Late Fall and Early Winter Holidays Consolidate

Three of the Freeport gang arrived Wednesday night in Elijah’s car, but Elijah and Cecelie were dropped off at the Taylors to join Brianna and Trent while Rick came onto Woodsong.  Later they arrived here and Sam came out from town to join them.  Looking out the next morning at the grandkids’ parked cars, my heart was warmed  realizing anew how grown up they’d become.  Even our youngest, Cecelie, is now taking drivers instructions and will soon reach that milestone of being a 16-year-old driver.

We had ourl three daughters and all their children with us except for Leslie and Mike, who were in Ohio with Mike’s parents. Our son and his children were in Texas except for Geri Ann, who was in Oregon.  Despite enormous cooperative efforts and holding noon meal-time until 2:30, we did not succeed in having Katherine at the table.  Just when we thought we had conquered our quest to bring her to the farm, Rick and Gerald discovered the van had a dead battery probably because of the cold weather since nothing had been left on to run the battery down. The battery charger could not be found in her garage, and so it was necessary to go back to the farm and come in after the meal to get her van charged. With Mary Ellen left with the clean up, we returned to town. The van was charged, another round of meds given,  and Katherine did spend the early evening with us. 

Not only clean up, but Mary Ellen did the majority of the meal preparation this year.  She and Brianna had a mother-daughter day making pies on Wednesday as well as many delicious side dishes. Gerald and I did do the turkey, and I did the dressing and sweet potatoes.  Gerald helped me lift the heavy frozen bird into the fridge to thaw and then five days later on Wednesday night to get it out  for pan preparation.  He did the hated job of getting that awful plastic (better than the wire that used to be used) unstuck from the back cavity. As strong as he is, it was difficult even for him to remove.  Remembering all the times I had fought that at 4 a.m. in times past, I was grateful.  The turkey was all prepped and panned before I went to bed.  All I had to do when I got up at 6 the next morning was move it a couple feet from the fridge to the oven.  Mary Ellen, who had already gone into Katherine’s at 4 a.m. to adjust her after receiving a text that alarmed her, arrived early and did the major work all day in the kitchen.

I had planned to fry the okra as I promised Brianna, and the pan was laid out with olive oil and the okra thawed and covered with corn meal.  However, I was late coming back  with those of us who had gone for Katherine. Jeannie, who was busy in Freeport helping her church up there on Wednesday, drove down by herself Thursday morning with Lucky and Leah and more food for our feast.  Since she had arrived by time for the okra to be fried, she was drafted and did a beautiful job with the okra. The grandkids explained to her that she needed to burn it a bit to be like Grandma’s, so she cooked it a little longer. (That explains well my cooking, but fortunately the grandkids are sentimental anyhow about my okra!)

The five grandchildren here were in top form enjoying each others’ company and exchanging college and high school experiences talking late  into the night. Hearing about a proposed tennis shoe painting project left parents fearful they would be ruining tennis shoes, but the kids’ colorful unique designs were actually very  attractive.  Parents already  burdened with college tuition and housing costs breathed a sigh of relief as well as appreciation for their art work.

The kids were talking about progressive Thanksgiving dinners, and Mary Ellen thought I might think they meant the old-fashioned progressive dinner where each course was served at a different house.  But I knew what they meant, and I thought Gerald and my combined efforts on the turkey qualified us to be called progressive. They thought we still had a way to go, so to be truly progressive, we may have to turn the cooking over to them next year!

If not progressive, we are good at keeping family traditions.  Despite getting to bed late Thursday night, Gerald dragged Rick out of bed to go down to Union County to have breakfast at Jonesboro with his brothers and nephews. A new tradition may have been born Friday afternoon when Elijah took a educational movie in to watch in her bedroom with his Aunt Katherine, who remains extremely interested in inner-city education even though she can no longer teach.

Since I had not been on the computer for a couple of days, I was catching up very late on Friday  night after I came home from Katherine’s.  (Actually it was morning since it was long after midnight.)  I heard our herd of young adults upstairs in the kitchen cooking, and I did not dare go there, but slipped on quietly to bed. They were using their kindergarten “inside voices” and quiet giggles trying not to be a problem to the adult population, but I wondered what the kitchen would look like when people arose the next morning.  I warned Gerald before he left our bedroom that I had cleaned the kitchen the night before, but not to be shocked if things were in disarray. However, although  there were some left-out objects and dirty dishes in the sink,  over-all the kitchen showed their maturity.  Best of all, the left-over turkey  among other things was devoured, and they had once again created memories without any help from us older folks.

One holiday highlight for me was going to Carbondale on Saturday afternoon to see The Theory of Everything with my grandson Trent. Sam had left to work on an English project with his friend Anna. Elijah and Brianna, who also really wanted to go to the movie, used the discipline that has made them good students and elected to stay home and study to be prepared for classes this week.  The Eilers had to return to Freeport on Saturday, but Elijah stayed on and the kids ended up at the Taylor house that night.

Sunday was made special by having Elijah, Sam, and Bri join me at worship at our village church before I scurried in to Katherine’s house.  Gerald picked me up there to go to the funeral of our dear long-time neighbor Mildred Stapleton.  She had lost Russell just a few months ago. This couple had gone through World War II with Russell fighting overseas and through the Viet Nam War with their son Steve fighting there. Then in recent years they had suffered the death of  the two older sons. Mildred was 92 and deserved to go to a better place.   But her loss was great to her grandchildren and their younger children, Mike and Debby, who were neighborhood friends to our kids. Gerald took me afterwards for a bite of lunch and I went back to Katherine’s for the rest of the day.

The autumnal decorations are now put away, and I must face the two over-full closets with boxed Christmas trees—one downstairs and one upstairs. Because I like to leave our trees up at least until New Year’s Day, I haven’t started Christmas celebrating yet except vicariously on the drive to town or  enjoying photographs of lovely lighted trees on Facebook.

Despite a desire by many to have the main holidays of the fall and winter separate, Thanksgiving and Christmas have become one long season in America—just as towns and cities and villages have run into each other and been consolidated into metro regions, where you have to be a local resident to even know when one location ends and the other begins.

Putting the tree up on Christmas Eve was abandoned by most families long ago when electric lights replaced dangerous candle-lit trees.  And now with artificial trees so prevalent, we can put up trees early with less fear of dangerous drying out and annoying shedding needles.  Busy lives have also caused many to use the Thanksgiving time off to put up trees.   Outdoor decorations are assembled  to avoid colder weather later. Consequently we are already into the Christmas season with its beautiful decorations and lights often before we have finished our Thanksgiving grace. Even though I am behind all those who have already decorated, I am going to try and be progressive and enjoy this early beginning of the best season of the year!

 

A Weekend Away!

There was honey on my breakfast toast this morning thanks to son-in-law Rick Eiler’s first honey harvest from  his two bee hives on a friend’s farm land.  If I am not mistaken, the last time we traveled the length of Illinois to see Jeannie’s family was for Showtime during Elijah’s senior year at Freeport High School.  It was wonderful to have the opportunity to visit there this past weekend. 

Katherine’s friend Laura was with her, so I did not worry about Kate.  Granddaughter Leslie came up from Nashville Thursday night; and she had invited us to go on up with her, so I did not need to be concerned about Gerald driving that entire way.  We had missed Cecelie’s freshmen participation in last year’s musical, play, and Showtime, so to go see her in this year’s musical was a dream come true as we hurriedly packed and left the farm mid-morning Friday.

Leslie is always delightful company—funny and bright and so pretty. Unfortunately we did not get to hear her sing during this visit, and we should have insisted on it.  But there was much to talk about.  Her husband Mike stayed home with Millie and Sidney—their huge dogs that  don’t travel that well--but we caught up on the news about them as well as Mike. 

Mike is a personal trainer, and proof of his ability has been seeing our little Leslie become a champion strong woman competitor.  (Is that the right wording?)  We really did not know there was such a thing or such contests, but now we regularly see photos of Leslie lifting huge bars into the air while we tremble.  And we see Mike pulling trucks and other outrageous objects with Les in the background of the video being his cheerleader urging him on.  Scary stuff to watch, but we have to be proud that they somehow have achieved that strength in addition to holding full-time jobs, an active social life,  and fixing up their first home. And now to my great satisfaction, Leslie has renewed her high school theater career-- as an extra curriculum activity in the evenings. I love knowing she is singing and acting again.  That was not possible as a commercial voice major at Belmont with all the required concerts to complete that degree. She is rehearsing now for Ragtime in January.

On our way north, we stopped at Illinois State in Normal to pick up Elijah who had driven there from Jacksonville.  He is a senior studying special education for the seeing impaired, but his classes at Normal are over.He spent the first six weeks of this semester at Indianapolis at  the Indiana School for the Blind and Visually Impaired. Now he is rooming in a dorm at Jacksonville, but each morning he drives to Springfield where he teaches individual students with sight impairment at four different schools.  Next semester he will be doing his official student teaching at a Chicago school, so I am especially eager to hear him tell of those experiences.  I think he enjoyed being on campus long enough for coffee with a friend while he awaited us to arrive from downstate.

Soon we were on that long long stretch of Route 39 and 51 heading toward Rockford.  It was good to once more see the familiar sights along the streets of Freeport, and soon we were welcomed into Jeannie and Rick’s house where there was a fire blazing  for us in the living room.  We dropped off Lige and Les and  made a quick trip to our favorite motel to dress for Cecelie’s musical and then returned to be at  Jeannie’s pretty table for chili and goodies before we headed to the Jeannette Lloyd Theatre, another favorite place for our family. 

For twenty-five years Tim Connors has devoted his life to the kids at Freeport High.  He has developed a fantastic speech program and manages to get amazing results from the large casts he works with. Kids working together to create a successful performance is an enormously valuable life experience. That bonding and the artistic opportunity given to such large crews and casts of students are of immense importance to their community.  

Jeannette Lloyd obviously created an educational environment conducive to developing individual talent and superior high school theater, and Connors has continued the tradition of excellence. When I see the stage filled with guys singing and dancing their hearts out, I not only feel personal joy as I listen and watch as  crowds of girls run in to join them, but  I also know lives have been made richer because of those weeks spent producing the show.

I had never bothered to watch John Travolta’s Grease, so I was unfamiliar with the plot.  Since the time depicted was not that long after I had been in high school, I was taken down memory lane.  Cecelie’s sweet tiny neck scarf was the kind I wore most days; and  although I did not have a poodle dog skirt, I envied the girls who did.

In Cecelie’s role as Marty, her emotional excitement and dramatic exaggerated take on life often duplicated the drama my girl friends and I liked to imagine we were starring in.  Of course, I loved her song. I wanted to slap Marty and Rizzo sometimes for their meaness, and I wanted to shake Frenchy and tell her to get busy and study.  Going from childhood into near adulthood can be a difficult time, and these kids in the Grease  sub culture suffered perhaps more than other groups.  I did not like beautiful Sandy, so well played by Veronica Gross, changing because of peer pressure.  But I would like it if today’s kids used a wooden gun made in shop rather than a real one. 

Brianna was arriving after the show to join her cousins at the Eilers.  She had come home from Murray State and joined her daddy for the trip up to his brother’s, where he annually attends an auction fund-raiser.  She drove on in to Freeport to attend Saturday’s performance.  Mary Ellen and Trent stayed home because of a trivia contest they were involved in. We waited to see Bri the next day because we were on a mission for a forgotten toothbrush and special cleanser. We were in bed by eleven and slept late the next morning. 

Jeannie invited us for a breakfast casserole and a yummy coffee cake at their house, but we like poking around and eating at the motel’s big breakast available whenever you want to go the dining room.  Of course when we showed up at Jeannie’s for lunch I sampled the casserole, and I indulged in the coffee cake for lunch and supper dessert instead of the pies on her buffet.

Our Saturday morning schedule was to watch Rick extract more honey from the comb.   We had already observed on Friday  the abundance of little bears and the traditional almost oval plastic bottles filled with golden liquid, and Rick was going to work up yet another batch or two in his garage turned honey workshop.  It was fascinating as he explained the process of scraping the excess wax off the racks of goodness and  carefully placed into his stainless containers to spin the honey out.  There were several steps as we watched the liquid go from the bucket of raw honey to the lovely pure liquid in the plastic bottles. We were given a generous supply of to take home.

After lunch, Jeannie and I left the men  and  went on errands including a couple of trips to the beautiful flower shop on the edge of town where Jeannie was having a presentation bouquet prepared for Cecelie. Leslie was lunching with a high school friend to see her new baby, and Brianna and Elijah were studying together for their respective Monday morning classes.  Our main goal was to see the special thrift store that Cecelie works at and to pick her up at the end of her time there. We hid her flowers in the van and took her home to join her cousins. 

Although Cecelie and her date and some adult friends were coming to the Eilers after the show, Jeannie had a couple large cans of cheese and a crock pot needing to be sent to her friend’s house for the cast party that night.  She enlisted Elijah to deliver them since he is close friends to the two daughters there. That led to the rest of the days’ entertainment because the mother of the house suggested Elijah kidnap his long-time classmate’s tiny stuffed monkey left over from her childhood.

There was much intrigue at the Eiler house as ransom notes were written and Brianna’s unknown phone was used in various communications to Fred-the-Monkey’s mama. While we adults were eating a calm supper, Fred was off with the younger ones having his photo taken at various places at the high school.  At one time he was hanging center stage high on the overhead electric sign Grease.  I think common sense told them that maybe Connors would not enjoy that addition to the set, and they took Fred down. But the photo was funny.

Gerald usually only goes to one performance per trip to Freeport, but I love to see the second (or third when that is possible) and observe and enjoy the difference in audiences and kids’ reactions. The last night is usually charged with a mixture of satisfaction and sadness that makes that performance special.  That was true Saturday night when I went again while Gerald stayed home and watched the football game. Afterwards during  the time between the end of the play and the cast photos, I love seeing the kids still in costume receiving flowers, congratulations, and compliments. They completely fill the crowded hallway with their  parents and siblings and buddies. Alumni from  previous years are also there to give them greetings and hugs and report on college and work.

After the show the college set were out for pizza and Laurel was reunited with Fred. At the pizza gathering or else some where else, Leslie and other theater alums were presenting Connors with a cake in the shape of a juke box. It was quite a cake from the photos shared, and the crowd encircling him and leaning on the table and accidentally breaking it down made the cake presentation quite memorable I am sure.

By Saturday evening, the ground was covered with several inches of snow and everything was slick. I was being extremely careful that I did not fall, and I had Rick drop me off after the show rather than going to the after-event at their house.  The next morning we all met up again at the Eiler house in a winter scene straight from a Christmas card. Cars were covered with snow, and as we waited for church time, Gerald swept the snow off the others’ car as he had ours earlier at the motel.  We were worried about the highways, and Brianna must drive part of the way home alone before she picked up Brian down the road.  So she went on and we were grateful to the crews when we found the roads well salted and free of ice. After worship we headed back to Southern Illinois although we would have liked to have stayed for the Bible class Rick would be teaching before noon. If at all possible, Leslie planned to pick up her car at Woodsong and drive onto Nashville so she would not miss work Monday morning.

On the way home, we lunched at Culver’s, a favorite eating place for all Freeport people.  We dropped Elijah off at Normal, where he would drive onto Jacksonville, and we continued over to Champaine-Urbana and on down Route 57 to home.  Although we drove through almost continual mist, some rain, lots of fog, the highways were clear as we kept ahead of the worsening weather. 

At Woodsong the ground was covered with white loveliness, and again Gerald cleared snow this time from Leslie’s car waiting on her. She reached Nashville and was at work Monday morning.  Brianna stayed at their farm that night and made it safely to Murray the next morning. 

Our weekend with its long delayed trip to Freeport  was a much needed break from routine. Thankfully everybody made it safely back home without an accident including Fred.

An Incredible Gift

I thought it amazing that Deborah, a friend from long ago, came up all the way from Nashville, TN, to Marion, IL, to help our daughter Katherine be able to go to her son’s Senior Night during football season. Laura, the friend’s friend, also  came along to help drive and to help out. 

It is difficult for the uninitiated to understand how much time and effort it takes to get someone from the bed to the wheelchair, dressed and groomed, fed and given meds.  Then, on top of that, trying to get out of the house and into a van  and arrive at a specified time can often be an impossible.accomplishment. But with Deborah’s and Laura’s help, Katherine was able to see Sam as drum major for the first time in the pre-game show. We were so grateful to these two good Samaritans. 

As amazing as that gift was, the friend’s friend later volunteered to come back up for a week to visit Katherine and help her. She cooked healthy meals that Katherine raved about and introduced her to the spicy substitutes she uses to reduce sugar and salt. She even left a couple of her special salmon patties and banana bread in Katherine’s freezer for me and Gerald.

I followed Katherine’s advice to use this lovely woman’s visit as a respite, so I was only there once to visit while Laura was. That day before she fed Katherine her evening meal, she spoke a brief prayer of thanks. It had never occurred to me to do that when I have helped her with a meal in her bed or chair.  There are usually any number of  needs to take care of before she can comfortably start her meal—finding a safe place for the tray, adjusting her limbs, arranging blankets or throws, adjusting the chair or bed to the right height, and so forth—and I am always fretting knowing that her food is getting cold. Katherine never complains about the food being cold, but I know she enjoys it when it is warm.   But I liked what Laura did, and so I resolved to follow Laura’s example, Yet when I was there yesterday afternoon when the snow prevented an aide from coming, I completely forgot once again. Maybe I can do better next time.

Laura went home yesterday through the bitter cold and the unexpected early snow, and she had to sit  for over two hours in Kentucky because of a cattle truck that overturned on the slick highway.  So her incredible gift of time and service was lengthened and increased in difficulty even more.

How can you thank someone who makes this kind of personal sacrifice to help another?  I can only pray that the God she loves so much will bless her with His richest blessings.

Ginger Sue Ward Glasco

How do you write about someone you loved who has passed on to a better place?  Although Ginger was my younger sister-in-law, she was already in place in the family when I started dating Gerald.  She and Garry were married when they were young, and they recently celebrated their 60^th wedding anniversary with her in a hospital bed in their living room.

Because she was so young, she was still full of life and ready for fun times—swimming in the creek, going to town for a barbecue, or just telling me wonderful stories of her childhood riding her bike with her girl friend up and down the Ozark highway hills in Missouri. I never travel those steep hills without thinking of her and feeling fear for her bravery riding there.

With us both being neophyte farm wives, we were learning how  to cook, to carry meals to the field, to can, and to sew.  (Gerald  still had his senior year to finish after getting out of the Air Force, but we lived in a small rental house on a rural road  between his parents’ and Garry and Ginger’s homes. That first summer after our wedding, Gerald was working on the farm there in the Mississippi bottoms, and the first meal I ever cooked, I transported  to the field where he was working. I thought that picnic beside the road was great fun, and it was a complete meal—not sandwiches.) 

Ginger and I were together a lot that summer and the next because there were home-made ice cream gatherings and family meals at Gerald’s parents.  Ginger would usually take Mom Glasco on her Saturday shopping trip, so besides frequent Sunday dinners, Mom would make us all welcome for impromptu cold cuts and goodies that evening.  I learned to enjoy good cheeses that she bought for Dad Glasco.   We enjoyed Garry and Ginger’s adorable little blond toddler Vicki Sue and Gerald’s little sister Ernestine, who I believe was nine that summer.

By that time, severe arthritis was bothering Mom Glasco. Yet despite that. she kept a full productive schedule and was there to help us and share their abundant  supply of garden produce. (I always wished our government would have sent Dad Glasco to a third world country to teach them how he grew more than adequate food. He freely gave food to many people besides his own family.)  There was a huge bin of potatoes for everyone in a large cellar below the backyard smoke house.   Ginger and I got free canning jars by cleaning out the unused cans of food in that cellar. Mom had conscientiously canned available vegetables that sometimes was more than families could eat and it had aged out a few year before.  I would feel bad thinking of all her work with the arthritic hands, but Ginger and I had fun working together and were grateful for the free jars.  

None of us had indoor plumbing that first summer. (Later when Gerald helped Garry put in their first bathroom by using part of the kitchen space in that farm house, they put up an angled wall that I thought incredibly attractive.) Ginger had once lived in a Cairo mansion with three bathrooms during her father’s heyday with grocery stores and other businesses. She most often lived in Poplar Bluff with her mother’s extended family nearby, and she and her sister and brother always remained close to them and each other.   One Sunday afternoon she told me of the places in the nation where she lived temporarily with various step mothers and siblings, which she would  then lose after she had grown fond of them.  I was depressed for a week just hearing about it, but she was strong and resilient loving everyone’s good points and forgiving weaknesses.  Her experiences made her very caring towards all children, and her strong sense of justice was highly developed.

She was Intelligent and curious and liked to interview people to become better acquainted. With my journalism studies behind me. I teased Ginger that she should have been a reporter  

In those pre-sonogram days, she had theories about how one could tell ahead of time whether a baby was a boy or girl.   But I don’t think that she and Garry had anticipated their twin sons who arrived six weeks before I had Katherine.  The twins were  a cause of great joy and celebration in the family.  Because little Vicki Sue had measles when the twins reached the five pound mark to come home from the hospital, Mom Glasco took care of Vicki while I went down to help out during the day with the twins.   So Ginger taught me how to care for newborns.  I have always been grateful that I took care of Kerry, and  because he was slightly smaller, that Ginger took care of baby Gary.  We did not know then how short a time she would be able to do that.

Six weeks later Katherine was born, and then six weeks after that the seemingly healthy twins were at Sunday School and worship with their parents.  They had barely gotten home when they realized baby Gary was in distress, and they rushed him to the local hospital, who examined him and sent them home.  Soon they knew the hospital had made a terrible mistake and they rushed him back. For some unexplained  reason,  employees had put away a piece of equipment that was needed without repairing it.  Although I do not think it would have made any difference, it certainly did not make our family feel any better.  Baby Gary died that day, and the terrible pain of grief  was woven into the fabric of our lives. (Years later at approximately the same age, baby Brandon—Vicki Sue’s first baby—also died, and we had the worst Christmas of our lives.)  So I rejoice that Ginger is now able to see those baby boys again.  I have no idea whether people who die young finish growing up in heaven or if they remain forever young, but I know we are promised it will all be good.  I also like to think that Ginger feels how much she is loved here on earth and  knows how much good she did  while here.

Her grandchildren, who called her Mimmie, are all grown up now and soon the great grandchildren will be. But I remember the first time she and Garry babysat with Shelley, their first grandchild.  Our door bell rang and there all alone on our step was this beautiful baby in her car seat while her grandparents hid around the corner to view our excitement and admiration.  But they were quick to reclaim her after they enjoyed our surprise.

Although Ginger had health problems, she never let it stop her from living fully.  As a child, she had been in a car wreck and hearing loss resulted. Later when she went to the famous hearing doctor in Memphis, she found out that a tiny piece of her inside ear had flown out.  Her story ended up in a medical journal when the doctor wrote about it. 

It will soon be 13 years since Ginger’s devastating stroke that took away her short term memory. Shortly before that, she had brought me a lovely music box for a house warming gift, and I smilingly scolded her since we had said no gifts.  But I loved it, and when she had the stroke just a couple weeks later, I cherished it   Earlier she had given me a music box on our anniversary, and I will play these and remember the good times.

We said goodbye to Ginger way back on July 20 when family gathered at the hospital in Cape. She looked so terrible with that mask hurting her face that I did not like to look at her there in intensive care.. We were expecting the worst when the doctor’s advice was followed and the mask removed.  Instead she breathed on her own and went home to the farm in a couple of days, where with the help of Hospice and the continued devoted help of her loving neighbor Alice, who had helped Garry  care for her all these years since the 2001 stroke.  Kerry and Vicki worked together so well taking turns staying nights in the living room with their mother so that Garry could get a good night’s sleep.

The hospital bed is gone now, and the granddaughters have cleaned the stored couch until it looks new. Ginger would like the way her living room looks again.  Friends have flooded Garry’s kitchen with food for all the friends and loved ones who continue to gather there to console him.   The visitation with its crowds is over.  Yesterday’s funeral would have pleased her with a granddaughter who somehow got there from school in Los Angeles to share her reminisces of what Mimmie had meant to her.  The handsome grandson in his dress Marine uniform who managed to come from Washington, DC, and all the local  grandchildren and great grandchildren would have made her so proud.  She would have rejoiced  at Mindy and Joe’s news that they just found out that Princeton will be having the baby brother or sister he has begged for.  And she would have loved seeing her beautiful sister Lillian, who had recently lost both her husband and their brother, looking so strong surrounded by her loving sons.  She would have loved seeing all the nieces and nephews and hearing from the ones who couldn’t come.    

Ginger loved the holidays and sometimes gifted us with crafted ornaments, which I will hang on our tree again this year but with tears in my eyes. 

That Time of Year

One short road with four  houses on one side and one house and one mobile home on the other side completes the main drag for our nearby village of New Dennison.  A church faces the highway and beckons you into the village, which ends with a lower entry road that continues on to Marion. Across that lower entry road is one more house and mobile home.  

This is a historic spot, which many years ago had a railway connection where people caught the train to Marion and Carbondale.  Once also facing the highway , where only  an empty lot remains, there was the home of  the doctor who delivered many babies in this area, but that house burned a few years ago.

Just around the corner on the village’s one road  was the small house of  his midwife companion who traveled with him in the buggy to help deliver the babies. A cousin’s daughter told me what a meticulous housekeeper she was.  Now that house too is gone after the midwife’s only child continued to live there with her cat until she finally went into a nursing home.  I never found out what happened to the cat.  I never met the mother, but I was acquainted with her daughter, who never married. She got her water from a well, and almost to the very end lived there proudly without electricity. They surely used oil lamps in her younger days, but I never saw any.  Because she had gradually confined herself to one room and it was very crowded with only a narrow path between furniture laden with clothing, I was afraid to suggest one.  I did take  her one of those battery lights you can put in closets or dark places, but I don’t know if she ever used it. She enjoyed a small battery-operated radio and was interested in the Kentucky Derby and also local news.  A social worker or a relative finally arranged for the Rural Electricity Association to put in a ceiling light in her one room, so she did have electricity the last year she lived there.  After her death, a neighbor acquired the lot and tore down the worn-out house and made it part of their lawn.  It definitely looks better, but I still think of Juanita when I pass by.

One of the more substantial homes on the road always interested me because a favorite speech student of mine once shared the story of his uncle who lived there at that time.  He was retired from some much larger town in another state where he served as post master, and Jerry explained in order to have that good job, his uncle has passed as white.  I never met the uncle, and Jerry died much too young just a few years ago, but I think about these things as I pass beside the houses there.

I always drive through the village and take the rural route into Marion when I go to visit Katherine.  Early in October,  I was driving towards the house at the end across from the lower entry road. I don’t know who lives there, but I always enjoy their Christmas lights. That day on the front porch swing which faces that road was a short man in overalls and straw hat  relaxing in the sun. It was such a pleasant sight that it made me smile, but then laugh when I grew closer and realized he was a straw-stuffed man,  Since then week by week, additional seasonal decorations have been added to the porch and yard  including a ghost by a tiny pretend cemetery.  Bright orange lights illuminate the scene when I come home late at night.  I liked it best when I thought it was a real guy enjoying the fall air and beautiful trees, but I still smile each time I pass.

I make a point of trying to absorb all the bright colors of the  leaves hanging on the trees in such abundance right now around our lake as well as on the road to town. We still have a rose bush blooming and few late day lilies, but very soon the bare browns of November will erase late October’s colors and we will need to adjust to a new kind of beauty.

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Kitchen Adventures from Jeannie and Rick's Travels

Not being a very adventurous cook. I had never cooked wild rice before.  Jeannie, our middle daughter, is a long-distance bicyclist.  A year ago last summer, she rode many miles in Wisconsin and Minnesota.  Her husband Rick plays coach and always accompanies her with the truck to keep her as safe as possible.  When they don’t opt for a motel, they sleep on beds in the truck. 

Last Christmas Jeannie gave all the family members lovely gift baskets with discoveries from their summer bike journey.   One item, which did not last long, was a large yummy iced cinnamon roll in the shape of a mound and called Sin-A-Mound. .  It had come from the Sinsinawa Bakery at the home of the Dominican Sisters at the Sinsinawa Mound in Southwest Wisconsin. Their website explains:

’“Mound Bread’ became famous for its homemade flavor among a growing crowd of admirers in the 1960s and ’70s. People who visited Sinsinawa Mound experienced the wonderful homemade baked goods and wanted more. Although the Sisters never intended to sell it, the bread was so tasty that word spread and the demand continued to grow as the product advertised itself. Today, close to 70,000 baked goods are sold to friends and guests every year. Your purchase helps support the Sinsinawa Dominican Sisters as they continue their mission of preaching and teaching the Gospel.”

Jeannie’s basket also had jar of strawberry-rhubarb jelly.  I saved it for guests since Gerald and I try to use the sugarless kind of jelly; but we did, of course, indulge a bit when this jelly was on the breakfast table for others. That too has been long gone; and consequently, I can’t remember what interesting road side place it came from or whether it was from Wisconsin or Minnesota...

But the pound plastic bag of wild rice was still in my kitchen cabinet until the other day. The directions saying I needed to cook the rice for 45-60 minutes always discouraged me since I am  usually in a hurry and don’t want to be in the kitchen that long making sure something does  not burn.  (The truth is I am a habitual burner, but that long cooking time seemed like a promise to burn if I did not stay and supervise the pot.)

This rice was grown and harvested by the Red Lake Indian Nation in Red Lake, Minnesota.  Until I started studying the Cherokee, I had no idea that there existed sovereign nations within the borders of the United States, but they do.  And evidently this Red Lake Nation, which represents a band of Chippewa Indians, is one of those nations.  If I understood their website, these people separated themselves somewhat from other Chippewa bands because they wanted to continue to hold in common rather than individuals owning land.  Their population is given as 11,422 citizens.  The two joined areas of the Red Lake are featured in their logo in appreciation of the lake providing fresh water and food-- walleye. Here’s a tidbit from their fascinating website:

“The Red Lake Band of Chippewa, through treaties and agreements in 1863 (amended 1864), 1889, 1892, 1904 and 1905, gave up land but never ceded the main reservation surrounding Lower Red Lake and a portion of Upper Red Lake. The unceded land is regarded as the "diminished" reservation and "aboriginal" land. It is comprised of 407,730 acres. In addition, there are 229,300 acres of surface water area.”

“The tribal government has full sovereignty over the reservation, subject only to federal legislation specifically intended for Red Lake, which makes it a "closed" reservation. The Tribe has the right to limit who can visit or live on the reservation.” 

“The reservation completely surrounds Lower Red Lake, the largest inland lake within the borders of Minnesota, and includes a major portion of Upper Red Lake.  The land is slightly rolling and heavily wooded, with 337,000 acres of woodlands under management. There are numerous lakes, swamps, peat bogs and prairies.”

I cheated and cooked the rice in a slow cooker, so I did not have to be in the kitchen.  It turned out chewy and very good.  The skins separated from the kernels, so I am not sure it looked as it would have if I had followed directions, which I intend to do with the wild rice still remaining.

Now I am looking forward to honey for Thanksgiving from this Freeport family.  When Rick was a high school youth, he had a hobby/business of bee hives and the equipment to strain the honey.  Throughout Jeannie and Rick’s marriage, this large two-or- three foot stainless steel container has moved with them.  I thought it was a lovely thing and tried to figure out how they might use it somehow as a piece of furniture, but it always remained in garage or attic storage.   Now Rick has restarted his hobby and placed bee hives on a friend’s land, and he harvested his first honey. Since my daddy was a beekeeper like some of his Craig relatives,  I am extremely pleased that Rick has taken up his hobby again and we have a beekeeper in the family.  

Busy Times with Harvest and Grandkids

Tonight we had fish and goodies from yesterday’s annual fish fry at our village church even though we did not make it there.  It was nice to be the recipient of the give-aways often sent to non-attendees.  I was at Katherine’s yesterday to give meds before and again after lunch, but away at the  noon hour to attend Brianna’s twentieth birthday dinner at Brian and Mary Ellen’s farm. 

Brianna’s birthday cake made by her mother was a work of art.  The chocolate cake with chocolate icing was surrounded  with upright Kit Kats and the top coated with M&M’s. A filmy orange ribbon and bow encircled the border  made from the globally popular confection of crispy wafers covered with chocolate that we inherited from Britain. That ribbed border madethe whole thing look like a decorated rustic candy bowl. On Saturday  Mary Ellen had shown me a photo of the cake on her phone when she took a very very quick break from a field near  Woodsong before rushing on to help with the harvest by driving a header to their fields near Harrisburg.  She said the idea came from Pinterest.  I did not even catch on it was a cake until I read that later on Facebook. 

With all the other colorful decorations, the table and room were quite festive to welcome Bri into her second decade tomorrow.  The huge platter of pork chops were tender and tasty and everything else quite delicious as both Katherine and Sam agreed as they enjoyed the meals Mary Ellen sent to their house. Today Bri is back at Murray before her birthday tomorrow.

One reason Brianna was home was to attend Sam’s Marion High School Homecoming coronation as that had become a tradition for her and Trent and their mom.  Her cousin Sam and girl friend Anna were MC’ing again this year. It had been an exceptionally busy weekend with the parade and senior night game on Friday.  Mary Ellen and I made the parade, which I missed last year.  I knew it was my last and only chance  to see Sam as a drum major since I am really not able to do the long hurried walk from over-crowded parking lot  to the stadium to attend a game anymore.

Katherine made the senior night game with David because a very dear and long-time friend and a friend of the friend had driven up from Nashville, TN, to help her get ready. Deborah and Ira had lived in the apartment below Katherine when she first moved to Nashville. During this fall season, Ira was too busy with their landscaping business to come up with Deborah, so her friend Laura came along to help.  Mary Ellen had brought in a complete meal for the kitchen table, and it was much appreciated with the time-crunch of getting to the game early enough  to see Sam and the band in the pre-game show. 

I remember Katherine’s first New Year’s Eve at that apartment when she and I went back after her Christmas vacation at home.  We could hear the much loved somber tones of Martin Luther King’s famous speech as it drifted up from a recording in their apartment below. Later they became close friends, and even when they all moved to other living quarters, Katherine drove to Deborah’s beauty shop as her token white customer.  So Friday night Deborah lovingly slipped back into her former cosmetology role and did Katherine’s hair and make up for Sam’s senior night.   After the game before they drove back home to Nashville, they and a local friend Wendy helped put Katherine to bed, and Wendy was back to help on Saturday while I was out of town most of the day for a presentation at the Genealogical Society of Southern Illinois..

This afternoon I had just finished finally having time to read last Sunday’s newspaper (October 12) when I went downstairs and saw an email note  from Mary Ellen asking me to save yesterday’s paper since there were photos in there of Trent in John A. Logan College’s first cyber security team. I quickly located that paper beside Gerald’s recliner  and searched for the story and photos.  I could not have been prouder seeing Trent’s picture with the team and knowing he will be among those who will work to defeat the cyber criminals who wreck havoc on our communication and economic systems. 

Autumn Moon Over Woodsong

The moon is growing.  Weather is chilling.  Combines are droning. Fall is here. I love this season.  I guess I better get into the tornado shelter that exists under our front porch and find a few autumn accessories although I am not much into decorating these days. The door in my office opens into the shelter.  Unfortunately when we moved in almost 13 years ago, the house was not quite done yet, and so we used the shelter to store stuff.  It has been a storage spot ever since, but hopefully if we ever needed it in case of a tornado, there would be room for anyone in the house.

We probably have a tornado shelter because of Gerald’s close friend Bobby Sanders. Bobby had been in a tornado or two.  Those winds can topple the big semis that Bobby drove back in those days, so he was quite conscious of tornado danger. When he and Kathryn moved to Crab Orchard, they built a tornado shelter in their back yard and tolerated some laughter from locals.  But when the  tornado destroyed a large part of Marion in 1982 and headed straight towards Crab Orchard, Bobby and Kathryn had a lot of visitors crowding into that shelter with them.

I can still see Mary Ellen coming down the stairs from her bedroom at Pondside Farm in 1982 telling us what the radio had just announced.  My first thought was to call Gerry and Vickie to get them and baby Tara out of their mobile home lying in the tornado’s potential path. When they joined us at Pondside Farm, a road or two away, we all stood in the side yard and watched the tornado from a distance.  It was a sad and scary time with many deaths, and the tornado’s path looking like a war zone.  I could not get over how shredded the left-behind debris was.  So when we built this house and Bobby reminded Gerald to be sure to put in a tornado shelter, we were not hard to persuade. 

Even though  the more recent tornado came through just a very few  miles south of us, we have never had to use the space for refuge.  But I am glad it is there and grateful for the storage area.  At first, water began to drip  from the cold concrete porch floor that was  the ceiling, so Gerald quickly covered it with insulation and solved that problem.  I try to remember to frequently run the dehydrator a couple of hours and empty out the water container when it fills up, so mold is never a problem. 

Where else would I put the old trunk from my childhood that holds the mane of my horse Ginger when it was trimmed once?  Or my first grown-up pair of hose for eight grade graduation?  And letters from old boyfriends?  And lots of letters tied with ribbon  from Gerald during our engagement?  I would like to re-read those someday, but the old trunk is topped with boxes, so I may never get around to that. Elsewhere in the midst of empty boxes and saved stuff are plastic Easter eggs bought on sale for a potential egg hunt, sweet little  pumpkins made of brown metal wire, and a  little straw man that Kimberly brought once that her dad George Wright sent to me, and scads of stuff I need to go through and throw away.  

Now I best resist the temptation to go in there and start reminiscing and get something seasonal to put on the front door and welcome fall to Woodsong. 

Erin Marie Glasco

A woman giving me physical therapy at the hospital last July bubbled over about how much their family loved my granddaughter Erin and how much fun Erin was with all the other players on their long-ago summer team. Naturally I could not have agreed more.

This past weekend was spent celebrating our Erin. Johnston City High School was retiring her No 12 softball shirt at the Homecoming football game.   I stocked up on Zero cola in her honor, and I couldn’t resist buying Neapolitan ice cream in memory of her childhood.  (She liked to slice through the brick-shaped three flavors and called this an ice cream sandwich.  Being the leader that she always was, soon the younger grandkids followed her example.)

We started going to her summer softball games at the Marion park when she was probably five.  I think that was a coed team where no one was supposed to keep score.  We also sat through cold Saturday mornings watching her play soccer. I believe she was the only one of Gerry’s three daughters who lived at the right time and place to participate in soccer. 

I was reminded the other day while reading an old email I’d written that my daughter-in-law Vickie was prepared to fix hot dogs for 50 or 60 kids for Erin’s September birthday party.  She had just found out that little Erin who had asked for a wiener roast for her party had made and passed out flyers at school. Vickie had no idea to whom or to how many. 

And there was the time in Harrisburg when we were there for a family birthday celebration for her older sister Tara.  But we found out that Erin (probably in the third or fourth grade) was supposed to go that same night to a boy-girl party—not just an ordinary  party to which both boys and girls were invited—but a “boy-girl party”!  Not exactly what her parents were thrilled about—and perhaps not even what the hostess mother had realized was going on.  I love the memory because Erin was escorted there and picked up afterwards by both her grandfathers—Gpa Gerald and her late Gpa Ernest.  Those stalwart men figured they could send a message to the party boys that she had protectors.

Before we knew it, she was in junior high and still playing softball, of course, since starting with Tara this was their summer family recreation with Gerry and Vickie serving as volunteer coaches and pitching in at the concession stand.  Perhaps I should say it was a family obsession since with three girls in the sport, countless hours were spent practicing and playing.  There were piano lessons and gymnastics and dance and fishing and cousins and lots of other activities too, but softball was most important to all three daughters.  Little Geri Ann went from going to softball games to play in the sand pile with her friends to playing on a team just like her big sisters. 

I loved the quick summary her dad put on Facebook, and I am going to steal it without his permission since I don’t have time to ask him:

”So proud of Erin as she was an outstanding catcher on so many good teams that I was able to coach and be a part of with her! A state champion junior high school team, a high school team that was 34-1 her senior year I think, a Canadian Cup Championship in 2003, an ASA Gold National Championship in 2004 are among the wins we shared together along with many other outstanding players in our dugout! So as a coach I was blessed to have her.

As a father it was a great thrill to watch her get to catch the great Megan Gibson in the Big 12 Championship and then in the NCAA regionals, super regionals and the College World Series in 2008 with the Texas A and M Softball team. So blessed.

My favorite fact about Erin is that when the Aggies Softball team made it to the title game of the College World Series in 2008 she caught 60 something games and never made a single error the whole season!

That is my proud dad rant and I apologize, but want to be sure Erin knows that I am proud and blessed to have had her as a daughter and player!” 

Gerry dosen’t mention her professional play with USSSA Pride until an injury stopped her.  And my favorite part of her career as a player was the summer in Europe when she was able to travel widely and blog about it.  Since then she has remained active in the sport as a coach in college,  junior,and senior high schools while also giving private lessons to many young girls. One of her childhood ambitions was to teach, and that came true last year.  She pleased me by talking  about how much she loved her junior high kids and teaching them math. You can also imagine how pleased this grandmother was to learn that at her new school she is teaching English to sixth graders, and she also loves this subject and this age group. Now she can use her writing talent.  (Her coaching this year—volleyball and softball-- is at the high school as an assistant.)

To arrive here from Texas for this weekend’s activities, Gerry and Vickie and Erin left College Station as soon as their work day ended Thursday and drove all night.  They arrived at Woodsong early Friday morning.  And soon they were off for appointments and being with Vickie’s mother, who has progressed to being allowed to walk with that broken right leg in a cast. Friday evening was the Homecoming parade, and I had to be satisfied with just seeing Erin in the photos since I needed to be at Katherine’s that evening.  I heard the man near me in the football stands the next day saying how good the parade was. I liked it that some of the floats were still there to see at the sports complex. I am not a football fan and I no longer know Johnston City kids and the blazing sun made everyone miserably hot. (I got my first summer sunburn even though it was autumn.)  Nevertheless, it was a great time, and Johnston City won their Homecoming game over Chester. I enjoyed seeing long-ago friends and watching my beautiful granddaughter being honored for all her hard work, dedication, insults and injuries that allowed her to achieve success in the softball world. 

The celebration for Erin ended Saturday night with Vickie hosting a family party at Mike Mills’ famous 17^th Street Barbecue. It brought back memories of all the birthday parties we enjoyed  with the Johnsons when Gerry and Vickie still lived here. Candace Carter’s one-year-old twins were one of the evening’s hits especially when they enjoyed the cupcakes.  

It was an over-busy weekend with one of Katherine’s aides with her husband at a Saint Louis hospital and Sam busy with the Marion football game, a fifth-quarter party,  and then an all-day band competition at Collinsivllle on Saturday arriving home just in time for Erin’s party.   Mary Ellen was tied up with Parents Weekend for Brianna at Murray State and Brian was tied up with harvesting soybeans. (I did not know their schedule, but I am sure the Eilers were busy up in Freeport too.)  Nevertheless, Gerald, Gerry, and cousin Bryce were able to have Saturday breakfast with the Glasco brothers and cousins at Jonesboro. Erin was able to spend a couple of nights at her cousin Sarah’s house, and Vickie fished in the lake more than once!  It was sad to see them pull away from Woodsong on Sunday morning for the long trip back to Texas. 

Heading Toward Harvest

A few weeks ago the gloriously green corn stalks along our lane pleased my eyes each time I went out.  Then the tall tops and the very bottoms near the roots turned brown, but the green was still preeminent. Slowly and gradually, the length of the green was lessening. Now only a little green remains.

Around the corner onto the main road and down a bit, another experimental corn plot was evidently planted earlier—or perhaps it was a variety with a shorter growing period. Those few rows have been completely brown from top to bottom for a week or two.  Yesterday when I drove to town, I saw that swath of corn was deleted with only the stalks remaining.  (Patches on that farm are small because our neighbor’s fields are all research plots, so there is great variety. We have a standing smile that Gerald cannot keep from feeling some horror that planting weeds is sometimes one of the experiments carried on next door.)

Mary Ellen brought over all the fixings for Reubens the other evening and fixed supper for us.  Brian came over a little later because he was getting his combine ready for harvest.  He arrived all showered and clean shaven with crisp sport shirt on, and we teased him that we expected him to arrive in dusty work clothes. The days ahead will be long and hard, and dirty clothes are the proper prideful uniform of a successful farmer.  Although slack seasons had their advantages, the excitement of those over-busy lengthy days of spring planting and fall harvest were always my favorite farm times. Now in retirement, we can only participate vicariously.

I had not realized it had been a month since I had blogged. Gerald told me the other night that he did not know what was going on here at the farm since I had not blogged in so long.  I often wrote a partial blog in my head as I drove back and forth from farm to town, but once I was home, neglected duties always awaited me and I might not get to the computer.  Or if I did, I was too tired to write and would end up surfing on Facebook. 

I do enjoy getting bits of news, gossip, and updates from local people I seldom see in person anymore, and it is amazing to see photographs and news from far away loved ones and distant friends that I used to only hear from at Christmas. I was able to enjoy the first birthday party of my great great nephew Jace down in Amarillo the other night because of all the posted photos. And last night I enjoyed my friend Lois’s trip to Ireland because the beautiful photos posted out in California made me almost smell the Irish air and I could definitely feel the love of her family group traveling on this adventure together.

I notice that private messaging on Facebook has almost replaced emails and often times phone calls.  There was a time in my life when I spent most Saturday mornings phoning far-away kids or other loved ones for hour-long conversations. Now with our cell phones going with us wherever we go and sometimes with reception poor or calls inconvenient if driving or going through a store check-out line, telephone habits have changed.  I still enjoy occasional hour-long talks with my brother and sister, but otherwise our house phone seems to be used mostly for recorded messages from the pharmacy, politicians, or sales  people.

I have been trying to write a family history essay on my great great great grandfather Cedar Billy Martin down in Tennessee.  I am getting close to finishing and admit I will be glad when I complete this project.  This is the third time I have tried to write about him.  In late 1998, I had just retired from the brief career I had in family literacy, and I was trying to learn to use the Internet on Gerald’s new computer. I accidentlaly became involved with distant unknown cousins here in Illinois who had just discovered this ancestor.  

As emails flew back and forth connecting with researchers from other states, my brother’s son offered to hook us all up by creating  an e-group. So for all these years we have shared information on Cedar Billy, his siblings and children, his neighbors, and several collateral lines. Eventually I had a dozen or so notebooks about various family members. During that time, some in the e-group have died, others learned they really were not related, others gotten sick and had to drop out, others lost interest as lives got busy elsewhere, and some of us have gotten old.  Emails to the group with new information has dried up, but all our exciting discoveries and all our mistaken speculations about whose siblings or children went where are still stored in the e-group’s archives. I have been reviewing those archives and my many notebooks attempting to have this essay ready for my children for Christmas.  I like to imagine that 200 years from now some descendant will find out about Cedar Billy and be as excited as I was when I learned of his existence.

In the meantime, I hope to blog a little more faithfully so that you and Gerald can know what it happening here at Woodsong.