King of the Mountain

Unmelted mounds of snow bulldozed up against light posts in town parking lots are the only evidence of recent snowfall. The large heaps in the first lot I visited were all dirty with soot, but this afternoon in another lot, the pile of snow was mostly white. Bright sunshine made today crispy clear. Starting with a noon appointment for haircut, I’ve had a busy afternoon of appointments, but the warm sun between appointments made it pleasant.

After a feel-good shampoo and styling with shorter hair from my favorite talented cosmetologist, I picked up a couple of prescriptions and some bananas and ran by to see Katherine, who was busy on the computer, so I had time to visit Salvation Army. I wanted to see if they still had the glass serving plates that match my pattern that I should have bought last week. I saw them when I took my plastic sacks there to recycle them. But I don’t really have a good place to store any more dishes. I was in a hurry and decided it was foolish to buy something I didn’t have to have--even if they were cheap.

All week I had sometimes regretted that decision. Surely I could clear out a place for them. And I might need them at sometime in the future. Or I could loan them to others with that same pattern. Why didn’t I buy them before someone else did? (One method I have always used when deciding whether to buy something is whether I continue to think about it. If I forget all about it, obviously it wasn’t too desirable. But if I keep on thinking about an item or garment, I know I must really like it. Since I keep everything forever, that is important.)
So today I looked over the eye-catching loaded tables in the middle of the store and knew I had waited too long. Finally one last table. They were still there! The clerk helped me carry them to the car. He said I’d need help carrying them in at home. I said I’d just unload them a few at a time—that way my husband would not have to know about my perhaps silly decision until I had them washed and stored someplace. (Where?) I think sticking the glass plates into the dishwasher and using them for parties is cheaper than buying paper plates for a party. And I like eating off glass better—although I will admit paper plates are more colorful and can emphasize the holiday or theme better than the glass ones.

With my new dishes wrapped in newspapers in a sturdy box and safely in the trunk with a few other treasures because I “really” needed them, I headed to Johnston City. There I had a not-so-good news in a consultation with my dentist. He and I both had received the report from the specialist he sent me to last week in Mt. Vernon. Now I had several unpleasant alternatives to mull over and choose from as we devised a plan and decided which gamble to take in future appointments as he repairs my teeth. None of this was unexpected, so I wasn’t too disappointed.

Before the next early evening appointment with the optometrist, I entertained myself by looking for photo corners I need. General Dollar didn’t have them. But as I stepped out of my car in the next parking lot, I was treated to a sight that made my head turn twice. Yes, there really was a boy on top of the mound of snow. Obviously feeling the promise of spring in the midst of winter’s remains, his hands were in the air celebrating. I’d never have the nerve to make a spectacle of myself by climbing such a snow mound in public even if I physically could, but I was so glad he did. He was the King of the Mountain, and I was ready to be his willing subject. He was in his own world and wasn’t aware of me, but I was delighted with him.

Inside the store, I headed to the office supplies and the photo department thinking I might find photo corners. I didn’t, but there was a cute teenage girl behind the counter with an admiring young man hanging over the counter conversing. They too were in their own world, but I thought I’d ask to make sure there were no photo corners—just in case I had missed them. I never could decide if the young man was another employee or just her admirer because he was the one who responded when I inquired. I might as well as been asking for something from the 17th Century instead of the 20th from the look on the young man’s face. He had never heard of photo corners and had to ask me to explain what they were. I am sure his photos are all on his phone and computer. Although he was polite and smiled gently at me, his amusement at my quaintness was all too apparent. We parted with both of us mentally shaking our heads. It looks as if I will have to break down next week and go to my least favorite store on the far side of Marion. I don’t like Wal-Mart because I can’t find my car in their huge parking lot and I can’t locate anything inside their large store—or at least not quickly.

As I stepped outside I was hoping to see the boy on top of the snow heap again. He was gone. Next I heard the sound of a goose caller that hunters use sending its provocative call throughout the lot. Then I saw the back door standing open of a van parked near the heap. My boy was still there reigning and enjoying life.

I just had time to get to the optometrist at 5:30. Since he didn’t see me till after 6:00, I would have had time to look at Wal-Mart, but I didn’t know that. He thought some vision problem I was having was not caused by my eyes changing, but from a film that often comes after a cataract procedure has aged. He said I could have it corrected in a simple procedure that won’t take but a couple of minutes, and I left with promises that the receptionist would call me when she sets that appointment up with the opthamologist who originally did the cataract surgery.

It was almost 7:30 when I got back to the farm. Gerald and I ate a bite of supper together and talked a bit about our day. He is still sore from the workout he had yesterday as he helped Brian clean out the grain bin after the trucks hauled away the remainder of last year’s soybean crop. By the time I neatened the kitchen and made the coffee pot ready for tomorrow morning, he was asleep in the family room “watching” a ball game. Not wanting to wake him, I didn’t plant a kiss on his forehead as I sometimes do when I walk by. I shut the door to my office and began checking emails and Facebook messages before writing to you on Woodsong Notes. I enjoyed remembering that boy on top of the snow mountain. Long live the King!

Newspapers, Our Visiting Musician, and Softball

A high point in the week for me was hearing Chandra Green again at Southern Illinois
Writers Guild on Thursday night. Chandra has a most remarkable life story—one that could only happen to an incredibly gifted woman. Dropping out of school at 15 to marry and escape an alcoholic father, she went to work at the West Frankfort American and said she literally fell in love with journalism the minute she walked in and smelled the ink. She continued working at area newspapers through repeated bad marriages but acquired a GED and an incredible understanding of writing, page design, editing, and the business side of journalism. She also has acquired a long-standing stable marriage with the love of her life.

I met Chandra through her column in the Southern Illinoisan, and I was delighted with her writing and her stories of Ma, her elderly grandmother, and her mom—the Queen of Stuff. Rising in the ranks during her 16 years at the Southern Illinoisan, she became an editor, and she credited all those early co-workers who helped her learn the ropes and love her job. But changes and pressures there caused this largest area newspaper to lose one of their best talents--just as the paper also lost Jim Muir, our Guild speaker last month. Chandra did not say she was one of their best talents—but as a reader I knew she was. And so was Jim.

Employed at other work where she missed that smell of ink, Chandra came up with an idea as she sat at her kitchen table with a daughter. The daughter was taking a college class, which required her to make a business plan, so she was able to pick her mother’s brain for starting a niche newspaper. By the time the business plan for her class was completed, the daughter and her mother had determined to use it to start Heartland Women. They succeeded at what everyone believed was an impossible task. Five years later the award-winning paper is still going strong, and Chandra offers area writers an opportunity to sell their work. The free twice-monthly newspaper, which is distributed widely in several counties is filled with columns, feature stories, and news of area women.

In the midst of the declining use of newspapers by a public who now often depend on the Internet for news, Chandra has shown it is possible for a newspaper with a clear purpose to establish itself. (I won’t say a clear audience because I think many men read Heartland Women.) Could anyone do it? No, only someone who has the enormous talent and knowledge and the incredible work ethic that Chandra has.

I worry that she works too hard, but I love to pick up her paper. She pointed out that while she was in journalism because she loves to write, all the other duties consume her time and she probably spends little more than two percent writing. Someone has to sell the advertising that keeps the paper going, and often she becomes the one who has to do it. Her two novels sit half finished and unattended.

After the bitter cold weather at the first of the week and then the dire predictions of more bad weather this weekend, it was hard to believe how beautiful yesterday and today were. Coats weren’t really necessary although most of us were still wearing them out of habit. (I saw some wearing shorts.)

Folks were grateful for the break from cold and for the delay of the predicted heavy rain that replaced the icy weather predictions. A friend involved with the Red Rose Gala to raise money for the Marion Civic Center was concerned what bad weather might mean to that effort. Our neighbor of many years died Wednesday after three or four exhaustive weeks for his family while he was in hospitals and rehab, and I was very thankful the weather stayed pretty today for his funeral and the burial in a neighborhood cemetery. Our granddaughter Leslie was arriving at Woodsong at bedtime last night from visiting friends and family up at the state speech contest in Peoria, so I was very relieved she wasn’t driving on scary roads. Tonight the delayed rain began with gentle sprinkling, but she was safely back in Tennessee by then.

Leslie was ready for bed when she arrived at the farm late last night, because she’d had a slumber-party type visit Friday night with a high school friend now at University of Illinois, and the two met up with the Freeport speech kids at Peoria. I offered sandwich fixings and a very brief visit and encouraged her to go catch up on her sleep in the brown room. That’s the windowless room everyone wants because it is completely underground and great sleeping. (When our son-in-law dropped in Friday night, I invited him to sleep in another guest room because I told him I was saving the brown room for Leslie. However, he was already planning to sleep in their camper at the other farm, which is parked there most of the time. He had farm business to take care of with various people on Saturday before he returned home to his family in central Illinois.)

This morning we were pleased to hear Leslie sing at worship. She had forgotten her guitar, but after mulling it over last night, she realized she did have a song she could sing with piano. We hurried home from church for a quick spaghetti and salad dinner so she could get on the road in time to make a 5 p.m. rehearsal back at Nashville. She had a CD of Miles Davis on his trumpet that she must memorize and be prepared to sing in a jazz class on Tuesday. So she was planning to listen as she drove.

By this time, Gerald was finding the Texas A&M and Georgia softball tourneys on his computer, and those games occupied most of our afternoon. Both teams were hosting tournaments this weekend, and we had been following them as best we could, and both teams won all five tourney games.

Winter Continues

Monday our trip to Paducah was aborted after hearing that morning about local wrecks on the slick roads. We decided it was a good day to stay home although we did run into town in the afternoon since Katherine did not have an aide on that day. (The roads were fine by then.) Sam and Josh were outside in the snow playing football despite Josh’s cough. Wouldn’t you know that when the kids could have had a snow day, they were already off for President’s Day?

Tuesday we traveled down to Kentucky with the pickup over the beautiful bridge and
across the Ohio River, where a lot of Southern Illinoisans like to shop since Paducah is only an hour away. We were replacing some aging appliances that we figured were costing us too much in electricity and water as well as not working as well as they once did. We broke up our comparative shopping trip with a restful lunch at Olive Garden—one of the chain restaurants we don’t have in Marion—so that was fun, and their huge salads are delicious.

Although the store we bought from offered free delivery and would install for a fee, Gerald elected to haul our choices home in the pickup. He wanted the challenge of installing them himself. We drove home through the snow-dusted brown roadsides with white clouds overhead diluting the blue of the sky but giving blue tint to the woods on the horizon. It had been a good day.

Yesterday morning Gerald volunteered to take me up to Mt. Vernon to see a dental specialist that my local dentist wanted me to see. We left the farm shortly after six for this 7:45 appointment. He dropped me off and found a place nearby to get breakfast. I thought I was to get an incomplete root canal redone that was first done fourteen years ago. After more x-rays and a consultation, however, the specialist advised me to not do this. So we were back to the farm fairly early in the day, and I ate breakfast and read the paper while Gerald started installing the new dishwasher.

With this new one, I won’t have to constantly fix the tines with bread wrapper ties to hold them up. That did not bother me, but I did not think glasses were coming out as shiny as they should. Gerald found a clogged copper tube under there that might have been the reason for the cloudiness. I’ve keep wondering if he wishes he had let the store folk install it. It has taken a little longer than he thought it would. He found various faults with the way the last dishwasher was installed. He had to make a trip to town for something. He needs his new glasses that will be ready at the end of the week, so he is having some difficulty seeing under the counter. He wants to get done, so he can start to build more batting tees for Gerry, which will require some pre-building shopping in Cape Girardeau. Nevertheless, he enjoys learning new things and needs to keep busy with projects. I am trying to keep from feeling sorry for him and just realize it has turned into a couple of days’ entertainment for him. I am sure it will be done perfectly this time, which the “professionals” did not accomplish when the previous dishwasher was installed.

I don’t think placing the new washer and dryer where the ancient ones sit in the garage will take him long. I belatedly pointed out to him yesterday that the boxes for the new washer and dryer already out of the pickup and sitting in our garage both said that unloading/installing was supposed to be a two-man job lest there be back injury. He said he hadn’t noticed that warning on the boxes—but he used the fork lift on the tractor to unload.

I was supposed to have a long postponed eye exam yesterday an hour before my usual pickup of our grandson Sam from his trombone lesson after school. However, the optometrist’s office called to say a couple of other patients had been late and gave me opportunity to reschedule. I was glad to go to town a little later. Katherine was at the hospital for her Tysabri infusion, and I wanted to be able to stay around when I took Sam home until she returned, so I could help her out a bit. That worked out well since Gerald was still at work with tools spread all around the kitchen, and he didn’t mind my being a hour late with supper when I offered him sandwiches and a reheated bowl of homemade soup from Monday.

By the time he finishes these projects and the latest winter book he is reading, obtains the supplies for the batting tees and refines his plans, he is hoping his outside shop will be warm enough to go to work on the tees without too much heating expense. That should keep him busy until spring planting time when he will likely help our neighbor Scott and our son-in-law Brian a bit. Oh, yes, we will need to celebrate his 80th birthday before then too.

No Crocus But Softball Season Is Here

As I drove home from church tonight on slippery roads with poor visibility, the snow was coming down hard. I felt like spring was not just around the corner. In fact, we’ve often had heavy snows and even blizzards in March here in Southern Illinois.

Nevertheless despite the snow tonight, the Winter Olympics going on, and another month of winter to go, women’s college softball season has started. This weekend had tournaments for both “our” teams. The University of Georgia team, where our son is an assistant coach, traveled to Florida, and won three out of four games. (Friday’s games were rained out down there.) Granddaughter Erin’s Texas A&M team played five games and won four.

Gerald was able to get audio accounts of A&M games on the computer, but Georgia’s game tracker was mute and not functioning for us. We had to find out the Bulldogs’ news by phone calls to our granddaughter Tara up in Aurora. Tara keeps up with her dad’s team by constant phone and text messages with her mom and/or her little sister Geri Ann. They were able to drive down to Claremont, FL, on Thursday night since Geri Ann had a long weekend break from high school. Tara has coached a summer traveling team supplying players for the colleges, and naturally she takes intense interest in college ball.

Gerald enjoys the excuse to phone Tara because he not only likes to talk to her but he likes hearing our two great grandsons in the background. He claims Maddux said PawPaw. Aiden had been to hear his uncle play and sing yesterday, so he was busy with his play guitar imitating.

Erin has already completed her four years of college play, but she is in her fifth year since she lost education credits from St. Catherine’s and others from Notre Dame when she transferred to A&M. (I am assuming if she ever decides to teach, those education credits will count towards a license in whatever state she ends up in.) Right now she helping Jo Evans, her much admired coach, with this 2010 team, and she is mighty excited at how well they are doing. Erin is also giving private lessons to some kids in the area until her graduation, and she loves working with them. Then she heads home to her parents in Georgia to get in shape for a summer in Europe playing for the Austria Sharx.

I’m dreaming of another trip to Oklahoma City for the Women’s World Series at the end of the season. I am hoping that Georgia and Texas A&M both make that tourney, but I certainly don’t want one of them to end their season with them playing against each other. In the meantime here at Woodsong, we will finish up winter following softball, and surely the crocus will be here before we know it.

February Weather

While the TV announcers exclaim with news and pictures of the blizzard in the East, I look out our many lakeside windows and can see only variegated brown ground cover with white snow stripes despite this week’s two snowfalls. Our school kids here in Williamson County, who were hoping for a snow day, were disappointed when the 3-7 inch prediction fell short and the roads stayed in good shape thanks to the highway department. President’s Day on Monday is going to be welcome to weary students wanting a break.

During an earlier snowfall, I saw a couple very tiny snowmen in a couple of yards, but I’ve seen no forts or evidence that the kids have been able to enjoy a good wet snow here in our part of the Midwest. I’m sorry for the kids about that lack and also sorry for the destructive record breaking snows in the East. For myself, despite enjoying the beauty of snow and always liking being snowed-in, I am grateful for anything that saves our local road budgets snow removal costs.

It is soup and chili weather, and that is what our church sent over to the International Luncheon for students at Southern Illinois University yesterday. I didn’t go because of an annual doctor check-up, and I did not help because everything was already planned by the time I volunteered.

Charlene Morris, who has made this luncheon her special project for several years, was having knee surgery. Consequently, she and others were highly organized and early on cooked all the meat for freezing so that after the surgery Charlene would only be putting it together for the soup. Charlene not only made soup but went along with her husband Gerald to deliver it. She was tired of being house bound. I am wondering how they transported that huge amount of soup. Jo Barger, one of the area’s best cooks, made the all-vegetable soup for those who didn’t eat meat. It took a lot of will power on her part to refrain from seasoning those veggies with a bit of beef. I am sure if Jo made it, the soup was good, and the reports at the village church tonight was that menu hit the spot with chilled students.

I made a favorite pork chop recipe today for our noon meal. Years ago the late Marguerite Lashley, a school librarian and New Dennison neighbor, shared her favorite way to fix chops as we rode to a club meeting together. She had gotten the simple directions from a chef at a New Orleans restaurant. Back then over at Pondside Farm, Gerald was raising hogs, and I collected pork chop recipes. (Fried pork chops with milk gravy is superb, but we needed variety, and I rarely fried foods even back then and certainly don’t now in our senior years.)

So today after flouring, seasoning, and browning the chops—I use olive oil—I peeled potatoes and sliced them and sliced large white onions to add on top of the chops. The layers of onions and potatoes were also seasoned with salt and pepper. Then I covered it all with water. This takes a big skillet. Then starting on a high burner and later turning down to low, I cooked until everything was tender. The kitchen smells are wonderful by the time this meal is ready to serve. I had five very large chops, so I was able to take the meal to Katherine’s family for their supper to make their house smell good on a winter day.

Even though the fields around our lake are rich with native grasses providing food for birds and small beasts, the snow makes the seeds a little harder and less pleasant to retrieve, and the birds flock to the feeder on the deck. We’ve had chickadees and juncos, sparrows, jays, cardinals, red-bellied woodpeckers, and a downy woodpecker, and some birds I don’t know. The starlings also come and are not as welcome because they drive off the smaller birds. I heard Gerald muttering the other day as he watched, “I guess God created the starlings too.” He was trying to be sympathetic to their hunger, but they certainly aren’t pretty and their manners aren’t the best. But they are hungry this cold weather, and I am sure they are grateful for the bounty Gerald supplies.

So Many Books...

As Gerald and I started home from Friday night fish down at Lake of Egypt with his brother Keith and our sister-in-law Barbara, the snow flakes kept getting larger and larger. They were melting as they hit the road, but we could see snow accumulating in the grass beside us.

The fish had tasted extra good to me because dental work on Thursday left me with a temporary gap where a capped tooth had been, and I was given written directions to only eat liquid foods. I had broth for supper, a milk shake for breakfast after a routine blood work appointment—that had been easy to fast for, and tomato soup for lunch before I spoke on the Trail of Tears to the Marion Women’s Club. I settled on coffee as my participation in the club refreshments since my 24 hours were not up. Fish, slaw, and potato salad surely beat drinking my meals.

Saturday morning the snow again covered the ground, but only lightly in comparison to the snow a friend in a Washington D.C. suburb facebooked about. She had 13 inches on her porch, which she had cleared the night before, and 21 inches in her yard. Roads here were fine, so I gathered a few of my books for the first time in months, found my toy tractor that I always use on my table top, and drove to the Marion Illinois Centre Mall for Southern Illinois Writers Guild’s participation in the fifth annual Winter Book Fair there.

I looked forward to the day despite knowing I would not sell books since everyone local who wanted one had probably bought it years ago. But I knew I would enjoy meeting new authors and seeing friends with their books. With some writers not there yet, I quickly shifted my name plate so I could sit next to my friend Maxine Pyle, whom I had wanted to congratulate on her beautiful book on Congressmen Ken Gray.

Before the day was over, I’d visited with Roberta Phipps, Jari Jackson, Jim Lambert, Fog Gilbert, Joy King, Jon Musgrave, Joanna Beth Tweedy, Carol Jennings, and met some writers I'd not met before. I also met Carol Jennings’ cute daughter Honey.

We owe the book fair to Carol since she came up with this idea and promoted it to the mall management. We had fine foot traffic and could not ask for a more attractive venue or a better organized book fair. Right now people aren’t flush with extra cash to buy nonessentials, but when the economy gets going again and it will, I suspect the fair will become even more profitable to area writers. I forgot at the end of the day to ask our president Jim Lambert how our anthologies sold. One woman who bought one as a get-well gift for a friend came through and had several of us autograph it.

I traded books with a couple of authors and couldn’t resist buying a few. Now I have more piles of unread books to tempt and taunt me, but I am enjoying them nevertheless. I’ve read a few of Fog’s poems, looked at some of the fascinating photos and captions in Maxine’s book, and almost finished Joanna Beth Tweedy’s debut novel.

An area native from Murphysboro, Joanna teaches at Benedictine University at Springfield, but she came down for this event with her book On the Yonder Side of Sass and Texas, which has the southern part of the state as its locale. (Although the chapter I just finished before making myself stop in order to blog, was all about Sass’s visit to Rome. Sass’s real name is Arkansas and Texas is her sister.) Tweedy’s poetic prose and runtogether words make for interesting reading. (Some examples: sunshade, fogfulls, combobulations, harsh-headed, yammersnitch, orchardfulls, riddletalk, deathside. Yougettheidea.)

Just as we were leaving Woodsong for church this morning, our son-in-law showed up from central Illinois checking up on his rented land here. We left him to shower and come over later for worship and afterwards for the pot-luck barbeque dinner we had at church. With bright red Valentine decorations, Shirley Butler as usual had made our cavernous basement beautiful. The dessert table was aglow with gorgeous desserts. As we feasted on barbeque beef and turkey from the Old Home Place, there was time to visit with friends and to comfort Eddy, whose former wife June had died yesterday afternoon. With an “evening service” held immediately after the dinner, it was still early in the afternoon when we gathered our left-overs and some took plates to shut-ins. There was plenty of daylight to enjoy the snow-frosted cedar trees lining the highways back to the farm.

National Trail of Tears Conference to be in Illinois This Year

The fields surrounding the house are brown again, and only small patches of snow remain. The senior citizens day at the local Kroger’s yesterday was unusually crowded, I suppose because so many hesitated to get out over the weekend. The lure of the senior discount and very pretty weather brought us there in force. Parking was so scarce I had to make several loops before I found a place on the edge of the lot. A few parking slots were still unavailable because of the huge piles of snow from the lot being cleared on Saturday. Besides the parking problems, shopping usually is not quick because it is always fun to run into someone there I have not seen in years, and yesterday was no exception.

In the evening I drove down Interstate 57 to turn on to the Trail of Tears Auto Route (State Route 146) and just around the corner to the lane parallel to I57 that leads to the historic Camp Ground Cumberland Presbyterian Church. The lovely rural church building houses the more than century-old congregation, which still thrives when other rural congregations have died out. With its cemetery being a certified site of the National Trail of Tears Association, the congregation has been most cooperative in helping promote remembrance of the 1838-39 bitter cold winter when a number of Cherokee were buried in the field at the camping spot that preceded the establishment of the church.

Our Illinois chapter president Sandy Boaz is a member there and makes us welcome whenever we need to meet in their vicinity. With coffee smelling fine and her own home-made zucchini bread awaiting us, she welcomed us to the large comfortable (looked spotless to me) fellowship area, and she immediately apologized for some dirt still on the floor from the previous day’s use as a polling place. I always love to go there and feel the hospitality that characterizes this church.

Last night was no exception when our board for the Illinois chapter TOTA met to confer with the national president Jack Baker and our executive director Jerra Quinton to discuss and help plan the national conference and symposium which will be at Metropolis on September 20-23 this year. Jerra was up from Little Rock with her mother as a guest and Jack had flown in from Oklahoma City to meet with hotel representatives this morning to work out conference details. Also present were guests Mary McCorvie and Heather Carey, archeologists at Shawnee National Forest, who have helped so much with the cleaning the Trail located in Pope County on the Crabb-Abbott Farm. I’ve always wanted to attend the national conference and hear the exciting research being conducted by scholars and interested folk. This year I will be able to attend, and I’m sure I will be writing more about the plans as they firm up.

Returning to the farm through Marion, I debated a late-night trip to pick up the items I forgot to buy when I left my grocery list at home this morning. I decided I’d rather get home and relax than save (spend) any more money at the grocery. Gerald was still up watching the last of two ball games he helped win, so we visited awhile before retiring.

Is January Already Over?

Whoosh. How the first month has flown. It looks as we’re ending the month at Woodsong with an accumulation of seven or eight inches of snow and it is lovely. I started blogging last night and it turned midnight, and I decided to finish the blog when I got up on the first day of February.

Many churches in Kentucky were closed yesterday morning, but I don’t think too many here in Southern Illinois were other than some on rural roads. I didn’t even listen to the closings on TV because I knew our village church was gathering or we’d had a phone call. I had not been off the farm since Thursday, and neither had my sister and husband from their house down in Amarillo. They were grateful for a warm house and plenty of food, but they were getting cabin fever. Their son-in-law and grandson-in-law had cleared their driveways and they were ready to drive the few blocks to their church. They were disappointed when that service was called off. I was glad ours was not.

However, I was surprised when Gerald chose the car for our transportation, but I soon saw that even our country road was quite safe and the highways were totally clear. Of course, he had been to town and back as well as taking his lawn mower with snow blade not only down our lane but also clearing the near neighbors’ lanes. So he was aware that we were not really snowed in at all.

Two helpful men had brought their equipment and cleared our church parking lot; yet there were still occasional slick spots. That was not a problem since we were greeted by a cadre of young men who were ready to grab our arms and escort us into the building. The sure-footed, such as Gerald, did not need their help, but I appreciated it.

After we came back home and I enjoyed a quick chat with our daughter Katherine, I fixed tilapia, which I had thawed, for our lunch. I tried to fix it the best I could remember from seeing Rachel Ray do it the other day. It was good. Cleaned the kitchen while I watched a program on Book Notes, checked email, Red Room, and Facebook, and read a bit before it was time to fix us a sandwich for early supper so I could go to 6 o’clock evening service to hear a guest minister.

Darrell Chandler turned out to be an exceptionally inspiring speaker, who simply shared the story of his last decade with us. Ten years ago he had finished his seminary degree after years of taking classes while working full time. Confident he had followed the Lord’s will, atlast he felt ready to have more time for his ministry. Shortly after that he was in the pulpit and almost through his sermon. Everything went black. Quickly closing the service, he had his wife drive him to the hospital where they decided he must have appendicitis and they operated for that.

Problems continued. A six-week coma followed with an atypical near-death experience in which he briefly experienced a perfect place and peace he knew was Heaven. He woke up on his wife’s birthday and she told him of the middle-of-the-night call she had when the hospital staff thought he was dying. After continuing troubles, it was discovered that his problem had not been the appendix but rather two tiny holes in his colon allowing poison into his abdomen. It took seven more surgeries to solve the problems. He was faced with a mountain of hospital bills and unable to work. Then his wife, who had the health insurance, was laid off. He did not explain how other than through the Lord’s provision, but he rejoiced that they kept a roof over their head, one car to drive, and food on the table for the next year and a half. Finally after a nine-hour surgery with two surgeons, he was better
and returned to pastor a church.

Then bad health returned. After nine years, he had had 18 surgeries to take care of the original problem and the first misdiagnosis with it resulting problems and a final botched surgery. After an intense time with pain so great that he begged, “Let me die,” a final surgery took place that allowed him to eat foods he had not eaten in years and to be well enough to preach again.

Standing before us was a man who looked the picture of health and whose voice was strong and clear. Now he is teaching in a college and his preaching is done on weekends where he ministers to those who have serious pain in their lives—psychic or physical—and that means all of us. For Chandler has learned that all people have some sort of painful trauma or desperate problems in their lives that can better be survived once the burdens are turned over to God.

He had a simple story told in a straight forward non-emotional way, and yet our emotions were deeply touched and I knew I was not the only one with tears in my eyes. He had persuaded us with scripture and story that God loved us and was suffering with us even as we suffer with our children. It feels very good to be loved.

Driving home through the snow-laden landscape that 89-year-old Lela had praised for its beauty in morning worship, I walked into Woodsong expecting to retell the story I had heard to Gerald. But he was engrossed in a television movie about the life of Jackie Robinson, and I quickly joined him. That movie was followed by a history of racial relations in the baseball world that foreshadowed and greatly contributed to the radical change in race relations throughout the nation. It is hard for even those of us who lived trough those times to really remember how utterly silly and cruel white attitudes were in those years. The courageous clear thinkers, such as Branch Rickey, who stood against the entire culture and called it out on its wickedness was again enormously inspiring and brought tears o the eyes.

Altogether is was an inspirational day to start a new week. Now it is a new month.
Welcome, February.

I'm Doing Fine!

Oh, I thought when I went to bed Wednesday night that I'd come on here on Thursday morning if I were over the arthritis attack or whatever caused the intense lower back pain. I woke up with the pain all gone Thursday, and it has not returned. I am very grateful. But with the dentist appointment that day and other responsibilities, I failed to get back on here. (The dentist appointment was not so terrific as the back pain going away was. I am in for lots of appointments to correct decay under caps. GRRR.)

I slept late on Friday expecting to wake up to the 3-6 inches of snow predicted, but the brown grassy fields surrounding us looked just as they had the night before. The local stations were saying we'd have snow coming in by noon, so I was afraid to leave the farm and really did not need to do so. Finally towards evening snow started and the local stations said to stay home if you could. This morning we woke to what may be five or six inches covering those brown fields.

Gerald ran to town on errands and asked me to go along, but I was filling chipper and was doing long-delayed housework and getting a few loads of laundry done, so I declined. In fact, I better go check that last load of laundry drying. I got behind early in the week.

The birds on the deck provide entertainment as we eat our meals because Gerald has filled the feeder and put extra on the picnic table out there.

Just Fizzling Flurries This Evening

Very scant snow flurries were coming down as I drove to town to pick up Sam from his trombone lesson at junior high. Most snowflakes became water as soon as they hit the windshield. Occasionally one stuck as a flake. I like winter—especially from inside where I am warm. Ha.

One of my all-time favorite winter memories was driving home years ago from a night class at John A. Logan and finding myself in a heavy snowstorm. I finally reached Route 166 within few miles of our house. Visibility diminished until I really could not see what was ahead of me, and I knew the same would be true of any cars behind me. All I could see was swirling whiteness glorified by the headlights of my car.

The beauty of that snow was overwhelming, and created a vision I cherish. I knew I was in danger, but I could not be afraid because the magical loveliness kept crowding out fear. I did not want to waste a minute of enjoying that spectacular snowy wonder. Traffic is always slight on that road, but there usually are occasional cars in both directions. I was creeping trying to see ahead and stay on the road, and I hoped no hurrying traveler would ram me from either direction. Yet I just kept thinking what a beautiful way it would be to die with all that loveliness in my brain. Evidently that night I was alone on that portion of the road, and I made it quite safely to the turn off to our country road. I was grateful not only for the safe arrival, but also for the indelible vision of driving through such winter loveliness.

We are supposed to have snow again on Friday, but it sounds as if tomorrow I can make my long-delayed dental appointment that I didn’t want to schedule until after the holidays. We received our H1N1 shots this week. I’m gradually working through various check-ups on my list. Unfortunately, I may have a new one to attend to. I grew increasingly stiff on Sunday and knew pain in my lower back, and was walking poorly when I went to bed. When I went to the bathroom in the middle of the night, I could hardly walk at all. A good night’s sleep, however, seemed to put the trouble to rest. I was glad since I was scheduled to give a devotion at our church’s women meeting that night.

That morning Gerald received good news when the ophthalmologist said his eye he’d been concerned about had seemingly healed itself and was almost back to normal. The seeping that had caused a slight swelling next to the macular was gone. The feared correction that might have resulted in a blind spot in the middle of his eye would be unnecessary.

I’d tagged along to his appointment, book in hand to read while I waited, just in case he needed me to drive him home, but he didn’t need me to. It was noon, so we went through a drive-in to take lunch home, and I had the afternoon to finish working on the devotional that I had started a couple weeks before. I was glad I was walking without the pain of the day before. I assumed I too was on the road to recovery. I’ve always had great faith in the body healing itself.

Fortunately the hostess had given us maps to their rural home quite a ways from the neighborhoods I’m familiar with. I was the last one there despite the map, so I had to park last and walk up a long gravel driveway. That was no problem. I was so happy my back was better. Blocking the earlier arrivals, I had to leave first and started confidently to back my car out of the driveway. A younger friend also leaving early with her mother fortunately stopped me when she caught on I was headed in the wrong direction. Straightened out I made it back home through the unfamiliar roads and went to bed thinking the lower back problem was cured.

Yesterday morning the pain was back with a vengeance, but I stuck with my usual routine. Made the bed, did some chores, fixed lunch. After lunch, I drove to town to run by the state office to pay the state sales tax on the nine books I personally had sold during 2009 since they had gone through no one’s cash register. And I was to pick up a prescription that was supposed to have been filled. The pharmacy had not heard back on the refill though. They kindly loaned me a couple days’ supply and suggested I call my doctor’s office this morning to jog their response. Then I ran by my daughter’s for a visit.

Seeing my awkward gait and pained face when I came in and started supper, Gerald was fussing I needed to do something. But I wasn’t sure what I needed to do. First thing this morning I called the doctor’s office about the refill and asked the nurse to ask the doctor to prescribe a pain pill that I could take with warfarin. In the old days, I always took aspirin on the rare occasions I had pain. The nurse was so sweet and would have worked me in an appointment, but I begged off to see if I would not be better by Friday. I told her I wasn’t up to coming in.

During the night I decided I would just spend today in bed. And I did. I meant to get up to fix Gerald a bite of lunch, but I was sleeping and he had already fixed his own by the time I joined him. I went back to bed with alarms (two clocks) set so I wouldn’t be late picking up Sam. Gerald offered to go, but with no walking required, I felt like doing it and I was certainly rested. I would just go through the drive-in at the pharmacy for the meds. There were five cars ahead of me, so I wasn’t the only one who didn’t want to get out in the wetness of the snow.

When I picked up Sam, I told him I was going to get Gerald and me a pizza for supper and wondered if their family might like one too. I could do that before I took him home if he wanted, and he thought it was a good idea. Come to find out, he’d had a scholar bowl meet this morning early and then the after-school lesson, so I think he was ready for something to eat. Again lots of folks evidently had the same idea and the cars at the window were constant. There was a wait after going through the ordering window, but I didn’t have to walk a step as the worker carried the pizzas to the car.

Back at Woodsong, Gerald and I ate pizza downstairs in the family room as we watched the evening news. I took two prescribed pain pills. No dishes to think about. Gerald carried the left-over pizza upstairs. Later we listened to the State of the Union address, and now I am blogging.

I think the pain pills have really helped—or else I was getting better anyway—that is one of the problems if you take something. You don’t know what you might be masking. I will know when I wake up in the morning.

Some Give All They Have

Wind and rain stormed the house last night after I stayed up too late and went to bed just as it hit. I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to fall asleep with all that noise, but I did. When I woke up this morning, the rain was falling gently. Maybe it quieted like that while I was falling asleep. After the rains stopped during the day, it was warm but turned chilly this evening.

We stayed a little late after morning worship as Gerald had brought his tools to put up a high shelf that the children can’t reach in the preschool room. We can now lay out supplies for the day’s lesson, and volunteers will have a safe place for purses—even if they happen to have meds in the purse. Since it was later than usual when we arrived back at the farm, I fixed us a bowl of canned soup and a hot pocket in a matter of minutes. I had the fish thawing that Gerald’s buddy had given us, so I fixed that for an early supper and it was good.

Because of some arthritis brought on by the rainy weather, I think, I probably would not have gone to evening worship, but I wanted to be in the preschool room during that service with two-year old Lena. She and I are just getting acquainted, and I did not want to miss an opportunity to be with this extremely bright little girl. We also have a new family with an older special needs child they have adopted, and he really likes to be with the preschoolers each service. And it would be a good thing for his mother to have an hour’s time to worship without concern for him.

However, we think it is good for him to be mainstreamed and stay in the worship hour rather than playing with the preschoolers. Although we appreciate quiet, our congregation also has a strong tolerance for any noises children make. We have had special needs children before. We also have had foster children and teenagers—one teen with a two-year-old child, who evidently never had been in services before, and though they trekked in and out to the restroom or for water, we were thrilled to have them there with their foster family. When we still had them with us, I used to silently pray as they watched the stable families around them, that they would have such homes someday. A little confusion or disturbance by children as they learn to be quiet is a good thing in our opinion.

We do, however, let this new child volunteer to help once a month in the morning just as we do the other two children in his older class. Seeing him grow and develop makes me feel we made the right decision. Tonight he volunteered to help me with Lena, and I really needed him because of our policy that we must have at least two caretakers in a preschool room. Then at the last minute, Katie rushed in the building and also volunteered. I was glad to have this high school freshman, who is quite talented with little ones. Before the service ended in the sanctuary, little Hayden—visiting tonight with his grandparents—joined us.
Thanks to Katie, we had plenty of help. With my arthritis attack, I was especially grateful.

Lena’s mother warned that she had not had a nap and might be grouchy. After the first few seconds she cried when her mother left the room, Katie quickly distracted her and she was a smiley and engaged child from then until her father came to take her home. Mostly the children played—with blocks, musical instruments, papers and colors, transportation toys. But we also had time to teach this morning’s lesson about working together. (Our lessons can take anywhere from two to ten minutes for this age group. We know they learn by playing whether we attempt a lesson or not.)

We also reviewed last Sunday’s lesson on the poor widow who Jesus said gave more than the rich folks who put money in the temple offering box and made a loud clatter. The kids liked being given coins to put in the cardboard “temple offering box” with a hole in the top filled with an open-mouthed canning jar filler. Their coins made loud noises as the coins hit the cookie sheet hidden inside. I hope they remember that the poor widow, who gave less than a penny, gave more because she gave all she had.

I wonder how many folks in Haiti tonight are giving all they have to help those suffering around them.

Daniel Coyle and Jim Muir

When I ordered Coyle’s The Talent Code from Amazon, I also ordered his only novel Waking Samuel. I don’t read much fiction, but as soon as I finished The Talent Code, I read this mystery, which read easily and held my interest. I also ordered Coyle’s first book which came out in 1995--Hardball: A Season in the Projects.

Since it is out of print, I ordered from one of Amazon’s second-hand book sellers. It was slow coming and arrived yesterday, and I must confess that is why I did not blog last night. I was always interested in Cabrini-Green before it was razed, and I knew I would like this nonfiction account of some volunteers who started a Little League program there. I didn’t get a chance to finish it today, but I am eager to learn the outcome of characters that Coyle has already fastened in my heart.

Tonight I went to our first 2010 Southern Illinois Writers Guild meeting. I was planning on going, but only learned yesterday that we would have Jim Muir as our speaker. I knew then that program would be good, and it was.

Jim’s columns used to appear twice weekly in The Southern Illinoisan, and I was always eager to read them. They were courageously controversial and full of passion and emotion. The Southern lost a valuable resource when it messed up and lost Jim. However, our region benefited because Jim soon started a new magazine Southern Illinois Sports Connection. Later he bought Marion Living, and now co-founded Saluki Illustrated, which appeals to Southern Illinois University Carbondale sports fans everywhere. His active mind is already considering other possible publications. This are distributed free at multiple spots around the region. You can also subscribe to Saluki Illustrated at www.salukiillustrated.com.

Jim’s life story is fascinating. Five days after his 18th birthday, he went down into one of the local coal mines and there he worked underground for 20 years. When he read the sign on the bulletin board that the mine would be closing in 60 days, he had three small children and had to scramble to find employment. He started college at Rend Lake and worked at three part-time jobs to survive.

He saw a notice that the college paper wanted writers, and for some reason he did not seem to understand, he applied with the sponsor who asked him if he had done any writing. He admitted he hadn’t but would like to try and would quit if he couldn’t do the assigned stories. That college writing was all the formal training he ever received. Although he finished his associate degree there, he never had time for any writing classes.

The college sponsor told him one day that the Benton Evening News needed a writer and suggested he try for it. Jim laughed that he was already working there as the night janitor—one of his part-time jobs. He made $7.50 an hour and was thrilled with the $75 he received each week for five nights’ labor. When he added writer to his janitorial duties, the editor posted his assignments on the cleaning closet door. For two years everyone joked that was Jim’s office. He went on up the ranks at the Benton paper becoming an editor and then onto The Southern for several years. He is also a long-time radio announcer. He produces and hosts “Talking Sports” on Saturday morning and “Sound Off” on Wednesday—both two-hour shows on Station WQRL in Benton. He does play-by-play for the Benton Rangers basketball, football and baseball.

Even though Jim exudes energy as well as friendliness, one wonders how he does it all. I suspect the secret is he has found a career and business that he obviously loves and is having a good time. He preaches that it is never too late for a writer. He was 38 when he started college and writing for the first time in his life. He was 53 when he started his first magazine, and he admitted he knew nothing about magazines. His presentation was an inspirational way for our guild to start a new year.

A Winter Week at Woodsong

We’ve had very cold weather, but as typical for Southern Illinois, we have also had pleasant winter weather this week. (The local saying has always been: If you don’t like the weather, stick around and it will change.) Evidence of the cold temperatures were Gerald’s two young buddies fishing out on the middle of the lake where they cut holes. The second day the temp was changing and I wondered if they were safe—but they assured Gerald the ice was still plenty thick. I’ve got a mess of cleaned fish in the freezer that we will enjoy one of these days.
I have been useful. I picked up Sam from junior high and took him to the orthodontist when his braces needing fixing. Since the dentist is just across the street from the Dairy Queen, it has always been our tradition when I take him to make a stop there afterward.
I made a make-up interview appointment for Katherine with a possible substitute aide. I haven’t heard yet how that went.

Although I haven’t done much cooking this week, I nevertheless put food on the table at meal times. I experimented with bran muffins and little loafs of bran bread using Splenda. The little loafs flavored with walnut flavor and a generous handful of real walnuts were tasty.

Gerald had two appointments set up on Friday—one in the morning and one in the afternoon. So I didn’t think he would be home for lunch. Then a phone call came saying a death in someone’s family made them need to cancel the afternoon appointment and maybe he could come in on Monday. I quickly phoned him so he would not go to the other town for the second appointment, and I hurriedly fixed salmon patties for our lunch with salad and a “baked” sweet potato. (I can fix even a large one in the microwave in less than ten minutes.) As it turned out, he was able to reschedule the afternoon appointment after all by going up to West Frankfort, where he needed to take the car anyhow, so that worked out well.

I finally had our neglected piano tuned this week, and I made my delayed eye examination appointment. I intended to start setting up appointments with my dentist but wanted to wait to find out when the eye exam would be. That is the first thing I am going to do in the morning.

The mail brought me a sweet personal note from a friend in Florida who is recovered from cancer, and one day I came home to a strange package that was delivered by the UPS man. As I struggled with the cardboard box, I knew a moment of irritation thinking that some company had sent me something I had not ordered.

Then I remembered. I’d sent off a manuscript—a simple account of the way our family celebrated Christmas when I was a child--to a senior citizens’ magazine years ago, and the editor wrote they could not use it that year but if I didn’t mind their holding it, they might use it the next Christmas. It wasn’t very good in my opinion, and I had no plans for it, so I said sure they could hold it. But they did not use it the next Christmas either and returned it. I then sent it off to Reminisce. They finally wrote it might be used on their website or someplace someday, and I forgot all about it.
Right before Christmas this year, I got a nice packet with a personal letter and a representation (copy) of their monthly e-newsletter, and there was my memory “Christmas in the 1940s.” The letter said it would also be on their website when they redesigned the site in late 2009. I forgot to look until tonight, and I couldn’t find it. But my pay for all this is a tiny metal replica of a classic ’57 Chevy convertible that identifies me as a Reminisce staffer. I’ve never been paid with a toy car before, but it is kinda cute and I am kinda proud of it on the bookcase in my office.

Yesterday was spent in our home county because of the death or our sister-in-law Barbara’s 95-year-old mother, who died in a nursing home in Missouri. She was brought back to be buried by her husband in a peaceful rural cemetery. She had lived with Barbara’s younger sister Karen for many years after many years in our sister-in-law’s home. We arrived early for the graveside service and walked the grassy hill top looking down on country fields. I had dressed warmly, but the weather was pleasant unlike the bitter cold I expected.

Barbara’s sister grew up spending her summers with Barbara, and so we considered Karen one of own. After many years, it was good to see her and her husband again and meet their grown daughters, see Barbara’s brother Willie and family, and see some of our own great nieces and nephews that had we had not seen in too long. Friends, neighbors, and church members had filled long tables for a buffet feast at Barbara and Keith’s house, and most of us went there to continue our visit and reminiscing.

The one thing I worked on this week was preparation for a meeting tonight after our evening church services. Our small village church has had two to four children in our preschool department for a few years, and we were organized for that. Now we are very pleased to have new families that cause us to have eight or more children with different ages. We’ve have grown a little disorganized with this influx.

The last babies we had in that classroom are now four. To make floor space for the eight, we moved two baby beds to another room. We are ready to find some babies to fill those beds while their parents attend Bible study and/or worship. One such baby was born Friday. We have enlisted several new volunteers to teach the children during worship services, and the meeting tonight was a training session for those volunteers.

We often use a teen or older child to work with one or two adults. They are good help, and we like knowing we are providing them with training in child care. I like to think the kids and teens will be better fathers and mothers someday because of this coached introduction to child care.

I know the preschoolers have increased language and social skills because of the teaching at church. Eye-hand coordination is increased as they use scissors, crayons, glue, toys, chalk, play dough, and other materials. These activities will help prepare them for reading, and then they will not be dependent on us to tell them Bible stories. It is wonderful to see so many volunteers eager to invest in our most precious resource.

After this meeting followed by visiting with a young friend in the church yard,
I walked into Woodsong, and Gerald had the new sound system he gave us for Christmas playing “How Great Thou Art.” It was a nice ending to a winter week at Woodsong.

Haiti and Compartmentalizing

I find it difficult to write tonight. Images of misery are still in my brain. When I clean up the kitchen a bit and make the coffee pot ready for brewing the morrow’s coffee, I usually watch the news channels. Tonight’s news was almost too much to bear. How can there be that much pain and hopelessness so close to us and yet so far away.

I am used to compartmentalizing to survive. Someone said to others the other day that I was always smiling. I didn’t say anything in reply because I did not know how to explain that I live with grief. Seeing my beloved child in constant pain is an underlying condition of my present life. Yet I cannot allow myself to realize that condition—or I could not bear it. So I box it up, tie it up tightly to try and avoid its escape, and then put it aside. Then I try to think of all those other things instead of that underlying grief. I must not allow myself to think on that grief too much or I will break. And I must not break and cause more trouble. There is enough trouble without my adding to it. Yes, I am adept at compartmentalizing. And there is much to smile about as long as the string holding in the unthinkable does not break or the box doesn’t leak.

So tonight as I sit here to blog, I try to erase the images of the wounded and the dead bodies on the street. Dead babies. I try to think of what fun things I have done today to share with you. I had my hair done. I finally met for lunch at our favorite Mexican restaurant with my friend Marilyn Schild as we have wanted to do for months now. We talked for two hours and parted as always wishing we could get together more often. I did other errands, such as getting an INR and picking up bananas, and everything went smoothly.

When I returned to Woodsong, I enjoyed the mail, surfed Facebook and Red Room a bit before supper, and then visited at the table with Gerald. Then I braced myself to watch the reports on Haiti. Now I am self-scheduled to blog. We’ll check out the local addresses for donations tomorrow. I am an expert at compartmentalizing. I must turn off those Haiti images, tie them up tightly, and not let them leak out. Yet I do not want to try and be funny or paint happy pictures of my day for you—even though it was a nice day. Somehow in my bright lighted office as I think of the dark night and pain down there, somehow the compartmentalizing seems obscene. Maybe I should pray instead.

Winter's Come

Although we received two or three inches of the three to five predicted, after Thursday most of the highways were cleared. Cars in the ditch were common on Thursday, and some had to wait for wreckers not just because the wrecker was tied up helping someone else but also Interstate 57 was considered too slick for it to be safe to have a wrecker pulling someone onto the road. But eventually most people got to work and back home again, and wreckers helped those that didn’t.

Some of our county schools were closed Thursday and some were not. More were closed on Friday although the roads were better than the day before. Many times when roads are safe in town, they may be impassable on rural roads. I know that my brother used to get up at 4 a.m. and drive the country roads in his district in central Illinois trying to determine if the school buses could safely make their pick-ups. I feel sorry for those having to make those decisions that could be life-ending for children if made wrong. That is a terrible responsibility. Whatever decision is made, some folks will feel it is the wrong decision. If parents have to go to work and children are home alone, accidents can happen at home. Generally at least the kids are happy when school is cancelled. My grandkids are. As a parent, I used to love snow days even if it did mean I spent the day bundling kids up, drying out gloves and socks, finding more gloves and socks while the first ones dried.

Now when the weather cancels my plans for the day, I can lazily snuggle in watching the birds at the feeder on the deck and feel no compunction to adopt new plans. We’ve especially enjoyed seeing a pair of cardinals there since we do not see them often at this house. I was really delighted when one flew to the ledge of our living room where I was reading. He was staring in trying to figure out what goes on inside that place he could not enter. I had this strong desire to be able to talk to him and find out what he was thinking. Such days seem special simply because I suddenly realize that my plans weren’t as important as I thought. Nature is humbling that way.

Gerald had been out every day, but I tagged along yesterday to meet Leslie, our granddaughter returning to Belmont for spring semester. We met at Cracker Barrel for lunch and used one of our gift cards (with 19 cents left over) to feed us. She headed on down to Nashville to be on hand as a resident assistant in her dorm when the students began coming back today. We headed to the warehouse store for me to look for a seasoned port loin roast for dinner guests today. And we had to stop at Rural King for more bird feed and suet.

Today we were able to drive without problems to church, where a young man in the village had cleared the parking lot for us. The house was crowded. I think folks were glad to be out and about again. But I’ve heard more than one say they are ready for spring. It is going to take awhile. Yet as the poet promised, it can’t be far behind.

Going Foreward in a New Year

If you read my last blog, you may have guessed why I haven’t blogged on time. Yes, before we woke up on Tuesday, Gerald and I had caught the family flu. He dressed, however, although he reduced his level of activity. In fact, at the end of Tuesday, he said he had managed to do the most important two things he meant to do that day. He told me what they were, but I can’t remember since I heard them through the fog of spending the day sleeping in bed. I assumed food was no more appealing to him than me, but knew he could open a can of soup if his extra activity had created an appetite. Yet that evening when he carried down a small bowl of cream of chicken soup to the family room where I was semi-passed out in his recliner, I welcomed it and felt a little energy returning with the warmth of the broth. Enough energy I could get myself ready for bed and another ten hours of sleep.

On Wednesday although I was still less than energetic, I finally got around to finishing the holiday de-decorating that I had started on Monday. I had meant to phone a friend on Tuesday and see if we could meet for lunch before I shopped for groceries at the monthly senior citizens day. Of course, I hadn’t. With the prediction of wind and three to five inches of snow Wednesday night, I decided we really needed to stock some groceries since I had not shopped since before the holiday crowd had joined us. And we were almost out of gas. I decided to write some thank you notes and wait until late in the afternoon hoping my energy level would be up to grocery shopping.

Gerald must have sensed I was not looking forward to that trip to town, and he suggested he take me. He said if I’d make him a list, he would get a cart and help locate some of the needed items. With snow predictions, the parking lot and the store were filled to overflowing, and maneuvering the aisles was a challenge. Being a duel shopping team was a first for us, and the next day he was proudly telling his brother Garry the difference between cut green beans and sliced or French style beans. It just so happened when Gerald called him that Garry was in his local grocery with a list from Ginger’s aide and was trying to decide the difference.

After he put all the food stuff in the trunk, Gerald filled up gas tank where that lot too was crowded. He pulled into a slot that I’d have never dared try, and I stayed resting and warm. He carried in most of the groceries that night while I put out a bite for us to eat after I made sure freezer and fridge foods were put away. After supper I started unsacking and storing a few other staples. Today I have finally gotten most of those groceries put away.

I had received in Wednesday’s afternoon mail Daniel Coyle’s The Talent Code. I’d ordered it immediately after Gerry told us about it at the supper table on Saturday night. Although multiple sclerosis is only a footnote mention on a couple of pages and the book is about hotspots of talent (soccer, singing, softball) and what made those spots happen, any book that is about building myelin was a must-read for me. Despite still dragging a bit from the flu and being tired from the monthly grocery binge shopping, I started reading The Talent Code instead of blogging. I forced myself to go to bed much too long after midnight but was too mentally stimulated by the book to sleep.

Both of us checked outside when we got up during the night and saw the prediction of swirling wind-blown snow had come true. Gerald slept late for him, and we woke up together with the ground outside our windows covered with angelic beauty. As he does each morning, Gerald walked down our lane to get the paper. I put away a few more groceries while the coffee was making. After we breakfasted together over the paper, I went right back to Coyle’s absorbing book. Stopping for lunch preparation and that light meal, I kept reading until I finished at 3:00 that afternoon. Then I got out of my pajamas and dressed for the day.

Today I’ve been busy finishing reading a short manuscript that a sweet neighbor asked me to write a foreward to. I have never written a foreward to a book. I picked up five books lying around to get an idea of what a foreward is all about. None had a foreward. This writer is someone special that I watched grow up and who courted his girl (also someone special to us) while they fished at our pond. We watched them and their three daughters through the years, and we like it that some of them have also fished with boyfriends at our present lake. His brief life story to be published by a local publisher brought back so many memories. I decided to just do it my way and hope it works well for the book. The foreward is in a folder ready to hand to him despite the week’s sick days. So now I am blogging two days later than usual. And I am feeling good.

Just Us Two Again

Our last holiday guest left this morning. We’ve actually had two shifts of visits. After the last Christmas visitors left on the evening of the 26th, we had one lonely weekend. Our son’s family and his oldest daughter’s family—Bryan and Tara Archibald and two little boys—left after breakfast that day to travel to Georgia. After celebrating and resting there together at Gerry and Vickie’s, they dispersed. Our daughter-in-law and their youngest daughter accompanied the Archibalds and our two great grandsons to Disney World.

Our son Gerry and their middle daughter Erin went on from Georgia over to Shreveport to attend the University of Georgia and Texas A&M football game. They sat together in Georgia’s section, but Erin wore her A&M attire and yelled loudly for her team. Gerry claimed she pouted when her friends lost, but dad and daughter continued traveling together afterward to a buddy in Texas who had kept Gerry’s car for him recently, so they parted amicably when Erin returned to College Station for one more semester of college and he returned briefly to home.

Sometime after midnight on Wednesday, Gerry arrived back at Woodsong and crawled into the bed I had not touched since they left. We were asleep. We had stayed up waiting until we found he stopped to visit with his cousin Neil down at Vienna and we went on to bed. He was able to sleep late that morning, and the bacon was ready when he got up.

Gerald likes it when we have guests and I sometimes fry bacon. Gerald’s dietitian says he should not have bacon, so he gets to cheat when I prepare it for others. Because he gets up so early, I never cook breakfast for Gerald other than preparing the coffee pot and laying out dishes the night before.

Often I don’t fix breakfast for guests either after showing them where the cereal and juice are. There’s always coffee made and a bowl of fruit on the table. There’s bread for toasting. The grandkids often barely get their self-made breakfast over before lunch is ready. They can sleep as long as they want after staying up visiting and playing together the night before. (I admit I sometimes fry bacon for Trent and Sam because they are so appreciative.)

However, Tara and Bryan’s little ones—Aidan and Maddux—get them up early. Not as early as Gerald usually arises, but early enough that they need breakfast long before lunch. While Tara and Bryan gladly fix their own cereal, I liked doing oatmeal and eggs along with the bacon so the little guys have choices. And Gerald and I enjoy sitting down again with them and their parents and indulging too.

Gerry was actually up here to work in a softball camp up at Collinsville at the end of the week, but in the meantime, he was able to see a lot of friends, visit his cousin Tim’s great new roping barn, loan a hunting dog to a friend, and run around with Gerald. Mostly, however, he was watching videos of batters and thinking and talking softball. At the table, on the phone, with buddies who dropped in. Softball is the usual topic of conversation.

While our son-in-law David went down to his friend’s farm to hunt, I spent Friday night with Katherine and Sam. Gerald and Gerry came by and took the three of us out to lunch at Mackey’s on Saturday. We enjoy the décor there since it was a project that Bryan participated in with his architecture class. Gerry loves the pizza because when their family lived at Harrisburg, they were quickly hooked on Mackey’s pizza. (Oh, David got another deer. His deer sausage as a pre-Christmas dinner appetizer was a great hit at Woodsong.)

That night the Archibalds arrived from Georgia on their way home to northern Illinois. We had been eagerly anticipating their return. Gerald had spent two or three days in his shop repairing the little tractor that once was Erin’s but which had been run over by a tractor or some vehicle. The day before Christmas, Aidan had spied the tractor while he was shoveling and dumping lime into the new little wheelbarrow Gerald had bought for that purpose. (Gerald says Aidan would take the lime all of two feet to dump and then reload the wheelbarrow.) He asked Gerald if he could fix that tractor for him, so Gerald was determined to have it in working condition when Aidan and Maddux arrived back from Disney World. With a new coat of John Deere paint, the tractor looked new.

It had once been Erin’s and it has a story. As a tot, Erin had gone with Gerald to some other town to visit a John Deere dealership which had a not-so-heavy vehicle for kids there called a Gator. Erin rode it all over the building and loved it. She hated to leave it, but since he had already bought them the little tractor that he gave to all the families in those days, he left the dealership. They were in the truck going down the road when Erin said she’d like to trade her tractor for that easy-to-ride Gator. She was so serious that Gerald asked her if she really would trade the tractor. She said yes, and they turned around and went back to the dealership to buy the Gator. And that is how Gerald acquired a little tractor for his farm by trading with Erin.

On Friday we had heard the sad story as the Disney World gang traveled from Florida back to Georgia. Their wonderful time was made even more memorable when Maddux started throwing up. Then it was Tara and Bryan’s turn. Finally in the car, Geri Ann was attacked by the same bug. Aidan promptly had to get out of that back seat and away from his beloved “G.” He and Vickie were the only ones not affected. They debated stopping to rest at motel but kept driving and coping the best they could. We worried about Tara, who is expecting a third baby in early April, but by Saturday when they started to Illinois, she and Bryan were feeling better. Then Aidan became sick. They phoned and said we might not want them at Woodsong with all this stomach trouble going on.

We assured them that we wanted them to stop if at all possible. It was cold and wet, and Gerald moved our car to the shop so they could pull straight into the garage and come in the kitchen door. However, when both boys were sleeping well in the car shortly before they got here, they debated if it might be better to keep driving. We were so glad when we saw them pull in. Gerald would have been a disappointed little boy if he did not get to show that repaired tractor to Aidan. And, of course, Gpa Gerry had been looking forward to seeing those two boys again—as well as their parents.

Although he was friendly, Aidan felt so bad that he gladly let his mother take him to the bedroom so he could sleep. After hearing they were sick, Gerald had carried the tractor inside to the den downstairs. With Aidan asleep, he lured Maddux to try it. I did not think a one-year-old would like it, but I was wrong. He was one happy kid when people pushed him around on it. And he quite amazed me as we watched him work diligently until he was able to crawl on by himself. His smiles made the back ache Gerald got from all that time on the shop’s concrete floor worth it.

When we got up the next morning, Tara and Aidan were in the family room. She reported that Aidan had been sick all night, and he was one unhappy little boy. Gerald showed up and got him on that tractor, however, and soon Aidan was feeling better. He and Maddux played together and Aidan even ate a little breakfast.

Bryan packed the huge collection of Christmas gifts (from the Johnson family gathering on Christmas Eve and the one here). They had left them here while they went to Georgia and Florida. With two car seats and all the gifts, there was not bit of extra space, but I handed Tara specially prepared plastic bags in case anyone became sick again in their seven- or eight- hour journey north. We were grateful to learn that the bags were not needed. Today Bryan is back at work, and Tara is once again taking care of a teacher friend’s baby. So she is already used to caring for three preschoolers.

After breakfast this morning, Gerry left cold Southern Illinois to head to cold Georgia. We had enjoyed an unusual visit with him, and we hated to see him leave although we knew he was eager to get back to his wife and Geri Ann.

I set to work taking down the upstairs tree and that is done. Gerald put the box in the guest bedroom closet. (That bedroom, however, is still a jumble of boxes and gathered Christmas decorations.) Next I started on the downstairs tree in the family room, and it is naked but still waiting to be taken apart. That bedroom where it will be closeted is also a mess waiting for all the little boxes that hold the ornaments to be filled and put into the big box to sleep until next December.

I would have finished more, but my important job today was calling a long list of possible aides to help Katherine on the one morning her regular aide cannot work. And with cold and flu season here, she needs to have possible substitutes available. A large percentage of people on the list were not home or were no longer at the listed phone number. Many could not do the transfer lifting.

Finally, I had one interview appointment made for Katherine in the morning. She had given me her tight schedule, which includes an afternoon doctor appointment tomorrow. I was feeling smug that an interview was set up. Typical of her life, however, one of her doctors had called this morning and needs to see her in Carbondale in the morning. The appointment with the potential personal assistant had to be cancelled and we hope rearranged later in the week. A more up-to-date list of available personal assistants is on its way.

A person with a chronic illness has a full-time job just seeing all the physical therapists, dentists, doctors, and other helpers that are needed. I’m sure those same helping specialists would tell Katherine it would be good for her over-all health just to get lots of rest. She wishes she could.

The Aftermath of Christmas

Facebook brings us in contact with people from long ago. One young lady I especially enjoyed watching grow up in our village had writing talent. She went off to college, married a doctor, lives in a coastal state far from Southern Illinois, and has three sons— one of whom will be in college next year if I understand her status remarks correctly. Her post-Christmas comment was she was cleaning up the aftermath of Christmas. That is where we all are now, isn’t it? There is always physical and emotional aftermath.

We are still eating leftovers, and I carried some—including the last pumpkin pie--in to Katherine’s house this afternoon. Mary Ellen said to take the extra loaf of banana bread she had made to the Cedars, so I delivered that too. I feel a certain satisfaction when I empty a dish. Now that is done, I think.

Gerald was concerned that we might run short on fruit despite the huge bowl we had available. (Katherine had seen this commercial-size aluminum bowl at a rummage sale when she lived with us in 1993, and she laughingly carried it home to me. She knew I would love it, and I do.) Actually we’ve had adequate fruit in these three days after Christmas. We still have plenty of apples, but I think we did eat the last orange today. I have made a mental note to buy two boxes from Sam’s band fund raiser next year.

Gerry looked at our house after Christmas and commented that it would take me two weeks to clean it up. I laughed and knew he was correct. This despite the fact that others cleaned the kitchen beautifully with all its pots and pans after our Christmas dinner, people gathered the discarded paper when we unwrapped our gifts, and they picked up before they left. Although I counted 16 pairs of shoes in the front foyer once, nary a one was left. Granddaughter Brianna picked up the den again before the Taylors left Saturday night, and Mary Ellen loaded the collection of dirty towels downstairs in the washer. I had already laundered the upstairs towels. And the table coverings are laundered and put away except for the one on the table now. Yet there are many items still out of place—things Gerald and I don’t use but bring out when a crowd is here.

In another week, I will be thinking of disassembling the two trees—one upstairs and one down—and packing away all the decorations for next year—decorations I have been collecting for over 50 years. I will enjoy it. Putting things away allows me to relive and remember the fun times we just had as well as the ancient Christmases that the decorations bring to mind. After our first Christmas as an engaged couple, I went to the after-Christmas sale at the dime store in Anna and bought two dozen ornaments in preparation for our tree the following year. Some have broken, but most are still intact. I have added some of Gerald’s mother’s ornaments as well bought many since then.

Many ornaments on the downstairs tree were made by children and grandchildren, and others are made by friends and relatives. “Somebunny in Wyoming loves you,” says one little painted bunny from Gerald’s sister. The wooden replica of a Texas map that niece Cyndi made in 1985 commands: “Deck them halls, ya’ll.” For a few years before her stroke in 2001, Ginger and Garry would come to our house early in December and bring an ornament that Ginger made us. Those are precious. I try to enjoy the ornaments and the memories as I put them up, for there is more time to lovingly linger when I pack them away.

Christmas cards and letters have poured in—some hand made, some made on the computer, one with an ornament for the tree, two original poems for the season, many notes and annual letters, and one very cherished long hand-written two page letters just to me. My cousin Ginny sent me a copy of a book her sister Kathie published of their late mother’s journal notes about the two times their family moved to California—once in 1926 before I was born and I had never even known about. The other was the 1940s move that separated their family from ours during all the war years. Soon after moving to the land of his dreams, Uncle Bill died of a heart attack, but Aunt Liz and their four daughters remained there.

Aunt Liz and her sisters, orphaned by early adulthood, stayed connected with a round robin letter that went from home to home growing with one more letter at each stop. We kids devoured these letters also. So I was quite familiar with Aunt Liz’s conversational writing style. Reading her early journal was almost like having her in the house for a visit. I will want to read this again too just as I will re-read the Christmas cards and letters.

Getting over Christmas and its aftermath has always been more relaxed and pleasurable in some ways than pre-Christmas activities. This post season week too will pass, and the plainness of the house cleared of excess color and clutter will be as refreshing to the eyes as the ornamentation has been. Meals will deliberately be simple and down home. I will probably be making beans and corn bread soon.

"Away in the Manger"

One of my favorite things in the Christmas season is watching the children in our village church in their annual program. We barely arrived by the 2 p.m. time, but as it turned out, there was room on the back row for us to sit with our 92-year-old friend and neighbor Chester Turner.

Kim Barger has been kind enough to take the lead for several years now to see that we have a program. Before the coal mines shut down and we had a much larger church family, we sometimes had quite elaborate plays and/or musicals. Kim lead in some of those. However, in recent years with fewer children, we have had to simplify. Also we have tried to meet families’ needs. Some are having family gatherings today and could not participate. Some children can’t come to many practices or perhaps any of them. Kim wants them to be welcome to participate if they want to, and so she welcomes them to sing along with or without attending practices.

Today after a humorous reading by a senior citizen, who calls herself “Granny,” our teens preceded the little children’s participation. We heard Cody Barger, who has a beautiful voice, sing “Mary Did You Know?” and later read the scripture with an equally good reading voice. Katie Cutsinger did a poem parody of “The Night Before Christmas” with poise and clarity. Cody’s brother Jared played an electric guitar solo, and his cousin Donovan did a solo on his drums. Both solos were so good, and it was exciting to see how each had grown and mastered his instrument in the couple of years we have heard them play. Next in line was Donovan's sister, Bethany, a second grader, who sang “There’s a Song in the Air” with great talent.

The musical quality was high and we would have enjoyed it under any circumstances, but we listened with tears just below the surface because Kim and her husband Scott had spent this week in the hospital after Scott’s heart attack on Monday. Yesterday, the doctors sent him home with special care-taking by Kim giving him shots. Some of us had wondered how the program could go on, but we knew Kim’s sister-in-law Tina had been helping with the program and she would take over. But amazingly, Kim was there, and Scott even came down the short distance from their house to sit quietly and be there for that hour. Someone else took his place presenting the church’s present to the pastor.

After the older kids’ part, then we had the nativity scene. Many years ago, some talented seamstresses created a large number of costumes for angels and shepherds. They could not be more simple, so the seamstresses’ talent was in designing these practical garments. They slide over the head over the street clothes and are very adjustable to various size children. They are laundered and put carefully away from year to year, and no parent has the stress of trying to create a costume. And Kim is ready for whoever shows up. One of the cutest and quite effective developments in the last couple years is that when the time comes for the little ones to perform the nativity scene, they simply come to the front from where they have been sitting with parents and put on their costumes in front of the audience. The older kids and teens join them.

And that is when they sang “Away in the Manager” and another sweet song about the babe in the hay. Seeing Tyler swaying, smiling, and singing was a joy, and two-year-old Lena stole the show by trying to reach up and obtain the mike in their midst. She was ready to sing just as she had seen Bethany do. The program ended with a joyful rendition of “We Wish You a Merry Christmas” by four-year-old Amanda, who showed up today with her Christmas dress and matching doll.

Our church is strong on tradition, and we have a very old-fashioned Christmas program dating from no telling how many decades ago. It was set in concrete, when we first experienced it in 1962 when we moved to Williamson County. After the formal program is over, we sing a carol or two, and then most years, a Santa Claus shows up and helps with the distribution of presents that are under the tree. The teens help pass gifts to those who don’t want to come up and sit on Santa’s lap. While this is going on, two large serving bowls saved year to year for this very purpose filled with candies, such as chocolates, hard candies, and orange slices are passed to the congregation. During all the gift receiving and little ones talking to Santa, the bowls go up and down the aisles usually arriving just as you have finished the last piece you took. At the very end as we leave, sacks of Christmas treats with an orange, apple, and candy are passed to those who will take them. People don’t usually leave in a hurry as they linger to visit.

We came back home to Woodsong for Gerald’s nap as he watched TV and I resumed addressing Christmas cards. After supper, I had to make a birthday phone call to my sister. Before he went to bed, Gerald got a phone call from granddaughters Erin and Geri Ann that they were on their way up from Georgia, so we were pretty excited. We were expecting them tomorrow. But after their weekend softball camp, they needed to deliver a young friend to the Atlanta airport, so it was a wise choice to come on up to Illinois tonight. The door is unlocked, and I’m going to say good night to you, so I can go up and turn on all the outside lights to welcome them.

Christmas Newsletter 2009

I have spent the afternoon addressing Christmas cards. I love Christmas cards because they allow me to keep up with friends from the past. I have always loved newsletters, because I love reading about others’ lives. Naturally I early started writing one of my own. I know Ann Landers and others made fun of them, and that was their privilege. But I did resent that their writings and disdain might have influenced others not to write newsletters I would have enjoyed.

Originally I signed Gerald’s name to the letter, but that embarrassed him, so I switched to using first person, which was easier to write. I might have stopped in busy years, but there were elderly relatives who would tell me how much they looked forward to my letter. How could I quit? (I hope they weren’t fibbing!) Those dear ones are gone now, but writing the letter has become one of my traditions, and it is a good way to reflect back upon the previous year. I always assumed my friends and relatives were smart enough to toss my letter in the wastebasket if they did not like newsletters. If you don’t, please don’t read tonight’s blog any further. Here is the 2009 newsletter:

Woodsong Christmas 2009
Dear Friends and Relatives:

Except for the Taylors, our extended family has mostly stayed put this year. Mary Ellen and Brian moved from Lake Saint Louis, MO, to central Illinois. Their country home is five miles from the sweet tiny town of Waggoner. Trent and Briana go to Lincolnwood High School in Raymond. Brian once again had great yields on our farm on the Pittsburg road, which he leases.

The Cedars--Katherine, David, and Sam--are still in Marion. The Eilers--Jeannie, Rick, Elijah, and Cecelie--in Freeport, and Gerry, Vickie, and Geri Ann in Watkinsville, GA. Erin Glasco is a senior at Texas A&M and Leslie Eiler is a sophomore at Belmont University in Nashville, TN. Tara, our oldest grandchild, and her husband, Bryan Archibald, and their two boys--Aidan and Maddux-- are still in Aurora.

We like being half way between Leslie and her family since we get to have them come by the farm as they travel to visit one another. And we love it when Erin stays here while she visits her hometown Johnston City friends.

In the spring, we followed Erin’s A&M and Gerry’s University of Georgia softball teams, and this fall Geri Ann’s Oconee High School softball team. We watched on the computer or sometimes on TV and on occasion in person. Gerald planned a birthday trip to see Gerry’s Georgia Bulldogs play softball. We had planned to go together to Aggies vs. Missouri, but with her Great Grandmother Borum’s death on April 1, Gerald took Erin on to Columbia after the Friday night visitation and I stayed here.

With grandson Sam along, we went up to Freeport the days before Easter to see Elijah and Cecelie in the annual extravaganza Showtime, which is always an incredible student production. Sam got to dye eggs with the Eilers and then again when we stopped at my brother Jim’s for a break coming home. We arrived back at Woodsong on Easter Eve. I had a small ham in the fridge, but I did not use it. Our son-in-law David had arranged an Easter dinner for us, and he and Katherine carried it out to Woodsong for the six of us, which included Sam’s friend Josh.

I did get to see Erin play softball, however, when we went to the Big 12 Tournament on Mother’s Day weekend. (We missed getting to see Elijah in the lead of Brighton Beach Memoirs up at Freeport that week.) Driving to Oklahoma City, we listened to reports on the derecho, which wiped out thousands of trees, roofs, and worse in our area. Mary Ellen and Brian and our good neighbors the Cullys took care of our house, hooked up a generator, and saved our frozen food.

A year’s highlight for us was going at the end of May to the Women’s College World Series at Oklahoma City for the second year in a row. Last year we saw Erin lead A&M to second place, and this year the University of Georgia went to the nationals for the first time and placed third. Mary Ellen, Brianna, and the Archibalds were also there in addition to Vickie and Geri Ann. We also visited with Gerald’s Air Force friends John and Mary Patterson, who live there, and we celebrated Mary Ellen‘s birthday.

Afterward we drove on down to Amarillo to visit with my sister Rosemary and husband Phil and the family there. We had been able to meet up with their daughter Cyndi in Oklahoma, who was house sitting that week for her daughter Tori and husband Randy. We had barely returned from Texas, and Gerald went with Tara to a Southern Force tourney in Birmingham.

July brought Vacation Bible School at Center with grandkids visiting and helping out. August brought a day trip for me to visit her brother Jim and wife Vivian. Then the day after Gerald’s Wolf Lake High School Reunion, we drove to Urbana for the 100th anniversary of Pennsylvania Avenue Baptist Church, where we attended when Gerald was in grad school. Next came a visit from Erin and two girl friends from A&M. On our way to the Garden of the Gods with them, we were able to work in a visit to cousins Morris and Judy Hall when Mary Graddick came up from Tallahassee.

Labor Day brought the Archibalds, the Taylors, Leslie and her friend Mike Thompson to visit, so that was a fun weekend. At the end of the week, we headed to Georgia and watched Geri Ann’s team win 4 of 5 games in their opening tourney there in Watkinsville. We were able to attend church with them and stay a couple more days for one more game. Visiting Dahlonega was a special treat. This month Geri Ann was chosen by the Athens Herald-Banner as softball player of the year. As a pitcher, she went 11-2 this season with a 0.60 ERA and batted .465 with 10 homers and 41 RBI.

Back in Illinois, we enjoyed a visit from Vernell Williams and together attended the annual BSU Reunion (1940s-60s) at Carbondale’s Baptist Student Center and at University Baptist Church.

As we have aged, the doctor, dental, ear, and eye appointments have increased to fill our time. But we have still had time for services at Center in the village of Crab Orchard, grandson Sam’s band concerts, and occasional breakfasts or dinners with the Glasco brothers. I remained active in Southern Illinois Writers Guild and the Trail of Tears Association, and I frequently speak on the Trail. Usually I blog twice a week on Woodsong Notes and occasionally write an article that gets published. Gerald has again enjoyed some Angel Flights with Herman Hood. He has a couple of Gerry’s dogs here right now and had fun hunting quail with Gerry over Thanksgiving. He still helps out Scott Cully next door and sometimes our son-in-law Brian. He always has a project of some sort going and does a lot of photography.

All the children and most of the grandchildren were here for Thanksgiving. (The Archibalds had their northern Illinois family at their house, but they plan to be here for Christmas.) Jeannie’s family will be at Freeport at Christmas.

There are many sad things in the world and in our community and family, but also we have much to be thankful for including friends and loved ones like you. Here is a Bible verse gift for 2010: “And the angel said Fear not: for, behold I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people.” Luke 2:10

Love and Merry Christmas,

Sue