave and we worried about him. With Mary Ellen’s family in the Saint Louis area, I wondered if that city might be next. We were building this house, and the building workers listened not to music but to the account on the loud radio they had going; I put up a small flag in the dirt here. Friends from California were at a motel in Marion after our Anna-Jonesboro Class of 1951 reunion, and they came out and we sat for hours in horrified silence watching the television screen at Pondside Farm. Later they were stranded for hours in long lines in the Saint Louis airport trying to get back home while their daughters worried.

Area writers were invited to bring any 9/11 poem, essay, or special memory to Latta Java tomorrow night on this anniversary. One member emailed she could not be there but had thought of William Butler Yeats’ poem soon after the tragedy and returned to it throughout the time of trauma. She sent the link for us:
http://www.potw.org/archive/potw351.html.

Another special memory of that day for me was to get an email telling of the birth of little Noah, a baby many in our community had been anticipating. To learn he was here safely was a joyful and comforting message of normalcy and hope. Under different circumstances, I would have been happy, of course. But on that day when the email arrived, I remember the odd mix of elation on top of the horror.

Tomorrow is also our granddaughter Erin’s birthday. At first I was fretful that her special day that meant so much to us was “ruined” in 2001, but I have come to feel that it can never be ruined. She is one of the good things associated with 9/11, and the terrorists could not take that gratefulness away from us.

One of the most impressive things that day and in the days following was the magnificent reaction of the people of New York. The people there disproved any notions we had that cities are cold and uncaring places. I hope that city knows that the thoughts and prayers of the nation are with them tomorrow.

Friendships

Interspersed with following the threats of hurricanes and listening to the Republican National Convention, I had lunch with a friend on Monday even though the downtown coffee house and the restaurant across the street were closed in recognition of Labor Day. Since I was running late, we met up by telephone and found a new place, where we could not only eat but talk for four hours. There is nothing like a good talk with a friend to make life more interesting and more bearable.

Though younger than I am, this new friend and I both have the same experience of having already lost a good many dear friends. That comes with age and is one of the sad aspects of growing older. You watch your high school class grow smaller at each reunion. You find yourself with a shrinking circle, and you don’t necessarily have the drive and energy to be out and about making new friends. With added doctor appointments that come with age, you my not even have much time for interacting with old friends. .In retirement, you don’t have the work contacts to connect with daily.

When I first retired, I had two buddies I enjoyed meeting up with for breakfast. The fact that we ate breakfast at 10 a.m. was evidence of our compatibility. Within a couple of years, one moved upstate. Last spring the second one headed to the east coast to live with two daughters.

A year ago a very dear new writing friend, who had moved here from Washington, D. C., had to relocate. We too could talk for hours even though she was many years younger than I. She lives close enough to our town that theoretically we could still meet up, but both of us have busy lives and we don’t. When I go by the road to her subdivision as I frequently do when I drive to town, I always feel the pang of missing her. She was nearer my daughter’s age than mine, and I so wanted her to meet my daughter because I thought they would enjoy each other’s personalities. I knew Katherine would relish the stories about Deb’s previous life in the Capitol. With the move, that possibility faded.

It is a gift to be treasured. to have found another new friend with numerous common interests but also a fascinating lifetime of many different jobs, events, and places before she moved to our town. It is good to discuss politics but not have to agree although we often do. It is good to share private problems and know they will never be judged nor repeated. It is good to have someone so busy with a job and travels that she isn’t available much of the time. That may sound like a contradiction, but it means this person is not needy. It means she understand my busyness also. Because we can rarely get together, we have much to talk about and many stories to share.

We can keep up with each other with email just as I keep up with many old friends around the country by email. I cherish those far-away friendships, and email allows us to share our lives with a minimum of time and no gas expense. But it is also good to occasionally meet face-to-face and laugh and cry together over a cup of coffee or a four-hour lunch.

"Someone stole June"

A friend wrote, "Someone stole June." June happened much too quickly for me too, and now it seems July is already hurrying by much too quickly. I want to yell: Slow down, Life!" Where are those lazy hazy days of summer?

The dining room table is covered with boxes for Vacation Bible School. I am gathering up all the stuff called for in the teacher's book. Stickers, colored feathers, stuffed monkey, etc. Sonja emailed me that she has some of the items I need. Charlene phoned that she has the stuffed cat I was looking for. But I still need a parachute (not a real one--the kind kids play with), a rubber chicken, six foam balls, some egg-splat balls, etc. etc. The writers probably have a staff or a wife to order and gather up all this junk. GRRRR. And they probably have a bigger budget than I do for foolishness. I hope they do some soul searching to decide if they are using their budget wisely, however, just as I do.

Since I was in Carbondale yesterday afternoon, I made a point to stop by the toy store there. I found a rubber chicken, but I wasn't sure I wanted to spend $10 for one. I bumped into Jon Musgrave as I left the store and entered the mall, and I asked him if he had a rubber chicken. I explained: "I don't want to buy one. I want to borrow one for the one day I need it for a five-minute gag." He said he didn't have one, but I had to wonder after I commented that no one I knew owned a rubber chicken and he quipped, "Not that they will admit to."

Making decisions on what to spend money for becomes a problem once you have a dollar or so extra beyond the absolute necessities. The starving people around the globe haunt me. The beautiful faces in magazines of the children with cleft palates who only need $250 for surgery torment me.

Yet I know Jesus approved the costly perfume Mary used to wash his feet. And small extravaganzas that I have given to individuals have blessed me sufficiently that I was sure I had done the right thing.

I have always believed we are wise to build good-looking public buildings and fine highways and beautiful bridges because so many people are helped by these. When we are going down the highway without another car in sight and Gerald points out the million dollar roadway just in front of us, I not only luxuriate in this great richness, but I also know that more people than I can count will also benefit from it just as we are. And when we read about a bridge disaster, veterans being mistreated, or children in bad buildings in inner city schools, we know we have been penny wise and pound foolish. (Or people making those decisions have been. But the decision makers have to have the public's support.)

I have come to realize that I can buy a good product for our home without qualms of conscience (if I can afford it) because I know if there is any use left in the item when we can no longer use it,I will pass it on. If not to someone I know, then to the household giveaway sponsored by the Ministerial Alliance in Marion. Clothing can be taken to Salvation Army and glasses to one of the Lions' collection boxes. I would never deliberately burn something that someone else needs.

I remember reading that wealthy big spenders in the Depression who gave lavish parties argued that they were giving jobs to people who needed them. That made perfect sense to me. Yet there still remains something distasteful when someone gives ostentatious affairs while other are suffering.

On the television today I heard someone explain an advantage to the high gas prices. With fewer people on the road, fewer deaths are occurring. If it were one of my family saved from death, I'd have to choose the higher price if I could prevent the death. Isn't life complicated?

I must go online and decide if I can get a rubber chicken that with postage costs might cost less than the local store. And I must decide whether a few minutes of fun is worth it to the children. All the while I will be remembering that some research shows that we learn better and retain information better if we are having fun. And that is the point of VBS. We want youngsters to learn Bible truths that they will incorporate into their lives. We hope their lives will be spiritually richer and more effective because of this study.

My sister reported that their VBS in Amarilo was one of the most satisfying experiences she had ever had. Picking up and teaching two great grandchildren was part of the reason, but hearing other children also respond with how much fun they were having and wishing VBS could last even longer made her feel she was well paid for her efforts.

Posting Blog that Hasn't Appeared on Book Page

We got home from Amarillo Saturday night, and I posted on AmazonConnect last night about the tourney in Oklahoma City. The post appeared in the blog there, but oddly has never appeared on my book page. So since it has been so long since I have posted on Woodsong Notes, I am going to copy and post the blog here. Then I will try to post on schedule on Wednesday night on Woodsong Notes.


We Had Fun!
by Sue Glasco at 10:57 PM PDT, June 8, 2008

The NCAA World Series for women’s softball, as seen through Gerald’s camera lens, is now on display in the living room at Woodsong, which is temporarily serving as a gallery for the photographs. We had fun, and being second in the nation only to the fantastic Arizona State team was quite a thrill.

Despite the horrendous heat the first two days when we played afternoon games. Despite having our car vandalized for the GPS navigator we’d forgotten to hide when we went to the game in Mary Ellen’s vehicle. Despite the day and a half that it took Gerald to talk to police, insurance agents, and then find a glass shop that could get tempered glass to replace the broken window. Despite never really figuring out the roads in Oklahoma City with or without the help of navigators. Despite the disappointment of losing both games in the championship playoffs. Despite my waking up with a cold on Wednesday morning when we left for Amarillo to see my sister and family. Despite Gerald’s waking up this morning with my cold. Despite it all, we consider it a successful trip and we will always cherish those happy times.

Meeting the parents and grandparents of Virginia Tech’s Angela Tincher in the rest stop as we traveled before we arrived for the Thursday afternoon games started our softball pilgrimage. Angela had been chosen Player of the Year at the tourney banquet the night before. And though Virginia Tech quickly fell to the losers’ bracket in this double elimination setup, Angela was among those chosen for the all-tourney team for her phenomenal pitching.

By the time we had seen the first day’s games, we realized that every one of the eight teams who had advanced that far were capable of beating any other team under just the right circumstances. No game was going to be easy, and we were exhilarated as we remained in the winners’ bracket.


Yet although the teams in the losers’ bracket have a more difficult path, the possibility of their entering the championship playoffs remained real. So when we played Florida Sunday night after they had given us our first defeat that afternoon, we were thrilled to come back and give them their second loss in that nine-inning game, thus, knocking out the team many expected to win the tourney,

Texas A&M, who started the year with two All American pitchers, had what many thought would be a season destroyer when Amanda Scarborough had to have surgery on a fractured foot. She spent the season on crutches and on the bench. Amanda and Megan Gibson had grown up playing together on summer teams and would have been an amazing pitching and batting duo to have brought to the World Series if life had gone as expected.

Instead, Amanda proved her outstanding character as she worked hard in the dug out tracking statistics for calling pitches and helping her coaches and teammates in multiple ways. But sadly she could not alternate with Megan as in the past. So senior pitcher Megan Gibson dueled alone through exhausting inning after inning. To leave the tourney with the second-place trophy was a feat that reflected Texas A&M’s grit and determination. Indeed it was fun for the Aggie fans.

Adding to our fun was getting to be with Gerry and Vickie and Geri Ann, Bryan and Tara and Aidan, Mary Ellen and Brianna. We even had a couple meals with our favorite catcher Erin, although most of the time, team members were not available for family gatherings.
Fortunately Saturday, Aidan and his daddy Bryan’s common birthday, was a free day for our team. We celebrated the birthdays with lunch at the Cheesecake Factory and with supper at the team’s tailgate party. The Archibalds were able to stay through Sunday before Bryan’s job necessitated their leaving for the Chicago area.

By Monday, Brianna was sporting a manicure with maroon nails and Texas Aggie spelled out on ten fingers. Mary Ellen’s birthday supper that night was diluted by our first loss to Arizona State and all the difficulty we had finding a restaurant open that late after the game. But we still found some things to laugh about, and we were proud to just be in town after six other teams had left.

When Gerald phoned an Air Force buddy from over 50 years ago (whom he had only seen once since then), he found him in the hospital as a precautionary thing while a new med was being tried, and so John welcomed company there. After Gerald delivered the car to the glass shop, Mary Ellen dropped him off to visit his friend. And the next afternoon after we picked up the car and had all the glass fragments vacuumed out, we were able to return to the hospital for a second visit.

Although we would have been delighted to stay on to play two out of three games, that was not to be, so we took what pleasure we could from the early departure on Wednesday morning. The extra day would make our visit with my sister Rosemary and family more leisurely. Gerry, Vickie, and Geri Ann were already on the way to Johnston City when we left, and Mary Ellen and Brianna slept in before heading back to Missouri. It had been a fun week with memories for a life time.

A Country Day at Woodsong

The sound of tractors in nearby fields has come into the house all day. Farmers are hard at work getting the soil ready for planting. Our son-in-law Brian finished his corn planting up at Wayside Farm on Saturday.

Gerald was helping the men involved with burning off our native grasses at Woodsong this morning as the law requires. Today was the deadline, and finally it was not raining so the job was completed. Those fields are black now, but soon new growth well green them up again. A distant neighbor Gayla had observed all the smoke and phoned to see if she and her husband could look for deer antlers in the burned off areas. She and Mary Ellen were classmates in the Crab Orchard Class of 1981, so it was good to visit with her a few minutes.

As soon as noon-time dinner was over, Gerald was back outside to help our neighbor Scott with disking. Occasionally working part-time for Scott has added interest to Gerald’s retirement as well as to his finances.

He quit in time to come in to watch Erin’s game on television. I scrambled eggs and carried down our supper to the family room, so we could watch on the bigger screen there. Winning this game cinched the Big 12 Championship for Texas A&M, so it was an important game. Being able to watch it on TV was much more fun than using game tracker and an audio account.

It was fun seeing Gerry and the other fathers cheering wildly when we got our home run that put us ahead in a tied-up game. I am sure it was just as fun for their fans when University of Texas made their homerun. It was delightful for us to see Erin pick-off a runner to prevent scoring again and hearing the announcers praise her throughout the game.

After the game, coming into the computer for a final check on the day’s emails brought a welcome forward from a friend. The forward was New York Times sports writer George Vecsay telling about a senior for Western Oregon getting her first home run in her college career. That would have been a neat experience, but how she got it was indeed an incredible story as the email promised.

Sara Tucholsky thought she had hit a three-run homer against Central Washington when she hit the ball over the fence. She was not used to that and watched in awe as the ball soared. However, she missed first base and turned back to touch the bag. The turn must have torn her knee ligament and she collapsed. She had to crawl to the base crying and unable to get up. Her coach knew if any of her teammates touched Sara, automatically she would not be able to advance. The umpires ruled that Sara must touch all the bases or she would be credited with a two-run single.

That is when the incredible happened. Central Washington’s first baseman Mallory Holtman politely asked the umpires if it would be okay if she and a teammate carried Sara around the bases. The umpires considered and gave permission. Mallory and shortstop Liz Wallace lifted her onto their crossed arms and carried her around lowering her to touch each base. Sara got her three-run homer to finish her senior-year career, and Mallory and Liz got a standing ovation from an emotional cheering crowd laughing and crying at the same time. I shed a few tears just reading about it.

How Green Are My Valleys, Hills, and Lawn

Wherever we look out-of-doors right now, we see green. Gerald says the intense green we are enjoying is partly the result of the nitrogen in the late winter’s snows and rains. As tired as we are of rain, it is pleasant to think of the benefits.

Earthquakes have been the topic of much conversation in our area lately. I felt the first one at 4:38 last Friday morning, and I learned later I had done the correct thing by staying in bed. I was too sleepy to do anything else. Although there have been several, I have not felt the after shocks since. I was in the laundry room at my daughter’s when the second shake came. She was in adjoining room and felt it. I guess I assumed it was the washer-dryer shaking the house and did not notice it.

I learned at our women’s meeting at Shirley Butler’s on Monday that some of our Coal Valley Water customers had been without water since last Friday. Shirley had seen and heard the repair work going on near her home the previous evening, so her first reaction to the quake was thinking it was the water department still working.

Unfortunately, the quake evidently made the water problems intensify in that region of our water district. (We seem to have been immune to the problems here on the west side of the district.) Workers are trying hard to get all the breakages fixed. Most people had water back on fairly quickly, but not all. Some people are going to friends and relatives to take showers.

When the water was turned on for our friend Jo, the pressure was so great that it broke the pipes beneath her house. She was blessed to have her son Scott willing and able to crawl under the house and repair the messy muddy leak there. Next door, Kim said when she ran her washer, the pressure causes huge scary noises making her hope their pipes don’t break. Scott isn’t eager to do a second repair job.

Our son-in-law was down over the weekend and early part of this week to start farming. The tiling job last fall was a real help this spring when these heavy rains came. Brian joined us for supper Friday night when our granddaughter Leslie and friend Veronica Tolbert from Freeport stopped off on their way down to Nashville, Tennessee, to visit the national college speech events being held there on Saturday. We didn’t get the return trip stop because there was a boyfriend waiting in Charleston. Ah well.

Our big weekend entertainment was listening to Texas A&M’s two home games. We did the same tonight when they played a non-conference game against Texas State. What a night freshman pitcher Rhiannon Kliesing had. After a week off the mound, she pitched her first no-hitter of the season, and despite no recent opportunities to bat, she made her first home run of the season.

It is pitch dark outside. After this game, Gerald is out there mowing that intensely green grass. It is hard to keep up with right now, and he had to be away all day.

Sunny Spring Days Are So Welcome

While the pear trees’ blossoms have blown away, the redbuds in yards and roadsides have burst into full bloom. The daffodils are fading, but the paperwhites are in their glory. Soon the dogwood will join the redbud. Gerald has daffodils, hyacinths, paperwhites, and tulips all blowing in the wind and adding color to his new welcoming flower bed at the top edge of our retaining wall.

It is a glorious time of the year on a day like today. The sun was shining and a light jacket was all one needed to be comfortable in the pleasant breezes. Since Gerald was going to Kentucky with his brother for the butchered beef, I assumed they’d be away at lunch as they were last week. Instead they left early this morning to enjoy breakfast together before they picked up the frozen beef and had to hurry home. I had made plans to spend the morning with our daughter in town and go to lunch with a friend, so I hurriedly fixed something for Gerald to eat when he returned for lunch.

After a delightful afternoon visiting after lunch at the friend’s house, I made a final stop back by my daughter’s and was privileged to hear Samuel tell about his Longfellow School field trip to at Art Day at Southern Illinois University Carbondale. He liked seeing the glassblowing and the pottery making, but the blacksmithing was his favorite.

When I arrived back home, Gerald was already listening to Erin’s game at Oklahoma State. Gerry had driven all night long to get to Stillwater for this double header that Gerald had wanted to go to in the worst way. We went there ranked fourth in the nation. Unfortunately, tonight after eleven straight victories in the Big 12 Conference, Texas A&M lost their first conference game to the Cowgirls 6-5. But Gerry got to see Erin go three for three in the first game and have a fourth hit in the second game, which the the Aggies won. Of course, we are still first in the conference. Between the games, Gerald and I ate a hurried bowl of chili in the kitchen and then had a cup of yogurt for dessert as we watched the second game.

I spent a while reading emails and thinking about tomorrow night’s Writers Guild meeting. Allison Joseph spoke to us five years ago, and I have always considered that one of our finest programs. She will be with us again tomorrow night. Here is the news release I sent out as program chair:

Poet and Associate Professor Allison Joseph has carried a love of language from the Bronx to Southern Illinois University Carbondale while earning degrees, fellowships, and numerous poetry awards. She will share experiences and expertise she has gained at Southern Illinois Writers Guild on Thursday, April 17, at 7 p.m. in the Terrace Dining Room Annex at John A. Logan College. The public is invited.

What Keeps Us Here published by Ampersand in 1992 brought her the John C. Zacharis First Book Prize. Four more books have continued her success: Soul Train published by Carnegie Mellon in 1997, In Every Seam by University of Pittsburgh Press in 1997, Imitation of Life by Carnegie Mellon in 2003, and Worldly Pleasures by Word Press in 2004.

Born in London of Caribbean heritage, she grew up in a Bronx neighborhood she often has written about. Influenced by the late Illinois poet laureate Gwendolyn Brooks and a story teller like her father, she often writes free verse as she tells brutally honest narratives with remarkable human insight that are sometimes autobiographical and sometimes imaginative. She also writes fiction.

Perhaps New York’s poets-in-the-schools program along with the writing she did at Bronx High School of Science inspired her to start the Young Writers Workshop at SIUC in 1999. The creative writing faculty and graduate students are used in this effort and offers a four-day residential summer program that draws high school students from both in and out of the area.

Holding the Judge William Holmes Cook Endowed Professorship, her many honors have included fellowships from the Illinois Arts Council and Bread Loaf and Sewanee Writers Conferences. In 2003 alone, she received six prizes. More recently she was awarded $5,000 for her poems “Cartography” and “Emergency Librarian” in the 2006 Dorothy Sargent Rosenberg Poetry Competition and then received a second Artists Fellowship in Poetry in 2007 from the Illinois Arts Council for $7,000. She is the editor and the poetry editor of Crab Orchard Review, an international literary journal of SIUC.

She was graduated from Kenyon College in 1988 and was awarded a Master of Fine Arts from the University of Indiana in 1992. She taught two years at the University of Arkansas at Little Rock before coming to SIUC.
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Senior Citizens Day at Kroger's

The first Wednesday in each month, there is a 10% discount for senior citizens at our local Kroger's. If you have not experienced first Wednesday, you don’t know what crazy is.

The parking lot is so full that you have a healthy walk just going in. Since Harrisburg's store is flooded out, there were even more people than usual today competing for parking. Although I seldom see anyone I know at the grocery store, I always see three or four folks I know on this day. I met a nearby neighbor I had not seen in years as I was going inside.

I had to laugh at one friend I had also seen last month. A former professional who is now retired, she said, “I don’t know why I do this to myself each month.” Then she told a funny story about waiting for a parking space only to have an old codger whip right in front of her and take it away from her. With all the aches and pains and toughness from years of living, you can get bumped quite easily in the crowded aisles filled with people with oxygen, canes, and wheelchairs.

I heard two other short women commenting on how impossible it is at this store to get items off the top shelf. Since there is rarely a clerk available in a modern grocery, I have stretched, used the bottom shelf as a step, asked strange men to obtain an item from the top shelf, and sometimes just given up on something I needed. Somehow it was comforting to me today to hear the other women expressing their dismay at this problem. I guess misery does love company.

Bumping into my sister-in-law Opal, was a pleasant addition to my shopping experience. She was there buying birthday cards for her daughter Kyna and granddaughter Jinna. She said she had to park so far away in order to come into the store, she debated going on home and coming back. However, with the price of gas what it is, she decided she’d come on in even if she did have to park on the outer rim of the parking lot. I am glad she did because I was glad to see her.

I had spent the morning getting a perm for our upcoming weekend trip, and I ran by my daughter’s house after leaving the store. By mid-afternoon, I was home and put half my groceries away. The rest can wait until tomorrow.

Returning to Everyday Life

Note: Trying the 6th time to get the following posted. This was written before midnight last night right on the Wednesday schedule. Although blogger says it is published, it does not show up on Woodsong Notes. I hope it does this time.

Monday Gerald had to make-up the income tax appointment he missed last week with Doug Hileman. Between the time change making him lose track of time and the appointment taking longer than he expected, he didn’t make it home in time to go to Geri Ann’s volleyball game with me. Since he couldn’t make the game and he was already in Union County, he ran by Keith and Barbara’s. Yesterday he ran by Opal’s, and in the afternoon he attended the Johnston City softball game against my alma mater Anna-Jonesboro. This time I couldn’t go because I was giving the devotional at our class meeting at Sharon Odom’s at 6:30.

Today he and Keith went to Amish country across the Ohio River near Marion, Kentucky. It is a good thing they went today because the river is rising again, and the ferry is expected to close.

Keith has a beef ready for us to butcher, and they were looking for the man who had butchered for us years ago. We have been buying beef from the grocery store for a number of years now, so it will be good to have the freezer full again. While they were there, they ran by the farms of friends John and Barbara Beachey and Lester Stutzman.

They were impressed with young Ben Beachey’s harness making, and Gerald just had to have one of the belts he makes. Back at Woodsong, Gerald proudly placed a jar of freshly made maple syrup that John gave him and a jar of sugar-free blackberry jam that he said the school teacher made. I need to ask him more about that tomorrow.

Before supper, he already had a photo developed of a farmer with his plow pulled by three sturdy work horses. After supper, I watched a slide show of the river, an eagle’s nest with a eagle head poking out of it, a horse-drawn buggy, and of course a rerun of pictures of the grandchildren and family gatherings.

Sympathy cards line the fireplace mantel, and the remaining siblings are keeping in touch by phone as they resume a new phase of life without their brother.

Chili and Softball at Woodsong on a Cold Winter Day

I slept late this morning because last night I unintentionally stayed up late trying to review family history after a distant (very distant) cousin joined our GlascoFamily yahoo group. I was still sleepy and in my pajamas devouring the newspaper and a bowl of cereal when Gerald yelled up from the family room that I had a phone call. I had already thought about the day’s agenda and had even decided the day before to make a pot of chili. I figured I would put it on when I finished the newspaper.

Our neighbor Marylea was on the phone with the announcement that she would be over in about an hour with a pot of chili for us! I am sure she was trying to say thanks to Gerald for having taken his front-end loader over recently and helped when hay was delivered for her horses. So I finished my morning routine, and long before lunch, here came Marylea with a crock pot full of chili for me to plug in and keep cooking. It was good!

Gerald had planned to take Katherine and Samuel for his checkup after his recent ear infections. He was leaving early to go by the hospital and see his brother Kenny and was backing out of the garage when Katherine phoned saying that doctor appointment was cancelled. But in addition to visiting Kenny, he still went by Katherine’s and left some of Marylea’s chili that I had put in his truck for sharing with her family.

We will be eating chili again tomorrow, and I will have a container yet to put in the freezer for next week. I did fix a different meal this evening, but phone calls to Gerald’s siblings took up the thirty minutes that we had between the double header games of Texas A&M with the University of Houston.

So we filled our plates in the kitchen and carried them down to again watch the second game with game tracker on Gerald’s computer. We do this and play the audio of the radio announcers there at the Aggie Softball Complex. It is not as good as being there, but it is the best we can do. We like hearing about the beautiful weather there while we look out and see snow on our lawn. And we like hearing Texas A&M continue to win. Their record is 18-2 now, and the coaches again voted them the number two team in the nation.

Whoops! Life A Mite Out of Control?

Oh dear. I did not think I'd have any trouble writing on here this Wednesday. But I almost forgot again. At least we do have electricity this week! We probably missed Geri Ann's volleyball game because we do not have a schedule. She and her mother have been out of town going to Erin's games in Tempe last weekend, and we haven't connected as usual.

Gerald and I were still at the supper table when Gerry called from the Yucatan about Erin's games. We had forgotten that schedule also. I can't seem to keep up with things. They had already won their first game in a double header against Stephen F. Austin when Gerry phoned. So I left the messy kitchen, and we hurried to Gerald's computer to listen to the second game. We were certainly glad we did because we got to hear Erin hit her first homerun for Texas A&M! Exciting. It must have been quite a hit because the announcers were excited that the ball hit the new scoreboard--a first. CoachJo Evans said in the after-game interview that Erin initiated the scoreboard, which had been up three years.

I do have the kitchen cleaned now. And then after email exchanges about the game, I wrote a sad email catching the kids up on the news about their Uncle Ken, who went to Barnes yesterday and came home the same day. The doctor had changed his mind about giving Ken another bone marrow test and more chemo.

Last night I had barely gotten home from a long day in town including Wal-Mart, my least favorite place to have to go, and I had fixed Gerald a nice supper since he had fixed his own lunch. Again I was starting to clean the kitchen, when my friend Linda called. We were talking about plans for the rest of the week, and I said, "Well, let's see. Today is Tuesday." At that moment (7:05), I realized I was supposed to be leading singing at our class meeting at Imogene Graves' house. I had the song books in the car. But an over-crowded day had crowded that part of the day's agenda from my mind.

Imogene had prepared for us twice last week and because of the ice had to cancel both times. I felt terrible I had forgotten this the third time she had prepared for us. So with hair awry and kitchen in shambles, I jumped in the car and was there by 7:15. Fortunately, I got out of having to lead singing. I got there in time for prayer (which I was needing) and a very good devotional by Charlene Morris.

After our business meeting, we gathered at the table in Imogene's pretty kitchen/dining room alight with red berries and bright red accessories everywhere. She had prepared us a feast, and I am ashamed to say I ate a second supper, but I enjoyed every bite. Then after more sandwiches and the delicious cheese ball and candy had been passed around again (no, I didn't take seconds or candy), she and daughter Shirley served us Imogene's famous strawberry pie. Of course, I could not turn it down. It was sumptious as always.

As good as the food was, the fellowship was better. Perhaps we'd all been housebound too long the week before struggling against nature's unkindness. Maybe it was our sated appetites, but as stories and tales were told, we laughed more than I have laughed in years. I needed that. Now we are looking at weather predictions of another ice storm making tomorrow's doctors appointments and tomorrow night's carefully planned Writers Guild meeting problematic. I am sure I am better able to face tomorrow after such a good time last night.

Now, I better quit writing and go do my knee exercises. As of Monday, I started doing them twice a day. I think I can already feel some difference in my stability.

Listening to Erin Play Ball

Gerald and I spent our afternoon and early evening hovered over his computer listening to Texas A&M softball team play in their kickoff tourney at Cathedral City, CA. The announcers described the Big League Dreams Sports Complex and the beautiful mountains, and we enjoyed knowing Vickie was there watching her daughter catch for two All-American pitchers and for the team rated second in the nation. Gerry is at the San Fernando lodge with hunters or he would be in California too.

We were pleased to win over the New Mexico State Aggies 3 to 2 in the first game and disappointed, of course, to hear us lose to Cal Poly Mustangs 5 to 1 in the second game at Fenway Park. (Evidently each field in the complex is named after a Big League park elsewhere.)

Yet we agreed with Coach Jo Evans in the after-game interview that this was nothing to be discouraged about. We beamed when she praised Erin’s playing just as we had beamed when the announcers described Erin’s “pretty out” with one of her exciting throws. We cheered for each of her singles.

We will be tuned in again for tomorrow’s two games after watching Samuel play Upward basketball in the morning. We want to be at Rend Lake at 4 p.m. to see Erin’s cousin Drew Johnson and our young friend Jared Barger play for first place in the middle school Class 2 state tournament there. I am wondering if we can work all this in. We will do our best.

Serenades and Signings at the Illinois Centre Mall

Thanks to Carol Jennings, authors from our area had a fun day signing books at the Illinois Centre Mall today. An administrative assistant in the mall office, Carol came up with the idea of having an early February annual book fair where writers could sell their books to the public. This was the third year for the event, and it has grown and gotten better every year. Authors from here who go to Sturgis, Kentucky, are impressed with the floods of people who come to the fair grounds there all day long for the sole purpose of buying books. There has been nothing like this in Southern Illinois.

However, if the Third Winter Book Fair is any indication, we may someday grow into something even more exciting. Refining the fair every year, Carol outdid herself this year. Attractive posters at the entrances announced our presence. Attractive cloths graced a generous-sized table for each author. Chairs and table name tags awaited us. All we had to do was carry in our books and fountain pens. The cookie store gave each author a coupon for a huge free soda The foot traffic was heavy--perhaps because people were so pleased to have a lovely sunny Saturday after yesterday’s bitter cold snow day keeping the kids home from school. There were twenty-two authors who enrolled to sign and a great variety of books including many poetry books. Judy Askew was up from Brookport, Rick Keisheim from Robinson, and Sheri Richardson was down from O’Fallon, Missouri. The rest of us had less far to drive.

Besides seeing friends and making new ones, perhaps the highlight for me was the children’s violin recital in our midst--bringing a host of parents and grandparents with them. There were tiny children with tiny violins and older kids with large violins. The program was diverse and delightful. Seeing these beautiful children poised and talented performing on difficult instruments was an unexpected treat.

I am sentimental about violins because my father played one. When my sister Rosemary was young living in Jonesboro, Daddy took her to weekly violin lessons from a gentleman in Anna. Thus, she was prepared to play in the high school orchestra. He listened in on the lessons and also learned to play.

When he and Mother retired in Goreville, one aspect of their social life was asking other couples in for the evening. If one of the couple could play piano and it was usually the wife, Daddy would enlist her to play the piano while he played the violin. Mother and the other husband would usually play Chinese checkers together. Daddy became quite proficient at the hymns they practiced, and Mother became quite good on the star-shaped board. I always knew who would win when I played her.

Daddy liked to go with his church group once a month to play hymns and sing at the Vienna nursing home. He was still doing this when he was so old that he was no longer steady on his feet. Naturally, the elderly residents loved for one of their own age to come and play. Daddy would leave the house and smile wickedly at Mother and me and say, “Well, I have got to go play the violin for the old folks.”

That was a long time ago, for Daddy’s violin was silenced first by the ravages of Parkinson and then by his joining a heavenly choir. Yet for my sister and me, a violin is a symbol of our father, and we are quick to choose a Christmas or birthday card that has a violin on it. We each know the other one will remember the same man when it is opened. Daddy loved children, and he would have been even more pleased than I was if he had heard the well-trained youngsters at the mall today

Addendum: Those authors at the mall today were Jim Lambert, Pat Evans, Violet Toler, Mary L. Hackett, Carol Jennings, Dixie Terry, Anne-Marie Legan, Joy King, Harry Boyd, Rick Kelsheim, Ron Schmeck,Patty Morrison, Ernestine Brasher, Sherri Richardson, Judy Askew, David Bond, Roger Poppen, Sue Glasco, Fog Gilbert, Jon Musgrave, Marie Samuel, Jeri Beth McRoy. Did I miss anyone?

Lynn Delores Dillow Borde September 26, 1933 - December 7, 2007

From the sad email from our mutual friend Lois and the sad phone call from Lynn’s son Lance, I learned that Lynn had lost her battle with what she had first written the doctor was calling pre-leukemia.

After that news, a Christmas card came from Lance and his sister Pamela “PJ” Brown. The inserted memorial sheet had five pictures of Lynn from her baby picture to an adult picture. In between was an adorable formal studio photo of a gently smiling child of around four when she was still living in New York. Then a bathing beauty photo. Next, a sophomore high school class picture that I remembered, and a young adult picture I am not sure I had ever seen. Folding the precious insert back into the card and envelope, I told myself I would have to think about it later. Yet I knew what was inside that envelope, and I could not keep from thinking about the loss of my childhood friend.

During that pre-Christmas season with Lynn’s photos hidden inside the envelope’s darkness, we already had plenty to grieve because our lives were full of sadness and pain for family members and their illnesses. I did not want to face the loss of my first writing friend and faithful and most-fun friend. Since she was in California and I stayed in Southern Illinois, she was not in my everyday life. Although we wrote long letters as young adults, those had trickled off some years to only Christmas cards. She talked of coming back for a visit in retirement, and I had looked forward to that. However, with the pre-leukemia letter, I faced the end of that plan and dream.

Lynn left SIUC the first quarter we were there to fulfill her ambition of joining the Air Force. We wrote faithfully and shared our adventures. Later she married, and she and her husband came back on G.I. bills and were in the area briefly before returning to California.

There they remained although there was one brief summer trip back here in the 1960s. We both had young families. I remember I had laryngitis and could not really talk, which I considered a terrible irony since all Lynn and I ever wanted to do was talk--for hours on her front porch in Jonesboro where she lived with her grandparents and where we grew up, for hours when we took a walk from her house to and through the nearby Jonesboro cemetery and giggled as young people can when death is far away. For hours on the telephone as teens talking about cute boys and what to wear to the basketball games in the A-J gym. For hours as we read to each other from our journals when she was Lyndee and I was Suzie. We spent summer evenings at the ballpark and in the Tropics, our teenage hangout. We could make a nickel coke last all night.

After that 1960s visit at our ancient farm house plagued by laryngitis and busy with the care of our little ones, we did not see each other again until 2001 when we went to California to see our granddaughter Tara play softball and stayed at Lois and Tom’s house in Oakland. We arranged a visit with Lynn in her Concord apartment and met her cats that she loved, and we all went out to dinner together.

This week I opened the haunting envelope again. I have kept her photos on my desk and allowed myself to know I won’t see her again during this life. I signed a sympathy letter to Lance and Pam and included the name Suzie. I won't ever sign my name that way again.

Finishing Up, Putting Away, Ending Christmas Season

Usually our trees are not still up this long, but there they are in the family and living room asking me, “When are you going to get busy and take me down?” I always leave the trees up until after New Year’s Day as that is part of the holiday season for me personally. The wreath on the front door blew off a couple of days ago, so I did carry it inside. And I have started removing the smaller accessories and decorations and placing them in the guest bedroom. There they await my hauling the storage boxes out of that room’s closet. I should be free of tinsel and glitter by the end of next week.

On the other hand, I am just now getting Christmas cards sent to Gerald’s relatives. I have our addresses filed in four folders: my family folder of Martin-Rockenmeyer addresses, Glasco-Wenger folder with their family addresses, Local friends' folder, and Away friends' folder. I lost the Glasco-Wenger folder, which just showed up in the garage of all places this week. Ah well.

I still pass out cards at our village church rather than spend money on stamps. My dear friend and neighbor, the late Helen Beasley had the girls she led in a youth organization to deliver our cards at church so we could put more money into our mission offering. I still do this every year in remembrance of Helen.

We drove up to John Cochran V.A.Hospital on Wednesday to see Gerald’s brother Ken because Gerald and his sister were so discouraged after talking to Ken and Opal on Tuesday. We went late in the afternoon since Opal’s sister and husband had also planned to visit that day. We were thrilled at how rested Ken and Opal looked. Their night sleep is broken up almost every hour, so they can’t be getting much rest. But when Ken feels good, that refreshes them like nothing else. And Ken felt good on Wednesday. The platelets and antibiotics administered through the hard-to-place port in his neck artery had done their job. He looked good, and two successful therapy sessions that morning had reinforced his knowledge that he was stronger.

The next day Ken was running fever again. This has been typical through this long ordeal since he entered the hospital on November 28. Up and down. Hope and horror. After his diagnosis of leukemia on February 8 (I think it was.), Ken and Opal spent 73 days in the hospital, where she was always his willing personal attendant. Then with the remission, Ken was back enjoying life again--first slowly and then back on his bulldozer doing the work he loves. We were all ready to claim a permanent miracle and were not prepared for the leukemia to come back--despite being warned.

So with the 73 days plus the newest 38 days and counting, Ken and Opal have spent a large part of the past year in the hospital. Now if the antibiotics work to clear up the infection in his blood stream, the fevers go away, the fungus infection resulting from all the use of antibiotics doesn’t cause problems, Ken is anticipating being able to come home to Marion and celebrate his birthday on January 20 with his brothers at Cracker Barrel, according to their brotherly tradition. I suspect the crowd will be larger than usual that morning and the mood joyous.

With Ken, our grandson Trent, and our daughter Katherine all very ill this holiday season, it has not been a normal celebration for us. On the other hand, we are more grateful than usual for God’s gift of His son to redeem and help us through whatever the new year brings.

I better quit writing and take down and put away a few more decorations.

Holiday Sports

Knowing our daughter and family were at the SIUC Arena last night, Gerald and I watched the game sporadically. I didn’t see Samuel nor parents in the crowd, but Vickie told us tonight that she saw Sam and David. Unfortunately I saw that last 3-point wonder shot by the wrong team that made us lose by two points. It was a thrilling shot--but not for us Salukis.

More thrilling that the game, however, was realizing Katherine was up to attending a game. She had her first Tysabri infusion on Thursday afternoon. When she left the hospital, she was amazed to realize she could see better. The muscles behind her eyes that cause her to need to refocus constantly to temper the nausea/vertigo were evidently already better. She has been limiting herself to looking straight ahead to compensate and lesson the problem. She said she feasted looking sideways on the highway as David drove home.

Tonight some of us gathered here at Woodsong with Erin and family and friends to watch the Alamo Bowl Game in San Antonio. Again we were disappointed to see “our” team--Texas A&M--lose by a touchdown, especially after being ahead during the first quarter.

There was lots of cheering throughout, and that increased when Erin’s special friend Matt Featherston played. Vickie brought pizzas, and I put out soup and goodies. Then Erin surprised us with her masterpiece she had baked--a cake shaped like a football with #46 written in the icing. It was good. The company was good. All that was bad was the score.

Christmas Is Here

Family arrived in the middle of the night last night, so I knew Christmas was here. Others arrived at Gerry and Vickie’s house in Johnston City, and we all got together tonight at The Mix in Carterville to hear a concert by Eiler Grey (our granddaughter Leslie Eiler) and her friend Caleb Francis, who came down from Charleston.

We will gather again tomorrow after church for lunch, and then by Monday morning part of the visitors will be going back up north and one will be leaving to join Texas A&M football team preparing to play in the Alamo Bowl. Others of our family are in Florida and elsewhere this year. So our group on Christmas Day to eat ham and Christmas dinner will be smaller than usual.

I am later than usual in writing on Woodsong Notes also because our family has been enmeshed in too many health issues to have much time for writing Christmas cards or anything else. Too many people in our family are seriously ill right now.

Our hearts and minds have gone through many flipflops this week as Gerald’s brother Ken continues to fight leukemia. I know our family is not alone. Many all over the world are fighting life-threatening illnesses and have no doubt had highs and lows this week just as Ken has. On Tuesday he was doing so well that a doctor said Ken might get to come home for this weekend. That afternoon he had a heart attack when some bleeding started, because his heart lacked sufficient blood to pump.

It made us feel even worse because it was preventable. The doctor had ordered a blood transfusion for him at 7 in the morning. The nurse still had not given it in the afternoon when the heart attack resulted because the heart did not have enough blood to pump. So he was back in ICU.

Yesterday after someone lost his blood sample between his room and the lab, a doctor did it over himself so Ken could have a needed test to find source of bleeding. The showed no serious cause. They were able to stop the bleeding. People were high.

Then he was put in with another patient and the patient’s attendant--and the other two talked all night with lights on. Opal could not stay in the room, so she was forced go to the lodge with their children. This morning after yesterday’s ordeal and no sleep last night, Ken was all washed out. But he is not washed up. He is still fighting, and so is his family.