UGA Softball Announces Tara Archibald As Assistant Coach - The University of Georgia Bulldogs
http://www.georgiadogs.com/sports/w-softbl/spec-rel/093011aaa.html
www.georgiadogs.com
6 years ago
Friday, September 30, 2011
Thursday, September 29, 2011
Catching The City of New Orleans
There was a time when going to the airport seemed exciting, but now train travel seems exotic to me. For the first time in many years, I took someone to the train station this morning. We have had a wonderful visit with Lois and Tom and their grandson Josiah, but today was the day they had to leave us.
We were all apprehensive about getting to Carbondale on time for their 7:30 a.m. train to Chicago where they will transfer to go to the west coast. We’d been sleeping in, and one always imagines the horror of not hearing an alarm clock when doing so is important. Gerald has an internal alarm clock and does not sleep in, so we had him primed to wake us all up if necessary. But we went to bed early last night, and the nervousness about our needing to leave Woodsong at 6 a.m. served to wake us.
Interestingly, Lois’ cousin Tony Ferrell and wife from Albuquerque were also in our region visiting at the same time that Lois was here for our high school class reunion. Tom, Lois, and Josiah visited the Bible class Gerald and I are now teaching at Center and worshipped with us Sunday morning. They had to skip our church potluck to drive to Anna. Tony arranged a Sunday afternoon family reunion at the fellowship hall at St. Mary’s Catholic Church, where his late sister Tammy was a member. Tony and Lois are both very interested in genealogy research and are in frequent email connection, but this was a rare opportunity for them to meet face-to-face before the Ferrells go off to Australia on one of their many foreign jaunts.
Lois has had a good life in California, and since two other of her five siblings moved to the west coast, a photograph of a recent reunion out there had 50 or so family members. Nevertheless, Lois always knows some home-sickness for this area and the more distant relatives here in the county that was home for the first 18 years of her life. So the Sunday reunion followed by another trip to Union County on Monday to visit cemeteries and to meet up again with Tony and other cousins were highlights of her visit.
And she was able to get copies of her birth certificate from our more than 150 year-old Union County courthouse that somehow will be needed by a granddaughter currently living in Italy. Of necessity, a new courthouse is being built behind this old one that the public is very fond of, and I think Lois enjoyed walking into the familiar building with public servants well known for their kindness and efficiency with visitors.
Yesterday was needed for getting their breaths, returning the rental car, and packing for the journey home, so we scheduled our one “touristy” day on Tuesday. We drove down the beautiful hills and hollows to the Ohio River at
Golconda and Elizabethtown. On top of the Golconda levee I imagined as always load after load of the Cherokee arriving there in autumn 1838 on the steam ferryboat from Kentucky. We drove through town past the wonderful old court house there and looked at the large Victorian houses throughout the town and finally past the deteriorating mural of the Cherokee Removal painted on one of the flood walls. (The town is making a terrible mistake letting that mural fade, and I keep hoping a high school art teacher or some local artist will make its restoration a successful project.)
Driving on to my other favorite Ohio River town, we reached Elizabethtown in early afternoon for the very generous river catfish dinner served on a small floating restaurant. I love eating there while we watch the barges go by and feel the sway of the river as it gently rocks the boat. This meal on water reminded us of one of my all time favorite dinners that Tom and Lois treated us to beside the San Francisco bay while we watched the ocean gulls come and go outside the huge glass windows. The down-home riverboat atmosphere was in sharp contrast to that fine restaurant atmosphere, but the company of good friends was the same and the body of water outside very pleasing.
We are so glad the owners rebuilt after the restaurant fire a couple years ago. Then last spring’s flood shut them down for 37 business days, and I am glad they also survived that also. The restaurant floated up up up as the river widened and deepened. Ribbons tied high on tall telephone poles many yards west of the river’s edge now astounded us as we thought of the amount of water there just a few months ago.
The gazebo on a huge rock formation beside the river in front of the Rose Hotel next door was also inundated last spring. I knew that because innkeeper Sandy Vinland posted pictures on Facebook. And yet looking at the gazebo now high on its rock base made it hard to even imagine the river ever being that much higher.
We had to wander in the backyard of the Rose Hotel and visit the graves there including one for Mr. McFarland, who built that much storied two-story brick building in 1812. Then we visited the gift shop in front and walked into the lovely ancient dining room where Sandy dresses in Victorian dresses to serve breakfast to the guests at the hotel. I was sorry she wasn’t there to say hello to, but I enjoyed the memories of our celebrating our 50th wedding anniversary there.
We still had time for our visit to the Cache River wetlands area that delights with its 1,000 year-old tupelo and cypress trees. The plant and animal life in the swamps there are amazing in their diversity and so different from the rest of our area filled with bluffs and rock formations left by the glacier melting here eons ago.
We were very disappointed to find out that our Illinois fiscal problems had shut down the Barkenhausen visitors’ center. The displays there and the brief interpretive film, which is one of the best of such films I have ever seen, were something I was looking forward to showing off to our guests. But we did take a brief hike back to the viewing platform beside the green algae-covered swamp filled with cypress knees and the champion trees. We only saw one other visitor—a nearby resident who had brought his dog and gun out to the hunting area we walked past. Gerald visited with him before we hiked on, and evidently he was successful in his hunt since we heard his gun go off and his truck and dog were gone when we came back to our car.
Although yesterday was planned as a slow day to rest before our friends’ departure, while we were in town returning their rental car, we did work in a visit to the Kenneth J. Gray museum in the mall. Although many did not mean his nickname “The Prince of Pork” as praise for his many years of service as a Representative in the United States Congress, I personally appreciated all he did for our region—including Rend Lake, Interstate 57, elderly and low income public housing, the federal prison, and so much more. A child of the Depression, a veteran of World War II, a pall bearer at John Kennedy’s funeral, Ken Gray knew the mighty but cared for the common people including those coal miners with black lung disease and the many unemployed in our end of the state. I am proud to have the beautiful book about his service co-written by my friend Maxine Pyle on my coffee table in the family room. She and Marleis Trover named their book Pass the Plate, a quote from Gray who said, “If ‘pork” means housing, education, roads, and jobs, then all I have to say if “Pass the Plate’”
Woodsong seems quiet now without Tom and Lois to converse with and their delightful grandson Josiah to make us feel in touch with what is current in today’s youthful world. As their visit wound up, we spoke of outings we did not accomplish this visit as something we would do “next time” and the possibility of a visit with them in California again – perhaps when Geri Ann plays softball out there during her upcoming college years. And so as we hugged goodbye at the train station, I tried not to think it might turn out to be the last time we’d see each other.
We were all apprehensive about getting to Carbondale on time for their 7:30 a.m. train to Chicago where they will transfer to go to the west coast. We’d been sleeping in, and one always imagines the horror of not hearing an alarm clock when doing so is important. Gerald has an internal alarm clock and does not sleep in, so we had him primed to wake us all up if necessary. But we went to bed early last night, and the nervousness about our needing to leave Woodsong at 6 a.m. served to wake us.
Interestingly, Lois’ cousin Tony Ferrell and wife from Albuquerque were also in our region visiting at the same time that Lois was here for our high school class reunion. Tom, Lois, and Josiah visited the Bible class Gerald and I are now teaching at Center and worshipped with us Sunday morning. They had to skip our church potluck to drive to Anna. Tony arranged a Sunday afternoon family reunion at the fellowship hall at St. Mary’s Catholic Church, where his late sister Tammy was a member. Tony and Lois are both very interested in genealogy research and are in frequent email connection, but this was a rare opportunity for them to meet face-to-face before the Ferrells go off to Australia on one of their many foreign jaunts.
Lois has had a good life in California, and since two other of her five siblings moved to the west coast, a photograph of a recent reunion out there had 50 or so family members. Nevertheless, Lois always knows some home-sickness for this area and the more distant relatives here in the county that was home for the first 18 years of her life. So the Sunday reunion followed by another trip to Union County on Monday to visit cemeteries and to meet up again with Tony and other cousins were highlights of her visit.
And she was able to get copies of her birth certificate from our more than 150 year-old Union County courthouse that somehow will be needed by a granddaughter currently living in Italy. Of necessity, a new courthouse is being built behind this old one that the public is very fond of, and I think Lois enjoyed walking into the familiar building with public servants well known for their kindness and efficiency with visitors.
Yesterday was needed for getting their breaths, returning the rental car, and packing for the journey home, so we scheduled our one “touristy” day on Tuesday. We drove down the beautiful hills and hollows to the Ohio River at
Golconda and Elizabethtown. On top of the Golconda levee I imagined as always load after load of the Cherokee arriving there in autumn 1838 on the steam ferryboat from Kentucky. We drove through town past the wonderful old court house there and looked at the large Victorian houses throughout the town and finally past the deteriorating mural of the Cherokee Removal painted on one of the flood walls. (The town is making a terrible mistake letting that mural fade, and I keep hoping a high school art teacher or some local artist will make its restoration a successful project.)
Driving on to my other favorite Ohio River town, we reached Elizabethtown in early afternoon for the very generous river catfish dinner served on a small floating restaurant. I love eating there while we watch the barges go by and feel the sway of the river as it gently rocks the boat. This meal on water reminded us of one of my all time favorite dinners that Tom and Lois treated us to beside the San Francisco bay while we watched the ocean gulls come and go outside the huge glass windows. The down-home riverboat atmosphere was in sharp contrast to that fine restaurant atmosphere, but the company of good friends was the same and the body of water outside very pleasing.
We are so glad the owners rebuilt after the restaurant fire a couple years ago. Then last spring’s flood shut them down for 37 business days, and I am glad they also survived that also. The restaurant floated up up up as the river widened and deepened. Ribbons tied high on tall telephone poles many yards west of the river’s edge now astounded us as we thought of the amount of water there just a few months ago.
The gazebo on a huge rock formation beside the river in front of the Rose Hotel next door was also inundated last spring. I knew that because innkeeper Sandy Vinland posted pictures on Facebook. And yet looking at the gazebo now high on its rock base made it hard to even imagine the river ever being that much higher.
We had to wander in the backyard of the Rose Hotel and visit the graves there including one for Mr. McFarland, who built that much storied two-story brick building in 1812. Then we visited the gift shop in front and walked into the lovely ancient dining room where Sandy dresses in Victorian dresses to serve breakfast to the guests at the hotel. I was sorry she wasn’t there to say hello to, but I enjoyed the memories of our celebrating our 50th wedding anniversary there.
We still had time for our visit to the Cache River wetlands area that delights with its 1,000 year-old tupelo and cypress trees. The plant and animal life in the swamps there are amazing in their diversity and so different from the rest of our area filled with bluffs and rock formations left by the glacier melting here eons ago.
We were very disappointed to find out that our Illinois fiscal problems had shut down the Barkenhausen visitors’ center. The displays there and the brief interpretive film, which is one of the best of such films I have ever seen, were something I was looking forward to showing off to our guests. But we did take a brief hike back to the viewing platform beside the green algae-covered swamp filled with cypress knees and the champion trees. We only saw one other visitor—a nearby resident who had brought his dog and gun out to the hunting area we walked past. Gerald visited with him before we hiked on, and evidently he was successful in his hunt since we heard his gun go off and his truck and dog were gone when we came back to our car.
Although yesterday was planned as a slow day to rest before our friends’ departure, while we were in town returning their rental car, we did work in a visit to the Kenneth J. Gray museum in the mall. Although many did not mean his nickname “The Prince of Pork” as praise for his many years of service as a Representative in the United States Congress, I personally appreciated all he did for our region—including Rend Lake, Interstate 57, elderly and low income public housing, the federal prison, and so much more. A child of the Depression, a veteran of World War II, a pall bearer at John Kennedy’s funeral, Ken Gray knew the mighty but cared for the common people including those coal miners with black lung disease and the many unemployed in our end of the state. I am proud to have the beautiful book about his service co-written by my friend Maxine Pyle on my coffee table in the family room. She and Marleis Trover named their book Pass the Plate, a quote from Gray who said, “If ‘pork” means housing, education, roads, and jobs, then all I have to say if “Pass the Plate’”
Woodsong seems quiet now without Tom and Lois to converse with and their delightful grandson Josiah to make us feel in touch with what is current in today’s youthful world. As their visit wound up, we spoke of outings we did not accomplish this visit as something we would do “next time” and the possibility of a visit with them in California again – perhaps when Geri Ann plays softball out there during her upcoming college years. And so as we hugged goodbye at the train station, I tried not to think it might turn out to be the last time we’d see each other.
Monday, September 26, 2011
Long Live the A-J Class of 1951!
It does not seem possible it has been over 60 years that five or six of us stood in our high school graduation gowns on the stairs of Bar-San Hall and had our photograph taken together. We were the closest of friends. We were happy about graduation but yet sadly aware that we might not be having our photo taken again any time soon. I don’t think I ever saw that photograph, and as it turned out the entire group was never together again—ever. Nor will we ever be on this planet.
Nevertheless, thanks to some local hard working committee members, the Anna-Jonesboro High School Class of 1951 celebrated their 60th anniversary with a reunion last night at the Giant City Lodge.
That reunion invitation was the impetus for our special friends, Tom and Lois Doctor, of Oakland, CA, to make a trip back to Lois’ roots. They were traveling by train and plans were all made. However, their two daughters were not too happy with all the intricacies that train trip was going to involve with their train from Chicago arriving at almost 1:30 in the morning in Carbondale.
Happily, the daughters enlisted grandson Josiah to travel with them, so we are finally able to meet the grandson we have always heard about. It is so good to have him here at Woodsong with Tom and Lois. Josiah is between jobs following his bachelors degree in liberal arts from a small Oregon college, and while on this trip, he is busy preparing a portfolio for applying for graduate school. So this break in his schedule worked out just great for this delightful young man to be a companion to his grandparents and to break bread with our Class of 1951.
Actually, Lois graduated with the Class of 1950. But her grade school years and her first three years of high school were with our class, and she served us as a class officer and student council member. We have continued to claim her as one of ours just at the Class of 1950 does. With enough credits, students were allowed to graduate early at that time in Illinois. By taking advantage of that, Lois was able to get a year of college accomplished at Southern Illinois University Carbondale while the rest of us finished high school.
Then on a fall day in October 1952, she and our friend Lynn stood at a street corner in our small town and sadly said goodbye since Lois was leaving with family members to live and work in California and eventually get her art degree there.
In a few years, Lynn also ended up making a life in California. The two of them saw each other occasionally despite their busy lives rearing their families, going to school, holding down jobs, and so forth.
Although I always saw Lois or Lynn when they were back in Illinois, the three of us were not together again until Spring 2001 when Gerald and I went to California to see our oldest granddaughter, Tara, play softball with the SIUC squad. We stayed at Lois and Tom’s house and they showed us the San Francisco area and drove us to Tara’s ball games. And they arranged a dinner visit in Concord with Lynn, a final visit I will always cherish. Although Lynn had planned to return for a visit here in retirement, she died of leukemia in December 2007.
This year our reunion programs listed 22 of our classmates whose names were read in memoriam. Those names included Margaret Ann Keller Petty, who died a few years ago. She had collected names and addresses for our reunions. Richard Hase, who worked again on this year’s reunion, passed away before it came about.
Also not able to be present this year was Lotrell Tweedy Hileman, who has worked on several of our reunions including this one although she had a stroke after their first committee meeting. Martha Ury Dillow and Tom Bacon have faithfully served our class with all the paper work and foot work that such gatherings require, but they are ready to turn the job over to anyone else who has the time, energy, and health.
If no one takes up the challenge, we voted to turn our left-over funds to Anna’s Stinson Memorial Library. Hearing of the deaths of spouses and children and health crisises was sad but not unexpected after 60 years. Yet there were many heart warming moments and many laughs and chuckles. Our class president, Richard Youngs, read messages from members who could not be present. Despite her upcoming catarack surgery, Martha is going to take on one more job and mail out the reunion photos that Gerald took for us and is busy printing here at Woodsong.
We have had a good run. and getting together with classmates was a wonderful event.
Nevertheless, thanks to some local hard working committee members, the Anna-Jonesboro High School Class of 1951 celebrated their 60th anniversary with a reunion last night at the Giant City Lodge.
That reunion invitation was the impetus for our special friends, Tom and Lois Doctor, of Oakland, CA, to make a trip back to Lois’ roots. They were traveling by train and plans were all made. However, their two daughters were not too happy with all the intricacies that train trip was going to involve with their train from Chicago arriving at almost 1:30 in the morning in Carbondale.
Happily, the daughters enlisted grandson Josiah to travel with them, so we are finally able to meet the grandson we have always heard about. It is so good to have him here at Woodsong with Tom and Lois. Josiah is between jobs following his bachelors degree in liberal arts from a small Oregon college, and while on this trip, he is busy preparing a portfolio for applying for graduate school. So this break in his schedule worked out just great for this delightful young man to be a companion to his grandparents and to break bread with our Class of 1951.
Actually, Lois graduated with the Class of 1950. But her grade school years and her first three years of high school were with our class, and she served us as a class officer and student council member. We have continued to claim her as one of ours just at the Class of 1950 does. With enough credits, students were allowed to graduate early at that time in Illinois. By taking advantage of that, Lois was able to get a year of college accomplished at Southern Illinois University Carbondale while the rest of us finished high school.
Then on a fall day in October 1952, she and our friend Lynn stood at a street corner in our small town and sadly said goodbye since Lois was leaving with family members to live and work in California and eventually get her art degree there.
In a few years, Lynn also ended up making a life in California. The two of them saw each other occasionally despite their busy lives rearing their families, going to school, holding down jobs, and so forth.
Although I always saw Lois or Lynn when they were back in Illinois, the three of us were not together again until Spring 2001 when Gerald and I went to California to see our oldest granddaughter, Tara, play softball with the SIUC squad. We stayed at Lois and Tom’s house and they showed us the San Francisco area and drove us to Tara’s ball games. And they arranged a dinner visit in Concord with Lynn, a final visit I will always cherish. Although Lynn had planned to return for a visit here in retirement, she died of leukemia in December 2007.
This year our reunion programs listed 22 of our classmates whose names were read in memoriam. Those names included Margaret Ann Keller Petty, who died a few years ago. She had collected names and addresses for our reunions. Richard Hase, who worked again on this year’s reunion, passed away before it came about.
Also not able to be present this year was Lotrell Tweedy Hileman, who has worked on several of our reunions including this one although she had a stroke after their first committee meeting. Martha Ury Dillow and Tom Bacon have faithfully served our class with all the paper work and foot work that such gatherings require, but they are ready to turn the job over to anyone else who has the time, energy, and health.
If no one takes up the challenge, we voted to turn our left-over funds to Anna’s Stinson Memorial Library. Hearing of the deaths of spouses and children and health crisises was sad but not unexpected after 60 years. Yet there were many heart warming moments and many laughs and chuckles. Our class president, Richard Youngs, read messages from members who could not be present. Despite her upcoming catarack surgery, Martha is going to take on one more job and mail out the reunion photos that Gerald took for us and is busy printing here at Woodsong.
We have had a good run. and getting together with classmates was a wonderful event.
Monday, September 19, 2011
Time Flies and Life Changes
For three nights last week, I enjoyed the large moon hanging high in the sky above me as I drove home to Woodsong from Marion. How could it be time for a full moon already I wondered. Is there anyway to keep time from passing so fast? I’d been warned that time seems to pass more quickly as we age, but I thought somewhere in my distant past I had also heard about time dragging for the elderly. Well, we take what we get, don’t we? Somehow the week passed as rapidly as the past month, and I failed to blog midweek.
Just as pleasant as the great moon was driving to and from Marion yesterday in gentle rain. It continues to be wet this morning; and although we have only accumulated seven-tenths of an inch thus far, we are grateful.
When I returned to the farm from Katherine’s last evening, our son-in-law Brian’s truck was in the driveway. He was down to check on the upcoming harvest, and we will see him again soon. He will not be renting a combine this year. His first combine is on the way and will arrive Wednesday. There is a smile on his face when he speaks about it. How many good memories this brings to us of the excitement of a new combine. Down through the years, we have observed that the price of a combine is usually about equal to the price of a new home, so it is a major purchase filled with new technology and the pleasure of a sparkling clean interior with good smelling seats. (Often the new technology on farm equipment means the farmer must expend considerable effort to get any bugs worked out. I hope that is not the case for Brian this year because he has a contract to fill very soon.) Moisture and the weight of the sample he collected indicate a good harvest.
Jari Jackson and I traveled to John A. Logan College Thursday night to attend our monthly Southern Illinois Writers Guild meeting. Jon Musgrave has been working hard on collecting information on venues for group book signings for the Guild. Since he will voluntarily provide the news releases for the group, this sounds like a wonderful opportunity for our many individual authors to get their books out there to the public and to promote our Guild anthologies.
I came home with Lois Barrett’s newest novel Shuugh, God and Lulu and started reading it but made myself quit and go to bed. I did not do as well Friday night when I stayed up to 1 a.m. to finish. Wife abuse and women who return to chance it again and again is a puzzling problem in our society, and Lois was trying to help us better understand it. Many times these women don’t believe in divorce, and neither do I. Divorce is a sad ending to high hopes. But once the vow to love and honor is broken by brutality, I don’t think true marriage exists anymore. Divorce is just a legal piece of paper acknowledging the reality that the marriage vows were destroyed. That is simple common sense to me. However, Lois’ book shows a more complicated look at some humans’ ability (perhaps addiction?) to accept flawed relationships and to risk physical danger to enjoy the times between abuse. Forgiveness and loving in spite of injury and insult amaze me. Newspaper accounts of murdered spouses concern and scare me for those in abusive situations.
The next morning before I left for routine blood work after the mandatory fasting, Gerald, who had been able to enjoy his daily coffee and newspaper, told me the sad news on the obituary page of two friends’ deaths. I don’t remember ever going to two funeral visitations in one day before, but on Saturday I did.
One in the morning was for the mother of one of Katherine’s best friends, one of the teenagers who used to frequent our lives. Although it has been many many years ago, it seems only yesterday that Bernetta Hill and I stood outside a high school graduation ceremony in the Crab Orchard gymnasium, and Bernetta shuddered at the thought that in a year or two, our daughters would be on that gym floor with caps and gowns on.
Katherine said Bernetta, a secretary who worked in the high school office for 28 years, was the “school mom” always ready to quietly and discretely help anyone with a needed band-aid or safety pin. But neither Katherine nor I knew that Bernetta was a poet. Among the many photographs displayed at the funeral home were some of her fine poems matted and framed, and one grandson read one at the graveside service. He told how she wrote him every week while he was away at college—even when arthritis reduced her to typing with two fingers. Katherine related to that since in recent years she also can only type with two fingers and much effort. (The ability to play the piano was one of the first losses that multiple sclerosis brought, and eventually her handwritten journals of poetry ceased.)
That night I drove down to Goreville to the funeral home. Jim Terry was born and stayed his entire life in this small town working at the family business and devoting much time and energy to voluntary service to its residents just as his parents had before him. His parents lived down the street from mine when my parents returned in retirement to Daddy’s roots.
Jim and Dixie, both only children, also lived down that street and reared their five children there while Dixie had a child care center in their home and attended to countless Goreville preschoolers. (This was before their move to nearby Lake of Egypt to a big house that eventually was three generational--a home to their parents and a returning kid or two.)
In recent years, they moved back to town to a home built to accommodate Dixie’s excellence as a cook and her extraordinary organizational abilities where she entertained not just their large family at a multitude of gatherings but also frequently catered tea parties for women’s clubs and groups of friends. Through all of their lives, Dixie was writing for both local, regional, and national publications. (At one time I was aware that she was doing six columns in addition to constant feature and news stories.) Jim was right there with her supporting her efforts just as Dixie went to the many area sports events that Jim never missed.
When Jim received a diagnosis of pulmonary fibrosis in April, they made a decision to live the remaining time to the fullest. Together they spent their last summer attending family outings, Cardinals and Miners games, concerts, picnics, and making daily drives through Ferne Clyffe park to see the deer. And they read the Bible.
Wanting good things to last forever, I have never liked change. But Bernetta’s son Jeff reminded us that his mother, who had not walked in over a year, was now pain free and dancing in heaven. The Bible in Jim’s hands at the funeral home and the many memorial donations given to charities in addition to the abundance of flowers demonstrated that people can die well just as they lived. Change and time passing more rapidly than we like is the way life on the planet is ordained to be. Wise people adjust to that reality. I am working on it.
Just as pleasant as the great moon was driving to and from Marion yesterday in gentle rain. It continues to be wet this morning; and although we have only accumulated seven-tenths of an inch thus far, we are grateful.
When I returned to the farm from Katherine’s last evening, our son-in-law Brian’s truck was in the driveway. He was down to check on the upcoming harvest, and we will see him again soon. He will not be renting a combine this year. His first combine is on the way and will arrive Wednesday. There is a smile on his face when he speaks about it. How many good memories this brings to us of the excitement of a new combine. Down through the years, we have observed that the price of a combine is usually about equal to the price of a new home, so it is a major purchase filled with new technology and the pleasure of a sparkling clean interior with good smelling seats. (Often the new technology on farm equipment means the farmer must expend considerable effort to get any bugs worked out. I hope that is not the case for Brian this year because he has a contract to fill very soon.) Moisture and the weight of the sample he collected indicate a good harvest.
Jari Jackson and I traveled to John A. Logan College Thursday night to attend our monthly Southern Illinois Writers Guild meeting. Jon Musgrave has been working hard on collecting information on venues for group book signings for the Guild. Since he will voluntarily provide the news releases for the group, this sounds like a wonderful opportunity for our many individual authors to get their books out there to the public and to promote our Guild anthologies.
I came home with Lois Barrett’s newest novel Shuugh, God and Lulu and started reading it but made myself quit and go to bed. I did not do as well Friday night when I stayed up to 1 a.m. to finish. Wife abuse and women who return to chance it again and again is a puzzling problem in our society, and Lois was trying to help us better understand it. Many times these women don’t believe in divorce, and neither do I. Divorce is a sad ending to high hopes. But once the vow to love and honor is broken by brutality, I don’t think true marriage exists anymore. Divorce is just a legal piece of paper acknowledging the reality that the marriage vows were destroyed. That is simple common sense to me. However, Lois’ book shows a more complicated look at some humans’ ability (perhaps addiction?) to accept flawed relationships and to risk physical danger to enjoy the times between abuse. Forgiveness and loving in spite of injury and insult amaze me. Newspaper accounts of murdered spouses concern and scare me for those in abusive situations.
The next morning before I left for routine blood work after the mandatory fasting, Gerald, who had been able to enjoy his daily coffee and newspaper, told me the sad news on the obituary page of two friends’ deaths. I don’t remember ever going to two funeral visitations in one day before, but on Saturday I did.
One in the morning was for the mother of one of Katherine’s best friends, one of the teenagers who used to frequent our lives. Although it has been many many years ago, it seems only yesterday that Bernetta Hill and I stood outside a high school graduation ceremony in the Crab Orchard gymnasium, and Bernetta shuddered at the thought that in a year or two, our daughters would be on that gym floor with caps and gowns on.
Katherine said Bernetta, a secretary who worked in the high school office for 28 years, was the “school mom” always ready to quietly and discretely help anyone with a needed band-aid or safety pin. But neither Katherine nor I knew that Bernetta was a poet. Among the many photographs displayed at the funeral home were some of her fine poems matted and framed, and one grandson read one at the graveside service. He told how she wrote him every week while he was away at college—even when arthritis reduced her to typing with two fingers. Katherine related to that since in recent years she also can only type with two fingers and much effort. (The ability to play the piano was one of the first losses that multiple sclerosis brought, and eventually her handwritten journals of poetry ceased.)
That night I drove down to Goreville to the funeral home. Jim Terry was born and stayed his entire life in this small town working at the family business and devoting much time and energy to voluntary service to its residents just as his parents had before him. His parents lived down the street from mine when my parents returned in retirement to Daddy’s roots.
Jim and Dixie, both only children, also lived down that street and reared their five children there while Dixie had a child care center in their home and attended to countless Goreville preschoolers. (This was before their move to nearby Lake of Egypt to a big house that eventually was three generational--a home to their parents and a returning kid or two.)
In recent years, they moved back to town to a home built to accommodate Dixie’s excellence as a cook and her extraordinary organizational abilities where she entertained not just their large family at a multitude of gatherings but also frequently catered tea parties for women’s clubs and groups of friends. Through all of their lives, Dixie was writing for both local, regional, and national publications. (At one time I was aware that she was doing six columns in addition to constant feature and news stories.) Jim was right there with her supporting her efforts just as Dixie went to the many area sports events that Jim never missed.
When Jim received a diagnosis of pulmonary fibrosis in April, they made a decision to live the remaining time to the fullest. Together they spent their last summer attending family outings, Cardinals and Miners games, concerts, picnics, and making daily drives through Ferne Clyffe park to see the deer. And they read the Bible.
Wanting good things to last forever, I have never liked change. But Bernetta’s son Jeff reminded us that his mother, who had not walked in over a year, was now pain free and dancing in heaven. The Bible in Jim’s hands at the funeral home and the many memorial donations given to charities in addition to the abundance of flowers demonstrated that people can die well just as they lived. Change and time passing more rapidly than we like is the way life on the planet is ordained to be. Wise people adjust to that reality. I am working on it.
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
Sowing in Tears
Thinking again on the many lives lost a decade ago on September 11, Americans shed many tears yesterday. A visitor at our village church yesterday had come back home where he was ordained for the ministry over 49 years ago. Now retired but still preaching, Ed Handkins answered our song leader’s request that he sing for us.
Before singing “It Is Well with My Soul,” Ed reminded us briefly of the familiar story of how the hymn was written. Ed knew this would be a needed song yesterday when much of our nation, still suffering and still grieving from the attack ten years ago, was also trying to hold tightly to the belief: “God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble.” Not only had the anniversary reminded us of great loss of lives in New York, Pennsylvania, and Washington, D.C., but as I looked around our small congregation, I realized so many monumental personal problems that people were living with.
And I was reasonably sure that there were many more problems that I knew nothing about in that small sanctuary. I have enormous respect for pastors who know of so many human hurts in their congregations and are helping people deal with them but often cannot share these heavy burdens with the rest of us. None of us understand the pain and destruction caused by nature nor by human nature. We wish such troubles could be annihilated and that the sorrows like sea billows would go away. They obviously don’t. But as I listened and thrilled to Ed’s powerful voice, the message in song penned by the grieving Chicago lawyer brought me comfort and a sense of God’s care.
I’d briefly heard the Horatio Spafford story before, but listening to his hymn yesterday sent me hurrying to Google today, and I learned a much larger and longer story. An even more complicated story.
Horace G. Spafford was on his way to Europe in 1873 to meet his wife Anna, who had wired him of the shipwreck that had taken the lives of their four beloved daughters. At the point in the ocean where the wreck had occurred, the captain told him where they were. Spafford, who had been a poet from his youth and who wrote lyrics for songs, found it in his faith to write the hymn that has been sung all over the world for over a century now.
Despite their work for the abolition of slavery, serving in their local congregation, given to hospitality, and helping friends such as Dwight L. Moody and musicians Ira Sankey and Philip P. Bliss, the Spaffords had never been exempt from troubles. As a young teen, Anna had lost her immigrant parents soon after they came to America. After their marriage, Spafford had made land investments in northern Chicago shortly before the terrible Chicago fire, which resulted in deep financial losses for him and a harrowing experience for his wife. He was away, but Anna took in refugees from the fire only to become sufficiently threatened by the approaching flames that the guests and she and her four little girls had to evacuate.
The family trip to Europe was planned to help Moody and Sankey in their evangelistic endeavors and to provide a time of healing and rejuvenation for their family.
At the last minute, Horatio had business prevent his going with Anna and their daughters on the luxury ocean liner. He would come later. A ship from England rammed into the S. S. Ville de Havre one night. Within twelve minutes, the steamer sank. Life boats were unavailable held fast by a recent paint job. Surrounded by Annie, Megan, and Bessie with the youngest daughter Tanetta in her arms, Anna was on deck when heavy winds took her child from her clutch before all were thrown in the ocean.
Anna was one of the small number of survivors when she was rescued semi-conscious on a piece of planking and taken by the rescuing boat to Wales. Horatio was on his way to bring her home when he composed the famous hymn.
Back in their empty house in Lakeview near Chicago, Horatio and Anna grieved and resumed life. They went on to have a daughter Bertha and a son named after his daddy. Now they continued their spiritual life with an entirely new set of values. Then a scarlet fever epidemic in 1880 claimed the life of the son when he was four. Some people wondered what the Spaffords had done wrong to be so punished with such losses.
As they intensified their Bible study, they became intrigued with the second coming and with a desire to go to Jerusalem. As soon as their baby Grace was born in 1881, the Spaffords led a party of thirteen adults and three children to the then Ottoman Palestine to start a Christian community trying to pattern after the New Testament church. Their mission was to serve the poor, and they made no distinction in serving Jews, Muslins, or Christians.
They tried to help whoever needed help and won the appreciation and respect of the people living in Jerusalem who called them The American Colony. Of course, they also attracted jealousy and criticism including that of two United States consuls. A court case exonerated them, but some of their beliefs and practices are still questioned today.
They adopted Jacob Eliahu Spafford, a talented and bilingual son who continued work with the colony in his adulthood as did his two sisters and other children reared in the commune. Horatio had died in 1888 at age 60, but Anna assumed leadership until her death in 1923.
Relief and charitable work was then continued under the direction of the second generation of The American Colony’s children and even the third generation until the 1950s when inner tensions in the group caused the communal group to cease.
Many people disdain the group for its unorthodox beliefs and for human errors and less than perfect lives.
But down through the years since the tragedy at sea in 1873, health care and hospitals have been provided, schools made available, orphaned babies and children have been cared for, and thousands of people were fed in times of food shortages during wars or plagues. The Spafford commune has produced an amazing abundance of good fruit that has helped and blessed people of all faiths. Read more about Horatio and Anna’s heritage at:
http://www.loc.gov/exhibits/americancolony/amcolony-holyland.html.
Before singing “It Is Well with My Soul,” Ed reminded us briefly of the familiar story of how the hymn was written. Ed knew this would be a needed song yesterday when much of our nation, still suffering and still grieving from the attack ten years ago, was also trying to hold tightly to the belief: “God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble.” Not only had the anniversary reminded us of great loss of lives in New York, Pennsylvania, and Washington, D.C., but as I looked around our small congregation, I realized so many monumental personal problems that people were living with.
And I was reasonably sure that there were many more problems that I knew nothing about in that small sanctuary. I have enormous respect for pastors who know of so many human hurts in their congregations and are helping people deal with them but often cannot share these heavy burdens with the rest of us. None of us understand the pain and destruction caused by nature nor by human nature. We wish such troubles could be annihilated and that the sorrows like sea billows would go away. They obviously don’t. But as I listened and thrilled to Ed’s powerful voice, the message in song penned by the grieving Chicago lawyer brought me comfort and a sense of God’s care.
I’d briefly heard the Horatio Spafford story before, but listening to his hymn yesterday sent me hurrying to Google today, and I learned a much larger and longer story. An even more complicated story.
Horace G. Spafford was on his way to Europe in 1873 to meet his wife Anna, who had wired him of the shipwreck that had taken the lives of their four beloved daughters. At the point in the ocean where the wreck had occurred, the captain told him where they were. Spafford, who had been a poet from his youth and who wrote lyrics for songs, found it in his faith to write the hymn that has been sung all over the world for over a century now.
Despite their work for the abolition of slavery, serving in their local congregation, given to hospitality, and helping friends such as Dwight L. Moody and musicians Ira Sankey and Philip P. Bliss, the Spaffords had never been exempt from troubles. As a young teen, Anna had lost her immigrant parents soon after they came to America. After their marriage, Spafford had made land investments in northern Chicago shortly before the terrible Chicago fire, which resulted in deep financial losses for him and a harrowing experience for his wife. He was away, but Anna took in refugees from the fire only to become sufficiently threatened by the approaching flames that the guests and she and her four little girls had to evacuate.
The family trip to Europe was planned to help Moody and Sankey in their evangelistic endeavors and to provide a time of healing and rejuvenation for their family.
At the last minute, Horatio had business prevent his going with Anna and their daughters on the luxury ocean liner. He would come later. A ship from England rammed into the S. S. Ville de Havre one night. Within twelve minutes, the steamer sank. Life boats were unavailable held fast by a recent paint job. Surrounded by Annie, Megan, and Bessie with the youngest daughter Tanetta in her arms, Anna was on deck when heavy winds took her child from her clutch before all were thrown in the ocean.
Anna was one of the small number of survivors when she was rescued semi-conscious on a piece of planking and taken by the rescuing boat to Wales. Horatio was on his way to bring her home when he composed the famous hymn.
Back in their empty house in Lakeview near Chicago, Horatio and Anna grieved and resumed life. They went on to have a daughter Bertha and a son named after his daddy. Now they continued their spiritual life with an entirely new set of values. Then a scarlet fever epidemic in 1880 claimed the life of the son when he was four. Some people wondered what the Spaffords had done wrong to be so punished with such losses.
As they intensified their Bible study, they became intrigued with the second coming and with a desire to go to Jerusalem. As soon as their baby Grace was born in 1881, the Spaffords led a party of thirteen adults and three children to the then Ottoman Palestine to start a Christian community trying to pattern after the New Testament church. Their mission was to serve the poor, and they made no distinction in serving Jews, Muslins, or Christians.
They tried to help whoever needed help and won the appreciation and respect of the people living in Jerusalem who called them The American Colony. Of course, they also attracted jealousy and criticism including that of two United States consuls. A court case exonerated them, but some of their beliefs and practices are still questioned today.
They adopted Jacob Eliahu Spafford, a talented and bilingual son who continued work with the colony in his adulthood as did his two sisters and other children reared in the commune. Horatio had died in 1888 at age 60, but Anna assumed leadership until her death in 1923.
Relief and charitable work was then continued under the direction of the second generation of The American Colony’s children and even the third generation until the 1950s when inner tensions in the group caused the communal group to cease.
Many people disdain the group for its unorthodox beliefs and for human errors and less than perfect lives.
But down through the years since the tragedy at sea in 1873, health care and hospitals have been provided, schools made available, orphaned babies and children have been cared for, and thousands of people were fed in times of food shortages during wars or plagues. The Spafford commune has produced an amazing abundance of good fruit that has helped and blessed people of all faiths. Read more about Horatio and Anna’s heritage at:
http://www.loc.gov/exhibits/americancolony/amcolony-holyland.html.
Monday, September 05, 2011
Wolf Lake Class of 1948 and Labor Day Weekend
Gerald was one of 16 in his Wolf Lake High School graduating class. One alumnus and wife were in the habit of coming back for a late summer visit and a McClure grade school reunion. A few years back, the local social leader of the 1948 class—Irma Dell Eudy Elkins--started calling the rest of us to meet for dinner at Fox Hollow, the East Cape fish eatery.
Others who went to school with this class and some relatives might also show up for the gathering. I finally began to get acquainted with those long-ago buddies from Gerald’s high school days. A couple of classmates have died and a couple of the locals don’t feel the need for seeing long-ago classmates, but still there are always two or three long tables of us. When this year’s reunion was planned, last spring’s flood caused the fish place at East Cape to close. There was some question whether Foxy’s could reopen, so Irma Dell reserved the room in a Mexican restaurant at Anna for us on Thursday night before the holiday weekend began.
This year everyone was missing “Doc” Knupp whom classmates had sent funeral flowers for earlier in the summer. He had been brought with his walker from a nursing home the last couple of years, and we were glad to again see his sister Mary Ellen from Cape who had brought him last year.
We enjoyed picking up Ruby Morrison Treece from her assisted living quarters in Marion, where she had moved when her multi-floored Cape Girardeau home became too much to take care of. She is still recovering from open heart surgery, but is looking good. She and Gerald shared a birthday when they went to the rural Miller Pond School as children. (That building was just torn down this summer, and Gerald’s brother Garry acquired those bricks) For a few years back then, a small country church congregation met in the school house on Sunday, and Gerald and Ruby made professions of faith there on the same day. Ruby married a young farmer in the Mississippi River bottoms, and Jim was the brother of our sister-in-law Opal Treece Glasco. In small communities, there are often layered connections between people, and this has always fascinated me.
(Anyone who digs into genealogy when populations were more limited immediately begins to find such overlaps--siblings marrying siblings and such. When we had two daughters living in Nashville, TN, I became convinced from their stories that this was also true in city circles because they learned that a stranger at a party might turn out to be connected to someone they already knew. I regretted I had not majored in sociology to better understand these inter-connections of people better. I guess this is similar to the six degrees of separation that mathematicians and academics explored for us and popular culture embraced.)
Ruby was an excellent student with a wonderful sense of humor and later became a successful business woman when they left the Mississippi bottoms and moved to Carmi after Jim became an insurance agent there. We enjoyed talking all the way to and from Anna, and Gerald and Ruby caught up on many mutual acquaintances.
A sad message from my cousin Ken Johnson in California waited when we came in that evening. His brother Eugene up in Collinsville had passed away. So the end of that evening was filled with my reflections and reminisces of my Rockenmeyer family connections. Ken and Gene used to bring their Boy Scout tents to Mount Airy Farm, and we kids would all camp out in the front yard with cups of meat grease to put on our chigger bites. More recently, Gerald and I took our grandkids to Cahokia Mounts one summer and on to Gene and Elsie’s house, where Gene had an entire museum room devoted to his rock and Native American collections.
Suddenly we were into Labor Day weekend, and we had made no special plans. I realized as I read the weekend papers that many people were making the most of this late summer holiday weekend with visitors, reunions, cookouts, or going to the DuQuoin Fair, and I felt a little left out. Our nephew DuWayne had become sick at work on Friday and was in Cape Girardeau hospital for tests, so yesterday afternoon Gerald went with his brother Keith to see him. I was at our daughter Katherine’s as usual on Sunday afternoon. She and I were highly delighted when her sister Mary Ellen phoned. She and Brian had come down to clean out their grain bin today for this year’s crop and found no one home at Woodsong. So Brian brought her into Katherine’s, and soon Mary Ellen had Kate and me in stitches as only she can do. When David brought teenage Sam home from his youth group, Sam added to the hilarity with his impersonations and witty remarks and the belly laughing continued. I knew this was better than any comedy club, and I no longer felt left out of the holiday celebration.
Mary Ellen and I finally went home and joined Brian and Gerald at the kitchen table, where everyone fixed themselves hot pockets or pot pies from the freezer and visited more while also enjoying tomatoes and cantaloupe from Gerald’s garden. Since Brian had taken their camper up last week for the Farm Progress Show where Stone Seed had an exhibit, they and Fifi stayed over night with us. So there was more visiting this morning. And today Gerald brought in the first watermelon from his garden to finish our lunch menu. With no planning, my Labor Day weekend has been a success.
Others who went to school with this class and some relatives might also show up for the gathering. I finally began to get acquainted with those long-ago buddies from Gerald’s high school days. A couple of classmates have died and a couple of the locals don’t feel the need for seeing long-ago classmates, but still there are always two or three long tables of us. When this year’s reunion was planned, last spring’s flood caused the fish place at East Cape to close. There was some question whether Foxy’s could reopen, so Irma Dell reserved the room in a Mexican restaurant at Anna for us on Thursday night before the holiday weekend began.
This year everyone was missing “Doc” Knupp whom classmates had sent funeral flowers for earlier in the summer. He had been brought with his walker from a nursing home the last couple of years, and we were glad to again see his sister Mary Ellen from Cape who had brought him last year.
We enjoyed picking up Ruby Morrison Treece from her assisted living quarters in Marion, where she had moved when her multi-floored Cape Girardeau home became too much to take care of. She is still recovering from open heart surgery, but is looking good. She and Gerald shared a birthday when they went to the rural Miller Pond School as children. (That building was just torn down this summer, and Gerald’s brother Garry acquired those bricks) For a few years back then, a small country church congregation met in the school house on Sunday, and Gerald and Ruby made professions of faith there on the same day. Ruby married a young farmer in the Mississippi River bottoms, and Jim was the brother of our sister-in-law Opal Treece Glasco. In small communities, there are often layered connections between people, and this has always fascinated me.
(Anyone who digs into genealogy when populations were more limited immediately begins to find such overlaps--siblings marrying siblings and such. When we had two daughters living in Nashville, TN, I became convinced from their stories that this was also true in city circles because they learned that a stranger at a party might turn out to be connected to someone they already knew. I regretted I had not majored in sociology to better understand these inter-connections of people better. I guess this is similar to the six degrees of separation that mathematicians and academics explored for us and popular culture embraced.)
Ruby was an excellent student with a wonderful sense of humor and later became a successful business woman when they left the Mississippi bottoms and moved to Carmi after Jim became an insurance agent there. We enjoyed talking all the way to and from Anna, and Gerald and Ruby caught up on many mutual acquaintances.
A sad message from my cousin Ken Johnson in California waited when we came in that evening. His brother Eugene up in Collinsville had passed away. So the end of that evening was filled with my reflections and reminisces of my Rockenmeyer family connections. Ken and Gene used to bring their Boy Scout tents to Mount Airy Farm, and we kids would all camp out in the front yard with cups of meat grease to put on our chigger bites. More recently, Gerald and I took our grandkids to Cahokia Mounts one summer and on to Gene and Elsie’s house, where Gene had an entire museum room devoted to his rock and Native American collections.
Suddenly we were into Labor Day weekend, and we had made no special plans. I realized as I read the weekend papers that many people were making the most of this late summer holiday weekend with visitors, reunions, cookouts, or going to the DuQuoin Fair, and I felt a little left out. Our nephew DuWayne had become sick at work on Friday and was in Cape Girardeau hospital for tests, so yesterday afternoon Gerald went with his brother Keith to see him. I was at our daughter Katherine’s as usual on Sunday afternoon. She and I were highly delighted when her sister Mary Ellen phoned. She and Brian had come down to clean out their grain bin today for this year’s crop and found no one home at Woodsong. So Brian brought her into Katherine’s, and soon Mary Ellen had Kate and me in stitches as only she can do. When David brought teenage Sam home from his youth group, Sam added to the hilarity with his impersonations and witty remarks and the belly laughing continued. I knew this was better than any comedy club, and I no longer felt left out of the holiday celebration.
Mary Ellen and I finally went home and joined Brian and Gerald at the kitchen table, where everyone fixed themselves hot pockets or pot pies from the freezer and visited more while also enjoying tomatoes and cantaloupe from Gerald’s garden. Since Brian had taken their camper up last week for the Farm Progress Show where Stone Seed had an exhibit, they and Fifi stayed over night with us. So there was more visiting this morning. And today Gerald brought in the first watermelon from his garden to finish our lunch menu. With no planning, my Labor Day weekend has been a success.
Thursday, September 01, 2011
Sad Farewell to Jerry Stapleton, Age 60
As we knew it would be, the parking lot of the funeral home was full last night when we pulled in. We were dreading the fresh grief inside although the accident that cost the life of Jerry Stapleton had happened over a week before. He had been taken to a Saint Louis hospital by helicopter and lain there for over a week on a breathing machine with broken neck and paralysis and then a massive stroke. Some thought that perhaps a light stroke or some such event had caused the accident with its catastrophic results in the first place. As far as anyone knew, he never had to suffer the anxiety of knowing about his injuries as he never became conscious.
From a large and highly regarded family, Jerry had been in the community’s prayers ever since an accident. His sister’s sister-in-law kept us all abreast with Jerry’s condition on Facebook, so we were prepared for the bad news.
During the thirty-six years we lived at Pondside Farm just a half mile from here, there was only one house between ours and the Stapleton house just down the road. Russ and Mildred Stapleton had three boys, all tall like their World War II veteran father, and one little girl named Debby, who was the right age to play with our youngest two—Jeannie and Mary Ellen. Steve, Jerry, and Mike were all several years older than our son Gerry, and they also had cousins Gordon and Paul on down the road apiece. Our brother-less son found the Stapleton homes a bonanza of boys with fishing, ball playing, horse, and hunting interests. As soon as he was allowed to ride his bycycle on our rural gravel road, he would head there with promises to me that he would be home before dark. Poor little guy got in trouble a lot when he would break those promises. Because of the age differences, I worried about his being a pest, but the boys made him welcome.
When I wrote our kids about Jerry’s accident, our son emailed back: “That is so sad! Paul, Steve, Jerry, Gordon and Mike were my closest neighbors. Good families. Never, ever did one thing mean to me! That is really a testament to how good of boys they all were!” Down in Georgia, he was torn that it was not possible for him to be in that huge crowd at the funeral home. But he was so accurate about “Good families.”
Russ farmed and worked in the mines. In addition to all her homemaking duties and cooking for her own family, Mildred worked in our village school lunch program for many years. When she retired, she used her expertise and for many more years volunteered to head up her church’s participation in Marion’s lunch program for anyone who shows up to eat five days a week. Participating churches take a week’s turn to prepare meals. Mildred would be there all five days. Only long after health problems plagued her did she finally retire from this unpaid job.
Russ and Mildred are perfect examples of bad things happening to good people. Their son Steve served in the Marines in Viet Nam and was exposed to Agent Orange. He came home and worked in the mines, but he had to fight cancer for many years. Like so many of our veterans, he died early at age 61 in 2008. Parents never get over losing children. As one of my high school classmates said to me about his son’s death: they are supposed to live longer than their parents.
Mildred and Russ celebrated their 70th wedding anniversary at the party their kids threw for them July 4th weekend at their church fellowship hall. We had a family reunion and could not attend, but I thoroughly enjoyed the invitation with an adorable poem telling the story of their romance and marriage. I found out from Mike last night that Debby had written it. Somehow I take comfort from knowing that they had that special time together with all their children, grandchildren, and friends before they had to go through this second sorrow of losing another son.
Jerry’s wife Pam and his two sons and daughter are all living productive lives that speak well of Jerry’s heritage from his time on earth. The community will continue to share their grief and pray for comfort for all of them as they face life without him.
The death toll is rising from the terrible destruction of Hurricane Irene, so many Americans families are facing great grief right now. We know that grief is to be expected in this life, but somehow it often surprises us when it happens.
Tammy Morris, a writer in our community, gave us this scripture paraphrase on Facebook a couple of days ago: ""weeping endures for the night but joy comes in the morning...' -- life brings hills and valleys and each has something that add character, so if you are in a valley and weeping during the night, just remember that there is a hill and a morning full of joy up ahead." Thank you, Tammy.
From a large and highly regarded family, Jerry had been in the community’s prayers ever since an accident. His sister’s sister-in-law kept us all abreast with Jerry’s condition on Facebook, so we were prepared for the bad news.
During the thirty-six years we lived at Pondside Farm just a half mile from here, there was only one house between ours and the Stapleton house just down the road. Russ and Mildred Stapleton had three boys, all tall like their World War II veteran father, and one little girl named Debby, who was the right age to play with our youngest two—Jeannie and Mary Ellen. Steve, Jerry, and Mike were all several years older than our son Gerry, and they also had cousins Gordon and Paul on down the road apiece. Our brother-less son found the Stapleton homes a bonanza of boys with fishing, ball playing, horse, and hunting interests. As soon as he was allowed to ride his bycycle on our rural gravel road, he would head there with promises to me that he would be home before dark. Poor little guy got in trouble a lot when he would break those promises. Because of the age differences, I worried about his being a pest, but the boys made him welcome.
When I wrote our kids about Jerry’s accident, our son emailed back: “That is so sad! Paul, Steve, Jerry, Gordon and Mike were my closest neighbors. Good families. Never, ever did one thing mean to me! That is really a testament to how good of boys they all were!” Down in Georgia, he was torn that it was not possible for him to be in that huge crowd at the funeral home. But he was so accurate about “Good families.”
Russ farmed and worked in the mines. In addition to all her homemaking duties and cooking for her own family, Mildred worked in our village school lunch program for many years. When she retired, she used her expertise and for many more years volunteered to head up her church’s participation in Marion’s lunch program for anyone who shows up to eat five days a week. Participating churches take a week’s turn to prepare meals. Mildred would be there all five days. Only long after health problems plagued her did she finally retire from this unpaid job.
Russ and Mildred are perfect examples of bad things happening to good people. Their son Steve served in the Marines in Viet Nam and was exposed to Agent Orange. He came home and worked in the mines, but he had to fight cancer for many years. Like so many of our veterans, he died early at age 61 in 2008. Parents never get over losing children. As one of my high school classmates said to me about his son’s death: they are supposed to live longer than their parents.
Mildred and Russ celebrated their 70th wedding anniversary at the party their kids threw for them July 4th weekend at their church fellowship hall. We had a family reunion and could not attend, but I thoroughly enjoyed the invitation with an adorable poem telling the story of their romance and marriage. I found out from Mike last night that Debby had written it. Somehow I take comfort from knowing that they had that special time together with all their children, grandchildren, and friends before they had to go through this second sorrow of losing another son.
Jerry’s wife Pam and his two sons and daughter are all living productive lives that speak well of Jerry’s heritage from his time on earth. The community will continue to share their grief and pray for comfort for all of them as they face life without him.
The death toll is rising from the terrible destruction of Hurricane Irene, so many Americans families are facing great grief right now. We know that grief is to be expected in this life, but somehow it often surprises us when it happens.
Tammy Morris, a writer in our community, gave us this scripture paraphrase on Facebook a couple of days ago: ""weeping endures for the night but joy comes in the morning...' -- life brings hills and valleys and each has something that add character, so if you are in a valley and weeping during the night, just remember that there is a hill and a morning full of joy up ahead." Thank you, Tammy.
Saturday, August 27, 2011
Reliving Cobden's Glory Days
Our meals have been enlivened this week as Gerald excitedly tells me what he has read in The Amazing Appleknockers: Illinois Cinderella Basketball Team of 1964. Despite a very busy week getting a replacement for a broken draw bar, which he was still out in his shop adapting today, he was snatching moments to read the book, and I was getting his updates. He was eager to finish the book and find out all the details about the Appleknockers’ story, which he did yesterday afternoon, but he was still talking about it at lunch today.
For a school with 147 students to become one of the Elite Eight out of 735 high schools in the state was pretty incredible. They traveled by train to the state tournament, and were pleasantly surprised to see people along the way holding up signs celebrating with them and cheering them to victory. They were rapidly the crowd’s favorite and the reporters’ dream team. The village of Cobden was almost deserted as residents traveled to support the team in Champaign at the University of Illinois.
Everyone up there was asking what an Appleknocker was. In our end of the state, we all knew where the term came from. If you grew up in Union County, your older brother or the neighbor boys probably picked peaches and apples in the fields around Cobden. The authors explained that by knocking apples off of over-loaded limbs, workers could bring about better quality apples. They repeated the story that the town mayor told to newspaper reporters that the school adopted the name in the 1940s after they made it to a sectional tournament even before they had a gymnasium. When Cobden won, one spectator supposedly said, “Whoever heard of a bunch of appleknockers winning such a thing?” That was the impetus for the school to officially and proudly adopt the Appleknockers as their mascot name.
Like most Illinoisans during March Madness 1964—especially those of us in the southern part of the state—we were sitting in front of the television watching the Appleknockers as they played in the state tournament. I don’t think we owned a television in 1964, so we probably came over to the hog farm to watch with Keith and Barbara in their living room. We watched with pride and held breath to see these kids from our end of the state keep winning. They advanced to the championship game but sadly were defeated 50-45 by the team from Pekin. For kids who thought they could win the whole thing, the deep disappointment made that second-place trophy totally unappreciated that final night. They listened to Coach Ruggles’ consolation talk and politely attended the party in their honor at their motel, but they had come to win, not be to be runners-up.
The train trip home was quiet and solemn as each player relived the loss and knew what should have happened differently. They had just lost the most important game of their lives. Coach Ruggles wanted to help them feel better but nothing he said or did changed the dark mood. As they approached Cobden, they saw cars outside the train windows and thought there must be a funeral in town. What they did not know was that cars from the region were backed up on Route 51 from the curve north towards Carbondale and down to Anna in the south. Some estimated four to five thousand had come to Cobden to celebrate their second-place win. American flags, a giant welcome home banner and bands from area high schools were playing. Cameras flashed as the boys stood amazed at seeing more people than they had ever seen in the village before.
Convertibles were waiting for them to crawl into for the parade. While spectators cheered, the parade with fire truck and crepe-paper decorated vehicles three times circled the loop—the two parallel main streets with railroad track between them that cause people to claim that Cobden has the widest main street in the world. They proceeded to the high school where people crammed the gym decorated with streamers and flowers, and there was a fifteen-foot cake made to look like a basketball court.
By the time the speeches, recognitions, and continuous ovations were almost over, the boys began to realize what they had done and were able to share the pride and joy being heaped on them. Finally, bushels of plastic apples were brought to the stage for the players to autograph and toss to the crowd who begged for them. Apples were flying everywhere, and I suspect most of those who caught them have them still someplace in their homes. People in our region have never forgotten this team and their amazing performance. Now thanks to the story in book form, those too young to been alive back then will have the opportunity to remember it also.
Co-authors Teri Campbell and Anne Ryman both grew up in Cobden hearing the wonderful stories about this Sweet Sixteen team when Sweet Sixteen meant something in this state. (Now teams are divided by size, so no team from a tiny school can ever again play the larger teams in a state tournament.) Teri spoke to Southern Illinois Writers Guild last Thursday. Someone asked Teri if writing about the games was difficult for her, but she explained that in her job at John A. Logan College, she had been writing up JALC’s sports stories for eleven years, so that was the easy part for her. Co-author Anne Ryman lives in Phoenix, Arizona, with her husband Scott Cancelosi and daughter Maria and works for the newspaper there. They started the book in 2003 and collaborated by phone and Internet. I grabbed one of the last of their books from the first printing and Teri autographed it for Gerald. More books are likely printed by now and available on Amazon, but I knew Gerald would not want to wait when I told him bits and pieces from Teri’s talk. The book was definitely one of my most successful gifts to my husband.
For a school with 147 students to become one of the Elite Eight out of 735 high schools in the state was pretty incredible. They traveled by train to the state tournament, and were pleasantly surprised to see people along the way holding up signs celebrating with them and cheering them to victory. They were rapidly the crowd’s favorite and the reporters’ dream team. The village of Cobden was almost deserted as residents traveled to support the team in Champaign at the University of Illinois.
Everyone up there was asking what an Appleknocker was. In our end of the state, we all knew where the term came from. If you grew up in Union County, your older brother or the neighbor boys probably picked peaches and apples in the fields around Cobden. The authors explained that by knocking apples off of over-loaded limbs, workers could bring about better quality apples. They repeated the story that the town mayor told to newspaper reporters that the school adopted the name in the 1940s after they made it to a sectional tournament even before they had a gymnasium. When Cobden won, one spectator supposedly said, “Whoever heard of a bunch of appleknockers winning such a thing?” That was the impetus for the school to officially and proudly adopt the Appleknockers as their mascot name.
Like most Illinoisans during March Madness 1964—especially those of us in the southern part of the state—we were sitting in front of the television watching the Appleknockers as they played in the state tournament. I don’t think we owned a television in 1964, so we probably came over to the hog farm to watch with Keith and Barbara in their living room. We watched with pride and held breath to see these kids from our end of the state keep winning. They advanced to the championship game but sadly were defeated 50-45 by the team from Pekin. For kids who thought they could win the whole thing, the deep disappointment made that second-place trophy totally unappreciated that final night. They listened to Coach Ruggles’ consolation talk and politely attended the party in their honor at their motel, but they had come to win, not be to be runners-up.
The train trip home was quiet and solemn as each player relived the loss and knew what should have happened differently. They had just lost the most important game of their lives. Coach Ruggles wanted to help them feel better but nothing he said or did changed the dark mood. As they approached Cobden, they saw cars outside the train windows and thought there must be a funeral in town. What they did not know was that cars from the region were backed up on Route 51 from the curve north towards Carbondale and down to Anna in the south. Some estimated four to five thousand had come to Cobden to celebrate their second-place win. American flags, a giant welcome home banner and bands from area high schools were playing. Cameras flashed as the boys stood amazed at seeing more people than they had ever seen in the village before.
Convertibles were waiting for them to crawl into for the parade. While spectators cheered, the parade with fire truck and crepe-paper decorated vehicles three times circled the loop—the two parallel main streets with railroad track between them that cause people to claim that Cobden has the widest main street in the world. They proceeded to the high school where people crammed the gym decorated with streamers and flowers, and there was a fifteen-foot cake made to look like a basketball court.
By the time the speeches, recognitions, and continuous ovations were almost over, the boys began to realize what they had done and were able to share the pride and joy being heaped on them. Finally, bushels of plastic apples were brought to the stage for the players to autograph and toss to the crowd who begged for them. Apples were flying everywhere, and I suspect most of those who caught them have them still someplace in their homes. People in our region have never forgotten this team and their amazing performance. Now thanks to the story in book form, those too young to been alive back then will have the opportunity to remember it also.
Co-authors Teri Campbell and Anne Ryman both grew up in Cobden hearing the wonderful stories about this Sweet Sixteen team when Sweet Sixteen meant something in this state. (Now teams are divided by size, so no team from a tiny school can ever again play the larger teams in a state tournament.) Teri spoke to Southern Illinois Writers Guild last Thursday. Someone asked Teri if writing about the games was difficult for her, but she explained that in her job at John A. Logan College, she had been writing up JALC’s sports stories for eleven years, so that was the easy part for her. Co-author Anne Ryman lives in Phoenix, Arizona, with her husband Scott Cancelosi and daughter Maria and works for the newspaper there. They started the book in 2003 and collaborated by phone and Internet. I grabbed one of the last of their books from the first printing and Teri autographed it for Gerald. More books are likely printed by now and available on Amazon, but I knew Gerald would not want to wait when I told him bits and pieces from Teri’s talk. The book was definitely one of my most successful gifts to my husband.
Monday, August 22, 2011
Good News! The Knee Bends!
Gerald and I woke with one thing on our minds. We must drive to Carterville area to the surgery center where Erin was facing no one knew what. Erin’s boyfriend Rick had picked her up and taken her there shortly before we arrived, and he was asleep in the waiting room since he had gotten off work at 2 a.m. and had not had a full night’s sleep. Gma Shirley also arrived, and we all tried to distract ourselves from worrying about what was happening to our Erin, who was to be anesthetized in order to have her stiff knee bent.
A nurse appeared at the door ever so briefly and reported that the manipulation procedure was starting. After four recent surgeries for the ACL, none of us could bear to think about a fifth surgery today but we knew it was a possibility if too much scar tissue prevented the knee from being bent. (I don’t know enough about the knee or surgery to know why the two earlier times first at the surgical center and then the hospital were called two surgeries each time and not one, but I assumed it was because they made two incisions.)
Within a half hour, we were all invited into the conference room where the surgeon told us Erin was in recovery and everything had gone as well as he could have hoped for. No incision and further surgery had to be done. He had heard some scar tissue popping, but evidently it broke up without need for further scraping or whatever we were fearful he might have to do. He illustrated with his own leg movement how good Erin’s was now. She must go home with anti-pain meds, continue the antibiotics, and move, move, move the knee and then start more physical therapy in the morning. Gerald phoned Vickie and Gerry knowing they were as focused on what was happening here as we were.
Soon we were all invited into the recovery room to sit around her bedside where she was drinking a coke and smiling and very happy that she could bend her knee again. When it was time to go, her crutches were brought out and she declined a wheelchair. Rick would be taking her through a drive-in for breakfast. We all hugged goodbye with great relief and gratefulness.
A nurse appeared at the door ever so briefly and reported that the manipulation procedure was starting. After four recent surgeries for the ACL, none of us could bear to think about a fifth surgery today but we knew it was a possibility if too much scar tissue prevented the knee from being bent. (I don’t know enough about the knee or surgery to know why the two earlier times first at the surgical center and then the hospital were called two surgeries each time and not one, but I assumed it was because they made two incisions.)
Within a half hour, we were all invited into the conference room where the surgeon told us Erin was in recovery and everything had gone as well as he could have hoped for. No incision and further surgery had to be done. He had heard some scar tissue popping, but evidently it broke up without need for further scraping or whatever we were fearful he might have to do. He illustrated with his own leg movement how good Erin’s was now. She must go home with anti-pain meds, continue the antibiotics, and move, move, move the knee and then start more physical therapy in the morning. Gerald phoned Vickie and Gerry knowing they were as focused on what was happening here as we were.
Soon we were all invited into the recovery room to sit around her bedside where she was drinking a coke and smiling and very happy that she could bend her knee again. When it was time to go, her crutches were brought out and she declined a wheelchair. Rick would be taking her through a drive-in for breakfast. We all hugged goodbye with great relief and gratefulness.
Saturday, August 20, 2011
Changes
When Gerald talked to Gerry this morning, Gerry and Aidan were on the way to the first of Geri Ann’s three tournament softball games. Gerald asked Gerry what he was doing, and Gerry replied, “I’m explaining the difference between an hour and a second to Aidan.” I am sure Gerry is re-learning how five-year-olds think now that Tara and the three little boys are in Georgia while Bryan is still in Aurora preparing their house for sale and completing the seven exams he has to pass to be a licensed architect in Illinois. Tara is already at work as the new assistant softball coach at the University of Georgia, and Gma Vickie is swamped, I am sure, with the move to a house large enough for two families, which will facilitate her helping with child care.
Gerald misses these three little boys so much himself that he is very sympathetic to Bryan temporarily stuck up north, so he phoned him to commiserate and check to see if there is any chance of catching a ride down for one of Geri Ann’s senior softball games at Oconee High. We have to follow their team by phone calls or by checking newspaper accounts on the Internet.
Maybe all our transitions will be over soon, and family members will settle into their new fall roles and residences. I am unsettled just from watching and vicariously experiencing what everyone is going through with new rental houses, new schools, new jobs, and on and on. I don’t even know the addresses for half of my kids and grandkids right now! (I never like change and rarely like anything new, so no wonder I am unnerved.)
Trent starts college with a calculus class on Monday night and is in the new house in Chatham. Brianna has already begun her junior year in high school there. Elijah is settled into his dorm room at Illinois State University and has his first classes on Monday also. Leslie and fiancé Michael are in Freeport visiting her folks and attending a friend’s wedding and will start their senior year at Belmont next week. I am wondering if they will get to stop at Woodsong on their way back to Nashville.
Probably the most unnerving event will take place on Monday when Erin has to go back to the surgeon and surgery center for a knee-bending procedure. I was pleased to unexpectedly see her other grandmother, Gma Shirley, last night at a women’s social gathering at our village church. We are both waiting to find out what time Erin has to be there for this procedure—and we are praying there is no scar tissue found inside that knee. Meanwhile, today Erin is meeting with the new SIUC softball team and is excited about her upcoming second year as assistant coach there.
Her good friend Toni Whitfield. a grad student, has already moved for this school year into the little house Erin rented last year. That’s appropriate since Toni’s folks were the ones who furnished much of the house last fall with their extra furniture and they serve as Erin’s substitute parents in this area. Toni is one of those multi-talented people— athletic, artistic, and academically gifted. She can sew and do things practical as well; and on top of all that, she is quite beautiful. I hope we again get to see her occasionally now that she and Erin are housemates.
Sam has started high school and is already busy with all that entails. His mother says there has already been plenty of homework. (I though maybe all the summer academic work he was assigned would make this semester easier. I guess it does not work that way.) But I think Sam likes the challenge. I feel a little awed when I pass his old grade school and the junior high and realize that he has already moved on to bigger things and I don’t need to read the announcements on the schools’ public bulletin boards. He is contemplating that driver’s license that will eliminate the need for me is his life, and that is as it should be. But my contemplation of where has time gone is also understandable and as it should be.
Gerald misses these three little boys so much himself that he is very sympathetic to Bryan temporarily stuck up north, so he phoned him to commiserate and check to see if there is any chance of catching a ride down for one of Geri Ann’s senior softball games at Oconee High. We have to follow their team by phone calls or by checking newspaper accounts on the Internet.
Maybe all our transitions will be over soon, and family members will settle into their new fall roles and residences. I am unsettled just from watching and vicariously experiencing what everyone is going through with new rental houses, new schools, new jobs, and on and on. I don’t even know the addresses for half of my kids and grandkids right now! (I never like change and rarely like anything new, so no wonder I am unnerved.)
Trent starts college with a calculus class on Monday night and is in the new house in Chatham. Brianna has already begun her junior year in high school there. Elijah is settled into his dorm room at Illinois State University and has his first classes on Monday also. Leslie and fiancé Michael are in Freeport visiting her folks and attending a friend’s wedding and will start their senior year at Belmont next week. I am wondering if they will get to stop at Woodsong on their way back to Nashville.
Probably the most unnerving event will take place on Monday when Erin has to go back to the surgeon and surgery center for a knee-bending procedure. I was pleased to unexpectedly see her other grandmother, Gma Shirley, last night at a women’s social gathering at our village church. We are both waiting to find out what time Erin has to be there for this procedure—and we are praying there is no scar tissue found inside that knee. Meanwhile, today Erin is meeting with the new SIUC softball team and is excited about her upcoming second year as assistant coach there.
Her good friend Toni Whitfield. a grad student, has already moved for this school year into the little house Erin rented last year. That’s appropriate since Toni’s folks were the ones who furnished much of the house last fall with their extra furniture and they serve as Erin’s substitute parents in this area. Toni is one of those multi-talented people— athletic, artistic, and academically gifted. She can sew and do things practical as well; and on top of all that, she is quite beautiful. I hope we again get to see her occasionally now that she and Erin are housemates.
Sam has started high school and is already busy with all that entails. His mother says there has already been plenty of homework. (I though maybe all the summer academic work he was assigned would make this semester easier. I guess it does not work that way.) But I think Sam likes the challenge. I feel a little awed when I pass his old grade school and the junior high and realize that he has already moved on to bigger things and I don’t need to read the announcements on the schools’ public bulletin boards. He is contemplating that driver’s license that will eliminate the need for me is his life, and that is as it should be. But my contemplation of where has time gone is also understandable and as it should be.
Thursday, August 18, 2011
Visiting Summer Visitors
Gerald’s cousin’s daughter Lynn and husband Brent Carter are visiting her dad, Bill
Tweedy, this week at his Cobden area farm. Lynn and Brent’s daughter Tiffany and two little girls--Aubrey, 4, and Kylie, 2—are there meeting up from the far sides of America. We wanted to see them before everyone returns to their side—the Carters to North Carolina and Tiffany to Oregon. Gerald suggested an outing, but their schedule didn’t allow it, so they invited us down last evening.
We left a little early since Gerald had planned to go to a Carbondale office supply store on his way home from physical therapy yesterday morning, but since this would be on our way to Bill’s house, he postponed that shopping stop until our evening trip. After obtaining the sale items we both found, we were back in the car heading south towards New Route 51.
Soon we came to the bright yellow water tower at Makanda, the sweet memorial to our late Senator Paul Simon, who lived in that village and always wore a bow tie. The smiley face on the water tower wears his signature tie, and we remember the impact for good that he accomplished for our region and our nation.
There we headed down Old 51, which always bring memories since it was the only way from our hometowns to Carbondale for so many years. We passed Dead Man’s Curve and the second sharp curve soon after and knew gratefulness for New 51. Going past Flamm’s Orchard, we remembered the peach cobbler being served on the picnic tables there. Turning at Limestone Baptist Church, we headed down the more narrow but lovely tree-lined Union Springs Road.
All through our journey, I was enjoying and so grateful for all the attractive and well cared for homes of just ordinary people who live on these rural lands. I had just finished re-reading Cora Alyce Seaman’s book that gave such an accurate account of Depression- era farm homes and lifestyles, and these homes re-enforced my acknowledgement of how fortunate Americans are today. Our wealth and comfort compared to then are so great. The next two generations younger than us with their phones, computers, and other luxuries, which they rightfully consider necessities in today’s world, have no idea what hard times really are. I am so glad.
Finally we came to the Tweedys’ beautiful home with its lovely vista. Brent and Bill and little Kylie were outside working on new back seats for Bill’s Gator that obviously pleases his great granddaughters as much as Gerald’s does our great grandsons.
Inside I was happy to see Lynn again and to meet Tiffany, whom I surely saw during her childhood but not often, and to make an acquaintance with blond Kylie and sandy-haired Aubrey, who were such pretty little pixies sharing their delightful charm and energy as they bounced around in our midst. (We missed Mickey, who was in Omaha with her daughters, but Bill assured us that her evening’s phone call had included an inquiry about Katherine, whom she faithfully prays for.)
Bill was scheduled for supper and a youth group he works with at his church, so he had to excuse himself before we sat down to Lynn’s delicious supper she had prepared for us. The two little girls were seated at the counter near us with their glasses of milk and plates of food, and I noticed they seemed to enjoy supper to replace all the energy they had expended. Brent and Lynn said they would soon be in bed and quickly asleep after their hard day’s play and activities.
We talked long at the table even after the yummy fresh Flamm peaches were served with hot-from-the-oven homemade cookies. We were still talking when Bill came in from his youth meeting explaining he was later than he intended because of a health crisis in one youth’s life that everyone was dealing with. Soon he was on the phone in the other room continuing for a long time to deal with the situation.
I knew so much gratitude for people like Bill who are ready to share their time and talents immersing themselves with the lives of other people’s kids Never mind, that he might excuse himself claiming he had done his part many years before with his three daughters and friends. Or he could claim fatigue that was certainly present from his recent participation in an agriculture conference in Hawaii. Or he could easily sound quite reasonable if he chose to skip youth work because of all the trouble his back is causing him recently—probably requiring more surgery very soon. But he is ignoring all his own pain and the reasons he might not be able to serve and is gladly investing in these kids’ lives.
Finally still talking around the table, Gerald and I were yawning and knew it was past our bedtime and probably our hosts’ and we started into the country darkness to head home. We were richer with the biggest cantaloupe I think I’ve seen from Bill’s garden and with some of the peaches he wanted to share from Flamm’s. We were also richer from an evening with loved ones from both coasts of our nation who are filling their lives with service to others as they also care for their children and grandchildren and participate in America’s 21st Century with all its benefits and challenges.
Tweedy, this week at his Cobden area farm. Lynn and Brent’s daughter Tiffany and two little girls--Aubrey, 4, and Kylie, 2—are there meeting up from the far sides of America. We wanted to see them before everyone returns to their side—the Carters to North Carolina and Tiffany to Oregon. Gerald suggested an outing, but their schedule didn’t allow it, so they invited us down last evening.
We left a little early since Gerald had planned to go to a Carbondale office supply store on his way home from physical therapy yesterday morning, but since this would be on our way to Bill’s house, he postponed that shopping stop until our evening trip. After obtaining the sale items we both found, we were back in the car heading south towards New Route 51.
Soon we came to the bright yellow water tower at Makanda, the sweet memorial to our late Senator Paul Simon, who lived in that village and always wore a bow tie. The smiley face on the water tower wears his signature tie, and we remember the impact for good that he accomplished for our region and our nation.
There we headed down Old 51, which always bring memories since it was the only way from our hometowns to Carbondale for so many years. We passed Dead Man’s Curve and the second sharp curve soon after and knew gratefulness for New 51. Going past Flamm’s Orchard, we remembered the peach cobbler being served on the picnic tables there. Turning at Limestone Baptist Church, we headed down the more narrow but lovely tree-lined Union Springs Road.
All through our journey, I was enjoying and so grateful for all the attractive and well cared for homes of just ordinary people who live on these rural lands. I had just finished re-reading Cora Alyce Seaman’s book that gave such an accurate account of Depression- era farm homes and lifestyles, and these homes re-enforced my acknowledgement of how fortunate Americans are today. Our wealth and comfort compared to then are so great. The next two generations younger than us with their phones, computers, and other luxuries, which they rightfully consider necessities in today’s world, have no idea what hard times really are. I am so glad.
Finally we came to the Tweedys’ beautiful home with its lovely vista. Brent and Bill and little Kylie were outside working on new back seats for Bill’s Gator that obviously pleases his great granddaughters as much as Gerald’s does our great grandsons.
Inside I was happy to see Lynn again and to meet Tiffany, whom I surely saw during her childhood but not often, and to make an acquaintance with blond Kylie and sandy-haired Aubrey, who were such pretty little pixies sharing their delightful charm and energy as they bounced around in our midst. (We missed Mickey, who was in Omaha with her daughters, but Bill assured us that her evening’s phone call had included an inquiry about Katherine, whom she faithfully prays for.)
Bill was scheduled for supper and a youth group he works with at his church, so he had to excuse himself before we sat down to Lynn’s delicious supper she had prepared for us. The two little girls were seated at the counter near us with their glasses of milk and plates of food, and I noticed they seemed to enjoy supper to replace all the energy they had expended. Brent and Lynn said they would soon be in bed and quickly asleep after their hard day’s play and activities.
We talked long at the table even after the yummy fresh Flamm peaches were served with hot-from-the-oven homemade cookies. We were still talking when Bill came in from his youth meeting explaining he was later than he intended because of a health crisis in one youth’s life that everyone was dealing with. Soon he was on the phone in the other room continuing for a long time to deal with the situation.
I knew so much gratitude for people like Bill who are ready to share their time and talents immersing themselves with the lives of other people’s kids Never mind, that he might excuse himself claiming he had done his part many years before with his three daughters and friends. Or he could claim fatigue that was certainly present from his recent participation in an agriculture conference in Hawaii. Or he could easily sound quite reasonable if he chose to skip youth work because of all the trouble his back is causing him recently—probably requiring more surgery very soon. But he is ignoring all his own pain and the reasons he might not be able to serve and is gladly investing in these kids’ lives.
Finally still talking around the table, Gerald and I were yawning and knew it was past our bedtime and probably our hosts’ and we started into the country darkness to head home. We were richer with the biggest cantaloupe I think I’ve seen from Bill’s garden and with some of the peaches he wanted to share from Flamm’s. We were also richer from an evening with loved ones from both coasts of our nation who are filling their lives with service to others as they also care for their children and grandchildren and participate in America’s 21st Century with all its benefits and challenges.
Monday, August 15, 2011
Pleasant Weather Returns
Cooler weather has been most welcome although we would also welcome another summer rain. Crops still look good everywhere in our neighborhood though. The moon is almost full again, and seeing it shine down on the lake is one of my favorite sights.
Six beautiful gray doves were outside on our patio as I started up the stairs to fix lunch the other day. Unfortunately, my movement inside scared them away and they have not been back as far as I know. Our ducks are down to one pair and seem to stay on the other end of the lake right now, and geese have all disappeared too, so we are especially grateful for an increase in the quail in the fields around the house.
Gerald is continuing physical therapy for his injured rotator cuff, and he is not certain the therapy is working. So there may be another step coming. Erin has been back at work for a couple of weeks, but she is still on crutches. She and her cousin Drew (and later her Uncle Louie and Aunt Chris) were here fishing at the lake on Saturday. She had forgotten her crutches, which is permissible for short periods, but her knee is still stiff and unbending, so we are praying that her therapy will kick in soon, so she won’t have to be anesthetized for yet another procedure.
Our oldest grandson Aidan started kindergarten down in Georgia last Tuesday, and he was so excited that the next two days he woke up at 3 a.m. to go to school. On Friday, however, he told his grandmother that he believed he’d take that day off. Oh dear!
Sam has finished marching band camp and starts high school tomorrow. Last night Gerald and I went to his family’s evening worship service and heard Sam and his youth group share their summer experiences at church camp and then at their mission trip to Joplin, MO. It was inspiring to hear how the people of Joplin have reacted to the tornado damage, and it was inspiring to hear these young teens tell about learning to roof and to use hammers. It was good that their work in moving school furniture will help the kids at Joplin begin school on time. Knowing the kids did all this in temperatures over an l00 degrees was especially impressive. We were grateful for the parent volunteers who helped keep the kids hydrated.
This past week has been unusually busy with extra activities going on at Katherine’s house, so I did not get around to blogging. I really have done very little of anything although I have been involved with helping pass on an entire wardrobe for a family member who has lost weight. Our family are great passers-on. What no one we know can use will end up at Salvation Army.
Also I have helped share Gerald’s abundant tomato crop with Katherine’s helpers. This year’s tomatoes are especially tasty and uniformly large and luscious. There is now another bucket full in the kitchen that Gerald picked today, so I may need to freeze some juice or find some more recipients.
Six beautiful gray doves were outside on our patio as I started up the stairs to fix lunch the other day. Unfortunately, my movement inside scared them away and they have not been back as far as I know. Our ducks are down to one pair and seem to stay on the other end of the lake right now, and geese have all disappeared too, so we are especially grateful for an increase in the quail in the fields around the house.
Gerald is continuing physical therapy for his injured rotator cuff, and he is not certain the therapy is working. So there may be another step coming. Erin has been back at work for a couple of weeks, but she is still on crutches. She and her cousin Drew (and later her Uncle Louie and Aunt Chris) were here fishing at the lake on Saturday. She had forgotten her crutches, which is permissible for short periods, but her knee is still stiff and unbending, so we are praying that her therapy will kick in soon, so she won’t have to be anesthetized for yet another procedure.
Our oldest grandson Aidan started kindergarten down in Georgia last Tuesday, and he was so excited that the next two days he woke up at 3 a.m. to go to school. On Friday, however, he told his grandmother that he believed he’d take that day off. Oh dear!
Sam has finished marching band camp and starts high school tomorrow. Last night Gerald and I went to his family’s evening worship service and heard Sam and his youth group share their summer experiences at church camp and then at their mission trip to Joplin, MO. It was inspiring to hear how the people of Joplin have reacted to the tornado damage, and it was inspiring to hear these young teens tell about learning to roof and to use hammers. It was good that their work in moving school furniture will help the kids at Joplin begin school on time. Knowing the kids did all this in temperatures over an l00 degrees was especially impressive. We were grateful for the parent volunteers who helped keep the kids hydrated.
This past week has been unusually busy with extra activities going on at Katherine’s house, so I did not get around to blogging. I really have done very little of anything although I have been involved with helping pass on an entire wardrobe for a family member who has lost weight. Our family are great passers-on. What no one we know can use will end up at Salvation Army.
Also I have helped share Gerald’s abundant tomato crop with Katherine’s helpers. This year’s tomatoes are especially tasty and uniformly large and luscious. There is now another bucket full in the kitchen that Gerald picked today, so I may need to freeze some juice or find some more recipients.
Tuesday, August 09, 2011
Summer Ends Before Labor Day Now-a-days
Tall walls of corn line many country roads, deer feast in soybeans up to their necks, tomatoes are finally ripening, and the heat tells us it is definitely summer. Yet dental and eye appointments fill parents’ calendars, newspapers ads feature school supplies, kids sweat through marching band and football practices, and schools are about to start. Some even tomorrow! I feel sorry for children going back to school in the middle of August, but as hot as it is, maybe enough schools are air conditioned these days that it will be okay.
Jeannie and her younger daughter Cecelie came through last Monday and spent the night and visited with us here the next morning on their way to Nashville, TN, to see the older daughter, Leslie, and admire her new engagement ring.
This afternoon they came back by briefly but couldn’t spend the night. They had to hurry home because they’d stayed a bit longer than they hoped in an effort to find the perfect dentist for a tooth problem that Leslie won’t have time to take care of back in her home town when she goes briefly for a friend’s wedding. The mission for the right dentist was accomplished with a first appointment tomorrow. Many good comments online gave Jeannie confidence.
Of course, they talked wedding plans while there and visited bridal shops and even thrift shops. (The current reception dreams call for lots of glass and vintage lace and unmatched plates and glasses. These early ideas may change by June, but Leslie and Jeannie are both original, and I am sure whatever transpires will be fun and a work of art.) So while Cecelie took the Gator for a spin, we drank a coke together at the kitchen table and heard Jeannie’s report of their visit. Her daddy listened on with typical wry male comments (just put a ladder up to the window and save time and energy) and I openly relished hearing the report on all their girl talk. He did too, but he knew he was supposed to make those kinds of remarks or we’d been disappointed.
After that brief break, we were off to Katherine’s and, of course, she wanted to hear a repeat of the Leslie news. She loves to hear Nashville activities and music scene talk since that was her life once upon a time. Just last week she received a childhood Winnie the Pooh book left behind with other things in a friend’s Nashville attic when she moved back to Illinois.
Very soon Jeannie and Cecelie had to be on the road again for the long many-hour drive to northern Illinois. Jeannie has already been working in her art room and will throw herself into school prep in the morning.
After Jeannie and Cecelie left, I was helping Katherine with paper work for Sam’s high school registration in the morning when she realized she had never made the call to the new dentist to schedule her and Sam’s needed appointments. (When you can’t use your hands, a phone call is often a challenge and sometimes impossible. The usual phone problems are exacerbated by a beautiful new phone David chose for her because it was supposed to be more handicap convenient—but for some odd reason, something is not working right and it keeps losing its power.)
While it was recharging, even though it was long after 5 p.m., I grabbed my cell phone and dialed the 800 number for the new dental place in Marion that at least has longer appointment-making hours. Suddenly Katherine was trapped in a time-consuming Q&A for new patients by a very kindly speaking young man in who-knows-what city. In the middle of that, David walked in with their very special friend from Israel. We thought the 800 phone call would never end, but with all that time invested, it had to be completed. Finally she was able to join the two men in the living room.
I don’t think Katherine has ever met his wife, but she has talked to her on the phone and keeps a Hebrew dictionary handy since neither woman speaks the others’ language. Somehow they communicate. David opened the present she sent Katherine, and I left the three of them happily visiting.
I’d taken Katherine sweet corn from her Uncle Garry that he passed out at his brother Keith’s birthday breakfast at Jonesboro this morning. Gerald attended on his way to Cape to get our car serviced. I also took her tomatoes from Gerald’s garden, and Jeannie had some of each put into her northern-bound car too. Finally, as I left town tonight, I delivered the bucket full Garry had sent to our sister-in-law Opal. I did not take her tomatoes since she always has them in her own garden along with the beautiful masses of flowers and plants lining her sidewalks that make a visit to her home so pleasing.
Although it was much too late by now to stay and visit, I had the special treat of seeing her three-year-old great granddaughter Josie, whom Opal was watching while Josie’s mother gave dance classes. I hadn’t seen her since she was a baby. I enjoy Josie’s photos posted by Jinna, her mother, on Facebook, but she was much more grown up than the photos revealed. I was delightfully surprised when she followed Opal’s example and suddenly she snuggled close and gave me an unasked for hug. I left with a smile on my face.
Back at the farm, Gerald had long before fixed his own supper. I hurriedly fixed myself a bite including one of Garry’s ears of sweet corn. Garry and Ginger live on the home place where Gerald grew up, and Garry is walking in their late father’s footsteps growing extra food and freely passing it around to more people than you can imagine. Dad Glasco would be proud his tradition continues.
Today was not only Keith’s birthday, but our niece Vicki, Garry and Ginger’s daughter, reminded us that 28 years ago her baby son David Brandon was born. We lost him at Christmas time that same year, and our family shed some more tears for him today even as I also shed tears for the babies dying tonight because of the famine in Somalia.
Jeannie and her younger daughter Cecelie came through last Monday and spent the night and visited with us here the next morning on their way to Nashville, TN, to see the older daughter, Leslie, and admire her new engagement ring.
This afternoon they came back by briefly but couldn’t spend the night. They had to hurry home because they’d stayed a bit longer than they hoped in an effort to find the perfect dentist for a tooth problem that Leslie won’t have time to take care of back in her home town when she goes briefly for a friend’s wedding. The mission for the right dentist was accomplished with a first appointment tomorrow. Many good comments online gave Jeannie confidence.
Of course, they talked wedding plans while there and visited bridal shops and even thrift shops. (The current reception dreams call for lots of glass and vintage lace and unmatched plates and glasses. These early ideas may change by June, but Leslie and Jeannie are both original, and I am sure whatever transpires will be fun and a work of art.) So while Cecelie took the Gator for a spin, we drank a coke together at the kitchen table and heard Jeannie’s report of their visit. Her daddy listened on with typical wry male comments (just put a ladder up to the window and save time and energy) and I openly relished hearing the report on all their girl talk. He did too, but he knew he was supposed to make those kinds of remarks or we’d been disappointed.
After that brief break, we were off to Katherine’s and, of course, she wanted to hear a repeat of the Leslie news. She loves to hear Nashville activities and music scene talk since that was her life once upon a time. Just last week she received a childhood Winnie the Pooh book left behind with other things in a friend’s Nashville attic when she moved back to Illinois.
Very soon Jeannie and Cecelie had to be on the road again for the long many-hour drive to northern Illinois. Jeannie has already been working in her art room and will throw herself into school prep in the morning.
After Jeannie and Cecelie left, I was helping Katherine with paper work for Sam’s high school registration in the morning when she realized she had never made the call to the new dentist to schedule her and Sam’s needed appointments. (When you can’t use your hands, a phone call is often a challenge and sometimes impossible. The usual phone problems are exacerbated by a beautiful new phone David chose for her because it was supposed to be more handicap convenient—but for some odd reason, something is not working right and it keeps losing its power.)
While it was recharging, even though it was long after 5 p.m., I grabbed my cell phone and dialed the 800 number for the new dental place in Marion that at least has longer appointment-making hours. Suddenly Katherine was trapped in a time-consuming Q&A for new patients by a very kindly speaking young man in who-knows-what city. In the middle of that, David walked in with their very special friend from Israel. We thought the 800 phone call would never end, but with all that time invested, it had to be completed. Finally she was able to join the two men in the living room.
I don’t think Katherine has ever met his wife, but she has talked to her on the phone and keeps a Hebrew dictionary handy since neither woman speaks the others’ language. Somehow they communicate. David opened the present she sent Katherine, and I left the three of them happily visiting.
I’d taken Katherine sweet corn from her Uncle Garry that he passed out at his brother Keith’s birthday breakfast at Jonesboro this morning. Gerald attended on his way to Cape to get our car serviced. I also took her tomatoes from Gerald’s garden, and Jeannie had some of each put into her northern-bound car too. Finally, as I left town tonight, I delivered the bucket full Garry had sent to our sister-in-law Opal. I did not take her tomatoes since she always has them in her own garden along with the beautiful masses of flowers and plants lining her sidewalks that make a visit to her home so pleasing.
Although it was much too late by now to stay and visit, I had the special treat of seeing her three-year-old great granddaughter Josie, whom Opal was watching while Josie’s mother gave dance classes. I hadn’t seen her since she was a baby. I enjoy Josie’s photos posted by Jinna, her mother, on Facebook, but she was much more grown up than the photos revealed. I was delightfully surprised when she followed Opal’s example and suddenly she snuggled close and gave me an unasked for hug. I left with a smile on my face.
Back at the farm, Gerald had long before fixed his own supper. I hurriedly fixed myself a bite including one of Garry’s ears of sweet corn. Garry and Ginger live on the home place where Gerald grew up, and Garry is walking in their late father’s footsteps growing extra food and freely passing it around to more people than you can imagine. Dad Glasco would be proud his tradition continues.
Today was not only Keith’s birthday, but our niece Vicki, Garry and Ginger’s daughter, reminded us that 28 years ago her baby son David Brandon was born. We lost him at Christmas time that same year, and our family shed some more tears for him today even as I also shed tears for the babies dying tonight because of the famine in Somalia.
Friday, August 05, 2011
Putting Small Summer Miseries in Perspective
Is there any greater minor misery than a cold in the summer time? Since I am in the throes of one, I naturally do not think so. I keep losing the tissue box, and I definitely do not feel like looking for it—but I have no choice. I kept hoping this was allergies, but realized yesterday morning at a very sad funeral that allergies and tears were not the only thing making my nose run. (A 35-year-old man that so many people loved left behind a young widow and two sons. That is true misery, and a cold is inconsequential.)
Gerald and a nephew have gone to Chattanooga to cheer on the two Southern Force softball teams at the ASA national tourney. Theoretically I wish I were there, but with this cold, I am very grateful that I am not.
Fortunately I had already cancelled out on meeting Jeannie and Leslie in Paducah today. I am driving Gerald’s pickup while he is away, and I knew I had no business going on strange streets looking for a bridal shop I had never been to. I wanted to go since Paducah was where Jeannie and I went to choose her wedding dress so many years ago. I wanted in reminince and enjoy dinner at Olive Garden, where I think Jeannie and I ate when we down for her fittings. I cannot remember the name of that long ago bridal store or how we got there, but oddly I remember the woman clerk telling us about their recent family tragedy where a neice and brother-in-law took refuge beneath a tree during a summer outing—and were both killed by lightning hitting the tree. (That is consequential misery.) I also remember that the AC in our car was out when we made those trips, and I was upset about it. Jeannie would ride her bike to the farm from Carbondale and we would go to Paducah from there, and I felt she should have AC at least on the trip to Paducah. Again when I look back, I know that was inconsequential although it tore me up at the time.
True tragedies put life’s minor flaws and inconveniences in perspective. A young friend I sat by yesterday at the funeral wrote on Facebook last night that her son had hit a deer and then a car hit his car. But everyone was fine except the deer. She was so grateful and rejoicing—even though an older teen son had an accident a few months ago.—and I know from personal experience how difficult it is to keep teens in safe cars. Yet she was able to bounce back and come out knowing that an accident that left her son unhurt was not a serious problem. She urged us realize how quickly life can change and she paraphrased Francis of Assissi urging us to show love at all times and if needed use words. Such good advice when small summer problems seem larger than they are when we are hot and tired and praying for rain and wiping sweat off our brow. (Or in my case, wiping my nose.)
Gerald and a nephew have gone to Chattanooga to cheer on the two Southern Force softball teams at the ASA national tourney. Theoretically I wish I were there, but with this cold, I am very grateful that I am not.
Fortunately I had already cancelled out on meeting Jeannie and Leslie in Paducah today. I am driving Gerald’s pickup while he is away, and I knew I had no business going on strange streets looking for a bridal shop I had never been to. I wanted to go since Paducah was where Jeannie and I went to choose her wedding dress so many years ago. I wanted in reminince and enjoy dinner at Olive Garden, where I think Jeannie and I ate when we down for her fittings. I cannot remember the name of that long ago bridal store or how we got there, but oddly I remember the woman clerk telling us about their recent family tragedy where a neice and brother-in-law took refuge beneath a tree during a summer outing—and were both killed by lightning hitting the tree. (That is consequential misery.) I also remember that the AC in our car was out when we made those trips, and I was upset about it. Jeannie would ride her bike to the farm from Carbondale and we would go to Paducah from there, and I felt she should have AC at least on the trip to Paducah. Again when I look back, I know that was inconsequential although it tore me up at the time.
True tragedies put life’s minor flaws and inconveniences in perspective. A young friend I sat by yesterday at the funeral wrote on Facebook last night that her son had hit a deer and then a car hit his car. But everyone was fine except the deer. She was so grateful and rejoicing—even though an older teen son had an accident a few months ago.—and I know from personal experience how difficult it is to keep teens in safe cars. Yet she was able to bounce back and come out knowing that an accident that left her son unhurt was not a serious problem. She urged us realize how quickly life can change and she paraphrased Francis of Assissi urging us to show love at all times and if needed use words. Such good advice when small summer problems seem larger than they are when we are hot and tired and praying for rain and wiping sweat off our brow. (Or in my case, wiping my nose.)
Monday, August 01, 2011
The link to Leslie and Mike's love story...
Here 'tis:
http://weddings.theknot.com/pwp/pwp2/view/MemberPage.aspx?coupleId=9768998700132418&MsdVisit=1
Enjoy!
http://weddings.theknot.com/pwp/pwp2/view/MemberPage.aspx?coupleId=9768998700132418&MsdVisit=1
Enjoy!
Sunday, July 31, 2011
Transitions
Three teen grandchildren—Elijah, Trent, and Brianna--spent last week helping in our village church with Vacation Bible School. Seems impossible that the little kids who used to come yearly to attend VBS are now old enough to work with the younger children—and they did a splendid job. I have to fight to keep from still seeing them as the little group that used to follow me into the grocery store like little ducklings. People would smile as we went by, and I would be so proud of those little guys.
But summers come and go, and seemingly suddenly these same kids are all grown up—two will start college in just a couple of weeks. They still make people smile, and I still know pride that they are my grandkids.
Our summer evenings used to be spent in local ball parks watching Gerry’s girls play softball. (We also watched Leslie at the Carterville park one summer and attended a game or two watching Elijah and Trent in far-away parks. If I remember right, preschooler Leslie was picking flowers in the outfield or something like that.) We still go to softball games, but now those games are usually in college stadiums or on TV. This spring we were cheering on the Southern Illinois University Salukis, for whom Tara used to play, because Erin was there at first base as assistant coach.
Now Gerry and Vickie’s youngest, Geri Ann, is about to enter her senior year of high school, and this week she is playing with Southern Force for her sister, Coach Tara Archibald, at Chattanooga at the Amateur Softball Association 16 and Under national tournament. I can remember tiny Tara playing with a broken arm one summer—with her doctor’s permission, of course. I’d be rambling around the park with Erin, and then a few years later when Erin was playing, I followed Geri Ann around making sure she did not fall into the creek that goes through Marion park—or was that just Erin? Elijah was there in a stroller and sunglasses for some of these long-ago games. At Harrisburg and Johnston City, Vickie always brought Geri Ann to the park in spotless condition fresh out of the tub--but with sand bucket and shovel. No child ever left the parks with dirtier clothes and face than she did. I remember that I supervised Sam in that Johnston City sand pile also. That was back when he would watch big league games on his living room television and run the imaginary bases there making a home run every time.
He came home Saturday night from his youth group’s mission trip to Joplin, MO, and I was blessed to be there at his home when he arrived. As we anticipated, the week working in Joplin had been life changing. He was fortunate to be on one of the groups working indoors—repairing things, salvaging filthy tables and other school equipment, and painting walls. He said that the roofing crew knew temps in the three digits on top of the tar-covered places some days. Major chain stores there are still operating in tents while new buildings are being built. He just kept remarking that photos cannot begin to capture the devastation there. And yet he said people have come together to solve their problems. Prayers are frequent on a daily basis in a downtown tent.
One of our families moved last week within their city, and two more will be moving soon to other locations. Our oldest great grandson will be starting kindergarten on August 9. Erin is still hobbling and taking antibiotics and enduring a major life style change, being confined to her house and watching more television than she has ever watched in her life. Her doctor says her knee looks good, and we hope she will soon be back to her usual active life.
While it was hard to act surprised, our family kept the Facebook messages flowing as we congratulated Mike Thompson and our granddaughter Leslie Eiler on their announced engagement. At his parents’ home in Ohio, Leslie finished reading Jane Eyre and received a proposal and she stammered yes. We are all admiring the ring on the posted photos.
Oh, there have also been promotions and awards in the family this month. And Leslie’s mother Jeannie rode 60 miles the other day on her bicycle, which deserves an award. So many changes and transitions have taken place this summer. Makes my head swim. But life was meant for transition. I was helped to appreciate all the summer’s growth and change by Sandra Henry, the daughter of my second cousin Shirley, whom I used to meet to play in the creek between Mt. Airy Farm and their farm home on another hill. Sandra posted today on Facebook: ”Once told that if you always did what you always did that you will always be where you always were. Much truth in this simple statement!“
But summers come and go, and seemingly suddenly these same kids are all grown up—two will start college in just a couple of weeks. They still make people smile, and I still know pride that they are my grandkids.
Our summer evenings used to be spent in local ball parks watching Gerry’s girls play softball. (We also watched Leslie at the Carterville park one summer and attended a game or two watching Elijah and Trent in far-away parks. If I remember right, preschooler Leslie was picking flowers in the outfield or something like that.) We still go to softball games, but now those games are usually in college stadiums or on TV. This spring we were cheering on the Southern Illinois University Salukis, for whom Tara used to play, because Erin was there at first base as assistant coach.
Now Gerry and Vickie’s youngest, Geri Ann, is about to enter her senior year of high school, and this week she is playing with Southern Force for her sister, Coach Tara Archibald, at Chattanooga at the Amateur Softball Association 16 and Under national tournament. I can remember tiny Tara playing with a broken arm one summer—with her doctor’s permission, of course. I’d be rambling around the park with Erin, and then a few years later when Erin was playing, I followed Geri Ann around making sure she did not fall into the creek that goes through Marion park—or was that just Erin? Elijah was there in a stroller and sunglasses for some of these long-ago games. At Harrisburg and Johnston City, Vickie always brought Geri Ann to the park in spotless condition fresh out of the tub--but with sand bucket and shovel. No child ever left the parks with dirtier clothes and face than she did. I remember that I supervised Sam in that Johnston City sand pile also. That was back when he would watch big league games on his living room television and run the imaginary bases there making a home run every time.
He came home Saturday night from his youth group’s mission trip to Joplin, MO, and I was blessed to be there at his home when he arrived. As we anticipated, the week working in Joplin had been life changing. He was fortunate to be on one of the groups working indoors—repairing things, salvaging filthy tables and other school equipment, and painting walls. He said that the roofing crew knew temps in the three digits on top of the tar-covered places some days. Major chain stores there are still operating in tents while new buildings are being built. He just kept remarking that photos cannot begin to capture the devastation there. And yet he said people have come together to solve their problems. Prayers are frequent on a daily basis in a downtown tent.
One of our families moved last week within their city, and two more will be moving soon to other locations. Our oldest great grandson will be starting kindergarten on August 9. Erin is still hobbling and taking antibiotics and enduring a major life style change, being confined to her house and watching more television than she has ever watched in her life. Her doctor says her knee looks good, and we hope she will soon be back to her usual active life.
While it was hard to act surprised, our family kept the Facebook messages flowing as we congratulated Mike Thompson and our granddaughter Leslie Eiler on their announced engagement. At his parents’ home in Ohio, Leslie finished reading Jane Eyre and received a proposal and she stammered yes. We are all admiring the ring on the posted photos.
Oh, there have also been promotions and awards in the family this month. And Leslie’s mother Jeannie rode 60 miles the other day on her bicycle, which deserves an award. So many changes and transitions have taken place this summer. Makes my head swim. But life was meant for transition. I was helped to appreciate all the summer’s growth and change by Sandra Henry, the daughter of my second cousin Shirley, whom I used to meet to play in the creek between Mt. Airy Farm and their farm home on another hill. Sandra posted today on Facebook: ”Once told that if you always did what you always did that you will always be where you always were. Much truth in this simple statement!“
Thursday, July 28, 2011
Beach Ball Bible Basics
Beach Ball Bible Basics
1. What are the two main parts of the Bible? Old and New Testament.
2. How many books are in the Old Testament? 39
3. How many books are in the New Testament? 27
4. How many books are in the entire Bible? 66
5. What are the Ten Commandments? These were the ten instructions for people to live by written on stone tablets brought down from Mt. Sinai by Moses.
6. Where do you find the Ten Commandments in the Bible? Old Testament. Exodus 20 and Deuteronomy 5.
7. If you want to know about Jesus, what testament do you look in? New Testament
8. What are the four books in the New Testament that tell the story of Jesus? The first four books--Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John--the Gospels.
9. Where can you find the story of Jesus’s birth? Matthew 1 and Luke 2.
10. Where can you find the longest recorded sermon that we have of Jesus? Matthew 5:7. Challenge: Read the Sermon on the Mount outloud and find out how long Jesus’s sermon was.
Directions for the game:
Child throws beach ball to another child to answer the question. Then draws a question from the basket and reads it.
If first child answers correctly, he gets to be the next thrower. If first child does not know answer, he/she throws it to someone else until correct answer is given.
1. What are the two main parts of the Bible? Old and New Testament.
2. How many books are in the Old Testament? 39
3. How many books are in the New Testament? 27
4. How many books are in the entire Bible? 66
5. What are the Ten Commandments? These were the ten instructions for people to live by written on stone tablets brought down from Mt. Sinai by Moses.
6. Where do you find the Ten Commandments in the Bible? Old Testament. Exodus 20 and Deuteronomy 5.
7. If you want to know about Jesus, what testament do you look in? New Testament
8. What are the four books in the New Testament that tell the story of Jesus? The first four books--Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John--the Gospels.
9. Where can you find the story of Jesus’s birth? Matthew 1 and Luke 2.
10. Where can you find the longest recorded sermon that we have of Jesus? Matthew 5:7. Challenge: Read the Sermon on the Mount outloud and find out how long Jesus’s sermon was.
Directions for the game:
Child throws beach ball to another child to answer the question. Then draws a question from the basket and reads it.
If first child answers correctly, he gets to be the next thrower. If first child does not know answer, he/she throws it to someone else until correct answer is given.
Thursday, July 21, 2011
Crops Are Maturing
Bright green corn plants have replaced the golden stubble of harvested wheat in the field beside our lane. The plants seem a foot taller each passing day. There are no soybeans here on this farm, but as I drive through the countryside, tall green soybeans blanket former empty brown fields with their thick bushiness as far as the eye can see. I enjoy watching the growth. The fat deer I saw tonight enjoyed feasting on that growth. With this heat, I would not want to be out in those fields right now, but evidently the deer, who was on the edge of the field, can handle the heat.
One of the scariest times I ever had was when someone left a farm gate open and our three-year-old son escaped the yard and had taken off down that machinery road beside a field of corn in this kind of weather, Everyone on the farm started yelling for him and running down that road praying he stayed on the road and did not go into the field. Fortunately, he did and was having a wonderful time with his freedom when we found him. A little boy lost in that that maze of corn would likely have passed out for want of oxygen before dark came.
Gerald is feeling better and had his first physical therapy appointment today for his hurt shoulder. We will likely never know what caused his temperature to spike over the weekend. Maybe allergic to the pain pill prescribed for the shoulder? Whatever, he has not missed a day spending several hours outside in this steaming heat. Of course, with air conditioned tractor cabs, working out there is nothing like the old days when he ate dust and stayed drenched with salty sweat running down his face. But time outside the tractor and hours working in his shop still give him a daily dose of high heat. He claims his shoulder and other aching joints and muscles hurt less with the sun beating down than they do when he is nodding off in his easy chair in the air conditioned house. Nevertheless, I am always grateful when he is in that chair or on his computer during the hottest times of the day.
After two unexpected surgeries over the weekend because of infection caused by the previous surgery, Erin was able to go home Tuesday morning. A port will allow the constant supply of meds for two weeks as she hobbles around on her crutches with the rolling tower with its bags of antibiotics following her. Vickie, her mother, stayed with her constantly at the hospital and is there with her now in Erin’s house. The surgeon has assured her that the second weekend surgery showed her knee was without remaining infection, and the cultures came back without any bacteria growth. So we are hopeful that all is well except for the pain and the time lost. It has been a very scary time.
In the meantime, on Monday afternoon, I did some of the Carbondale errands that I had meant to do last Friday. I was able to join Vickie and Gma Shirley in Erin’s hospital room for another brief visit. My mornings this week have been studying Vacation Bible School materials in preparation for next week at our village church.
Tara’s family is coming down for a softball tournament here this weekend, and Gerry and Geri Ann are coming back up from Georgia. Sometime my three teenage grandchildren who are going to help in VBS will be arriving also. Only our youngest grandchild is still young enough to attend VBS, but she can’t come this year because of a camp conflict.
One by one the older kids have switched from being a student to being a VBS helper, but they still want to come and I am glad. Although Sam helped last year, he will be unable to this year because he is going with his church youth group to Joplin, Missouri, to help there with the World Changers organization. He has new heavy duty work shoes and his mother made sure his shots are all up-to-date. The kids here at Woodsong are going to miss him terribly, but we know he will have a life-changing experience in Joplin.
Erin was expecting during her work-filled summer to have a bit of fun keeping in shape and spicing her evenings with slow pitch softball. Instead she is experiencing the tough irony of an athlete being knocked off her feet by a sports injury. She’d had surgery on both knees a couple of summers ago because of years of catching, but she did the physical therapy work afterwards to be able to play in Europe all last summer and be active all this year as she coached and gave lessons. As tough as she has been, she has always been empathetic to others, but I do not doubt that this misfortune will make her even more so. This too will be life-changing. More than crops are maturing around here this summer.
One of the scariest times I ever had was when someone left a farm gate open and our three-year-old son escaped the yard and had taken off down that machinery road beside a field of corn in this kind of weather, Everyone on the farm started yelling for him and running down that road praying he stayed on the road and did not go into the field. Fortunately, he did and was having a wonderful time with his freedom when we found him. A little boy lost in that that maze of corn would likely have passed out for want of oxygen before dark came.
Gerald is feeling better and had his first physical therapy appointment today for his hurt shoulder. We will likely never know what caused his temperature to spike over the weekend. Maybe allergic to the pain pill prescribed for the shoulder? Whatever, he has not missed a day spending several hours outside in this steaming heat. Of course, with air conditioned tractor cabs, working out there is nothing like the old days when he ate dust and stayed drenched with salty sweat running down his face. But time outside the tractor and hours working in his shop still give him a daily dose of high heat. He claims his shoulder and other aching joints and muscles hurt less with the sun beating down than they do when he is nodding off in his easy chair in the air conditioned house. Nevertheless, I am always grateful when he is in that chair or on his computer during the hottest times of the day.
After two unexpected surgeries over the weekend because of infection caused by the previous surgery, Erin was able to go home Tuesday morning. A port will allow the constant supply of meds for two weeks as she hobbles around on her crutches with the rolling tower with its bags of antibiotics following her. Vickie, her mother, stayed with her constantly at the hospital and is there with her now in Erin’s house. The surgeon has assured her that the second weekend surgery showed her knee was without remaining infection, and the cultures came back without any bacteria growth. So we are hopeful that all is well except for the pain and the time lost. It has been a very scary time.
In the meantime, on Monday afternoon, I did some of the Carbondale errands that I had meant to do last Friday. I was able to join Vickie and Gma Shirley in Erin’s hospital room for another brief visit. My mornings this week have been studying Vacation Bible School materials in preparation for next week at our village church.
Tara’s family is coming down for a softball tournament here this weekend, and Gerry and Geri Ann are coming back up from Georgia. Sometime my three teenage grandchildren who are going to help in VBS will be arriving also. Only our youngest grandchild is still young enough to attend VBS, but she can’t come this year because of a camp conflict.
One by one the older kids have switched from being a student to being a VBS helper, but they still want to come and I am glad. Although Sam helped last year, he will be unable to this year because he is going with his church youth group to Joplin, Missouri, to help there with the World Changers organization. He has new heavy duty work shoes and his mother made sure his shots are all up-to-date. The kids here at Woodsong are going to miss him terribly, but we know he will have a life-changing experience in Joplin.
Erin was expecting during her work-filled summer to have a bit of fun keeping in shape and spicing her evenings with slow pitch softball. Instead she is experiencing the tough irony of an athlete being knocked off her feet by a sports injury. She’d had surgery on both knees a couple of summers ago because of years of catching, but she did the physical therapy work afterwards to be able to play in Europe all last summer and be active all this year as she coached and gave lessons. As tough as she has been, she has always been empathetic to others, but I do not doubt that this misfortune will make her even more so. This too will be life-changing. More than crops are maturing around here this summer.
Sunday, July 17, 2011
Still Busy and Weather Still Hot and Too Much Going On
Teachers were asked at the Trail of Tears Institute how much they spent each year for class supplies out of their own salary. If you had heard their answers, your admiration for today’s teachers would increase. Some of these teachers were very young (possibly with student loans yet to repay) and with houses to buy and little children to support. Some were older with possibly older children in college. All were probably taking graduate classes and facing those tuition expenses. Yet every one of them spoke of spending a minimum of $300 to supplement their provided supplies. Some of the older teachers estimated they might spend $2000 or so. If it is true that your treasure is where your heart it, these teachers’ hearts are in their classrooms with their students. The very classroom we were sitting in was filled with books, posters, and all kind of learning accessories—all provided by that particular classroom teacher.
Some of us from the Illinois Chapter of the National Trail of Tears Association were meeting with these teachers who are preparing to use the Trail of Tears through Southern Illinois as their theme for this year’s project using original resources. There were interesting sessions and I was glad to be there for three of the four days of the Institute. I hated missing Tuesday, but I had other obligations that day. I also left at noon on Thursday and didn’t attend the field trip to the Crabb-Abbott Farm in Pope County. I knew from personal experience that Joe and Ethel Crabb would be terrific hosts for this field trip, but I needed to get back to the farm for a previous Thursday afternoon commitment.
As I drove home, I just relaxed and enjoyed the wonderful tree-covered hills between Vienna and Woodsong. New Burnside’s steep hills are one of my favorite spots in our region, and the leafy trees are at the height of their summer green glory. With responsibilities behind me, I looked forward to a deliberate agenda of doing as little as possible for a couple of days so that I would be ready to dig into my study of Vacation Bible School materials next week.
I had lots to think about as I drove home and most of it was pleasant. Gerry and Geri Ann had been at our house Monday and Tuesday nights, and Vickie had driven up with Ansley, a Southern Force player, on Tuesday. There had been fishing and playing with their new puppy Molly along with the visiting.
On Wednesday morning we had waved them off as they headed for the home run hitting derby that evening in northern Illinois. That would be followed by Thursday and Friday pool play for the tournament that started today. A phone call Wednesday night had reported that for the second year in a row, Geri Ann had won the home-run derby, and so as I drove home Thursday, I was eager to hear how they had done in their first games that day.
Gerald had a standing doctor’s appointment that morning, so I expected to hear that all his blood work and other tests would come back good and he would be feeling chipper about that. And I was hoping the doctor would do something positive about his shoulder that was hurting him. Erin was meeting with her surgeon to get her “stitches” out after her ACL surgery, and she was so excited. I was very happy for her.
Sure enough, Gerald was able to report at our late lunch that everything was good on his check up, and he would start taking some physical therapy on his shoulder next week. Later he reported Southern Force won their pool play games that day. I checked my Facebook messages and saw Erin’s happy report that she would be seeing the surgeon. I usually take a light supper into town on Thursday afternoons for Katherine’s family, so that David knows that one night’s meal is taken care of. At their house, Katherine told me with tears in her eyes that Sam had seen a later Facebook entry from Erin. She was in Carbondale Memorial Hospital because there was infection in her knee and she would have to have two more surgeries this weekend. Suddenly life had taken a scary turn, and I could no longer anticipate a pleasant weekend.
By bedtime, Vickie had driven down from the top of the state and was already sitting up with Erin at the hospital. I doubt that she got much sleep that night, because Erin was in enough pain to make her restless. Rick, her boyfriend, who is working nights this week, had already been up for 24 hours but was preparing to sit up all night too. But Vickie and Erin persuaded him to go home for a little sleep. He was back at the hospital very early the next morning as the first surgery was scheduled for that morning. Gerald and I arrived at the hospital by 9:15, and a lonely teddy bear with its leg in a bandage was the only occupant of her room. Erin was already long gone being prepped.
A helpful nurse took us to where Vickie and Rick were waiting. The four of us waited together, and a nurse would report to Vickie every hour or so. Finally before noon, the nurse reported the surgery was over, and the surgeon would meet Vickie to explain all that he had done. When that time came, Vickie invited us all to go into the consulting room with the doctor, and we heard him explain how he had flushed and cleaned out the infection. He had made the decision to put in “beads” which were infused with antibiotics so that Erin would have the antibiotic right on the site of the infection as well as antibiotics given through the veins. Because of this, the second surgery would be tomorrow rather than today so that the “beads” could continue their work a little longer. The cultures taken on Thursday would not be back for a day or two yet, so a general spectrum antibiotic would be used until they knew what specific one to use. And we will be holding our breaths until then.
While Erin was in the recovery room, we left to meet friends for lunch that had already been planned before Erin’s bad news. Afterward, a phone call to Vickie told us that Erin was back in the room and it would be okay for us to come in and see her. We stopped at the gift shop to get a couple of roses to take up, and Rick came in to buy a beautiful balloon bouquet to go with the teddy bear. In her room Erin was wide awake and quite pert and smiling entertaining one of this year’s top softball players, her Gma Shirley, and her Aunt Chris. We added our roses to Gma Shirley’s and visited a little while and said our goodbyes.
After one brief errand, we were back at the farm and Gerald and I both felt a nap coming on. He put a heat pad on his shoulder and sat in his easy chair and was soon fast asleep. His sleep has been interrupted lately by this shoulder pain, so I felt very glad he was inside in air conditioning instead of outside working as he usually is despite the extreme heat and the painful shoulder. He had taken one of his prescribed pain pills, and I was not surprised that he slept as long as he did. I had had a full night’s sleep, so my nap was not so long.
At supper, he complained he really did not feel good at all and felt feverish. When our kids were little, I could almost give an accurate temp reading with my hand. I cannot do that anymore, but a single touch of his forehead let me know that he had more than a little fever. I put a thermometer in his mouth and it registered over a 101. He slept through the evening, but had a very restless night, and at 3:30 I could tell his fever was higher. We both assumed we’d be looking up an urgent care center today since his doctor does not have Saturday appointments. Nor would we be going back to the hospital to visit Erin as she recouped and prepared mentally for tomorrow’s second surgery. (I have never understood the two surgeries, but from the Thursday appointment on, that was the announced plan.) She wrote on Facebook: “Surgery went well. In pain but surrounded with people who love me :)”
When I got to the breakfast table this morning, I was glad I had prepared the breakfast coffee as usual and laid out dishes because Gerald was there already dressed reading the paper he had walked down the lane to retrieve as he does every morning, and he had no fever. His pajamas had been damp when he woke up, and he said that he guessed this was what the old timers meant when they used the expressed “sweating out a fever.” The next thing I knew, he had changed into his overalls and was outside working with the weed eater. I think he did take a nap this afternoon while I ran into Katherine’s, but when I returned, he had already fixed himself a supper sandwich and was out on the lawn mower again for an hour or more.
Meanwhile, the Southern Force lost their game today in this single elimination tourney, so the rest of Erin’s Georgia family will be driving down tomorrow instead of Monday. I am sure everyone is sorry about the loss, but Gerry and Geri Ann are eager to be here to see Erin. Gerry told us on the phone that he had his grandson Aidan sleeping in his hotel room last night, and Aidan had already told him he is going to sleep there again tonight.
There is always good mixed with the bad if we look for it hard enough, and I am sure Gerry and Geri Ann have enjoyed seeing Tara and Bryan and those three charmers—Aidan, Maddux, and Payton. But it is difficult to concentrate on the good when you are waiting for cultures to be returned from the lab.
Some of us from the Illinois Chapter of the National Trail of Tears Association were meeting with these teachers who are preparing to use the Trail of Tears through Southern Illinois as their theme for this year’s project using original resources. There were interesting sessions and I was glad to be there for three of the four days of the Institute. I hated missing Tuesday, but I had other obligations that day. I also left at noon on Thursday and didn’t attend the field trip to the Crabb-Abbott Farm in Pope County. I knew from personal experience that Joe and Ethel Crabb would be terrific hosts for this field trip, but I needed to get back to the farm for a previous Thursday afternoon commitment.
As I drove home, I just relaxed and enjoyed the wonderful tree-covered hills between Vienna and Woodsong. New Burnside’s steep hills are one of my favorite spots in our region, and the leafy trees are at the height of their summer green glory. With responsibilities behind me, I looked forward to a deliberate agenda of doing as little as possible for a couple of days so that I would be ready to dig into my study of Vacation Bible School materials next week.
I had lots to think about as I drove home and most of it was pleasant. Gerry and Geri Ann had been at our house Monday and Tuesday nights, and Vickie had driven up with Ansley, a Southern Force player, on Tuesday. There had been fishing and playing with their new puppy Molly along with the visiting.
On Wednesday morning we had waved them off as they headed for the home run hitting derby that evening in northern Illinois. That would be followed by Thursday and Friday pool play for the tournament that started today. A phone call Wednesday night had reported that for the second year in a row, Geri Ann had won the home-run derby, and so as I drove home Thursday, I was eager to hear how they had done in their first games that day.
Gerald had a standing doctor’s appointment that morning, so I expected to hear that all his blood work and other tests would come back good and he would be feeling chipper about that. And I was hoping the doctor would do something positive about his shoulder that was hurting him. Erin was meeting with her surgeon to get her “stitches” out after her ACL surgery, and she was so excited. I was very happy for her.
Sure enough, Gerald was able to report at our late lunch that everything was good on his check up, and he would start taking some physical therapy on his shoulder next week. Later he reported Southern Force won their pool play games that day. I checked my Facebook messages and saw Erin’s happy report that she would be seeing the surgeon. I usually take a light supper into town on Thursday afternoons for Katherine’s family, so that David knows that one night’s meal is taken care of. At their house, Katherine told me with tears in her eyes that Sam had seen a later Facebook entry from Erin. She was in Carbondale Memorial Hospital because there was infection in her knee and she would have to have two more surgeries this weekend. Suddenly life had taken a scary turn, and I could no longer anticipate a pleasant weekend.
By bedtime, Vickie had driven down from the top of the state and was already sitting up with Erin at the hospital. I doubt that she got much sleep that night, because Erin was in enough pain to make her restless. Rick, her boyfriend, who is working nights this week, had already been up for 24 hours but was preparing to sit up all night too. But Vickie and Erin persuaded him to go home for a little sleep. He was back at the hospital very early the next morning as the first surgery was scheduled for that morning. Gerald and I arrived at the hospital by 9:15, and a lonely teddy bear with its leg in a bandage was the only occupant of her room. Erin was already long gone being prepped.
A helpful nurse took us to where Vickie and Rick were waiting. The four of us waited together, and a nurse would report to Vickie every hour or so. Finally before noon, the nurse reported the surgery was over, and the surgeon would meet Vickie to explain all that he had done. When that time came, Vickie invited us all to go into the consulting room with the doctor, and we heard him explain how he had flushed and cleaned out the infection. He had made the decision to put in “beads” which were infused with antibiotics so that Erin would have the antibiotic right on the site of the infection as well as antibiotics given through the veins. Because of this, the second surgery would be tomorrow rather than today so that the “beads” could continue their work a little longer. The cultures taken on Thursday would not be back for a day or two yet, so a general spectrum antibiotic would be used until they knew what specific one to use. And we will be holding our breaths until then.
While Erin was in the recovery room, we left to meet friends for lunch that had already been planned before Erin’s bad news. Afterward, a phone call to Vickie told us that Erin was back in the room and it would be okay for us to come in and see her. We stopped at the gift shop to get a couple of roses to take up, and Rick came in to buy a beautiful balloon bouquet to go with the teddy bear. In her room Erin was wide awake and quite pert and smiling entertaining one of this year’s top softball players, her Gma Shirley, and her Aunt Chris. We added our roses to Gma Shirley’s and visited a little while and said our goodbyes.
After one brief errand, we were back at the farm and Gerald and I both felt a nap coming on. He put a heat pad on his shoulder and sat in his easy chair and was soon fast asleep. His sleep has been interrupted lately by this shoulder pain, so I felt very glad he was inside in air conditioning instead of outside working as he usually is despite the extreme heat and the painful shoulder. He had taken one of his prescribed pain pills, and I was not surprised that he slept as long as he did. I had had a full night’s sleep, so my nap was not so long.
At supper, he complained he really did not feel good at all and felt feverish. When our kids were little, I could almost give an accurate temp reading with my hand. I cannot do that anymore, but a single touch of his forehead let me know that he had more than a little fever. I put a thermometer in his mouth and it registered over a 101. He slept through the evening, but had a very restless night, and at 3:30 I could tell his fever was higher. We both assumed we’d be looking up an urgent care center today since his doctor does not have Saturday appointments. Nor would we be going back to the hospital to visit Erin as she recouped and prepared mentally for tomorrow’s second surgery. (I have never understood the two surgeries, but from the Thursday appointment on, that was the announced plan.) She wrote on Facebook: “Surgery went well. In pain but surrounded with people who love me :)”
When I got to the breakfast table this morning, I was glad I had prepared the breakfast coffee as usual and laid out dishes because Gerald was there already dressed reading the paper he had walked down the lane to retrieve as he does every morning, and he had no fever. His pajamas had been damp when he woke up, and he said that he guessed this was what the old timers meant when they used the expressed “sweating out a fever.” The next thing I knew, he had changed into his overalls and was outside working with the weed eater. I think he did take a nap this afternoon while I ran into Katherine’s, but when I returned, he had already fixed himself a supper sandwich and was out on the lawn mower again for an hour or more.
Meanwhile, the Southern Force lost their game today in this single elimination tourney, so the rest of Erin’s Georgia family will be driving down tomorrow instead of Monday. I am sure everyone is sorry about the loss, but Gerry and Geri Ann are eager to be here to see Erin. Gerry told us on the phone that he had his grandson Aidan sleeping in his hotel room last night, and Aidan had already told him he is going to sleep there again tonight.
There is always good mixed with the bad if we look for it hard enough, and I am sure Gerry and Geri Ann have enjoyed seeing Tara and Bryan and those three charmers—Aidan, Maddux, and Payton. But it is difficult to concentrate on the good when you are waiting for cultures to be returned from the lab.
Saturday, July 09, 2011
Too Hot and Too Busy
Since I stay in air conditioned rooms most of the time, I should not complain about the 90 plus degree weather, so I won’t. I must complain about too many projects going at once and life not allowing me to finish one thing at a time. I have worked hard all week on various things and still stayed behind all week. That is why I have failed to blog.
I had not done anything this week that could be called recreation unless it was a little bit of reading and some research which I admit I consider fun. (My research is rarely original research. Mostly I find myself exploring other people’s research and sometimes my own to try and find an understanding of a subject.)
If anyone saw my book and paper-cluttered office, he/she would wonder how in the world I can get any work done in here. Me too. I love my roomy office hidden away in the back of our walk-out downstairs, but when a deadline for a presentation looms, I often find myself needing to spread out to the dining room table not only to have a clean surface for an over abundance of notebooks and papers but so I can keep an eye on whatever kitchen work I am involved with. Even with the proximity, I still may burn something as I divide my attention. (Of course, as an absent minded person, I can burn stuff even if I am not too busy.) Oh, if I must confess as I seem to be doing, I also have a pile of reading material to review in the living room too.
Geri Ann, our Georgia granddaughter, flew into St. Louis Thursday morning in order to o have a brief reunion with local friends and to attend the softball series between the National Pro Fastpitch USSSA Pride (with its former Olympians) and Diamonds at the Miners’ park. Her sister Erin and Erin’s boyfriend met her at the airport and brought her down.
So after the work week I’d had, I was delighted when Geri Ann and her friend CC Hutchinson (whom I don’t get to see often since Geri Ann moved to Georgia) and her cousin Sam came out to fish on the lake yesterday. I hurriedly fixed them a late lunch. I know I can always please my grandkids if I serve friend okra, and I thawed the remainder of the German chocolate cake from last week’s potluck that I had stuck in the freezer to keep from tempting Gerald and me. CC had never eaten fried okra, so she got initiated. (Since Gerald is cutting back his garden to mostly tomatoes and watermelon plants this summer, I don’t know what I am going to do when the okra in the freezer is gone. I guess I will have to check out local farmers markets.)
I was just as delighted when Erin hobbled in on her crutches to do some laundry. I had not been to see her since her ACL ordeal. I was reluctant to go by her place for fear she would be asleep or needing to go to sleep. I think I guessed right on that since she told me yesterday that she usually only gets four hours sleep until her meds wear off and she has to get up and ice her leg for awhile before she goes back in hopes of a second span of rest. I knew her cousin Sarah and her Gma Shirley and her boyfriend were in and out taking good care of her and seeing that she got to physical therapy when she couldn’t drive. I knew she would phone me if she needed me. This week she was able to drive short distances and began working some at the university again. Yet I know she is bound to be feeling pain.
Gerald was keeping Sadie so she would not jump on Erin, but the abundance of ticks here on the farm had us all worried despite the precautionary pill Sadie takes which keeps her tick-free in her own backyard where the tick population is evidently radically less than ours. So Gerald and Erin gave Sadie a bath, and she went home again with Erin, where she is often an inside dog unlike here. Hopefully she will sense that Erin can’t rough house with her and she’ll not be banished completely to the backyard.
Since CC left after the fishing to go to her grandmother’s, Gerald took Geri Ann and Sam to see the first softball game between USSSA Pride and the Diamonds. Erin sat in the handicapped section and was able to watch her old Texas A&M buddy Megan Gibson pitch again, and the Glasco fans were especially interested in the two University of Georgia alums—Brianna Hesson, who just graduated, and local standout Kristin Schnake of Nashville, IL. With Cat Osterman pitching for Pride, we were proud that Brianna got the only hit. Schnake, on the other hand, was hit by Osterman—twice.
I stayed home to continue working on a presentation coming up Wednesday for the Trail of Tears Institute this week at Vienna sponsored by Southern Illinois University Carbondale. A grant has enabled 12 local teachers to be chosen to help their students not only learn to use the Library of Congress primary sources but to study the Trail of Tears through Southern Illinois. When Sandy Boaz, president of the Illinois Chapter of the National Trail of Tears Association, was invited to have the Illinois TOT directors help with this project, she quickly accepted. Our TOT chapter has long hoped to increase the study in our schools of this historic event in our region and of the way our nation interacted with the people living here on the lands that eventually became the United States of America. This TOT study will provide a microcosm of this for these lucky students, and their knowledge of history, economics, politics, psychology, the depravity of humanity, and the goodness of humanity will be broadened. The teachers at the Institute will be from Pope, Johnson, and Union County where most of the 1838-39 TOT in Illinois took place. Joe Crabb will be telling about Pope County and Gary Hacker will share about Johnson on Wednesday. My responsibility will be to share about Union County and also the legend of Priscilla who was freed from slavery at Jonesboro.
There is so much information, misinformation, and twists and turns in this complicated story of the TOT that it is difficult to decide what would be most helpful to these teachers. I expect the dining room table will stay in service, and I have no hopes of straightening my office this week. And I may not blog again for another week. Now I need to go turn on the porch light because Dean and Lacey Newbold will be dropping Geri Ann off soon after tonight’s NPF game out at the Miners’ Rent One Park. Although he did do some ditch work at the other farm today, Gerald decided to stay in the air conditioning this evening and read about the games in tomorrow’s Southern Illinoisan.
I had not done anything this week that could be called recreation unless it was a little bit of reading and some research which I admit I consider fun. (My research is rarely original research. Mostly I find myself exploring other people’s research and sometimes my own to try and find an understanding of a subject.)
If anyone saw my book and paper-cluttered office, he/she would wonder how in the world I can get any work done in here. Me too. I love my roomy office hidden away in the back of our walk-out downstairs, but when a deadline for a presentation looms, I often find myself needing to spread out to the dining room table not only to have a clean surface for an over abundance of notebooks and papers but so I can keep an eye on whatever kitchen work I am involved with. Even with the proximity, I still may burn something as I divide my attention. (Of course, as an absent minded person, I can burn stuff even if I am not too busy.) Oh, if I must confess as I seem to be doing, I also have a pile of reading material to review in the living room too.
Geri Ann, our Georgia granddaughter, flew into St. Louis Thursday morning in order to o have a brief reunion with local friends and to attend the softball series between the National Pro Fastpitch USSSA Pride (with its former Olympians) and Diamonds at the Miners’ park. Her sister Erin and Erin’s boyfriend met her at the airport and brought her down.
So after the work week I’d had, I was delighted when Geri Ann and her friend CC Hutchinson (whom I don’t get to see often since Geri Ann moved to Georgia) and her cousin Sam came out to fish on the lake yesterday. I hurriedly fixed them a late lunch. I know I can always please my grandkids if I serve friend okra, and I thawed the remainder of the German chocolate cake from last week’s potluck that I had stuck in the freezer to keep from tempting Gerald and me. CC had never eaten fried okra, so she got initiated. (Since Gerald is cutting back his garden to mostly tomatoes and watermelon plants this summer, I don’t know what I am going to do when the okra in the freezer is gone. I guess I will have to check out local farmers markets.)
I was just as delighted when Erin hobbled in on her crutches to do some laundry. I had not been to see her since her ACL ordeal. I was reluctant to go by her place for fear she would be asleep or needing to go to sleep. I think I guessed right on that since she told me yesterday that she usually only gets four hours sleep until her meds wear off and she has to get up and ice her leg for awhile before she goes back in hopes of a second span of rest. I knew her cousin Sarah and her Gma Shirley and her boyfriend were in and out taking good care of her and seeing that she got to physical therapy when she couldn’t drive. I knew she would phone me if she needed me. This week she was able to drive short distances and began working some at the university again. Yet I know she is bound to be feeling pain.
Gerald was keeping Sadie so she would not jump on Erin, but the abundance of ticks here on the farm had us all worried despite the precautionary pill Sadie takes which keeps her tick-free in her own backyard where the tick population is evidently radically less than ours. So Gerald and Erin gave Sadie a bath, and she went home again with Erin, where she is often an inside dog unlike here. Hopefully she will sense that Erin can’t rough house with her and she’ll not be banished completely to the backyard.
Since CC left after the fishing to go to her grandmother’s, Gerald took Geri Ann and Sam to see the first softball game between USSSA Pride and the Diamonds. Erin sat in the handicapped section and was able to watch her old Texas A&M buddy Megan Gibson pitch again, and the Glasco fans were especially interested in the two University of Georgia alums—Brianna Hesson, who just graduated, and local standout Kristin Schnake of Nashville, IL. With Cat Osterman pitching for Pride, we were proud that Brianna got the only hit. Schnake, on the other hand, was hit by Osterman—twice.
I stayed home to continue working on a presentation coming up Wednesday for the Trail of Tears Institute this week at Vienna sponsored by Southern Illinois University Carbondale. A grant has enabled 12 local teachers to be chosen to help their students not only learn to use the Library of Congress primary sources but to study the Trail of Tears through Southern Illinois. When Sandy Boaz, president of the Illinois Chapter of the National Trail of Tears Association, was invited to have the Illinois TOT directors help with this project, she quickly accepted. Our TOT chapter has long hoped to increase the study in our schools of this historic event in our region and of the way our nation interacted with the people living here on the lands that eventually became the United States of America. This TOT study will provide a microcosm of this for these lucky students, and their knowledge of history, economics, politics, psychology, the depravity of humanity, and the goodness of humanity will be broadened. The teachers at the Institute will be from Pope, Johnson, and Union County where most of the 1838-39 TOT in Illinois took place. Joe Crabb will be telling about Pope County and Gary Hacker will share about Johnson on Wednesday. My responsibility will be to share about Union County and also the legend of Priscilla who was freed from slavery at Jonesboro.
There is so much information, misinformation, and twists and turns in this complicated story of the TOT that it is difficult to decide what would be most helpful to these teachers. I expect the dining room table will stay in service, and I have no hopes of straightening my office this week. And I may not blog again for another week. Now I need to go turn on the porch light because Dean and Lacey Newbold will be dropping Geri Ann off soon after tonight’s NPF game out at the Miners’ Rent One Park. Although he did do some ditch work at the other farm today, Gerald decided to stay in the air conditioning this evening and read about the games in tomorrow’s Southern Illinoisan.
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