Face Tag and Dixie Barbecue

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Two Days at Dixon Springs and Tough Times in America

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

An Easter to Remember

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bouncing Between the Past and the Present

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Now the Dogwood

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

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

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

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

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

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

SHOWTIME!!!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Redbud Are Aflame in Southern Illinois

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Spring Break for the Freeport Family

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Noise and Quiet--We've Had It All

Somehow this afternoon I ended up with quiet, and I guess I needed it because I fell asleep at the computer. I will have to stop very soon now and go think about preparing dinner for the four of us here at Woodsong. I am hoping the ground beef for a meat loaf is sufficiently thawed.

We knew Tara and her three young ones were coming back through after their week with her parents and Geri Ann in Georgia as soon as Southern Forced ended their weekend tourney. But weather cancellation on Sunday allowed them to arrive last evening instead of in the middle of the night.

In fact, they were already here when we returned from the 6 p.m. service and hearing a very thought-provoking sermon by our friend Wendell Garrison. He was preaching that God wants us to spend our riches here on earth helping others rather than accumulating for ourselves. Seeing people around us and their needs includes building relationships with them—a form of riches anyone can share—which Dives failed to do with the beggar covered with sores who was at his gate. Suddenly in eternity the roles were switched, and the rich man needed Lazarus even as Lazarus had needed but not received the crumbs from Dives’ table.

We saw two cars in the driveway as we approached the house and knew that Tara had arrived and Auntie Erin was already there to enjoy an evening with “the boys.” Erin’s long team bus trip to Omaha had been cancelled on Saturday as the snowy weather was still present there. We had profited with a Saturday night visit as she used the found time with us and then on to her cousin Sarah, who has missed classes with pneumonia.

Briefly yesterday in the time before the evening service after the afternoon funeral for the mother and sister of two local friends, I had gone on Facebook. I told Gerald it sounded to me like Jeannie, who was on spring break up at Freeport, was heading this way to ride her bike.

On our way into town, Gerald phoned, and Cecelie, who had her mother’s phone in hand and had just left a message at our house, said yes they had just started from their house on their way headed south. They would be arriving in the middle of the night.

After sandwiches at the kitchen table and Gerald’s command tractor ride for Maddox and Aidan, we all settled into the living room, to sit and mostly just watch three little guys and their newest achievements. While putting away food before I got there, I did hear Erin playing the piano for Aidan and Maddux who love music and “playing” the piano themselves.

But soon the wrestling, running, and boy noise was going strong. Maddux had learned many new phrases and words, and one of the cutest was his, “I’m just kidding,” said with the most mischievous smile imaginable.

Aidan was showing off some of his moves from a video that he explained his mother would not let him watch. (Tara said they were in a Disney store and were given a free video that she did not think about putting in for Aidan to see a couple years ago.) When she realized the video was showing the kids how to make these moves including kicking, she never let Aidan see it again—but two years later, he still knows the moves, which are noisy and somewhat dangerous with two younger boys on the floor with him.

When Maddux asked, I realized our little wooden train set was missing from the bottom of the coffee table that their Gpa Gerry made me his senior year in high school. I suggested they look under the couch where Aidan had remembered some visits back was where I had stored Candy Land and other many-pieced games. Sure enough, the train set minus the engine was there where someone had parked it. (I will have to be on the lookout for the engine in the downstairs toys.)

Payton delighted us with his new-found walking ability. He still crawls faster than he can walk, so when he races after his brothers, that is his mode of choice. He loved the beautiful little picture of Mary and baby Jesus that Erin brought me from Italy last summer. Fortunately, it is metallic and not breakable, but I had to put up a couple of other things that were.

He is totally his parents’ child right now, and he really does not want to be held by anyone but Tara and Bryan, but as long as he is in their arms, he smiles and coos and flirts with all of us showing how much he likes us as long as we don’t try to hold him.

There was some horse riding when Maddux asked almost five-year-old Aidan for a ride, which Aidan patiently provided and seemed to enjoy as much at three-year-old Maddux. The noise continued. Most of their shared games involve a great deal of noise, laughter, and sometimes crying.

One by one, Tara took the boys down and put them to bed. Finally Erin had to go to take care of Sadie and get to bed herself so she could go to work this morning. My intention was to read until Jeannie and Cecelie arrived, but I fell asleep with my book in hand. At l: 30, I woke up and decided to put a welcome note on the front porch for them and head to the bed to sleep. When I came back in the house, I saw their lights coming down our lane, so I waited up a few minutes more before they fell thankfully into their waiting bed.

The morning was spent at the breakfast table as people gradually woke up. Gerald was busy giving tractor rides—moving dirt and filling up a sunken in area over the new water line from the lake to Scott’s plots across from our driveway. The lovely sounds of Cecelie's violin came up from downstairs where she was playing for Aidan.

Finally Payton was cranky and needing his morning nap as well as worrying his mother that he might be getting sick if the last antibiotic had not completed its purpose. So she loaded the boys up to head north and reach home to give scheduled softball lessons tonight.

Gerald and Cecelie took off for Cape to meet his brother for lunch and get our car serviced there. After a sandwich with me, Jeannie took off to explore how bike-ready the trail here was down at Vienna with hopes it was not as muddy as the unusable one she left behind near Freeport. I have had time to check hotmail and Facebook, and take a nap at the computer. Now I must go see if that ground beef finished thawing in the fridge.

P.S. Gerald and I spent much time at his computer this weekend watching Georgia play three games and sweep the University of Florida. Go Dawgs!

"Just hang around,,,"

Probably many places use the same motto Southern Illinoisans often do: “If you don’t like the weather, just hang around and it will change.” It has likely been said here many times the last two days.

Wednesday afternoon Gerald and I drove over to Carbondale under a bright blue sky decorated with fluffy mountains of white clouds so beautiful that I could hardly take my eyes away.

At the Southern Illinois University softball stadium, I pulled out the sunscreen and slathered my sun-warmed arms and was grateful for my straw hat. I had to pull the hat far down on my head so it would not blow off and occasionally even then had to grab it, but that breeze felt good in the heat. We were disappointed that SIUC lost to University of Illinois 5-2, but enjoyed seeing Chelsea Held make her first homerun of the season. Gerald has been cheering her on since her Southern Force days.

We heard it was to be cold the next morning, and it was. Gerald worked outside all day yesterday with heavy winter coat and hat. I stubbornly did not put on a sweater when I worked in the garage or made a brief errand outside, and I chose a jacket last night to keep from having to put on a winter coat for our Southern Illinois Writers Guild meeting.

Our speaker was held up at another meeting, so after our business meeting was finished, there was time for some group sharing and then to visit awhile. Don Barnett of DuQuoin was there for the first time with his debut novel They Shall Take Up Serpents. Working full time, he took four years to complete the novel based on his award-winning play written while obtaining his masters in playwriting at SIUC. From his comments,I felt he must have have done considerable research.

Barnett said his novel takes place in Harlan County, KY, where his family had roots, and the book tells the fictional story of a snake-handling preacher there and of the courtroom drama after a man died from a snake bite. Don was wearing a black cap and T shirt with “Bloody Harlan” in large scary red letters given to him when he visited for a signing in a book store there. His hotel also let him set up to sell his books in the lobby.

Don delights in hearing stories. I am sure he listened well in Harlan County and heard many local tales while gathering material for the second novel he is already working on about the Hinsley family. He discovered while writing the book that his great grandmother, who is terrified of snakes, actually participated in a snake-handling service in that county. Now I have one more book waiting on the counter upstairs making me wish I had nothing to do but to read books.

Our son-in-law Brian had come down yesterday to farm. After I got home from Writers Guild, I was still at the kitchen table reading Springhouse magazine that had come in yesterday’s mail when he came in from the field. So at 11 p.m., I heated up the left-over Mexican chicken pie that I’d fixed for Gerald and my lunch.

We woke up this morning to a cold drizzle mixed with bits of snow, so no one was too eager to go outside. But I had to leave at noon and head back to Carbondale for an echocardiogram and annual visit with cardiologist, who said I was doing just great. (I take one little pill a day for a fast heart beat and really have no problem.)

I had loaded the car trunk this morning to relieve the garage of our large accumulation of recyclables. Carbondale is the only place I know that takes glass, and I was glad to get rid of it and all the newspapers, plastic, cans, catalogs, and phone books.

I still had some time, so I decided I should stop at the mall. Today I knew I had to wear a coat, but I should have left it in the car when I went inside. After a mocha and a breather at the coffee shop, I went on to the nearby department store and I actually found a larger crock pot I wanted on sale in the kitchen department. Of course, it was in a huge awkward box and I started carrying it in hopes there might be a place to actually purchase it close by although there was no clerk to ask. The coat had made me hot and the box instantly seemed much too bulky and heavy to search for register. I put it down, took off my coat, and headed to the car to join the 5 p.m. traffic to Marion and then to the farm.

Gerald was already in his office following the Georgia softball team playing the University of Florida at Gainesville on Game Tracker. I quickly loaded sandwich fixings, baked chips, and fruit and delivered our “picnic” in a basket to join him for supper as we cheered Georgia to a 10-7 victory in the 7th inning. Brianna Hesson’s homerun was the thriller today.

SIUC in the meantime had their softball game tomorrow against Creighton cancelled because of the snow in Omaha. They will play a double header on Sunday if the weather allows. Bet folks up there are hoping, “Just hang around and the weather will change.”

Busy Happy Times

It felt good to go to bed last night and know I could sleep as long as I wanted this morning with no major responsibilities nor scheduled fun awaiting me. The last two days have been full, busy, and fun. I needed a breather,

Gerald and Sam arrived from Tuscaloosa just before midnight Sunday, and I was already asleep, The plan had been to get a motel room on the way home if Gerald was tired, but he claimed he wasn’t in his l0 p.m. phone call home and kept driving. Sam tumbled into the bed here that he’d slept in before they left, but Gerald went to check his computer. I did wake up until Gerald came to bed and we had brief conversation about the tourney and trip home.

Sam slept late the next morning, but as usual Gerald was up before me. He pulled out the built-in extension on our kitchen table for me since I was entertaining a women’s group from church for our monthly meeting that night. I found a tablecloth to fit the extended size, laid out serving dishes and did other small tasks. I made a grocery list, which, of course, I forgot. (But at least making a list usually helps me forget less.)

Sam woke up and I drove him to his house in town. He helped me pick daffodils along the road in my favorite spot so I’d have some fresh flowers for the evening. (Our late friend Zella used to bring me flowers from her garden, but now I have to supply my own.) After I dropped Sam off, I did the grocery store run and bought prepared chicken for Gerald’s and my lunch. Finally, I stopped by Larry’s bakery for some cookies and hurried back to Woodsong for a late lunch with Gerald.

Sunday evening I’d made a couple of angel food cakes in honor of Zella for whom I used to include angel food in the menu. I’d learned years ago with Dad Glasco that angel food is kind to diabetics. I’d bought vanilla ice cream to go with the angel food cake and cookies, thinking I’d serve it as I did other flavors in the long ago past when I put scoops of colorful ice cream or sherbets in a large bowl and let people help themselves. (It did not work as well this time as the scoops melted together slightly—but it was easier to serve oneself than any other way I know.)

After lunch, I arranged the cookies and a cheese tray and lunch meat tray, made punch, fixed the coffee pots—decaf and the real kind—and arranged the daffodils. (I forgot to put the cheese platter on the buffet until almost everyone was seated and the guests said to forget it, so I did. Gerald and I just enjoyed the cheese today for lunch sandwiches.)

Many many years ago, Mary Ellen had given me a lovely coffee cup decorated with spring flowers and with matching paper party napkins. Saving them for the perfect occasion, I somehow had never used them and decided March 21 was a good day to unwrap the napkins for a spring theme. So daffodils went into the spring-themed cup and also into a plastic cup I inserted into the cup’s pretty gift box and I had flowers for the buffet,

My mother had a small unique blue china flower holder with a little white spring figure which sat on top. The vase part below had holes punched for flowers, and Mother used this with daffodils for her club meetings. Sometime after I left home, the little sprite on top had been broken and she had carefully glued it all back together. So with memories of my mother, I took the little vase from Grandma Sidney Martin’s trinket case and placed daffodils in those holes for the front hall. I still had a few flowers left for a bud vase in the living room.

The furniture there only seats ten, so I also got out a few folding chairs in case they were needed, and I was glad I did since there were 14 of us. Gerald had already been given a microwave meal for the downstairs microwave to hold him until after the meeting. I changed my blouse, renewed my makeup, and had some resting time before the guests began arriving.

After singing, a prayer time for dear ones needing special prayers, and hearing a devotional from Deanna Odom, we had a good time as usual making spring plans for an Easter egg hunt for the children, deciding a date for the fishing tournament coming up, and choosing a theme for the annual women’s banquet in May. Afterwards we moved into the kitchen-dining room area for refreshments and lots of visiting and laughing at each other’s stories around the tables. (I learned, for example, who accidentally started the recent grass fire in the village of Crab Orchard. It was not funny at the time, but some of the stories that came out of it were.)

All too soon, it was time to part as women had children at home to get to bed for school, and we left with the usual instructions to watch out for the deer. Gerald came up and we visited awhile since we were still talking about his weekend trip to Alabama, and I put away the perishables, after Gerald indulged. Only one cake was half gone, and I wrapped the other for the freezer, and told him the half left over could be his birthday cake the next day.

Yesterday I got up early for me, so I could go with Gerald to meet his brothers at Cracker Barrel for the obligatory birthday breakfast. Ginger and our nephew Tim rounded out the party. The waitresses there have fed these Glasco brothers for so many years that they are very kind and know just what extras to bring to the table. Ginger and Garry are so sweet to watch as he takes such good care of her.

We certainly saw a spark of the pre-stroke Ginger when Keith repeated someone’s remark about his daughter whose husband had died. He said she was finally able to order what she wanted at a restaurant now. (And it was pleasant to also hear that a new fiancé is treating this young woman like gold.) Ginger was so upset to hear of this young woman’s mistreatment that she expressed in no uncertain terms her indignation and that she would not have tolerated that. Garry agreed she would not have. We all loved seeing the real Ginger assert herself, but Keith soothed quickly so she would not have to remain upset. Ginger loves to shop at gift stores and buy pretties, which will have to be stored by her aide since like most of us our age, she has more than her home can accommodate. So she purchased her accessory, and Garry was happy for her shopping happiness. Tim had to leave earlier to go to work, but the rest of us sat and visited until probably 9:30.

Gerald said he had to go home and do some work in his shop, but he would really like to visit his cousins in the Water Valley neighborhood in Union County. He worked until 1 before he came in for lunch, and declared he did not want to work any more on his birthday, so we took off on country roads with Bradford pear trees blooming in people’s yards and the roadside redwoods just beginning to turn lightly pinkish-purple with promise of full bloom soon.

In the meantime, Katherine had called while he was in his shop and said she had an aide bake him a birthday cake and they could bring it out late in the afternoon, I wasn’t sure how that would work with Gerald’s visits to cousins, so said we’d see how the afternoon went. Gerald’s cousins as well as several of their children’s families all live nearby each other on all the sides of a crossroads. I think I remember those country roads are called Rocky Comfort Road and Buffalo Gap—which gives you an idea of the hills and valleys and the lovely rustic scenery in that area.

We had hoped to visit all three cousins, but we ended up with only time for two out of the three. Both Paulie and Roy are a few years older than Gerald and have had major health problems.

We visited Paulie and Stella first, and we were deep in conversation and reminiscences when an adorable curly headed three-year-old ran into the room with his blanket and plopped between Stella and me on the couch to continue his nap. We had seen all the outside play equipment and toys in the yard as we came in, bur did not realize Stella was caring for little Sandy that afternoon. He slept soundly between us despite of all Gerald and Pauly’s laughter and a couple of noisy phone calls. (One was from his three-year-old cousin just up the road wanting to come down and play if Sandy was up from his nap.) We were glad he woke briefly before we left, so we could see this great grandson’s beautiful eyes and smiling face.

We went back to our car and drove up the brief distance to Roy and Roberta’s house, where a huge German shepherd stood in the living room window and heralded our arrival on their front porch with ferocious barking. Roy came smiling to the door and let the big dog out to lick our hands and give us welcome when Roy told her we were okay. The dog was in and out during the visit and Roberta fed him candy and he made us feel very important with his genial attention.


We were able to hear the story of this dog’s adoption after they saw him advertised on television from a humane society in Cape—one that had told them on the telephone that the first person to come for the dog could have her. They hurried to Cape and filled out the necessary papers and were then told they could not have the dog. They went home thoroughly confused and disheartened. The next day, they phoned again to see if the dog was still there and could they please have her.

Again they were told all they had to do was come for her. Roy told the phone person that they had driven 70 miles round trip the day before and would do so again, but he expected to be given the dog if they drove over to Missouri to obtain her. I do not know if the phone person and the other woman were not in communication or what, but they drove there only to be refused the dog again. A young woman spoke up for them, however, and Roy insisted he’d been promised the dog, so this time they did get to take her home. They both told us what an extraordinary dog she was and how good she was, and I believed them. But as we continued hearing stories of all the dogs Roy has had in his long life, we found out they were all good and extraordinary dogs. We did not doubt that after the pleasant visit with this one in their lovely comfortable but spotless living room. Once again as we walked outside, we enjoyed the well-kept place with its enormous country lawn that Roy and Roberta work together keeping mowed perfectly despite their serious health limitations. (A great nephew helps when needed with all the necessary upkeep,)

We decided we did not have time for a visit with the third cousin, whom we had visited not that long ago and who did not have the current health problems of the other two. We connected with Katherine by phone and she suggested we simply stop at their house for supper and they would order pizzas to augment the birthday cake . That is what we did, and the cake was delicious. They wanted us to take it with us, but we thought it best to leave it behind out of temptation’s way and where Sam can eat it with no danger with his fast teenage growth, (He seems two inches higher every time I see him.) So after a nice visit with the Cedars, we came home where more phone calls and emails awaited wishing Gerald a happy 81st birthday.

Cecelie's Birthday

Our youngest grandchild Cecelie Elise is 12 today, which in their family is when daughters can get their ears pierced. So her mother has Cecelie and five little girls out shopping at the mall with the ear piercing project as one of their aims. I really do not know how she can possibly be 12 since it seems to me only yesterday we went to Freeport to see her come home from the hospital. I frequently manage to send birthday cards late, and once again I did it. Well, I thought at least it would be post marked on her birthday when I addressed her card and wrote her birthday check. But as usual when I want to mail something, the post person had come on time and today’s mail had already been delivered to our mailbox. The card is waiting in the truck, and I am going to try to get it to town to put it in today’s mail.

Why am I going in the truck? Well, as I had anticipated, the draw of the softball tourney at Alabama was too much for Gerry’s family to skip. Gerald and gramdson Sam left Woodsong yesterday morning in the car to save gas. They arrived for the game in plenty of time as did Bryan and Tara (our oldest grandchild) and their three little guys who had arrived at Woodsong at 2:30 a.m. and slept till everyone woke up.

After breakfast and Gerald’s return from an early morning trip to town for cash, Maddux (who had been begging for a tractor ride) and Aidan and even Payton had their outings on wheels with Gpa Gerald. Bryan took Payton on a ride down the road in a little wagon, and Sam, who had spent the night, was also outside entertaining these three little ones letting them run off steam before they had to get back in their car for the next long jaunt to Alabama,. Only the anticipation of seeing Gpa Gerry and Gma Vickie and Aunt G made that prospect palatable to Aidan. Although Bryan has to return to work, Tara and the three boys are staying in Watkinsville with Gerry and Vickie next week.

Tara and I too were outside enjoying the beautiful warm weather and watching the boys run and play, kicking and throwing a ball, and riding anything with wheels that they could get an adult to ride them on. Interesting how balls and wheels delight boys. All too soon, everyone had to load up for Alabama. I waved them all off and came into a quiet house.

Ignoring the breakfast dishes, I did some reading and then continued working on some Martin family history that I am focusing on now. Oddly, I have re-connected with a California grandmother who is doing research on the Martins for her grandson Codi. (She is not a Martin, but her daughter married a Martin descendant. I find that very impressive that she is willing to research someone else’s family line for her young grandson.)

I say re-connected because she had written me an email several years ago about this branch of the family. (My great Uncle Jim’s son moved to California in the 1940s and local Martins had lost touch with him.) I even found those two emails from her in an email account I rarely use, and she explained clearly how the descendancy went. What is so embarrassing is that I had wanted this information and then totally forgot I had it in those long ago emails. Sometimes I wonder about my mind.

Nevertheless, the reconnection was good and I have been busily corresponding by email this week with her. She has sent me more information, and I have sent her more family and friend connections and stories. This correspondence will serve me well when I continue the work I started many years about my great grandfather William Felix Grundy Martin of Sleepy Hollow in rural Goreville.

I started asking questions about William Felix’s life decades ago and have written several different attempts with updates as the years progressed. I just completed and mailed a short version to the Johnson County Historical and Genealogical Society, which is asking for family histories for a 2012 book they plan to publish.

After completing that and then having this stimulating email correspondence with Codi’s grandmother, I am inspired to try my best to finish this long essay and hope to get it published in Saga, a regional genealogical journal. Then when I leave the planet, other descendants will have access to the information. Certainly I have much more information now than I did when I put a short bio on the back of a photo of him decades ago or even when I first wrote about him with more length in 1995.

I cannot seem to do anything on a scheduled basis anymore, so once again I am late with what is supposed to be mid-week blogging. And since I need to mail this belated birthday card to Cecelie, I am going to run into town to the post office where mail goes out at 6 p.m. I think I will be tempted to go by Katherine’s house and watch the second game between #2 Alabama and #1 Georgia tonight with her on ESPNU at 7 CT. We lost 2-1 last night, so we are hoping the Georgia will be more ready for Alabama’s All American pitcher tonight. I watched on Game Tracker last night here at Woodsong, but I think I will want someone to cheer with me for the Dawgs tonight.

What a Difference

What a difference a week makes. Last Saturday we were freezing at the Southern Illinois University Carbondale softball tourney. This week we were burning up. Sweaters came off, and the occasional person in shorts did not look out-of-place. Outside the stadium and beyond the fence on the green slope there, many were sitting comfortably on the grass to watch the game.

Last week I forgot to take a blanket, and although I knew it was warmer yesterday, I had not been outside when we left before noon for the 1 p.m. game against DePaul. So I stuck in a blanket just in case we stayed for the late afternoon game against University of Illinois at Chicago and it grew chilly. We didn’t stay for the second game even though they announced it would be in 30 minutes instead of at 4 p.m. Even if we had stayed and the game had been at 4 as scheduled, we would not have needed that blanket in the backseat of the car. But I would have been sunburned because yesterday I forgot the sunscreen and my sunglasses. I will surely get organized before the end of the softball season.

University of Georgia had four at-home softball games in a row starting with a pick-up game against Penn State on Thursday and then three days with a game against 21st-ranked Louisiana State University.

Four wins later, the Georgia Bulldogs are now heading to South Carolina for a double header on Wednesday. This weekend they will be in Tuscaloosa playing against #2 Alabama. Saturday night’s game at 7 CT will be broadcast on ESPN. Nevertheless, there are a lot of Illinois folk right now who are fighting the impulse to drive to Alabama for what should be some pretty spectacular softball. Alabama has a 24-1 record right now and Georgia has a 21-1 record.

Last summer when the Union County Historical Society entertained the Illinois Chapter of the Trail of Tears Association after its meeting in the nearby Catholic church, I talked to president Pat Brumleve asking about the possibility of donating my collection of childhood scrapbooks to the archives the museum is creating. The society newsletter is always asking for old documents, photographs, and paper ephemera. Pat said to bring them down. I figure getting rid of them now will save my children that problem later and perhaps save the scrapbooks from being burned. The museum has just reopened for the 2011 season and is staffed by volunteers on Saturdays and Sundays from 1-5. I had stuck in the two boxes of scrapbooks just in case there was time to drive on down to Cobden between games yesterday.

I asked Gerald if he had time to drive down, and he agreed to go. A new Civil War display had opened, and I was interested in seeing it as well as getting the scrapbooks out of the garage before mice got into them. We were fortunate to have Judy and Will Travelstead as our tour guides yesterday since they are so knowledgeable about local history as well as knowing every inch of this Old DeBois building that they were instrumental in saving.

Without the Travelsteads’ and others’ volunteerism, that building might very well have been torn down by now and a community treasure never established. Rather than have bake sales or other such fund raisers, the museum operates a beautiful gift store on the newly refinished north side. People donate lovely old collectibles of all kinds and they are sold at inexpensive prices, but money comes in to help finance the building and its activities. I could not resist five hand-crafted Easter eggs, some sprays of wine-colored glass berries that just match our living room couch. And it is almost impossible for me to go by collections of second-hand books and leave empty handed, so I brought out two of those also.

On our way down to Cobden, Gerald had phoned our friends Bill and Mickey Tweedy to say we were coming to town and to consider getting together to go out to eat. Bill, an outstanding horticulturalist, was using the beautiful day to start garden work, but he said come on over after we did our museum visit. We always love driving the rural roads leading to their lovely retirement home atop one of the scenic hills on Bill’s boyhood fields. His brother Jim and wife Mary also live nearby on another part of their boyhood farm.

We became so comfortable visiting in the Tweedys’ living room enjoying their new recliner couches that Mickey suggested we just bring in something to eat rather than having to go out and then maybe find ourselves in a place too noisy to keep visiting. After some discussion of possibilities, we sent the two men to town to bring home a pizza.

Mickey also served us some bean salad she had in the fridge, and at the end of the meal asked if we liked canned peaches. I frequently buy cans of peaches, so I said yes. But her home-canned Cobden peaches from the peach capitol of our state were nothing like the ones I pour out of a tin can. They were cold and luscious. With a plate of miniature cheesecakes from their freezer sitting there in the middle of the table tempting us along with the peaches, we sat long at the table. We visited for hours without the annoyance of conscientious wait folk interrupting to ask us if everything was all right.

We came back to Woodsong much later than we had planned and woke up to many unfinished household tasks this morning. We also woke up refreshed by the memories of the good time the night before.

Yes, our pecking bird visited us both yesterday morning and this morning, Gerald said. Although I was up by 7:30 both days, I did not hear our avian friend because he or she had already quit pecking. I was impressed that this bird knew we were now on Daylight Savings Time and made the adjustment.

Banging the Head Against a Glass Wall

No, I am not talking about the glass ceiling for women executives although I know that is a problem for many women. I am talking about a small bird that is driving me nuts. (Actually it is medium size—neither small nor large for a bird.) Starting last Sunday morning, we had a bird fly to our top windows in the living room where a sill exists that separates the bottom windows from the top four (two large in the middle and two small on the sides). Here the living room makes a slight triangle looking out to our lake.

For the more than two hours after we woke up Sunday until we left the house, this bird was knocking on one or the other of the two larger windows. He or she might fly away for a few minutes, but then he or she would return to sit on the sill and bang again many times before taking a break. It was very upsetting and puzzling as to why any bird would do such a thing. I can’t see much more than its head peeking over the sill and knocking away, and I do not know what kind of bird this is. We have had birds walk on that window sill before looking in on us with curiosity, and I always liked that and might often have a one-sided conversation with the bird. We have beautiful woodpeckers at our feeders often, but we have never before had a glass pecker.

Was the bird hungry? Obviously the bird was not getting anything to eat by banging its bill against glass. Besides, the bird feeder on the deck below offered a good breakfast without any need for knocking. Gerald suggested maybe the bird was looking for a nesting place—but nothing that high up in our living room could possibly look like anything offering shelter for a nest.

I was very sympathetic to the bird, and I was afraid it would eventually knock itself out. The first thing I did when we came from church was to check the deck. No bird. As Gerald pointed out, the ones in the past (only a couple in last l0 years) who fell dead were flying and ran into the glass door or window accidentally at high speed. This bird was quite consciously and deliberately choosing to return again and again and knock on the window with its beak. Of course, we had to comment on the definition of insanity—doing the same thing over and over and being surprised with the same result. I was just glad the knocking was over and the bird did not show up during our lunch.

But the knocking is not over. (I call its noise “knocking” because it is loud and can be heard two rooms off in the kitchen. Knock. Knock. Knock.) Every day this week for a couple of hours in the morning this persistent creature starts our day and its day with this knocking for a couple of hours. Since I am often a late riser, I only hear the last efforts while Gerald hears the early knocking. It was a day or two before I even realized what was happening.
That day Gerald had planned to be away, and I was up early. I thought I would take advantage of no lunch to prepare and sit in our living room and try to catch up on the huge collection of magazines I wanted to read and pass on to a magazine-loving friend. Just sitting in the living room relaxing is a treat I don’t often indulge in—. I was looking forward to this. Then our too-friendly bird flew back just as I sat down. With the constant knocking, I can’t claim too much relaxation happened. Now on the sixth day, I am no longer sympathetic to this bird. I want to yell at it and ask it what kind of a bird brain it is.

I am wondering how long the bird is going to keep knocking. Does it want inside? Does it like the noise it creates? Does it have some kind of pain that the rhythmic pecking distracts from? Does it think it might win a mate by being a drummer? Or is it an insane bird that does not have a mental health center to help it?

Chilly Weekend in Southern Illinois

Two pairs of stockings. Two pair of slacks. Two tops covered with corduroy jacket. Warm snuggly gloves, Warm hat down over my ears and to the top of my glasses. And a winter coat over it all. That’s how I dressed yesterday to go to Southern Illinois University Carbondale’s first home softball game.

We awoke to a very rainy Saturday and learned Erin and others were hard at work with the squeegee trying to get the field ready for their home tournament. Although I was ready to jump in the car and make it to the stadium if they played at 12 as originally scheduled, Gerald and I did not think that was going to happen as the light rain kept coming off and on. So I fixed our lunch and learned the noon game was cancelled, two teams were playing at 2, and SIUC would be playing the Kentucky Wildcats at 4.

Our car showed the temperature as 40 degrees when we parked it, and I felt smug that I knew how to dress for cold weather as we walked to the stadium. Inside we were able to find plastic seats with backs as opposed to the aluminum benches that are tortuous on cold days. Obviously not too many people were willing to brave this chill after it finally quit raining. Immediately I realized I had forgotten the most important thing for cold weather softball: bring a blanket to cover up with. I thought longingly of all the wasted blankets at home, but I also noticed others with less warm gear than us. I decided not to whine. The Kentucky team had a young but fine pitcher, and after six straight wins away from home, our Salukis lost 9-6.

It was still 40 degrees when we got back to the car. When Erin met us afterwards at Fazoli’s for supper, we knew we had made the right choice. The bread sticks came to us almost too hot to hold, but they sure felt good to winter-cold hands,

Georgia’s tournament games were cancelled yesterday, and we figured Gerry was wishing he could have gone with Vickie, Geri Ann, and Gma Shirley to his third grandson’s first birthday party. We would have liked to have been there for that also, but it was just too much of a trip and we had other obligations.

Usually I only assist my young friend Kim Barger with the preschoolers in our Sunday School class, but she was away taking her mother on a long dreamed of cruise. Despite her mother’s health problems, Kim had permission from her doctor after explaining a cruise was on her mother’s bucket list. With all three of her daughters, her brother and wife, and some grandkids on the cruise, I am feeling confident that Joan will come home very happy even if exhausted from the trip. I am eager to hear about it.

That left me and Deana Starnes responsible for our preschoolers. Since we were studying Genesis 1 about God making the light and the dark, our activities focused on that. We had some cards with pictures on both sides to illustrate night and day and with punched holes for the kids to lace through with yarn. I am not sure this group had ever done that before, and they enjoyed it and immediately decided to take the cards home for their mothers.

Last week, they had been using some toy plastic saws during their free play, and I did not like their trying to saw on the little red rocker because I was pretty sure it was going to be scratched. Kim brought some short pieces of lumber for children to hammer nails into when we talked once about building a couple of years ago. But those were no longer available. So Gerald made us short blocks to saw on out of some of the scraps of lumber in his shop. The kids appreciated that.

SIUC was playing today at 1 and 4; and although Gerald was tempted to go back over to see them play, today the temperature was 30 degrees, so he chose to stay home and listen to Georgia’s game. They won, and SIUC split their games today.

I went in to see Katherine, and she and I watched Robert Duvall in the 1983 movie Tender Mercies, which won him an Academy Award for Best Actor. I so rarely watch movies that I knew nothing about the movie. We both liked the understated way the film showed time lapses with no attempt to bridge the scenes together letting us do that in our own minds. I loved the set with a realistic house so like many homes I have seen. Katherine commented that the brown and white afghan on the living room couch was just like one in their closet passed down from David’s grandmother

Gerald and I met up this evening to hear his friend Wendell Garrison’s sermon. Katherine was not quite up to getting ready in time to go, but she wanted to free up David to go and pick up Sam who would be there after his youth meeting. I wanted to stay with her, but she wanted me to go be with Gerald. She also wanted some alone time and this was her opportunity. During the afternoon, she had enjoyed the yummy brownies that Mary had sent home with David for her this morning. Mary says she loves to cook, and sending homemade food is her ministry. I was able to tell her how much Katherine enjoyed them as I bet the whole family did after evening church. We’ve made plans to go to lunch with Wendell and Mary soon and are looking forward to the opportunity to visit a little longer.

Gerald suggested going for a sandwich before driving to the farm; and since I had nothing at home to feed him except what I had fed us at lunch, that seemed a good idea.

After coming home tonight, I discovered that Tender Mercies was directed by Australian Bruce Beresford who did Driving Miss Daisy and another of my all-time favorites Breaker Morant. Somehow finding that out gave me a pleasant ending to the day.

Pot Roasts, Laundry, and the First Daffodils

Returning from taking in a roast and veggies to Katherine’s family, I got a phone call from Gerald who had been trying to reach me on my cell phone. He said our granddaughter Erin was coming over and wanted to take us out to supper, but he told her just to stop by and bring a pizza out to the farm as he figured I’d be tired just getting back from town.

“Oh, but I’ve got a roast with potatoes and carrots waiting for us in the oven,” I exclaimed. (I’d just made two pot roasts at once in the oven, had transferred one to the crock pot to plug in at the Cedar house so they could eat whenever it was convenient for them, and the other was waiting in the oven for our supper.) So Gerald said he’d call Erin to skip bringing out the pizza. The prospect of Erin’s supper visit brightened my drive home.

Gerald was long gone when I woke up this morning as he headed down to our home territory in Union County to celebrate his brother Garry’s birthday with breakfast at Ginger’s favorite restaurant at Jonesboro. (Garry is conscientious to take her out to breakfast since this is her best meal to consume before she tires later in the day.) Their brother Keith was meeting them there too, of course.
I did not really expect Gerald back for lunch as I knew he and Garry would have a lot of visiting to do. So I planned the roast for supper although usually we eat our main meal at noon and just have soup and a sandwich or something simple in the evening. I figured if he came back by lunch time, we’d have our sandwich at noon. As it turned out, he pulled into our garage this afternoon just as I was preparing to leave for town to go get Sam from his trombone lesson, so we had had very little communication today. It was lovely to have a leisurely supper with him and Erin to catch up on the day’s events.

I encourage our grandkids to bring their laundry when they visit since we are fortunate enough to have a washer/drier on both floors and they can finish quickly. This happened accidentally. When we built this house with a full walkout basement and its two bedrooms there, the plans were for a laundry downstairs on one end of my office, which backs up to the downstairs bathroom and the plumbing there. I figured if we sold the house at sometime in the future, another person might want to use the room for a sewing or craft room and the laundry would be convenient for that person too.

Our building contractor had insisted I needed a laundry shoot in the bottom of the upstairs bathroom vanity directly over my office, so I would not have to carry dirty clothes down. This made sense and I figured he was right, so I told him to go ahead.

I was leery of this because of very young grandkids. When we moved in, I proceeded to cover it up with a stainless steel tray I bought at Salvation Army for this purpose and put supplies there to conceal the tray. My fear came from Mary Ellen’s story of driving in Grinnell one day and hearing the story of the firemen at her friend’s house where the daughter and a visiting girl friend decided to travel down their laundry shoot—and she got stuck inside. I have used the shoot a few times and am glad it is there I’m also glad it is covered up so that now ten years later I don’t have to worry about great grandkids taking an adventure that would drop them down on the concrete floor that the carpet would not do much to soften.

As it turned out, the people buying our farm house had their own much newer washer/drier and did not want ours left behind. So we moved the machines over the half mile to this house and hooked them up in the garage on the upstairs ground level floor. With all going on with settling into a new house, the new downstairs washer and drier were not hooked up for several months. By then, I realized how convenient having the washer/drier in the garage right by the kitchen was.

After we did get the new washer/drier operating, I did not want to change my habits although I was very grateful for the convenience of doing sheets and towels there from the bath and two downstairs bedrooms there. During the two summers we had family living with us in the downstairs and during the many vacation and holiday visits, having two sets of laundry equipment has been a boon for all of us although I would not have thought to plan for that convenience.

So tonight after supper, Erin was running up and down the stairs keeping the machines running and resting on the couch reading a book between loads. Gerald and I both enjoyed her presence, and we both fell asleep while we were reading, which is pretty typical of our evenings. We woke before she loaded her car down with clean laundry telling her we’d see her at the Saluki softball games on Saturday.

Yesterday when I drove to town for a friend's funeral, I imagined that instead of the dull roadside soon I’d be seeing the large patch of daffodils that I enjoy each spring. Today I did not have to imagine. The first ones were up waving their yellow heads at me as I passed. They will be joined by a host of others and that area between the road and the woods will be a brilliant yellow in another week or so.

I also noticed yesterday that Katherine’s crocus by the front lamp pole were peeking yellow heads up from their winter’s sleep. She sent me out with a tiny vase today, and with Sam’s help I picked the first three to brighten their family room with a promise of more blooms to come from the many flowers Katherine planted when she was still able to garden.

It is too early for winter to be over, but these first glimpses of the coming spring are refreshing our spirits and lightening our moods.