What a Difference...

We’ve all heard what a difference a day makes, but the reality is that even an instant or an inch can change peoples’ lives forever. Just a mile and a half south of us, the Wednesday morning tornado destroyed a barn, a two-story house (empty I think), and severely damaged the large vacated arena west of them. I was so grateful that our son-in-law had not rented a place to store his combine in that building.

When the 1982 tornado hit Marion, I learned how locations seemed to be chosen weirdly and randomly to be destroyed while others close by survived. Our neighboring citizens in Ridgeway and Harrisburg have had that same terribly painful lesson forced on them. So have many others in our region and across the South. Six people in Harrisburg were killed rather than the l0 that was reported during the confusion, but across the nation, at least 26 have lost their lives.

So far our family has always been incredibly fortunate during natural disasters. In 1982 after Mary Ellen came running downstairs from her bedroom to tell us the radio had announced a tornado had hit Marion and was heading down Route 13 in our direction, we frantically phoned Gerry and Vickie and baby Tara to leave the mobile home they were renting a couple roads away from Route 13 and come to our house. We had no basement, so I am not sure what we would have done if the tornado had shifted a few miles south. We stood in the yard and watched the tornado lift after it destroyed the McDonald house on Route 166. It then headed over rather than through our village of Crab Orchard, where a good many people who had made fun of Bobby and Katherine Sanders’ storm shelter were now crowded into it.

The McDonalds’ lovely home was destroyed while the two houses on either side of it were left intact. They rebuilt, and you would never know it today. However, someone quoted one of them as saying the loss of the house was not consequential—because not too long before that they had lost their beautiful young adult son in a freak hunting accident when he drowned while coon hunting one dark night. Watching their family cope with all the problems they have endured has been an inspiration to even those of us who did not know them well. Their faith-filled lives through all their serious health problems since then have magnified the words Pastor McDonald spoke from the pulpit when he was yet alive. There is no good explanation why one house or one life is taken by the wind, while the others of us nearby escape and are allowed to continue normally. Nor is there an explanation why some families seem to have far more that their share of disasters.

One of the 1982 stories I remember most vividly was of a teenage boy talking on the phone in his upstairs bedroom in his home he had always lived in. The next moment, the house was destroyed and he was out in the yard with a broken arm. As a person who does not tolerate change very well, I have thought of that story so much wondering how would one cope mentally with such unexpected sudden change.

After the weekend funerals and the restoration of electric power in Harrisburg, the children have returned to school. People hoped this gave the kids both a sense of normalcy as well as opportunity to tell each other their storm stories. I was a little irritated by a huge headline in our area paper saying that the healing begins. I don’t think so. By now maybe some are coming out of shock, but people who lost loved ones or everything they own are not ready to start healing yet. And some will never heal from the losses sustained when they lay down to sleep in their own beds assuming they’d wake up in those same beds.

Volunteers with chain saws and heavy boots have poured in to help, and collection sites for donated goods are all over the region. I have to live with my guilt that the day before this happened, I returned the last request for a donation from the area Red Cross with a note on the back asking to be removed from their mailing list. I have always heard wonderful things about the one who directs the Red Cross in our area, and I guess those letters produce needed funds. However, I give when I can to the many important charities that I want to support and feel pain I cannot give more, but never do I give because of a phone call and rarely because of constant repeat letters. I give because I think it is important to help. I don’t like begging letters filling my mailbox and using up the nation’s trees. Because of the extra need caused by the tornado, we will be making a donation now, of course, but not because of a letter requesting it.

When we heard our friends Bill and Mickey had their bedroom roof torn off barely giving them time to get out of their bedroom alive, my first thought was we should tell them to come to our house, but then I realized I couldn’t extend that invitation because our house including the couches would be full all weekend. (There were ten sleeping here Saturday night because the grandkids arranged what they call a “cousins’ weekend” so they could be here to support Sam, whose high school musical was last weekend.)

My second thought was that they would go to their brother’s home just across the way from them on an adjoining farm; they would want to be close to supervise what needs to be done. They probably did go there the day it happened, but fortunately only the bedroom roof and not what was below it was destroyed. So they are sleeping in their finished downstairs quarters where they have rooms for visiting family. Mickey was quoted in the newspaper story as just being grateful to God for their narrow escape. In one of Bill’s calls left our answering machine, he was rejoicing over help they’ve been given by friends and family. I met someone yesterday from their nearby town, and she told me they were both at church Sunday despite Bill’s still being in a back brace from the recent surgery.

Humans are amazingly resilient despite the onslaught of problems often thrown at them. And tragedies such as the tornados can bring out the very best in people not only in our region but wherever the tornados have hit. Sadly the very worst comes out in some people. As I understand it, thousands lined the street at the funerals Saturday to protect the families in case the Westboro Baptist “Church” made good their threats that they were coming to protest or celebrate or whatever they claim to do when families are devastated by loss. Evidently this is one of their new tactics—to make threats and upset people and then not show. The grieving families had to appreciate the human fence of strangers come to show their love and prevent any disruption. And people in Harrisburg will appreciate the ones coming tomorrow to clean out a vacated store, which will provide a place for the tons of donations to be distributed. If not volunteering, we have been asked to stay away from the destruction, but from what I read online, I believe that already each day does make a difference—this time for the better.



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Women's Softball Season Well Underway; So Is Tornado Season

With the coming of the women’s college softball season, we are once again eating meals at times downstairs in Gerald’s office while we follow games on Game Tracker on his computer.

We were excited about Gerry, Vickie, and Geri Ann, who were flying out for the Cathedral Classic in California. Of course, their daughter Tara Archibald, who is an assistant coach, was there also, so Gerald enjoyed imagining all the fun and excitement that Tara’s husband Bryan was having back home in Watkinsville taking care of three sons under six years old. Bryan is a family hero.

University of Georgia went to the Cathedral Classic ranked thirteen in the national polls; and after a 4-1 record there, the Bulldogs were declared number seven this week. They defeated Arizona, Cal State Fullerton, UCLA, and Oklahoma but lost to Washington. Winning over those kinds of teams will take away the worries that UGA’s losing eight great seniors were going to be known as a rebuilding team this year. Last year’s seniors—Jennie Auger, Brianna Hesson, Alisa Goler, Sarah McCloud, Katie Murphy, Taylor Schlopy, Laura Trout, and Megan Wiggins—were certainly a great loss, but this year’s young team is also obviously capable of great ball playing. It is going to be a good season.

Erin with Southern Illinois University Carbondale was down in Disney Land in Florida at the Citrus Classic last weekend, and we understood they were to have one game televised on ESPS 3 online. I had to be in town at that time, and we assumed we would not be able to get the streaming on our slow-speed reception. In Central Illinois, however, Mary Ellen watched both Erin’s game and also the University of Georgia’s game and was delighted with both wins. Sheri Beasley, who lives in our community but yet several miles from us, told me at Center’s pot luck on Sunday that their reception was great. SIUC had lost their first game that morning to undefeated Florida State (13-0) by 2-0, but then they run-ruled Marshall 10-2. On Sunday they beat St. John’s 4-3.

So our SIUC team is opening their first home games this weekend feeling good. The Coach B Classic (in honor of former Coach Kay Brechtelsbauer) will start games at 10 Saturday morning at Charlotte West Stadium. SIUC plays Western Illinois at 12 noon and then Wright State at 4 pm. They play Northern Illinois at 1 p.m. Sunday and SIU Edwardsville at 5.

Because of Sam’s participation in the pit orchestra for West Side Story at the Marion Civic Center on Friday and Saturday, cousins are coming downstate and will be at Woodsong on Saturday night. So I am not sure how much of the Coach B Classic we can attend.

I started this blog yesterday, but so much has happened since that I was not sure if I should finish it or not. I have just added to the title.

In late afternoon we learned that Gerald’s brother Garry had passed out and was being taken by ambulance to Southeastern Missouri Hospital at Cape Girardeau. This is doubly traumatic because his wife Ginger has suffered short term memory loss since December 2001 because of a stroke and Garry supervises her care. Last evening was filled with communication about all this with the final phone call being from our niece Vicki after l0. She had brought her mother back to their farm and given her the night’s meds and gave me the latest report on Garry although they still knew very little.

The next phone call we received was from Vicki this morning at twenty till five. We were sleeping soundly despite the raging storm outside. She was watching a tornado on television moving through and it looked like we were in its path. Almost immediately after her all call, our REA electricity went off. With a flashlight, Gerald went to his truck in the garage and learned the tornado had touched down near Creal Springs, a village just barely south of us and was headed to Harrisburg east of us. By then it was 5, which is when Gerald usually gets up, so he made arrangements to meet his brother Keith for breakfast since there would be no coffee at our house. They had already planned last night to head to Cape to see Garry.

Without television or radio, it was not until I went to town later that I found out that Marion was also without electricity. We learned three people had been killed in Harrisburg. Marion schools were called off. Electricity was soon back in Marion, however, and Sam and I had a good breakfast together at Cracker Barrel where we saw our niece Marla and husband with their grandson Michael. Mary Ellen had read on Facebook about a neighbor just south of us who heard the tornado go over their house, so she called to see if we were all right. By the time I got back to the farm, our lights were burning also.

Going down to the computer to check on Facebook what all had happened, I learned the death toll in Harrisburg had risen to l0. Writer friends were worrying about novelist Lois Barrett, who lives there.

Then I learned that our very special friends Bill and Mickey Tweedy, who live in a lovely house they built on a scenic spot on his home place high in the Alto Pass hills in Union County, had been hit by the tornado. Bill’s daughter Glenna down in Georgia reported this and asked for prayers. They had to run from their bedroom as it collapsed around them. They also lost two barns. This too was doubly bad because Bill has just had surgery on his back since the two surgeries he had a couple years ago were not successful. Although this doctor was not ready to order physical therapy yet, he already had Bill walking two miles a day and we were so happy for this success. I hope and pray that the running did not hurt his back in any way.

I phoned Gerald at the hospital to report yet another traumatic event.
I received calls from my brother Jim up in Mattoon after Vivian’s sister in Vienna had phoned them with the tornado news. Next my sister Rosemary down in Amarillo and my cousin Ken in California phoned after they heard about Harrisburg on the national news. I was grateful to be able to tell them we were just fine, but I felt bad knowing so many families right now are not.

Summer Weather in February

The warm days we are enjoying here in Southern Illinois are creating lots of photos on Facebook of daffodils in bloom. Jake and I walked down to the mailbox with a birthday card for our grandson Trent, who will be 19 on Friday. I’d made a deal with myself that if the mail carrier had not yet delivered the mail (so I could leave the card rather than carry it back to the house) I would walk around the lake. Gerald had told me at lunch that a friend of ours was told to walk two miles a day following his second back surgery after an unsuccessful one by an earlier doctor. He was doing it. I was inspired to think he could walk two miles so soon after surgery. I left the card.

It has been a long long time since I’ve walked around the lake. Usually at this time of year, it is too cold. Last summer it was much too hot most of the time. More than the heat, however, I am afraid of the ticks that one picks up walking around the lake despite the nice path that Gerald tries to make with the lawn mower. Although I hate the idea of ticks feeding on my blood, what I am afraid of are the two diseases that one might catch from the creatures—Rocky Mountain tick fever and now in recent years Lyme disease. I know the odds are against our ticks carrying the diseases, but there is no guarantee, and I get freaked out when I find them on me after a walk.

I was assuming these little pests were not out yet this season, and as for as I know, I came home alone. Except for Jake who stuck with me the entire walk although he would run ahead and chase some birds or dig in the ground before he came back to be patted on the head. He again would walk beside me until my slow speed bored him. Then he’d be off, but he never forgot or deserted me.

There was only one small white duck swimming on the lake although last week we had a small flock of geese stop by going north. We were hoping one pair that were by themselves and swimming together obviously in love would stay. I guess they didb't. I watched a turtle on the bank warming in the sun until I got too close and he hopped in the lake. All I could see was the widening concentric circles of water until finally his head appeared in the middle of the narrow end of the lake where we were.

My sweater was a little too warm when the sun hit me, but then a breeze would come and make me a mite chilly for a few minutes. On the final climb up the hill to the house, however, I had to take the sweater off as I puffed up the slope.

Jake and I stopped by Gerald’s shop to admire the new attic-type storage area he had been building with a beautiful set of steps going up. After a snack and quick check of the news, I went to read for awhile on the living room couch, where I very quickly took a nap until Gerald came in for supper. Before I fell asleep, I kept hearing cracking on the deck door in the living room. I wondered if the storm door there was not closed tight and perhaps being moved by the wind. I got up and went over to check it, and everything seemed secure, but as I stood there with the sun beating down, I heard a few more crackles. I reached up and touched the inside of the inner door, and it was extremely hot to my touch. We are all somewhat puzzled by this unseasonable weather and are wondering if March is going to bring blizzards or if we will go all winter with mild and even hot weather.

Jake (Half Mountain Cur) Meets Fifi (Who Thinks She's a Queen)

Thanks to President’s Day weekend, all the beds at Woodsong were full over the weekend. We didn’t have to use any couches though, so it was not a full house. Jake got to meet his first of our granddogs. Brian and Brianna arrived Saturday evening with Miss Fifi, a beautiful white fluffy Shih Tzu, who has always been able to keep her humans totally in her control. Jake was quite timid in the face of such royalty, but they soon were acquainted, and she was democratic enough to accept his friendship. By Sunday afternoon, they were obviously enjoying each other’s company.

Our daughter Jeannie and Cecelie had driven down from Freeport as soon as they got out of school on Friday and arrived just after midnight. I left the porch light on and lay down Friday evening to sleep on the living room couch hoping to greet them. But evidently I was sleeping so hard that I did not hear them when they came in, and Jeannie said I looked too peaceful to wake me. I woke up from this early evening “nap” at 3 am and went on to my own bed when I saw her bedroom door closed and her van with the bike attached in our driveway.

Jeannie and I had a good breakfast visit Saturday morning before she took off for her morning bike ride before heading for Nashville to meet up with Leslie for wedding planning. When Cecelie came upstairs later, we missed each other as she hurried outside to ride the Gator around the lake. When I looked out, Jake was joyfully running behind her to keep her company as he had learned to do with grandson Sam earlier in the week.

Afterward she returned to the kitchen, and she found out that her cousins Sam and Brianna planned on getting together here at the farm Saturday night after each finished their all-day activities. (Sam had gone to St. Louis on a special recreation trip with some Third Baptist friends and then he must play with the high school band at the Red Rose Gala at the Civic Center; Brianna was at a Scholastic Bowl with her school.) Knowing they were coming, Cecelie elected to pass up the trip to Nashville and stay at the farm.

Jeannie and I visited again after her bike ride although I forgot to give her the little Valentine gift for Leslie that I had planned to send with her to save postage. After waving goodbye to Jeannie, I planned to go to Katherine’s right before lunch since she had no Saturday aide. Although invited to go along, Cecelie said she’d just stay at Woodsong.

At Thanksgiving time, Jeannie had brought all kinds of homemade goodies for the long weekend including a large gallon container of homemade chili. Somehow we didn’t need the chili until Sunday lunch, and then no one stayed for lunch. I stuck the container in the freezer and have enjoyed knowing it was there for just such an occasion as this weekend. I started thawing it on Friday (which I found out was not easy to accomplish) and knew anyone who showed up hungry had something to eat. (I had thought maybe Brian and Brianna might come earlier than they did.) Anyhow I dipped up chili for Gerald and Cecelie before I left.

Cecelie had her violin unpacked, and I assumed she got in some practice and possibly some homework. Yet I still felt bad leaving her. But I was relieved when I found out Gerald had taken her to town with him during the afternoon before I arrived back at the farm with our drive-through grilled chicken supper. Cecelie seemed totally satisfied with the afternoon.

Around 8 or so, David brought Sam out still sharply dressed from his band appearance, and Brian and Brianna arrived from Waggoner in central Illinois at about the same time. I told them there was chili in the fridge for anyone who was hungry and wanted to heat it in the microwave. Cecelie, Brianna, and Sam had already communicated by email or cell phone, and they quickly filled the house with their talk and giggles catching up since they had not seen each for quite awhile. I guess it was since Thanksgiving for those three. Soon they were busy with games and snacks at the dining room table.

Gerald, Brian, and I were tired enough to go to bed early and leave them to their own devices. They were already downstairs watching a movie when I walked through after checking Facebook on my office computer and said goodnight. I warned them not to stay up too late since Sunday School would start at 9:30 before they knew it. I felt conscience bound to give them the warning although I expected they would stay up quite late anyhow. Next morning I woke them at 8:30 and they were soon showering and were ready to go right on time.

I had put a roast in the oven and a small meatloaf out to thaw since David had hoped to bring Katherine out for lunch. I knew when we got home from church, I’d quickly make instant potatoes, some buttered carrots for a little color and, of course, make fried okra to please the grandkids. There were still some nice rolls left in the freezer that David and Katherine had brought for Christmas dinner.

All three sets of china that I bought long ago at thrift stores are usually too small for family gatherings. (The white with gold rims has 12 plates, the blue rimmed set has eight, and the pink roses has nine but with three now chipped.) So when most of us are here, I use the white dinnerware I bought for everyday use. (I’d bought two matching sets for twelve, I think, so despite some breakage, I still have plenty.) Since they’d only be eight at the table Sunday, I’d be able use the china with pink flowers.

That inspired me to search for the pink cloth napkins in the bottom of the hutch that I had not placed on the table in years since I am addicted to paper napkins for convenience. These were the napkins I bought at an after-Christmas sale at Marshall Fields in Chicago during Gerald’s and my engagement. I set some pretty tables with them in our early marriage years. Unfortunately, Sunday I did not have any blooms to place on the table as I did the first summer we were married when I used pink smart weed picked by our gravel road. But water in green goblets and slices of chocolate nut cheese cake from the freezer placed on desert dishes made an appealing table. Katherine and David had not been able to make it after all, so they had the meal taken to them for supper plates.

After they finished eating, the kids were soon back outside enjoying the cold but beautiful sunny weather. With Jake and Fifi either riding the Gator or running behind it, they were happily busy. They soon encountered and had fun with some neighbor kids from next door on a couple of four-wheelers. Later during a a brief re-entry to the house, Brianna brethlessly laughing told me they had a murder mystery game going in the nearby woods. All too soon Brian and Brianna had to head back to central Illinois, but Sam chose to stay at the farm with Cecelie, whose mother was coming up from Nashville. I was to spend the night at Katherine’s, so I took their supper in.

When her aide arrived at six the next morning, I quickly dressed and headed back to the farm although I had to stop for gas when that warning alarm went off. Even so, I arrived home before Jeannie was up, and we again visited over breakfast together before her bike ride. And I was able to visit more with Cecelie when she and Sam came up nearer noon as they enjoyed sleeping in.

I had lunch cooking in the oven, but Jeannie knew they needed to start on the long ride north since they were planning on meeting up with Elijah for supper in Bloomington where he has started his second semester at Illinois State. I sent his belated Valentine—a bag of chocolate kisses which I got for all three grandsons since I did not think they would like the little pink heart-shaped dispensers for note paper that Gerald had purchased for the granddaughters. It had been a good weekend and I hated to see it end. Jake did too, I imagine, since there were more meat scraps than usual with extra folk eating here.

Midwinter Mish Mash

The loin roast coated with herbs in the meat rub is in the oven upstairs. The aroma is drifting downstairs to the office. I will be halving it to take part to Katherine’s tonight. She is busy conducting interviews for a night aide. I have been busy telephoning and setting up appointments for her.

I wish everyone had read Zig Zigler’s advice to answer the telephone pleasantly. It is disconcerting how many people yell “Hello” in a loud ugly voice and then change to a much better sounding voice when you explain why you are phoning. (I am telling myself to learn from this. Do I always answer pleasantly after I have rushed to stop what I am doing in the kitchen and get over to the phone knowing it may be a telemarketer?)

This experience reminds me of a dear friend of mine, who died just a few years ago in a mental hospital. I had been warned she could be dangerous, and I visited her alone in a room with the door locked, and for the first time realized she was a big woman. Fortunately even then she was as always kind to me.

Although she was 20 years or more younger, I appreciated much she taught me. This was before she became mentally ill. I had confided once how I hated having the phone interrupt when I was stressed with time pressures trying to get a task done. She advised me to pray as I ran to the phone.

One day I was on my hands and knees mopping the tile entry hall when the phone rang. I put my wet cleaning cloth back in the hot water, wiped my wet hands on my jeans, stood up and started to the nearest phone two rooms away. I remembered to pray, as Barbara had taught me. I picked up the phone as I finished my prayer and loudly said, “Amen.” I can’t remember who was calling or how I explained my strange answer.

Oh. I had to stop yesterday and did not finish what I started above. Now at the end of the week, let me complete this blog.

Half way through winter, we really have not had a very full schedule in many ways nor many guests coming to Woodsong. I do expect a grandson this afternoon. Jeannie and Cecelie will be stopping by tonight on their way to Nashville for Leslie’s wedding gown fitting tomorrow. Yet our new dog Jake and other mundane responsibilities have kept us busy. That is the explanation for the title to this blog. Nothing big to write about, but everyday life and ordinary day-to-day routine goes on.

One constant this winter has been enjoying the many birds at the feeder on the deck: chickadees, juncos, sparrows, a new woodpecker, and best of all for the first time since moving here, a large number of red birds. A small slender black bird with a brown head showed up for the first time this winter yesterday. I remember finding out what kind of bird that was last winter, but I can’t recall it.

We have had a usually mild winter, but I suspect we will still have some snow and ice before spring. Tuesday night I was planning on going to Katherine’s when we had icy roads that made me change my mind. I went to bed thinking the kids in the community would finally get their first snow day the next morning. Gerald surprised me next morning by explaining it had turned warm over night and ice had melted away. It has been warm ever since although the fog was extreme this morning.

Because of busyness, I have not always been able to attend functions I usually attend, but I have made it to Southern Illinois Writers Guild so for this year. SIWG was created by staff at John A. Logan College in 1981 and has always met there at night—eventually as a hybrid student and community organization. Perhaps because of insurance or other reasons, the college has recently had to insist on enforcing the rule that a faculty adviser must be present at meetings.

After losing a couple of long-time advisers, we had breathed a sigh of relief when we found an advisor who would come back to campus at night. We also worked at recruiting students. We have had many student members and several student officers in the past—but they move on as they finish college and we need to regularly recruit new student members. Then suddenly our newest advisor could not meet with us, so we have been scrambling to find a new spot to meet.

Last month we were invited to meet at the new Morthland College in West Frankfort, and I enjoyed that since I had been curious about the new school. But even though located on Main Street, the sign was small and the store-front building deceptive. One member, who had driven a long way to attend, never found the meeting place.

This month Bruce Cline arranged for us to meet in the very nice fellowship hall at the First Methodist Church in Carterville, which is more central for more members. Some landmarks were giving in the directions as well as the street address. We plan to meet there until June, but we anticipate a new arrangement with John A. Logan to be an adult education class starting summer semester. We all prefer the simplicity and comfort of meeting at the college with lots of lighted parking and familiar surroundings.

Although attendance so far has been small at these two off-campus locales, we really had a good time last night. Charlotte Hartley came all the way from Centralia and was the only one who brought readings for critique. After we accomplished that, we were stimulated by her writing. Consequently, we were able to get acquainted better in the small group than is usual. We shared much about our lives, Karen Weinert’s work with the Women’s Center in Carbondale, and, oh yes, some stories about encounters with ghosts—by people who did not believe in ghosts.

Nothing much going on and much too much going on. That is the story of our winter’s mish mash so far this season.

A New Puppy Named Jake

After his bird dog King feasted on the almost ready-to-be hatched duck eggs beside our front porch, Gerald had declared no more dogs for him. Back then we still had hopes of being able to regularly hatch baby ducks at Woodsong. King went back to our son Gerry. The duck dreams vanished, however, because the wild critters won that battle, but the dog pen was gone and so was Gerald’s enthusiasm for dog ownership.

Yet at Thanksgiving this year, Gerry’s friend Steve Smith loaned Gerry a squirrel dog. Gerald and Gerry had a good time hunting with it here before Gerry took it back to Georgia. Gerry had wanted something special to do with his grandson Aidan, age 5 1/2, who is as active a little boy as Gerry was. Together with Steve’s squirrel dog, they explored Georgia forests and met all kinds of interesting people and thoroughly enjoyed their outdoor grandfather-grandson times.

Gerry brought the dog back during Christmas vacation to pass it on loan to yet another friend, but again Gerald and Gerry had a good time in the woods with Steve’s talented dog.

Gerry decided his dad needed another dog. Actually Gerald said it first, but Gerry is the only one to make such things happen. (In fact, very recently another dog trainer friend has given Gerry an $800 dog which will be waiting for Gerry and Aidan when softball season is over. The pricing of dogs is always a mystery to me, but that was the quoted price of this free dog.)

Soon Gerry called to tell his dad that there was a squirrel dog up at Mulkeytown from good stock at a reasonable price, and Gerry thought Gerald would be interested. After two or three days of bouncing back and forth as to whether he really did or did not want a dog, Gerald decided he should at least go look at the man’s dog. But, he said, he did not think he would take the dog because he was not positive he wanted another dog. I smiled knowing we would soon have a dog on the farm.

As expected, Gerald came back with a little black and white dog named Jake in his truck after he stopped in town to buy a collar, dog food, and other paraphernalia that might be needed. Jake is half mountain cur and half border collie. I did not know there was a breed called mountain cur, but you can google it. I am a believer in hybrid vigor, so I do not doubt how smart Jake is when Gerald says so.

Jake is very friendly and I like his running out to meet the car when I return from someplace. I have been sneaking a few meat scraps out to make him like me, but that might be a mistake because now he is expecting me to treat him. He may be a mite more friendly than I would like. His size and colors remind me of my childhood dog Lucky although Lucky had more white markings. Actually Lucky was my brother Jim’s dog, but Jimmy was kind to share his dog with me. I spent a lot of time sitting on the porch steps petting and talking to Lucky.

I have enjoyed looking out the kitchen window and seeing Jake following Gerald on the little yard tractor. Gerald likes it that Jake is snorting and tearing up the soft winter soil in our yard as he sniffs for the moles there. So far, Jake has not found a mole as far as we know, but Gerald is in perpetual battle with them as they invade our lawn, so now he will have an ally. I have had to learn to spell “squirrel” thanks to Jake. And like Gerry’s wife Vickie, I will undoubtedly have to learn to cook squirrels.

One of the grandkids was excited to think all the granddogs who visit here have a new cousin, but our friend Kim on Facebook explained that Jake would surely have to be an uncle, not a cousin. Dog relationships are complicated and easy to get out of hand, but so far we aren’t yet talking baby talk to Jake. That may come later.

A Delightful Evening with the Dallas Brass and Young Musicians

Thursdays are usually busy days for me, so I was looking forward to an at-home evening and maybe even getting to bed early (anything earlier than midnight counts for that goal).

Then at Katherine’s house, I heard from our grandson Sam: “Grandma, are you coming to my concert tonight?’ Oh oh.

I already knew Sam had a school-day clinic yesterday with the Dallas Brass at the Civic Center because I was not to pick him up as usual from his after-school jazz band practice. But I actually had thought the flashing marquee there on the square said the Brass’ concert was the night before. I had no idea that the clinic was to prepare the kids to join these professional musicians on stage during the second half of the concert.

From Sam’s demeanor, I knew the clinic had been good, and instantly I wanted to hear this concert. I did not want to drive home, change clothes, and drive the nine miles back to town, look for a difficult-to-find parking space, and then drive home afterwards hoping I would not hit a deer. Besides which, since I ran out of time, I had not shampooed my hair as I had planned to do that day. I was already embarrassed just to show up at Sam’s house looking like I looked; I sure did not want to go out in public that way.

Katherine was busy on the computer with an aide in the house. Sam probably had plenty of homework after being at the clinic during the school day, so I said a quick goodbye. I ran to Great Clips to see if anyone there could give me a shampoo. Just like last week I dashed in even though I knew my usual stylist would not be there that late in the day. But Shannon did a great job last week, so that would not be a problem. (A weekly appointment disappeared with the curls after Great Clips stopped giving permanents. Now I often don’t go in until the length of my bangs start making me miserable.)

I had called Gerald to tell him about the concert, which he would have enjoyed, except he was way off in a different rural neighborhood going squirrel hunting in a friend’s woods. I knew he would not want to stay up late (anything later than 9 or shortly after counts as late).

I reached home just as Gerald also arrived. I fixed him a quick supper plate in the microwave with left-overs, and then I went to change clothes. Not always, but usually I fix our main meal (“dinner’) at noon—a farm tradition. Then I serve soup and a sandwich or something equally simple for supper. I was glad I had prepared a nice meal at noon because I figured the woods outing produced more hunger than usual for Gerald.

Actually with just the two of us in the house and various dietary restrictions, all my meal preparations are very simple these days. (What I cannot figure out is why clean-up still takes so much time even though I don’t cook that much and even though I do not have very high standards for clean-up.)

I hurried out of my daily work clothes and into something warm and presentable. Although I try to put on make-up early in the day, yesterday I had not done so yet. I quickly put on a little make-up to go with my new hair style. And I felt quite ready for the treat of attending a concert in the beautiful civic center.

I grabbed the promised book I had already autographed and laid out for Jari Jackson for the next civic center fund raiser and I put her name on the envelope. I knew she’d be there; and when I arrived, someone at the center’s table said they’d take it to her. So that errand was accomplished too! I saw Jari’s beautiful white hair at a distance, but our seats were in different sections and we did not bump into each other in the crowd afterwards.

Even though I thought I was arriving early, I knew I might not be if I had to spend too much time looking for a parking space. As I expected, the square was full. So were both sides of the streets leaving the square. I was hoping I might find a spot at the library; but if I didn’t, I would have to go back to the square and go in a different direction in the hope of finding a spot in the bank’s parking lot—also more than a block away. I pulled into the library lot, which looked full, but I had to get turned around. Yay rah! There were still a few spots on the far end, and I was all set.

Although I usually don’t go walking town streets after dark, I was completely comfortable knowing that after civic center events, I could walk in any direction and would be with fellow patrons. In fact, I always enjoy the excited talk and happy laughs coming from the strangers who become your walking companions.

I sent the book for Jari on its way, obtained my ticket and settled into a good seat with time to read program notes about the five brass players and the delightful drummer/percussionist, who provided not only rhythm extraordinaire but also humor with his deliberate antics to make us laugh.

I could tell from those notes that trombone player and director Michael Levine and the other five men had enormous talent. I hope all those junior and senior high students read the list of colleges, awards, and experiences that these performers had before showing up in Marion to spend the day with our school musicians and include them in an evening concert. Their accomplishments were quite inspiring, but the evening’s performance was even more so.

Taking us on an “American Musical Journey,” they started with across- the- ocean influences and went on to George Washington’s time which brought their rendition of “Yankee Doodle,” the only song known to every generation since, Levine explained. The choice of composers and Levine’s interesting commentary was educational but the music was phenomenal, which I think was the comment Sam used as the youth gathered around the players for autographs after the concert.

Successfully arranging compositions usually played by entire orchestras, those six players delighted our ears with gorgeous sounds making it a night to remember. In addition to classical pieces, we heard patriotic songs, swing, Dixieland, Broadway, Hollywood, and even “Home on the Range.” Those musicians could play different instruments and different versions of brass with seemingly equal aplomb. We heard D.J. Barraclough and Chad Willis on trumpets, an Illinois native Paul Carlson on tuba, and Juan Berrios on horn and alto horn and even presenting one vocal solo. Not to be outdone, Sergio Carreno, the drummer/percussionist claimed his brass cowbell as a brass instrument and even came forward and played a solo on his xylophone. The stage was fairly bare, and I loved the way talent filled it up.

After the intermission, the large stage was filled with a mass of junior and senior high band members seated behind the Dallas Brass before they re-entered. As an example of how fluid and smoothly everything transpired, I did not even see those chairs, risers, music stands, and extra percussion instruments carried on stage even though I did not leave during intermission and only visited with Katherine and David briefly.

Levine invited the audience to take photos and just pause for a moment and see the beautiful sight of those dressed-up kids sitting on stage with their instruments poised to play with these professionals. He had rehearsed them well during the day and directed them with gusto and high praise for the kids’ ability. The six men in front of us were not just great musicians but great educators of kids, their parents, and the host community. Before they left the stage, Levine also called out the three local school band directors for well-deserved recognition.

Everything was well thought out, carefully timed with considerable humor and variety, and provided a fascinating evening that left the audience clapping and cheering for more, which Dallas Brass did with a final 36 songs rolled into one. I drove home without even seeing a deer—not even in the field by our lane. My heart was singing with the pleasure of an evening well spent. Gerald was sleeping soundly, which made me happy since I knew he had an extra hard schedule today before Sam got off school and the two of them headed off to Knoxville to attend the University of Tennessee basketball game tomorrow night. I was so refreshed that I chose not to go to bed until midnight.







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A Sad Sweet Place

Almost a year ago, I decided to try again to finish an essay I had been writing for many years about my great grandfather. At the same time, a stranger in California had found my website Down on the Farm with Sue Glasco (http://sueglasco.tripod.com/) and wrote me inquiring about Martin ancestry.

She was not a Martin descendant but her teenage grandson was, and she was researching family history for him, which I thought was a delightful gift. Our family here knew that one of my father’s first cousins had gone to California many years ago, but that was all we knew. I’d had a local lady phone and inquire about him years ago as she was arranging a school reunion at a country school where he had once taught. I had to tell her no one had his address. This new California friend and I had quite a bit of email correspondence, and I learned a lot about my great Uncle Jim’s only child and the great grandson, whom she loved so much.

My efforts to finish that long essay last spring were aborted by life’s busyness. Recently I once again dug out family notebooks to try and end this project of many years. (Never mind that now the article is much too long for publication in area genealogical magazine; and if I ever finish it, I will have to shorten it.) I wanted to include this new information about Uncle Jim’s family. I also wanted to check the local cemetery where he was buried and make certain his wife (who had finished her life with her son in California) was buried there too.

The rain had stopped, and Saturday was a beautiful sunny day despite the temperature in the low 40s. I had some afternoon time to spare before I was supposed to show up at my daughter’s house at 4. After Gerald’s and my lunch, I quickly cleaned the kitchen and phoned my cousin Dick in Goreville to double check where Friendship Cemetery was. I had been there once many years ago, but I wasn’t sure I remembered. I really wanted to run by and see Dick and his wife Irma while I was in Goreville, but there was not that much time.

Dick gave me excellent directions and even told me this rural road was actually a loop that would take me to the Interstate and a quick way back to Marion and my daughter’s. Sure enough a cemetery sign on the first road going west from Goreville pointed me onto Friendship Loop road just as Dick had described it. I was glad the cemetery was far enough from the main road to allow me to enjoy the hills and hollows, which now contain many attractive new homes built by people who must enjoy that lovely rustic scenery as much as I do.

I wondered if Friendship General Baptist Church would still be there by the cemetery since so many rural churches have died when former populations moved away and newcomers prefer larger churches in town. A large welcoming sign beside the small well-kept church building let me know that this congregation is still functioning. I parked in the parking lot there and felt a little dismay at the size of the cemetery, which also was still being well used. I wondered how I would find the one grave I was looking for when I had no idea were it was located. Shivering, I closed up my winter jacket and wished I’d brought a hat to keep out the bitter cold that was more obvious than the sunshine once I got out of the car.

Obviously many of the graves were quite old, but most were much newer including a grave still covered with fresh dirt and the many flower arrangements which were just beginning to wilt away. A gravel road down the center beckoned as I tried to decide which side of the road to explore. Immediately I saw many tombstones for Stanleys on the north side, and I wondered if these were graves of Dick’s paternal family. Then I figured that probably the oldest part of the cemetery was that directly in front of the church building and that would be the most likely place for 1940s graves. So I decided to explore that south side first.

I headed out on the very damp and thick matted grass and was grateful that despite the rains the previous two days, the ground was not muddy. Some long ago graves were marked with small carefully shaped rocks probably from a nearby creek, and a few of those were not even shaped but just left in their natural state to mark where someone’s loved one lay. Some older style tombstones were elaborate and especially interesting with information on all four sides of tall shaped spikes.

I was seeing names familiar to me from my childhood summers on the farm near Goreville: Maze, Jenkins, and then several Joneses. Uncle Jim’s wife was a Jones, so I walked in that direction and found her parents Louis G. and Sarah buried with their children Oscar and Cordelia beside them in their plot. After a moment of sadness for these children lost so many years ago, I glanced up and quickly saw one Martin tombstone near the Jones’ graves. There it was where Great Aunt Viola Jones Martin, whom I never knew, had buried her husband James Wesley in 1942. In less than five minutes, I was standing by the grave I was looking for. The name and birth year (1872-19) for Viola, who was called Ola in one old census, was there with Uncle Jim’s name (1867-1942). The final two numbers for her death year were never completed, but since her granddaughter remembered that as a very young child she had made a long long trip to bury her grandmother, I was certain I had found her grave beside her loved ones.

I continued to walk around the silent cemetery looking at familiar sir names and some not so familiar. In the older part, there were so many graves for infants and young children, and I felt the gratefulness we all feel for more healthful times. A cemetery conveys grief and sorrow, but there also is evidence of loving family relationships. Walking back to the car on the gravel road, I was gawking at gravestones and did not notice I was walking through a pool of accumulated water. Thus, my feet were wet and chilly when I got into the car, but my heart was warm. From inscriptions and wreaths, I was able to once again sense the sweetness of family love and the deep sadness experienced by others who had trod there before me.






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Recomending Jim Loewen and Sundown Towns

In a waiting room before an appointment, Gerald picked up a Carbondale Times and read about Jim Loewen’s upcoming lecture at the John A. Logan Museum at Murphysboro. He commented that he’d like to attend. We seem unable to do many such activities, so even though I knew I would also like to hear him, I did not think much about it although I did fold the Times and put it in my purse just in case we needed the information. Then on Sunday before last, a longer even more enticing article appeared in the Southern Illinoisan. Again I figured we would not make a night event.

But at noon last Wednesday, we decided there was really no reason we could not attend. I had been to the museum only once a few years ago, and I knew Gerald would enjoy the displays there as well as the lecture. What Mike Jones has accomplished with this museum in his retirement is very fine, and he is definitely not one of the history teachers Loewen had indicted in Lies My Teacher Told Me: Everything Your High School History Textbook Got Wrong.

Our friend Marilyn Schild had introduced me to Loewen when she loaned me Sundown Towns: A Hidden Dimension of American Racism. I was surprised when the first chapter started out with some very ugly examples from my home town of Anna-Jonesboro. I knew as I grew up that people sometimes said that there was an unwritten law that no blacks were allowed in town after dark. But I never heard it said as if that was a good policy—but simply a statement of historical fact. (Other than that occasional comment, I do not remember hearing many overt racist remarks as I grew up.) But I grew up many years ago, and I assumed attitudes had changed. And I think the attitudes of the majority of people there are quite accepting of all races.

Nevertheless, Jim Loewen not only explained the beginning of that racist sundown rule in Anna, but he made me realize that among some people, attitudes may have gotten worse. Some smart aleck had used the word Anna (named after Anna Willard Davie whose husband started the town) as an acronym for the sundown rule that ain’t no blacks allowed. Evidently this tickled enough people’s fancy that the saying took hold. I do not know when that explanation for Anna started, but I don’t think it existed in the 1950s when I lived there. (I may be wrong. Maybe it was just the scum bums who said it, and I was blessed to not know those folks.)

Lowen’s thesis was that by the turn of the 20th century, many communities joined the common pattern of refusing to allow blacks to live in their midst. This was often spurred by some violence or imagined violence by a black resident. This would be an excuse to forgo a trial and cause a town to drive out all people of color and forbid any others to live there after that.

In the case of my home town of Anna-Jonesboro, a young local woman moved to Cairo and was raped and murdered, and a black man there was accused (probably falsely) of the deed. At least a sheriff trying to protect him from a mob became convinced he was probably innocent. But he was lynched nevertheless, and people of Anna attended that social event and raised money for a fine tombstone for the victim in the Anna cemetery. (We cannot blame her that her tombstone became a instigator of prejudice. I feel so sorry for her not only for having her life cut short by a terrible crime but then having emotional frightened non-thinking people use her death to create hatred. Oddly her first name was Anna.)

What the book makes clear is not the sordid story of the real rapist still uncaught while likely the wrong man was hung, but that all over the nation this pattern was repeated. At his lecture last Wednesday night, Loewen said there were 500 or so communities in Illinois that could be classified as sundown towns. The rich suburbs with excellent schools but with their un-American racist injustice were revealed for what they are just as Lorraine Hansberry told us.

Loewen’s lecture was announced as centering on the lies that were told about the Civil War. He used the original documents to show that states declared they were withdrawing from the Union because of their fear that slavery would be abolished. (These same states were definitely against new states having the right to be allowed to decide whether they would be free or slave.) He explained how the text books much later started claiming that states rights was the cause of the war and how that misinformation was carried from one edition to the next, so that many in the audience admitted with raised hands that they were taught that.

It was a stimulating evening with a record crowd, Mike Jones said when he welcomed Loewen. It was interesting the next day to read my favorite local reporter Linda Rush’s account in the Southern. I need to get Marilyn's book back to her and acquire my own copy. I definitely recommend it to help you understand why our inner cities are in such distress.

Thinking about Answered Prayer on MLK Day

So much seems to be going on all the time that I have had trouble blogging twice a week. Today Gerald took Katherine to have some teeth pulled, and so I ran by her house to see if I could help afterward as I had gone to Sam’s Warehouse to buy some Greek yogurt for her and stuff for the Angel Bags our church is doing this month. I couldn’t resist taking her one of the pots of bright yellow tulips there. I figured she could use the encouragement that spring will come. So do I. By the time I left her house, it was 8 o’clock when I carried in a boxed supper from the DQ for Gerald.

Kim Barger suggested that I post the devotional I gave last night at our women’s class meeting. The middle part was excerpts from the prayer journal my sister gave me, and I read directly from the journal some of the answers to prayers that our congregation prayed for people we all knew back in 2004 and 2006. I thought they might bring back memories to others just as they did to me when I re-read them recently. So I can’t really post those. Then I closed by reading briefly from the last speech Dr. Martin Luther King gave before he was assassinated the next day when he had the honor of going to glory on Good Friday. So here is the first part of the devotional:

Remembering that last year I talked about unanswered prayers in my devotion here at Carmen’s house, I quickly decided a few weeks ago that this year I would talk about answered prayers. Last year I quoted from the prayer journal my sister gave me that there is not such thing as unanswered prayer: “God always answers our prayers, but He may say ‘No.’ Some things are outside the will of God…” Last year I talked considerably that God does not always answer yes or no immediately but often says, “Wait.”

Although I originally thought the topic of answered prayer would be an easy topic, I found it difficult to know what to say tonight. Just Saturday I thought about today’s holiday being in honor of Dr. Martin Luther King, and I thought maybe my devotion should be on his ministry.

I realized I really need to do considerable more study on prayer than I have had time to do. And I always remember a long ago sermon, where a pastor warned that often we do more talking about praying than actual praying. As I thought about prayer, I ended up wondering exactly why and how we are to pray. Jesus knows everything we need before we ask. Jesus made it clear in his sermon on the mount--my favorite sermon of all time--that we are not to pray publicly for the purpose of impressing others. He advises us to go into a room and shut the door. He advises us not to just babble like pagans as if by much repeating we can force God to do our will. Yet he also told us that the persistent widow who kept asking is an example of what produces results when we pray. In this sermon, he gave us the model prayer that like his sermon was not long in length but powerful in educating us on proper prayer. Let us say it now in unison together: Our father …

I think it is terribly important that we pray as Jesus did in the model prayer that God’s will be done. So it goes without saying almost, that we as Christians should not want things outside God’s will or to pray in that way. We have all sometimes had a no answer, which turns out to be a beautiful thing in our lives and we understand the no. Other times a no confuses us and we have to assume it will work for the kingdom of God to come in some secret way that we cannot understand but that we must accept on faith is a beautiful thing. And so I continue to struggle as I pray that my daughter might walk again, but I watch her body deteriorate and her struggle in life become harder and harder. Somehow I have to reconcile these two realities with faith.

When I first starting thinking about answered prayers, I realized that God blessed Gerald and me early in our marriage with answered prayers probably to encourage us as young Christians to seek His will and know He would take care of us. Although Gerald was still a student at SIUC when we married, he had savings from his work in the Air Force, and I had a small savings account from my one year of teaching. He owned a car, and I owned an ironing board and iron, clothes left over from high school and college, and not much else. Gerald had a family friend that would allow us to go to St. Louis to a warehouse and choose furniture at that store owner’s discount, and so we started married life with a new bedroom suite that it still in use at our house today, a couch that wore out long ago but the chair recovered several times is in a classroom at Center, and a table and chairs that also wore out long ago. We acquired a new gas stove. a refrigerator, and wringer washer for our tiny four-room house with no bathroom or running water. Our rent was $10 a month.

I felt very rich with all this new furniture. This puzzles me as I look back on it because I was definitely one of the lucky ones who believed it was romantic to start life on a shoe string. I have been thinking a lot about this belief lately and am concerned that we may have let that concept of living on love for newlyweds to slip away from our young adults today. They deserve to know that a lack of material things need not destroy happiness and often a lack enhances happiness. Nevertheless, I simply followed Gerald’s direction that we should start life with new furniture.

He finished his degree and we ended up going to Urbana to get his masters, where he had a fellowship stipend to add to his G.I. bill. A professor showed us around the town to try and find an apartment we could afford. The four rooms in our rented rural home were all tiny rooms, but they held our furniture. As the professor took us to the listed vacancies, none of the one bedroom apartments, sometimes on the second floor, would hold our bedroom suite even though it was not hugely bulky and had a standard size mattress. Kathy‘s crib loaned from Gerald‘s mother was quite small.

We were growing alarmed. What would we do with our new bedroom furniture? (No storage businesses in those days.) The idea of being penned up in those tiny apartments was giving me claustrophobia just walking through them. Finally, as a last resort, the professor told us about a listing of a big old house not far from campus. There we met Carl—I have forgotten his last name--who was just finishing his PHD in chemistry, and who had rented this house for his family to live in the three rooms on the first floor: a tiny kitchen but with a small walk-in pantry, a dining room area to be used as a bedroom that would hold our bed, dresser, and chest—all three, and a very large living room that provided space for whatever you wanted including plenty of space for a crib and for a toddler to play.

Carl and wife had bought cheap make-do furniture to sublet the three upstairs rooms to three quiet grad students, who shared the bathroom on that floor with the family below. Carl showed us his record books for their three years in Urbana, and how the rent, utilities, and other expenses when reduced by the $30 room rent from each upstairs renter plus $10 from the neighbor who rented half the outside garage ended up costing Carl and family only $90 a month--far cheaper than any of the tiny apartments we had looked at.

We had a yard and a garden out back to share with Gerald’s cousin Pat and her husband Bill Tweedy, who was studying for his PHD. We had a full basement for my washing machine and lines for winter drying, steps going to a third floor full attic for any storage we needed. The house was very old but had been a fine house in its day. (Someone told us a rich man had built it for his mistress.) We went through that year in what I considered pure luxury. Like Carl’s wife, I kept the shared bathroom clean and vacuumed the three men’s rooms once a week. We knew it was God’s will for us to take over that house from Carl because when he showed us his records, we observed that each month, he had tithed his small assistantship income to his church. God had taken care of Carl’s family, and now he wanted our family to have this comfortable place. We knew we were blessed by God answering our prayers for His assistance.

Gerald finished his course work in nine months and was almost through with his thesis. That summer he had the opportunity to start a training program right there in town while he completed his masters work. By then I was pregnant again, and I walked toddler Kathy all over town in a borrowed stroller from a dear church friend and prayed for a son if that were God’s will. We were also praying that we might rent a farm in the Mississippi River bottoms that might or might not be available.

Suddenly at the end of summer, the farm was offered to us, and Gerald needed to resign his job quickly. But the farm would not be available until January. What would we do? Where could we live? And on what?

Within one or two days, Gerald was offered a one-term appointment at Illinois Western at Macomb that would not only support us but allow us to save a bit. Summer term was over and the grad students were gone. We had to clear the house, so we quickly gave away or sold the upstairs furniture. We rented an apartment in Macomb, which was half of a sweet divorced woman’s home and shared it with her two year old and teenage son. I marvel now that she was willing to rent it to us for just three months, but as I thought about it, I realized that we might have been an answer to her prayers also. Bill Tweedy helped Gerald load our furniture on a rented truck. Gerald and I went to bed with little Kathy on a mattress on the floor.

In the middle of the night, she became sick with a very high fever. No one could sleep. Gerald called Bill and they took off for Macomb. Somehow I got a taxi to the train station to go down to Anna as planned to my parents’ home for the weekend. I found myself sitting on the train with one of Gerald’s favorite professors coming down from Chicago, who happened to be childless. My live-wire toddler was so sick that she was a perfect child and the professor kept bragging on how quiet, calm, and well behaved she was. I did not tell him any difference. I think I got a cab from Anna to Jonesboro. Mother was through her day’s work across the street at the school, and we raced to Cape Girardeau for Kathy’s former pediatrician to see her before closing hours. With an antibiotic for her tonsillitis, we were able to be in Macomb for Gerald to go to work on Monday.

I was young and conscientious and I did fall housecleaning on that apartment and cooked three meals a day for Gerald, who could come home for lunch. I took care of little Kathy and prepared her for Halloween since I expected to be in the hospital and did not want her scared by masks. We had our son Gerry in McDonough County hospital. Gerald’s teaching career and salary were over in early December, so we spent a few weeks at Gerald’s folks and my folks until we got into the cold cold house on the rented farm by Christmas. To avoid drafts, I put Gerry’s little cradle off the floor and on top of the couch by the nearby heating stove.

This was the cradle my great grandmother bought for 50 cents for my grandmother when my daddy was born after his mother had lost two baby girls. I like to think that Great Grandmother Louisa said a prayer back then for all the babies who might sleep in the cradle. And there have been many. I continued praying for the babies sleeping there in our lifetime. We studied Sunday in Deuteronomy that God promised to show love to a thousand generations to those who love Him and keep His commandments. I am not sure what generation our family is in right now, but I am grateful that God has answered prayers said long ago.

After reviewing some answered prayers in our congregation, I closed:

In closing, I want to quote from MLK’s speech--made in Memphis where 1300 sanitation workers were struggling for rightful treatment. This was the day before his assassination as it turned out, which happened on Good Friday, which I feel positive was no coincidence.

MLK taught us that if we pray believing, things can change. We can see the substance of things hoped for. And if we want to do God’s will, death is a victory--a victory that overcomes the world.

(If you want to read Dr. King’s speech, google “I’ve been to the mountaintop.”)

A Rainy Day Ride

Although we share the same house and usually lunch and supper every day, with all the busyness of Christmas and family coming and going, Gerald and I haven’t really spent much quality time together. So I was pleased when he invited me to go with him to Carbondale yesterday for the standard check-up for his new hearing aid. Then we were to meet friends Bill and Mickey Tweedy for lunch at Denny’s.

It had started raining lightly at midnight the night before when I went to bed, and it continued damp and soggy with light rain all day long. At supper last night, Gerald went out on the deck and checked the rain gauge and found we had accumulated nine-tenths of an inch.

As usual we had trouble getting away from the farm precisely at 9:15, our planned get-away time; it was more like 9:25. Nevertheless, we made it to The Hearing Place at exactly l0 a.m. right on time for Gerald’s appointment. I didn’t join him for a few minutes because I was in the car putting in my own hearing aids that I had grabbed as we left the house. I’d learned on our last visit that it helped one adjust and profit from the aids if they were worn every day, so I have been trying to do that. I have trouble remembering to take that extra two or three minutes to put them on after I have combed my hair and before I put on my glasses and dash away from the bathroom mirror. So just in case someone asked me if I had them on, I lingered in the car to finish my day’s attire.

Of course, they didn’t ask; and after we hurried to get there on time, there was still a 30 minute wait before Gerald was seen. That was okay. They have great magazines, so I thoroughly enjoyed the wait while he was seen and wished it had been longer. I hadn’t quite finished the National Geographic article I was reading.

We had an hour before lunch time, which was also fine since we needed gas and I had loaded the trunk down with all the Christmas cardboard and other recyclables the night before. Southern Recycling at 300 West Chestnut Street is the most comprehensive recycling business in our area because they take glass, electronics, and almost everything. They are even open on Saturdays from 8:30 in the morning until 1:30 in the afternoon. I had a terrible time finding them when they first relocated, and no one I knew could tell me where they were. It is easy to get there. After the railroad tracks as you arrive from Marion, turn right and go north on Route 51 just a little ways down the road almost as far as the Southern Illinoisan office. There’s a sign there on left.

You get to drive your car right in the building to unload, which was certainly nice on a rainy day like yesterday. They do not pay you for aluminum soda cans, and I was surprised yesterday that they had changed the labeling on the huge cardboard holding boxes so that you are asked to put tin can and aluminum cans in the same bin. Hmmm. I wondered why. (I usuallly take our empty soda cans to Cimco here in Marion out on Route 148 and feel smug for the few dollars I receive for my efforts.)

It had been too long since we’d met up with Bill and Mickey, so that anticipated lunch-time visit was very enjoyable. Because of Denny’s nearness to the hearing aid place and the Carbondale Clinic (which now has a silly new name not nearly as succinct as Carbondale Clinic), this was the third time since Thanksgiving that we have lunched at Denny’s after years of not being there. When we took Katherine after a recent doctor’s appointment, all the Christmas decorations were up and she thoroughly enjoyed it reminiscing about her socializing there back in her college days—just as Gerald and I do from our decades earlier times.

Bill was telling Gerald about his grandson in the Marines and now in Afghanistan sleeping on a cot without a mattress. Naturally Bill was torn up about this young man and all the others over there. It was great last night to see grandson’s new-born son in the Facebook pictures that its grandmother—Bill’s middle daughter Glenna Orr--had posted. This new little Billy was an exceptionally beautiful newborn, and both his mother and his grandmother Glenna were quite beautiful as well. I wish his daddy could be back in the States enjoying this time in his baby son’s life.

Reluctantly we ended our noon-time visit, but not before Mickey had given us a bag of yummy home-made cereal snack mix and another plus a pretty tin of candies for Katherine. We had accidently parked side by side, so we were tempted to linger longer visiting in the parking lot, but the damp weather probably encouraged us to get inside our cars and go on with afternoon duties.

Next Gerald and I headed down Route 51 to Anna and beyond as he had to take some more papers to our farm management field man, who is already working on our taxes as well as others in the Illinois Farm Management Association sponsored by the University of Illinois.

The winter landscape was dark with barren leafless trees along the hillsides of the highway and the constant rain on the windshield, but it was warm and cozy inside our car making the ride seem snug and pleasant. We arrived at Doug and Beth Hileman’s lovely farm on top of a high hill looking down on pleasant meadows. We were greeted by their friendly dogs when I opened the car door briefly to better grab hold of my book at my feet, which I’d brought to read while Gerald went inside to converse with Doug. The bigger dog escorted Gerald in. This was strictly a business visit, and Gerald had said he’d be quick, so again my reading was cut short when he was back in the car and we were again driving country roads.

I had commented as we drove to Doug’s that I did not think I had ever been to Balcom although I had heard about it all my life when living in Union County. So Gerald took us out through that tiny cluster of houses just so I could know I had visited Balcolm. If there was ever a post office or village store there, you could not tell it now, but I imagine that once upon a time there were both and probably a country school house also.

The day was pretty well spent by the time we arrived back at Woodsong and I fixed us a bite of supper. Gerald commented that it probably would be snowing when he got up this morning, but he expected it would have quit before I woke up. He was almost right. It started snowing on him as he walked down the lane to the mailbox—his first activity every morning. But it has continued snowing all day long, so I have been able to enjoy it also. It is truly beautiful and was quite slick out when I took Thursday night supper into my daughter’s family as I try to do each week. I was glad to be safely back home to enjoy the beauty looking out the windows with inside comfort.

Starting the New Year at Woodsong

The half boxes of child-friendly cereals bought for the great grandsons’ holiday visit have been passed on to a friend with a little one in her home along with the extra gallon of milk I somehow ended up with in the garage fridge.

The New Year’s Day black eyed peas are all eaten up. (They made me remember little Jeannie from long ago who couldn’t remember their name and called them “cockeyed peas.”)

With all the holiday decorations boxed and put away in deep closet hidey holes and high closet shelves for another year, the house seems very plain right now. Perhaps especially so because we have had unusually warm winter weather this week, and the sun shines so brightly into the living room that it seems to highlight its emptiness.

I’ve gone through the addresses on the envelopes of the Christmas correspondence to make note of any address changes. I still look forward to a leisurely day when I can go through the basket of cards and re-read and really enjoy them. For many years it was my tradition to do this on New Year’s Eve or New Year’s Day, but in recent years I don’t seem to get around to it. Maybe we will be snowed in soon, and that will be my special time for this pleasure.

I have caught up with the laundry, and as of today, the larger serving dishes used during the season are finally off the buffet and back in the china cabinet. At the first of the week, Gerald folded up the little table that held the desserts and Christmas treats, The ones we didn’t eat were passed on to Katherine’s house since Sam and his friend Josh might eat them after school.

Three books I ordered from Amazon arrived yesterday, and today I have sampled a bit of all of them. Evan Hayden Pullins’ slim collection called Blogging Through Life contains his beautiful and searingly poignant sharing of the mental illness he has suffered for many years now into his young adult years. His talent is enormous and his health difficulties are huge. We can only hope and pray that he can find peace with living with this disease and that he can continue to share with us his vision of the world. If you have a loved one with mental illness, you might want to order a copy to understand what they are suffering.

I am working again on the story of my great grandfather William Felix Grundy Martin and his wife Louisa Craig Martin. This endeavor has continued for many years, but I had not touched it since last March. I can only hope I can finally finish this and get on to the other essays I want to write for future generations about loved ones I have known. Especially I wany to write about my parents’ lives. The only thing I have written this past year were four short essays on Martin family members for the new Johnson County Historical Society book to be published in 2012. I always like to imagine how someone a century or so from now will happen onto my stories about my ancestors, who are also theirs, and how thrilled and appreciative they will be of my writing it down for them. Since I won’t be alive for them to thank me, I just enjoy their gratefulness with my imagination.

A Strung-Out Christmas Celebration

After our Thanksgiving with the entire family, Jeannie was down the first weekend in December, and I gave her some of her family’s gifts. When Leslie came through here on her way home after her exams at Belmont, I sent the rest of them with her. Her visit spurred me to finish decorating the trees by then.

Next Mary Ellen’s family came on December 23 this year, which was different than past Christmases, but I was happy they could go to be with Brian’s mother in Florida this year. They are still there to celebrate their wedding anniversary on New Year’s Eve at Disney World—one of their family’s special places.

Gerry and Vickie arrived on December 24 in one car, and Geri Ann rode up with Erin, who had been in Georgia to have their family Christmas before that. Gerald was so excited that Tara and Bryan (the Archibalds) were coming with our great grandsons because he had traded tractors and he wanted to break in the new “buddy seat” with those three little guys. However, it turned out that was not to be on that day or the next.

Bryan had received word his mother had been admitted to the hospital up in northern Illinois. So instead of leaving Georgia for our house, at first they thought they’d keep going straight to Chicago-land to arrive there as soon as possible. However, as they received better news, they decided to break up that long car ride for the boys by attending the Johnson Christmas Eve gathering at Gma Shirley’s house down the road from us as originally planned. Then they could travel on north through the night with the boys sleeping in their car seats and they would be there for his mother’s scope procedure at the hospital on Christmas morning. (That turned out better than feared, and she was able to leave the hospital the next day.)

We were invited down to Gma Shirley’s also if we wanted to see the Archibald family. And we did, of course. The three great grandsons were in great form and high spirits despite the long car ride up from Georgia, and we loved seeing all of Vickie’s family since we don’t see them as often as we did back in the day when Vickie invited both sides of the family to her Johnston City house for birthday and graduation parties down through the years.

I’d seen pictures of Kinsley, Tara’s cousin Jeremy’s pretty little girl, but the photos did not show how sweet she was. Watching her carry Gma Shirley’s little dog Buddy around was so cute, and it was fun seeing her interact with our great grandsons and to realize they were very much a part of that large extended family. Maddux’s tight hugs clinging to Gerald was almost enough to compensate for our disappointment that they wouldn’t be coming over to spend the night and be with us Christmas morning.

Of course, to go to Gma Shirley’s house is to eat very well also with counters and tables full of food offerings. She had three tables pushed together to make one long one in the dining area beside her kitchen, and the table and holiday decorations were everywhere to please our eyes. I had not known that cardinals were her special bird, and those bright red creatures on her white tree were so pretty.

There was a lot of laughter, of course. I have been concerned that little Payton would be taken advantage of by his older brothers, but that was quickly disproved when I saw him hit out at the older two to get what he wanted. I enjoyed seeing that, and the older two boys could have cared less for their tough little brother showing his spirit. However, the most memorable event of the evening was seeing Erin, age 25; Sarah, age 21; and Geri Ann, age 17, swaying and singing together on the couch waving their Justin Bieber toothbrushes that Gma Shirley had given them.

Reluctantly we said good-bye to the Archibalds and everyone else, and I hurried to do some last minute details at Woodsong before Gerry and Geri Ann came over to sleep. With our invited guests decreased by five, I had extra time to spend with them on Christmas morning, and it was quite leisurely before the morning worship service at our village church, where Vickie met up with us.

We arrived back at Woodsong with smells of the baking ham and dressing filling the house. Unlike many years, no one had a second place to go to on this day. For the first time in perhaps decades we only had one table with ten for Christmas dinner. The Cedars had celebrated with David’s family on the Eve, and Dave. Katherine, and Sam arrived about the time that Gma Shirley did. We were so glad she came because she and Katherine have always had a special bond and they were able to have a good visit together.

Gift opening was much less chaotic than usual with fewer families here, but it was still fun. The weather was fantastic all week including the day we woke up to a beautiful snow that had melted by evening. Gerry had arrived with the squirrel dog that Steve Smith had loaned him to hunt with Aidan in Georgia, and he and Gerald enjoyed hunting as soon as Gerry arrived on Saturday and again on Monday and Tuesday. Long after the men had gone down to Union County to hunt with Keith and DuWayne, I was startled but enjoyed being woke up by our grand-dog Chloe that Tuesday when someone left the front door ajar and Chloe untied herself and joined me at the foot of our bed.

Wednesday we had to say goodbye to Gerry, Vickie, and Geri Ann. We drove into town with them for breakfast with Erin, who’d driven over from Cambria, before her family returned back home to Georgia. Erin was preparing to fly down to College Station later that day to meet up with Texas A&M friends, and now we are following her vacation there on Facebook.

The rest of Wednesday we continued eating Christmas Day left-overs and the Italian beef sandwiches I’d prepared when I thought the Archibalds were coming earlier. But Gerald was excited as a little kid knowing Aidan, Maddux, and Payton would be arriving Thursday to enjoy one more Christmas celebration. They were in Galesburg by this time with Bryan’s father and step-mother for that Christmas celebration, and the boys were enjoying the children’s museum there before driving downstate.

Since our Thursday night meal was ready (more left-overs) when the Archibalds arrived, I really wanted us to eat while it was hot before we opened the presents under the downstairs tree with them. But realizing there were presents waiting made the boys more eager to open than to eat. Three tractor-type toys still upstairs saved the day, and they played madly with those by the living room tree until we got to the supper table. At last I got to put out the three little special Christmas cups I had all prepared for Christmas Day.

It was a pleasure to see the three boys eat like hungry boys do. I had planned for Gerald to sit between the two youngest. However, Maddux, 3, happily sat in the high chair that I had ready for one-year old Payton, who his mother explained, thought he was too old to sit in the high chair. So he sat on the other side of Gerald by his mother. After supper we went down and opened presents in the family room, and everyone was ready to go to bed early so the tractor riding could begin this morning.

Even Payton was ready to join the two older boys for a tractor ride this visit, which he had not been enthusiastic about before. Then Aidan, 5, remembered the lime pile that Gerald created just for him originally, and all three boys had to play there digging with their little shovels, sliding, and filling their shoes with lime. Gerald got a kick out of Aidan taking charge and giving orders, which Maddux followed but Payton simply ignored, which did not bother Aidan in the least. Tara said Payton is not a follower, and we could see that this visit.

Meanwhile, Tara and Bryan were packing one more time after all their stops of this holiday vacation. We are always amazed at how organized they stay with the constant commotion of the boys and all the families they visit. Final hugs and kisses are always somewhat sad when we aren’t sure when we will see each other again The lime left on the kitchen floor has been swept up, and the tree lights are glowing.

The Lights of Christmas--Especially on Cherry Valley Road

Have the lights ever been more beautiful than this year? I love all the lights in our village of Crab Orchard and at the homes Marion and on the square there. The new bright multi-colored lights this year are such a visual treat as I do the season’s shopping and many errands. And all this beauty is free for us to enjoy!

Many families in our area make sure they take a drive to Candy Cane Lane in West Frankfort, and it is certainly worth the drive. But if you don’t have the gas or time for a trek to West Frankfort, consider driving out Old Creal Springs Road until you see the darkness broken by the magnificent display just west of there. (If you are coming from Creal, you will turn left. If you are coming out from Marion, you will turn right. This road only goes west, so you really cannot miss it.)

A couple of years ago I discovered these two houses in deep country on Cherry Valley Road with breath-taking excess of light. Going to see those lights has become an important part of my personal Christmas celebration.

This year only one house is decorated, but the lawn and house has sufficient light for an entire block. Cherry Valley suddenly turns south right after this beautiful light-filled experience, and I like to continue on the road up and down the hills and hollows past the homes back there until you come to West Ellis. Driving this narrow rural road is the sort of back roads adventure that I relish; and though I know no one along here, I like thinking of their lives off the beaten path and so close to nature. You may find this drive a little daunting, but it is perfectly safe. Just go slow. I would advise you to be alert for deer although I have never seen one there. I hope you don't either.

At West Ellis at the top of the last hill, if you turn left, West Ellis will lead back to the Old Creal Springs Road. At the Old Creal road, you could turn left there to drive back to Marion. Or if you want, you can continue on West Ellis which is briefly one with the Old Creal road. Then the road splits with Old Creal Springs going south. If you continue on West Ellis, you will go through the wooded swamp area I love especially when the leaves are on the trees overhead. Then you will quickly come out at the village of New Dennison and Route 166. Turn left (north) to go back to Route 13. At Route 13, you will reach Marion if you turn left (west) and reach Crab Orchard if you turn right.

No matter where you live in this nation, many people have gone to much trouble to put a lighted tree or wreath in their window or sometimes to much expense and hard work to decorate their entire lawn and outside of their homes. The bright lights can add color and excitement during these darkest days of winter. I hope you have the chance to enjoy them.

Glasco Christmas Letter 2011

Woodsong Christmas 2011

Dear Friends and Relatives,

This verse has meant much to be recently, so I will share it as my Christmas gift to you: Be still and know that I am God.

We had several school and class reunions in 2011 as well as our annual SIUC Baptist Student Union reunion. My Anna-Jonesboro Class celebrated our 60th anniversary, which was made especially wonderful because Lois (Ferrell) Doctor and husband Tom and grandson Josiah came from California and Oregon, and we had a great visit with them as house guests at Woodsong. Gerald finds plenty to do in shop and helping out others. I participated in Trail of Tears and Writers Guild activities and still blog usually twice a week.

Here’s a run down on our children:

Katherine and husband David Cedar and their son Sam
have their lives darkened by her progressive multiple sclerosis. Katherine keeps her faith and can usually be cheerful despite constant pain and multiple health problems. Around the world millions suffer from various causes including starvation, but it is heart breaking when you see the suffering up close. David tries keeps his spirit up by hanging out at his friend Jim’s hunting camp and actually got three deer this year--a buck and doe will provide them lots of meat. He makes excellent venison sausage. The third deer actually got David as it hit his car and almost totaled it as he was on the way to see Katherine at the hospital. That car was replaced with a new one, so Sam was made happy. He has over a year yet for a license. Sam is a joy and he keeps us aware of the youth scene in Marion band circles and at Second Baptist Church. We enjoyed visiting evening services at their church when Wendell Garrisons was interim pastor for a few months.

Gerry and Vickie’s family had many changes. Erin is in her second year at SIUC as assistant softball coach and loves her job. Her year’s challenge was a torn ACL the second night she played with a local coed softball team. Because of infection, she has had five surgeries, and months of therapy. She is doing great after a tremendous amount of work. Tara with her Southern Force 16U won the prestigious Boulder tourney and for fifth time went to Final Four at the ASA nationals. This fall she became assistant softball coach at the University of Georgia. (Gerry is now associate head coach.) Tara’s husband Bryan is still with the same architecture firm in northern Illinois, but commutes from their home in Georgia. The Archibalds and Gerry and Vickie rent and share a big house with three floors. Vickie is the official baby sitter for Payton, 1; Maddux, 3, and Aidan, 5, who just started kindergarten, and she also still sits for Matthew! Geri Ann helped lead the Oconee High School softball team to another state championship and was again named as Player of the Year by Athens newspaper. She has signed to play next year at the University of Georgia with her dad and sister! Softball must make girls beautiful. At least Gerry and Vickie’s three are!

Jeannie and Rick are busy with both teaching other people’s children and nurturing the three talented Eiler kids--our music and acting grandkids. Leslie and her fiancé Mike Thompson will finish their degrees at Belmont before their June 23 wedding. Elijah had the lead in The Foreigner last spring and spoke at his high school graduation. He is now studying at Illinois State to become a teacher for the visually handicapped, a long time interest of his. Cecelie is in 7th grade and as beautiful as her sister. In addition to her intense interest and talent as violinist, she was in the Freeport High School musical this fall when they did Annie. Rick still heads up math department, coaches and runs. Jeannie amazes us with long-distance bicycle rides.

Brian and Mary Ellen keep their dual careers going full blast. Mary Ellen now is a buyers agent for Jane Hay Sales and Staging of The Real Estate Group in Springfield and loves it. Brian continues his work at Stone Seed while also increasing rented acreage here. We are grateful for high yields he consistently grows on our farm with Stone Seed and other Monsanto brands. Trent graduated from Lincolnwood High School with high ACT scores and is enjoying his freshman year at Lincoln Land Community College. He hopes someday to work in a film-related career with his computer skills. Brianna, another of our blond beauties, is busy with band, junior class vice president, and student council. Sam went up to see her in the Homecoming court and to attend the dance with one of her friends.

Gerald and Sam traveled to Tuscaloosa to see Georgia play softball. Nephew DuWayne and Gerald saw Southern Force at Chattanooga and Oconee at Watkinsville. I went along for the Oconee state championship at Columbus. We managed trips to Freeport and Waggoner to see other grandchild events. Vacation Bible School at Center was great with Elijah, Trent, and Brianna here to help. Easter and Thanksgiving weeks were special times with families coming and going as they will this season.
　

Love and Merry Christmas,
Sue

The Good News of Answered Prayer

Late this afternoon, Katherine received a call from her infectious disease doctor saying that after 48 hours the culture taken on Tuesday was clear. What a lovely Christmas present. She was trying to be prepared if necessary to do another round of infusions and continue in fear that this antibiotic might fail again. Instead of fear, there is celebration. If the next step of oral medication succeeds as hoped in preventing the return of this infection, which has weakened her and exacerbated the multiple sclerosis, we will really have cause for rejoicing.

Once again we feel the enormous respect and appreciation for the medical profession when it provides answers that not only prolong life but improve its quality. I pray regularly for medical researchers, because those in that profession are my heroes. I do not know their names, but I know their worth. I am also grateful for young junior and senior high school students who right now are studying and working hard to get the background needed to palliate illness and discover the treatments and cures for the diseases that destroy life and happiness. Anything we can do to advance science in our schools is a wise use of our tax dollars.

Perhaps almost as wonderful for her comfort as the doctor’s report was the find of her husband last night. David and I were surprised to bump into each other at Wal-Mart after he got off work and after I left Katherine’s house. Both of us were wandering all over that huge store that I usually avoid like a plague. (I get lost both inside the store and in the parking lot.) We were in search of jell or gell pads that Katherine had heard about. Neither of us was successful. (I had asked at least seven clerks but no one knew anything about jell except for shoe linings, which was not what we needed.)

We had to laugh since both of us had our shopping carts filled with possible devises that just might eliminate some of the pain that comes to anyone who must sit all day in a wheelchair. (I recently read where a nursing home let their workers volunteer to spend one day in a wheelchair, and these volunteers found out just how uncomfortable a chair was.)

David and I started showing each other our selections that might be experimented with in Katherine’s care. I had seen the pair of foot warmers David had, but didn’t even stop to look at them. I don’t even know what these warm cozy foot thingies are called, but both feet fit into this snuggling looking container for feet. Today Katherine had this invention on, and the heavy padding beneath her feet had reduced the pain from the hard foot rest. Gerald had long ago worked on the footrest with padding and helped, but the problem was still severe. Aides were placing comfort devices between her feet and the footrest, and fretting with her. But nothing really solved the problem.

Now not only were the soles of her feet protected, but somehow this device held her feet in place where they were not sliding off the footrest nor painfully grinding against each other. If it continues to work as successfully as it did today, this discovery is a minor miracle for both her comfort and for the workers trying to help her balance in her chair.

It has been a good day.

The Busiest Time of the Year

This always busy season is even more so this year because our daughter Katherine has been very ill fighting an infection. After her brief hospitalization, she was sent to yet another doctor and is being treated at home. Unfortunately, her usually excellent insurance will not pay trained personnel for this treatment. If it were not for her husband at night, her beloved morning aide, and her dear and highly qualified friend Michele Otto, who happens to be on “vacation” until we ruined it, I do not know what we would have done. We have gone through a series of being told one thing by those in charge and having things be another way. Yet we are very hopeful that this excellent doctor will find a way to end this infection. Gerald will be taking her to Carbondale on Tuesday to see how well these at-home infusions have worked.

After months of more surgery and therapy, we are thrilled that granddaughter Erin has conquered the scary infection caused by her summer knee surgery. She is all smiles these days when she drops in without crutches. She is working out to make that leg as strong as her good one.

Erin and her dad both were among those softball coaches in Los Vegas last week for conferences during their “dead” non-recruiting period. And I guess our great niece Tracy’s husband Cody Brown was there about the same time winning the World Series of Team Roping with his partner Tyson Campidilli. They split the $200,000 prize money. Tracy’s family members here in Southern Illinois are as involved in roping as our son’s family is in softball. I find it interesting but understandable that families seem to gravitate to the same fields and competitive passions. Our daughter Jeannie’s family is our music-drama bunch.

Gerald took our grandson Sam up to Assumption today to meet his Uncle Brian who took him onto Waggoner to participate in the first ever Homecoming at Lincolnwood High School. Lincolnwood’s basketball game was last night, but Sam could not go up then since he was playing with the pep band at the high school basketball game here in Marion. Tonight is Lincolnwood’s coronation, and he will be there to represent our family as his cousin Brianna participates as a member of the court for the junior class. I can’t keep from wishing I were there. Brianna has Sam fixed up as a blind date with one of her friends at the dance afterwards.

Gerald enjoyed visiting with Sam on their trip and then visited a John Deere dealer up there—always a pleasant outing for a farmer. He was home after 3 p.m. and said he realized after he got here that he had forgotten to eat lunch. (He and Sam had plans for a late breakfast in Mt. Vernon, so I imagine that he why he forgot lunch.) Kindly he found left-over pizza in the fridge and had fixed his own lunch before he told me anything about it.

I made some very good beef-veggie soup Wednesday morning, so that is what we are having for supper tonight. For my lunch, I had finished the left-over plate of the spaghetti that I’d made for us and the Cedars on Thursday night. With left-overs in the fridge plus things bought at Senior Citizens Day at Kroger Wednesday, the fridge has been overfull, so I am glad we can use the leftovers.

With no cooking today, maybe I can have Gerald get down the big boxes of Chirstmas decorations in the guest room closet and I can start going through them. Earlier this week, he got down the two boxes in our closet, and those swags and accessories are already in place. The two trees must be unboxed also and put together to hold all the pretties in the boxes, and I hope that can be accomplished early next week.

Part of my Christmas shopping is done, part is ordered, and part is still to be done. None is wrapped. My sister’s little birthday present was mailed yesterday to Amarillo. Oh, yes, I also really want to send out the Christmas cards that are waiting. I bought the stamps this week. These are all fun things that in the grand scheme of things will not matter whether I accomplish them or not. Being busy is part of the holiday tradition, and I am glad for the good part of the busyness—and praying that her time-consuming medical treatment brings better health to our daughter.