Piddling Days

I don’t know about you, but I must occasionally have time for piddling days. (Some call
this leaving margins in your days’ plans.) This week has been that way for me. What
can I share with you or with Gerald at the supper table to explain my worthy use of day?

Somehow bragging that I sent two belated birthday cards, one sympathy card, and one thinking-of-you card sounds like a slight participation for a day. Yet that was all I could come up with one day this week. I have fixed left-overs and light meals for Gerald and me, superficially cleaned the kitchen afterwards, but have really done no housework.
Oh, I have checked email, Facebook, Red Room, and read the newspaper. Does that count?

One day I coordinated the upstairs and downstairs calendars and tried to figure out what days would be best times to ask for some upcoming med appointments, but I didn’t get any made. I called my brother to find out how his med procedure went yesterday, and that was comforted to hear he was not one of the tiny percent of people who might be left paralyzed, etc. I ran over to the village library to see a friend who used to work there who had come “home” from South Carolina to visit her siblings.

One interesting thing that happened this week was a phone call from a new friend I made the other day in the baby department at Wal-Mart while looking for a baby gift a couple weeks ago. I was looking for cloth diapers, and no clerks were in sight, of course. She was browsing the baby things while waiting for a friend to get off work. She helped me, and we became acquainted. Her daughter, whose husband has just gotten home from Iraq, is expecting. This first time grandmother-to-be had collected an array of baby clothes. Many just like new from a high-end consignment shop (Melise’s).

Now that they knew her daughter was having a girl, she did not want to store boy baby clothes for some future pregnancy. When she heard me say this single mother that I was shopping for needed boy things, she had gone home gathered them all up and phoned me to meet her in the parking lot of a local restaurant when she got off work. I received a huge tub of tiny masculine items, and Katherine and I had so much fun looking at all of them.

“Oh, that little suit with dark green velvet top would be perfect for Christmas!” “Look, this little dress-up suit with tiny tie is six months and should work for Easter!” “Oh, these little shoes remind me of Sam’s!” “There are enough socks here for two or three babies!” “Of course, you can’t have too many of anything.” We oohed and ahh-ed, day dreamed, and reminisced over the adorable outfits and pajamas and countless items—with dinosaurs, basketball, football motifs--before Katherine phoned the expectant mother and I took the clothes over to her. That was the funnest thing I did this week.

I need to be filing in my office. It is on my to-do list daily. Sometimes in big letters! Yet I don’t get around to it. Many years ago my sister and I had an agreement that if either of us died, the other one would fly to her home and get the house/fridge/whatever cleaned up before the funeral guests arrived. I think age has excused us from that duty now. Our kids will have to do that if anything is necessary. But when I survey my office and haven’t the faintest idea how to ever get through all the accumulated papers myself, I know my poor kids will need a big wastebasket. I could use a few days of piddling to straighten it up, but I probably won’t let myself get around to it.

I did finish a novel this week and looked through a couple of new magazines and a catalog that arrived. That does not take care of all the novels not even started nor the half-finished nonfiction books floating around in various rooms. I did spend an hour or so on the phone helping someone else’s research on the Trail of Tears—and I made a list of people I want to call myself on the same subject.

Tonight I am picking up a friend in town to drive over to the Critique Night at Southern Illinois Writers Guild. I may not share, but I will enjoy listening to others work even if I don’t get around to choosing something to read. Two more days and I will be through this piddling week. Maybe next week I will get something done. Or maybe not.

The Week of the Granddaughters

Been too busy having fun to blog this week. Did you miss me? Our first three grandchildren--Tara, Erin, and Leslie—were all visitors this week. (I also was staying up late writing about Silkwood Inn for a regional magazine since I had promised the editor I’d do my best to get a story to him this week. I was delighted when he asked me last week because I know that only publication will save for the future what I have discovered through research. I thoroughly enjoy speaking about the Trail of Tears and the story of Priscilla, but speech is transient. The story recorded in print is what lasts.)

Monday Tara and her two little ones came through here on Interstate 57 after visiting and picking up her boys from her parents’ home in Georgia. So we were on the alert hoping they’d come out to the farm for a break on their way back to their home in northern Illinois. Three-year-old Aidan is maturing at such a rapid rate that we need to see him often just to keep up with his development. Each time, he is so much taller and talks more and more like an adult. Gerald is eager for him to come and play again in the special lime pile he has created for him to dig in. And we were eager to see and hold eight-month old Maddux. But Tara had warned us if the boys were asleep, she probably would not stop at all. She was so hungry to get home to her husband after two weeks away. We understood.

When the phone call came, she suggested we meet her at Marion’s McDonald’s to let Aidan run off energy in the play land there while they ate a quick hamburger supper. I know she thought it would be easier to get away from there than out at our house, and we were glad to cooperate because we too were dreading her long trip upstate.

The brief respite was a success although that did not stop Aidan’s tears when it was time to go. He wanted to come to the farm, and most of all, he did not want more traveling. Who could blame him? Yet the boys both sleep very well in their car seats, and Tara is a remarkable mother at keeping her sons happy even in difficult situations. The boys and their daddy were needing each other, so the lime pile has to wait.

With last hugs and kisses and a prayer in our hearts for safe traveling, we waved goodbye and came back to the farm feeling a little lonely but filled with new images in our heads of two little humans we adore. Any visit to McDonald’s also brings back images of being there with little Tara, who was capable of conning Gerald into stopping at every one they passed coming back from hauling hogs to market in the old days.

On Wednesday, we had the same sort of quick visit with Leslie, who was returning from her visit with her family at Freeport. It was fun to hear about her time with friends back home and her plans for the new school year at Belmont. She had to go back early for training as a R.A. in her dorm, in order to be ready to greet the new freshmen arriving on campus soon. She couldn’t stay long because she had a dinner date waiting for her in Nashville. We understood that too. Yet there is always a vacancy when the little blond with great presence leaves us.

That evening Erin arrived from Texas with two A&M softball friends, Rhea and Kara. They were going to stay awhile and that was better! They have been in and out with friends coming here to fish with them at the lake, riding the “mule,” going up to swim in someone’s farm pond, spending the night at Brooke’s (she who was home from Belmont), going up to worship at Erin’s family church at West Frankfort, and catching up on their sleep. We loved getting to see Erin’s friend Toni again after much too long.

Gma Shirley—just down the country road and a few miles around the corner from us—hosted a family gathering for them Thursday night. She made her wonderful chicken and dumplings just like Erin ordered. Shirley, my daughter-in-law’s mother, is one of my heroes. Actually I think she is a community hero. For years, she watched over her mother next door and her little sister Janice, who has lived far longer than most adults with Down’s syndrome. Even before their mother’s recent death, however, Janice’s health had seriously deteriorated. Caring for her now has necessitated Shirley moving in next door and staying there. Yet Shirley stays cheerful, and Erin commented on her grandmother’s great sense of humor. They enjoyed dinner with her again today and looking through family photo books.

Yesterday we took the girls down beautiful Rocky Comfort Road and then up Buffalo Gap Road to one of one of Gerald’s cousins. We were greeted in the yard by five-year-old Kristin, who was charmingly friendly like her grandmother Judy. Judy’s niece and daughter, Mary and Becky, were up from Florida for the weekend, and this was our only chance to see them.

Judy, a retired nurse from Marion hospital, and Morris, who is called Moose for a reason, had taken them to breakfast at Giant City Lodge and then stopped at the orchard for peaches. Folks were sitting at a big table in their home peeling peaches and having a great time. Their son, an ag teacher and basketball coach, and others were down in the tomato patch picking tomatoes, but he came in later to eat a peach. People were coming and going to share the peaches and tomatoes. Granddaughter Cora was making brownies because a pizza party with home-made pizza was planned for the evening.

Judy explained to me she goes to New Burnside to play piano at a little church there on Sundays, a village quite away from their rural community. (Small rural churches often have trouble acquiring a pianist.) Judy puts meat into the oven and makes preparations for the noon meal. Then two high school granddaughters finish the meal when as many as twenty-five arrive to enjoy the home-cooked Sunday dinner. Judy said when she arrives back home, she just has to fill her plate and join them at the tables. Obviously this active woman had recovered from a bad fall from a horse that happened after her retirement.

From Judy and Morris’s, we took our visiting trio on down one of America’s national historic trails—Route 146, the official auto route for the Trail of Tears—and on to the Garden of the Gods state park. We intended to hike, and we did a bit before rain came and drove us back to our car. Gerald kept up with the fleet-footed softball players and came back with the umbrella to shield me in my last lap of my retreat. My thin blouse dried in a hurry as we traveled back to Harrisburg to stop at Mackie’s Pizza, where their thin-crusted pizza was a special childhood memory that Erin wanted to share with her Texas buddies.

There was another fishing time down at the lake tonight, and Toni came back. Sonje from next door brought Katie over on the four-wheeler to the lake to meet the softball players. (They will be able to someday brag about meeting Katie, the swimming champ. She too is a dedicated athlete.) After a late supper followed by watching TV and giggling, the downstairs laundry room (my office) is humming as they prepare for the long trip back in the morning.

Woodsong will seem very quiet tomorrow as Gerald and I re-adjust to just to just the two of us.

Good Times and Good Memories

A weekend of memories and good times ended with worship last night and this morning at the 100th anniversary celebration of Pennsylvania Avenue Baptist Church in Urbana.

Friday night we met with ten members of Gerald’s high school class of sixteen plus several spouses and friends. The informal gathering at the rustic Fox Hollow at East Cape Girardeau to celebrate the Wolf Lake Class of 1948 brought back memories and many laughs. If Donald Johnson is one of your classmates, you will definitely have laughs. A natural comedian, who has not been hushed by age, Don cannot walk or talk without being funny. Gerald was able to crop the class photo to cut out Don’s hi jinks. But in real life, no one wants to eliminate the fun Don brings to any group. He has always made our lives richer and given us stories to tell and quips to repeat after any event he attends. Don and Ervina went to Cape and picked up “Doc,” the first classmate to need a walker, and I bet Don had Doc laughing all the way home while Ervina just shook her head and smiled as she has down through the years.

Saturday morning we were up early (early for me—not for Gerald) to meet up with his brothers and wives and others to celebrate his brother Keith’s birthday. After a lingering breakfast at the Old Home Place in Goreville, also with laughs and memories, some left to prepare for a roping at nephew Tim’s farm and Keith left to bail hay on his birthday. We came home to Woodsong to get ready to leave for our next weekend pleasantry.

During the one year that Gerald was in grad school at the University of Illinois, we joined Pennsylvania Avenue Baptist Church. When our son was in Urbana for Gerry to finish his degree after two years in local community college, he too became a member of the same church. (After Vickie’s graduation from Southern Illinois University Carbondale’s physical therapist assistant program, they were married and Vickie started her career in Champaign-Urbana and joined him at PABC.) When our youngest daughter, Mary Ellen, was a freshman at U of I, we went up and visited the church. We have kept in touch with many of our friends from that special year in our lives although many have now passed away.

The church was actually started in 1909 in a railroad car turned into a chapel. An area in town by the railroad tracks was without a church. A group brought in a car and parked it there for a chapel. Three years later, a congregation had emerged and the Herald of Hope Baptist Church was established in a small white stucco building. By the time we arrived in 1957, the crowded little building was black with coal dust, but the congregation was hard at work on a new building on Pennsylvania Avenue. During the week, the men of the church took turns working on the building, and I remember making cup cakes or some kind of food to carry in when Gerald helped. We were immediately welcomed by older members and other students our own age and we felt loved and cared for.

Don Dillow, a young man from Dongola was pastor, and he and his wife Helen Ruth were fresh out of seminary. They had been there long enough to have a second son, and Helen Ruth was a wonderful mentor for me as I coped alone with our first born Katherine. She provided emotional support for my parental uncertainties as well as practical advice, such as bringing Kathy in sleepers for the evening service, so she would be ready for the crib when she fell asleep on the car ride home. Without family in that area, I felt the social interaction and the teaching that Kathy had in their church’s nursery program was invaluable.

Don and Helen Ruth have now retired near a son in Texas, but they drove up for this celebration and typically their agenda included acts of service to friends and family along their way here and for their trip back home. Now in his 80s, Don preached last night, with all the vigor of youth and all the wisdom of his age. When he shared a favorite quotation about constancy of purpose, it stuck with me as a touchstone to use in my own life because I have observed how that constancy has brought about wonderful results in many lives as Don and Helen Ruth have ministered to so many of us as they shared the good news and teachings of Jesus.

Today we heard Nate Adams preach, and he emphasized the importance of our local church and the people in it as a vehicle for changing the world. We went home refreshed by beautiful music, the joyful singing, the heart-warming testimonies, the visual stimulation of signing by the group with hearing impairment, the stories of international students as we ate together in the fellowship hall, and the stimulation of observing the cumulative results of a church started in a railroad car a century ago.

My Day

Note: Evidently, I posted after midnight on Monday, which must explain why that day's post says August 4. Now onto tonight's post before midnight--
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After a lazy start to my day, I sat down to my bowl of cereal at 9. By the time I read the paper, drank coffee, watched a bit of news on the kitchen TV, and heard Gerald’s plans for the day when he came through the kitchen, it was close to 10:30 when I went downstairs for a brief time in my office.

Gerald was going back to Missouri for parts of some kind and then to Anna to pick up the sharpened chain saws that were not yet ready when he went down Thursday. His two brothers are there, and he was also hoping to find time for coffee with the boys at Dixie Barbecue in Jonesboro. I knew he would not be back for lunch, so I felt no time pressure.

I ran by Katherine’s house and then onto Senior Citizens Day at Krogers. I have missed for a couple of months, so I bought way too many groceries. By the time I unloaded the car and put away those that needed to be in the fridge or freezer, I was ready for a snack and TV news break.

I really wanted to take a nap, but didn’t since I had an early Trail of Tears board meeting at 5 on the Southern Illinois University Carbondale campus, where one of our board members works it out for us to meet in the conference room of the geology department. I left home in time to run by Katherine’s again since we really did not get to visit this morning and then onto Carbondale.

Vickie Devenport of WSIU was invited to talk to us about a grant to help promote a PBS special series this fall, and she has suggested we cooperate on a fall tour. After a great deal of brainstorming about this exciting venture, we turned next to watch the latest Rich-Heape video on “How to Trace Your Native American Heritage.” We decided this video would make a good winter program, and Gary Hacker invited us to show it in conjunction with the Johnson County Historical and Genealogical Society which meets at the Vienna library.

Finally, we were down to our business meeting. Since we had only the briefest of meeting actually held in a parking lot in June and none since, we were not out until 8:30. After a brief exchange with another board member as we tried to catch up on personal/family news in the darkened campus parking garage, we went our opposite ways on Route 51. I drove the 45 minute trip home under a full August moon, ate a sandwich for a belated supper and brought the mail down to Gerald on my way to the computer.

He just came into tell me that Tara’s 18U Southern Force lost their two games today. First, the Atlanta Vipers beat them 3-1, and this afternoon, California’s Corona Angels won over them 2-1. In a double elimination tourney, that means she is now free to drive from Oklahoma to Georgia to pick up her sons and head back to her husband in northern Illinois. The Force had done well in practice/pool games, and I am sure this is not what Tara expected or wanted. But seeing her family sooner is also a nice reward. We will still be following the tournament, but not with the intense interest we would have had.

A Visit With My Big Brother

The phone rang at 6:15 this morning, and a half hour later, I decided I wouldn’t go back to sleep. That was good because I had some put-away chores to do before I left to drive up to central Illinois to see my brother Jim and his wife Vivian. I drank coffee with Gerald even though I knew I would stop for egg and toast on the way up in order to take a break. I wanted to hear the report on the early-morning phone call, which is when Gerry usually calls his dad.

Their family was leaving Sioux Falls after Southern Force 16U softball team had their second loss in the nationals there. (I think Geri Ann accumulated seven home runs during practice games, pool play games, and the games they played before they were out of the tourney. Of course, they would have liked to stay in the tourney longer, but it wasn’t to be.) Gerry was driving from Sioux Falls to the airport in Minneapolis when he phoned his dad. His companion was his two-year-old grandson Aidan. Gerry, who has loved a race and/or competition since he was two or maybe younger, had Aidan all involved with the idea that they were going to beat his Gma Vickie, Aunt G, and baby brother Maddux, who had flown out of a different airport to Atlanta. He probably convinced Aidan they won even though the other three had to wait for them to arrive in Atlanta to drive on to Athens.

Tara, the boys’ mother, had left Sioux Falls to go on to Oklahoma City for the 18U gold nationals softball tourney this week. (Last year Gerry coached 18U Southern Force, and Tara coached 16U. Since Gerry can no longer coach a summer team, Tara took over the 18U and certainly did her daddy proud taking them all the way to gold nationals. So this week we will be following the 18U progress just as we did the 16U last week. These games aren’t on TV or game tracker, so constant checking on cell phones will be taking place. (Today Southern Force won their first pool play game.) In the meantime back at Athens, Gerry and Vickie are enjoying these two little guys, and guess what? In his last phone call to his dad, Gerry was telling how smart Aidan is. Grand-fatherhood fits Gerry very well.

Although Jim and Vivian have lived in Mattoon for decades, I have always had a difficult time not getting lost going in and leaving town. Maybe cause Gerald is usually driving. Maybe cause there are two ways into town, and we’ve taken both down through the years. Maybe cause we have often left there to go on up to Freeport or come into town from Freeport. Whatever. But Mattoon has always baffled me. As usual, I turned the wrong direction on their street because NESW seems to reverse itself up there for me. But because I know that, I quickly realized I had made my normal error and turned and went the other way. (And when I glanced down to see the car telling me I was going north, all I had to say was Never Eat Shredded Wheat as I located the other directions.) Gerald offered to set the GPS for me, but I do not like the noise.

We visited awhile and shared news and photos of our kids and grandkids. Each of us had a photo of our newest great grandson. I had to admit that their Vincent Indiana Roland Jones was as cute as Jim said. I hope Indy likes his little outfit I took for him.

Jim had told me on the phone last month about their new fine barbecue restaurant at a resort outside of Charleston, and that is where he and Vivian ended up taking me for noon dinner. Like many senior citizens, they eat out frequently, and Vivian had commented at home that despite the recession, all their many eating places seem to have good crowds. Jim had first pulled into the back parking lot of a nearby eatery only to see that even the large back lot was full—on a Monday no less. We went onto two or three more places in Mattoon and found crowds there also. Finally Jim just kept driving till we got to the resort. They too seemed to have a goodly number of customers, but there was plenty of parking outside and plenty of tables inside. Service was quick and the barbecue was delicious. But all the crowded places had proved Vivian’s point.

The resort is called the Stovepipe in honor of Abraham Lincoln—a childhood home of his is in this area near Charleston. There was an enormous building-high Lincoln figure greeting us that Jim said had been moved there from another park. And in “Abe’s Garden,” there were numerous painted wooden Lincolns that some artist had carved with a chainsaw. The younger crowd were busy at the miniature golf course that we walked by as we passed elaborate water fountain flowing into the goldfish pond with lily pads. Because of the obvious investment someone had made, Jim was hoping that this new business venture would have success.

We drove back to Mattoon a different way that featured good-looking soybean fields on either side. Then we had the afternoon of talk, which I had put off too long. I told them I had been trying to schedule a day-long visit like this since January. Vivian understood. She said she had wanted to start a new quilt since November, but was yet to do so. (When we came back to their house, a friend had left two boxes of fabric at her back door. He had helped an elderly lady move, and Vivian bought the entire woman’s collection of fabrics. Vivian said she had already received boxes and boxes and is sharing with the granddaughters she taught to sew.)

I wanted to leave at five in order to get home shortly after dark. I did and arrived home at 8:30. Gerald was just coming in the kitchen from showering after yet another day getting the storm-fallen trees out of the creek at the other farm. I had hoped he’d take off early and eat dinner in town since I was eating at our favorite chain restaurant in Mt. Vernon to break my journey. But he had worked too late and was settling for sandwiches again, which is what he had for lunch. I opened a can of soup to provide him something hot. And I think he probably ate another piece of angel food cake.

Well, I have blogged, and Leslie has arrived at Woodsong. We’ve talked a bit and she has her laundry going. (My downstairs office has a laundry on one end.) She has already been on her laptop to send a twitter and Facebook entry for Mike and the world to see and know she arrived here safely. She is sleeping in the “brown room,” which is everyone’s favorite downstairs bedroom since it is the underground area of the downstairs without windows and the sleeping is good. She just told me good night, and now I will say the same to you.

Not a Shopper (If I Can Help It)

Shopping was never a favorite activity, but I used to enjoy it occasionally. The older I become, however, the less I enjoy it. I do enjoy yard sales and thrift shops—but only get around to doing either one maybe once a year. My least favorite place to shop is in a big store. I get turned around easily.

I remember years ago when I excitedly went to our new Famous-Barr at the Carbondale mall. I was literally at the verge of tears trying to find my way out when I bumped into a friend who showed me how to get out of the maze. Nevertheless, occasionally one has to shop. Today seemed like it could be a good day to do so.

During VBS, one of the kids wanted to go to the Marion mall while we were in town, so we did and separated to meet each other an hour later. That unplanned outing was neat for me because I was able to find three needed baby gifts. Because I always buy large sizes, it does not matter that two gifts are yet undelivered. It did matter today, however, because that much shopping was already done.

Amazingly, I found the perfect outfit very quickly for an upcoming event that I had mailed our acceptance to when I stopped at the post office to send something to my sister. On a sale table, I also found four unusually pretty paper weights that I hoped would make good small gifts for someone at Christmas.

Today I wanted to buy a dozen cloth diapers for an expectant young mother I know. Cloth diapers are great shoulder protectors and still used for that purpose by many parents. I also thought it was good insurance if the disposable ones ran out when the grocery money was low. A couple weeks ago, I could not find cloth diapers at the local dollar store in the middle of town, so today I forced myself to go to the big emporium on the town outskirts. I made a point to remember where I parked since not remembering can almost become life threatening on a hot day on a hot concrete parking lot. I made the long hot walk to enter the store and eventually found a clerk to point me to the baby department. She was the last clerk I saw until I checked out.

I observed an attractively fashionable matron (who must have been an expectant grandmother) wrestling a huge cardboard box holding a stroller or something big trying to get into in to her cart. As it fell out of her hands to the floor, I tried to think of something witty and comforting to say to her, but before I opened my mouth, she had to answer her cell phone. As I passed, I heard her laugh and say she was struggling with a falling box and, no, she did not mind being interrupted in order to rest a moment.

I quickly found a long row of shelving filled with disposable diapers of all brands and sizes and types. No cloth diapers there. I walked through all the aisles of baby items that I could find, but I could not see any cloth diapers. Finally I gave up and decided to look for other things on my shopping list. But I could not resist some sweet infant things as I was leaving the department, and there I found another grandmother and we began talking. Her expectant daughter was living at home with her while the daughter’s husband is serving in Iraq.

She knew exactly where diapers were and pointed me to a far-away aisle I had not seen. She had already secured some cloth diapers for her daughter. She said she told her daughter: What if we had an earthquake and suddenly disposable diapers weren’t available? Having some real diapers could come in handy. I hadn’t thought of such a thing, but living in an area known for tornado and earthquake possibilities, that made sense to me.

We parted, and the cloth diapers were exactly where she said. I thought diaper pins and plastic pants would be nearby. I could find neither. Do new cloth diapers have some sort of fastening apparatus attached these days? I walked through the infant aisles one more time and gave up. Maybe I can find them later in the baby things at our big grocery store.

As I was almost out of the store, I walked into the helpful grandmother again. She hadn’t tried to get plastic pants and pins yet, but we talked more about babies, baby supplies, young mothers, public education, and other things. By this time, I knew she had worked twelve-hour days for the past two days, and she was very sleepy. So I thanked her for being the best clerk I had found at the store and sympathized with her need to get home and to sleep. Then she explained why she had so much time to advise and befriend me. She was just hanging out until someone got off work at 4 because she had a long-delayed gift for her and wanted to accomplish that deed today. We bid goodbye like the old friends we had become, and I eventually headed to the checkout lane.

I found my car without a hitch and ran by my daughter Katherine’s to visit a while with her. I had seen one of her best friends at the art festival on Saturday and was eager to tell her about the beautiful jewelry that Leah is making. (I have some ordered for Christmas gifts.)

I made a quick run through at the grocery store with cheaper bread since the one expensive loaf of bread I bought at another store yesterday was half gone because I had served sandwiches. Gerald doesn’t eat the special flax bread I pick up when I can, but as usual, that one kind of bread was sold out. I would guess that over half the time when I try to buy it, it is all gone. I don’t know why as there are hundreds of other loaves and not one of my favorite. I wrote that on a store critique form once, but there is no improvement. I bought the two wheat loaves of Gerald’s preference that I came to buy, but, of course, I always see other things we need once I enter a grocery.

Since it was past our usual supper time, I hurried home. With Gerald’s truck in the garage, I made the assumption he was down in his office. I fixed our supper and started summoning him to the table and realized he was not in the house. Since he has been cleaning storm-fallen trees out of the creek at the other farm this week, I quickly phoned him. Such work with chain saws holds potential danger. He was fine, but it might be another half hour until he was able to come home. After I ate enough to satisfy my hunger knowing that half hour might very well turn into an hour, I went downstairs to read Facebook.

When I heard him upstairs, I joined him and we enjoyed the ham steak, tomatoes from his garden, and corn on the cob that our nephew Kerry had shared with us. And very yummy grapes from the grocery. We watched a news show together in the family room until the baseball game came on, and I departed for my office. Now I better go upstairs and finish cleaning up the kitchen—something I like even less than shopping but something that has to be done a lot more often.

Mid-Summer Dreams and Nightmares

The tall corn of our neighbor’s tests plots makes a green wall beside the lane leading to our house. Gerald keeps the grass mowed park-level on both sides of the lane, and it is lovely these mid-summer days.

The children and I did the lawn mowing for years over at Pondside Farm while Gerald worked 12-hour days on the farm. We had a large lawn leading down to the pond, and we all took turns. Forever embedded in my brain is the image of Jeannie mowing with her sweet dog Taffy in her arms and both of them happy. When the children grew up and left the farm, I took over with only occasional help from Gerald.

I haven’t mowed since we moved here almost eight years ago. Gerald says he enjoys the mowing and our yard just keeps getting bigger as a consequence. I do remember how peaceful it was to mow--provided I did not run out of gas just before I finished the lawn or if the rain did not cause the grass to get ahead of us. However, I am relieved not to have to confess every spring that I have forgotten how to start the lawn mower. Such ineptness is beyond Gerald’s comprehension, but he would patiently take me through the steps while I felt child-like and dumb because I knew what he was thinking.

Now I just get to appreciate his work. (I had actually wanted us to have rocks or wild flowers around our house and not have to mow in retirement. There was such a house a few miles from us, and I thought it looked pretty neat. I had watched my elderly mother struggle with the folks who were to keep her grass short, so I thought the rock landscaping in retirement was a way to avoid that.)

However, although my life has been simplified by no longer having to remember how lawn mowers start, now I have to fight with computers. Last night I turned off my battery-operated mouse but decided to leave the computer on where I was googling for some information and had not quite finished. A couple hours later, I came back expecting to clear up that bit of research and then decide what to blog about and get it written and posted early in the evening and go to bed early. I was eager to tell about the fun sitting with other Southern Illinois Writers Guild authors at a book signing at the Carbondale Civic Center on Saturday at an arts festival that a hospital group had somehow receieved a grant to sponsor for our area. Earlier HP had been running some kind of monthly checkup, but it was only an icon at the bottom of the screen as far as I was concerned.

I sat down and livened up the screen, and there was a huge blocking square from HP saying everything had “passed”—that was the phrase they used. On top of that was another smaller box asking if I would allow or not allow something, and I did manage to click on “not allow” and that box went away. However, nothing I could do to the exit button on the huge square would make it work. Then even worse, the lower right box that is supposed to allow you to shut down the computer popped up and was flashing crazily. I could not shut down nor get rid of the HP report card and the irritating flashing. For an hour, I struggled to get on with my work. I closed off the computer “illegally” since nothing would allow me to do it normally. I thought a close down might let me start over with a normal screen. No. In fact, interestingly, the computer would turn itself on without my permission unless I turned off the electrical surge do-dad—whatever that thing is called. I kept trying to let things rest and to try again.

Finally in disgust, I turned it off for the night and went to the family room to enjoy Book Notes and read a bit. By this time, I figured if I went to bed early, I would not sleep for thinking of my non-working new computer and regretting I had bought the beautiful thing. (I chose it partly because I loved the sleek look and so few wires.) I told myself I would not subject myself to its vagaries anymore to end a lovely Sunday, and I guessed I’d take it to the store in this morning to see if I had a virus or something that some computer doctor might give an antibiotic.

But like a moth attracted to a light bulb, my curiosity got the best of me and I returned to my office and turned on the computer. What a difference two hours made. The nightmare was over and my computer worked like a dream. I was too tired to blog, so I surfed, read Facebook entries catching up on others’ lives, did a couple online errands and went to bed—very late.

Maybe relearning how to start the lawn mower once a year was a simpler life style than being a computer illiterate living with 21st Century convenience.

Eilers Visit Going and Coming During Their Vacation

Since going south means coming down I-57 in Illinois, we were the happy recipients of a visit from Rick and Jeannie and our youngest granddaughter, Cecelie, last Thursday night. They were later than they hoped to arrive because they also wanted to stop in Peoria and say hello to Elijah, who is attending a two-week speech camp at Bradley University.

Nevertheless, Jeannie and I still had time to eat a peach together and have a good visit at the kitchen table before we went on to bed. They would sleep in but would leave Friday mid-morning since they would be on their way to pick up Leslie in Nashville to join them on Saturday for an outing to Memphis to see Beale Street and Elvis Presley’s home.

After continuing their vacation on to the Smokies and a return visit with Les, they arrived last night on their way back to Freeport. Again we visited at the kitchen table, and I was able to hear their adventures. Everyone had enjoyed camping including their two shit zues, Lucky and Leah, who could join them in their tent. I suspected the fact that their mountain campsite warned of black bears increased the drama and enjoyment for Cecelie.

Weeks ago, my friend Wanda Troester had invited me speak to the Recycled Youth group at the Herrin Christian Church about the legend of Priscilla. So after staying up late visiting and consequently sleeping late, my morning visit with Jeannie was short, but she took off at the same time I did to search out local peaches from her favorite Carbondale market.

Rick was on the computer working on his annual math class he teaches for kids at Freeport who want to get ahead in their studies. Jeannie and I had each asked Cecelie if she wanted to go with us, but Cecelie, who is more than capable of entertaining herself, answered coyly, “No thanks, I have plans.” I am not sure what all her plans at the farm were, but when I returned, I did see her in costume, of course, and Lucky and Leah playing on her grandfather’s trailer out by the shop.

I’d boiled some chicken and made dumplings the easy way--out of store-bought tortillas-- the day before, so I could have our lunch ready quickly when I came home from the Recycled Youth program. (I might have stayed for their meeting after I spoke if I hadn’t had guests at home, but Wanda had told me I was free to leave after my program, and I did. There were several old friends there, and I met some lovely new folk, so I would have enjoyed staying.)

By the time I had lunch for the five of us on the table, Jeannie was back. With tomatoes from Gerald’s garden, frozen peas cooked and buttered, and deviled eggs, there was plenty of color on our plates with the chicken and dumplings. Tea sweetened with Splenda and watermelon for dessert finished our menu. Then we spent the afternoon visiting before they re-loaded their van with their stuff and our granddogs and took off for the long trip up north.

Snakedoctors, dragonflies, damselflies, whatever...

Before I wrote last night's blog after returning from Horseshoe Lake, I should have done a bit of research. I thought I remembered from childhood that the fleeting flying insects with brown boides and two pair of transparent wings were called dragonflies and that the beautiful blue ones were called snake doctors. Since she too is from the Midwest, I was surprised when Dorraine Darden asked me what a snake doctor was. Hmmm.

So tonight I googled and found out that there are Odonat that are damselflies and others called dragonflies, and the difference is that the damselflies hold their often iridescent or transparent double set of wings close to their bodies when they are at rest. Dragonflies hold their wings straight out when at rest.

I was surprised to see pictures of these insects in various colors in addition to the dark and blue bodies that I have been familiar with. The photo most like the pretty blue flying insect I saw yesterday was labeled a dragonfly. But other sites showing blue flying double-winged insects labeled the photos as familiar bluet damselfly. I saw none of these insects at rest yesterday--all were flying beside or over the edge of the lake. So I do not know whether their wings at rest were at their sides or held straight out.

Regardless, the slender flying creatures were lovely and added to my enjoyment of our outing. They do not bite us humans, but do help keep down the mosquito population. They stay near water as they lay eggs in the water and seem to be in many countries. One site said that Dictionary of American Regional English lists 80 names for the dragonfly. The names I noted tonight were darner, darning needle, devil's darning needle, ear sewer, skeeter hawk, spindle, needle. If you want to know more, google.

A Sunday Afternoon Drive and an Evening Visit

We woke up Friday morning to the most beautiful weather anyone could imagine. The weekend has been cool with gentle breezes, and every where people have been in their gardens, going on picnics, and relishing being outside in pleasant comfort.

We took off after morning worship stopping by the house only long enough for Gerald to get his camera. After a bountiful dinner at The Old Home Place at Goreville, we drove down I-57 towards Gerald’s goal of Horseshoe Lake hoping to see eagles there as we did several years ago. The eagles were not out and about, but the serene beauty there was worth the trip.

Because Illinois is such a long state, we have both northern and southern ecological extremes. At the very tip we have cypress swamps that remind you of the deep south rather than the Midwest. There is the Cache River watershed in Johnson and Pulaski Counties, where the state has three nature preserves, and we love going out on the boardwalks to see the l,000 year old cypress trees.

But today in even farther south Alexander County, we were seeing the fish and wildlife preserve the state has on this large lake shaped roughly like a horse shoe, which has long provided folk with places to fish and hunt. We were not there to do either, but to find places to enjoy and photograph.

We traveled along the lake stopping at various pull-over sites to view the algae covered lake with cypress knees and tall cypress trees knees growing out of the water. The green algae as far as you could see in many places looked like a perfectly kept lawn of grass with the buttressed cypress growing in park-like conditions. But when you walked out on the shaky boardwalks, you could look down and see the dots of black water beneath the green covering and occasionally hear a fish breaking the water. Except for the birdsong and an occasional motorcycle group, the peaceful quietness was as lovely as the view.
The only wildlife we saw today were the darting blue snake doctors and an occasional butterfly. In only a few places could we look out and see the moving blue water farther from the shore. At one breath-taking stop, there was no room for cypress as every inch of the water seemed to be covered with blooming water lilies.

Finally we left the lake and the few camping families at one or two sites, the kids fishing at the dam, and the cycle gathering at one picnic area. Taking Route 3, we headed back north and stopped in Thebes on the Mississippi River to see again the restored 1848 rock courthouse high on a hill looking out across the river to Missouri.

A handwritten sign on the locked door gave Saturday hours and the Sunday hours from 1 to 4. Either today’s volunteer did not show up or left a few minutes early as we and two men on motorcycles from Missouri were there shortly before four. So we could not go in, but all of us walked down the hill to see the columns on the river side and the staircase there leading up to the court room. The wide locked doors there would have taken us into the jail part of the building, and we saw the iron bars as we walked down the hillside.

Below and between us and the river were a lovely playground, a picnic area, a modern ball field, and the railroad bridge going over to Missouri. Since many years ago Gerald and Wolf Lake High School team had played baseball against the Thebes High School team somewhere along the river here, we explored that area trying to find a remnant of that memory of two high schools that no longer exist. We gave up and came on up through Anna going through the drive-in to quench our thirst and were back at Woodsong by supper time.

I fixed Gerald a sandwich and drove on over to our village for the evening church service since this had been my Sunday to teach the preschoolers during morning worship.

I had barely gotten in the house when Gerald said, “I want you to go up to the other farm with me. I want to show you something.” Only when we almost there did he share that Brian and Mary Ellen were down and Mary Ellen was in the camper needing a ride to Woodsong while Brian looked over his corn crops. Thus, the day ended delightfully with visiting at the kitchen table over bologna sandwiches and fresh peaches from a local orchard. When Brian arrived from the other farm, he had to visit with Gerald awhile, and Mary Ellen and I had a little more time to talk in the living room before they took off in the cool darkness for the long drive to their new home in central Illinois.

Let it Rain. Let it Rain. (And Please Let it Stop.)

More rain. We have had enough. It is muggy and hot again. I’m grateful it was not so last week, but the weekend rains were so heavy that we surely did not need more today.

I have been running around. Sunday afternoon I rode to Sikeston, Missouri, with my friend Roger Poppen, who had invited me to go to Heartland Writers Guild to share my blogging experiences. We met in front of the Cobden museum and drove down narrow leafy-lined Mountain Glen Road to Route 146 and it was so beautiful. I always thrill when I see the Mississippi River, and now the new Cape bridge is an extra visual treat. It was fun talking to the writers at the lovely meeting room at the Episcopal Church with walls covered with a fine collection of textured Biblical murals made by someone or some group. (I could just imagine a group sitting around a table creating these.) The writers there had been encouraged at a workshop to start blogging and wanted to know more about it.

Most promotion experts suggest blogging as a way to sell more books, and I had to confess that I doubt if I have sold any books because of blogging. But I gave them these reasons that I like to blog:
(1) I enjoy writing, so blogging is one more outlet for fun for me. I used to tell students the way to becoming a good writer was to read, read, read, and write, write, write. Blogging provides that important writing practice.
(2) I like for people to read what I write. Blogging provides instant publication. No rejection slips! I love it when I am out and about and people tell me that they read my blog. (Of course, you can blog and keep it a private journal, but I like to share my life because I enjoy reading about others’ lives.) I especially like it when people comment on the blogs. [Hint. Hint.]
(3) I like to interact with other people. So I can sit at my desk at the farm and still have an online friend in Ireland who tells about walking with her dogs in the bog by the sea, one in Brazil who tells about her teaching and translating work there, and in California one who writes about the shootings and the sadness in the ‘hood she is acquainted with. And many more lives that make mine richer.

Of course, I had to be honest and admit that blogging and microblogging on Facebook, Twitter, etc. is an enormous time waster that may be keeping me from getting more important writing done. (I must get an article done for next year’s Southern Illinois Writers Guild anthology if I meet the August 1 deadline.)

It had rained so hard over on the Illinois side of the Mississippi that when Roger and I returned through Mountain Glen Road, gravel and some big rocks had washed down the hillside and onto the road. I had planned to cut through the country to drive back to Woodsong, but I decided I better stick to the highway and go back to Carbondale the way I had come.

Then last night I had dinner at B.J.’s in DuQuoin with the Perry County Historical Society. Lance Feik had invited me to come up and speak to them about the Priscilla on the Trail of Tears. The group was very interested and quite knowledgeable about Mulkeytown’s Hollyhock Girl, who was freed from slavery on the Trail. I learned a new story from one of the gentlemen there: he had been told that Priscilla was first buried behind Silkwood Inn and only later was reburied in the family plot at the Reid-Kirkpatrick Cemetery. I’d never heard of that before, so now I will be asking people if they know anything about that! (I’d considered visiting the cemetery on the way there, but the rains made that unwise. I sure did not want to get stuck up on that hill and miss the meeting.)

Two of the society’s members are working on a website with the history of Pinckneyville’s business and professional people. A photo of a gorgeous quilt that some of the members had made for fund-raising revealed more talent. Although there were all ages represented, I was most impressed with the two women in their nineties at the meeting. Jean Ibendahl, who is vice president, told how the 4-H Club that she once led raised money and took a tour to Tahlequah. Jean had just had surgery, so she had a helper driving her, but Gertrude Smith, 93, assured me she had driven herself to the night meeting. I can only hope if I live that long that I will be as lively in mind and body as these two women were.

I drove home through the dark down Route 51 through Dowell, Elkville, DeSoto, Carbondale, and onto Route 13 through Marion to Woodsong feeling quite young after being with this inspiring bunch. I did get up early this morning and have coffee and read the paper with Gerald before he took off for an Angel Flight to Waterloo, Iowa, with his friend Herman. But then I went back to bed and slept through the gentle rain till I was all rested up. Tonight I droved through a harder rain to a book study at church and got quite wet just getting in the building.

What Was Happening July 6-10, 2009

At Woodsong:
Me waking kids up singing, “Oh, What a Beautiful Morning!” (Except Brianna was usually already up. Elijah and Sam would roll over and go back to sleep until the second call.) At least five pairs of shoes at every door. (There weren’t that many kids in the house—only four—but they each had more than one pair of shoes and Cecelie found old shoes of mine to dress up with.) Towels all over the bathroom floor. (What are towel racks for anyhow?) Fred the Flamingo joining in conversations. (Brianna is his voice.) A beautiful golden trombone on the living room couch. (Open case awaits on the floor.) A hair drier and cord draped over the bathroom sink upstairs still there after all are gone. (Gotta keep in handy.) Toothpaste fleks decorating the downstairs bathroom. (Gma wants us to brush our teeth.) Kids planning skits for opening of VBS each day. (Gma was proud. And she says to please speak louder.) Fred the Flamingo getting in on the act. (Aren’t I important too?) Elijah and Sam making realistic looking bloody wounds with an old lipstick they found. (Now that we have scared Gma, let’s scare Brianna and Cecelie too.) An almost full moon. (The better to see with while riding the “mule” around the lake.) Unmade beds. (We will be using them again tonight!) Gma looking for ticks in hair. (She even wants us to shower before bedtime to wash off any crawling ticks! They deserve a night’s sleep also.)

At Center:
Elijah leading us in fast-moving happy songs in the assemblies. Three-year-old Braden in the middle of the church aisle doing all the movements with great concentration. Teens lingering in the church parking lot while having serious conversations about concerns for their friends’ problems and how they might help. Little Miranda being the best mother to the baby Moses doll in his basket. Little boys acting like little boys rolling on the floor and under the tables. Little boys standing in straight lines and doing rhythm chants and songs. A sweet sweet smile on shy Kayla’s tiny face each time we sang “Itsy Bitsy Spider” with the three-year-olds. Keegan putting all his heart and feet into “If You’re Happy and You Know It.” Three-year-olds lining up and tiptoeing behind Miss Linda for water and bathroom break. Three-year-olds taking turns during water and bathroom break. Kids playing hop scotch on the sidewalk. Older kids rushing to put on “spy clothes” for relays. Fred the Flamingo taking part in the skits. Tyler in his first acting role when he brings Fred on stage. Addison, Allison, Avery, Autumn—lovely “A” names on lovely girls--hard for a teacher to keep straight. Eight-year-old Duane showing empathy and kindness to a difficult classmate. Kids smilingly opening doors for others after conversations about showing honor to others. Older kids racing through phone books to find clues. Kids learning Bible stories and Bible verses. Everybody and their parents, grandparents, etc. eating well in the final picnic under the shelter. Kids playing at the picnic on the new playground equipment that two men took off work to put together for them. A cluster of young teens from various towns hanging out after the picnic exchanging phone numbers, e-addresses, hugs, and tears. Telling Fred and each other how much they are going to miss each other.

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.

Tomorrow's Adults

Although I was not involved, I was delighted to see this front page story on the Southern Illinoisan yesterday. I thought it was a neat tribute to the young descendants of the Cherokee who came through our region with so much suffering in 1838-39.

I was so pleased that Joe and Ethel Crabb and his family of Pope County and Dr. Herman Peterson of Southern Illinois University Carbondale were on hand to make these young people welcome this time to our state. I could not think of a more fitting way of celebrating our country’s freedom than showing this kind of friendship and hospitality to these young adults seeking their heritage and who will be leading our country in the years ahead.

Cherokee descendants visit Trail of TearsThe Southern - Carbondale,IL,USABy Codell Rodriguez, The Southern DIXON SPRINGS - Bicyclists with Cherokee heritage are retracing the Trail of Tears, beginning in Georgia and ending in ...

I have just settled down four grandkids who arrived at various times this evening for the annual Vacation Bible School. First Mary Ellen and Brian brought down Brianna. She was able to go over to the church house with me and help set up the room, where Natalie and I will be teaching—the communications bay for an imaginary satellite in space. Other of our high schoolers were also there helping, and Gerald showed up to hang some objects on the wall for me. Then David brought Sam out from Marion. Granddaughter Leslie and her friend Mike just dropped off Elijah and Cecelie and headed down to Nashville for classes in the morning. They had spent the weekend at Cornerstone—a Christian music festival that Les had also attended last year. Then they met up with Jeannie and Rick and the siblings to celebrate Leslie’s birthday in Springfield and brought Lige and Cec on down to Woodsong.

They have all had a hot dog, etc. Elijah has already had them practicing the actions for some songs he will be leading. Cecelie has had ear drops put in her ear. And I really think they are going to be sleeping soon. I am glad they settled down early, which is hard for them to do since they have not seen each other in awhile. We will need to leave here at 8:30 in the morning.

So I better get to bed too. It is going to be a very busy week. One by one as they get into high school, our kids quit being students and become helpers. I look at these tall kids in amazement. How did this happen? It seems only yesterday Lige was a preschooler, and now he has his driver’s license? It is neat to have tomorrow’s adults in the house again.

Death Where is Thy Sting?

Mary Ellen wanted us to come see their new home, so yesterday we drove up to the central part of Illinois to see where they have moved for Brian’s new job assignment. Thus, I am blogging a day late.

Although they both grew up on farms and have talked about wanting to be in the country for years, it took this move for them to accomplish that. Now with their house sitting on five acres and a second detached garage to hold their truck and tractor, they are feeling like true country folk again. Mary Ellen was mowing the huge yard when we arrived, and Gerald could not resist after lunch going out and mowing a bit himself. But Brianna finished up the major part of it. Although he has a bedroom upstairs, Trent is relishing all the space in the finished basement for his computer, games, and activities.

Their mailing address is the town of Waggoner with a population of 250, a grade school, a tiny town hall, and the post office all on the main street. Their water comes from Farmersville, where they also have secured library cards. The two teenagers are enrolled in high school at Raymond, which is a small school with a good academic record.

The difficulty of answering the question, “Where do you live?” is part of rural living. Our children went to school in the village of Crab Orchard, and we go to church and use the library there. Our mailing address is Marion, where we buy our groceries. We are a mile down the road from the village of New Dennison. Our telephone exchange is Crab Orchard/Paulton.

Today Gerald and I went down to Union County to attend the funeral of a 97-year-old mother of a friend. Gerald and Jerry Pirtle had been friends for years before they found out that they were also cousins--third or fourth--I have forgotten which. We should have wondered about it earlier since Gerald’s maternal grandmother’s maiden name was Pirtle. Jerry’s father had died when he was very young, and as an adult Jerry became interested in family history. Finally Gerald and Jerry realized they shared a family tree. Today we met Jerry’s sister Joan.

Their mother had a second marriage, but it too ended with a husband’s death. She did not let any of this defeat her. She lived not just a long life but a productive one always caring for others and showing her love through service and hospitality. Photographs and the statements of friends and relatives made that clear. Joan told me how her mother always ate good food (cooked it also I learned) and exercised. Even after she could no longer live alone but went to live at the Lutheran Home in Cape Girardeau, she walked a mile a day in the halls using her pedometer.

After the funeral service in Anna, we joined the cortege that traveled up through the hills of peach country to Alto Pass, and we sadly watched as Mrs. Pirtle was laid to rest beside the youthful husband she had lost so many years ago. This is the same cemetery where Gerald and Jerry’s oldest known common ancestor Polly Pirtle is buried. She reared a large family by herself, and no one was ever sure what happened to Polly’s husband.

While watching the casket was being lowered into the awaiting grave, I had the odd experience of suddenly realizing I had been stung by something. I never saw the perpetrator, but I pulled out the stinger in my leg and even got some of its poison in my hand before I was able to throw it down. The poison hurt, but fortunately I am not allergic.

Our car was trapped between all the other cars on the narrow cemetery road, and the usual remedy of a paste of baking soda that I always applied to the children’s stings was not available. After we left Alto Pass, we cut through the country on a beautiful narrow road surrounded by green leafy trees—along with many fallen trees from the storm. The stinging pain would subside and then come again, but I distracted myself with the leafy loveliness.

By the time we got to Carbondale, where we had planned to have lunch and get Gerald’s glasses adjusted, only the red spot remained and the pain was gone. I sat in the car and studied for next week’s Vacation Bible School while he visited the eye place. We stopped in Marion at my doctor’s for me to get a scheduled INR reading, and that reading was good. We were home in time for me to do a bit more study and Gerald to mow more of the yard that he started earlier in the week. He had time, of course, to find out how Southern Force teams were doing at the softball tournament in Boulder, Colorado. As we ate a sandwich for supper, we reflected on those friends from his childhood with whom we had visited at the funeral. And we knew that Jerry and Joan and their loved ones were reflecting on their mother’s century of living.

Weather Cooling and Excess Sharing

When the preschoolers said in Sunday School that we’d be having our annual dinner honoring fathers down at the picnic shelter rather than downstairs, I thought surely they were wrong. Surely we wouldn’t eat outside because surely it was too hot to eat there, but they were right and I was wrong on two counts. We did eat outside, and it was extremely pleasant.

I imagine our church hostess and husband, Shirley and Butch, checked it all out for us and made that great decision. Not only was there a wonderful breeze, but I had forgotten that the shelter is usually much cooler than the lawn surrounding it. (I’ve had to get a sweater more than once.) Butch reminded me that a barn’s open-ended outer hallway also always seemed cool. It has been many years since I’ve been in a barn’s hallway, but his comment brought back memories. Not only was it cool, but the aromas there were always marvelous—leather lines and bridles hanging on the wall, the warm pungent smell of the horses in their stalls, and redolent straw underfoot.

Our main dish for the fathers (and blessedly for everyone connected to a father as everyone is) was barbeque and Italian beef that Patrick had delivered to us The Old Home Place, his and Tina’s great down-home restaurant at Goreville. Then there were the great variety of salads, the multitude of vegetable choices, and a dessert table laden with everything from fruit to decadent choices. Because it was so quickly gone, I didn’t get a piece of Don Boyd’s coconut cream pie, but I heard it was good.

Yesterday morning I had quickly baked a cake from a mix to add to our luncheon sandwiches at our Clean Up Day at church. There were so many desserts there that most were left over, so I just left mine for today’s dessert contribution. Over 20 of us were there emptying long neglected storage rooms and pitching out papers and equipment no longer used or needed. We bought a lot of space that way! Tracy spent the morning just organizing and placing left-over art and educational supplies in a new cabinet for that purpose. (Over and over volunteer workers will buy supplies and leave the extras, but no one knows where they are when needed.) Tracy suggested our new slogan: Shop here first!

The men got the worst of that work because they were outside in the heat loading heavy items on trailers—a load for the dump but everything possible to be recycled, one load of no-longer needed but comfortable furniture to be shared at our homeless shelter which takes donations for when folks move out and need furnishings in their new place. A set of metal folding chairs went to the Ministerial Alliance’s household give-away. Kitchen chairs often go before the kitchen table does, so extra chairs are always welcome.

When I worked with families, I became aware not all families had enough chairs for family members at their table. I also saw young mothers use magazine pictures to decorate their living room when they lacked framed pictures. I was touched by their efforts and bragged on them for doing so. I always remember this and pass on any “pretties” or accessories I no longer use. One of our members, who is a teacher, knew children with head lice whose pillows had no pillow cases—let alone clean pillow cases. She was always collecting extra bed linens for such homes.

A great majority of Americans have much too much stuff (hence the storage building industry). Many people do no realize how bare and needy some homes are. A lawyer, who has generously volunteered down through the years at the household giveaway, which is housed in his church building, told me about a time when almost everything donated had been claimed after many winter fires. On that unusually scant day, only one old couch was there with one missing cushion. He told how thrilled the children were with the mother who claimed it because they were going to have a couch to sit on.

Most of us aren’t exposed to that kind of need. We sometimes forget that no one should burn or dump furniture or clothing that someone else needs. I have city friends who are able to simply put giveaways on the sidewalk and know someone will claim and use it. We can’t do this in the country, but with a little effort we can usually share our excess and spare our landfills.

Summer Starting with a Heat Wave

The heat is bad, but the mugginess is worse. On Facebook, young friends write about canning green beans, helping with baby calves, and working in hay fields, and I am glad I am retired. Gerald is quoting Geri Ann who emphasizes she does not mind playing in the heat because she does not want to get soft. As much as I admire this hard-working younger generation, I get re-tired just thinking about these young women with these activities—many of which, such as playing softball in this heat, I never had to endure.

What is especially bad is that there is still so much hard work facing people cleaning up after the derecho--seven weeks now after it hit. (Of course, uprooted trees in the woods and even on people’s lawns may still be there ten years from now.) I hear people quoting estimates of $3000 and more to remove a single big tree from their yard. How many can afford that unexpected expense?

Seeing people on their roofs is a common sight, and lots of us still have tarps or pieces of plastic protecting us. When Scott Miller came last Saturday morning to repair our roof, he found the shingles were so hot that they were sticking together in such a way that he decided he’d have another man come look at it. I notice some people are replacing damaged roofs with metal roofs. They will be ready for the next derecho, but the newspapers tell us that may not be again in our lifetime. I hope the prognosticators are correct.

This heat is especially difficult for people with multiple sclerosis or other conditions that make them heat sensitive. I guess Katherine had a difficult time day before yesterday.
However, with skylights covered to keep out sun and multiple fans moving cooled air, her home was wonderfully cool yesterday when I stopped by for a visit. Scooter was content to take a nap in his kennel when Katherine did as it was much too hot for him to want to leave the air conditioning and go outside.

Her evening aide dropped by unexpectedly with her two adorable little girls dressed in sweet new swim suits, and the two-year-old told us, “I went wimming.” They cooled us off and cheered us up just to look at them with their beautiful curls and deep brown eyes, and I was especially entranced when Kiki decided to call me grandma after we explained that I was Sam’s grandma. Mar-Mar, age four, was the perfect responsible big sister helping and correcting (bossing) the little one. I was there when friends dropped Sam off from band camp at Southern Illinois University Carbondale, and I wondered if it were cool in the buildings there where they worked hard all day rehearsing for tonight’s end-of-camp concert. It was cool enough then that he took Scooter outside as I went on to get a few groceries while I was in town.

Enjoying the roadsides as I drove home, I noticed that the brown-eyed Susans and the orange tiger lilies have joined the Queen Anne’s lace and replaced the multitude of daisies in fields and ditches. (I know the golden flowers are correctly called black-eyed Susans. But when I was a child and we went to the farm each summer, I remember the annual greeting by the bright yellow flowers as we went down the steep hill with a rough rock-bed road that led to Mount Airy Farm. Since my own eyes are brown, I renamed the blossoms in order to claim them for my special flower.) The summer beauty at least gives us a reward for enduring the muggy heat.

Hurricanes, The Mad Gasser, and the Kokomo Hum

For the second Thursday evening in a row, I saw writer friends. On the second Thursday of the month, Southern Illinois Writers Guild sponsors an open mike at Latta Java in Marion. When I can, I like to go to hear others read. I might not have made it this month since Jeannie and Cecelie were visiting, but I had a phone call that morning from Lois Barrett that she was in town from Texas and she planned to be there. I told her to be sure and bring copies of her newest book—her fourth novel.

Despite a crazy afternoon where a hair appointment was cancelled because the shop kept losing their electricity off and on all day, Jeannie was encouraging. We managed to get back to the farm, feed everyone, and be at Latta Java at 7. We heard some wonderful readings including the first chapter of Gulf Coast Love Affair: 19th Century Hurricanes, which is based on Lois’ research about local hurricanes. I haven’t had time to read it yet, but as sit lies on the table, I am enjoying the cover by her grandson Matt Fowler of Harrisburg. When Lois still lived here, I used to engage in email conversations with Matt, who did Lois’s website for her while Matt was still in high school.

Then this Thursday my friend Jari Jackson and I scurried over John A. Logan College for our regular SIWG monthly meeting to hear Jason Brown. After teaching at Southern Illinois University Carbondale, where he studied in the Creative Writing Department, and teaching at JALC, he became a part of the faculty at Eastern Illinois University up at Charleston. But we are fortunate that he is still living at Murphysboro this summer and could visit SIWG. A poet and short story writer, Jason had been much praised by our president Jim Lambert ever since Jason and he met last summer when both had won scholarships to Ropewalk Writer’s Conference in New Harmony, Indiana.

Much published as a poet, Matt talked some about his aggressive submission of his poetry and encouraged us to do the same. He gave us copies and read us some of his poetry in his fine reading voice. (He thinks we enjoy most when we can both see and hear poetry at the same time. I agree.) But he spent most of his time talking about the novel he has been working on nightly to the exclusion of most of his other writing. One of his handouts was copies of articles in the Mattoon Daily Journal-Gazette, a town near EIU where Jason and his wife will be living when fall classes begin. That handout instantly piqued my interest since down through the years since they have lived in Mattoon, my sister-in-law has frequently sent me clippings from that newspaper telling of activities and successes of their family.
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However, I had never heard them mention the “Anesthetic Prowler.” Jason is basing his novel on a happening in Mattoon in the fall of 1944 (long before my brother’s family moved there) when several families reported being attacked in their homes by the sickening sweet fumes coming in from an outside window. They suffered nausea, slight paralysis of their legs, burning eyes and mouth, and other unpleasant symptoms. Footprints outside windows and even a cloth permeated with the mystery gas left on a front porch escalated the excitement. National newspapers picked up the story and there was widespread terror in the town. No one was arrested, the incidents stopped, and it is still debated today if this really happened as reported or if mass hysteria played a part. Oddly when I just checked Wikipedia, I found that l0 years earlier a similar situation occurred in a Virginia community.

I couldn’t wait to call my brother the next day and ask him about this story. “Oh, you mean the Mad Gasser?” he asked. No one had talked to him about the historic event, but sometime in the past decade the newspaper had run a feature about the Mad Gasser and he had read about it.

That brought to mind that shortly after our youngest daughter Mary Ellen and husband Brian left Kokomo, Indiana, and moved to the Saint Louis area, we heard about the Kokomo Hum. They had not heard it while living there, but evidently many people did and reported headaches and health problems because of it. That story too was picked up the national newspapers, which is how I learned about it. Come to find out, there was also a Taos Hum and numerous other Hums in cities around the globe, and certain people were affected negatively by these reported mysterious low-frequency sounds.

Brian has been down to Woodsong for the weekend hauling off soybeans and checking his crops. He will be doing the same tomorrow. After a job assignment change, their family just settled in this week in their new home in rural Wagoner, Illinois. Their five acres is somewhere up by Springfield, Litchfield, Raymond—all towns I’ve heard them mention during their house hunt in that area. I wonder what new legends and stories will come from that area, where Lincoln used to walk. Brian had me laughing at the extreme burglar alarm system in their house including a search light on their roof. They haven’t turned it on. If the Mad Gasser shows up, they will be all fixed to scare him away.

Fifty-three Years and Counting

After learning at church on Sunday that the women’s class meeting was to be at Charlene Morris’s the next night, I knew I had a conflict. My job as song leader meant I was supposed to show up with the bag of song books from the choir room and have songs selected to sing. I have been known to forget the song books or the selection and even on occasion the entire meeting. Yet I knew I would not forget the next night because that was June 15, our wedding anniversary.

Not being reared on a farm but only summering there, I was accused early in our marriage of thinking of the farm as a vacation resort—which is was for my birth family. Do not misunderstand. My teacher parents worked hard the four months each year we moved to the family farm while schools and salaries were shut down. Nevertheless, moving to the farm for us children was definitely a wonderful vacation.

So it is not surprising that I did not realize that the month of June was already an over-busy time for farm families. Even if I had known, I’d probably still have planned a June wedding. That was the time the school year ended and we were able to have our wedding after my year of teaching in a Chicago suburb.

However, as we began our farming career, I quickly learned that a dinner date to celebrate in June was often impractical. I loved the busyness and excitement of June in those days. Our main goal was to be sure that we had a crop in and thriving for that year’s survival. Consequently, we were quite flexible about when we celebrated. I can remember one year that we finally had that time in November! Therefore, it was not difficult for me when Gerald suggested we go out to dinner on Monday night to explain about the class meeting and ask if we could wait until Tuesday night. And we did. It was fun to relax and focus on each other rather than having others at the table as we usually do when we eat out.

Since our restaurant was near the mall and we saw the department store I’d been wanting to visit right there in front of us as we left the restaurant, I asked if we had time to let me run in. (I had on the light weight summer jacket that I was wanting a new blouse for. The blouse I had on was not as perfect as I had hoped when I bought it.)

Gerald was quite agreeable, and he cooperated beautifully when I found a sale rack and ended up buying not just the different blouse but six other garments. The bundled garments packed tightly into the plastic covering was heavy enough that I was grateful when he showed up from the men’s department at the perfect time to carry them to the car. Not wanting to give Gerald too much time for boredom, I had chosen them quickly and took them home to try on the next morning. (I was able to keep all but one, which I returned yesterday.)

I had not bought clothes in quite awhile. I don’t usually like to shop, and I was overdue. I think the new garments I wore this spring may have been purchased in the fall of 2007. Now I have wardrobe additions in the closet ready for next fall as well as the new blouse for the summer jacket.

We were out of bananas, which we keep for potassium purposes to go with one medicine. So next we went to the local warehouse store to get bananas and to also renew our membership there and get rid of that dunning letter I had laying in the front seat of the car as a reminder. I don’t remember that store ever not having bananas before, but there were no bananas Tuesday night. After I stocked up on the large jars of pickles we purchase at the warehouse store, we added another store to our agenda in order to obtain the bananas. While Gerald gassed the car there, I purchased bananas, grapes, oranges, and strawberries and we were able to return to the farm with our fresh supply of fruit.

That was not a particularly romantic evening although Gerald had suggested we might want to go to a nearby town to a favorite lodge we went to when we were dating. However, we were both tired and a nice local restaurant sounded more appealing than a long drive. And while we were in town, it seemed convenient to accomplish the other tasks.

When you live in the country, you learn to combine errands in town to save gas. That also was one of the first lessons that I learned as a new bride living in a rural four-room “doll house” that we were able to rent for $10 a month. (The landlord decided to knock off $5 rent since Gerald was a student at the time.) We were sitting outside on the little concrete front porch one hot summer night and I suggested we drive into town for an ice cream cone. Cones were five cents in those days. Gerald educated me on how much per mile that it would cost to drive us into town. I quickly decided I did not want a five-cent cone that much. (In all the years that boy friends, including Gerald, had driven me places, I had never once caught on that it cost money for them to run a car. Now that many young women own their own cars these days, they probably cannot imagine my ignorance. I was a little appalled at that ignorance even back then.)

We have been a little more romantic in our anniversary celebrations in some past years; and we may expend a little more planning in some future years. Yet the older we get, the more we simplify. I wouldn’t want to say our marriage is as comfortable as an old shoe because that is definitely a less than romantic description. Let’s just say that we know each other pretty well now and it does not take a great deal of extra effort to please each other.

Jeannie's Back Home!

Jeannie’s back home, and we miss her and Cecelie already. Although they told us good-bye last night, I was sure I would be awakened when Jeannie and Cecelie departed this morning. I had been briefly awake when Gerald was getting ready to leave Woodsong to go on an Angel Flight with his friend Herman. When I awoke again, I thought I better be quiet so as to not wake Jeannie and Cecelie. Then I looked at the clock and saw 8:45 and knew they were likely gone—and they were. They were eager to get home to Freeport and see Elijah who returned from Kentucky yesterday. And, of course, they were missing Rick too. From the frequency of his phone calls yesterday, they had decided he was lonesome for them.

But I have a small sweet wild flower bouquet in a little bottle on my desk. A daisy, some clover—red and white—and a small Queen Anne’s lace blossom and a couple of other miscellaneous stems. Cecelie brought it in yesterday and presented it during an afternoon she spent (as she had the day before) appearing in various ensembles from the “costume closet” of old clothes from long ago. The previous day was spent with her cousin Samuel. That evening after starting to look for fireflies, they had filled the downstairs den with quite a collection of frogs, which they kindly released at the end of their frog hunt.

Since next-door Katie did not seem to be home, for the next two days, Cecelie entertained herself (and consequently also entertained us) dressing up. Using various hats and shoes chosen for her outfits, she looked beautiful in every one of them.

The tattered pink formal was once bought by my sister Rosemary, I believe, for college banquets. Since she and Phil have been married 60 years, that gives you an idea of how old that dress is. Topped with the pink picture hat I wrote about in a 1960s column, the entire attire was ancient but lovely on this l0-year-old granddaughter. Other clothes had been worn by her mother and aunts. One bright skirt had been a long skirt my mother had when long dresses were the fashion, and she wore it to a Christmas party.

From the clothes and stories told, Cecelie (our youngest granddaughter) found out who Gma Katherine was--my mother whom Cecelie’s Aunt Katherine was named after. Summer is the time for families to be connected again and the proper time to share family information with the young generations. Only the oldest two granddaughters ever met my mother, but my mother was aware before her death that Jeannie and Rick were expecting Leslie—their first child. I have always been happy that Mother knew that exciting news.

Leslie and her friend Mike had driven up from Belmont University at Nashville on Saturday while I was working on the Trail of Tears bus tour. Mike placated Cecelie, who really does not like to share her big sister, by watching a movie just with her. Leslie and Mike had to leave Sunday afternoon in time for her to get back to her dorm, where she has a summer job welcoming teens who come in for Centrifuge and other conference guests at Belmont. But we enjoyed their jam session Saturday night while Les and Mike, both guitarists, practiced some of the original songs their band is working on right now. I’d gotten up much too early to get to Golconda that morning, so I fell asleep mid-concert. Nevaertheless, I did enjoy hearing their lovely chords and sounds as I drifted off. I have slept late two days in a row now, so maybe I am caught up on my rest.

Oh, by-the-way, we found out Saturday who owned the strange dog who had been here for over a week. A far-neighbor came to collect his dog Roxie after seeing our sign on the mailbox. Unfortunately, Roxie left Woodsong the day we posted the sign and we have not seen her since. But we have heard from other far-neighbors here in our countryside that she has become known as the “traveling dog” since she goes from neighbor to neighbor to visit.

Jeannie's Here!

Jeannie’s Here!

After finishing end-of-school tasks, middle daughter Jeannie and her daughter Cecelie just arrived from the long drive down from Freeport. We have had our late but brief mother-daughter catch-up chat, and they have gone to bed. I hadn’t turned off the computer yet, so decided I should come down here and blog on schedule.

Elijah could not come because he is in Kentucky with his youth group. Every year the youth go down and conduct a Vacation Bible School there, and they grow very close to the kids in that community. This is Elijah’s second year. Leslie did this for four years, I think. She will be arriving this weekend from her summer job at Belmont to visit her mother and sister here.

Gerald said Mary Ellen phoned and she and Brianna were spending the night in a motel since their Lake Saint Louis home is no longer their own. However, on Facebook, she said the moving van would not be arriving at their new home in rural Waggoner until Monday. After they close on the house on Friday, she and Brian will be doing some painting and lawn landscaping this weekend getting ready for the furniture’s arrival.

There is so much transition in our family right now that my head is spinning trying to keep up with everyone. Geri Ann will be playing softball this weekend in the Lake Saint Louis area, I think, but Mary Ellen and Bri will have gone to the Springfield area by then. No, maybe it is Geri Ann’s older sister Tara who will have a team playing in that area this weekend. (In the past when teams played at those area parks, everyone got to hang out at the Taylors, so we are going to miss that Lake Saint Louis connection!) But I do think I will finally get to see the new Abraham Lincoln Memorial in Springfield now.

Granddaughter Erin has moved to Kississmee, Florida, for the summer to play professional softball with the United States Specialty Softball Association (USSSA) Pride which partners with the National Pro Fastpitch League. I was so excited to learn that Kristin Schnake, just graduated from University of Georgia, has also signed to play with them this summer. Erin and Kristin’s enthusiastic personalities remind me of each other, so those two will have fun playing on the same team this summer. (Actually both Erin and Kristin will have fun wherever they are.)

USSSA Pride flew to Chicago yesterday and opened their season tonight against the Chicago Bandits. So far I have not managed to find out from Twitter if they won. Earlier results were not posted, and now it is storming outside—yes again—so I can’t get on.

Pride has a five-night run with the Bandits, and then a week from tonight, they play at Rockford (near Jeannie in Freeport) for five nights.

My sister and husband, Rosemary and Phil, were married 60 years yesterday. They do not want big parties in their honor, so their children surprised them with a family party on Memorial Day. They loved that. Family is what they are all about. I got to hear about it while we were in Amarillo.

Jeannie came to Woodsong with plans to help us find the owner of the stray dog. It really is a puzzlement why a dog with a collar would suddenly show up and stay around here for two weeks. When we arrived back from vacation, she was limping. But Brian said the previous weekend when she first showed up, she was not. So we do not know what happened to her. Cecelie is eager to meet her, and of course wants us to keep her, but that is not an option, so it is a problematic puzzlement.

Coming and Going at Woodsong

Summer is almost here and school is out. People are taking advantage of places to go and people to see. Five adults and one teen sat in the Woodsong living room this evening and stared and rejoiced at one little baby boy named Maddux. Almost six months old, he kicked those precious chubby legs, sat himself up, rolled over, army crawled, and completely disassembled the little wooden train set on the bottom of the coffee table. Of course, his audience thought each move was magnificent, and he enjoyed our complete attention.

He had already been passed around with each of us taking our turn snuggling and hugging this little lover with turgid skin and the ability of fit against you so you feel you are wealthy beyond measure. He had cooed and talked and flirted and coughed. Once he starts coughing and sees it pleases you, he really carries on big. When he ducks his head to the side shyly, we all melt. And when he flashes that good natured smile that brings his dimples into sight, which is something he does often, we think he is the greatest baby we’ve had since the last one.

The visit was very short because he and his mother Tara had yet to drive up the state to Aurora for bedtime. As reluctant as we were to see them leave, we knew it was important for them to get on the road again. Fortunately, Maddux is a wonderful traveler usually sleeping in his car seat.

They had arrived late Friday night for Tara to pick up Southern Force softball uniforms in Johnston City for her 18-and-under summer traveling team. The next morning Gerald and they headed to Birmingham to make it for Geri Ann’s first game at l0. Geri Ann and parents were there as she was playing with both the 14-and-under and the 16-and-under Southern Force teams. This means she gets to be with her Illinois friends again. Brianna was there cheering her on and ready to come back to Woodsong with her Gpa Gerald and her cousin Tara.

Her dad Brian and brother Trent and Fifi had shown up at midnight Friday for Brian to work on the farm. They had spent the week in their camper near Springfield (Illinois) for Brian to start his new job assignment. Mary Ellen came down today from Lake Saint Louis (Missouri), and she and Brianna went back to a final week in their house there. The plan is to close on their new house on Friday. Everyone is eager for this transition to be over and for them to start their first experience in rural living as a family. (Of course, Brian and Mary Ellen grew up on farms, but it has been years since they have been able to live on one.) Their kids are in for a new lifestyle.

Once again the house is almost empty, but Jeannie and part of her family are coming down Tuesday or Wednesday. The only guest on the place now, however, is the sweet female dog that showed up last weekend while we were gone, Brian said. She has a collar on and she is very friendly. Surely someone is missing her, but inquiries have not yet discovered who.

Home Again

While a restful return to normalcy is welcome, the excitement and heightened emotions of the past week are still right under the surface.

We are coming down emotionally from seeing the University of Georgia Bulldogs softball team not only participate in the Women’s College World Series but coming close to making it to the finals. Following that tournament with a trip to Amarillo to visit my sister and her husband and families there gives me even more to think about and to try to absorb. Never mind that there is laundry to do, weeds to pull, and much catching up with our usual life at Woodsong to accomplish.

We arrived at Oklahoma City and settled in on Wednesday, the night before WCWS’s opening game. Our son Gerry and the Georgia team, where he is assistant coach, had arrived early in the week. Our daughter-in-law Vickie had been given permission by her doctor the day before to drive there with Geri Ann, and they were already there. We met up with our daughter Mary Ellen and our granddaughter Brianna at the park at noon on Thursday. From then on, Geri Ann and Brianna were inseparable, and we all enjoyed watching their teenage enthusiasm and antics.

Although University of Washington put us into the losers’ bracket that very first game, we were not discouraged. It takes two losses to be eliminated from this tourney. (Washington ended up winning the World Series the following Tuesday night against first-ranked University of Florida, and we were quite aware that losing that first game was no reason for shame. In fact, at that level, any loss is no cause for shame. Just being there to participate is an honor, but Georgia women were determined to make their first appearance at the WCWS count.)

We were able to enjoy the Friday off that all teams had until that evening when the four winners from Thursday were to play. We met up with our niece Cyndi and her friend Gwen for lunch. It was fun for Geri Ann and Bri to get acquainted just a bit with their dad and mom’s cousin from far-off Hereford, Texas. Of course, we wished that Cyndi’s daughter Tori and husband Randy had been there, since we had not seen them since their wedding in that city five years ago. But if they had been, we would not have seen Cyndi, who was house sitting for them.

Saturday we were to play two losing teams from Friday night. With a second loss, any team would go home. We played our 11 a.m. game against Missouri, who had startled those watching their Super Regional with a mercy rule victory over UCLA. We eliminated Missouri from the World Series with a 5-2 win, and we did the same to Michigan that night with a 7-5 win.

That put us in the Final Four on Sunday. We would play unbeaten Washington, and Alabama would play unbeaten Florida. If Georgia or Alabama--both teams from the losers’ bracket--won their first game, they would have to play and win a second game to send either of these unbeaten teams home.

We were going into Sunday games with our senior pitcher Christie Hamilton worn out from the two games in high heat on Saturday. In an excruciatingly long game, we played Washington from 12 noon until 4:20 in nearly l00 degree weather. We used four different pitchers--including center fielder Taylor Schlopy after Sarah McCloud and a brief stint by Hamilton. Finally, freshman pitcher Erin Arevalo was put in with the score tied at 8-8. In the ninth inning, we loaded the bases and Brianna Hesson battled until a force walk brought fleet-footed Lasaira Daniels calmly to home plate to claim the 9-8 win and the opportunity to play the Huskies again that night after Alabama played Florida.

We wanted to see Alabama play Florida because we had gotten acquainted with Lauren Parker’s grandparents, relatives, and friends sitting in front of us. (Lauren’s life story of injuries and challenges was inspiring as most of these young women’s stories are.) But we had to get out of that heat and we scurried to a place to eat with air conditioning and a ESPN. We even were able to have Gerry with us briefly as he hurried to eat and return to the team.

We were disappointed Alabama lost to Florida, but proud that three teams that day were from the Southeastern Conference. We returned to the park for a 9:30 game and were disappointed again when we played Washington for the third time in this tournament and lost. Washington would win from Florida on Monday and Tuesday nights to become the 2009 champions.

The young Georgia team with only two seniors and no juniors knew it was an achievement to be the only team there that defeated Washington. In fact, the Bulldogs scored more runs against Danielle Lawrie than any other team this year.

My favorite Georgia player was senior Kristin Schnake, who graduated from Nashville, Illinois, high school. She led the team in accepting their defeat with celebration that they had come that far. No one plays harder than Schnake. No one encourages other players more than Schnake. No one has a better attitude than this hard working agriculture student and athlete. No one could have made us prouder than the way the team rejoiced even in defeat.

We would have loved to have stayed for the final two games, but instead we wanted to get on Route 40 to Amarillo. We arrived at Rosemary and Phil’s Monday afternoon and feasted with them and Shiloh at supper. Before our final good-bye visit on Wednesday morning, we had also seen Candy, Gloria and Herman, Jennifer and Trevor, Tosha and Jeremy, Desi, and Eric, and we were able to meet Allie Jean, the l0-month old princess of the Amarillo Parks family. We missed a few of the families including Philip Todd and Jenna and Philip Ray, who are now stationed in Hawaii, where Desi was headed the next morning to spend six weeks with her uncle’s family. But it was a satisfying visit, and we left in cool weather under the big Texas sky with the highway bordered with mesquite and golden fields of wheat ripe unto harvest.

On through the green tree-bordered highways of Oklahoma and Missouri, we enjoyed glorious weather and the cattle on a thousand hills that we passed by. Finally in the flat Missouri Delta, we saw fields of young cotton, rice, and some soybeans. After a bounteous late lunch at a Charleston roadside cafeteria, we were soon in Illinois; and, of course, we drove up to look at Brian’s corn and soybean crops before we returned to Woodsong.