Rainy Sunday Kept Changing Our Plans Too

Plans today kept changing too. (It is after midnight—but I am still thinking it is Sunday night.) We had planned to eat out today with daughter Katherine’s family, but with the rain and other problems, we did not. So I quickly opened a jar of spaghetti sauce and added it to already browned ground beef from the freezer. (Daughter Jeannie taught me the advantages or keeping frozen browned ground beef on hand ready to use.) Brian dropped by and ate a plate with us before he headed back to central Illinois.

Finally I remembered that I had planned originally to go our first 2010 meeting of the Illinois Chapter of Trail of Tears Association. But after Gerald decided he wanted to celebrate his birthday by going to the softball tournament at Knoxville this weekend, I had emailed our chapter president that I would likely be in Tennessee.

I had actually forgotten today’s meeting despite the great publicity given it. When I remembered, with the chilly rain coming down and a tie-breaker game going on that I wanted to follow, I was tempted to stay home and skip the meeting. But I wanted to hear Herman Petersen’s presentation, so I left the dishes in the sink and drove slowly to Vienna—not wanting to hydroplane in the rain.

I thought maybe the crowd would be slight with the rain, but I had to park a long way from the library door. (That is when I discovered the fold-up umbrella I usually carry in the car pocket was no longer there.) Entering the downstairs community room and shedding my dripping raincoat, I was pointed to a couple of empty seats on the back row by Sandy Boaz. They were filled when I squeezed back there, but one unfolded chair was there. Two or three people kindly lifted it out and passed it and set it up in the one tiny space remaining. Others came in who had to stand throughout the meeting after the chairs ran out.

I enjoyed seeing again the National Park Service video again about the Trail of Tears. I was very glad to hear Herman Petersen’s story of his own search for information about his Cherokee ancestor. Since there are few records of the Cherokee in the 19th century, such family history searching is quite challenging. Herman started his family story in Norway, from where his known ancestors came.

Since his great grandfather, the Cherokee, had moved out of Indian Territory before 1895, neither he nor his daughter were there to be on the Dawes Roll. But Herman did find this man’s mother listed as already deceased on the special census that was taken to prepare for the Dawes Rolls and also the sister who did not leave Indian Territory. Herman’s pride in his Cherokee heritage was made clear by wearing a ribbon shirt and a typical turban that the men often wore in 1838. At someone’s request, he had to demonstrate how to roll the turban.

The difficulty of researching Cherokee heritage was also clear by his presentation, but then all family research can be challenging. So often, as in my own family, relatives had the same first name. In our case the William Martins almost overwhelm us with confusion sometimes.

Johnson County Historical and Genealogical Society members, who hosted this meeting for TOTA, always serve homemade cookies to go with coffee and drinks. During this social time at the end of the meeting, it was interesting to find so many people searching for ancestors who had dropped off the Trail here in Illinois. One woman who had just started searching was referred to Joe Crabb, who knew her people. In fact, thanks to Joe, her relative from Womble Mountain recorded the family story for us shortly before his death. It makes us grateful that we did get some of these stories recorded before it was too late.

The first question I asked Gerald when I got back home—had Georgia Dogs been able to come back again after being behind when I left for the meeting. (My cell phone is not working again, so I couldn’t call on the way home. I thought I had the phone fixed—so now I must take it back for another fix.) The answer was yes—in an overtime inning. Then I fixed us a bite to eat.

We were both concerned because a young friend of ours from Texas was coming to Saint Louis for a seminar this week and had planned to come early and visit us on the farm for Gerald’s birthday. We were both excited about this, but overnight Gerald’s cold had taken a terrible turn for the worse. (Yesterday he seemed better.) We did not want to tell him not to come, but Gerald didn’t feel he should let him come and be coughed on either. When he called and asked Gerald how he was, Gerald said not so good. Brad said why, and Gerald said because he was almost 80 years old! Brad then explained that he was not so good either—he was in the hospital at Denton with shingles and so would not be able to visit us after all. He promised to come a weekend later in the year after he gets back from a trip to India, so we look forward to that.

It was too late to go to our evening church service, so while I glanced through a large file folder (a real treasure trove of information) that a lady brought me this afternoon from Michael Scott, I also watched the debate and media coverage of the historical passage of the health bill. That is why I am writing after midnight.

The Best Made Plans of...

The car had been serviced for the trip, arrangements had been made with various folk that we need to tell when we are leaving, prescriptions were filled, etc. etc. Our son Gerry was making our motel reservations where they were staying. Unfortunately, I caught a cold early in the week, but I was counting on feeling better by today. (And I am.) By Thursday, however, Gerald was catching the cold. He did not feel like driving to Knoxville yesterday (with a side trip to see our friend Tossie, he’d hoped), so suddenly we were staying home all weekend and all the preparation was wasted.

Instead we found out what was going on between University of Georgia and Tennessee’s softball teams with our old standby—game tracker. Since we lost the first game this afternoon, we were not too sorry we were absent from the stands although, of course, we wanted to see Vickie and Geri Ann there. The second game started badly and made us think it might be more of the same, but it changed in the fifth inning and we won 9 to 5. The tie-breaker tomorrow should be fun to see, but, of course, we won’t since we are still in Southern Illinois.

This first day of spring changed many people’s plans with floods at Red River and a historic struggle in Washington, D.C., to change our way of providing (and not providing) health care in this nation. That tie breaker will be of considerable more consequence that who wins a softball game tomorrow.

Nieces in Texas and a nephew in northern Illinois all wrote to each other on Facebook about waking up to snow-covered ground. Our weather here was quite beautiful, and Brian was down putting on anhydrous in anticipation of planting. Gerald had plowed our garden yesterday in preparation for planting his first potato crop and then he also plowed up a small part of the lawn where the moles have ruined it. Today he replanted that area.
He’s already mowed the lawn for the first time. The martin houses are washed out, dried out, and cranked back in the air.

Why is he planting potatoes for the first time in his garden? Well, before he took Leslie to Texas, our friend Don Dillow phoned to see if Gerald could bring him some Yukon Gold seed potatoes because he had not been able to obtain them. Now Don is in his 80’s and had a heart attack years ago, but he still gardens, gathers pecans from the trees in his yard, hunts turkeys, deer, and quail, and I don’t know what all he does do in addition to ministering to many people. So Gerald called their mutual friend Bill Tweedy, another champion gardener, to find out where to buy seed potatoes and became so interested in Yukon Gold potatoes that he couldn’t resist buying some to plant for us.

Gerald certainly planted potatoes as a boy, but we never had to after we married because Dad Glasco grew large patches to fill his cellar bins with enough for all five of his children’s families as well as plenty to take to various widows that he knew would appreciate them. (After he retired, Dad Glasco used part of his acreage and his farm machinery to grow multiple patches of many kinds of vegetables to share at housing projects and with friends and family. Garry, the son that took over the farming, was good to help Daddy with his vegetable projects. I always wished we had some way to export Daddy’s expertise to underdeveloped countries because was the best gardener I ever knew.) We will find out this summer how much Gerald remembers about potato growing from his boyhood. If nothing happens to change our plans, that is.

My First Corned Beef

Although I always want to be Irish on Saint Patrick’s Day, I am not and I don’t usually celebrate. Oh, I always wear green, and I made sure my kids had something green to wear, so they would not be pinched or have their foot stomped on. But that was about all the celebrating we did. I started wondering about this pinching/stomping tradition this week. Is this just something that is done in our area, or is it universal among school children?

However, I not only wore green this year, I cooked my first corned beef. I bought two from Kroger with the spice packages wrapped inside and directions for cooking on the outside of the plastic wrapper. I had decided to serve corned beef sandwiches to the church women who were coming to our house on Monday night.

A group of volunteers were having a fund raiser up at West Frankfort today and one of the names and phone numbers given for the event was a writer friend I had lost contact with. I phoned Kay and asked her for serving advice. In addition to the flax bread I love and had planned to serve, I found out I needed to offer rye bread and Swiss cheese and even sauerkraut could be available. I ran out of time and decided to forgo the sauerkraut, which I was somewhat uneasy might smell up the kitchen.

I fixed a large relish plate of green items with only bright red pepper slices in the middle to give a mite of color. I made pea salad, lime punch, and used a special Irish coffee packet I had been given for Christmas in addition to making a decaf pot. Chips and candies. Angel food cakes, with and without icing (icing colored green, of course), lime sherbet, and green grapes were offered for dessert.

Mary Ellen had given me beautiful green place mats two or three years ago as well as two new sets of Christmas tablecloths at the same time. With so many choices at Christmas, I had not yet used the emerald place mats, and they really brightened up the yellow cloth which I have used throughout the years since Gerry and Vickie’s wedding rehearsal dinner 30 years ago!

In fact, I looked through the house and found every green dish or vase or candle available, and green took over the environment. I had bought three beautiful candles for 25 cents apiece at the Carbondale mall in the Christmas season’s leftovers. So they decked the dining room table sitting in a dish I bought from Salvation Army to hold them. Yes, I did have a lovely vase of daffodils in the living room. If you read my last blog, you know where they came from.

After singing and prayer requests for friends and loved ones, Deana Odom gave a devotional. In our business meeting, spring plans were completed. We are preparing ten large buckets of carefully chosen food items to feed a family and then we will be tightly packing them. Someone in our area is to take them down to Haiti along with many other churches’ buckets.

Not so important but enjoyed by the children in our village as well as by visiting grandchildren will be our Easter egg hunt followed by lunch the day before Easter. I certainly enjoy not having to fix lunch that day for my gang since egg dying and other activities keep us busy. Then there will be the sunrise breakfast (I never make that) the next morning and finally our annual women’s banquet in May when we invite our friends and neighbors. The men serve our meal and clean up afterwards. Can’t beat that! We have fun decorating for it, and Jo Barger plans and executes the meal, which the men also enjoy after their serving work while we go upstairs for a program. I can’t imagine planning food for this large group every year, but Jo is more than capable. Our meal is always delicious.

Jo is one of the most knowledgeable food experts in our area and has a cook book to prove it. (I am sure she has been a valuable resource for her son’s popular Goreville restaurant.) She delights in serving family and friends at gatherings in her home or down in her special little backyard cabin with an old-fashioned cook stove to make biscuits and enormous old-fashioned breakfasts.

After all our plans were made and ready volunteers were quickly secured for every project, we moved to the kitchen/dining room to enjoy my efforts at green food. Better than the food was the visiting seasoned with laughter. There wasn’t much corned beef left over, but enough that Katherine’s family as well as Gerald and I were able to have a sandwich again today. I felt I made Saint Patrick proud this year.

Trounced But the Martins Have Returned

We rushed down to Gerald’s office right after a quick lunch in the kitchen after our morning church services. Gerald got the game coverage going for us. This afternoon's tie-breaker 3rd game in the series between Georgia and Alabama softball teams left much to be desired by us Bulldog fans. The final score of 13-4 hurt our pride, and losing two games out of three was not what we expected.

Gerald and I tried to take the bad taste out of our mouths by watching Gerald's slide show of his photographs of his and Leslie's trip to Texas. I noticed he did not have a single shot of Mike Bear, who showed up in many of Les's photos on Facebook. But I loved seeing Gerald’s photos of Bobby and Katherine Sanders' beautiful grandkids and seeing their resemblance to our late friend. Katherine was a natural beauty, and her daughter Regina and her five children carry on that beauty. Gerald had many great photos of Leslie, our blond beauty, as she enthusiastically enjoyed her first trip to Texas, and I especially liked those of her with Don and Helen Ruth Dillow. However, I admit Mike Bear having with breakfast with Don and Helen Ruth was funnier.

The crocuses are blooming at Katherine’s home, and I enjoyed them all week. I appreciated those flowers she planted with some of her last energy and physical ability. I saw my first robin there also. Gerald was excited this morning to see the martins beginning to line up on the overhead wire along our lane, which brings electricity to our homestead. Soon they will probably fill the wire down most of the lane. He realized that his first job in the morning will be to clean out the martin houses for these first scouts to check out.

As Leslie and I drove home from town through the country on Friday, I saw my first daffodils in blooms by the roadside. We have some here with buds but no blooms. This large roadside patch comes up early each spring, and I always day dream about the long-dead farm wife who must have planted them by a house which disappeared many decades ago. Their beauty is a legacy that we still enjoy when we drive by.

They are so profuse and the patch so large that I have never felt guilty when I have stopped my car and picked a few to brighten our table. Once when Katherine could not come home for Easter, I sent her a couple of them stuffed in an envelope. Maybe I will have time to run over tomorrow and pick a spring bouquet. One recent change, however, is the beautiful new house half hidden in the woods behind this patch. I don’t think these homeowners own this roadside patch, but I am not sure. Regardless, they might not appreciate my annual delight in this golden visual treat. On the other hand, maybe they would enjoy my enjoyment.

Back to Our Own Niches Now

Gerald and Leslie drove 13 hours straight and reached Woodsong between 2 and 3 a.m. Friday morning. After sleeping in, they phoned me at Katherine’s house, and I met them in Marion for lunch. I switched into Leslie’s car after lunch, and Gerald drove the pickup I’d used all week to go back to the farm. Les and I did a couple of errands and ran back by Katherine’s so Les could see her and I could pick up the items I’d forgotten and left in the bathroom I’d used. We met Kate’s new aide, a college nursing student back from her spring break. David and Sam were home from Kentucky and so we got to see them too—also Sam’s buddy Tyler before we left.

Back at the farm later in the afternoon, we watched a couple of very old videos that Leslie was putting on a CD for us. I loved seeing those youthful images and didn’t want to leave to go upstairs to prepare supper. So I fixed a quick meal of salmon patties, instant mashed potatoes, and peas with fruit for dessert. I was still disoriented from being away all week, and I remembered something my sister Rosemary shared with me that her mother-in-law taught her. Mrs. Parks always kept canned salmon on hand, so she could fix a quick meal if someone showed up unexpectedly at their farm. You don’t have to thaw it. It is quick and easy and you don’t have to think very hard. Ha. Down through the years, I have followed that advice.

I enjoyed telling Leslie about the large house that her Uncle Phil grew up in over in the near-by Carrier Mills/Stone Fort area. The Parks had acquired an old-fashioned hospital building and moved it to their farm. I think it was ten rooms or so. Was there a fireplace in each room? I know there was one in the living room. While Phil was in basic training with the Air Force, I moved out of the dorm and into their apartment with Rosemary for three months when I was a freshman at Southern Illinois University Carbondale.

Rosemary liked going to the Parks for visits since they missed Phil too and she was comforted by that shared understanding. The first time I ever remember seeing a jet air trail in the sky was when we made the trip there one snowy winter day. We didn’t know what that “split” in the sky was. We watched it for miles, and I wondered if the earth were coming to an end. When we got to the Parks farm, somehow a road was blocked by snow or ice, and we parked at the bottom of a very steep hill and Rosie and I proceeded to climb that hill—going up two feet and back one often times. Of course, it didn’t help that we got the giggles.

Today Leslie was introduced to a Woodsong custom. Georgia softball team was playing Alabama a double header starting at noon. So lunch was served in Gerald’s office as we followed the game on game tracker. She had to leave after the first game and head back to Nashville. She arrived there hours ago and has already posted photographs of the Texas trip on Facebook.

We loved the first game of the double header because fourth-ranked Georgia won 3-0 against seventh-ranked Crimson Tide. This was the first conference game for both teams. (Georgia’s games with Florida were rained out on Wednesday.) The second game later in the afternoon was not so much fun. We were ahead, and then illegal pitches kept being called on Georgia’s pitcher. Because of that, two runs were given Alabama to tie up the game. The radio announcer could not refrain from commenting that 16 previous umpires had seen her pitch and never saw an illegal pitch, but this third base umpire saw it that way today much to the season-high crowd’s dismay and disgust. Then we tied the score in the bottom of that inning. In the next, we thought we’d gotten a third out on a bunt when the umpire called Alabama safe. That gave them the opportunity to get two more on base before Olivia Gibson hit a home run, and Alabama won 8-5.

Now tomorrow the two teams challenge each other for two out of three. Alabama has a 16-6 record now, and gave Georgia their second loss this season making their record 19-2.

Checking Facebook to see if Leslie had made it safely back to Nashville, I’d read that Ryoma and Gina Collia-Suzuki over in England were having pizza for supper. That threw a craving on me, so when Gerald said he was running into town to get a part to fix our broken sink sprayer, I suggested he pick up one for us. He and our son-in-law Brian arrived at Woodsong at the same time, and we teased Brian he had smelled the pizza. We enjoyed having him at the supper table, and he left to go up to their camper at the other farm.

Life is somewhat back to normal now after everyone has returned to their own niches in this universe.

In and Out: Coming and Going

While Katherine’s aide has taken her to the doctor in Carbondale, I have run out to Woodsong to pick up the mail, eat a delayed breakfast with coffee, and catch up with a few things. So I need to blog now if I am going to do so today.

This is spring break for local schools, and son-in-law David and our grandson Sam are in Kentucky on a wild boar hunt. A text to Kate this morning tells her that they saw two wild boars today. Maybe tomorrow they will get one. We do not want these wild creature traveling to Illinois, so I hope they reduce the population down there.

Leslie keeps sending Facebook photos of her and Gerald’s road trip to Texas. The photos of Leslie’s stuffed bear (named Mike Bear after guess who) safely snuggled with a seat belt beside Gerald is bringing back memories to her mother and aunt and their Christmas dolls from long ago. Since this trip is to explore seminaries for grad school, I think Leslie’s mother questions the need of a stuffed bear accompanying a grad student. I think Gerald looks rather cute with a bear beside him and rock and roll music blaring.

Of course, our favorite photos on Facebook this week are the ones that the Archibalds and Tara’s sister Erin are posting of our latest great grandson Payton Dean and his sweet brothers. The opportunity to see these photos even caused our son Gerry to temporarily join Facebook to his sisters’ delight. Payton Dean got his middle name from Gerry and his father Gerald Dean.

Okay, I have checked hotmail, Facebook, etc. and need to pop in a load of laundry. So it is time to be going. In and out. Coming and going. That’s the schedule for this week.

Payton Dean Archibald

Although I usually just start blogging without any preparation, I made some scribbled notes yesterday about what I might blog about today. However, my plans have changed because of the arrival at l:30 this afternoon of our third great grandson—thanks to Tara and Brian Archibald, who have produced these three beautiful boys. (I have already seen Payton’s photo on Facebook thanks to his Aunt Erin!) Payton has managed in less than a day on this planet to change a good many folks’ plans for today. I can only imagine all the scrambling and plan changing that went on with the extended Archibald family in northern Illinois as they helped Tara and Brian.

Payton was scheduled to arrive one month from today on his mother’s birthday. His maternal grandmother Vickie already had all her arrangements made to be there then. Today Gerry, Vickie, and Geri Ann thought their afternoon would be focused on University of Georgia wining their fifth game of this weekend’s invitational softball tourney at Athens. They probably expected to be texting Tara and Erin scores and the progress on the softball game—not anxiously waiting to hear about a new baby boy in their lives. I am sure they had difficulty concentrating on softball. I can just see the smiles on their faces when they got the word Payton was here.

Yesterday evening Tara was happily writing on Facebook about the fun day at the zoo with little Aidan and Maddux—Payton’s older brothers. Not much older, in fact, since Aidan will not be four until May 31, the birthday he shares with his father. Maddux was one on December 9. I should be concerned about Tara and Brian managing with three sons that close together, and I am concerned. Nevertheless, they have demonstrated exceptional parenting skills with the first two, and I suspect they will be just as competent with Payton.

What was I going to write about today? Well, the exciting news that Gerald’s only sister Ernestine and her daughter Leah (whom we still call by her baby name Leah Dawn), and Leah’s baby girl are coming from Rock Springs, Wyoming, on April 1. That was big news, but Payton upstaged them.

I was also going to write about Gerald and Leslie visiting our friends Don and Helen Ruth Dillow down in McKinney, Texas, where they have gone on Les’ spring break from Belmont to explore seminaries there as she considers that possibility for graduate school in a couple of years. They’ll also be visiting Gerald’s special phone buddy Bobby Sanders, who moved from our village many years ago but remains a close friend. Finally, they are going over for a quick visit with Erin at College Station before they return to Woodsong, where Leslie’s car is waiting for her in our garage. I thought all this was big news, but Payton’s arrival made all our phone conversations be about that and not Texas.

And I had jotted down some end-of-the-week pleasantries, such as watching 89-year-old Pearl Stearns paint a lovely painting at a club meeting Friday afternoon. With her easel set up holding the small photo of a lighthouse on the ocean as her inspiration, she talked a bit about the Famous Artists correspondence course she started once—but which was interrupted by the birth of a baby who had colic for the next six months. (Babies certainly do change our agendas.) By the end of the meeting, the canvas was lovely with blue ocean surrounded by mountains and the wooded area amazingly realistic. And I was going to share my delight at having coffee with Leslie as we sat together at the dining room table and she told me about the various activities she’s involved with at Belmont and her plans for the summer, where she will be teaching music and drama at a children’s camp focused on the arts. Oh, all kinds of pleasant things have happened, but nothing as exciting and welcome as the safe arrival of Payton Dean Archibald.

Home Again

Because our son-in-law David had to travel upstate to Rock Island on Monday, I spent Monday and Tuesday nights with Katherine and our grandson Sam in Marion. It was late when I got home last night after yesterday’s activities, which ended with senior citizen shopping at Kroger. After making sure items that needed the fridge were put away and eating sandwiches with Gerald, I went to bed early.

At Katherine’s house, suddenly I was enveloped in junior high days again with basketball practices, ISAT testing, and buddies. I always felt I could best keep in touch with my kids and their friends when I listened in while driving them places. In the same way, it was fun hearing Sam and Tyler discuss school, sports, teachers, and coaches to and from the Upward basketball championship game Tuesday night. Kids soon forget the driver, and you get an honest look at their world and feelings. Gerald brought Katherine in the van to see this final game of the season. Although we lost, it was not unexpected, so there was no grieving. Saint Joe’s team was first in the league and undefeated. I enjoyed the familiar sounds and noise of the game and seeing the unfamiliar gym at Third Baptist.

Last week I’d phoned the cosmetology lab at the college to see what the current procedures there were. It had been a long time since I had been there. For a couple of years, I have been very happy with the stylists I found at a local chain. I can’t fix my own hair since my sister spoiled me doing my hair as I was growing up, and I soon learned to depend on daughter Mary Ellen during adulthood.

I have had the misfortune of frequently losing beauticians down through the years as their shops have closed. I was envious of a friend in another area town who had been to the same shop for forty years. When I found a shop in town with multiple people I liked and where I could go with or without an appointment as the need arises, I thought I had it made. But now the corporate office has decided to limit options there, and no more permanents are available. I decided to start trying the local college students again. A third cheaper than other places, I could afford the gas to drive there.

The young student answering my inquiries said only walk-ins are taken, and she emphasized that for a morning perm, you must be there by 9:15 at the latest. After Katherine’s aide arrived Tuesday morning, I dropped Sam off at school and even had time to make a quick stop at Wal-Mart to look for photo corners. I didn’t find them, but inquiring at customer service, I had wonderful help and soon a clerk brought them to me! They were in the scrapbook section of the store, she explained. That made sense.

I hurried on over to Carterville to the college, found a scarce parking spot, and walked the long distance to proudly arrive at the cosmetology lab at 9 ready to be made beautiful. The place was eerily empty and silent. Finally an instructor came out of a back room, hailed me, and walked up to explain that the lab was not open on Tuesday and Wednesday mornings. All students were in classes. Why the student phone receptionist had not explained that was a mystery to me as I am sure it also was to the teacher who had trained students to answer more fully. My inconvenience seem unimportant, however, when she explained she had taken off the day I phoned because her son was leaving that day for Afghanistan.

I came on home and fixed lunch for Gerald and me and made plans for the supper meal at Katherine’s house before the big championship game. Yesterday morning was her aide’s day off, so a young friend came to help Katherine out of bed for the day. She needed someone to drop off a loaner cushion for her chair that hadn’t helped the discomfort. Since there was a branch store on the airport road on the way to the college, I decided I’d make another stab at getting a perm in the afternoon since I’d had a haircut just to prepare for the perm. The medical supply business was going to charge Katherine $75 to pick up the non-helpful cushion even though they had a truck coming nearby. (This too was explained as a corporate decision if a truck went to anyone’s house.) That $75 errand may have been the most I have ever been worth in a day in my life!

At the college and another long walk from far-away parking, a student with beautiful long blonde hair in large spirals surrounding her youthful face gave me her first perm. With my permission, she took before and after photos for her portfolio. She was so sweetly conscientious that she made me nervous, but with the instructor’s help, things went well, and I hope the photo made her look good. By the time I picked up my suitcase at Katherine’s house, shopped at Kroger, and decided I was too tired to fill up the gas tank, it was a late supper at Woodsong when I finally arrived home—made even later as I patiently waited for fourteen young deer to leap across our lane one at a time in front of my car until I was positive no more were coming.

Let the March Winds Blow

March is here and is always welcome because we know spring is coming soon. Even though we may have more snow storms before the month is over, April will bring relief. Five weeks to Easter someone said today.

The first two weeks of March promise to be busy, so I’m trying to plan ahead and be prepared. I’ve been working on the March schedule for preschool workers during our worship services at church. I posted them tonight but will be making some more changes as I was mixed up on one grandchild’s custody schedule.

She only gets to come with her grandmother every other week, and because of a change due to illness, I figured it wrong. She is very eager to help with the preschoolers, so I want to make the necessary changes so she can have this experience occasionally. This is not the first time I have dealt with planning around every other weekend visits. It is important that adults work to make these rotating weekends as stress free and pleasant as possible for kids.

We staff each preschool room with one or two adults but also have teens and older children assist the adults with the little ones. We try to space out everyone’s turn, so no one has to miss too many worship services. The teens and older children are a great help to pour drinks, sit down on the floor with the children, read books, and help in countless other ways. The little ones love the youth, and the adults can use the help. Most of all, however, this supervised participation in child care provides child care experience to our kids and teens.

Unfortunately, I entered parenthood with absolutely no experience with little ones; and though I read Dr. Spock and all the pamphlets given me at the hospital, I felt very nervous about motherhood. Because I had done almost no babysitting and I was the youngest in our family, I knew nothing about small children and their care. I don’t advise that ignorance. The most important job in the world—parenthood—deserves preparation and training. I like helping our church kids grow up understanding and experiencing childhood development and gaining a certain confidence and even expertise in working with preschoolers.

In addition to figuring out that March schedule, I’ve been thinking through what I will serve when it is my turn to host our church women this month. I’ve set a date, checked it with the one giving a devotional, and have started a grocery list that will include several green foods since the date is two days before St. Patrick’s Day. I’m the song leader, and the books are already in the house and the songs chosen. The reason I am trying to organize every thing early is because I will be out of the house quite a bit the first two weeks of March.

This is also Gerald’s birthday month—in fact several of his family celebrate this month. He and Keith have already made arrangements for Garry’s birthday breakfast this Wednesday. Gerald’s breakfast with the brothers will be later. I can’t remember if they do one in honor of their only sister out in Wyoming or not. It doesn’t take much for them to plan a breakfast.

I was hoping to do an 80th birthday party for Gerald that included more than the just our kids and grandchildren (whichever ones who could make it) going to a restaurant, which is what we have done in recent years. We have wanted to have a cousin gathering for a long time, and I thought this might be the special weekend to do it. I had ruminated about a number of possible larger gatherings in my mind before I approached him.

Gerald, however, had already figured out the birthday treat he wanted. He plans to have the ball tees he is busy making in his shop all complete by his birthday weekend. And the softball games that weekend at Knoxville when University of Georgia plays Tennessee will be one of the closest venues to deliver the tees to Gerry. He can celebrate with Gerry’s family there, and we may have to wait until Easter weekend for the rest to celebrate here with him.

Since it won’t work out to have cousins and extra relatives for a party after all, I won’t immediately need all the extra plates I bought at Salvation Army last week. But there are washed and neatly put away in a former television cabinet that was right there waiting for them the minute I cleaned out some old papers and CDs. I was surprised at how easy my storage problem was solved. Someday I will plan a party large enough to need them.

There are other plans for March, so it is probably good to have one less party after all. As a part-time writer, who has always made my living as a housewife and not from writing, the winter months have often been when I had a few extra hours to write. That has not happened this winter. I have slowed down, and we’ve also had more medical appointments than in the past to keep ourselves in good health. I am trying not to fret about what I haven’t completed. Sometimes it is better to go with the flow of events that life brings to you. Right now I am busy listening to softball games. Maybe I’ll have some extra time this summer. Maybe not.

King of the Mountain

Unmelted mounds of snow bulldozed up against light posts in town parking lots are the only evidence of recent snowfall. The large heaps in the first lot I visited were all dirty with soot, but this afternoon in another lot, the pile of snow was mostly white. Bright sunshine made today crispy clear. Starting with a noon appointment for haircut, I’ve had a busy afternoon of appointments, but the warm sun between appointments made it pleasant.

After a feel-good shampoo and styling with shorter hair from my favorite talented cosmetologist, I picked up a couple of prescriptions and some bananas and ran by to see Katherine, who was busy on the computer, so I had time to visit Salvation Army. I wanted to see if they still had the glass serving plates that match my pattern that I should have bought last week. I saw them when I took my plastic sacks there to recycle them. But I don’t really have a good place to store any more dishes. I was in a hurry and decided it was foolish to buy something I didn’t have to have--even if they were cheap.

All week I had sometimes regretted that decision. Surely I could clear out a place for them. And I might need them at sometime in the future. Or I could loan them to others with that same pattern. Why didn’t I buy them before someone else did? (One method I have always used when deciding whether to buy something is whether I continue to think about it. If I forget all about it, obviously it wasn’t too desirable. But if I keep on thinking about an item or garment, I know I must really like it. Since I keep everything forever, that is important.)
So today I looked over the eye-catching loaded tables in the middle of the store and knew I had waited too long. Finally one last table. They were still there! The clerk helped me carry them to the car. He said I’d need help carrying them in at home. I said I’d just unload them a few at a time—that way my husband would not have to know about my perhaps silly decision until I had them washed and stored someplace. (Where?) I think sticking the glass plates into the dishwasher and using them for parties is cheaper than buying paper plates for a party. And I like eating off glass better—although I will admit paper plates are more colorful and can emphasize the holiday or theme better than the glass ones.

With my new dishes wrapped in newspapers in a sturdy box and safely in the trunk with a few other treasures because I “really” needed them, I headed to Johnston City. There I had a not-so-good news in a consultation with my dentist. He and I both had received the report from the specialist he sent me to last week in Mt. Vernon. Now I had several unpleasant alternatives to mull over and choose from as we devised a plan and decided which gamble to take in future appointments as he repairs my teeth. None of this was unexpected, so I wasn’t too disappointed.

Before the next early evening appointment with the optometrist, I entertained myself by looking for photo corners I need. General Dollar didn’t have them. But as I stepped out of my car in the next parking lot, I was treated to a sight that made my head turn twice. Yes, there really was a boy on top of the mound of snow. Obviously feeling the promise of spring in the midst of winter’s remains, his hands were in the air celebrating. I’d never have the nerve to make a spectacle of myself by climbing such a snow mound in public even if I physically could, but I was so glad he did. He was the King of the Mountain, and I was ready to be his willing subject. He was in his own world and wasn’t aware of me, but I was delighted with him.

Inside the store, I headed to the office supplies and the photo department thinking I might find photo corners. I didn’t, but there was a cute teenage girl behind the counter with an admiring young man hanging over the counter conversing. They too were in their own world, but I thought I’d ask to make sure there were no photo corners—just in case I had missed them. I never could decide if the young man was another employee or just her admirer because he was the one who responded when I inquired. I might as well as been asking for something from the 17th Century instead of the 20th from the look on the young man’s face. He had never heard of photo corners and had to ask me to explain what they were. I am sure his photos are all on his phone and computer. Although he was polite and smiled gently at me, his amusement at my quaintness was all too apparent. We parted with both of us mentally shaking our heads. It looks as if I will have to break down next week and go to my least favorite store on the far side of Marion. I don’t like Wal-Mart because I can’t find my car in their huge parking lot and I can’t locate anything inside their large store—or at least not quickly.

As I stepped outside I was hoping to see the boy on top of the snow heap again. He was gone. Next I heard the sound of a goose caller that hunters use sending its provocative call throughout the lot. Then I saw the back door standing open of a van parked near the heap. My boy was still there reigning and enjoying life.

I just had time to get to the optometrist at 5:30. Since he didn’t see me till after 6:00, I would have had time to look at Wal-Mart, but I didn’t know that. He thought some vision problem I was having was not caused by my eyes changing, but from a film that often comes after a cataract procedure has aged. He said I could have it corrected in a simple procedure that won’t take but a couple of minutes, and I left with promises that the receptionist would call me when she sets that appointment up with the opthamologist who originally did the cataract surgery.

It was almost 7:30 when I got back to the farm. Gerald and I ate a bite of supper together and talked a bit about our day. He is still sore from the workout he had yesterday as he helped Brian clean out the grain bin after the trucks hauled away the remainder of last year’s soybean crop. By the time I neatened the kitchen and made the coffee pot ready for tomorrow morning, he was asleep in the family room “watching” a ball game. Not wanting to wake him, I didn’t plant a kiss on his forehead as I sometimes do when I walk by. I shut the door to my office and began checking emails and Facebook messages before writing to you on Woodsong Notes. I enjoyed remembering that boy on top of the snow mountain. Long live the King!

Newspapers, Our Visiting Musician, and Softball

A high point in the week for me was hearing Chandra Green again at Southern Illinois
Writers Guild on Thursday night. Chandra has a most remarkable life story—one that could only happen to an incredibly gifted woman. Dropping out of school at 15 to marry and escape an alcoholic father, she went to work at the West Frankfort American and said she literally fell in love with journalism the minute she walked in and smelled the ink. She continued working at area newspapers through repeated bad marriages but acquired a GED and an incredible understanding of writing, page design, editing, and the business side of journalism. She also has acquired a long-standing stable marriage with the love of her life.

I met Chandra through her column in the Southern Illinoisan, and I was delighted with her writing and her stories of Ma, her elderly grandmother, and her mom—the Queen of Stuff. Rising in the ranks during her 16 years at the Southern Illinoisan, she became an editor, and she credited all those early co-workers who helped her learn the ropes and love her job. But changes and pressures there caused this largest area newspaper to lose one of their best talents--just as the paper also lost Jim Muir, our Guild speaker last month. Chandra did not say she was one of their best talents—but as a reader I knew she was. And so was Jim.

Employed at other work where she missed that smell of ink, Chandra came up with an idea as she sat at her kitchen table with a daughter. The daughter was taking a college class, which required her to make a business plan, so she was able to pick her mother’s brain for starting a niche newspaper. By the time the business plan for her class was completed, the daughter and her mother had determined to use it to start Heartland Women. They succeeded at what everyone believed was an impossible task. Five years later the award-winning paper is still going strong, and Chandra offers area writers an opportunity to sell their work. The free twice-monthly newspaper, which is distributed widely in several counties is filled with columns, feature stories, and news of area women.

In the midst of the declining use of newspapers by a public who now often depend on the Internet for news, Chandra has shown it is possible for a newspaper with a clear purpose to establish itself. (I won’t say a clear audience because I think many men read Heartland Women.) Could anyone do it? No, only someone who has the enormous talent and knowledge and the incredible work ethic that Chandra has.

I worry that she works too hard, but I love to pick up her paper. She pointed out that while she was in journalism because she loves to write, all the other duties consume her time and she probably spends little more than two percent writing. Someone has to sell the advertising that keeps the paper going, and often she becomes the one who has to do it. Her two novels sit half finished and unattended.

After the bitter cold weather at the first of the week and then the dire predictions of more bad weather this weekend, it was hard to believe how beautiful yesterday and today were. Coats weren’t really necessary although most of us were still wearing them out of habit. (I saw some wearing shorts.)

Folks were grateful for the break from cold and for the delay of the predicted heavy rain that replaced the icy weather predictions. A friend involved with the Red Rose Gala to raise money for the Marion Civic Center was concerned what bad weather might mean to that effort. Our neighbor of many years died Wednesday after three or four exhaustive weeks for his family while he was in hospitals and rehab, and I was very thankful the weather stayed pretty today for his funeral and the burial in a neighborhood cemetery. Our granddaughter Leslie was arriving at Woodsong at bedtime last night from visiting friends and family up at the state speech contest in Peoria, so I was very relieved she wasn’t driving on scary roads. Tonight the delayed rain began with gentle sprinkling, but she was safely back in Tennessee by then.

Leslie was ready for bed when she arrived at the farm late last night, because she’d had a slumber-party type visit Friday night with a high school friend now at University of Illinois, and the two met up with the Freeport speech kids at Peoria. I offered sandwich fixings and a very brief visit and encouraged her to go catch up on her sleep in the brown room. That’s the windowless room everyone wants because it is completely underground and great sleeping. (When our son-in-law dropped in Friday night, I invited him to sleep in another guest room because I told him I was saving the brown room for Leslie. However, he was already planning to sleep in their camper at the other farm, which is parked there most of the time. He had farm business to take care of with various people on Saturday before he returned home to his family in central Illinois.)

This morning we were pleased to hear Leslie sing at worship. She had forgotten her guitar, but after mulling it over last night, she realized she did have a song she could sing with piano. We hurried home from church for a quick spaghetti and salad dinner so she could get on the road in time to make a 5 p.m. rehearsal back at Nashville. She had a CD of Miles Davis on his trumpet that she must memorize and be prepared to sing in a jazz class on Tuesday. So she was planning to listen as she drove.

By this time, Gerald was finding the Texas A&M and Georgia softball tourneys on his computer, and those games occupied most of our afternoon. Both teams were hosting tournaments this weekend, and we had been following them as best we could, and both teams won all five tourney games.

Winter Continues

Monday our trip to Paducah was aborted after hearing that morning about local wrecks on the slick roads. We decided it was a good day to stay home although we did run into town in the afternoon since Katherine did not have an aide on that day. (The roads were fine by then.) Sam and Josh were outside in the snow playing football despite Josh’s cough. Wouldn’t you know that when the kids could have had a snow day, they were already off for President’s Day?

Tuesday we traveled down to Kentucky with the pickup over the beautiful bridge and
across the Ohio River, where a lot of Southern Illinoisans like to shop since Paducah is only an hour away. We were replacing some aging appliances that we figured were costing us too much in electricity and water as well as not working as well as they once did. We broke up our comparative shopping trip with a restful lunch at Olive Garden—one of the chain restaurants we don’t have in Marion—so that was fun, and their huge salads are delicious.

Although the store we bought from offered free delivery and would install for a fee, Gerald elected to haul our choices home in the pickup. He wanted the challenge of installing them himself. We drove home through the snow-dusted brown roadsides with white clouds overhead diluting the blue of the sky but giving blue tint to the woods on the horizon. It had been a good day.

Yesterday morning Gerald volunteered to take me up to Mt. Vernon to see a dental specialist that my local dentist wanted me to see. We left the farm shortly after six for this 7:45 appointment. He dropped me off and found a place nearby to get breakfast. I thought I was to get an incomplete root canal redone that was first done fourteen years ago. After more x-rays and a consultation, however, the specialist advised me to not do this. So we were back to the farm fairly early in the day, and I ate breakfast and read the paper while Gerald started installing the new dishwasher.

With this new one, I won’t have to constantly fix the tines with bread wrapper ties to hold them up. That did not bother me, but I did not think glasses were coming out as shiny as they should. Gerald found a clogged copper tube under there that might have been the reason for the cloudiness. I’ve keep wondering if he wishes he had let the store folk install it. It has taken a little longer than he thought it would. He found various faults with the way the last dishwasher was installed. He had to make a trip to town for something. He needs his new glasses that will be ready at the end of the week, so he is having some difficulty seeing under the counter. He wants to get done, so he can start to build more batting tees for Gerry, which will require some pre-building shopping in Cape Girardeau. Nevertheless, he enjoys learning new things and needs to keep busy with projects. I am trying to keep from feeling sorry for him and just realize it has turned into a couple of days’ entertainment for him. I am sure it will be done perfectly this time, which the “professionals” did not accomplish when the previous dishwasher was installed.

I don’t think placing the new washer and dryer where the ancient ones sit in the garage will take him long. I belatedly pointed out to him yesterday that the boxes for the new washer and dryer already out of the pickup and sitting in our garage both said that unloading/installing was supposed to be a two-man job lest there be back injury. He said he hadn’t noticed that warning on the boxes—but he used the fork lift on the tractor to unload.

I was supposed to have a long postponed eye exam yesterday an hour before my usual pickup of our grandson Sam from his trombone lesson after school. However, the optometrist’s office called to say a couple of other patients had been late and gave me opportunity to reschedule. I was glad to go to town a little later. Katherine was at the hospital for her Tysabri infusion, and I wanted to be able to stay around when I took Sam home until she returned, so I could help her out a bit. That worked out well since Gerald was still at work with tools spread all around the kitchen, and he didn’t mind my being a hour late with supper when I offered him sandwiches and a reheated bowl of homemade soup from Monday.

By the time he finishes these projects and the latest winter book he is reading, obtains the supplies for the batting tees and refines his plans, he is hoping his outside shop will be warm enough to go to work on the tees without too much heating expense. That should keep him busy until spring planting time when he will likely help our neighbor Scott and our son-in-law Brian a bit. Oh, yes, we will need to celebrate his 80th birthday before then too.

No Crocus But Softball Season Is Here

As I drove home from church tonight on slippery roads with poor visibility, the snow was coming down hard. I felt like spring was not just around the corner. In fact, we’ve often had heavy snows and even blizzards in March here in Southern Illinois.

Nevertheless despite the snow tonight, the Winter Olympics going on, and another month of winter to go, women’s college softball season has started. This weekend had tournaments for both “our” teams. The University of Georgia team, where our son is an assistant coach, traveled to Florida, and won three out of four games. (Friday’s games were rained out down there.) Granddaughter Erin’s Texas A&M team played five games and won four.

Gerald was able to get audio accounts of A&M games on the computer, but Georgia’s game tracker was mute and not functioning for us. We had to find out the Bulldogs’ news by phone calls to our granddaughter Tara up in Aurora. Tara keeps up with her dad’s team by constant phone and text messages with her mom and/or her little sister Geri Ann. They were able to drive down to Claremont, FL, on Thursday night since Geri Ann had a long weekend break from high school. Tara has coached a summer traveling team supplying players for the colleges, and naturally she takes intense interest in college ball.

Gerald enjoys the excuse to phone Tara because he not only likes to talk to her but he likes hearing our two great grandsons in the background. He claims Maddux said PawPaw. Aiden had been to hear his uncle play and sing yesterday, so he was busy with his play guitar imitating.

Erin has already completed her four years of college play, but she is in her fifth year since she lost education credits from St. Catherine’s and others from Notre Dame when she transferred to A&M. (I am assuming if she ever decides to teach, those education credits will count towards a license in whatever state she ends up in.) Right now she helping Jo Evans, her much admired coach, with this 2010 team, and she is mighty excited at how well they are doing. Erin is also giving private lessons to some kids in the area until her graduation, and she loves working with them. Then she heads home to her parents in Georgia to get in shape for a summer in Europe playing for the Austria Sharx.

I’m dreaming of another trip to Oklahoma City for the Women’s World Series at the end of the season. I am hoping that Georgia and Texas A&M both make that tourney, but I certainly don’t want one of them to end their season with them playing against each other. In the meantime here at Woodsong, we will finish up winter following softball, and surely the crocus will be here before we know it.

February Weather

While the TV announcers exclaim with news and pictures of the blizzard in the East, I look out our many lakeside windows and can see only variegated brown ground cover with white snow stripes despite this week’s two snowfalls. Our school kids here in Williamson County, who were hoping for a snow day, were disappointed when the 3-7 inch prediction fell short and the roads stayed in good shape thanks to the highway department. President’s Day on Monday is going to be welcome to weary students wanting a break.

During an earlier snowfall, I saw a couple very tiny snowmen in a couple of yards, but I’ve seen no forts or evidence that the kids have been able to enjoy a good wet snow here in our part of the Midwest. I’m sorry for the kids about that lack and also sorry for the destructive record breaking snows in the East. For myself, despite enjoying the beauty of snow and always liking being snowed-in, I am grateful for anything that saves our local road budgets snow removal costs.

It is soup and chili weather, and that is what our church sent over to the International Luncheon for students at Southern Illinois University yesterday. I didn’t go because of an annual doctor check-up, and I did not help because everything was already planned by the time I volunteered.

Charlene Morris, who has made this luncheon her special project for several years, was having knee surgery. Consequently, she and others were highly organized and early on cooked all the meat for freezing so that after the surgery Charlene would only be putting it together for the soup. Charlene not only made soup but went along with her husband Gerald to deliver it. She was tired of being house bound. I am wondering how they transported that huge amount of soup. Jo Barger, one of the area’s best cooks, made the all-vegetable soup for those who didn’t eat meat. It took a lot of will power on her part to refrain from seasoning those veggies with a bit of beef. I am sure if Jo made it, the soup was good, and the reports at the village church tonight was that menu hit the spot with chilled students.

I made a favorite pork chop recipe today for our noon meal. Years ago the late Marguerite Lashley, a school librarian and New Dennison neighbor, shared her favorite way to fix chops as we rode to a club meeting together. She had gotten the simple directions from a chef at a New Orleans restaurant. Back then over at Pondside Farm, Gerald was raising hogs, and I collected pork chop recipes. (Fried pork chops with milk gravy is superb, but we needed variety, and I rarely fried foods even back then and certainly don’t now in our senior years.)

So today after flouring, seasoning, and browning the chops—I use olive oil—I peeled potatoes and sliced them and sliced large white onions to add on top of the chops. The layers of onions and potatoes were also seasoned with salt and pepper. Then I covered it all with water. This takes a big skillet. Then starting on a high burner and later turning down to low, I cooked until everything was tender. The kitchen smells are wonderful by the time this meal is ready to serve. I had five very large chops, so I was able to take the meal to Katherine’s family for their supper to make their house smell good on a winter day.

Even though the fields around our lake are rich with native grasses providing food for birds and small beasts, the snow makes the seeds a little harder and less pleasant to retrieve, and the birds flock to the feeder on the deck. We’ve had chickadees and juncos, sparrows, jays, cardinals, red-bellied woodpeckers, and a downy woodpecker, and some birds I don’t know. The starlings also come and are not as welcome because they drive off the smaller birds. I heard Gerald muttering the other day as he watched, “I guess God created the starlings too.” He was trying to be sympathetic to their hunger, but they certainly aren’t pretty and their manners aren’t the best. But they are hungry this cold weather, and I am sure they are grateful for the bounty Gerald supplies.

So Many Books...

As Gerald and I started home from Friday night fish down at Lake of Egypt with his brother Keith and our sister-in-law Barbara, the snow flakes kept getting larger and larger. They were melting as they hit the road, but we could see snow accumulating in the grass beside us.

The fish had tasted extra good to me because dental work on Thursday left me with a temporary gap where a capped tooth had been, and I was given written directions to only eat liquid foods. I had broth for supper, a milk shake for breakfast after a routine blood work appointment—that had been easy to fast for, and tomato soup for lunch before I spoke on the Trail of Tears to the Marion Women’s Club. I settled on coffee as my participation in the club refreshments since my 24 hours were not up. Fish, slaw, and potato salad surely beat drinking my meals.

Saturday morning the snow again covered the ground, but only lightly in comparison to the snow a friend in a Washington D.C. suburb facebooked about. She had 13 inches on her porch, which she had cleared the night before, and 21 inches in her yard. Roads here were fine, so I gathered a few of my books for the first time in months, found my toy tractor that I always use on my table top, and drove to the Marion Illinois Centre Mall for Southern Illinois Writers Guild’s participation in the fifth annual Winter Book Fair there.

I looked forward to the day despite knowing I would not sell books since everyone local who wanted one had probably bought it years ago. But I knew I would enjoy meeting new authors and seeing friends with their books. With some writers not there yet, I quickly shifted my name plate so I could sit next to my friend Maxine Pyle, whom I had wanted to congratulate on her beautiful book on Congressmen Ken Gray.

Before the day was over, I’d visited with Roberta Phipps, Jari Jackson, Jim Lambert, Fog Gilbert, Joy King, Jon Musgrave, Joanna Beth Tweedy, Carol Jennings, and met some writers I'd not met before. I also met Carol Jennings’ cute daughter Honey.

We owe the book fair to Carol since she came up with this idea and promoted it to the mall management. We had fine foot traffic and could not ask for a more attractive venue or a better organized book fair. Right now people aren’t flush with extra cash to buy nonessentials, but when the economy gets going again and it will, I suspect the fair will become even more profitable to area writers. I forgot at the end of the day to ask our president Jim Lambert how our anthologies sold. One woman who bought one as a get-well gift for a friend came through and had several of us autograph it.

I traded books with a couple of authors and couldn’t resist buying a few. Now I have more piles of unread books to tempt and taunt me, but I am enjoying them nevertheless. I’ve read a few of Fog’s poems, looked at some of the fascinating photos and captions in Maxine’s book, and almost finished Joanna Beth Tweedy’s debut novel.

An area native from Murphysboro, Joanna teaches at Benedictine University at Springfield, but she came down for this event with her book On the Yonder Side of Sass and Texas, which has the southern part of the state as its locale. (Although the chapter I just finished before making myself stop in order to blog, was all about Sass’s visit to Rome. Sass’s real name is Arkansas and Texas is her sister.) Tweedy’s poetic prose and runtogether words make for interesting reading. (Some examples: sunshade, fogfulls, combobulations, harsh-headed, yammersnitch, orchardfulls, riddletalk, deathside. Yougettheidea.)

Just as we were leaving Woodsong for church this morning, our son-in-law showed up from central Illinois checking up on his rented land here. We left him to shower and come over later for worship and afterwards for the pot-luck barbeque dinner we had at church. With bright red Valentine decorations, Shirley Butler as usual had made our cavernous basement beautiful. The dessert table was aglow with gorgeous desserts. As we feasted on barbeque beef and turkey from the Old Home Place, there was time to visit with friends and to comfort Eddy, whose former wife June had died yesterday afternoon. With an “evening service” held immediately after the dinner, it was still early in the afternoon when we gathered our left-overs and some took plates to shut-ins. There was plenty of daylight to enjoy the snow-frosted cedar trees lining the highways back to the farm.

National Trail of Tears Conference to be in Illinois This Year

The fields surrounding the house are brown again, and only small patches of snow remain. The senior citizens day at the local Kroger’s yesterday was unusually crowded, I suppose because so many hesitated to get out over the weekend. The lure of the senior discount and very pretty weather brought us there in force. Parking was so scarce I had to make several loops before I found a place on the edge of the lot. A few parking slots were still unavailable because of the huge piles of snow from the lot being cleared on Saturday. Besides the parking problems, shopping usually is not quick because it is always fun to run into someone there I have not seen in years, and yesterday was no exception.

In the evening I drove down Interstate 57 to turn on to the Trail of Tears Auto Route (State Route 146) and just around the corner to the lane parallel to I57 that leads to the historic Camp Ground Cumberland Presbyterian Church. The lovely rural church building houses the more than century-old congregation, which still thrives when other rural congregations have died out. With its cemetery being a certified site of the National Trail of Tears Association, the congregation has been most cooperative in helping promote remembrance of the 1838-39 bitter cold winter when a number of Cherokee were buried in the field at the camping spot that preceded the establishment of the church.

Our Illinois chapter president Sandy Boaz is a member there and makes us welcome whenever we need to meet in their vicinity. With coffee smelling fine and her own home-made zucchini bread awaiting us, she welcomed us to the large comfortable (looked spotless to me) fellowship area, and she immediately apologized for some dirt still on the floor from the previous day’s use as a polling place. I always love to go there and feel the hospitality that characterizes this church.

Last night was no exception when our board for the Illinois chapter TOTA met to confer with the national president Jack Baker and our executive director Jerra Quinton to discuss and help plan the national conference and symposium which will be at Metropolis on September 20-23 this year. Jerra was up from Little Rock with her mother as a guest and Jack had flown in from Oklahoma City to meet with hotel representatives this morning to work out conference details. Also present were guests Mary McCorvie and Heather Carey, archeologists at Shawnee National Forest, who have helped so much with the cleaning the Trail located in Pope County on the Crabb-Abbott Farm. I’ve always wanted to attend the national conference and hear the exciting research being conducted by scholars and interested folk. This year I will be able to attend, and I’m sure I will be writing more about the plans as they firm up.

Returning to the farm through Marion, I debated a late-night trip to pick up the items I forgot to buy when I left my grocery list at home this morning. I decided I’d rather get home and relax than save (spend) any more money at the grocery. Gerald was still up watching the last of two ball games he helped win, so we visited awhile before retiring.

Is January Already Over?

Whoosh. How the first month has flown. It looks as we’re ending the month at Woodsong with an accumulation of seven or eight inches of snow and it is lovely. I started blogging last night and it turned midnight, and I decided to finish the blog when I got up on the first day of February.

Many churches in Kentucky were closed yesterday morning, but I don’t think too many here in Southern Illinois were other than some on rural roads. I didn’t even listen to the closings on TV because I knew our village church was gathering or we’d had a phone call. I had not been off the farm since Thursday, and neither had my sister and husband from their house down in Amarillo. They were grateful for a warm house and plenty of food, but they were getting cabin fever. Their son-in-law and grandson-in-law had cleared their driveways and they were ready to drive the few blocks to their church. They were disappointed when that service was called off. I was glad ours was not.

However, I was surprised when Gerald chose the car for our transportation, but I soon saw that even our country road was quite safe and the highways were totally clear. Of course, he had been to town and back as well as taking his lawn mower with snow blade not only down our lane but also clearing the near neighbors’ lanes. So he was aware that we were not really snowed in at all.

Two helpful men had brought their equipment and cleared our church parking lot; yet there were still occasional slick spots. That was not a problem since we were greeted by a cadre of young men who were ready to grab our arms and escort us into the building. The sure-footed, such as Gerald, did not need their help, but I appreciated it.

After we came back home and I enjoyed a quick chat with our daughter Katherine, I fixed tilapia, which I had thawed, for our lunch. I tried to fix it the best I could remember from seeing Rachel Ray do it the other day. It was good. Cleaned the kitchen while I watched a program on Book Notes, checked email, Red Room, and Facebook, and read a bit before it was time to fix us a sandwich for early supper so I could go to 6 o’clock evening service to hear a guest minister.

Darrell Chandler turned out to be an exceptionally inspiring speaker, who simply shared the story of his last decade with us. Ten years ago he had finished his seminary degree after years of taking classes while working full time. Confident he had followed the Lord’s will, atlast he felt ready to have more time for his ministry. Shortly after that he was in the pulpit and almost through his sermon. Everything went black. Quickly closing the service, he had his wife drive him to the hospital where they decided he must have appendicitis and they operated for that.

Problems continued. A six-week coma followed with an atypical near-death experience in which he briefly experienced a perfect place and peace he knew was Heaven. He woke up on his wife’s birthday and she told him of the middle-of-the-night call she had when the hospital staff thought he was dying. After continuing troubles, it was discovered that his problem had not been the appendix but rather two tiny holes in his colon allowing poison into his abdomen. It took seven more surgeries to solve the problems. He was faced with a mountain of hospital bills and unable to work. Then his wife, who had the health insurance, was laid off. He did not explain how other than through the Lord’s provision, but he rejoiced that they kept a roof over their head, one car to drive, and food on the table for the next year and a half. Finally after a nine-hour surgery with two surgeons, he was better
and returned to pastor a church.

Then bad health returned. After nine years, he had had 18 surgeries to take care of the original problem and the first misdiagnosis with it resulting problems and a final botched surgery. After an intense time with pain so great that he begged, “Let me die,” a final surgery took place that allowed him to eat foods he had not eaten in years and to be well enough to preach again.

Standing before us was a man who looked the picture of health and whose voice was strong and clear. Now he is teaching in a college and his preaching is done on weekends where he ministers to those who have serious pain in their lives—psychic or physical—and that means all of us. For Chandler has learned that all people have some sort of painful trauma or desperate problems in their lives that can better be survived once the burdens are turned over to God.

He had a simple story told in a straight forward non-emotional way, and yet our emotions were deeply touched and I knew I was not the only one with tears in my eyes. He had persuaded us with scripture and story that God loved us and was suffering with us even as we suffer with our children. It feels very good to be loved.

Driving home through the snow-laden landscape that 89-year-old Lela had praised for its beauty in morning worship, I walked into Woodsong expecting to retell the story I had heard to Gerald. But he was engrossed in a television movie about the life of Jackie Robinson, and I quickly joined him. That movie was followed by a history of racial relations in the baseball world that foreshadowed and greatly contributed to the radical change in race relations throughout the nation. It is hard for even those of us who lived trough those times to really remember how utterly silly and cruel white attitudes were in those years. The courageous clear thinkers, such as Branch Rickey, who stood against the entire culture and called it out on its wickedness was again enormously inspiring and brought tears o the eyes.

Altogether is was an inspirational day to start a new week. Now it is a new month.
Welcome, February.

I'm Doing Fine!

Oh, I thought when I went to bed Wednesday night that I'd come on here on Thursday morning if I were over the arthritis attack or whatever caused the intense lower back pain. I woke up with the pain all gone Thursday, and it has not returned. I am very grateful. But with the dentist appointment that day and other responsibilities, I failed to get back on here. (The dentist appointment was not so terrific as the back pain going away was. I am in for lots of appointments to correct decay under caps. GRRR.)

I slept late on Friday expecting to wake up to the 3-6 inches of snow predicted, but the brown grassy fields surrounding us looked just as they had the night before. The local stations were saying we'd have snow coming in by noon, so I was afraid to leave the farm and really did not need to do so. Finally towards evening snow started and the local stations said to stay home if you could. This morning we woke to what may be five or six inches covering those brown fields.

Gerald ran to town on errands and asked me to go along, but I was filling chipper and was doing long-delayed housework and getting a few loads of laundry done, so I declined. In fact, I better go check that last load of laundry drying. I got behind early in the week.

The birds on the deck provide entertainment as we eat our meals because Gerald has filled the feeder and put extra on the picnic table out there.

Just Fizzling Flurries This Evening

Very scant snow flurries were coming down as I drove to town to pick up Sam from his trombone lesson at junior high. Most snowflakes became water as soon as they hit the windshield. Occasionally one stuck as a flake. I like winter—especially from inside where I am warm. Ha.

One of my all-time favorite winter memories was driving home years ago from a night class at John A. Logan and finding myself in a heavy snowstorm. I finally reached Route 166 within few miles of our house. Visibility diminished until I really could not see what was ahead of me, and I knew the same would be true of any cars behind me. All I could see was swirling whiteness glorified by the headlights of my car.

The beauty of that snow was overwhelming, and created a vision I cherish. I knew I was in danger, but I could not be afraid because the magical loveliness kept crowding out fear. I did not want to waste a minute of enjoying that spectacular snowy wonder. Traffic is always slight on that road, but there usually are occasional cars in both directions. I was creeping trying to see ahead and stay on the road, and I hoped no hurrying traveler would ram me from either direction. Yet I just kept thinking what a beautiful way it would be to die with all that loveliness in my brain. Evidently that night I was alone on that portion of the road, and I made it quite safely to the turn off to our country road. I was grateful not only for the safe arrival, but also for the indelible vision of driving through such winter loveliness.

We are supposed to have snow again on Friday, but it sounds as if tomorrow I can make my long-delayed dental appointment that I didn’t want to schedule until after the holidays. We received our H1N1 shots this week. I’m gradually working through various check-ups on my list. Unfortunately, I may have a new one to attend to. I grew increasingly stiff on Sunday and knew pain in my lower back, and was walking poorly when I went to bed. When I went to the bathroom in the middle of the night, I could hardly walk at all. A good night’s sleep, however, seemed to put the trouble to rest. I was glad since I was scheduled to give a devotion at our church’s women meeting that night.

That morning Gerald received good news when the ophthalmologist said his eye he’d been concerned about had seemingly healed itself and was almost back to normal. The seeping that had caused a slight swelling next to the macular was gone. The feared correction that might have resulted in a blind spot in the middle of his eye would be unnecessary.

I’d tagged along to his appointment, book in hand to read while I waited, just in case he needed me to drive him home, but he didn’t need me to. It was noon, so we went through a drive-in to take lunch home, and I had the afternoon to finish working on the devotional that I had started a couple weeks before. I was glad I was walking without the pain of the day before. I assumed I too was on the road to recovery. I’ve always had great faith in the body healing itself.

Fortunately the hostess had given us maps to their rural home quite a ways from the neighborhoods I’m familiar with. I was the last one there despite the map, so I had to park last and walk up a long gravel driveway. That was no problem. I was so happy my back was better. Blocking the earlier arrivals, I had to leave first and started confidently to back my car out of the driveway. A younger friend also leaving early with her mother fortunately stopped me when she caught on I was headed in the wrong direction. Straightened out I made it back home through the unfamiliar roads and went to bed thinking the lower back problem was cured.

Yesterday morning the pain was back with a vengeance, but I stuck with my usual routine. Made the bed, did some chores, fixed lunch. After lunch, I drove to town to run by the state office to pay the state sales tax on the nine books I personally had sold during 2009 since they had gone through no one’s cash register. And I was to pick up a prescription that was supposed to have been filled. The pharmacy had not heard back on the refill though. They kindly loaned me a couple days’ supply and suggested I call my doctor’s office this morning to jog their response. Then I ran by my daughter’s for a visit.

Seeing my awkward gait and pained face when I came in and started supper, Gerald was fussing I needed to do something. But I wasn’t sure what I needed to do. First thing this morning I called the doctor’s office about the refill and asked the nurse to ask the doctor to prescribe a pain pill that I could take with warfarin. In the old days, I always took aspirin on the rare occasions I had pain. The nurse was so sweet and would have worked me in an appointment, but I begged off to see if I would not be better by Friday. I told her I wasn’t up to coming in.

During the night I decided I would just spend today in bed. And I did. I meant to get up to fix Gerald a bite of lunch, but I was sleeping and he had already fixed his own by the time I joined him. I went back to bed with alarms (two clocks) set so I wouldn’t be late picking up Sam. Gerald offered to go, but with no walking required, I felt like doing it and I was certainly rested. I would just go through the drive-in at the pharmacy for the meds. There were five cars ahead of me, so I wasn’t the only one who didn’t want to get out in the wetness of the snow.

When I picked up Sam, I told him I was going to get Gerald and me a pizza for supper and wondered if their family might like one too. I could do that before I took him home if he wanted, and he thought it was a good idea. Come to find out, he’d had a scholar bowl meet this morning early and then the after-school lesson, so I think he was ready for something to eat. Again lots of folks evidently had the same idea and the cars at the window were constant. There was a wait after going through the ordering window, but I didn’t have to walk a step as the worker carried the pizzas to the car.

Back at Woodsong, Gerald and I ate pizza downstairs in the family room as we watched the evening news. I took two prescribed pain pills. No dishes to think about. Gerald carried the left-over pizza upstairs. Later we listened to the State of the Union address, and now I am blogging.

I think the pain pills have really helped—or else I was getting better anyway—that is one of the problems if you take something. You don’t know what you might be masking. I will know when I wake up in the morning.

Some Give All They Have

Wind and rain stormed the house last night after I stayed up too late and went to bed just as it hit. I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to fall asleep with all that noise, but I did. When I woke up this morning, the rain was falling gently. Maybe it quieted like that while I was falling asleep. After the rains stopped during the day, it was warm but turned chilly this evening.

We stayed a little late after morning worship as Gerald had brought his tools to put up a high shelf that the children can’t reach in the preschool room. We can now lay out supplies for the day’s lesson, and volunteers will have a safe place for purses—even if they happen to have meds in the purse. Since it was later than usual when we arrived back at the farm, I fixed us a bowl of canned soup and a hot pocket in a matter of minutes. I had the fish thawing that Gerald’s buddy had given us, so I fixed that for an early supper and it was good.

Because of some arthritis brought on by the rainy weather, I think, I probably would not have gone to evening worship, but I wanted to be in the preschool room during that service with two-year old Lena. She and I are just getting acquainted, and I did not want to miss an opportunity to be with this extremely bright little girl. We also have a new family with an older special needs child they have adopted, and he really likes to be with the preschoolers each service. And it would be a good thing for his mother to have an hour’s time to worship without concern for him.

However, we think it is good for him to be mainstreamed and stay in the worship hour rather than playing with the preschoolers. Although we appreciate quiet, our congregation also has a strong tolerance for any noises children make. We have had special needs children before. We also have had foster children and teenagers—one teen with a two-year-old child, who evidently never had been in services before, and though they trekked in and out to the restroom or for water, we were thrilled to have them there with their foster family. When we still had them with us, I used to silently pray as they watched the stable families around them, that they would have such homes someday. A little confusion or disturbance by children as they learn to be quiet is a good thing in our opinion.

We do, however, let this new child volunteer to help once a month in the morning just as we do the other two children in his older class. Seeing him grow and develop makes me feel we made the right decision. Tonight he volunteered to help me with Lena, and I really needed him because of our policy that we must have at least two caretakers in a preschool room. Then at the last minute, Katie rushed in the building and also volunteered. I was glad to have this high school freshman, who is quite talented with little ones. Before the service ended in the sanctuary, little Hayden—visiting tonight with his grandparents—joined us.
Thanks to Katie, we had plenty of help. With my arthritis attack, I was especially grateful.

Lena’s mother warned that she had not had a nap and might be grouchy. After the first few seconds she cried when her mother left the room, Katie quickly distracted her and she was a smiley and engaged child from then until her father came to take her home. Mostly the children played—with blocks, musical instruments, papers and colors, transportation toys. But we also had time to teach this morning’s lesson about working together. (Our lessons can take anywhere from two to ten minutes for this age group. We know they learn by playing whether we attempt a lesson or not.)

We also reviewed last Sunday’s lesson on the poor widow who Jesus said gave more than the rich folks who put money in the temple offering box and made a loud clatter. The kids liked being given coins to put in the cardboard “temple offering box” with a hole in the top filled with an open-mouthed canning jar filler. Their coins made loud noises as the coins hit the cookie sheet hidden inside. I hope they remember that the poor widow, who gave less than a penny, gave more because she gave all she had.

I wonder how many folks in Haiti tonight are giving all they have to help those suffering around them.

Daniel Coyle and Jim Muir

When I ordered Coyle’s The Talent Code from Amazon, I also ordered his only novel Waking Samuel. I don’t read much fiction, but as soon as I finished The Talent Code, I read this mystery, which read easily and held my interest. I also ordered Coyle’s first book which came out in 1995--Hardball: A Season in the Projects.

Since it is out of print, I ordered from one of Amazon’s second-hand book sellers. It was slow coming and arrived yesterday, and I must confess that is why I did not blog last night. I was always interested in Cabrini-Green before it was razed, and I knew I would like this nonfiction account of some volunteers who started a Little League program there. I didn’t get a chance to finish it today, but I am eager to learn the outcome of characters that Coyle has already fastened in my heart.

Tonight I went to our first 2010 Southern Illinois Writers Guild meeting. I was planning on going, but only learned yesterday that we would have Jim Muir as our speaker. I knew then that program would be good, and it was.

Jim’s columns used to appear twice weekly in The Southern Illinoisan, and I was always eager to read them. They were courageously controversial and full of passion and emotion. The Southern lost a valuable resource when it messed up and lost Jim. However, our region benefited because Jim soon started a new magazine Southern Illinois Sports Connection. Later he bought Marion Living, and now co-founded Saluki Illustrated, which appeals to Southern Illinois University Carbondale sports fans everywhere. His active mind is already considering other possible publications. This are distributed free at multiple spots around the region. You can also subscribe to Saluki Illustrated at www.salukiillustrated.com.

Jim’s life story is fascinating. Five days after his 18th birthday, he went down into one of the local coal mines and there he worked underground for 20 years. When he read the sign on the bulletin board that the mine would be closing in 60 days, he had three small children and had to scramble to find employment. He started college at Rend Lake and worked at three part-time jobs to survive.

He saw a notice that the college paper wanted writers, and for some reason he did not seem to understand, he applied with the sponsor who asked him if he had done any writing. He admitted he hadn’t but would like to try and would quit if he couldn’t do the assigned stories. That college writing was all the formal training he ever received. Although he finished his associate degree there, he never had time for any writing classes.

The college sponsor told him one day that the Benton Evening News needed a writer and suggested he try for it. Jim laughed that he was already working there as the night janitor—one of his part-time jobs. He made $7.50 an hour and was thrilled with the $75 he received each week for five nights’ labor. When he added writer to his janitorial duties, the editor posted his assignments on the cleaning closet door. For two years everyone joked that was Jim’s office. He went on up the ranks at the Benton paper becoming an editor and then onto The Southern for several years. He is also a long-time radio announcer. He produces and hosts “Talking Sports” on Saturday morning and “Sound Off” on Wednesday—both two-hour shows on Station WQRL in Benton. He does play-by-play for the Benton Rangers basketball, football and baseball.

Even though Jim exudes energy as well as friendliness, one wonders how he does it all. I suspect the secret is he has found a career and business that he obviously loves and is having a good time. He preaches that it is never too late for a writer. He was 38 when he started college and writing for the first time in his life. He was 53 when he started his first magazine, and he admitted he knew nothing about magazines. His presentation was an inspirational way for our guild to start a new year.

A Winter Week at Woodsong

We’ve had very cold weather, but as typical for Southern Illinois, we have also had pleasant winter weather this week. (The local saying has always been: If you don’t like the weather, stick around and it will change.) Evidence of the cold temperatures were Gerald’s two young buddies fishing out on the middle of the lake where they cut holes. The second day the temp was changing and I wondered if they were safe—but they assured Gerald the ice was still plenty thick. I’ve got a mess of cleaned fish in the freezer that we will enjoy one of these days.
I have been useful. I picked up Sam from junior high and took him to the orthodontist when his braces needing fixing. Since the dentist is just across the street from the Dairy Queen, it has always been our tradition when I take him to make a stop there afterward.
I made a make-up interview appointment for Katherine with a possible substitute aide. I haven’t heard yet how that went.

Although I haven’t done much cooking this week, I nevertheless put food on the table at meal times. I experimented with bran muffins and little loafs of bran bread using Splenda. The little loafs flavored with walnut flavor and a generous handful of real walnuts were tasty.

Gerald had two appointments set up on Friday—one in the morning and one in the afternoon. So I didn’t think he would be home for lunch. Then a phone call came saying a death in someone’s family made them need to cancel the afternoon appointment and maybe he could come in on Monday. I quickly phoned him so he would not go to the other town for the second appointment, and I hurriedly fixed salmon patties for our lunch with salad and a “baked” sweet potato. (I can fix even a large one in the microwave in less than ten minutes.) As it turned out, he was able to reschedule the afternoon appointment after all by going up to West Frankfort, where he needed to take the car anyhow, so that worked out well.

I finally had our neglected piano tuned this week, and I made my delayed eye examination appointment. I intended to start setting up appointments with my dentist but wanted to wait to find out when the eye exam would be. That is the first thing I am going to do in the morning.

The mail brought me a sweet personal note from a friend in Florida who is recovered from cancer, and one day I came home to a strange package that was delivered by the UPS man. As I struggled with the cardboard box, I knew a moment of irritation thinking that some company had sent me something I had not ordered.

Then I remembered. I’d sent off a manuscript—a simple account of the way our family celebrated Christmas when I was a child--to a senior citizens’ magazine years ago, and the editor wrote they could not use it that year but if I didn’t mind their holding it, they might use it the next Christmas. It wasn’t very good in my opinion, and I had no plans for it, so I said sure they could hold it. But they did not use it the next Christmas either and returned it. I then sent it off to Reminisce. They finally wrote it might be used on their website or someplace someday, and I forgot all about it.
Right before Christmas this year, I got a nice packet with a personal letter and a representation (copy) of their monthly e-newsletter, and there was my memory “Christmas in the 1940s.” The letter said it would also be on their website when they redesigned the site in late 2009. I forgot to look until tonight, and I couldn’t find it. But my pay for all this is a tiny metal replica of a classic ’57 Chevy convertible that identifies me as a Reminisce staffer. I’ve never been paid with a toy car before, but it is kinda cute and I am kinda proud of it on the bookcase in my office.

Yesterday was spent in our home county because of the death or our sister-in-law Barbara’s 95-year-old mother, who died in a nursing home in Missouri. She was brought back to be buried by her husband in a peaceful rural cemetery. She had lived with Barbara’s younger sister Karen for many years after many years in our sister-in-law’s home. We arrived early for the graveside service and walked the grassy hill top looking down on country fields. I had dressed warmly, but the weather was pleasant unlike the bitter cold I expected.

Barbara’s sister grew up spending her summers with Barbara, and so we considered Karen one of own. After many years, it was good to see her and her husband again and meet their grown daughters, see Barbara’s brother Willie and family, and see some of our own great nieces and nephews that had we had not seen in too long. Friends, neighbors, and church members had filled long tables for a buffet feast at Barbara and Keith’s house, and most of us went there to continue our visit and reminiscing.

The one thing I worked on this week was preparation for a meeting tonight after our evening church services. Our small village church has had two to four children in our preschool department for a few years, and we were organized for that. Now we are very pleased to have new families that cause us to have eight or more children with different ages. We’ve have grown a little disorganized with this influx.

The last babies we had in that classroom are now four. To make floor space for the eight, we moved two baby beds to another room. We are ready to find some babies to fill those beds while their parents attend Bible study and/or worship. One such baby was born Friday. We have enlisted several new volunteers to teach the children during worship services, and the meeting tonight was a training session for those volunteers.

We often use a teen or older child to work with one or two adults. They are good help, and we like knowing we are providing them with training in child care. I like to think the kids and teens will be better fathers and mothers someday because of this coached introduction to child care.

I know the preschoolers have increased language and social skills because of the teaching at church. Eye-hand coordination is increased as they use scissors, crayons, glue, toys, chalk, play dough, and other materials. These activities will help prepare them for reading, and then they will not be dependent on us to tell them Bible stories. It is wonderful to see so many volunteers eager to invest in our most precious resource.

After this meeting followed by visiting with a young friend in the church yard,
I walked into Woodsong, and Gerald had the new sound system he gave us for Christmas playing “How Great Thou Art.” It was a nice ending to a winter week at Woodsong.

Haiti and Compartmentalizing

I find it difficult to write tonight. Images of misery are still in my brain. When I clean up the kitchen a bit and make the coffee pot ready for brewing the morrow’s coffee, I usually watch the news channels. Tonight’s news was almost too much to bear. How can there be that much pain and hopelessness so close to us and yet so far away.

I am used to compartmentalizing to survive. Someone said to others the other day that I was always smiling. I didn’t say anything in reply because I did not know how to explain that I live with grief. Seeing my beloved child in constant pain is an underlying condition of my present life. Yet I cannot allow myself to realize that condition—or I could not bear it. So I box it up, tie it up tightly to try and avoid its escape, and then put it aside. Then I try to think of all those other things instead of that underlying grief. I must not allow myself to think on that grief too much or I will break. And I must not break and cause more trouble. There is enough trouble without my adding to it. Yes, I am adept at compartmentalizing. And there is much to smile about as long as the string holding in the unthinkable does not break or the box doesn’t leak.

So tonight as I sit here to blog, I try to erase the images of the wounded and the dead bodies on the street. Dead babies. I try to think of what fun things I have done today to share with you. I had my hair done. I finally met for lunch at our favorite Mexican restaurant with my friend Marilyn Schild as we have wanted to do for months now. We talked for two hours and parted as always wishing we could get together more often. I did other errands, such as getting an INR and picking up bananas, and everything went smoothly.

When I returned to Woodsong, I enjoyed the mail, surfed Facebook and Red Room a bit before supper, and then visited at the table with Gerald. Then I braced myself to watch the reports on Haiti. Now I am self-scheduled to blog. We’ll check out the local addresses for donations tomorrow. I am an expert at compartmentalizing. I must turn off those Haiti images, tie them up tightly, and not let them leak out. Yet I do not want to try and be funny or paint happy pictures of my day for you—even though it was a nice day. Somehow in my bright lighted office as I think of the dark night and pain down there, somehow the compartmentalizing seems obscene. Maybe I should pray instead.