Cecelie's Birthday

Our youngest grandchild Cecelie Elise is 12 today, which in their family is when daughters can get their ears pierced. So her mother has Cecelie and five little girls out shopping at the mall with the ear piercing project as one of their aims. I really do not know how she can possibly be 12 since it seems to me only yesterday we went to Freeport to see her come home from the hospital. I frequently manage to send birthday cards late, and once again I did it. Well, I thought at least it would be post marked on her birthday when I addressed her card and wrote her birthday check. But as usual when I want to mail something, the post person had come on time and today’s mail had already been delivered to our mailbox. The card is waiting in the truck, and I am going to try to get it to town to put it in today’s mail.

Why am I going in the truck? Well, as I had anticipated, the draw of the softball tourney at Alabama was too much for Gerry’s family to skip. Gerald and gramdson Sam left Woodsong yesterday morning in the car to save gas. They arrived for the game in plenty of time as did Bryan and Tara (our oldest grandchild) and their three little guys who had arrived at Woodsong at 2:30 a.m. and slept till everyone woke up.

After breakfast and Gerald’s return from an early morning trip to town for cash, Maddux (who had been begging for a tractor ride) and Aidan and even Payton had their outings on wheels with Gpa Gerald. Bryan took Payton on a ride down the road in a little wagon, and Sam, who had spent the night, was also outside entertaining these three little ones letting them run off steam before they had to get back in their car for the next long jaunt to Alabama,. Only the anticipation of seeing Gpa Gerry and Gma Vickie and Aunt G made that prospect palatable to Aidan. Although Bryan has to return to work, Tara and the three boys are staying in Watkinsville with Gerry and Vickie next week.

Tara and I too were outside enjoying the beautiful warm weather and watching the boys run and play, kicking and throwing a ball, and riding anything with wheels that they could get an adult to ride them on. Interesting how balls and wheels delight boys. All too soon, everyone had to load up for Alabama. I waved them all off and came into a quiet house.

Ignoring the breakfast dishes, I did some reading and then continued working on some Martin family history that I am focusing on now. Oddly, I have re-connected with a California grandmother who is doing research on the Martins for her grandson Codi. (She is not a Martin, but her daughter married a Martin descendant. I find that very impressive that she is willing to research someone else’s family line for her young grandson.)

I say re-connected because she had written me an email several years ago about this branch of the family. (My great Uncle Jim’s son moved to California in the 1940s and local Martins had lost touch with him.) I even found those two emails from her in an email account I rarely use, and she explained clearly how the descendancy went. What is so embarrassing is that I had wanted this information and then totally forgot I had it in those long ago emails. Sometimes I wonder about my mind.

Nevertheless, the reconnection was good and I have been busily corresponding by email this week with her. She has sent me more information, and I have sent her more family and friend connections and stories. This correspondence will serve me well when I continue the work I started many years about my great grandfather William Felix Grundy Martin of Sleepy Hollow in rural Goreville.

I started asking questions about William Felix’s life decades ago and have written several different attempts with updates as the years progressed. I just completed and mailed a short version to the Johnson County Historical and Genealogical Society, which is asking for family histories for a 2012 book they plan to publish.

After completing that and then having this stimulating email correspondence with Codi’s grandmother, I am inspired to try my best to finish this long essay and hope to get it published in Saga, a regional genealogical journal. Then when I leave the planet, other descendants will have access to the information. Certainly I have much more information now than I did when I put a short bio on the back of a photo of him decades ago or even when I first wrote about him with more length in 1995.

I cannot seem to do anything on a scheduled basis anymore, so once again I am late with what is supposed to be mid-week blogging. And since I need to mail this belated birthday card to Cecelie, I am going to run into town to the post office where mail goes out at 6 p.m. I think I will be tempted to go by Katherine’s house and watch the second game between #2 Alabama and #1 Georgia tonight with her on ESPNU at 7 CT. We lost 2-1 last night, so we are hoping the Georgia will be more ready for Alabama’s All American pitcher tonight. I watched on Game Tracker last night here at Woodsong, but I think I will want someone to cheer with me for the Dawgs tonight.

What a Difference

What a difference a week makes. Last Saturday we were freezing at the Southern Illinois University Carbondale softball tourney. This week we were burning up. Sweaters came off, and the occasional person in shorts did not look out-of-place. Outside the stadium and beyond the fence on the green slope there, many were sitting comfortably on the grass to watch the game.

Last week I forgot to take a blanket, and although I knew it was warmer yesterday, I had not been outside when we left before noon for the 1 p.m. game against DePaul. So I stuck in a blanket just in case we stayed for the late afternoon game against University of Illinois at Chicago and it grew chilly. We didn’t stay for the second game even though they announced it would be in 30 minutes instead of at 4 p.m. Even if we had stayed and the game had been at 4 as scheduled, we would not have needed that blanket in the backseat of the car. But I would have been sunburned because yesterday I forgot the sunscreen and my sunglasses. I will surely get organized before the end of the softball season.

University of Georgia had four at-home softball games in a row starting with a pick-up game against Penn State on Thursday and then three days with a game against 21st-ranked Louisiana State University.

Four wins later, the Georgia Bulldogs are now heading to South Carolina for a double header on Wednesday. This weekend they will be in Tuscaloosa playing against #2 Alabama. Saturday night’s game at 7 CT will be broadcast on ESPN. Nevertheless, there are a lot of Illinois folk right now who are fighting the impulse to drive to Alabama for what should be some pretty spectacular softball. Alabama has a 24-1 record right now and Georgia has a 21-1 record.

Last summer when the Union County Historical Society entertained the Illinois Chapter of the Trail of Tears Association after its meeting in the nearby Catholic church, I talked to president Pat Brumleve asking about the possibility of donating my collection of childhood scrapbooks to the archives the museum is creating. The society newsletter is always asking for old documents, photographs, and paper ephemera. Pat said to bring them down. I figure getting rid of them now will save my children that problem later and perhaps save the scrapbooks from being burned. The museum has just reopened for the 2011 season and is staffed by volunteers on Saturdays and Sundays from 1-5. I had stuck in the two boxes of scrapbooks just in case there was time to drive on down to Cobden between games yesterday.

I asked Gerald if he had time to drive down, and he agreed to go. A new Civil War display had opened, and I was interested in seeing it as well as getting the scrapbooks out of the garage before mice got into them. We were fortunate to have Judy and Will Travelstead as our tour guides yesterday since they are so knowledgeable about local history as well as knowing every inch of this Old DeBois building that they were instrumental in saving.

Without the Travelsteads’ and others’ volunteerism, that building might very well have been torn down by now and a community treasure never established. Rather than have bake sales or other such fund raisers, the museum operates a beautiful gift store on the newly refinished north side. People donate lovely old collectibles of all kinds and they are sold at inexpensive prices, but money comes in to help finance the building and its activities. I could not resist five hand-crafted Easter eggs, some sprays of wine-colored glass berries that just match our living room couch. And it is almost impossible for me to go by collections of second-hand books and leave empty handed, so I brought out two of those also.

On our way down to Cobden, Gerald had phoned our friends Bill and Mickey Tweedy to say we were coming to town and to consider getting together to go out to eat. Bill, an outstanding horticulturalist, was using the beautiful day to start garden work, but he said come on over after we did our museum visit. We always love driving the rural roads leading to their lovely retirement home atop one of the scenic hills on Bill’s boyhood fields. His brother Jim and wife Mary also live nearby on another part of their boyhood farm.

We became so comfortable visiting in the Tweedys’ living room enjoying their new recliner couches that Mickey suggested we just bring in something to eat rather than having to go out and then maybe find ourselves in a place too noisy to keep visiting. After some discussion of possibilities, we sent the two men to town to bring home a pizza.

Mickey also served us some bean salad she had in the fridge, and at the end of the meal asked if we liked canned peaches. I frequently buy cans of peaches, so I said yes. But her home-canned Cobden peaches from the peach capitol of our state were nothing like the ones I pour out of a tin can. They were cold and luscious. With a plate of miniature cheesecakes from their freezer sitting there in the middle of the table tempting us along with the peaches, we sat long at the table. We visited for hours without the annoyance of conscientious wait folk interrupting to ask us if everything was all right.

We came back to Woodsong much later than we had planned and woke up to many unfinished household tasks this morning. We also woke up refreshed by the memories of the good time the night before.

Yes, our pecking bird visited us both yesterday morning and this morning, Gerald said. Although I was up by 7:30 both days, I did not hear our avian friend because he or she had already quit pecking. I was impressed that this bird knew we were now on Daylight Savings Time and made the adjustment.

Banging the Head Against a Glass Wall

No, I am not talking about the glass ceiling for women executives although I know that is a problem for many women. I am talking about a small bird that is driving me nuts. (Actually it is medium size—neither small nor large for a bird.) Starting last Sunday morning, we had a bird fly to our top windows in the living room where a sill exists that separates the bottom windows from the top four (two large in the middle and two small on the sides). Here the living room makes a slight triangle looking out to our lake.

For the more than two hours after we woke up Sunday until we left the house, this bird was knocking on one or the other of the two larger windows. He or she might fly away for a few minutes, but then he or she would return to sit on the sill and bang again many times before taking a break. It was very upsetting and puzzling as to why any bird would do such a thing. I can’t see much more than its head peeking over the sill and knocking away, and I do not know what kind of bird this is. We have had birds walk on that window sill before looking in on us with curiosity, and I always liked that and might often have a one-sided conversation with the bird. We have beautiful woodpeckers at our feeders often, but we have never before had a glass pecker.

Was the bird hungry? Obviously the bird was not getting anything to eat by banging its bill against glass. Besides, the bird feeder on the deck below offered a good breakfast without any need for knocking. Gerald suggested maybe the bird was looking for a nesting place—but nothing that high up in our living room could possibly look like anything offering shelter for a nest.

I was very sympathetic to the bird, and I was afraid it would eventually knock itself out. The first thing I did when we came from church was to check the deck. No bird. As Gerald pointed out, the ones in the past (only a couple in last l0 years) who fell dead were flying and ran into the glass door or window accidentally at high speed. This bird was quite consciously and deliberately choosing to return again and again and knock on the window with its beak. Of course, we had to comment on the definition of insanity—doing the same thing over and over and being surprised with the same result. I was just glad the knocking was over and the bird did not show up during our lunch.

But the knocking is not over. (I call its noise “knocking” because it is loud and can be heard two rooms off in the kitchen. Knock. Knock. Knock.) Every day this week for a couple of hours in the morning this persistent creature starts our day and its day with this knocking for a couple of hours. Since I am often a late riser, I only hear the last efforts while Gerald hears the early knocking. It was a day or two before I even realized what was happening.
That day Gerald had planned to be away, and I was up early. I thought I would take advantage of no lunch to prepare and sit in our living room and try to catch up on the huge collection of magazines I wanted to read and pass on to a magazine-loving friend. Just sitting in the living room relaxing is a treat I don’t often indulge in—. I was looking forward to this. Then our too-friendly bird flew back just as I sat down. With the constant knocking, I can’t claim too much relaxation happened. Now on the sixth day, I am no longer sympathetic to this bird. I want to yell at it and ask it what kind of a bird brain it is.

I am wondering how long the bird is going to keep knocking. Does it want inside? Does it like the noise it creates? Does it have some kind of pain that the rhythmic pecking distracts from? Does it think it might win a mate by being a drummer? Or is it an insane bird that does not have a mental health center to help it?

Chilly Weekend in Southern Illinois

Two pairs of stockings. Two pair of slacks. Two tops covered with corduroy jacket. Warm snuggly gloves, Warm hat down over my ears and to the top of my glasses. And a winter coat over it all. That’s how I dressed yesterday to go to Southern Illinois University Carbondale’s first home softball game.

We awoke to a very rainy Saturday and learned Erin and others were hard at work with the squeegee trying to get the field ready for their home tournament. Although I was ready to jump in the car and make it to the stadium if they played at 12 as originally scheduled, Gerald and I did not think that was going to happen as the light rain kept coming off and on. So I fixed our lunch and learned the noon game was cancelled, two teams were playing at 2, and SIUC would be playing the Kentucky Wildcats at 4.

Our car showed the temperature as 40 degrees when we parked it, and I felt smug that I knew how to dress for cold weather as we walked to the stadium. Inside we were able to find plastic seats with backs as opposed to the aluminum benches that are tortuous on cold days. Obviously not too many people were willing to brave this chill after it finally quit raining. Immediately I realized I had forgotten the most important thing for cold weather softball: bring a blanket to cover up with. I thought longingly of all the wasted blankets at home, but I also noticed others with less warm gear than us. I decided not to whine. The Kentucky team had a young but fine pitcher, and after six straight wins away from home, our Salukis lost 9-6.

It was still 40 degrees when we got back to the car. When Erin met us afterwards at Fazoli’s for supper, we knew we had made the right choice. The bread sticks came to us almost too hot to hold, but they sure felt good to winter-cold hands,

Georgia’s tournament games were cancelled yesterday, and we figured Gerry was wishing he could have gone with Vickie, Geri Ann, and Gma Shirley to his third grandson’s first birthday party. We would have liked to have been there for that also, but it was just too much of a trip and we had other obligations.

Usually I only assist my young friend Kim Barger with the preschoolers in our Sunday School class, but she was away taking her mother on a long dreamed of cruise. Despite her mother’s health problems, Kim had permission from her doctor after explaining a cruise was on her mother’s bucket list. With all three of her daughters, her brother and wife, and some grandkids on the cruise, I am feeling confident that Joan will come home very happy even if exhausted from the trip. I am eager to hear about it.

That left me and Deana Starnes responsible for our preschoolers. Since we were studying Genesis 1 about God making the light and the dark, our activities focused on that. We had some cards with pictures on both sides to illustrate night and day and with punched holes for the kids to lace through with yarn. I am not sure this group had ever done that before, and they enjoyed it and immediately decided to take the cards home for their mothers.

Last week, they had been using some toy plastic saws during their free play, and I did not like their trying to saw on the little red rocker because I was pretty sure it was going to be scratched. Kim brought some short pieces of lumber for children to hammer nails into when we talked once about building a couple of years ago. But those were no longer available. So Gerald made us short blocks to saw on out of some of the scraps of lumber in his shop. The kids appreciated that.

SIUC was playing today at 1 and 4; and although Gerald was tempted to go back over to see them play, today the temperature was 30 degrees, so he chose to stay home and listen to Georgia’s game. They won, and SIUC split their games today.

I went in to see Katherine, and she and I watched Robert Duvall in the 1983 movie Tender Mercies, which won him an Academy Award for Best Actor. I so rarely watch movies that I knew nothing about the movie. We both liked the understated way the film showed time lapses with no attempt to bridge the scenes together letting us do that in our own minds. I loved the set with a realistic house so like many homes I have seen. Katherine commented that the brown and white afghan on the living room couch was just like one in their closet passed down from David’s grandmother

Gerald and I met up this evening to hear his friend Wendell Garrison’s sermon. Katherine was not quite up to getting ready in time to go, but she wanted to free up David to go and pick up Sam who would be there after his youth meeting. I wanted to stay with her, but she wanted me to go be with Gerald. She also wanted some alone time and this was her opportunity. During the afternoon, she had enjoyed the yummy brownies that Mary had sent home with David for her this morning. Mary says she loves to cook, and sending homemade food is her ministry. I was able to tell her how much Katherine enjoyed them as I bet the whole family did after evening church. We’ve made plans to go to lunch with Wendell and Mary soon and are looking forward to the opportunity to visit a little longer.

Gerald suggested going for a sandwich before driving to the farm; and since I had nothing at home to feed him except what I had fed us at lunch, that seemed a good idea.

After coming home tonight, I discovered that Tender Mercies was directed by Australian Bruce Beresford who did Driving Miss Daisy and another of my all-time favorites Breaker Morant. Somehow finding that out gave me a pleasant ending to the day.

Pot Roasts, Laundry, and the First Daffodils

Returning from taking in a roast and veggies to Katherine’s family, I got a phone call from Gerald who had been trying to reach me on my cell phone. He said our granddaughter Erin was coming over and wanted to take us out to supper, but he told her just to stop by and bring a pizza out to the farm as he figured I’d be tired just getting back from town.

“Oh, but I’ve got a roast with potatoes and carrots waiting for us in the oven,” I exclaimed. (I’d just made two pot roasts at once in the oven, had transferred one to the crock pot to plug in at the Cedar house so they could eat whenever it was convenient for them, and the other was waiting in the oven for our supper.) So Gerald said he’d call Erin to skip bringing out the pizza. The prospect of Erin’s supper visit brightened my drive home.

Gerald was long gone when I woke up this morning as he headed down to our home territory in Union County to celebrate his brother Garry’s birthday with breakfast at Ginger’s favorite restaurant at Jonesboro. (Garry is conscientious to take her out to breakfast since this is her best meal to consume before she tires later in the day.) Their brother Keith was meeting them there too, of course.
I did not really expect Gerald back for lunch as I knew he and Garry would have a lot of visiting to do. So I planned the roast for supper although usually we eat our main meal at noon and just have soup and a sandwich or something simple in the evening. I figured if he came back by lunch time, we’d have our sandwich at noon. As it turned out, he pulled into our garage this afternoon just as I was preparing to leave for town to go get Sam from his trombone lesson, so we had had very little communication today. It was lovely to have a leisurely supper with him and Erin to catch up on the day’s events.

I encourage our grandkids to bring their laundry when they visit since we are fortunate enough to have a washer/drier on both floors and they can finish quickly. This happened accidentally. When we built this house with a full walkout basement and its two bedrooms there, the plans were for a laundry downstairs on one end of my office, which backs up to the downstairs bathroom and the plumbing there. I figured if we sold the house at sometime in the future, another person might want to use the room for a sewing or craft room and the laundry would be convenient for that person too.

Our building contractor had insisted I needed a laundry shoot in the bottom of the upstairs bathroom vanity directly over my office, so I would not have to carry dirty clothes down. This made sense and I figured he was right, so I told him to go ahead.

I was leery of this because of very young grandkids. When we moved in, I proceeded to cover it up with a stainless steel tray I bought at Salvation Army for this purpose and put supplies there to conceal the tray. My fear came from Mary Ellen’s story of driving in Grinnell one day and hearing the story of the firemen at her friend’s house where the daughter and a visiting girl friend decided to travel down their laundry shoot—and she got stuck inside. I have used the shoot a few times and am glad it is there I’m also glad it is covered up so that now ten years later I don’t have to worry about great grandkids taking an adventure that would drop them down on the concrete floor that the carpet would not do much to soften.

As it turned out, the people buying our farm house had their own much newer washer/drier and did not want ours left behind. So we moved the machines over the half mile to this house and hooked them up in the garage on the upstairs ground level floor. With all going on with settling into a new house, the new downstairs washer and drier were not hooked up for several months. By then, I realized how convenient having the washer/drier in the garage right by the kitchen was.

After we did get the new washer/drier operating, I did not want to change my habits although I was very grateful for the convenience of doing sheets and towels there from the bath and two downstairs bedrooms there. During the two summers we had family living with us in the downstairs and during the many vacation and holiday visits, having two sets of laundry equipment has been a boon for all of us although I would not have thought to plan for that convenience.

So tonight after supper, Erin was running up and down the stairs keeping the machines running and resting on the couch reading a book between loads. Gerald and I both enjoyed her presence, and we both fell asleep while we were reading, which is pretty typical of our evenings. We woke before she loaded her car down with clean laundry telling her we’d see her at the Saluki softball games on Saturday.

Yesterday when I drove to town for a friend's funeral, I imagined that instead of the dull roadside soon I’d be seeing the large patch of daffodils that I enjoy each spring. Today I did not have to imagine. The first ones were up waving their yellow heads at me as I passed. They will be joined by a host of others and that area between the road and the woods will be a brilliant yellow in another week or so.

I also noticed yesterday that Katherine’s crocus by the front lamp pole were peeking yellow heads up from their winter’s sleep. She sent me out with a tiny vase today, and with Sam’s help I picked the first three to brighten their family room with a promise of more blooms to come from the many flowers Katherine planted when she was still able to garden.

It is too early for winter to be over, but these first glimpses of the coming spring are refreshing our spirits and lightening our moods.

After the Weekend

Southern Illinois University Carbondale softball Salukis did it again. They won all five games in the Fort Myers tournament down in Florida. They have won their last l0 games We are so proud of them. Fun finding out on Facebook that granddaughter Erin went swimming and had dinner on the beach down there this chilly weekend. They will play at home against Kentucky at noon Saturday and Wright State at 4. On Sunday they will face Purdue at 3 and Southern Illinois University Edwardsville at 5.

University of Georgia softball lost their first game to Oklahoma State and our son Gerry is having a hard time getting over that loss. They are now 14-1, so obviously I did not manage to teach this assistant coach that it is not whether you win or lose but how you play the game. Although in all honesty, he is very concerned about how they play the game. Like the head coach, he wants excellence, and they are getting it from their players. Megan Wiggins, whom some think is the best collegiate softball player in the United States, was named this morning at Southeastern Conference Player of the Week. She is definitely fun to watch.

Georgia’s last game at the Cathedral City Classic was Saturday evening against ESPN’s number one ranked Arizona and was much anticipated as the two first-ranked teams faced each other. We were getting bored and frustrated watching a very slow Game Tracker Saturday evening when a phone call from Katherine alerted us to a website with a radio announcer. Since the announcer kept talking to someone in the box and telling us he could not see because his vision was blocked by the umpire, this proved a cure for boredom. By the time he had answered someone’s question with “I don’t know,” multiple times, I was hysterical laughing. Of course the fact that the Georgia Dawgs shut Arizona down 8-0 in the fifth inning also worked against boredom.

Sunday morning I fixed chicken breasts ready to be popped into the over when I returned from church and experimented with orange zest and other additions for flavor. After lunch and a quick clean-up of the kitchen, I went to Katherine’s for the afternoon. I was hoping Gerald, who had trouble sleeping the night before, would catch up on his rest in his recliner. (He is awaiting a new sleep mask because he seems to have developed an allergy to his old one, which sets his face to itching. That is not inductive to good sleep.) We both ended up at Marion Second Baptist that evening, where our friend Wendell Garrison is serving and then were home for a bowl of soup at the kitchen table together.

I went to bed at 11:30 last night after first falling asleep in my chair reading. I heard some hard winds along with the rain before I fell back asleep, but didn’t think much about it. We are grateful for the rains we’ve been receiving that have filled our lake to its overflow limit. This morning on Facebook, I learned people in our village were scared and hoping the Methodist Church would open the storm shelter there. The village was spared but evidently some of our neighbors between our farm and the village had some roof damage.

So did my sister and husband in Amarillo, Texas. My brother-in-law, his son-in-law, and his grandson were repairing that roof on their next door rental house when my sister called to see how we were since she’d heard about the high winds here. She was not complaining, however, since just north of them many people lost homes to a fire fanned by 70 mile per hour winds. Everyone had to be evacuated as the fires would jump across roadways rapidly and time for getting out was limited. People did not know until today if their homes was among the 27 that burned. For safety’s sake, residents were not given passes to return to their smoldering neighborhoods until today. The ones whose houses remain are sleeping without electricity tonight, but they recognize they are the lucky ones.

A migrating flock of little ducks with white-feathered bellies have joined our larger more colorful ones at the lake. This morning I stood at our bedroom window when I arose and watched two of the little ducks disappear under the water for what seemed a long time, and then resurface. It was a peaceful beginning to a new week before I faced the troubled world. With all this dangerous weather in so many places, the deaths of several in our community, the serious illnesses of family and friends, and the horror of what is happening in Libya, it is difficult to enjoy the peaceful surroundings here at the farm. The little visiting ducks certainly help.

We're No. 1!!

After winning five more games in their second at-home tourney, the University of Georgia Bulldogs softball team ranked No. 1 in the Top 25 Poll by the USA Today/National Fast Pitch Coaches Association Divisoon 1. This high ranking is the first in school history. Georgia switched places with the UCLA Bruins who were first. With a l0-0 record, Georgia received 16 first place votes over the UCLA’s 10 first place votes. The Dawgs travel to California this weekend for a tourney, and we are wishing them the best.

Southern Illinois University Carbondale Salukis also did well last weekend when they won the Bulldog Round-Robin at Starksville, MS. Michelle Bradley was named MVP of the tournament there, and Haley Gorman, Jayna Spivey, and Taylor Orsburn were also named to the all-tournament team. The Salukis will be at Fort Meyers, FL, this weekend.

Gerald and I will be kept busy trying to catch games on Game Tracker.

After visiting with Katherine Sunday afternoon, David assigned me to go to evening church service to pick up Sam. Sam took me up on going out to eat after the service, and I had the privilege of eating supper at Bob Evans with my tall 8th grade grandson.

Sunday morning Gerald and I took our assigned time with the older preschoolers during the morning worship service. With help from Cody Barger and Tyler Diefenbach, we had adequate hands to keep the kids occupied and safe. Tracy Diefenbach brought in our one toddler present after Boone finished his nap, and he enjoyed watching the older kids play. I remember when Cody was one of the preschoolers, and then as he grew up, he became one of helpers with the preschoolers. Now it is satisfying to see our college kids still helping with the preschoolers. I grew up with no interaction with little ones and was so ignorant and inexperienced when I had children of my own. I think these older youth learn a great deal about child care as they participate in programs for the preschoolers.

I cannot seem to stick with my Sunday/Wednesday blog writing schedule anymore for some reason. Maybe I need to revise my schedule to Monday and Thursday. However, yesterday I spent the morning with some imaging tests over at Carterville that turned out to give me good news, but I was so sleepy when I got home and lunch was over that I just wanted to nap during the rainy overcast afternoon and I did. I also had as one goal yesterday to finish reading the 576 page Volume 1 of The Moravian Springplace Mission to the Cherokees. Despite just having a few pages to read, I took the afternoon nap falling asleep while watching Book Notes in Gerald’s recliner.

I did not attempt to finish the book until this morning. Dr. Rowena McClinton from Southern Illinois University Edwardsville translated, edited and wrote the introduction to these two volumes of the journal primarily written by Anna Gambold. John and Anna Gambold served the mission from 1805 until Anna’s death in 1821. Dr. McClinton had to translate Anna’s account of the daily life there in Springplace, Georgia, from the archaic German script Her introduction and many footnotes were as interesting as the daily account of the missionaries’ triumphs and troubles as they served the Cherokees whom they loved. Hmmm. Now I get to start Volume II. Maybe I will start it this weekend between games on Game Tracker. I can bounce back and forth between the communication of the early 19th century and that of the 21st Century.

Finally SIWG Meets Again

A week before I did not go to our village church business meeting because of the icy roads. Since the meeting was postponed, I attended this week in spring-like weather. I was glad I did. because we were able to vote to give $500 to our homeless shelter in nearby Marion that feeds many families, vote for Jo Barger to begin making plans for a free monthly fellowship meal and social time for local senior citizens, and renew our commitment to our church food pantry for families in need. (Oddly despite increased unemployment, we had ended up with donated food in our pantry growing old. So we had to empty it and quickly give items to the homeless shelter to avoid waste.) Now we will have a volunteer to take charge of the pantry and a plan to insure the pantry is emptied at the end of each month by taking it to some family, who can use it. There were other good ideas and good deeds discussed, and it was a worthwhile evening.

Then last night--again in warm weather but with March-like winds whipping car doors closed and making steering difficult—we finally had a Southern Illinois Writers Guild meeting at our community college. Years ago we quit meeting in December because of members’ busy schedules, and then this year bad weather caused our January meeting to be cancelled. So it was truly good to see everyone again.

It was inspiring to hear Heather Stewart Harris, a young middle-school teacher, tell openly of her bi-polar illness, which caused her to feel a need to share her story so that more people can understand that mental illness is not something to be ashamed of. The title of her book The Love That Will Not Let Me Go was based on the hymn her pastor shared with her during her hospitalization. She expressed her awe that the lyrics published by George Mattheson in 1882 were exactly what she needed during the 21st Century to help her heal. She expressed appreciation for the right doctor and proper meds as she learned to overcome her extreme perfectionism that had haunted her throughout life.

A highlight for me was seeing Charlotte Hartley back after several years’ absence while she focused on her career as a speech language pathologist in the public schools. She reported that after being immersed by her career, she now in retirement has time to read and write again. Her presence was especially meaningful to me because she presented me with a chapter book Cherokee Boy by Alexander Key published in 1957. I did not know of this book, and I started reading it today.

Erin is in Starksville, Mississippi, with the Salukis this weekend, and University of Georgia is hosting its second at-home tourney. Gerald and I are listening to the audio on his computer. He is coughing and try to recover from the winter cold he probably caught last weekend. DuWayne, a softball enthusiast, had so much fun last weekend that he is back at Athens at the Jack Turner Stadium again this weekend with his wife Vickie.

Play ball!

Our lake was bright green this morning with gentle waves heading south. Yesterday took care of the last of the ice patches. At mid-morning, the south end of the lake with the sun beating down, the surface was a mass of glistening dancing silver. Except the many with the flu, people were out and about yesterday to enjoy the warm sunshine. With Erin in Houston this past weekend for Southern Illinois University Carbondale’s first softball tournament, and Gerald and our nephew DuWayne attending the tournament at University of Georgia’s stadium, spring seemed to have arrived.

Tara and her three boys had not been able to resist going down for this special weekend to take part in celebrating her sister Geri Ann’s 17th birthday. In fact, Aidan told her, “Mom, we have to go. I’ll help you.” I am not sure if he felt that way because of the opening of softball season, Aunt G’s birthday, or because he was lonesome for Grandma Vickie and Grandpa Gerry. Probably all three. Since the Georgia Dawgs won their five games, it was a successful weekend down there. (SIUC won two out of three.)

The two Illinois cars traveled back here in tandem until Gerald and DuWayne turned to drop off DuWayne. So Tara beat Gerald to Woodsong shortly after midnight and carried in three sleeping boys one at a time. I had gone downstairs to greet them when they arrived, and I took Payton from his car seat and held him briefly after he started crying when his mother left him to bring in sleeping Maddux from his car seat. It did not help since I was not the one Payton was crying for.

By then, Maddux was slightly awake and also crying, but Tara soon had him soothed and back to sleep in the portable crib waiting for him. (He needs to sleep in a room away from the others, so Payton gets the baby bed that we borrowed from Mary Ellen many years ago.) Last Tara carried in Aidan, who quickly kicked off his shoes and put himself to bed. Only when Tara took Payton again, did he stop crying, and she soon had all three children asleep in a very brief time.

I was in my pajamas and went back upstairs and crawled in our bed and was already asleep before Gerald arrived shortly later. We both were hoping to get a glimpse of Tara and the little ones this morning, but we knew it would be best if we did not because they had to leave at six to get Aidan home for his preschool Valentine party that was very important to him. Maddux had a hard time understanding why Gerald could not take him for a ride on the little tractor smoothing out the ball field at the stadium, and since he did not have a valentine party awaiting him, he would have probably never understood why Gerald couldn’t give him a ride here at the farm. As it turned out, even though Gerald went down at 6:15, they were already gone and on their way north. When he connected with them by cell phone later, they had gone through the drive-in for breakfast several towns above us. I bet Aidan made his party.

I enjoyed the weekend and especially seeing Sam play on his church league basketball team Saturday afternoon. I’d heard how good he had gotten and had not been in to see him in his night games. Dave, Katherine, and I went out to eat afterwards, but Sam had been invited to his buddy Josh’s house to partake of some special cookies awaiting there. He felt a little deprived when he learned we’d gone out to eat, but we took him home some chicken and dumplings that he especially likes from Cracker Barrel.

The women at our village church who always plan a Valentine party for the kids had decided the most efficient way for families was to simply stay after the morning service yesterday. The fellowship hall was beautifully decorated for the occasion and we all enjoyed barbecues along with carried-in covered dishes and desserts. While adults visited after the meal, there were special activities for the kids with the teens helping them. We were glad for many visitors since some of our kids were home sick. I had left-over chocolate cake to share with Eddy and to take in to the Cedars.

So when the festivities were over, I drove in to Katherine and David’s house and enjoyed an afternoon visit with them. Dave had to get his car serviced for a special trip he and Sam are taking tomorrow, so I got to drive Sam to his afternoon Bible study. I have been occasionally driving him and buddies to and from places since pre-K days, and I am only too aware that in two years he will definitely not want me to drive him anywhere. But if I am lucky, he may drive me occasionally. He knows I am counting on that. Katherine was not feeling well after a rough morning, so she and I watched television on the big screen while her men folks were away at their evening church service. I came home to check softball scores on the computer and finish reading the Sunday paper and other diversions until Tara arrived.

Winter Weather

As a newly wed, I complained about the weather once, and my farmer husband suggested I ought not to complain about the Lord’s weather. The more I thought about it, the more it made sense. His counsel has saved me a great deal of misery down through the years. Complaining does not change the weather. It only makes one more unhappy about the weather, and it presumes you know what the weather ought to be. We do know that the rain fails falls on the just and the unjust, and usually over a long enough period of years, everyone gets a share of good and bad weather—however that can be defined.

With all the bitter cold and deep snows in many parts of the nation, I certainly know I should not complain here in Southern Illinois. And I am not.

On Saturday we had snow on the ground and slick roads, but on Sunday snow had melted, roads were clear, and I left my coat in the car because I did not even need it going into church or Katherine’s house. On Monday we woke to light snow on the ground again. Then it cleared. Yesterday there were tiny flakes coming down at various times through the day, and the many birds were very appreciative of the bird feeder on the deck, but the ground was never covered.

I looked out the bedroom window this morning and saw a lone deer walking through the brown field toward the area on either side of a ditch draining into our lake. Fresh green plants were emerging there where Gerald had planted last fall, and the deer was soon munching happily. It took me awhile to see four dark spots at the edge of that draining area, and I watched quite awhile before one moved and I realized the first deer was not alone after all. When I heard Gerald go out the garage door in that direction to his shop, all five fled to the woods beyond jumping over the fence with white tails flying. That fresh green area is white now from today’s snow.

As it snowed through the morning, the television was announcing that many area schools were dismissing early, but not ours. Gerald had a routine doctor checkup in the afternoon, and he reported that coming home in his truck the roads were slick. So I did not go to the monthly business meeting at our village church as I had planned to do. He says he will take me in the morning at 8:00 for the blood work appointment—made a year ago. I will listen before we go to see if Sam’s school is cancelled tomorrow. And I will have to find out about his band concert tomorrow night.

I know it is bitter cold in Texas where my nieces write the temp on Facebook and did not open their gift shop today urging their customers to stay home and stay warm. It was nice to read that Trevor went up to my sister and brother-in-law’s home and cleared their sidewalk while daughter, granddaughter, and two-year-old Allie provided them company.

The minor inconveniences we have had so far this winter are unimportant, but I do feel great sympathy for those wherever they are with cold houses, cars buried in snow or cars that won’t start, or water pipes frozen—we had that for so many years at the other house when Gerald had difficult days keeping waterers thawed and livestock safe. And I feel great distress for those suffering tornadoes and true calamities, such as floods that break levies and destroy homes and families.. Those are the weather events that try men’s souls and characters. Coping and rising to the challenge of survival is happening all over the nation right now, and that is proving again how tough people can be. Extreme weather certainly is not the weather most of us would choose, but complaining does no good. As Shelley said, if winter comes, spring is on its way.

An Exhilarating Day on the Trail of Tears

Snow covered the ground when I woke up this Saturday morning, and it was still snowing. I’d been reviewing my own research this week on the Trail of Tears through the western side of Union County and had so looked forward to an informal forum that our president of the Illinois Chapter of the Trail of Tears had planned for the board of directors today. Several of us were getting together with some local experts she’d invited to share maps and information and try to find the routes the Cherokees took to get from Jonesboro to the Mississippi River in the winter of 1838-39. Seeing the snow, I just knew I might get a phone call cancelling the event, and if I didn’t, I wondered if I would be wise to drive.

This group was to meet at the Trail of Tears Lodge and resort in You Be Dam Holler (never sure how to spell that or its sister holler I Be Dam Holler). If you have ever been there, you know why I might be afraid to drive there on slick roads. But our president Sandy Boaz is brave and not inclined to give up on a project as proven by her 20 plus years’ work to get Camp Ground Cemetery certified as a Trail of Tears site. Gerald said he would take me in the truck, and we saw three cars in the ditch on the way to town. He called Sandy for me to make sure we were meeting, and she was already almost to the lodge in the holler getting ready to help Deb Charles set up coffee and rolls for us.

Ron and Deb Charles are both descended from early Cherokee, who lived at Elco, and their ranch and resort is located on what some of us believe is one of the many routes the Cherokee took as the 11,000 or so spread out and sought passable roads over to the Mississippi River. The resort caters to horse people, and the restaurant is open on weekends. It is wise to get reservations since road advice is valuable. The lodge is in a converted old barn, one of my favorite places, and Ron and Charles have living quarters upstairs. Deb helped get the National Trail of Tears Association started as well as our Illinois chapter.

The drive down Interstate 57 was beautiful with snow-laden cedars lining the bluffs, and of course the road into Fair City and You Be Dam Holler and across the bridge into the lodge is always picturesque. There are two ways to get here, and fortunately Gerald chose the safer one since one of our group got into a ditch using the other way.

The day was spent pouring over old maps, listening to information by Mark Wagner, an archeologist from Southern Illinois University Carbondale, and hearing information and experiences of his wife Mary McCorvie and Heather Carey, both of whom work for the Shawnee National Forrest. We spent a lot of time asking questions and pumping Joe Frick who lives on his ancestor’s farm on one of the routes to Hamburg Hill. His ancestor was given land for his service in the Revolutionary War, and the family has remained on that land since 1813. Joe knows these hills and hollows probably as well as anyone can, and his help was invaluable. Jon Musgrave has just come onto our board of directors (as I have gone off), and he was able to not only share copies of several maps from the last century showing old roads no longer there but he projected maps on a screen large enough for all to see at once and discuss together. Jon’s very broad history knowledge of our entire region is always astounding as evidenced by his many books and his extraordinary Illinois history website.

We worked well into the afternoon, stopping only to get a bowl of great chili or potato soup and other good things Deb prepared for us. We returned to the table to talk and continuing working as we ate. Gerald, who grew up in these bottoms, came to pick me up and got in on some of the summation of the day’s exploration. By the time we left, we were able to go back to Jonesboro on the Old Cape Road, which the sun and 34 degree temperature had melted off to be safe.

Driving with forests on either side of the road in some places and onto Route 127 is always pleasing to me as is entering Jonesboro going past my friend Lynn’s girlhood home with her grandparents and the memories that road stirs up. Gerald checked to make sure neither of his brothers were having coffee at the Anna McDonalds, so we kept going.

In Marion, we visited with Katherine, and she and I watched the sad ending o the SIUC basketball game while Gerald and Sam went to Menards for Gerald to buy a wood stove to take the chill off the larger open area of his shop. The electric heater in the closed portion doesn’t help out there in these temperatures. They came back with a pizza and we had supper together before returning to Woodsong to unwind and reflect on a great winter day.

Ready or Not, January Is Over and February Is Here

The lake is green-tinted blackish now and completely thawed after the previous few days of melting swirls of silver ice still lingering there. A flock of wild ducks came in on Sunday and a few were still swimming there when I looked out our bedroom window this morning. There are no longer any small spots of snow left over in shady places; all is brown. We had an absolutely beautiful warm final January weekend here in Southern Illinois.

But like much of the nation, we are threatened with the possibility of blizzard-like conditions tomorrow. So the landscape may turn white again. Gerald has an appointment with his truck early in the morning. I’m supposed to take Sam to the orthodontist before lunch, and Katherine has an appointment for a Tysabri infusion in the afternoon. We’ll see whether the weather permits us to keep our appointments.

Although we had seen several cardinals, a blue jay, and a woodpecker back when the snow was on, I was again seeing only the small birds at the feeder that Gerald keeps on the deck. Today, however, I saw one bright red cardinal, the blue jay, and another big black and brown bird I did not recognize. I had to wonder if they knew they better fill up in case the blizzard comes. When they left, the six little sparrows, who had been waiting, had their breakfast. The prettiest sight was when I went downstairs to the computer and saw a pair of doves on the lawn enjoying the grain that had dropped down from the deck above them.

On Saturday mid-morning, Gerald came in from his shop that he has been busy reorganizing. He had worked too many hours on the concrete the day before, and was ready to let that project go for awhile. I had started several things—bed stripped, laundry going, meat thawing for lunch, but I was still relaxing at the breakfast table in my pajamas slowly reading the morning’s paper. He needed to go to Carbondale to an office supply store and to Lowe’s to get some dowel rods he can only get there and asked if I’d want to go, and if so, how soon could I be ready?

With that challenge, I quickly stuck the thawing meat in the fridge for Sunday, jumped into some clothes, and collected the Christmas gift card for the J.C. Penney card that I needed to spend and I was ready in record time. Never mind that I’d have to finish the bed with clean sheets and fold the laundry when I got back. I had left my purse at Katherine’s accidently on Thursday, so we met up there, and I climbed into the truck.

We took the long way to Carbondale so he could show me where Erin is living in Cambria even though we thought she would already be at softball practice. In my rush to the truck, I forgot my coat in the car, but was glad I did since I really did not need it. We saw children playing outside in shirt sleeves as we drove through Cambria. We took some unfamiliar back roads to reach Carbondale where we stopped for lunch before Gerald dropped me off to shop while he did his errands.

I couldn’t resist the sale racks, but I can’t stand anything with a high neckline and so all the turtle neck stuff was passed over, some colors were wrong for me, and some of the other garments had much too low necklines when I tried them on after I finally was able to find a dressing room. It has been years since I had been to that particular store, and I was totally surprised at how I kept finding new rooms with these sales going on. I think I was going in a circle. I felt confused and disoriented and even though I was not buying jewelry, I tried to keep aware of where the jewelry department was just so I felt a little less lost.

I had my arms full of a second batch of clothes to try on if I could only find a dressing room again, when Gerald phoned to say he was done and how was I doing. I was relieved when he said he would come on inside and visit the men’s department. So I finished before he did and sat resting in the mall lounge outside the store. By then I really needed that rest.

Gerald came out a few minutes later with two new pair of trousers that were on sale. I had bought three items during all his errand completion at other stores. Obviously he is a more efficient shopper than I am. I really had intended to go to the household/kitchen department but hadn’t found it until I wandered there by mistake with the last load of clothes over my arm looking for that dressing room. All three garments that I bought were on sale for $4.98, so I still have most of my gift card left to spend later! That was fun. Next time maybe I will find the right department to begin with.

Grown Grandchildren and Life's Changes

Yesterday was Elijah’s 18th birthday. His mother’s comment on Facebook that she now had another adult child made me wake up to how old I am! Soon Trent will also be 18. It all seems kinda amazing this passing of time! We were so excited when these two grandsons were expected. Trent was supposed to be born first, and Elijah about two weeks later. I kept worrying that Trent would be a week late and Elijah early and they’d be born on the same day states away from each other, and I would be torn wanting to be with both new babies and their mothers.

But totally unexpected, Elijah came six weeks early in a most dramatic way. Jeannie had to persuade Leslie to quit watching her television program. Then she drove herself to the hospital with little Leslie because it took awhile for Rick’s boss to locate him and send him to the Marion Hospital just in time for Elijah’s arrival. (I bet he speeded getting there!)

Fortunately, Leslie’s Aunt Vickie was working at the hospital and was able to take charge of her when Jeannie arrived needing to be admitted immediately. I will never forget Gerald calling me on the farm radio while I was driving home from work in Benton. (No one had cell phones in those days.) By this time, Gerald had Leslie and Erin, I think, and they were headed to the Dairy Queen. I almost went into a state of shock, and it did not help when I saw Elijah with oxygen all warm in an incubator when I arrived at the hospital. Fortunately, he was fine, and they were back at their Crainville home with little delay.

Leslie has just posted some photos of those early days in Crainville on Facebook, and I have enjoyed again those two beautiful children that I said were our artist Jeannie’s masterpieces. (Of course, she outdid herself again with the birth of Cecelie up in Freeport, who was special born on her great grandmother Ada Glasco’s birthday.}

I realized it then, but even more now I realize how blessed I was that the Eilers lived in Southern Illinois during the early days of their family and that we were able to share more of those beginning times for Les and Lige. Despite the distance to Freeport, we actually saw Cecelie fairly often during her first couple of years, but that is no longer true. A couple of frightening winter trips while we watched nearby cars spin in circles on the icy highway put an end to trying to be present for Elijah’s January birthday and other winter trips.

Being between Freeport and Nashville while Leslie is in college has really been a joyous thing for us, and I am already concerned about the end of that privilege. Lige pointed out to his cousin Sam, however, that he will be three hours closer to us next year when he starts at Illinois State.

Yesterday I drove to Carbondale for a check up appointment for my new hearing aids. Although I am grateful for the improvement in my hearing, having to add those as well as glasses when I dress each morning re-enforces my age awareness. The only reason I don’t have to put on dentures is that I learned over 40 years ago that I could not tolerate the partial I obtained back then.

As much as having all these grown grandkids—five of them after Trent’s upcoming birthday--these old-age aids plus the increased nervousness about climbing on the footstools that a short person has to keep in several rooms make me take stock that times are changing. That is just the way it is supposed to be.

But I missed Cristaudo’s Café and Bakery, my favorite lunch place on the strip mall yesterday since its long-time family owners have retired. SoI treated myself to a visit to a long ago favorite gift store at that mall--The Apple Tree. I knew the ownershp had changed and the store was enlarged, but it was missing the china and crystal that brides used to register for there. A sweet dog wandered around sniffing at people’s feet, and that was a fun change. I didn’t find anything I couldn’t live without, so that was a changen from the past.

Since two or three years ago, the Neighborhood Co-op moved across town to this strip, I also treated myself to a walk-through there looking at all the fruits and vegetables and interesting items. I was rewarded by bumping into Marion Carroll that I knew from my John A, Logan teaching days. Although younger than I am, she too has retired and has returned from taking care of her mother in Australia, who died at 99 years old. It was good to see her and renew our acquaintance. I bought some cilantro and a loaf of their wheat bread and had had all the change I wanted.

Since Cristaudo’s was no longer available, I came back to Marion to eat at Honeybaker’s, my favorite lunch place there. I can get a cup of their always delicious soup with a luscious hot roll and have water served in a glass with a slice of lemon. (That thick glass filled with ice and water is a visual treat.) I can rest in the quietness there as I eat, and I’ll be refreshed in less than a half an hour and ready for the next set of errands. Yesterday, however, even though I ate after the regular lunch hour, the place was full. The quiet I expected was replaced with chatter and laughter, and for the first time I was aware of, music was playing in the background adding to the clamor. I made a conscious choice to not mind the change. I was glad for their increased business and pleased that the hurried waitress was as kind and thoughtful as always. I figure if I learn to enjoy change, maybe I can stay some of the stress of aging.

Frozen Lake, Winter Illnesses, Friday Night Fish, and Church Potlucks

The lake beside our house has been a changing collage of black and white throughout the week. The frozen places are covered with white snow; the unfrozen water is black. When the snow melts—despite the below-freezing temperatures this week--we seem to have black and silver areas throughout the lake looking like the drawings in a notebook of some bored student doodling and filling in loops and lines with a black ball-point pen.

Since her coughing and congestion were not better, Gerald took Katherine to the doctor on Monday for fear she might have caught the viral pneumonia of an aide who had to be off-work with it. The doctor called Katherine’s problem bronchitis, and this stopped our worry about the pneumonia. The doctor gave her a stronger antibiotic to stop the one remaining infection. Oddly after her first dose, she completely lost her voice the very next day, but it was back on Wednesday although she was hoarse. But she is improving and is much stronger than she was a week ago. Sam has been hoarse all week, but he wasn’t about to go to the doctor and he is better also by today. Most schools in our area had two snow days this week, but Sam’s school only had one on Friday.

With all the snowy roads—mostly cleared off by Friday—Gerald surprised me by asking if I could go to Fox’s Holler for fish if he could arrange it with his brothers and our friends Bill and Mickey Tweedy. Gerald’s brothers and wives have a regular date to do this, but Garry was probably wise not to go this week so soon after his shoulder surgery. But Keith and Barbara and the Tweedys were up for Foxy’s fish. We met the Tweedys in the Wal-Mark parking lot at Anna to ride down together. The men let us out as close as possible to the door and went on to park in the crowded lot. Mickey laughingly said we could hold hands over the icy part of the walk inside so that if one of us fell, we could both fall. I wasn’t sure of her logic, but the safety precaution worked and we did not fall.

Flu, pneumonia, and the like are rampant in the community, and lots of folks did not get to go to church today. Nevertheless, we had a full house in our village church, and most stayed for the annual January potluck after the morning service. Our friend Eddy from Orient was there despite being in pain from a strained back.

When I saw he was there, I realized I had not thought to make the baked beans he always brags on and that I often send home with him. So I sent home some of my left-over German chocolate cake for him and Angie, who was at home or maybe with her daughter who is out of the hospital but on bed rest until her baby is born. I knew that was a favorite kind of cake for Eddy, and I felt bad I hadn’t made him baked beans.

I still had some cake to take to Katherine’s house when I visited this afternoon along with some of the fried chicken the church had furnished for the potluck. Our friend Charlene suggested I take some of her delicious chicken and dumplings to Katherine’s house. Charlene had made two crock pots full of them for all of us, and they were almost all gone. Although he and his dad had eaten lunch at the town’s most bountiful buffet after morning church, Sam sure did enjoy the chicken and dumplings
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When he was just a teen, Eddy asked me how I made my baked beans. Since I never make them the same way twice, I stumbled around trying to remember what nearly empty catsup and bottled dressings I had rinsed out and added that particular day—and did I use molasses or brown sugar? Sweet pickle juice? Real onion or onion flakes?

Shortly after that, Eddy took off for Michigan and was away a few years. When he came back, he repeated to me how I made my baked beans and bragged on them again. Loving the flattery, I tried to take baked beans to potlucks that I thought he might be attending. And often German chocolate cake to send some home with him.

Quite frankly, my beans are not that good , which I make the easy way from canned pork and beans.. However, thanks to Eddy, that is probably my only signature dish that I have ever developed a reputation for. (And that reputation is only with Eddy.) I did fix a big skillet full of friend okra that I used to make especially for Pam White, and I noticed Dean Newbold was happy to see okra on the bountiful buffet. Maybe I’ll get a reputation at church for my okra, which my grandchildren are always generous to praise.

Since Katherine was so much stronger, I helped David get her ready for Sunday evening services at their church in Marion. We got to hear our friend Wendell Garrison again, and we were happy to worship with her, David, and Sam. It was a nice ending to a good day.

Winter Time

Walking towards the grocery store after finally finding a parking place in the very full lot, I met a young woman coming towards me from the store laughing and shaking her head. “Is it bad in there?” I asked knowingly. “Bad!” was her reply. Everyone was stocking up before the predicted snow tomorrow. The kids are all hoping for another snow day.

I’ve not blogged because it seemed to me that all I had to tell about was the same repeated activities I wrote about last week. Only this week it was Gerald’s brother Garry that had surgery on his shoulder, but he didn’t have to stay at the hospital over night. That was good since Ginger gets very anxious when evening comes if Garry is not home as soon as she hopes. Their daughter Vicki took him to Cape Girardeau for the surgery while Ginger’s aide Alice stayed with her. We were relieved to find by a phone call to Vicki that he had done well while she was waiting for him to be out of recovery.

Tonight I found out that Vicki had been reporting the day’s events on Facebook—but I didn’t know it as I did not have time to get on the computer. I was busy with numerous details of life that seemed to pile up over the holidays. I have finally faced going over my medical bills, Medicare reports, and insurance papers saying, “This is not a bill”—a huge stack of papers and unopened envelopes. I know I should be very grateful that Gerald and I are relatively healthy and our bills our tiny. I really am grateful and ashamed that I gripe.

But I get in a foul mood trying to figure out all those papers and what they mean. I am not smart enough to understand them. It is not enough to pay a deductible when I leave the doctors’ offices. Little bills seem to dribble in—maybe for $7 or $3.02 or $13. And these come from so many sources—doctors’ group practices, medical centers, anesthetist, labortories. The medical organizations are like the banks—using names that I cannot keep track of, so I have to look at dates to figure out what the bills and papers are about. From far-away cities, the bills come in months after the actual health care.

I look back with fondness for my uninsured days when I wrote a small check using the name of the doctor at the end of an appointment and that was that. Although I could not afford medical care now without insurance, I dislike having insurance corporations involved with my health care. I do not like their making money from my trying to stay healthy. As I sit at the dining room table writing checks, I grow more and more frustrated trying to figure out what all my bills mean, and I envision their executives riding around in private jets, eating expensive meals, and not caring that I have to spend 44 cents on a stamp to pay $7 for something I thought was already paid for. As I said, I am ashamed I am griping, but I know the complexity of today’s medical care is not cost efficient nor well thought out.

Brightening my mood this week, however, was the discovery of my mother’s scrapbooks that I had forgotten all about. I was trying to clean up a far bottom shelf in my office and found them, and that was the end of my straightening. Now they are all out of place instead of stored away where I had forgotten them. I stayed up way past my bedtime two nights in a row feasting on the information and memories in her scrapbooks and marveling at the diversity of her interests. I thought I might write more about them, but again it is way past my bedtime, and I better hush.

A Busy and Sad Week

Most people agree that time goes faster as one ages, so I guess time will never drag for me. However, I would really choose for January to be a long slow month without much going on—a time to hibernate, to rest up and absorb all the good things that happened over the holidays, to stay inside from the cold and to read lots of books. As delightful as that fantasy is, reality is much different. It seems that one week tumbles into another with not much time between Sundays. January is now half over, and I wish it were not.

I have continued making phone calls to community people who have told me about Cherokee ancestors. I’ve written notes in response to some Christmas mail, and sadly I’ve also had to write three sympathy notes. Katherine has been fighting infections this week, which made her multiple scleroses exacerbate, so Gerald and I have visited there more than usual. My brother had to have cardiac catherization followed by two stints and two days in the hospital, but I did not even consider driving to Springfield because of the slick roads up there. Because I wanted to help pack the “Angel Bags” that the churches in our rural community send home with kids on the weekend if they are likely to go hungry, I made the effort to go to midweek prayer and Bible study even though I was late for the 6 p.m. service. This is our church’s month. With many hands participating assembly-line style, it did not take long to fill the 29 bags the school said were needed.

Like the rest of the nation, I have grieved as I listened to the newscasts about the Tucson tragedy. My heart has broken thinking of the fiancée of Gabe Zimmerman and the parents of Christina—two beautiful people cut down so early in life, but I have also grieved for the parents of the assassin. None of us can even imagine what they may have gone through long before this terrible tragedy as they watched their son change and deteriorate. While most people with a mental illness are not harmless to others, a few are. The Tucson massacre should stir us for more research and more efforts to prevent such tragedies.

I was comforted by the enormous gathering of mourners and President Obama’s address at the memorial service for Judge John Roll, Christina-Taylor Green, Dorothy Morris, Gabe Zimmerman, Dorwin Stoddard, and Phyllis Schneck. I was cheered by his news that Representative Gabrielle Giffords had opened her eyes that afternoon. I was inspired by his urging that we make Christina’s death cause us to work for a better nation.

Tara's Blog--"OH BOYS"

Want to see our beautiful great grandsons? Check out Tara’s new blog:

•OH BOYS...: Lunch with Daddy....
http://archibald5.blogspot.com/

Check Out New Blog About Haiti

I have trouble with modern stuff, but I am trying to see if I can post Tori Danae Huftalin's new blog. She is my son-in-law Brian and wife Mary Ellen's neice. She will soon be going to Haiti as a nurse. You can follow her work on this blog called For the Passion of Survival:

http://heartforhurting.blogspot.com/

A Productive Week

Although I learned long ago that I will never get “caught up”--whatever that means--this week has been a productive beginning to January.

The Christmas trees and decorations are down and put away. (I do not doubt that just like in other years, I will be surprised someday to find a stray candle or some other seasonal item still waiting and wondering why it was left behind. It is not unusual long after Easter to find a egg—hopefully plastic-- or stray bits of purple or green grass peeking out from some unexpected place.) But as far as I know, all the decorations are stored for another year, and January visual plainness is a restful relief after December excess.

I received my first hearing aids on Tuesday, and they are working very well. I am really surprised. Although I wanted to hear better for years, this was the first time someone had said I could be helped. I had decided maybe I just had a processing problem, and I still suspect that I do. I was tested before Christmas and made this appointment to take the aids for a trial. I almost cancelled this appointment thinking I should not waste the technician’s time nor my time. I figured hearing aides would drive me nutty.Gerald says if I wasn’t born with something, I can’t handle it.

That is the truth about dentures, necklaces, and earrings. Until my eyes really got bad, that was also the way it was with my glasses. I would evidently be bothered by them and unconsciously take them off, and later I would have no idea where they were. As long as Mary Ellen, our youngest, lived at home, that was not too big a problem. I could ask her if she had seen them, and she would have noticed their location and retrieve them for me.

After she left home, I suffered until my eyes needed the glasses to see all the time, and somehow then I adjusted to them. I still lose them when I open an oven door and they steam over and I yank them off and leave them in some weird place in the kitchen. But most of the time, they stay on my face and I don’t feel too uncomfortable wearing them. I thought maybe—just maybe—if I tried real hard I could adjust to hearing aids, so I kept the appointment. Gerald was kind enough to take me to Carbondale since this is his technician also and he had recommended him.

Nevertheless, from what I had heard others say about background noises with hearing aids, I was not very hopeful I could stand them. However, I have not been bothered at all. In the car, there are noisy turn signal beeps and windshield wiper swishes, which are now more of a loud thump than swish when the wiper hits the far left. But once I realized what the sounds were and that all was well, these are not unpleasant sounds. I do not feel the tiny aids in my ears at all, so I am not pulling them off. I think I am going to like these little modern technological gems.

Wednesday was the monthly senior citizen day at the grocery store, and it a crowded and challenging time. I appreciate the discount but am usually too tired afterward to finish putting up the groceries until the next day.

Thursday is my day to pick grandson Sam up from his trombone lesson after school, so I told my son-in-law David that I’d start seeing they had something for supper that night giving him one night a week that he doesn’t have to think about that. So I fixed a big pot of spaghetti sauce at home for our supper and had plenty to carry in for theirs to put over the whole wheat spaghetti I bought the day before.

Friday was the first Women’s Club meeting for 2011, and we enjoyed lunch at O’Charley’s to start the new year. After a few errands in town, I was back at the farm hoping that Leslie would arrive from upstate before the temp dropped and roads got slick. There was still enough spaghetti to feed the three of us, and I was grateful when I saw her car lights coming down our lane arriving to spend the night on her trip back to campus in Tennessee.

Leslie is always fun, and she is a fan of old musicals. I loved hearing about the Eiler Christmas and watching State Fair with her after Gerald went to bed. I saw that movie as a child or teen and had not seen it since. She was the only one here, so she was able to sleep in everyone’s favorite bedroom--what we call the brown room—the only underground bedroom in the house. It is like a cave in there, and I did not see her again until lunch time Saturday. I felt good she was fully rested to start the long drive on down to her dorm where she was reporting for duty as a resident fellow at 5 that evening.

Before she left, the three of us had a bowl of home-made vegetable beef soup and “lunch surprises” for dessert. Actually I had made them as “breakfast surprises” but with the sleeping in, we did not eat them until lunch. I had not made these for many years. They were sort of a joke when our kids lived at home. I put a little butter, brown sugar, and nuts or coconut in the bottom of a muffin pan and topped them with canned biscuits. It took awhile for our kids to catch on that “breakfast surprises” and “supper surprises” were the same thing. This time I used Apriva for the sweetener and Gerry’s gift of Georgia pecans, and they were good.

David had meetings all weekend because of a Monday deadline at his plant, so I went out to Katherine’s Saturday evening as well as making my usual Sunday afternoon visit today. Gerald stayed home and was able to visit with Erin and her cousin Sarah when they came to the farm to pick up Erin’s dog Sadie, whom Gerald had cared for while Erin was in Arizona.

Since David was at work, Gerald came out in the late afternoon to help Katherine make it to the parent meeting for Sam’s youth group at their church. Their church has just called Wendell Garrison, a dear friend of ours, to be there for interim pastor. Gerald and Wendell were college roommates the year before we were married, and they still act silly when they get together.

We have not lived close enough to see each other too often down through the years, but we have always kept up with each other as much as we could. We used to receive Wendell’s weekly sermons through the mail, and we have his devotional books. We enjoy his annual Christmas letter, which always impresses me with its brevity that includes an amazing amount of information about their blended family that was created after both Wendell and Mary lost their first spouses. (I keep trying to imitate his letter and failing.)

So tonight after we dropped Katherine and Sam off for the youth meeting, Gerald and I grabbed a bite to eat nearby and were able to return to the church to hear Wendell preach for the first time in many years. It was a fine ending to the first full week of January.

Beginning a New Year and Back to Normal

All of our families are back home now to their individual bailiwicks.

Tara, Bryan, and the boys arrived at Woodsong Saturday night quite exhausted from their drive up from Georgia. The oldest and youngest son had slept, but the middle son, two-year-old Maddux, had been awake and unhappy almost the entire trip. He had just gone to sleep when they were almost here, and they were afraid of what would happen when he got woke up so soon. Tara said they almost kept driving towards Chicago, but they had pecans in the car that her dad had sent up for his aunts, so they pulled off for the night at the farm. Although he did wake up unhappy when they carried him in and cried again for a bit, Maddux and everyone were soon asleep.

We enjoyed a good visit with them the next morning. Before daybreak, Gerald and Aidan were out riding Gerald’s new John Deere Gator that he bought after he sold the“mule.” Maddux woke up happy as a lark and soon joined them. (He was not happy about leaving the farm, however, so I am hoping their trip home was not as difficult as coming up had been.)

Payton is almost always smiling, and I got to hold him a bit although he adores being held by his mother. Erin came over to visit with them too. They wanted to get on the road again when we left for church in order to reach their home and get another good night’s sleep before their work routine began this morning.

I loved hearing Tara tell about their anniversary trip to Savannah while Gerry and Vickie cared for the boys in Athens. Bryan and she had walked all over the city seeing as many of the 21 beautiful squares as possible, and they’d had a great lunch at Paula Deen’s restaurant. Tara described the city so well that I felt as if I’d made the trip. Gerald was in and out of that city once with a truck, but I have never been. Now it is on my wish-to-do list.

As I headed out to Sunday School, I grabbed the crock pot out of the fridge, slid it into its electric container, and turned it on. I wanted to leave it reheating our New Year’s ham and beans for our lunch. I’d saved the Christmas ham bone for the beans, which had cooked all Saturday afternoon while Gerald and I ran around visiting his two brothers and wives down in Union County—our home country. We had the ham and beans with corn bread for supper Saturday night, and there was plenty still for our lunch and also a little bowl of beans to take in to the Cedars.

Gerald and I had visited with Katherine and David Sunday afternoon, and the two men worked on the wheelchair footrest again. It is still not perfect, but Gerald hopes they are getting there. Gerald also is following a more complicated wheelchair project with Larry Cheek of Ullin, who likes to experiment and invent. Larry has had surgery, so that project is temporarily on hold right now—though Larry is always thinking, thinking, thinking. Gerald and Larry have a trip planned to seek out a more comfortable seat for the chair that Larry is working on.

We ate a Sunday night sandwich, checked emails and Facebook connections, watched some television and went on to bed after Mary Ellen called that their family was just nearing Chattanooga. I made sure there were clean towels in the downstairs bathroom and left the light on for them at the downstairs walk-out door before I went to bed on the first floor. I wanted to leave the Christmas tree lights burning, but I didn’t since I don’t like to sleep with tree lights on. They came in at 3 a.m. and had collapsed in beds as soon as possible. We did not even hear them.

Although I kept sleeping, I did hear Brian before six this morning quietly leave after he gathered an accumulation of stuff to take back home in his truck. They had left brief cases and boxes and presents in the corner of their upstairs bedroom when they took off the day after Christmas for Florida to visit Brian’s mother at The Villages. He and Fifi were headed for work today in central Illinois. (Their family had driven down on Christmas Eve in two vehicles since Brian needed the truck here for some farm purposes. It has been a long slow drive down that night seeing cars in ditches all along the way and wondering if someone might slide into them at any moment. Being careful made it much later than normal when they arrived to eat supper at 11 that night.)

This morning Mary Ellen, Trent, and Brianna were able to sleep in. But I was still in my pajamas when Mary Ellen joined me in the kitchen for toast and cereal, and I was able to hear about their family visits and their anniversary celebration at Disney World. Brianna had even been able to see her special cousin/friend Savannah who happened to be enroute with her dad from Georgia to their home in deep Florida. These two girls have always done projects together and kept in constant contact by texting and Facebook despite the distance between them. (Savannah had approved Bri’s Christmas dress that way.) Trent is very good with younger kids, and he did his usual gracious hosting sharing video games with Savannah’s little brother. And they were able to see their special cousin Caleb and wife Stacy, who were also visiting Gma Dot.

Disney has played an important role down through the years with their family vacations, and they never miss a chance to check in at Orlando when they visit Gma Dot. They have been multiple times to Epcot and all the facilities and even taken the family cruise once or twice. They have had camping and traveling vacations too, but Disney has always been their special place. This year Trent and Bri were old enough to be on their own part of the time celebrating New Year’s Eve while the anniversary couple enjoyed some together time. Then they all four watched the midnight fireworks together. With Trent’s high school career almost over, they know these family vacations are likely ending.

Even though Brian had taken so much home in his truck, Mary Ellen was still hard pressed to find room in their car for in all the clothes from the closet and all the large Pyrex serving dishes she’d carried down with food for our holiday feasts. (The clothes and some of these dishes were left behind after the Thanksgiving stomach flu epidemic.) Since Trent and Brianna have to take their postponed final exams at school tomorrow, they left before noon to get home for a little study and preparation. A snow day did the same to the Marion high school kids here, and I really feel bad for all of them having to start the new year with final exams.

Jeannie and Rick and their children started back to school today in northern Illinois, and Jeannie said her students were definitely not sleepy as she had hoped they might be. They were well rested and wound up. She moves from one school to another, and kids come into the art room oft times with other agendas than creating fine art. But she has her methods of getting them down to learning.

So for right now, our children and grandchildren are settled back home. Not for long, however. Gerry will be in clinics south of Athens this week. This weekend Leslie will be heading back to campus. Gerry, Vickie, and Geri Ann will be flying to an exposure softball tournament in Arizona. Tara will fly there from northern Illinois, while Bryan will be caring for the boys. She will coach Southern Force, and Geri Ann will play for Southern Force. Erin will be there also representing Southern Illinois University Carbondale, and she and Gerry will both be scouting. I am sure Elijah will have a speech tournament somewhere, and Trent and Bri and Sam will all have some sort of special plans.

Mary Ellen told me once that she remembers when she was little that life for her was sometimes sort of a blur as she watched her three older siblings constantly running, jumping, and having adventures all around her, That also describes how I sometimes feel as I constantly send up prayers for traveling mercies and try to remember which grandchild is going where and what our adult children are involved in. In the meantime, I am trying to get back to some of my own activities and make some contacts with some of those I have heard about whose ancestors dropped off the Trail of Tears here in Southern Illinois.