Love Is the Theme

A diverse gathering of folks from 23 states brought musicians, teachers, university administrator and professors, prison teacher, doctors, housewives, preachers, nurses, sales people, office workers, farmers, banker, dentist, computer specialists, journalists, social workers, and no telling what else together again. Most are now retired or semi-retired. Hugs, the loud chatter of nearly 100 voices catching up on news with friends, beautiful music, a few tears, and lots of laughter for two days is both exhilarating and exhausting. Despite our diversity, we were unified by our love for each other and for Jesus and his teachings.

Our 87-year-old leader was there with short curly hair from her recent chemo. She said the illness might have slowed her down physically but mentally she was still in good shape. Most significant to us, her incredible sense of humor was functioning in top form. Maybe I should say her outrageous sense of humor. Only Helen Green Galloway could get away with the constant quips, digs, barbs, and quick-witted responses that she serves up in her unique style each year. I am sure the young man across from me at the supper table was as amazed by her as we all are when he described her master-of-ceremony style as fabulous. Her humor makes it easy to forget the hours of hard work (physical and mental) she has done for all of us for the past seven years after she replaced the late Maurice Swinford as president.

We were gathering for the annual reunion of alumni from Southern Illinois University Carbondale from the 1940s, 50s, and 60s who once upon a time participated in the activities of what then was called Baptist Student Union. This event started with four or five couples who somehow got together one morning over donuts while someone had a garage sale. That story always includes the explanation that the late Bob Hastings passed on the donuts to eat Rinnie Spencer’s cornbread left over from the night before. They had so much fun that they decided to meet annually. The crowd soon outgrew their homes. This year we met in Carbondale, and Thursday evening was in the Baptist Student Center to acquaint us with activities available for today’s collegiates.

Helen plans for the opening gathering to be a fun evening. This year featured four clowns who had us laughing hysterically as we sang along with them. We did sober up for serious and inspiring remarks by Chase Abner and Linda Auxier although Helen could not resist flirting with good-looking Chase. We enjoyed the lovely music by the Korean Singers under the leadership of Yunduk Kim, and we were also rewarded with the annual vocal selections by Jim and Rosie Robinson.

The next morning we met early for breakfast and more visiting at the University Baptist Church. There we were greeted with recycling bins in the back parking lot. Signs on the hall walls pointed the way to the food pantry, the clothing closet, the library. Folks were coming and going to reap those benefits, and our group joined in directing people to the help spots. Mid-morning we moved to the dignified sanctuary with windows of blue and red and bits of yellow that I remembered from my college days. On the outside, the windows are quietly dark and subdued; I had forgotten how lovely that sanctuary was with light flowing through those windows.

Now we were treated to a concert directed by Rayford Raby by the New Chapel Singers. Their music always seems incredible since they have only two rehearsals during our reunion. But Rayford is a director with both extraordinary ability and good-nature, and many of the singers are gifted musicians. Rayford’s wife Martha helps make sure everything goes smoothly for the group, and Helen Ruth Dillow accompanies with grace and talent. Don Dillow made us think deeply as we commemorated those who had died this past year, and Doris Taylor Bush filled the sanctuary with her gorgeous piano medley as we reflected on lives well spent.

During our two days, we listened to our fellow attendees tell stories of a mobile feeding unit working near ground zero for eleven months in New York City, teaching GED classes in the inner city, teaching college classes in a women’s prison, helping clean up after storms, taking medical care to other nations, roofing homes of needy folk, and, of course, how delightful their grandchildren and great grandchildren were--with photos to illustrate.

After a bountiful noon meal, we heard an inspiring sermon by Nate Adams urging us to be the conduits of God’s love flowing down from the mountain top to thirsty humanity. Then we had to say goodbye.

Next year we will meet at the First Baptist Church of Vandalia since Helen recruited Ginger Wells from there to be our new president. Helen does intend to continue the newsy website she started for us. Her servant mentality reflects what we were all taught by parents, leaders, and pastors long gone from this earth, but who were brought to mind as we met with those we’d shared our youth with. Gerald will be relieved as secretary-treasurer by Rosie Robinson, Ginger’s college roommate, so Ginger said they knew they could work together. Helen also has the ability to get others to do what she wants them to do. Hence, I am blogging about our reunion again this year.

Summer's Ending

Our neighbor’s tall green wall of corn lining our lane became variegated some weeks ago. The green separated the brown top tassels from the three feet of brown on the bottom of the stalks. When we got back from Georgia, the wall was all brown. Before we even returned to Woodsong that evening, Gerald had to drive up to Brian’s fields to see if the soybeans were brown, and they were almost there. Some farmers have started harvest, and Brian and Trent were down to their camper this weekend preparing for that event soon. The tomato plants are still producing, but not so much that I have to fill bags of tomatoes to share as I did a few weeks ago. School is well underway, and sweaters are needed some evenings as autumn approaches.

When I drove into our village on Thursday, I was surprised to see flags flying up and down the roads. I tried to remember what holiday it was since volunteers only put the flags up for special events. As I drove further into the heart of the village, I saw yellow ribbons on the flag poles and in people’s yards. Then I remembered reading on Facebook the night before that Jeremy Truitt, one of our Crab Orchard young men, was safely home from Iraq. Sure enough there was a large banner in front of one business welcoming Jeremy back home and giving a date for a celebration at the school in his honor.

I do not know Jeremy or his family, but I was touched with the love the community was showing, and it was easy to imagine the gratefulness and relief his family knows that he is back home. By the time I reached the Methodist church where I was to speak on the Trail of Tears to the lunch bunch there, I was wiping tears away and having to get my emotions under control. Today I learned young friends must drive to St. Louis tomorrow to meet their nephew coming in for his great grandmother’s funeral and also for a last leave before he ships out for Iraq. I know this young man and remember how he worked with younger children in Vacation Bible School just a few years ago before their family moved to the East. All is not well when our young people must be initiated into adulthood by going through such terrible dangers and deprivations.

It seems to me that there is also an unusual amount of surgeries and illnesses going on in our community—so much so that I can hardly keep the events in my head. My sister’s daughter down in Texas had surgery while we were away. The day before we left, my brother and wife came by briefly. They had come down the night before because both her brother and her sister were seriously ill in an area hospital. By now her sister will be back in the hospital for surgery. Our beloved oldest member of our congregation was to have back surgery and tonight we have learned that first she must have gall bladder surgery. Our neighbor from the farm across the road phoned from the hospital last night, and at that point I realized that the date for her scheduled surgery had come while we were away. And I just learned that another further away neighbor, who had done well for years following a stroke, is not doing well now. While some folks are old enough that we can expect their health to begin to deteriorate, many on our church prayer list for cancer and other illnesses are young.

Because we have such material abundance in our nation, it is easy to forget that without good health, the wealth means nothing. Although I mention material abundance, I am not forgetting that so many of our citizens have lost their jobs that they feel anything but wealthy right now. And I know there are way too many people in our nation living in shelters or even on the street. Yet in comparison to a large proportion of the world’s population, our people are still rich with electricity, plentiful running water, indoor plumbing, and community food banks. Nevertheless, if you have no job or hope of one and you are afraid of losing your home and having to move in with relatives or to a shelter, the mind must focus on what you do not have or how to cope with an uncertain future. You will probably be more likely to worry about how to pay the electricity bill than to appreciate having electricity.

How do we handle all the misery all around us? I heard a psychologist on television today point out that we humans often turn away and deliberately do not see unpleasantness because it is so painful and upsetting to see the problems around us. I know that I do. Not seeing is one way of coping. Are there better ways?

Softball Players Wear Pink for a Cause

We left Georgia in the rain this morning, and Gerald had rough driving off and on throughout the day as rain stopped and started. Sometimes it only sprinkled, and sometimes the downpour and fog in the mountains made visibility quite a strain. We are glad to be back at Woodsong, reviewing the mail, emails, and answering machine messages and happy the roofer completed the repair necessitated by the May dere

A final day in Georgia was extremely rewarding. Gerald and I drove up to Dahlonega, where the first gold rush in America occurred. We visited the beautiful 1836 courthouse built on the square there in the middle of Cherokee land after Georgia had given the land to whites through gold and land lotteries. The Dahlonega Gold Museum is now in this ancient courthouse building that was used by Lumpkin County until 1966 when a new courthouse was built. Even the locally manufactured bricks used for the building have flecks of gold clearly seen on the unpainted bricks leading to the attic. The friendly knowledgeable guides shared a great deal of local history as did the film we saw sitting on beautiful ancient metal chairs once used by the young military trainees at North Georgia College.

More amazing to me, however, was a framed letter on the wall written to local residents Daniel and Rachel Davis on January 1, 1838. It was written by their son Martin Davis, who was a supply officer on the Trail of Tears. Full of facts, the letter was written from Jonesboro, Illinois, my home town. As soon as I find out what detachment Martin Davis worked with, I will know which detachment suffered the blow-up of the Golconda steam ferry, something I have wanted to know. That explosion injured many and killed one white and one Cherokee, the letter explained.

After the very satisfying visit to Dahlonega despite the heavy rains throughout the day, we phoned Watkinsville to see Geri Ann’s game was cancelled. It had not rained there, and the game would go as scheduled at 5:55. (Evening games must start before six o’clock.) We got back to the high school park in plenty of time. Pink balloons were flying, and all the team were wearing their pink shirts as part of their benefit game to fight breast cancer. Many of the adults wore them also.

I’d already put in my donation on the admission table where a basket was waiting. The coach motioned us to the fence to whisper that Gerald might want to get his camera because our daughter-in-law Vickie was chosen to throw in the first pitch. Typically, Vickie had not told us she was being honored. She threw a great pitch and her youngest daughter Geri Ann was designated to catch it.

We had rejoiced with Vickie recently that she was through her last chemo and had been allowed to ring the bell in celebration at the hospital. She is an excellent poster girl for breast cancer because despite the March surgery and all the unpleasant treatment she has been through since then, she has not missed a beat in taking care of her daughters, her husband, her home, her dog, or her grandsons. She amazes us and fills us with pride at her upbeat attitude and calm confidence. She looks and acts great.

The rain had now arrived at Watkinsville, and the early sprinkles kept increasing until fans were seeking shelter, and I was grateful for the umbrella put up on my chair. Geri Ann was scheduled to pitch this game. Since it was with a regional team (conference team we call it in Illinois), everyone wanted the game to finish, but it had to go for five innings to be considered a complete.
We were soon far ahead and the coach was letting players have a chance to bat, who do not always get to do so. When it thundered in the fourth inning, we held out breath lest lightning call the game to a halt. We kept successfully batting and the rain became harder and harder. Finally the fifth inning arrived with the score 8-0 with the guest team batting last. Oconee High quickly shut the guests down, and Geri Ann was able to complete a perfect game.

We met up at the house to dry off and go to dinner at a local steakhouse before we visited for the final evening and retired to rest before our return trip to Woodsong this morning.

Visiting in Georgia

Kudzu-covered trees line the roadways with leafy green cathedrals. Eye lids close against our will against our will in the heavy September heat and we shake ourselves back awake. We are in
Georgia to watch grandaughter Geri Ann and the Oconee High School softball team.

Two opening games Friday at the annual Veteran Memorial Park Invittional were comfortably cool, but the three Saturday games were played in more typical sun-burning weather. Thanks to the large umbrellas Gerald has attached to our game-side chairs, I avoided the red face I saw on many by the end of the day.

The invitational hosted by Oconee North and Oconee County was not a traditional tourney with winners, but rather an opportunity for fourteen high schools attending from throughout the state to each meet five other teams at the four-field complex there on the outskirts of Watkinsville and Athens. For us it was an opportunity to acquaint ourselves with this year's team and to see Geri Ann's two home run bombs on Friday evening. And it was great seeing Courtney and Geri Ann pitch again.

After winning our first four games, it was a disappointment when our team lost the fifth game. We ended seven scoreless innings only to have Effingham's Lady Mustangs break the tie 2-0 at the end of the eighth inning. Our girls' desire to win was strong. As the loss sunk in and our girls realized what those last few minutes of play had wrought, there were some misty eyes and sagging spirits. We felt all those same emotins with our team. Nevertheless, Gerald and I have watched enough softball to not only feel girls' pain when they lose but to know our hurt has provided happiness to the other team, whom we would love too if we had a chance to know them.

That night the girls shrugged off the loss and gathered at the home of one of the players to watch the University of Georgias Bulldogs play South Carolina. Gerald and Gerry hurried to the stadium to join over 90,000 seeing the game there, and Vickie and I watched on the screen in the comfort of home. The day in the heat caused me to do as much napping as watching, but I saw the exciting ending with UGA winning 41-37. I was glad the Oconee girls had a winning game at the end of the day when Vickie left to collect Geri Ann. By now we were able to remember the four games won by a large margin as well as the final loss.

Yesterday we worshipped together singing our desire to embrace praise and justice. We rejoiced that love and grace comes flowing down from the One whose hands and feet were nailed to a tree. Then the pastor taught us we were made in the image of the Creator. He had made us wonder that we have to keep the doors of our cars and homes locked to keep out our fellow man created in God's likeness. Then he abruptly ended his sermon and the service with a question to ponder the rest of the day: What went wrong?

The Holiday's Over

Our weekend was indeed special with the Archibalds, Taylors, and Leslie and her boyfriend Michael visiting. It was not as good as it would have been if Katherine had been well enough to come out to the farm or if Vickie and Geri Ann had been able to come visit Gma Shirley as planned, but that trip from Georgia was not to be. A last-minute softball practice for yesterday was called, and that reduction in the weekend ended their plans to drive up. Everyone was bummed, but I am sure the unexpected weekend at home was more restful than the long trip up here from Georgia.

Yet I know Vickie and Geri Ann wanted to see everyone—especially Gma Shirley (Vickie’s mother) as well as Geri Ann’s sister Tara and husband Bryan and nine-month-old Maddux and three-year-old Aidan. We all felt bad for Shirley since she can’t travel to Georgia and other places because she is so conscientious to take good care of her very sick little sister Janice. Shirley now stays next door with Janice since their elderly mother died in May.

When Gerry and Vickie were dating, Vickie’s family and her grandparents and Janice lived in adjoining homes on down the road from us and around a corner and down that road—not close enough to be called neighbors even in a rural community—but still close to us. In fact, during high school days, Gerry sometimes visited and courted Vickie and her entire family by riding his horse down to their place on a Sunday afternoon. So when Gerry and Vickie come up from Georgia, it is easy to see both families during the same trip. But sadly, only Shirley and Janice remain in the two-home family compound that had eight back then in those high school days. Nevertheless, Shirley had Vickie’s brothers and families in for her famous chicken and dumplings for Tara’s family even though Vickie and Geri Ann could not come. Aidan played baseball with his cousin Drew, a high school athlete, and he felt big indeed, and Tara caught up on the Johnson clan news. And everyone got to take turns holding and loving on Maddux, who Tara says is the lover in the family.

Although he can cry if disturbed enough, Maddux is usually smiling. He immediately stole Gerald’s heart when thet arrived Saturday by not only by smiling and cuddling continuously with him but by reaching up his little mouth to repeatedly kiss his great grandfather.

Gerald had been so excited to know Aidan would finally have time to dig in the lime pile here at Woodsong. He had bought Aidan a little digger after their last visit. That time Aidan wanted to work, and he kept the whole crew of grown-ups busy. He dragged shovels and hoes out of Gerald’s shop to put people to work on that lime pile. When his mother showed up and there were no more shovels, he dragged out the heavy post hole digger and handed it to Tara. “Here,” he said, “You use the nabdabber.” No one was sure where he got that name for that tool, but somehow it seemed to fit. After he wore all of them out and they began sneaking away, I came outside and he had us climb into the “mule.” He wanted me to drive it, but I honestly told him I had forgotten how. He snorted disgustingly, “Well pretend.” And pretend we did for the next half hour.

So in preparation for this visit, Gerald had our little red wagon, the new Aidan-size shovel he had bought him and the digger all ready for Aidan’s use. Despite the rains throughout the weekend (especially heavy Saturday night), there were sunny spells that allowed Aidan to use the tools Gerald had ready for him, and I suspect Gerald enjoyed the play even more than Aidan.

Leslie and Mike arrived right before midnight on Saturday after being in a church retreat in Nashville all day, so we were pleased Sunday morning to be able to hear Leslie sing a new song she had written at church. Leslie cautioned us not to ask Mike to play guitar because he would want to so badly, but he cannot right now because of tendonitis. Weight lifting and guitar playing had done a number on him, and he is in therapy to regain proper use of his arms for his passion for guitar.

The Taylors were down from Waggoner for a late Sunday dinner, and we had a relaxing afternoon and evening. When Tara’s family returned from Gma Shirley’s, Aidan was fascinated by teenage Trent’s Stitch hat, which he entertains us with at holidays. (Maddux thought it was scary.) Trent was wonderful giving Aidan lots of stories and attention, and Brianna played Candy Land with Aidan. Everyone wanted their turn with Maddux.

Somehow the old worn-out Sorry game was found; and after the kids got it out, all the men (Brian, Bryan, and Gerald) ended up at the dining room table playing Sorry. Tara was there for part of the game when she did not have to stop and take care of Maddux or talk softball on the phone with Gerry. I had not seen Gerald play Sorry since Erin was a preschooler, when we played many a game at the old farm house under her directions. Bryan was as competitive at Sorry as he was at football. He was a stickler for the correct rules and Gerald griped. However, after he won, I figured he may have liked the real rules better than Erin’s changing rules—which I think probably let her win most of the time. Everyone was missing Erin since her birthday is coming up. They wanted her at the farm to celebrate, but she was in class yesterday as Texas A&M did not take off for Labor Day.

People slept as late as they wanted yesterday and had cereal and fruit or whatever they could find as they came to the kitchen table. Some fished, rode the mule, took paddle boat rides, or texted friends. And there was plenty of time to visit. At noon there were 10 of us at the dining room table for ham with biscuits and gravy, fresh corn-on-the cob and garden tomatoes and all the left-overs from previous meals. (Brian was not at the table because he was up on the other farm spraying with his fancy new spray rig. He came in mid-afternoon sunburned but happy.) After dinner the packing of cars had to begin. Sweet corn was bundled up to return with them to the city. By late afternoon everyone was gone again their separate ways. Woodsong was so quiet.

Busy Week

The first Wednesday of the month is always busy for me since it is senior citizens day at Krogers and I try to do as much of my shopping for the month as possible in order to get the discount they give us old codgers. I usually bump into someone I have not seen in a long time and that is both a pleasant bonus but also a time user. Then I have to put all those groceries away or at least carry them in the house and make sure the freezer and fridge items are taken care of properly. (The others sit in bags on the kitchen floor if the cabinet top becomes full.) Then the first Wednesday also usually brings our board meeting for the Illinois Chapter of the Trail of Tears Association, which usually means a trip to nearby Carbondale but sometimes car pooling up to O’Fallon with other members to make the traveling more fair for the two members north of here.

This was a Carbondale month (most are), so I found myself cramming in a couple other tasks that day. One was finishing a project in the preschool room at our church house. I needed to do that in order to get supplies out of the trunk of my car, so I could fill the trunk with groceries instead. Gerald is always a little amazed at how I collect things in the car, but there is always logic to what I carry in an effort to be more efficient. (Why carry things into the house to clutter the house when the stuff is going someplace else? Why not carry things I need to take some place just in case I find myself traveling by where the stuff needs to be taken? I try not to make extra trips to recycle since I assume any extra traveling might cancel out the advantage to the environment that I am trying to gain by recycling. I did finish both extra projects on Wednesday, but I did not get books back to the village library or the other four or five errands on my to-do list. I had to finish them yesterday and today. (I just phoned the library to renew the books.)

Yesterday with help I got the garage cleaned out, which made me feel good since it had been a couple years since it had a thorough cleaning. The lady who helped me could not refrain from commenting that I was like her daughter—I saved everything. Yes, the teacher in me can’t resist saving things I may use to teach with or to have when grandchildren say, “Grandma, we need jars for catching fire flies.” Or frogs or whatever.

I put away a few groceries yesterday and today, and in a minute I will go finish putting the rest away. By now I have bought more from other stores. I bought the last fresh peaches the stand had—all five of them. Gerald has brought in apples from an orchard and fresh corn that he shucked for us awhile ago into a huge bowl. I put the watermelon in the downstairs fridge, the two cantaloupe from Posey County, Indiana, in the tiny fridge in the garage, but I have no idea how I am going to make room for all that sweet corn. But I will. I have roasts thawing in the fridge to put in the oven in the morning. All the beds have clean sheets.

Four sets of family company are coming. Some may arrive tonight. Some may start from Chicago area in the morning. One car is arriving at midnight tomorrow. The Taylors are coming and will probably sleep in the camper at the other farm—except I am sure Brianna and Geri Ann will want to sleep together here and catch up on their giggling and high school news. I am not sure who will be eating here or when as they visit other family members, but I am ready with luncheon meats and ideas to make sure no one goes hungry. Busy weeks are good weeks. And the weekend will be good as well.

Multiple Sclerosis

I believe in divine healing. I wonder if my prayers for healthy babies or traveling mercies have perhaps not only been answered positively but also prevented disasters and disabilities that I never even knew about. I certainly thank God for those answered prayers. I have often prayed for ill family and friends; and with time and often medical help, they have become well again. I would never want to neglect expressing my gratitude. But the miraculous instantaneous healing that I long to see is something I have never experienced. The dramatic stories both in the New Testament and in many anecdotal accounts thrill me, and I do believe. Yet I have no such story to share.

However, it has come to me that as marvelous it would be for my prayers for instant healing for a loved one to be answered, it would be even more marvelous for research to bring about medical miracles that would heal multitudes rather than just one person. So while I continue to pray that my daughter with multiple sclerosis will walk again, I also pray for researchers everywhere. Not just those researching MS and neurofibromatosis and cancer and the diseases of my loved ones, but all those diseases that beset the human race. And the great thing is that research in one medical area often benefits other areas just as space research benefited earthly projects.

So it was good today to read in the Sunday supplement magazine that after the appropriations to the National Institutes of Health (NIH) fell by almost 20% in the last five years, last winter Congress vote to raise NIH’s budget by 3.2% and the President has asked Congress to bring NIH’s budget to $31 billion for fiscal 2010. Other groups are working to bring the budget to $40 billion in the next five years. Arlen Specter is quoted as saying there are an estimated 110 million Americans who suffer from diseases such Parkinson’s, Alzheimer’s, diabetes, autism, and cancer.

Research is slow and often takes years before a definite safe and helpful treatment or cure can be found. (It took over 15 years for the development of Tysabri for MS, for example.) But research strikes me as one of the most effective preventive health care activities we can fund. What better way to spend out money?

Yesterday the regional chapter of the National Multiple Sclerosis Society sponsored a dinner and a report on MS research by Dr. Becky Parks of Washington University. I drove over to the banquet room in Carbondale to listen. It has long been reported that people south of the Mason-Dixon line are less likely to get MS than those in northern climes. It is thought that less sunshine has increased the risk of northerners. As we glanced at the material handed us and saw the first entry was on Vitamin D, I had to wonder since I know my daughter was outside often in the sunshine as a child. Across the table from me, a newly diagnosed young woman said she had always been a sun worshipper.

Nevertheless, experiments have shown that mice who are given large doses of vitamin D before being injected with agents that cause a mouse version of MS do not develop the disease. When treated with high vitamin D doses after getting the mouse version of MS, the disease is mild. (Since no one knows what causes MS, I wondered what the agents were that caused the mice to get their version of the disease.) People have concluded that vitamin D plays an important role in the immune system, specifically to help prevent inflammation. Continued research on low blood levels of vitamin D is continuing. But on a practical level, the advice is to be sure your doctor checks for vitamin D and if the level is low, take high doses to bring it up to help your immune system. Dr. Parks emphasized that just your ordinary across-the-counter vitamin D would not be strong enough to increase the deficiency.

Studies have shown that smokers have increased risk of MS and that smoking contributes to MS progression with more brain atrophy and MS lesions. Someone asked about second-hand smoke, and Dr. Parks said while no studies have been specifically done for that with MS, it was common sense from more general studies on second-hand smoke that it should be avoided.

While pregnancy seems to be beneficial to women with MS, they have often been torn about wanting to nurse their infants while also being encouraged to get back on their MS therapy quickly after childbirth to prevent relapse. Dr. Parks gave the good news that new research shows that women who exclusively breastfed their babies for at least two months had a lower risk of relapse during the year after childbirth than women who did not breastfeed—if they did not supplement the breastfeeding with formula.

To replace the daily or weekly shots that many MS patients give themselves, several oral medications are being studied: Cladribine, Fingolimod, BG-12 (dimethyl fumarate) , Teriflunomide, and Laquinimod. Infusion therapies being studied are for Campath (alemtuzumab) and Rituximab. All of these are mere treatment drugs and not preventative or curative. But I had to hope that knowledge gained from these drugs’ research would enlighten us as to cause and cure and later bring about methods for rebuilding of myelin and reversing disability.

I learned the difference between Phase II and Phase III trials. Phase II trials are for shorter times and with fewer patients. If comparison between those given the meds as opposed to the placebo, show good results, then with proper funding, Phase III trails may be begun with more participants and for longer periods of time. If those results are good, the studies can be submitted to the FDA for approval. As hopeful as Dr. Parks was able to be, she was also honest about the side-effects—sometimes life threatening with new drugs until proper doses and protocol are refined—and sometimes prohibitive for the drug’s use for some patients.

After the Q and A was over, people socialized a bit, and then those fortunate MS patients walked out with their limps and jagged walks and perhaps a cane or walker. Others left in their wheel chairs and scooters. I hope all of us left with a little more hope and with prayers for researchers everywhere and for increased funding for their work. We need to pray also for excellent science teachers who can help our high school and college students achieve the necessary academic ability to go into research. And the altruism to stick with it when the funding and interest are low.

Tomatoes, Phone Calls, and River Lore

We have been enjoying luscious red ripe tomatoes with almost every meal. Unlike our special friend Helen Green Galloway, 87, who likes vine-ripe tomatoes with milk gravy, we don’t eat them for breakfast. They taste good to us with all other meals, however.

I filled up three sacks today and took to Katherine’s house for her and two of her aides. We took tomatoes to the brothers and wives last Friday night, and Gerald has taken some to neighbors. In the old days, I would have been canning tomato juice, but I have not canned in many years. I keep thinking someday I will again, but I probably won’t. (I did finally pass my pressure canner on to a neighbor.) Life seems too full already without canning. Gerald cut back his garden to just green onions--already gone now-- and the tomatoes, so I haven’t even had okra to put in the freezer. (I am afraid my family is going to be very disappointed this winter.)

My planned task for today was to make phone calls for my daughter Katherine to line up interviews for home health aides. The long list from a government agency of possible people gave me more disconnected phones than working ones. More and more people are cutting out their land phones and just using cells. I still like using the house phone more than my cell, which I am always misplacing, but it will be interesting to see if the custom of house phones survive in a few more years. At least today’s families don’t have to fret about their kids tying up the house phone—as my parents did and as I did when we had teens living with us.

As I called the listings, I left several messages on message machines—but some without answering machines called me back because they had caller ID. Some phones I called greeted me with music (including the call I made to granddaughter Erin), some were answered by the new owner of a phone number instead of the person I was trying to call and they were very polite even though I had bothered them unnecessarily. Many answered quite formally, and one recorded voice said: You know the routine, leave a message. Some who answered had pleasant cultivated voices and others were strident. Some, who were working elsewhere now, were very brief and business-like; some in the same circumstances were chatty. Some recommended others.

I also was reviewing today the many page report of an archeological study of Mark Wagner of the east side of the Mississippi River at the time of the Cherokee Removal in 1838-39. There in Union County was where the thousands of Cherokee had to take ferries day after day to reach the other side when the large ice floes finally allowed them to cross to Missouri. I had studied the report once before, but enough time had passed that I was no longer positive of some points. So I am re-reading it. Although the river has changed radically since then, the report opined that it might be possible yet to find archeological evidence of Willard’s Landing and Hamburg Landing, both of which once were located on the river’s bank. They provided ferries to cross the river as well as a landing for steamboats from Pennsylvania to bring goods down the Ohio and up the Mississippi to Union County or a place to load flatboats with excess farm produce to sell down in New Orleans.

It is interesting to look at the old maps of the river’s edge and see the changes from decade to decade. In the very earliest days of white pioneers, few acres in the bottoms could be cultivated because of the floods, but now most of the rich land near the river is well drained and growing productive crops.

Woods between the highway and the river make viewing the river impossible most of the time. The same is usually true when you drive off the highway and onto levee roads with fields and trees between the road and the river. Many years ago when we lived and farmed on one side of the 20th century levee in Union County, I would always feel I was definitely living on the river when the water rose against the levee. Other times I could forget that.

Although we were never threatened with the river going over nor the levee breaking during our three years there, nevertheless, driving with the river against the levee seemed very dramatic to me. I drove carefully at those times. One of my favorite memories is when the water was not high and we borrowed our landlord’s little pickup and took Katherine and Gerry for a picnic over by the river on the other side of the levee from our house. My brother’s family at that time lived across the river in Cape Girardeau, and I liked seeing the lights there and knowing they were just on the other side from us.

Old Man River dividing our nation in half is a fascinating phenomenon. Powerful and capable of being devastating down through the years. Yet most of the time, serenely lovely and peacefully soothing.

Closing Days of Summer

The baby martins have grown up and flown from Woodsong with their parents for other climes. Most everyone I know had their children/grandchildren start back to school this past week. Although friend Pat did tell me they still start after Labor Day up in Wisconsin, where some of her grandchildren live. I know schools now have air-conditioning and that we need to help our children keep up with the harder working students in other nations, so I try to refrain from griping about August school startings. Yet I am very glad my own children did have to start their school year as early as so many seem to do now.

I thought August ought to be for final outings and cramming in summer pleasures and that Labor Day was a perfectly lovely way to end summer schedules. Both as a child and as a parent, I loved summers. I always felt sadness when my children started back to school even though I felt their excitement and rejoiced in that.

The only exception I remember was one summer when someone came around a blind corner on our graveled country road and ran into us with a farm truck; we had to put our car in the shop for weeks. That same summer, the lawn mower kept breaking down, and finally the lawn was almost a foot high. I just wanted that summer to be over. I can imagine that some of those whose homes were severely damaged by the May 8 derecho feel the same way about this summer. Many homes still have tarps on their roofs waiting for the roofers to get to them. We will all remember this as the summer that streets were busy with pickups with attached trailers full of tree limbs. Nor was it was uncommon for limbs to have fallen off on our streets from those pickups.

Last weekend was busy with too many things we wanted to do, but this weekend our schedule was free. We enjoyed meeting Gerald’s brothers and my sisters-in-law at Triple E barbecue down at Lake of Egypt for supper Friday night for fish and/or barbecue ribs. Their bulletin board has personal for-sale items and ads with pictures of horses and dogs. Wait staff and customers were mostly in jeans and T shirts, and at least man had a huge belt buckle proving how good he is on a horse. The room was noisy and full of people glad to be off work for the weekend.

While we ate, brother Keith got a phone call telling him that their granddaughter Lauren had just won an very impressive sum of money for roping up at Lake Saint Louis. Having completed her internship at an area hospital, she will soon be back at an out-of-state university to finish her nurse’s training, but she made a killing this weekend on her horse. Her older sister Tracy, recently graduated from Southern Illinois University Carbondale, has moved to Oklahoma with her three horses, where Tracy is also working in her chosen field for a dentist.

On our way home, Gerald’s phone call about our granddaughter’s softball tourney down in Georgia did not bring such good news, but Gerry’s call last night relayed Oconee High School had three wins yesterday. I get some hints from Facebook how grandkids’ school days have gone so far, but I still need to touch base with their mothers to hear first hand. Although autumn won’t officially start for almost a month, summer is over—whether we like it or not.

Piddling Days

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Week of the Granddaughters

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Good Times and Good Memories

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

My Day

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A Visit With My Big Brother

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not a Shopper (If I Can Help It)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mid-Summer Dreams and Nightmares

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Eilers Visit Going and Coming During Their Vacation

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Snakedoctors, dragonflies, damselflies, whatever...

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

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

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

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

A Sunday Afternoon Drive and an Evening Visit

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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