Lush

The moon is full again. Gerald’s garden can only be described as lush. The recent rains have made everything around us rich with green vegetation.

For dinner tonight, food from the garden included healthy okra (laid on a plate and three minutes in the microwave), sliced yellow zucchini (topped with no calorie spray, seasoning salt, and three minutes in microwave), and sliced tomatoes. Cantaloupe was dessert. Oh, and an ear of the corn from Scott’s patch next door rescued from the deer. Gerald has already taken 5-gallon buckets of tomatoes to the homeless shelter along with zucchini and okra. We’ve shared cantaloupe and veggies with Katherine and an aide, and I suspect we will have to find other recipients very soon. The extremely hot temperatures must be good growing weather.
We received just the right amount of rain last Wednesday here at Woodsong and up at Wayside Farm, where most of Brian’s crops are. Between the two farms, however, along Route 166, the rain came so hard that the ditches were overflowing and the road was covered by water for the first time in all the decades we have lived here. A soybean field there was covered with muddy water. Smoke was everywhere and a fire truck was there as Gerald drove by going to check on Brian’s crops. A large barn full of hay at Doughtys was destroyed, we assume by the lightning.

Geri Ann had taken friends in our car down to Gma Shirley's, and Gerald called her to wait awhile to drive back home because he felt the creek there might be flooding the road. Not so. (Although one neighbor over in that direction reported four inches.) At the Medical Arts Center this morning, where Gerald had a colonoscopy, we ran into Carbondale friends, and they did not get this rain at their home. Their garden has about dried up. Once again the rain had fallen and not fallen on the just and the unjust. But overall, crops in our area are abundant. So are the quail.

Gerald was ordered to take it easy today, and after we had stopped for a delayed breakfast at almost noon, we came on home. I had been recruited to be in the waiting room and to be his driver as required by the doctor. Almost home on our country road, a mama turkey started across followed by a couple of gawky young ones right in front of us and I braked for their crossing. Then another one came after them and finally a fourth. These inexperienced birds were not the least afraid of my car nor were they in any hurry. The last one reversed itself to nibble something in the road and then to poke on across. Finally we started forward and almost missed seeing the father turkey waiting to join them in crossing with three more young ones in the thicket on the right.

When we reached home, Gerald read, snacked, worked with photographs, played on the Internet, talked on the phone, and finally took a long nap in his recliner after only a bit of leaving the house to go down the lane for the mail and to add a cantaloupe to the kitchen counter.

It was late twilight when we finished dinner and he invited me to ride around the farm on the mule. The darkening sky was covered with dark blue clouds mixing with those clouds turned orange and pink by the setting sun. Gerald was hoping to see the huge buck he had seen while riding with Aidan and Maddux. Instead we saw four deer guiltily leaping and fleeing from Scott’s corn field when they saw us riding toward them. They were as fast as the turkeys were slow and could easily outrun us. Gerald left that part of the farm, and soon we saw them again over in the neighbor’s pasture on the north of us.

We continued on around the lake. Green trees were reflected in the water. The overhead sky’s reflection with its gentle pastels of the pink and blue clouds mingled with the greens made the whole scene like one of Monet’s masterpieces. By the time we were back to the shed and had parked the mule, it was dark. I finished up in the kitchen before coming down here to reflect on this summer day.

Took Two Grandmothers

Whew! Just finished two of the busiest weeks of my life with house guests for 14 days straight. All family, so no real stress—just lots of fun. Most were grandkids or their friends, and they were all very well behaved since they are growing up real fine! But time was taken with VBS, funeral visitations, and meals for five to twelve oft times. Groups overlapped, and it wasn’t always possible to visit with individuals the way I would have liked to do.

Gerry came in Wednesday night and picked up his daughter Geri Ann and two other Georgia Southern Force players, Courtney and Samantha, who been dropped off earlier on their way home from a Chicago-area tourney. Vickie and another player dropped off Geri Ann and Courtney on Sunday evening—not even coming in the house--and then drove all night to reach home in Georgia. On Monday, Sam’s parents and sister dropped her off after a visit with central Illinois grandparents

When Gerry arrived Wednesday night, the girls had their gear packed after three days of visiting friends in Johnston City, boat riding, fishing, and relaxing. They watched a lot ot television and a video that Geri Ann found of one of her cousin Elijah’s plays. When Lacey, who plays on the local Southern Force team, stayed all night here, she took them to Marion for snow cones. They visited Gma Shirley down the road and she insisted of cooking their supper. Softball players live such disciplined regimented lives that it was good to see them plan their own agenda while they were at Woodsong.

Since it would be raining down the highway, they put their suitcases in black garbage bags before putting them in the back of Gerry’s pickup, where Gerald added the new batting tees he had worked hard in this summer heat to complete before Gerry arrived. They too drove all night after leaving here and arrived in Georgia the next morning.

I had two down days to relax myself, put fresh sheets on all the beds, catch up on some reading, and thought I might blog yesterday for the first time since the flurry of activity started.

However, Tara phoned Friday night explaining she and the boys (aged 4 years, 19 months, and four months) were coming down for a tourney Saturday afternoon at the softball stadium at Southern Illinois University Carbondale, where the local Southern Force team was playing.. She was just stopping by on her way to her parents’ home in Georgia for a practice of the Georgia Southern Force team, who would go from there to College Station, Texas, to play in the nationals there.

We immediately put our heads in gear to see how we could take our turn helping with the three great grandsons. Tara handles them with great calmness and efficiency—it is sweet to see three little outfits and shoes all laid out in a row the night before. Gerald wanted to see Lacey and the Johnston City girls play, so he was the logical one to drive with Tara and Aidan, the four-year-old, to the game. Aidan, just like Tara and Gerald, would not pay any attention to the sweltering heat.

It hurt my ego to admit that I could not handle the two younger boys by myself since Tara, a tiny thing, lugs three little ones around so easily, but I knew I could not. So Gma Shirley came to the rescue and arrived to help. Believe me, we kept busy all afternoon! We both enjoyed all the snuggling, rocking, giggling, singing, and playing with our mutual grandsons. Maddux kept wanting to go outside, and Gma Shirley finally accommodated him for a brief time after it cooled off a tiny bit, but Maddux was sweating when he came in and I think he understood why we had been telling him it was hot, hot, hot outside.

The gamers arrived back with pizza in the early evening, and Tara took a brief nap downstairs while Gma Shirley and I had final loving-time with Payton. It had cooled off, and Gerald was outside taking Aidan and Maddux on all the rides they demand when they are here—the lawn mower, the tractor, the “mule,” and the boat. And they both had to hit off the little tee fixed for them. I even “caught” a few balls off the ground and threw back for them. Soon Tara was up and organized as always and had all three happily in their row of car seats in the back. She would be driving all night to reach Georgia and was planning on the boys sleeping.. I am sure Gma Shirley and I were both saying a silent prayer for their safety as they drove off in the dark. We went back inside tired but pleased with our afternoon.

Erin's Summer in Europe

If you are like me and have always wanted to travel to Europe, you might enjoy it vicariously as I am doing as I read my granddaughter Erin's blog. After graduating from Texas A&M this May, Erin's A&M coaches asked her to start a blog so they could know what their catcher was doing with the Sharx over in Austria for the summer. Here is her blog url: http://erinmglasco.blogspot.com.


Some of you in Europe may want to go see her play. If you do, tell her Gma Sue said hi.

Musical Beds

Written on July 14--but never finished nor posted:
My cousin Bill's son Mike died Sunday, July 11,and Gerald and I will be going to his funeral visitation tonight at nearby town of Goreville, our Martin ancestral home.

All three teens here for Vacation Bible School went to my cousin David's visitation on Monday night. In the meantime, my son Gerry was here a couple of nights as he was very close to David, and he and Dave’s son Neil have been friends since the days when they played sports against each other in grade school and high school.

Then last night daughter Jeannie and husband Rick and their kids Elijah and Cecelie came in from an aborted camping trip. After some nice camping followed by rains and mosquistoes, etc., the two kids asked to come here where their cousins were. Jeannie is busy washing up all the rained-on comforters and Rick drying out their tent. We are playing "muscial beds" it seems like since Tara and three boys came by Sunday night on their way through from Atlanta going home to northern Illinois after a softball tourney.

We started with plans for each of the three teens to have their own bedroom this year—a far cry from when we used to fill two queen-size beds with grandkids in the upstairs room over at Pondside Farm and I slept with them to keep them settled down the best I could.

However, when the kids found out Tara and the babies were coming, they were thrilled and Trent gladly moved to a couch and gave his room to her and then next for a couple of nights to his Uncle Gerry who was here for David’s funeral. Then the Eilers came, and again the kids were thrilled that Elijah and Cecelie were joining them—and Sam gladly moved to a couch and gave the adults his bedroom. Having five grandkids instead of just three for VBS was better yet, they all agreed. And so did I.

Sad News About Cousins

My son Gerry phoned early this morning to tell me my cousin David Martin had passed away last night. I missed David's daughter Mickey's call a little later. Didn't hear the phone right, but Gerald talked to Mickey. His funeral will be Tuesay morning at Webtown's Community of Christ Church, where David's wife Norma is an elder. His visitation will be Monday night.

David had been through so much fighting cancer for a long time now, and this last 30-40 days had been horrific from all Mickey had told me as he had his bladder removed and other surgery and spent 30 days at Barnes in St. Louis and then a week in skilled nursing home, where Norma was given a bed since she could not stand to leave him. He hated the ground up food at the nursing home that made him choke. Then they took him home. He was given the lemonade he wanted with lots of sugar just like he specified. Other requests that day were attended to and he went to bed to sleep in his own bed saying, "If I die tonight, I have had a good day." In retirement, David was remained active as a hunter and gardener and an avid ball fan for his kids and grandkids. He was a marvellous story teller, and his begged-for talks at our Martin reunions are a pleasant memory.

A call from our cousin Helen Martin Sitter last night told me that our late cousin Bill's only son Mike Martin, 58, has been given two weeks to live. He too has been battling cancer and a stroke caused by all his problems. His sister Jeneane has been a beloved mainstay in his life. She must plan his funeral at Goreville for him, where he will be buried in Busby Cemetery beside his baby brother Patrick, who died on Christmas Day many many years ago. I see Mike in my mind's eye as still vibrant and healthy, just as I remember David. I think the last time I visited with Mike was when our cousin Doug came from California and Mike and we sat at our dining room table visiting over at Pondside Farm.

With these griefs in our family and teaching Vacation Bible School in our village with three grandchildren here to help teach, the next few weeks may not include much blogging.

Greenwich Village Remembered at Woodsong

Monday was rather scary because when Erin woke up all alone at their Georgia home, she was extremely sick and thought she had food poisoning. Her dad was directing her by phone to drink Gator-aid, and her momma was arriving back there at 6 p.m., but Erin was having to face that she might not be able to leave on her scheduled flight out of Atlanta the next day for Austria. However, by the time Vickie’s flight arrived in Atlanta and she drove down to Watkinsville, Erin was better and she had her mother there to help her finish packing. She caught all her scheduled flights and she was in Austria ready for her first softball practice with the Sharx. We all breathed a sigh of relief and a prayer of gratitude.

Once again my dining room table has been covered this week with papers, music, and booklets with plans for Vacation Bible School at our village church. Becky Belt and I will be working together in the room the children will come to for their Bible story. Each day we will see all the children enrolled as they rotate by age groups through our room. I am reviewing the Genesis story for the first day—God not only created us but made each of us unique and special. Then there will be a lesson the next day on Joseph, one on Zacchaeus on Wednesday, and one of Jesus on Thursday. The last day will be from Philippians and we will think about how we can live in ways that honor the God who loves us.

I cleared the table yesterday, however, for Eric and Ann Levin were coming over and I wanted to put out some fruit for munching, and it was all because of Red Room, a writers' site on the Web.
Somehow Eric had found my website here, where I mentioned that I went to Greenwich Village the summer after college graduation. I wanted to be a writer, and I thought the proper thing for me to do was to collect experiences. So going to Greenwich Village, where I had heard writers hung out, seemed like an interesting experience to have. I applied for an interdenominational summer project called “The Church in Urban Life” and was accepted. (If it had not been for Gerald coming along and our getting engaged, I probably would have stayed in New York for a year or two. At least that was my intention. But because of our engagement, I settled on just going there for the summer as already planned but teaching the next school year in a Chicago suburb.)

Recently I have been looking at old scrapbooks and trying to decide what to do with them. One scrapbook was on my summer in Greenwich Village. Those in the summer project stayed at Judson Student House, a cooperative, near Judson Memorial Church, which was one of the project’s sponsors. We each were on our own to seek out a job and support ourselves. I found summer secretarial work for Dr. Martin Siegel at The United Synagogue of America in upper Manhattan beside the Jewish Theological Seminary.

At the student house, where we all pitched in cleaning and doing kitchen work on a schedule, we would have seminars, discussion groups, and lecturers on city politics, economics, and the church’s response to city challenges. On weekends we would go to different activities, the museums, and plays. On Sunday we’d visit different churches, such as East Harlem Protestant Parish, Christ Church, and Riverside Church, or we’d attend services at our sponsoring church, Judson Memorial.

Eric Levin, who was born and reared in New York City, where his father had a cigar store in the Village, phoned out of curiosity after seeing that I had spent that summer in Greenwich Village. Gerald took the first call and they became acquainted. I was home to get acquainted when the second phone call came. Eric has lived in our very rural community for years, but because he works out of the community and is not native born like many here are, he said he had not met too many local folk. He came to the Friends of the Library presentation, where I spoke on the Trail of Tears, and we became better acquainted.

He told me about his father’s smoke shop and how he worked there in his teens during the 1960s and met many of the writers who shopped there, so of course I was fascinated. I told him I had just looked through this ancient scrapbook for the first time in years and he would have to drop by and see it. So last night was the night we chose, and we were able to meet his wife Ann.

He had told me on the phone he had gone to school in Berkeley and then came to Pomona, a tiny village southwest of Carbondale, the home of Southern Illinois University. I imagined that he came from Berkeley to one of the communes which sprang up in that era in that beautiful hilly country, but he didn’t. He just wanted rural life. He was very tired of cities—especially after being the victim of a hold up—and someone told him about Pomona and he came here without knowing anyone and rented an old farm house without running water and became a true country man while he finished his degrees.

He also had told me he had married a local girl, who died young. Imagine our mutual surprise when conversation last night led us to realize that this first wife was from the same Godwin family that Gerald’s mother descended from. Eric’s father’s ashes were scattered at the Jerusalem Church cemetery, where his first wife’s had been, a cemetery where many Godwins are buried.
I liked hearing Ann tell about her interesting career as a social worker who works with dialysis patients. We found out that she was from nearby Johnston City, where I taught part time for a couple of years not too long before she started high school there, so we just missed each other. Though she did not know Gerry’s family, we did know several of the same folk.

Eric’s 90-year-old mother is now living in assisted living in Marion after just having been moved from her duplex there at Liberty Village. An accomplished pianist, who studied psychology along with his sister at New York’s New School of Social Work, but who had a business career with a corporation, she sounds absolutely delightful. She loved having a place to grow flowers and feed birds. For the first time in her adult life, she was driving a car. Now friends make sure she still gets to all the concerts at SIUC.

Altogether it was a fascinating evening comparing and contrasting urban/rural lifestyles and sharing our experiences. . We did look at the scrapbook and Eric showed me on a city map in there where his father’s shop was on 7th Street and where he went to grade school across the street from Brooklyn College. We saw the playbills for The Trial, Victor Borge’s comedy, The Boy Friend, Fanny, The Teahouse of the August Moon, and The Pajama Game along with the $l.75 ticket stubs for the cheap balcony seats where I would sit.

After the Levins left, Gerald went to bed, and I came down to check email and Facebook to see what time the Eilers—Jeannie and Rick, Elijah and Cecelie got away from Freeport. But I could not get on the Internet. A phone call located them on Interstate 57 near Mattoon, and I figured they would not arrive until 2 a.m., so I started this belated blog. Actually they arrived at 1:30 so I am just now finishing the blog. I woke up to Jeannie and Rick laughing with Gerald in the kitchen. That was before Rick took his morning run and Jeannie rode her bicycle over country roads for her morning pleasure. Then we had a good visit before the six of us sat down for lunch and a final time together before they repacked the van stuffed with all their camping gear and bicycles and the dogs Lucky and Leah. Now they are on their way again to visit Leslie at Barefoot Republic Camp in Kentucky and then travel with her for the rest of the weekend in Nashville.

It is time for me to get out the VBS materials and return to my studies at the dining room table. Although the number of grandkids coming is shrinking as the kids have moved away, taken summer jobs, and so forth, there will be three teens here, and instead of being students at VBS, they all three will be helpers with the younger kids. Down through the years, as the children have matured, they have pitched in and helped. They like helping and they love being together for whatever projects they cook up to entertain themselves for the rest of the day at Woodsong.

America's Birthday and Reunions

Erin left Woodsong early this morning after breakfast, stopped in Nashville to have lunch with her friend Brooke, and is now safely back home in Georgia. We already miss her.

Yesterday while she was running around shopping and having fun with Gma Shirley and her cousin Sarah, Gerald and I attended the annual family reunion at his cousin Troy’s house. Started long ago as a birthday party for Gerald’s grandfather Ben, Ben’s daughter-in-law Stella, and Ben’s granddaughter Patsy, this was one of the first family gatherings I attended after Gerald and I were married. That party was at his cousin Wilma’s house. I remember because I was pregnant with Katherine and by the time we went over the winding country roads that are so beautiful, I was quite nauseous.

Later we were out of the area and then after Grandpa Ben’s death, we did not attend for years, but when it started being at Troy and Bobbi’s farm each year, we were invited and try to attend. This is our opportunity to see his cousin Patsy’s three daughters and whatever family they can bring with them as they still honor their mother’s birthday. Troy and Bobbi set up comfortable tables and chairs in their pleasant garage and picnic tables and lawn chairs under the huge shade trees in their yard. As someone observed, there was food enough left over from the pot luck to feed another large family the same size. That was before the homemade ice cream was served.

The biggest thing in our community this holiday weekend has been the school reunion planned by two sisters and their volunteer committee. I have been following the progress on Facebook for months. Not being an alumna of the local school, I was not involved, but my children have been interested even though only my local daughter was able to attend. From the pictures on FB and all the comments written there, it was a beautifully organized event and the food was delicious. Almost 500 people were served dinner last night in the old high school gym. For a tiny village without that large a population, that is amazing. I cannot even imagine preparing food for such a crowd, but these folks did it.

Someone said Violet Jordan, formerly school secretary for many years, was expected to be the oldest present. I think she recently celebrated a 90th birthday. There were a good many multi-generations in attendance I think. With the coal mines mostly gone, a large percentage of our graduates go elsewhere for employment. Everyone was so excited to be able to see friends again.

The first thing I heard when I walked into our village church this morning was a friend telling me Katherine and David were able to attend. I knew she wanted to do so, but I also knew she was afraid it would be too difficult. Having taught music at the school to children from K-12 before multiple sclerosis made it necessary for her to resign, Katherine was wondering how she would handle the exhaustion of meeting up with not just her own classmates but also former students. I had heard, however, that the more recent graduates were not the ones coming but those who had been out of school long enough to have lost touch with friends and who now really want to reconnect.

Before Sunday School was over today, our pastor was back in our small preschool room telling me the Richey family with their little ones were in the sanctuary and maybe I better have some extra help during the worship service. The Richey kids—Danny, Tommy, and Polly—grew up with our two older children. Several of their children (teens and young adults now) were also with them and Polly’s three grandchildren—the two-year-old twins Sadie and Riley and their younger toddler cousin Savannah. We were told which twin had the longer pony tail, and that all three could share pacifiers without our worrying about it. (Polly looks more like a movie-star than a grandmother, but she still looked very comfortable carrying baby Savannah around the church yard after services.)

Beaming over all of them was their father and grandfather, Fred, who moved into his own assisted living apartment in Marion after the death of his wife Helen who spent way too many of her last years in a nursing home with Alzheimer’s when Fred could no longer take care of her. Yet he drove to Carrier Mills each day to see her. All I could think was how thrilled Helen would have been if she could have seen those great granddaughters. She loved children, and long after she was sick but still able to come to services, she would coo excitedly anytime we had small children in a program or singing a song.

Helen was a good friend from the time we moved into the Crab Orchard community with a toddler named Jeannie and baby Mary Ellen on the way. Helen was the church nursery coordinator and went out of her way to make me feel welcome. When her own preschoolers were older and after teaching in local schools awhile, she soon became one of the outstanding instructors at Southern Illinois University’s Vocational Institute. I remember she would hurry home to be there when her kids got off the school bus, passing through Marion on the way home. Then if she had to do errands in town, she would drive back with her children in the car.

Yet she still had time to help out friends in need. When a single mom with young school children moved into our community and lived near her, Helen made sure the children could call her if they needed to before their mother got off work. She took care of Jeannie and Mary Ellen when Katherine was in the hospital in St. Louis once. Jeannie was thrilled because Helen tied an apron around her waist and let her stand on a platform and wash dishes. Mary Ellen remembers a campout on their farm and Fred letting them ride the horse. I remember her helping me in the church kitchen the day of Jeannie’s wedding. They were all still bubbling about the school reunion the night before, and the resulting family reunion today. They are hoping for a repeat next July.

We are grateful to live in a nation where we have freedom to worship as we please, to express our differences in opinions in the press and in public, and where families and friends can gather together to enjoy each other’s company without fear.

Not So Busy and Not So Hot

The week is ending with cooler weather and everyone is really enjoying the change. It was cool enough that I pulled some weeds out of the front rock garden one evening.
Gerald has picked our first tomatoes. With a motor that Gerald had repaired, we have been riding on the lake in the metal boat Gerry used to use for hunters on the ocean. Twenty years ago today our granddaughter Leslie was born, and she is in our thoughts today, and I managed to get her birthday card to her on time and in the right city since she was not at camp this week. I haven’t tried to do too much but enjoy our company this week.

We are delighted to have our granddaughter Erin still with us. She first said she was leaving Wednesday since she has to get organized and packed for the summer of softball with the Austrian Sharx. She will be meeting up with three other American players in Philadelphia next week to fly over. But she ran into her friend Toni’s parents in town and they told her Toni was coming in for the weekend and persuaded her to stay here longer. Since all the rest of her family is at a softball tourney in Colorado and she would be going home to an empty house, staying here for fun at the beach with dear friends she hardly ever gets to see was too enticing to resist.

She had an unusual experience when she planned time with her other grandmother on Monday. Since her grandmother had a doctor’s appointment, Erin said she would take her and they would have lunch afterwards and enjoy a visit that way. The appointment was with a specialist the primary doctor had asked her to go to as they have been trying for much too long now to find the root cause of some medical issues. Although her grandmother had not felt good on Sunday, I enjoyed imagining how much fun the two of them were having at lunch. I have seen them talking before at a restaurant just like two bubbling teens even though neither is a teen any more. And Erin said it was fun, and she was going to bring her grandmother home out here in our rural community afterward.

However, her grandmother wanted to watch her bat at the local Future Swings, where Erin had taken lessons with Todd Poe for many years. Erin cut it short to just 30 minutes out of consideration. When Gma Shirley stood to leave, she was not well at all. Erin had to decide what to do. Despite her grandmother’s protests, she did the right thing and took her to ER after a call to the primary doctor and to Erin’s mom down in Georgia getting ready to take a plane to Colorado. Erin’s mom called her two brothers here, and soon the family was gathering at the hospital, where Gma Shirley was admitted after an exhausting wait in the ER.

Meanwhile that same day, Erin was getting texts and photos of a horrible car accident resulting with a dear friend having the first of six surgeries to reconstruct her face before she will be able to play softball again. And then another friend had to text her of one of their friends’ mother dieing of an unexpected sudden massive heart attack. Erin was a very tired and sad young woman when she arrived back at Woodsong. She was back to the hospital the next morning.

After two days of tests and a regular medical treatment that makes her feel better—but still no answers—Gma Shirley was discharged with her sons and their wives and grandchildren all hovering over her. Erin has been spending time with her, and last night they had a big family dinner down there to celebrate Gma Shirley’s release and Erin was able to see all her Johnson cousins.

Erin and long-time friend Candace have been fishing with Gerald on the lake, and life did get better as her grandmother returned to normal living. Today Mary Ellen came down with Bryan, who was here on farm business, so that she could have a good-bye visit with Erin before she returns to Georgia and her packing responsibilities. Erin had us laughing over all the funny things young girls said at softball camps the last two weeks. Some things weren’t so funny—like being puked on in an elevator crammed with little girls the very first day of camp. She told the girls to just shut their eyes.

Before the two camp weeks were over, it sounded as if there were not too many things that could happen that didn’t. No wonder Erin arrived here tired. She is just now getting her voice back from supervising those camps! Mary Ellen has a talent for getting people talking, and I enjoyed this afternoon of anecdotes and laughing before Erin took off to meet Toni and friends at the beach. And I was glad for Mary Ellen’s help in the kitchen and our mother-daughter talk after Erin left.  

They couldn't hang very long though as they had to travel home to take Brianna to cheer a friend in a local pageant at the community 4th of July celebration.  Trent, who had always done scientific experiments in their kitchen when he was a little boy, is now conducting his various projects in their garage. . She left hoping her house and her son were still intact.

Too Hot and Too Busy

There has been a lovely full moon shining in the sky outside our windows this week. Gerald’s garden is growing more beautiful every day. Brian’s soybeans in his new field where our country road turns the corner are a delight to look at. The corn in all the fields around us is higher than the elephant’s eye, and our neighbor Scott harvested the wheat field by our lane this week. We haven’t had anything to eat out of our garden yet, but at church for two Sundays now, there has been a box of sweet yellow squash someone is sharing. I was too late to get any last Sunday, but I picked up the last two in the box today. We keep getting rains, but oh the heat! June has been one of the hottest in the last hundred years, and I stay inside under the air conditioning.

Gerald pretends to come inside more because of the heat, but the truth is that he is hoeing the garden, cutting the phragmites grass beside the lake, working in his shop, or finding something outside to do many more hours than he is inside. Although sometimes he is in the air conditioning of the tractor, his work shirts without a dry spot on them prove he is often in the heat. He has been mowing the creek banks up at the other farm, and the farm looks good. But sometimes he has gotten out of the tractor’s AC to dislodge limbs blocking the flow of the creek. Overall, I think all the outside work is good for him; he is in much better shape than I am. I know very well who he is imitating—my father-in-law didn’t slow down in his 80s either. Yet I like it when Gerald comes in and takes a nap after lunch in his favorite leather recliner and sometimes works with his photography until the evening brings a little cooler air.

When Scott invited us over for lunch next door in his big building (barn, office, kitchen, combine storage—all of these combined), Gerald did take off from his lawn mowing for us to go. Scott’s company was having a field day with people from all over this nation and others to visit their research plots next door and over at Ridgeway. Fans kept the big area where tables were set up very pleasant, and sirloin steak sandwiches with all the fixings were delicious.

I stay too busy, and I cannot even figure out what I have done with a day often times. Partly because everything may take me longer than it used to do. Partly because of many interruptions, I suppose. Then I can’t refocus easily. I have cut out so many things that used to be a part of our daily lives that I should have scads of time to do whatever I please. I let housekeeping standards decline. I don’t talk on the phone as much as I used to do. (Many phone friends have died.)



Yet though I no longer garden or can or even cook very much, now I do write emails and follow friends on Facebook and Red Room. That is where a good many hours are dwindled away. I should not have just used the word “dwindled.” I am investing in following others’ lives through this Internet connection. Obviously, I think it is worthwhile or I would not being using time in this way. Poor Internet service is the greatest time waster—running two rooms away to unplug the computer for a minute or two and then plugging it back in and then returning to my office to try again—sometimes successfully and sometimes not.. Neighbors were by this week talking about a plan to get a new tower in our neighborhood. I hope that happens.



Erin drove up from Georgia Friday morning. She has spent most of the weekend with Johnston City friends since this was her only chance to see them before she leaves for Austria. Toni left this morning for an summer internship in Springfield, and Brooke is leaving tonight. A track coach from junior high, who must be quite a cook, had Erin over with his family—classmates of hers—for supper Friday night and then had the kids come in Saturday for quite a breakfast—pancakes, eggs, bacon, sausage—all sounded wonderful.



She is back at Woodsong and napping now to make up for all the late-night gabbing at the sleep-over the girls had at her friend’s house. Although I am not as close to these buddies as I was able to be with my kids’ friends, I care about them and am always glad to hear good news about them. She will see Brooke and other friends tonight before Brooke heads back to Nashville and her two summer jobs.



Sam is off for a week at church camp in Tennessee, and Katherine said he was so excited about a week with his friends and not the least bit sad to leave them. She and David were thoughtful and somewhat somber with the realization that he is indeed growing up and friends are more and more important to him now.



Leslie is working at Barefoot Republic camp in Kentucky this summer, and Elijah is working at Freeport’s popular ice cream place this summer. He had already been to the annual Vacation Bible School in Kentucky with his youth group. Cecelie ran her first 5K with her daddy yesterday.



Trent and Brianna are busy helping their mom and dad, swimming, and enjoying their first litter of kittens now that they are living a rural life. There has already been one band camp for Brianna with an end celebration at their house after the final parade. This week she has a second camp, which will end with participation in a parade next Sunday. Trent’s activities on the computer and with games long surpassed my understanding years ago, and that and building projects in their garage keep him busy.



Gerry and Vickie and their girls are staying staggeringly busy as always with softball—camps, tourneys, practices, giving lessons. If the heat bothers them, they will never let you know it. Gerald likes telling about suggesting to Geri Ann, when she was a little girl, that they turn on the car AC, and she said, “No, Grandpa, I don’t want to get soft.”



Katherine is withstanding the heat that is so difficult for MS patients, and the Tysabri infusions have helped a bit the last two months after a previous time when she thought the benefit had stopped. We are grateful for that and grateful that everyone else seems to be healthy despite the heat and busyness.



I have been busy reviewing materials to present tomorrow night on the Trail of Tears for the Friends of the Crab Orchard Library. I stayed up much too late last night reading again one of the first books I read years ago when I first after retirement started researching the Trail of Tears--Frances Patton Statham’s 1993 novel titled Trail of Tears. I knew I would understand it better now than I did back when I first read it probably a decade ago. It was indeed more fascinating than the first time I read it. The story is so sad that I hesitate to say I enjoyed it, but Statham did a very good job telling the complex story.



She had John Ross and his 13th detachment going by land until reaching Paducah, which is what people thought back then before some very old records were discovered. She was also evidently mislead as so many people have been by the John Burnett letter written on his 90th birthday with his whopper that he watched Quatie Ross die on the trail and be buried there. (She didn’t. She died in harbor at Little Rock and was buried in a cemetery in that city.) Burnett was not even on the Trail of Tears since he was discharged the year before.



Oddly his emotionally appealing letter is all over the Internet despite it falsity. Every year we are learning more accurately the history and location of the places where the Cherokee marched through dust, mud, and snow. Someone said there are literally thousands of documents in the National Archives waiting for someone to have time to study, digest, and disseminate the information contained there.

Yardstick in the Living Room

Usually the living room at Woodsong stays pretty neat since Gerald and I hang out mostly in the family room, kitchen, or our offices. Of course, the living room gets used a great deal when there are family or other gatherings. I read there sometimes, but that does not mess it up.

Right now, however, there is a throw, from my ancestral roots of Bedford County, TN, spread out on the floor. Baby Payton was sleeping there briefly yesterday morning. The wooden train set that I gave Gerald is out from under its home on the bottom of the coffee table Gerry made us in shop class his senior year at Crab Orchard High School.

(I gave Gerald this train bought at a craft show after the little mechanical wind-up train he and Erin once bought me for Mother’s Day had stopped working. That little train played with by the kids over at Pondside Farm and put out under the tree at Christmas was a favorite present of mine. When we moved to Woodsong, I wrote on the box it did not need to be moved since it no longer worked. I noticed Gerald brought it over here anyhow, so I figured that shopping for it with Erin was a favorite memory of his also.)

The yardstick came from the kitchen pantry, where Aidan found it yesterday after he took over my dust mop that I was using to gather up some dusty footprints I’d created on the tile there after I came in from riding with Gerald and Payton on the “mule.” After our ride, Aidan woke up, but he wasn’t ready for breakfast yet. He began his a usual list of activities with Gpa Gerald—playing with the wagon, shovel, and wheelbarrow at the lime pile; riding all the vehicles from lawn mower to big tractor with Gerald; and boat rides on the lake.

Somewhere in here, however, he played in the living room with the train; and once when I came upstairs, the room was empty, but every chair cushion was precisely and neatly taken from its chair and place directly in front of it on the floor. The child in me thoroughly enjoyed the beauty of that neat placement in unexpected places, but the housewife in me put the cushions back on the three chairs facing the center of the room. Later I noticed the cushion for the fourth chair swiveled to face the lake also had its cushion in place on the floor. That cushion, the train set, the yardstick, and the throw are still cluttering the living room. I have had time to straighten, but there’s been a reluctance to wipe away the evidence of our morning visit from Tara and her three sweet sons.

Little Maddux, 18 months, was the last to wake up, and by the time Gerald took him on all the rides and then Maddux joined the breakfast table where people kept eating in shifts and even returning for a second egg as Aidan did, it was after 11 and Tara wanted to get her troops on the road to Aurora and Daddy. So beautiful blond Maddux, who captures everyone’s heartstrings with his quiet manner, left behind no footprints on this part of the planet. We are still talking about Aidan, 4, opening up the doors under the sinks and trying to discover how the plumbing there works. We thought that was either super smart or the result of having a daddy in architecture.

I had thought I would be fixing lunch, but since everyone was still at the breakfast table after 11, I did not urge Tara to stay. I knew she wanted to be home and we all wanted her to get there safely as soon as possible. She and Gerald had come in from the Chattanooga tourney at 2:30 that morning, and Tara promptly had everyone carried in and bedded down. I had stayed up in hopes of seeing them before bedtime, but at l:30, I went on bed. Since we took over Payton once she had nursed him yesterday morning, she got to sleep a little later than she might have otherwise.

Except for the memories and mementoes, life here has resumed to normal although Gerald had lots to tell me about all the Johnston City friends he saw and others he met at the tourney, and I was able to tell him about being taken out for Father’s Day by Mary Ellen and Brian.

Newspapers Aren't Going Away! Gary Metro Said So!

Gary Metro’s assurance that we will have newspapers to hold in our hands at the breakfast table for the foreseeable future was such good news that I thought it deserved its own headline and blog. Metro, editor of our regional The Southern Illinoisan since January 2007, gave a personal look back on the changing newspaper industry and an optimistic prediction for the future at Thursday night’s Southern Illinois Writers Guild meeting.



He pointed out that of the 1400 daily newspapers in the country, only 11% had failed. He said a much higher percentage of super markets fail than that, but we don’t see the media coverage predicting the demise of super markets. His theory was that the newspapers’ competitors in the radio/television industries want a greater slice of the advertising available and, thus, they are quick and noisy to publicize and lament over the dying newspaper trend. He does admit that many cities, such as Chicago with The Tribune in bankruptcy, can no longer keep two newspapers in town, but he doesn’t see the need for competing news in one city. (I’m not sure I completely agree with that, but certainly that’s the way the trend is going and one of the reasons “the dying newspaper industry” is a hot topic right now.)

Enthusiastic about online newspaper publishing, Metro sees the new business model for newspapers as not just a print newspaper but as a media company. He held up a copy of the main paper and also copies of two niche publications—Southern Business Journal and SI Magazine. And then he displayed a book recently published and made available by his newspaper. Web only content is an important part of that model.

He has seen the newspapers’ presence online grow, and he has been a part of that growth making sure something is added to The Southern’s website every hour. Online advertising is a greater source of income for his paper than the print edition. He wants reporters who can do it all—write, photograph, and have competence with the Internet. He foresees newspapers soon providing their news to smart phones. He claims his paper now reaches 75% of this region’s population and thus greatly out does the performance of other media. He knows no one can predict the future with certainty, but he believes newspapers have a bright future.

Metro was first published in his school newspaper at age 7, and he has the clipping his late mother saved to prove it. He wrote for his high school and college papers, but did not think about journalism as a profession until some of his college writing sent off unbeknownst to him by his sponsor received awards.

Graduating in depressed times, no one was hiring at many newspapers. After working in another vocation in his hometown of Rockford while he sent out resumes to papers within a l00 or so mile radius, he finally landed a job in Oshkosh, Wisconsin, south of Milwaukee, at The Northwestern. Like all journalists then, he used a typewriter, and the paper used hot metal typesetting. Later there was photo typesetting and now computerized typesetting. As a journalist, he has seen the constant changes in newspaper going from mechanical age to the digital information age. He held up an early newspaper almost double in width in comparison to our current Southern Illinoisan.

He had worked as editor or managing editor of papers in Racine, Wisconsin; Mason City, Iowa; and more recently at The Times of Northwestern Indiana at Munster. This south side of Chicago paper had eight different editions as well as web only content.

I hope Metro is right that newspapers will successfully adjust just as they did to radio, news films at the movies, television, and now the Internet. And I hope this adjustment includes accurate and thorough reporting by highly educated reporters that have the scientific, economic, and technical knowledge we need to survive in this century.

After Vacation, Scrambling to Catch Up

Traveling is one of my favorite things to do—partly because home always seems so comfortable and refreshing afterwards. Yet the reentry into ordinary life takes some scrambling and emotional readjustment. While I have tried to catch up with laundry, mail, newspapers in the vacation packet, emails, blogs, and now Facebook, Gerald has the lawn and his garden in good shape again. He accomplished a small custom mowing job for couple he mowed for last year, and he has made connections with our good neighbor Scott about whatever those two have to work on together.

Nevertheless, Gerald has still managed to attend two softball tourneys since we have come home. First, the afternoon of the day we got home, he rode with Gerry to St. Louis area. Gerry dropped him off at 2 a.m. or so the next morning. He got to see granddaughter Tara, who was there with the 18-and-under Southern Force, but not her four-year-old Aidan who had decided to stay longer with Gma Vickie and Gpa Gerry down in Georgia. Vickie and Aidan were watching Geri Ann on the Georgia Southern Force team at Birmingham, and Erin was substitute coaching this team for Tara.

Then Wednesday night this week Tara was planning on driving down from Aurora after finishing a softball lesson up there and hoped to arrive at Woodsong at midnight. (Gerald was really scrambling to arrange to go with her since he had thought the tourney at Chattanooga where they were headed did not start until Friday—not Thursday—so he lost a day of prep time.)

I stayed up to 2:30 hoping to help her and the babies inside (who sleep when they travel at night) but mostly just to see those dear faces. Although I knew she probably had gotten a late start and undoubtedly had road construction this time of year between there and here, I briefly started to worry. I debated phoning—but I always think a phone call in the middle of construction driving is not helpful. I knew she would call us if she needed us.

Gerald then woke up and did phone her, and she was only thirty or so minutes away and she was late for the reasons I had surmised. I had lain down on the upstairs couch so I would hear her come in—but when she did, I went on one side of bookcases and she took sleeping Maddux down the stairs on the other and had him soundly settled in the baby bed in just a few minutes. I did get to hold and rock Peyton briefly for Tara, but very quickly they too disappeared to downstairs bedrooms. I did not go to sleep again easily, but I hoped Gerald did since he would be driving when they planned to leave at 5 a.m. I woke briefly to hear their voices as they left, but decided the kindest thing I could do was stay in bed and not break their focus as they hurried to gather up and get on the road again in order to play ball at 1 p.m. yesterday.

The next I knew the phone was ringing at 9 a.m. Tara was driving now. Gerald phoned to say they had unexpectedly decided to take our car since Tara did not have her vehicle loaded with equipment since it was already there. They had hurriedly emptied the car of my jacket and raincoat in the trunk, the bags of empty med bottles I had collected that the free medical clinic has quit recycling and that I offered to a crafter, the cloth carrier full of song books I needed to take to a meeting I was going to have to miss last night, etc. (Gerald hates that I leave things in the car so that I do not forget them, but since usually he drives the pickup and I drive the car, he tolerates my using the car for a storage system.)

On the road, however, they discovered my cell phone was still in the car because that is the only place I use it and not then if I can help it. Knowing I’d be sleeping in, Gerald waited until 9 to phone me. I was glad they had taken the car, especially since he said he had driven for a couple of hours in some of the hardest downpour he’d ever experienced.

I was already running late for the day’s plans. I had an appointment for an archivist in the library at Southern Illinois University Carbondale to look at personal scrapbooks I’d kept during my four college years in the early 1950s just in case Special Collections wanted them for local/social history purposes. (They did.) After a quick breakfast, I made a couple of necessary phone calls, and I found a rolling suitcase to transport the scrapbooks and hoisted them in the back seat of the pickup. I delivered the song books to the proper location in the opposite direction and then headed to Marion.

By this time, I realized that Gerald not only had my phone but the quarters I keep in ash tray and the $l00 bill in the console. I had managed to spend or give away all $170 left over from vacation, and my bill fold was empty. I had a coin purse on vacation with change in it, but I had not thought to find and grab it. Not to worry. I thought I would just stop at the bank site located inside Kroger’s and get some money. By the time I reached there, it was pouring rain and I also gave up my plan to run in and get Stefeny to do something with my permanent-less hair. It would do no good since I’d soon be out in the rain again. I also realized that if I made it to the doctor’s office before the technician’s lunch hour for my one week-late INR, I did not have time to stop anywhere.

I got the INR on the opposite side of town and way past Kroger and there was plenty of time to get to the SIUC library now. I had found a lonely dollar bill in the pocket of the rolling suitcase evidently tucked there in case I wanted a cola or something at a Writers Guild book signing. I was hoping I’d find free guest parking at the library, but if not, I’d run in and get change for that bill. As it continued pouring rain, I was grateful that I’d phoned my friend who usually rides with me to Guild and told her I was not sure I’d go that night—and neither was she since she had an out-of-town med procedure—and I had no phone for us to make last minute plans.

By the time I arrived at Carbondale, it was a different world—a dry one. I had plenty of time and I parked the truck in a 15-minute slot at the library thinking I’d go in and get change for my dollar bill. But although I like driving the truck and being up high enough to feel like king (or queen) or the road, I only drive it two or three times a year and parking that big old thing is not one of my talents. There was one empty visitor space left. Before I got out of the truck, someone swooped in and took that empty spot, put their quarters in and left me without hope. I saw how lopsided I had parked and did not feel I ought to leave the truck like that even for 15 minutes.

Since I had plenty of time, I thought I’d just drive over to the big parking lot by the Student Center; and if I were lucky, I’d find a visitor’s spot with left-over time on the meter. I did—between a tall metal girder on one side and a little blue car on the other. I pulled in—scared to death I’d scratch the truck or hit the sweet little car. I was so lopsided that I was scared to pull out but I safely did after realizing these parking slots were not really for visitors.

I went around, found the visitors’ spots two aisles over next to the street and found a slot without a red “Expired” sign popped up. It was next to the stairs up towards the road beside the Student Center and so very easy to park there. When I got out and looked, the meter seemed to have a full 8 hours left. That did not make sense—why would there not be some time expired if someone had just left it? There was no sack over it as there was one non-functioning meter. Why look a gift meter in the mouth? By now it was later. I lifted the suitcase down and realized I could not go up the steps with it, but walked on up to the other Student Center entrance, where the parking lot had sloping sidewalks for wheelchairs to access the street. It was hot and muggy as is typical after rains in Southern Illinois. I crossed the street and welcomed the air conditioning as I walked straight through the Student Center to the outside trail leading through the woods I love. The trees were still dripping water but my hair was already a mess, so I did not care. Soon I was at the library and in Special Collections.
By this time I had begun to think more about that parking meter. Did the sign there say there was a $75 fine? Would someone charge me that if some campus police could tell it was obvious I had not put any money in that meter. I asked the person I was seeing for an opinion, but he didn’t know. I had even hoped someone would say, “Don’t worry. I’ll be able to fix it if you get in trouble.” Or maybe someone would say: “Let me tell you about secret parking spaces on the other side of our building.” I’ve had both those things said to me before when asked to come to meetings at SIUC, but no one said either yesterday. So I left the scrapbooks, got change for my $1, and walked back on the path now going upward in this direction through the woods to the Student Center and across the street to the parking lot. I really welcomed the air conditioning this time.

Remembering I had parked across from the entrance to the Student Center, I looked for the truck right by the entrance—and it was not there. I was confused. I had not been gone long enough surely for it to be towed as some signs warned. And that visitors’ sign definitely did say there was a $75 fine. I wondered how much it cost to retrieve a vehicle that had been towed. I kept looking for a campus police figuring he would have pity on me when I showed him my quarters and good intentions. None were to be seen. Would this be funny in ten years? I hoped so as it was not then.

A sweet lady pulled into the parking space next to where I thought I had parked. She saw my look of confusion and asked my problem. She felt sure no one would have towed a vehicle that quickly—and she had a phone. Let me call the parking people for you, she offered. I was so grateful and she started dialing. Then I saw our truck way down by the other Student Center entrance that I had not been able to use because of the steps there. And I remembered I had parked there in an identical looking space. I was too relieved to feel embarrassed and thanked my good Samaritan profusely before she had the phone call made that might have embarrassed me.

I gratefully walked down to the truck and looked at the meter—still registering a full 8 hours. It had not moved. Would I get a ticket if I stayed there? No one around to ask, of course. Looking up again at the $75 warning, I moved the truck on down a couple of spaces—most of the visitors’ slots were empty right then. I parked perfectly and put my four quarters in the meter giving me two hours of honest-bought time to go back and use at the Special Collections Center at Morris Library. I walked back through the Student Center and the woods as fast as I could to not waste time. I was drippy by the time I reached the air conditioning of the library but a little smug that I’d had my exercise that day.

The helpful young attendant took my order for the George Washington Smith papers, and I signed the release paper for donating the scrapbooks which the archivist thought had programs and other papers not likely to be available elsewhere. I grabbed a pencil and went to work on the Smith material that would take weeks to review if I really examined them. I mostly wanted to work with Smith’s 1930s research on the Trail of Tears, and I barely glanced through a small portion of those materials when I ran out of time. Maybe someday I will have an entire day to go back with plenty of quarters for 8 hours and spend the day with Smith.

I quit in time to enjoy the leisurely walk back through the woods and not risk getting a ticket if my four quarters had been used up and that nasty red “Expired” sign showed up. I did not doubt if that happened, a parking lot attendant would appear at that precise moment. By the time I left Carbondale, it was 4 p.m., and the weather was perfectly clear. There had not been the road construction as I had feared when I left home; and with no rain, I decided to attend the Writers Guild meeting at John A. Logan College because I really wanted to see and hear Gary Metro, editor of the Southern Illinoisan who was speaking. I knew parking at night at John A. would not be a problem. I could read in the library until our 7 p.m. meeting.

I was tired and realized I was hungry, and I had no money. Who would take a credit card? I assumed Golden Coral would although Gerald has always paid when we went there a couple of years ago and I doubted if he used a card I found several empty places on the far side of their lot, and parked the truck expertly—hey I am getting good. It was four-thirty. If a combined breakfast and lunch is called “brunch,” I wondered if a combined lunch and supper should be called “lupper.”

Of course, they took my card. I looked forward to sitting to rest, enjoy people watching, and enjoy the ice water and coffee as much as the food. Over twenty years ago when Jeannie was at Eastern, I sometimes deliberately stopped alone for a meal after I’d taken her up to school and I remembered thinking that it was good for a woman to learn to dine comfortably alone since she might someday have to do so. That is more true today than then.

There were interesting people to observe and make up possible stories about. Some happy stories. Some sad. Couples who had lots to say to each other. Others who ate silently. A couple with a child of a different race who could not possibly be their biological child. How sad was his life before he joined them? Was his story happy now?

There was an elderly couple with an adult son, who did not look retarded but acted so. The mother smiled and even laughed once at his conversation with much flailing of hands. I was grateful she could still enjoy him, but knew this was not the end-of-life time she had envisioned for herself and her husband when this baby boy was born. Her neatly dressed husband whose coloring reminded me physically of my brother, sat silently throughout their dinner time going to the various buffet areas for food, which he seemed to eat sparingly but quite competently. Yet from a blank look on his face, I felt he might not ever be available for conversation any more with this wife and son. I wanted to scream to this woman: You are a hero. You are looking after the ones you love when there probably are few rewards other than knowing you are doing the right thing.

Most of us were dressed in light-weight clothing, lots of jeans and tees, several in shorts. Only one woman in a formal jacket over her blouse. One very tall professional man had on the only suit--a black suit with blue shirt but no tie thankfully. A large percentage of us were obese. One very tall slender attractive young woman was as tall as the extremely tall man who happened to be beside her at the buffet. Her hair on top of her head made her two inches taller, and I was glad she did not worry about her height as girls used to do in the old days. There was a cute very young teen who had liquid of some kind dripping off her plate, and she carefully avoided it with her flip-flops as she realized it. I was glad her look of embarrassment did not last long. Several people had cell phones and had pleasant looks as they perused text messages. No phones rang nor annoyed. I did overhear a phone caller ending the call with “Love you too.” Felt good.

The two sixty-looking men nearest me were the only ones I could hear conversing and the only thing I heard was the name of Bobby Fischer and the word “chess.” One had short hair and was slender and smiley. One with a pony tail was extremely heavy and awkward looking because of that.

There was a young teen boy with a brimmed hat on, and an attitude to go with it—a good attitude I could tell. I wished I knew him. Another young teen was was sitting with what I surmised were his great grandparents. I saw several grandparents with a child. One young woman was dining with two adorable preschoolers. One family with the mother looking stressed, her somewhat older husband happily carrying and caring for their preschooler as he went down the buffet line while the mother took care of her mother, I assumed, who was with them. My only unpleasantness was the realization that I did not have anything to leave on the table for April, the very attentive employee who served our area handing out hot bread and who kept our coffee cups full. If I ever go back and I probably won’t, I’ll tip her double. Hopefully others tipped her well.

Rested and no longer hungry or thirsty, I went on to John A. Logan and hurried down to the library to browse in the genealogy room only to find it closed at 6 p.m. this summer. But the genial librarian there renewed my community borrower’s card and let me check out two books quickly so I had entertainment while I waited for our meeting to start.

I drove home without incident and stopped at the end of the lane for our mail and retrieved the wet newspaper I had not thought about in the morning since Gerald always walks down and gets it for us. I spread the paper out to dry, checked the email, dressed for bed where I saw the coin purse lying on my bathroom counter, and went quickly to bed and soundly to sleep. It had a silly kind of day but overall a good one.

Our Amarillo Holiday

Approaching Amarillo, we passed the numerous signs challenging us to eat a 72 oz. steak to get it free. We arrived in Amarillo early Monday afternoon and checked into our motel. Then we hurried to visit my sister Rosemary and husband Phil, whom we had not seen for a year.

(If you accept the Big Texan steak challenge, you have to pay $72 up front and then get a refund if you can consume within an hour the steak and the large meal that goes with it. Supposedly 8,000 out of 48,000 big eaters have done so and had their name put on the wall.)

I have no desire to eat such a steak nor to observe the participant trying--on a raised platform no less. Besides my sister Rosemary and husband Phil are such good cooks that we’d be silly to eat elsewhere. Rosie had a roast in a slow cooker all afternoon giving forth great aroma, and it looked wonderful smothered with gravy sauce on the platter at dinner and it tasted divine. So did everything else. As he does most nights, their grandson Shiloh joined us at the dinner table on his way home from work.

Rosie and I spent the afternoon talking as fast as we could to catch up on family news, and we looked at each other’s family photos. Their local daughters, Gloria and Candy, dropped in and out and their daughter Cyndi phoned to invite us down to Hereford the next night for dinner. Son-in-law Herman did not make it the first night, but he made a point to come after work on Wednesday night. Gloria’s granddaughter Allie Jean, one-year-old, was the highlight Monday and Tuesday night, but we also appreciated seeing Allie’s parents Jennifer and Trevor. Adorable Allie, a blond replica of Jennifer, showered us with kisses as she bid us goodbye each night.

Rosie does Tai Chi every Tuesday and Thursday morning, and I have gone with her sometimes, but this year I rested at the motel before our Tuesday afternoon visit preceding our trip down to Hereford.

Going to Hereford also means visiting The Gift Garden. Merle Norman Cosmetics and the gift shop at 220 Main Street is the three-generation establishment of Rosie, Cyndi, and Cyndi’s daughter Heather. We arrived shortly before closing time on Tuesday, and that was Gloria’s weekly day to be working there. They had recently redone the front entrance with a new sharp looking red awning and a painted-rock design Cyndi and Heather did on the sidewalk leading to their front door—with the city’s permission.

The inside was also completely rearranged and different than last year. Cyndi is an artist, and it shows at the store. Heather, our beautiful red head, is dramatic by nature, and that also shows. One of the most beautiful displays was Jennifer’s original crafts. Jenn has started Allie Jean Creations featuring pretty hair bows, tiny flip flops with exchangeable bows, lovely streamers for decorating hospital rooms for baby’s arrival, and fancy diaper “cakes” for gifts or for refreshment tables at baby showers. I loved looking, but such frilliness isn’t needed by our three great grandsons.

We didn’t have much time to shop, yet I hurriedly found some unique greeting cards and came away with a new supply. In earlier years, Rosie would bring down Thursday lunch for the family at noon and serve it in the back room. I got in on that once. She had to give up the tradition a couple years ago when she broke her ankle and started Tai Chi to recover, but she still does the store’s bookkeeping.

From there we traveled over to Cyndi and Jerry’s house, for all the yummy food Cyndi had prepared. We saw their major front lawn landscaping that they are doing, and we toured Cyndi’s back yard, which is one of her best artistic projects. We enjoyed the terrapins there. Inside was Sunny, the strikingly colorful parakeet. We heard Cyndi take a phone call from their younger daughter Tori, who with her husband Randy live in Oklahoma. Tori is almost through veterinarian school, and she was telling her mother about a diagnosis she had made. (Tori is my great niece who had her photo taken with tigers one summer when she worked with them.) Heather and Kelly and their four beautiful children were invited too to visit with their Illinois kin folk, and as always we got hugs coming and going from not just the grown ups but from Bret, Austin Philip, Cayson, and Autumn Rose.

Despite rain threatening, Austin put on his ball uniform and prepared to pitch at their 8:30 game. Since earlier games had been cancelled by weather, they were glad when this one was not called off—but Heather was hoping the needed rain would come after everyone got back home. It didn’t, but went south. Jerry had been called out the night before to repair lines, so I am sure he was grateful lights kept burning. We visited on the trip back to Amarillo and for awhile at Rose and Phil’s house before we left to turn in.

On Wednesday, Gerald took me over for an afternoon visit while Phil had an INR appointment and Gerald went to a favorite tool store and stocked up. We had really planned to go to down to Gloria’s and also phone granddaughter Tosha that we were coming to see the redecorating at her house. Then we realized the men had the cars. Candy was coming over and was delayed by an expected phone call, so Rosie and I were able to spend more talking time together. And that was good.

Phil had grilled barbecued chicken breasts to go with Rosie’s prepared dishes, and we sat down early to supper since Rosemary plays organ at the 6:30 evening church service on Wednesdays. Again we were able to visit with Shiloh, and I washed a few dishes before Rosie and I left for church. Doing the dishes is Phil’s usual contribution on Wednesday nights, so he finished.

Once a larger congregation, Grand Avenue Baptist Church has decreased as the neighborhood has changed. With many Catholic Hispanics and Asians moving in, the one-time building of a Lutheran congregation is now a beautiful fenced well attended Catholic Church. I have visited Rose and Phil’s church infrequently but enough that Rosie’s friends greeted me by name. After a shared time of prayer for stated needs, their interim pastor gave the best Bible study I have ever heard on one sentence of Jesus’ model prayer: Give us this day our daily bread.

Already feeling blessed by the service, I heard a man’s voice in the back ask to say a few words. He had come in late and not been noticed. The interim pastor readily assented, and the visitor stood and told his name and his story. He was in Amarillo from Virginia for the first time in 40 years for his 40th high school reunion. He had only been in this church once before, he said, and that was over 40 years ago at the funeral of his cousin who was killed in Viet Nam.

After that funeral sermon, his uncle had stepped out and he followed him down the aisle and heard the pastor saying, “Would you like to be forgiven for your sins?” He said he knew he had been bad, and he answered yes. In that after-service, he accepted Christ as his Savior and said it was the happiest day of his life. Soon he finished high school, his parents moved to another state, and he went away to college.

He met a young woman who was also a Christian and they were married. He said he had never been in church in his life, so his wife had to teach him all the Bible stories that children learn in Sunday School. He found out who Moses was. They had three sons, and he said two are now pastors. As he went by the church that night, he just felt he should come in and thank the congregation for what they had meant in his life.

People clustered around him welcoming him after the service, and he picked out the photo on the hall wall of the pastor who had been there 40 years before. “He had the kindest eyes,” he commented. Someone asked who his cousin was, and suddenly everyone was talking excitedly about this family (now passed on) that they had all shared heart break with at the youthful death of this son.

As we came out of the building, we saw the youth in the parking lot from their upstairs gathering. Rosie’s great granddaughter Desi was with them. We got to take her home and see Tosha’s house after all. And her husband Jeremy and son Eric—the little gregarious redheaded five-year-old that Rosie and Phil are privileged to take to Sunday School each week. Oh, and Tosha’s beautiful cats.
She did not know we were coming, but she had made a cake. A very special chocolate cake she had wanted to try, so she made herself an early birthday cake. She pulled it from the fridge and insisted we must take almost half of it home with us. It had chocolate pudding between the layers and whipped topping with maraschino cherries garnishing the top and looked luscious. (It was.)

By the time we got home, Herman and Gloria, Jenn and Trevor, and Allie Jean had dropped in to say goodbye to us, so Rosie sent home some of the cake with them and we still had plenty for the four of us. We planned to leave the motel early Thursday morning, so we were saying our farewells that night.

It was Rose and Phil’s 6lst wedding anniversary. On their 50th and last year’s diamond anniversary, their daughters did as much celebrating as Rose and Phil would allow. Rose and Phil aren’t big on anything that might be mildly ostentatious or that would call attention to themselves. Having kids, grandkids, and great grandkids constantly dropping in and phoning is their daily celebration of life.

They married knowing they would have to adopt to have a family, which was not easy with college and draft duty to complete before they could acquire the house and financial status that was required by adoption agencies in those days. Since older children were less likely to be adopted than infants, they decided to adopt older children. Eventually there were four girls raised in their home. The cake that Tosha sent home with us was especially heartwarming because she is the daughter of their late daughter Trudi, whom we lost in January 2002 to lymphoma. We didn’t get to see Trudi’s sons—Tydel and Philip Todd—on this trip. (Todd will soon be on his third deployment to Iraq.) With eight grandchildren and fifteen great grandchildren, Rose and Phil know their 61 years together has produced a fine heritage.

By 5:30 the next morning, we were on the outskirts of Amarillo heading home to Woodsong.

Home Again

Since leaving Woodsong on Wednesday, June 2, we have seen rice fields in Southeast Missouri, continued road construction in the beautiful Ozark mountains, rolling hills with cattle feasting in Oklahoma, lots of softball games at the Hall of Fame Stadium, windmill farms as we left Oklahoma, sparse short trees and shrubs on flat lands in Texas, and many friends and relatives including the new friends we made at the Women’s College Softball World Series.

Thrilled that University of Georgia women’s softball team had made it to the elite group of eight World Series teams, we packed hastily as Mary Ellen bought us tickets on craigslist, and we scurried to leave things at home in as good a shape as possible. We had time to stop and see Gerald’s first college roommate Harold Smith and wife Jo in Springfield, Missouri.

Harold is actually a third or fourth cousin, but his family lived “up the creek” from Gerald’s family, and my mother-in-law considered Harold’s mother her role model and dear friend. When Harold came home from two years in the military and Gerald had not liked the summer after high school on the floor of the Caterpillar plant in Peoria enough to hang around to get in their engineering program, the two young men rented a room together at Carbondale for a three-month term. Then Gerald was lured back to the farm to help his dad, who had rented more acres in the Mississippi bottoms.

Harold stayed, went on to college at Shurtleff awhile, and back to Southern Illinois University Carbondale for his degree. Then on to seminary and the pastorate. And eventually graduate school for a PhD in counseling to help with his ministry. Jo became a kindergarten teacher even as she mothered their two children.

After a longer visit than we intended and Gerald had inspected Harold’s big backyard garden, we stopped for supper and then went to visit our good friends Myron and Marjorie Dillow in the Baptist Retirement Center in nearby Ozark on the outskirts of Springfield.

Margie was smiley and looked lovely despite her long-time multiple sclerosis and two serious surgeries that had her in nursing care there until she was well enough for them to move into their own unit. Myron too had surgery followed by a serious back injury caused by an off-road driver suddenly pulling on the road to broadside and wreck their van (needed for Margie’s transportation). The injury continues to cause difficulties in his activities, but he continues to write, and he has strawberries and other goodies in the coop garden across the street even though a friend had to pick the strawberries this year.

Needing to go further towards Oklahoma, we didn’t accept the Dillows’ invitation to spend the night. Gerald told them we’d stop again on our way home. We did and now we have Myron’s two latest history books on a school and a community church out in Pitkin in the Colorado mountains, where they went for years for cooler summers for Margie.

We arrived that night at a motel in Joplin just as guests were being directed to the back of the building because of a tornado warning. We sat in the car in a downpour listening to the radio until the warning was lifted and the rain slowed enough for us to hurry in for the night’s rest.
We were in Oklahoma City in time to pick up our tickets that had been sent to our friends John and Mary Patterson’s home, check out our room in the motel, and our seats in the stadium. It was hot but we were under the roof, so it was tolerable. We enjoyed getting acquainted with those in nearby seats.

On our left, was a mother and daughter and adorable 13-month-old Cameron from Casey, Illinois, where the daughter Angela Ashley had played for Coach Thornburg and Olivet College, and then later taught and coached in the Casey middle school. Nancy Darling, the mother, had once worked for Schwan’s and traveled regularly in our end of the state. She now has a second home in Arizona, and these folks are avid Arizona fans but helped us cheer for Georgia.

On our right was John Dorman, an extremely knowledgeable softball fan, and his granddaughter Carley from Orange, Texas, and he soon knew everyone in sight. During the weekend, he was joined by his sister Donna Scales and his niece Jackie, also a school coach. They too kindly became Georgia fans, and we hope to meet up with them at the 2011 World Series.

There were other drop-in visitors in seats around us that were sometimes unoccupied by the ticket holders, and we all played, “Do you know?” and often found connections, such as the young woman who had played for Gerry’s Southern Force.

Our first game was Thursday night, and we faced top-seeded Washington, returning 2009 champions. We had defeated them a year ago one out of two games and that gave our team confidence. We did so again and went to bed that night delighted that we had put Washington in the losers’ bracket. (Actually it was more like 2 a.m. when we were able to reach the motel and settle to sleep. But the sleep was sound and sweet with the first victory behind us.) That meant we did not play again until Friday night.

Friday night put us in the losers’ bracket when Tennessee, also of the Southeastern Conference, beat us 7-5. After we had Saturday lunch with Gerry, Gerald went to the day games in the l00 degree heat, while I elected to visit the air-conditioned archives at the Research Center at Oklahoma History Center.

Locked away with only pencils to write with and wearing white cloth gloves, I made a good many copies of documents I had never seen before on the Trail of Tears. Actually this was copies of copies of the original documents, but I still had a very good time, and the librarians there were kind beyond measure to me. The Center closed before Gerald was able to come from the games and pick me up, and one of the workers saw me in the outside garden area and stopped to make sure I had a ride. I did not doubt that she would have taken me to our motel had I needed her to do so!

Saturday night we played Florida, another SEC team, whom we were very pleased to defeat 3-2.
The win over Florida put us in the semifinals for the second year in a row. Undefeated UCLA, wearing black wrist bands in honor of John Wooden who had died at age 99 on Friday, beat us 5-2. Since that was our second loss, that ended Georgia’s tourney participation. Had we won, we would have had to play UCLA a second time that evening to eliminate them with two defeats.

Meanwhile in Georgia, Tara was coaching the 16-and-under Southern Force in a weekend tournament and Geri Ann was playing. Vickie, Erin, Mary Ellen, and Brianna were there to cheer them and to enjoy taking care of Tara’s three boys. If we had gone into the finals, they hoped to drive out for the Monday night game. With Georgia’s loss, that plan had to be abandoned.

Gerald and I drove down to Bricktown after the game and had Sunday supper with Gerry and told him goodbye. The Georgia Bulldogs flew back on Monday morning to Athens. We left after a leisurely breakfast heading for my sister’s in Amarillo.

UCLA went on to quickly defeat Arizona two games in a row on Monday and Tuesday nights making Wednesday’s game unnecessary.   These two teams combined have won 18 championships our of 29, I think someone said.  It is time for a SEC championship

Busy Time of Year and Choices Must Be Made

Our son-in-law Brian is down farming this holiday weekend. Gerald is outside in the heat most of the time either mowing the yard, which he is always enlarging year by year, or working in his vegetable garden, which gets smaller year by year. I am glad he has cut back because trying to give away all he produced a few years ago was a very big job in itself, although I did enjoy the sharing with friends and the soup kitchen. I am also glad he has cut back on the veggies because he frets if there is a weed anywhere. I remind him that I never worried about weeds in the veggies thirty years ago when I was still gardening a lot and yet we always had many more than we could eat. I tell him he is being prideful to want to keep the garden so clean. He says keeping the weeds out is just common sense. So I shut up. He is also busy planting his wildlife seed plots with a mixture of buckwheat seed, sunflowers, soybeans. I am glad he is retired so that he has all this leisure time. Ha.

Most of our weekend has been spent with the television turned on to ESPN or ESPNU watching softball games around the country at the various Super Regionals to find out which eight teams would advance to Oklahoma City. Our main interest, of course, was the University of Georgia, who had to win two out of three games against University of California. Georgia was fortunate to be chosen to host that tournament since their women are used to that Athens heat. Not having to pack and sleep in hotel beds is also a benefit to the host team, and it was certainly less expensive time and money-wise for Vickie, Erin, and Geri Ann to just drive over to the local stadium.

Erin graduated from Texas A&M on May 13, and as soon as A&M’s softball season was over, Erin packed and headed to her new bedroom in her parents’ home in Georgia, where she will be until she leaves for Austria to play there this summer with the Sharx.

The rest of our families wanted to be at Athens, but that was not possible, so we spent Friday, Saturday, and Sunday in our own homes watching games, Facebooking, and phoning one another in our excitement. (Actually Rick and Elijah had already left on a trip to Washington. D.C., but we didn’t know that yet.) Georgia won their two games quickly and put on some pretty spectacular shows doing so.

Of course, we also wanted to be at a birthday party in the park in northern Illinois, where our grandson-in-law Bryan and four-year-old Aidan were celebrating their birthdays. As our family has enlarged year by year (like Gerald’s lawn), we find we can’t keep up with all the important activities we want to be a part of. As our energy has diminished with age, we also have to cut back (like Gerald’s garden) on what we can attend to.

The two top-seeded NCAA teams were defeated in their Super Regionals, which were also played on their home fields. Those unexpected outcomes makes for exciting softball, but it also brings disappointment.

Top-seeded Alabama was defeated by Hawaii down at Tuscaloosa. Can you imagine how difficult it was for those Rainbow Wahines to be playing so far from home? I think I read somewhere that they had been on the road for 21 days or so before this tourney. So it was thrilling to see them win, but for those in the Southeastern Conference who like Alabama, it was a hard loss.

Second-seeded Michigan lost to Tennessee also from the Southeastern Conference. Of course, we were glad to see a SEC team win. Yet we grieved for senior Maggie Viefhaus from here in Southern Illinois. Her oldest sister and twin sisters all played for Southern Illinois University Carbondale.

Third-seeded University of Washington, returning 2009 NCAA champion, is a challenging first opponent for Georgia at the ASA Hall of Fame Stadium. They will play at 8:30 Thursday night and the game will be on ESPN2. Whoever loses goes into the losers’ bracket at this double elimination tourney. That means teams in the losers’ bracket still have a chance for the championship series, but they will have to play more games and not lose again to get there.

Our granddaughter Tara’s Southern Force team is in a tournament near Atlanta this weekend, and Geri Ann will be playing. So plans were already made for Gma Vickie to enjoy her three grandsons again and for Erin to finally meet her little nephew Payton. I think Mary Ellen and Brianna are going down with Tara to this tournament and will also finally get to meet Payton. While they would all like to be in Oklahoma City, just as Gerry would like to see those grandsons, life forces us to make choices. Some people keep their gardens clean and some of us chose weedy gardens. Some choices are hard and some are easy and some are sometimes made for us.

Memorial Day Tribute to Elizabeth Martin Martin

Over two decades ago I had gone looking for the gravesite of Elizabeth Martin in Perry County, where a great uncle thought it might be. Unable o find it, I had decided that she was probably buried on a farm someplace in an unmarked grave. I did not know her maiden name, and I only knew that she was buried with one or two children, all of whom Great Uncle Sam thought had died in a typhoid epidemic.  In May 2003, I unexpectedly connected by Internet with an unknown distant distant cousin-in-law, who had just received some family records from her husband's people. From those ancient records passed down in Kansas, I learned that Elizabeth's maiden name was also Martin, and that she and her
baby and her mother were all in Pleasant Grove Cemetery "near Mt. Vernon." I hurried to the Jefferson County web site, and there were their names and information matching what I had just received from Kansas. Thank to the volunteers for walking and recording that cemetery and placing the information on the
website the previous September!

The following is a true story of my experience when I visited Pleasant Grove Cemetery.



Elizabeth (Martin) Martin

Wife of William Felix Grundy Martin

5-1-1827 to 10-6-1857





Elizabeth came from Tennessee

To marry her cousin

In Illinois country.

An only daughter

With six brothers,

Her sister Margaret had died at three.



She helped out at home down there,

Content with others' lives.

Then Felix's dreams became her own

Which they must realize.

Though sad to leave her parents,

William Felix was a prize.



A preacher like her daddy,

Felix filled her heart with love.

Baby Margaret came along,

A second blessing from above.



Glorious sunshiny summer

Must end as all things do.

A horse threw off its rider

And troubles began to brew.



Her uncle, Felix's father,

Was killed by that hard fall.

She comforted her husband

Who cried but still stood tall.



Her death not three weeks later

Brought him to the ground.

For such excess bereavement

No comfort could be found.



Baby Margaret without her mother

Could not survive here long.

A third time family gathered

And sang a sadder song.



Beloved bride. Beloved babe.

He must ride to Tennessee

To tell her parents what they'd lost

Here in Illinois country.



Time passed and much to his surprise

William Felix loved once more

And the sun began to rise.



The Civil War called him from home,

And all three brothers too.

For it seemed right that men must fight

When things were all askew.



Elizabeth had three brothers

Who'd moved up from Tennessee

And like the other cousins, they marched

Back home with Lincoln's grand army.



Nine  Martin cousins

Volunteered to join the fray.

Six came back and three died young

Their hair to never gray.



The war was finally over.

William returned to Louisa Jane.

He smiled to see son Will so big

And horse and farm again.



A three-room house they built with pride

Joys and sorrows came their way.

But he had learned when Elizabeth died,

That neither come to stay.



It was Elizabeth's father's turn to die,

Her mother Nancy was alone.

A younger son brought their mother up

To make an Illinois home.



Nancy saw the graves from long ago

Of the daughter still so dear

Of the babe she had yet to rock

And she shed another tear.



Nancy too returned to dust

A long way from Tennessee,

She was glad to join Elizabeth

Here in Illinois country.



I place blooms on these three graves

Where William Felix sobbed in grief,

Their early deaths gave me my life,

My great-grandmother was his second wife









--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Reading Reid’s The Healing of America

Evenings have been peaceful this week. (So peaceful, in fact, I forgot to blog last night.) After supper on Tuesday and Wednesday, I went outside and sat reading the library book that is due tomorrow—T. R. Reid’s The Healing of America. The neat green lawn Gerald keeps so perfectly goes down to the lake, and on the other side is the little island he created one summer by cutting a channel. With the coming of spring, our side of the island has large green trees, honeysuckle, and rich green vegetation. In the encircling distance are more green woods. The only sounds are the happy tweeting of the martins swooping and sailing all around me. Above is a huge blue sky filled with marshmallow white clouds, and I wonder why I don’t sit out there every night. I know why, of course. Usually I need to be doing something else.

Tonight I enjoyed the same outdoor scene from the upstairs living room glancing out the windows as I finished the book and watched the sky darken and the rain starting to fall. It rained hard for half an hour, and I found the sight and the sounds of the rain beating the windows made me feel cozy and protected.

Reid’s book is very informative about the various health systems of the world as he goes around the globe exploring them. He points out that though our nation is one of the wealthiest and we spend the highest amount of our Gross Domestic Product on health care, we are the only developed nation with families going bankrupt because of medical bills--around 700,000 a year according to a joint study by Harvard Law and Harvard Medical Schools.

He says that in 2009 there were some 45 million Americans who spent at least part of the year without health coverage and sites the Urban Institute’s estimate that more than 22,000 Americans die annually because they cannot afford health care. Our high infant mortality rate shames us. The other developed nations feel a moral imperative to give health care to all citizens regardless of their economic status. Because of this, they have developed not just universal care but also spend far less of their GDP than we do. As one of many examples of cost control he sites that an MRI scan that costs $1200 in Denver only costs $98 in Tokyo.

Reid knows that those with good insurance have good care and that citizens with low enough income have Medicaid and those of us who are older have Medicare. It is that 15% of uncovered working citizens or citizens who have lost their coverage due to illness that he cares about. The ones who have to be dying or in hard labor to be admitted to the emergency room and then diseases are too for along to be treated cheaply or effectively.

Since Reid’s book was written prior to our newly enacted health care bill, some problems may be solved when it goes into effect. The changes should mean that losing a job or being denied insurance because of bad health will no longer mean loss of health care. Reid believes the very complexity of our present system creates higher costs. Will our new system be less complex?

He greatly admires the French for their “vital card,” which a patient hands his doctor which has embedded a digital record of the patient’s medical history. There is no need for cabinets full of records nor for filling out long forms by hand each time you go to a new doctor. (That card was developed in the United States.)

He emphasizes that the countries having universal coverage do not have socialized medicine, such as our Medicare or care for veterans is. Most do have competing private insurance companies for basic health care but they are non-profit—the way most of our health insurance companies used to be. People who want more than basic care, such as private rooms, are free to take out for-profit insurance policies, but most are content enough not to do so. Most nations with universal care soon see the economic and social value of pushing preventive medicine.

All the universal health care systems are different, and Reid thinks we should thoughtfully adopt the best ideas from each system. He notes that every developed nation constantly refines and reforms their health care programs, and that no one is ever satisfied that it is perfect. I suppose that is what we will be doing in the years ahead.
I didn’t have the business mind to understand much of the debate during our recent debate in Congress, and I did not completely understand the various models that Reid explains. But I do believe good Americans want their families, friends, and fellow citizens to have care when they are sick, and I am sure I am not alone in wanting our babies to live past their first year of life.

Short Week, Bake Sale, and Softball

After returning to the farm Monday night, I was faced with a short week with several obligations, so I stayed behind through today.

Tuesday was a final eye check up, and that was good. Wednesday was a board meeting for the Illinois chapter of Trail of Tears Association. Since it was at Morris Library in Carbondale, I felt I ought to use the opportunity to visit the new quarters for the Special Collections department—which I had last visited during the remodeling when Special Collections was at a temporary quarters way down on the south end of campus. The new room was beautiful and the librarians their usual extraordinary selves. They are so friendly and so helpful. I can’t wait to plan a research session there again someday. The Carolyn Plochman art exhibit had already ended despite the misinformation in the local paper, but one painting is on permanent display.

Thursday was the monthly Southern Illinois Writers Guild meeting, and since I had missed the last two months and I wanted to hear Misti Sandeful, I choose that instead of a graduation party I also wanted to attend. Friday I was involved with a project here in my office, and the women’s college softball NCAA regionals had begun. So there were games to watch on GameTracker. Georgia was hosting their regional and won their first game in this double elimination tournament, but A&M who were down at Baton Rouge lost their first one. My intention after Gerry’s game was to go back to the kitchen and make cupcakes with the mix and can of fudge icing that I had laid out on Tuesday. I was tired and procrastinated till the next morning.
Before I left on my four-day trip north, a phone call from our Women’s Club president told me the group had decided (at the last meeting of the year which I had missed) that they needed to have a rummage and bake sale to raise some funds for sending our delegate to a state meeting. (Like many clubs associated with national organizations, most of the dues goes to headquarters, so the local club has to be creative for funds.)

That is why I needed to bake cupcakes. I had gathered up a few things for the rummage sale, but I am not good about giving up things. I did commit to bring something for the bake sale. I thought I remembered from my bake sale days that little kids accompanying their mothers liked to be able to buy an inexpensive cupcake. I have not been involved with a bake sale since Mary Ellen was a senior in high school and that was with the Class of 1981. Before that I was frequently frantically called upon to donate something to some bake sale one of my children had forgotten to tell me about.

I went to bed earlier than usual so I’d wake up Saturday morning to do the cupcakes, which don’t take long to bake. Fortunately, someone called Gerald who was not in the house and though I did not get to the phone in time to answer it, I was up to bake. After I turned the oven on still half asleep, I got out the cupcake pan and started searching the cabinet for cupcake papers. I was out! There was a box of mini cup papers, but no pan for such small cupcakes. I have no idea why I had bought those. Obviously for some unaccomplished project long forgotten. Hmmm.

Nothing is easier than using a German chocolate cake mix with a can of icing to make a fairly good-looking cake that most people like, so that was my next move. After it was in the oven baking, I realized that the cake carrier that I use to carry cakes to pot lucks would not work since I did not want to give it away. So I had to start searching for some sort of container to deliver the cake and allow the customer to use to carry the cake home. Oh, I also needed a plate to put the cake on. Hmmm again. I found a cracked plastic bottom to a former cake carrier, which fortunately I had not thrown away. That is why I am reluctant to discard my possessions. So often I need them after I think I won’t. Or else some grandchild needs something for a project.

I covered the bottom with aluminum foil and the plate problem was solved. Now all I had to do was to find the right size box. I looked in the garage, but some nice white boxes from the bakery were too small for a cake. Then I went down to the tornado shelter, which also serves as a storage room for all those weird things the grandchildren or I might need for an art project or whatever. Big boxes there, but no cake-size ones.

Finally, I located an attractive box in the guest bedroom just the right size. I had stored some papers I needed to work on in the box. I pulled the stack of papers out regretting that I still needed to go through them and left them on the dresser there. With white paper towels for a lining, I had the perfect carrier, and by then the cake was done.

I was also running late. I think I had been told to bring stuff to the president’s garage the night before, so I figured I ought to arrive early since I was actually late. I dumped the cake on to the racks to cool even though I had not waited the proper 10 minutes. Blessedly the two layers fell out okay to cool while I hurriedly bathed and dressed for the day. Then all I had to do was put on the icing between the layers and on top—no need for any beauty efforts for this cake—and drive to town.

Everywhere I looked in town people were having yard and garage sales. I had only been to this home once or twice but thought I knew how to get there. When I did, there were cars on both sides of the road and a truck coming by me that required my concentration. I did not recognize the house with cars in front of it and actually drove around a couple of blocks trying to find what I just passed. (This was one of those neighborhoods with curving drives, and I could not even remember the street name.) The second time around the traffic was clearer, and I saw the Women’s Club sign.

I joined the club last year at a friend’s invitation after I told her I was trying to get out of club activities. When I accepted her invitation to go as a guest, however, I saw that many of the members were in their late 80s and early 90s. The club wants to continue for these long-time members’ sake. That is why they do not meet at night when younger women who work might join. One of the women is blind now, but she and the others are very inspiring. So I joined, but told my friend that I would be an lazy member who would not take an office or committee membership—but I would attend when I could and enjoy these stimulating older members.

I had been told there was going to be plenty of help at the sale, so did not necessarily plan to stay long. However, one of the more elderly ones was sitting at the price tag table, and after a futile attempt at conversation with her, I did decide I might stay for an hour or so while the customers were keeping people busy. Younger members were carrying out hot fresh-baked pies that one of these older members was in the kitchen baking. (I told you the oldsters were inspiring.) The pies were beautiful. The president explained to shoppers that they were $6.50, but if the buyer brought back the pyrex pan, there would be a $l.50 refund. I wished we needed one, but I knew we shouldn’t indulge.

After one of the younger women had returned from the bank with more dollar bills for change and the traffic had slowed some, I left to do a couple of errands and run by my daughter’s. Her husband was gone, the house locked and she and Sam still asleep. Sleep is hard for her to come by, so I quietly left a couple things on the kitchen table and came back to the farm.

Gerald was helping Brian who was down to farm, but after lunch, we were also following Texas A&M playing their second game and Georgia theirs. Both our teams won. All over the nation, fifteen NCAA regionals were being held, so we were also interested in the teams playing on ESPN. It was fun to see the best hitter in the nation hit her 28th homerun—Canadian Jen Yee, who plays for Georgia Tech. (They won’t go onto the super regionals next weekend because they lost today to the Oregon Ducks in an extra inning game.) At the supper table reliving the day and thinking I had accomplished what I needed to, I remembered that I had planned to go to a another graduation party for a favorite graduate, but it was already over.

So I cleaned the kitchen  and came downstairs to the computer in my office. When I think the television will be on, I close the door for quiet. Later there was a knock and I called for Gerald to come in since he often stops by for a last minute comment before he heads to bed. It wasn’t Gerald but two of our young teen giggling grandkids—Brianna and Sam.

I knew Bri had come down with her dad Brian to go to a concert of the Barlow Girls at the civic center. Earlier in the week I heard Katherine calling for their tickets. With apologies for not telling me they were coming out, they were asking if they could spend the night. Gerald and I both asked the same question—how did these non-drivers get here. (David had brought them out and dropped them off at their request.) They were in high spirits and needed some food as well as a bed, so we went upstairs and filled that need. (Too bad I had not bought one of the pies.) They went to bed before I did, and I did not have to fret when I woke them at eight this morning for showers and breakfast before we headed to Sunday School at Center in our village.

It was my day in the preschool department during worship service, and one teen assistant was absent and the other was needed to be present in the auditorium to be honored as one of our three high school graduates. I grabbed Sam and Bri to come help me, and I could not have been more impressed as they sat on the floor and around the table interacting with the little kids. I don’t know what I would have done if they hadn’t been there.

Back at Woodsong, I opened the freezer in the garage, which fortunately I had stocked this week with unhealthy but convenient hot pockets and frozen sandwiches ready for the microwave. I had a large can of chocolate pudding, which I had stuck in the fridge before we left, and I opened it knowing our kids always like the pudding. Everyone is on their own, I explained to them and Gerald. Georgia was playing and A&M soon would be in their respective tourneys. Gerald’s got his computer ready with Game Tracker for the Texas with Louisiana-Lafayette game, and I turned on my computer for the ending of Georgia versus Radford. The television was tuned to whatever regional was showing there. A&M would have to beat the Ragin’ Cajuns twice in a row to win their tourney, but A&M lost the first time they played. Georgia won the first game, so they will be hosting the super regionals next weekend at Athens.

I had put a small roast in the oven and thawed some okra from the freezer, but Brian picked the kids up to drop Sam off at his house in Marion and take Bri back to their home in Central Illinois. So Gerald and I ate supper alone discussing the games and the announcement that Georgia’s super regional will be at Athens against California who had survived the Columbus, Ohio, regional. Next weekend the winner of two out of three games will be one of the eight in the nation to head to Oklahoma City.