SusieQ's Place - Welcome to my neck of the woods.

My Husband The Father

2010-06-10T20:00:00.001-05:00

(This is a repost from a couple of years ago in which I honored my husband on Father's Day.)

Our children adore him and have utmost respect for him.
Hallmark card

Our younger daughter stopped by today with this card for her Daddy. She chose this card carefully. It represents memories she has of sitting on her Daddy's lap as a little girl in an orange chair we had at the time clutching her Teddy which after all these years still has its stuffing and is on display in her home. She had kind, loving words to say about her Daddy today...and about me. We thanked her. It felt good.

This is my husband with our first child Christina. See the warmth and pride he exudes as he looks at our daughter. Early in our relationship I recognized qualities in him that convinced me he would make a good father. I was not wrong.
This is my husband and daughter Christina again on graduation day...his graduation day from college. He worked hard to get his college degree. He obtained most of it while serving in the Air Force. After serving his time he had about a year left to go in order to finish his degree. But we had one child and another on the way. Still we decided it needed to be done. So, my husband took a job working the night shift at a local mental hospital so that he could attend college during the day.

A few weeks after our son was born, my husband graduated from college. Unfortunately I could not attend the graduation ceremony, because our son had serious health issues at the time and I could not leave him or take him with me. I was very proud of my husband though and shared in his joy and relief that it was over. A few years later our third child was born, a girl. She completed our family. Here we are all together, my husband, myself, our two daughters, Christina and Margaret, and our son Buddy.
My husband and our three children one Easter when leisure suits were the thing and most men were trying to grow beards in celebration of our country's bicentennial.
Our family portrait taken in 1983 when the children were all teenagers and in high school. Our son was all bulked up for football. As you can see, we are animal lovers with our two dogs and our cat. We couldn't get the fish to pose for the picture though. (snicker..)

This is a goof-off photo we took of our family the Christmas of 1985 with one of those cameras that has a timer and can sit on a tripod. I love this shot. I included it because it is an example of the kind of fun time we had together as a family when the kids were growing up. My husband and I did a lot of talking with our children about many things. He reminded me not too long ago about the summer nights all of us would spend outside on our patio talking and talking about everything under the sun...or maybe I should say under the stars.

Here we are together as a family in 1987 when my husband and I celebrated our 25th wedding anniversary. At that point our three children were in college. Not too many years later one by one our children started getting married and beginning families of their own.

It has been seventeen years since our first grandchild was born. We were privileged to be there to witness her birth. Now we have 14 grandchildren and my husband is the proud papa to all his grandchildren who love and adore him.

This is Papa (my husband) and our granddaughter Sarah. See the warmth and pride he exudes as he looks at our granddaughter.

This morning on the kitchen counter I had his oatmeal ready and waiting for him to come down to breakfast. I had his super-duper smoothie there which I make for both of us practically each morning. It is chock full of good things (apple, banana, blueberries, orange juice, protein powder,....yada, yada, yada) that I hope will keep us healthy and going for many more years. This Father's Day table-scape included the gift I gave him, which is one of those fancy fork thermometers he can use when he grills meat, and a Father's Day card.

The card I selected for him says it better than I could myself. It talks about how we watched as first steps became first days of school for our children. It talks about letting go and letting them grow, but with hearts that still hold them tight. It talks about how time flies and how here we are just the two of us. But what this card said that spoke to me the most is that he, my husband, is my home. So I signed the card "To a wonderful daddy and papa. You have always been the good father and you will always be my home. All my love..."

Happy Father's Day dear husband!

Remembering Mother - 2007

2010-04-20T21:00:00.000-05:00

(This is a repost of a post I wrote in 2007 in memory of my mother.)

Mother's Day always brings back many memories for me of my own mother. The ones that stand out the most in my mind at present and almost beg me to write about them involve her humorous ways.

(Mother and Daddy taken during the 1950's)

No doubt you are all familiar with our nation's various domestic wars. The War on Drugs. The War on Crime. Mother had her own personal domestic war going on. It consisted of many battles on many fronts.

MOTHER'S WAR ON OPG

The battlefield was any motel room, hotel room, or vacation home where our family was going to be staying. The enemy was OTHER PEOPLE'S GERMS. Our germs were okay. We knew them. They were family. But other people's germs, well, that was a different story.

I do not recall our family ever taking a vacation for which Mother was not prepared with her arsenal of weapons: pail; mop; scrub brush; ammonia; bleach; soap; and rubber gloves. My sister and I were not allowed to step foot inside these places until Mother had thoroughly disinfected them from top to bottom. Once she got done the place was so clean and germ free that you could have drank out of the toilet bowl.

Mother's determination to do battle with OPG carried over to public restrooms as well. If she could not disinfect, she labored to create this protective paper barrier between the toilet seat and my little tush or my sister's which ever was the case. It was my mother who taught me how to dress the toilet seat in a public restroom with layers of toilet paper and how then to approach said toilet seat without disturbing this protective barrier. Much to my mother's dismay, the approach was a feat I never quite mastered.

THE WORST DROUGHT IN HISTORY

Mother was good about keeping things for that proverbial rainy day. She had a cedar chest in her bedroom which she kept locked. Once when I was a little girl I decided to unlock it and see what was inside. I was surprised to find a treasure trove of beautiful linens neatly wrapped in paper. These were wedding gifts which Mother and Daddy had received. I asked Mother why we didn't use these things. Her reply was, "Oh, those are for a rainy day."

Well, that rainy day never arrived in our household while I was living there. It was one long drought instead. I remember well how our bath towels were so worn at times you could practically see through them while thick thirsty ones sat in Mother's cedar chest. Did that rainy day ever come for her? Did she ever get around to using all those beautiful towels and pillow cases that filled her cedar chest? If she did, then she waited till after I got married and had left the nest.

COTTAGE CHEESE CONTAINERS:

MOTHER CORNERS THE MARKET

After Grandpa passed away and it was time for Grandma to sell the big house and move into something much smaller, my parents helped her prepare for the move. I will never forget the big deal Mother made over Grandma's gigantic collection of clothes hangers. It was excessive for sure. It looked as if Grandma had kept every clothes hanger that had ever made it into her life. But maybe Grandma thought clothes hangers would go up in value as time went by. Who knows. Who knows what in human beings causes them to keep things that come into the house on a regular basis when these things have no real value or have limited usefulness. I suppose we all possess this pack rat mentality to some extent.

Mother's thing was cottage cheese containers. My father loved cottage cheese. He ate it every day. It had its own place at the kitchen table right there along with the butter and the salt and pepper. Eventually cottage cheese came in plastic containers with nice snap on lids which made these containers perfect for storing leftovers and other food items. So, people started saving them. People, including my mother. The years went by and Daddy kept eating cottage cheese that came in plastic containers with nice snap on lids...and Mother saved these containers diligently. My guess is that she saved every one of them. Eventually she had a collection of cottage cheese containers that rivaled Grandma's collection of clothes hangers. She had cornered the market. Personally, I do paper bags and shoe boxes.

(Mother, a fine lady - age 69)

Mother passed away in January, 2001 twelve weeks to the day after the love of her life, my father, passed away. The following spring after their deaths, a particular pair of butterflies kept flitting around our yard and coming up onto our deck and landing on the railing which surrounds it. Butterflies are a sign from loved ones who have passed on...they say.

**********************************

Mother had a reputation for being a lady. She took great pride in being a lady. It is with deep love that I wish this fine and fair lady a Happy Mother's Day.

EASTER GREETINGS

2010-04-02T08:35:00.000-05:00

I BELIEVE IN THE RESURRECTION.

(I have posted this Easter Greetings several times in the past. I like its simplicity.)

A Sad Day For Mugsy!

2010-03-21T23:00:00.000-05:00

(THIS IS A REPOST FROM FIVE YEARS AGO.)

I'm forlorn!

She remained in a stupor, that SusieQ,
Induced by yesterday's feast.
Sprawled out on the sofa, she snored away
Not one concern in the least.

It occurred to me "What an opportune time
To email a friend or two!"
So I scampered along to the den in haste
Without further ado.

I pounced on her chair in front of the screen
And began to paw at the mouse
When what should come up but Susie's blog
Where I learned I live with a LOUSE!

Yes, a LOUSE! I say! SusieQ's a LOUSE!
Not once has she mentioned her Mugs
Though she writes about everything else in the world.
So much for her kisses and hugs!

I'm OFFENDED! I'm HURT! As well as APPALLED!
And rightfully so, I'd say.
Afterall I'm simply a FANTASTIC cat
That's PERFECT in every way.

In fact, I believe I deserve a blog
Devoted strictly to me
Where Susie would write post after post
About moi exclusively.

Fat chance for that. Her true colors she's shown.
That idea I can shelf.
Hey! I don't need her. I can get the word out.
I can start a blog myself!

Hm! How shall I fit this blogging thing in
With all that I have to do
Such as primping and purring and lounging in sinks
And eyeing that cockatoo?

I'll give it some thought, this blogging thing
For the world has a right to know
About the most wonderful cat on this earth
Though SUZE may not think it's so.

Wow! I'm tired of all this rhyming and stuff.
It's time to put it to bed.
So, I think I will go to my slumbering Suze
And recline on the LOUSE'S head!

Good Night All!
Mugsy

One reason why I love this dog

2010-02-03T21:12:00.005-06:00

This is Max.

Let me tell you about our collie Max.

Collies are known to have sensitive stomachs. So I depart very little from his dietary regimen of Nutros' Natural Choice formula for sensitive stomachs. But for a long time I had been giving him an occasional treat in the form of a few pieces of raw carrot. He loved it.

A few years ago Max developed an aversion to the sound that my potato peeler made whenever I peeled potatoes or carrots. Whenever I began the peeling process, he would drop whatever he was doing (that usually involved taking a nap) and he would race into the kitchen and to my side at the sink where he would begin this horrid high-pitched, ear-piercing whining that would evolve into an outpouring of rapid barking. I took this to mean that he was begging me to abandon the project due to the noise.

One day while I was peeling carrots I decided that maybe I could get him to shut up by giving him the carrot peelings. It worked. It works with potato peelings, too, except I am careful to give him only small amounts of raw potatoes.

Now whenever he hears the sound of the potato peeler, he rushes into the kitchen and stands quietly alongside me there at the sink waiting for his treat.

This is one reason why I love this dog.

Rep. Sue Myrick video

2010-01-25T16:30:00.006-06:00

Representative Sue Myrick of N.C. talks about Enemy Combatants. Please pause music on the right so that you can hear Sue speak.

Haiti Earthquake

2010-01-14T20:04:00.005-06:00

Please open your hearts and your purses for the Haitian people in their time of great need. I strongly encourage you to donate to the following charity.

Double click the image above to go to the website of Doctors Without Borders in Haiti where you can make your donation.

Keep the Haitian people in your prayers throughout the coming weeks.

CLIMATE CHANGE...A SKEPTIC'S POINT OF VIEW

2009-12-28T19:50:00.012-06:00

December 26, 2009
Chicago, Illinois

Our home

Our deck

Our woods

Old Glory

Our driveway

Our dog Max laying in the snow

(A picture = a thousand words.)

Christmas Eve

2009-12-25T22:31:00.028-06:00

We were twenty-five in number on Christmas Eve at Nana and Papa's home. The children scoped out the presents under the tree as soon as they arrived. It was no time until they were asking when we were going to open the presents. Forget about dinner, forget about all those games Nana thought up to entertain them. What was important were the presents. But I made them wait till after dinner. Call me Scrooge.

We were twenty-five in number and each person had a stocking hanging from the staircase in the foyer. Children can be seen scoping out the stockings too.

Dessert became the Grand Finale to the event. But I remember seeing young hands snatching a cookie or two before it was time.

Dad helps Miquel with his talking cowboy from Toy Story.

Benjie had a runny nose that day. He seems a little bewildered by everything.

Ricky showing his enthusiasm for his gift.

Maggie and her cousins struggling to get into a packaged toy.

Jakob reading the letter I wrote to him.

Jackie opening her present

Rachel opening her present.

Jessie hugging her Fancy Nancy doggie with Justin and Zach in the background.

Erik with his present

Josh all smiles and pleased with his Legos

Nikolas perhaps a little disappointed in his present. It is hard to please them all.

Justin and Zach.

Chris and her family.

Chris and her boyfriend Bob

Tali, Christian, and Ricky

Sweet little Ellie May ready to wrap things up and call it a night.

Merry Christmas - SusieQ does the Santa Dance

2009-12-12T16:04:00.008-06:00

I've been practicing the Santa Dance for over a month I want you to know. So I hope you click this link and Watch SusieQ do the Santa Dance

Merry Christmas to all my readers (whoever is left out there).

The Birthday Party

2009-10-13T23:46:00.027-05:00

(Based on a personal experience)

Some birthday parties have such an impact on you that you remember them for the rest of your life. The one I will never forget took place in 1949.

*****************************

The Illinois Central Railroad cut a wide swath through our small town dividing it into two sections. Most of the town was on one side of the tracks. Anita lived on the other side of the tracks. She was about to turn ten that year and she wanted a birthday party. She had written out invitations on scraps of yellow Goldenrod tablet paper and handed these out to some of our classmates.

"Joyce Ann,...hold still!" Mother said as she fussed with my banana curls. She always used both my first and second name whenever I frustrated her and tried her patience. I was shifting from one foot to the other that day and showing other signs of being fidgety. I had not wanted to go to Anita's party in the first place, but Mother insisted. She may have sensed that it would be important for me to be there.

With Anita's gift tucked under one arm and my coat neatly buttoned down the front, I walked out the door of my house to go to the party. I left behind the clean smell of freshly ironed clothes that had been allowed to dry all day the day before on our clothesline in the backyard. I knew Mother would steal a few moments away from her ironing to peek out the front window so that she could watch my shiny brown banana curls bob up and down with each step I took. She was in her glory whenever she could send me out the door with spirited banana curls cascading down my back.

It was damp and cold outside. I pulled the collar of my coat up around my neck to keep warm. A gust of wind picked up some leaves left over from autumn and whirled them around before releasing them back to their home on the moist sidewalk. It was gloomy like a gray Sunday afternoon in February when there is nothing to do and no one to play with. The trees looked wicked without their leaves. Barely yielding to the force of the wind, their rigid branches reminded me of a witch's gnarled fingers. They were without grace unlike when they are full of leaves and sway back and forth in the wind as if dancing with each other.

I walked to Main Street, which was only a block away from my home, and turned left toward the post office. A few blocks later I crossed Main and walked to the tracks which were right across from Main. I stood there in front of the tracks for a while half paralyzed. They frightened me. Streamliners could appear out of nowhere and streak through town at lightning speed. Not only that but I had seen too many movies at the Darb Theatre in which someone got their foot caught in between the tracks with a train coming toward them. I hesitated a long time at the tracks looking to the right and then to the left more than once before crossing.

Anita's house faced the tracks on the other side. She could sit on her front porch and I was certain she could feel the rush of air the Streamliners caused as they streaked by. I walked up the steps of her house and knocked on the door. The door opened wide and Anita appeared. Her face glowed. Her black eyes expressed all the excitement that had been building up in her as she waited for her birthday party to begin. The barrette in her hair was doing its very best to hold back a bunch of her thick black hair and keep it from falling in her face. She was wearing a brown plaid cotton dress that tied in the back. It was too small for her and one of the puffed sleeves had torn away from the bodice of the dress in front.

"You're the FIRST one!" Anita gushed with delight. "Come on in!." She stood on her tiptoes stretching to look beyond me to see if any others were coming down the street.

I walked past Anita and into the dark living room. It was lit by one small lamp on a dusty end table. Someone had written something in the dust. The room smelled odd. It reminded me of the way my grandparents' basement smelled after Grandpa had been down there smoking one of his cigars. An accumulation of newspapers and magazines were scattered around on the floor and furniture. Some apple cores, shriveled and brown, had fallen to the corners of the sofa. I did not notice Anita's little sister Betty and her brother Tommy until one of them ran to me and shouted, "Boo!" causing me to jump and then laugh.

"Here's your birthday gift, Anita." I said as I handed it to her. I had gotten her some Esther Williams paper dolls and a puzzle. "Oh, thank you." She chirped. She laid the gift down on the sofa. Then she grabbed my hand and said "Come and see my cake. I made it all by myself. It's CHOCOLATE!"

"You made it yourself?" I said in amazement. I had never tried to make a cake all by myself. I was impressed.

Anita led me into the kitchen which was as dark as the living room. The only light came from the window over the sink. There sitting on the kitchen table among some dirty dishes was Anita's birthday cake in an oblong pan. I stared at it for a long time wondering what I could say. Finally I said, "It's real nice." Anita stroked the side of the pan and replied softly, "Yes, and I made it all by myself."

But it wasn't nice. It wasn't a nice cake at all. It was burnt and sunken in the middle. It had no frosting. It had no candles. It was a sad cake. I started to think about the summer before and the cake Mother had made for me. She had written "Happy Birthday, Joyce" across the top. I had a big party. It was held outside in the vacant lot between our house and the Clarks. There were folding tables and chairs and colorful streamers and balloons. My friends and I played games and ran around and laughed a lot.

Anita reached over and took my hand again, "Let's go see if anyone is coming yet." We hurried to the front door and stepped out onto the porch. Anita's little brother ran out there with us and started to make faces at me. "Tommy, stop that and go inside." Anita insisted sternly. But instead he let out a loud "hoot" and leaped onto the ground from the top step and ran around to the back of the house. "Boys!" Anita said shaking her head in disgust.

We looked up and down her street, but there was no sign of anyone at all. With a puzzled look on her face she said, "I wonder where the others are."

"I know...let's go back inside and you can open the gift I got for you." I said. "Maybe we can play a game while we wait for everyone."

Anita liked the paper dolls I had gotten her. It wasn't long before we had everything cut out and had begun to play with the dolls. We had been playing for about 20 minutes when her dad shuffled into the living room from a bedroom in the back. He had been sleeping. His hair was messed up and his whiskers were showing. He needed to shave. He worked the night shift at a plant in a nearby town. "That is why he is sleeping in the middle of the day." Anita explained. He said something to us in a husky voice before turning and walking into the kitchen for a drink of water. Then he went back to bed. After that Anita talked softly to me and told her sister and brother to be quiet too.

I had no idea what had happened to Anita's mother. I didn't know if she had died or if she had disappeared or if she lived in another town. I was afraid to ask Anita about her mother. All I knew was that Anita and her sister and brother lived with their dad. He was the one who took care of them.

An hour had passed and Anita and I were growing tired of the paper dolls. Still no one else had arrived yet. I was the only one. Finally Anita jumped up and said to me "Let's get our coats and go outside." She had an idea. We would go up and down the street knocking on doors inviting any children inside to come to her party. So that is what we did. We knocked on doors and invited other children to come. But no one could come. So we gave up and went back to her house and sat on the steps for a while.

"I don't understand." Anita turned to me and said.

"You don't understand what?" I replied.

"Where is everyone? Why didn't anyone else come to my party? I don't understand."

"Oh, gee." I said as I struggled to find the words. "You know what. I bet they forgot where you live. Or....maybe some of them are sick. Don't you think?"

She sighed. "Maybe." Then she stood up. "I guess we should go ahead and eat my birthday cake now." We went inside.

Anita had no candles to put on her cake. Her little sister and I went ahead and sang "happy birthday" to her anyway while her little brother made faces at all of us. As I watched Anita work the pieces of cake out of the pan with a table knife, I decided that her cake was the saddest looking birthday cake in the whole wide world. She handed each of us some to eat. We ate in silence. We just stood there around the kitchen table and ate in silence. When I was finished, I told Anita that I needed to leave and go home. By that time I was missing home a lot.

As I was about to walk down the front steps, I wished Anita a happy birthday again and told her that her cake tasted good...even though it hadn't. At the bottom of the steps I turned around and waved goodbye, but she had already gone back into the house.

It was almost dusk. I crossed over the railroad tracks without giving any thought to Streamliners or feet getting stuck in the tracks. The trees looked even more wicked than they had before. The damp air of the day eventually took its toll on my banana curls that Mother had carefully formed. They had all fallen out. The wind snatched a lock of my limp hair and pulled it around and over my eyes. I brushed it away.

"Step on a crack and you break your mother's back." I heard myself saying out loud as I maneuvered around the cracks in the sidewalk. "That's just a saying." I said to myself. "That's just a stupid saying." The closer I got to my house, the faster I walked. Then when I turned down my street I began to run. I ran as fast as I could. I forgot all about cracks in the sidewalk.

My house, small and modest, came into view. When I got there I leaped onto the concrete stoop and opened the front door. I took a deep breath filling my lungs with the clean smell of freshly ironed clothes. "Mother?" I called to her. "I'm in the kitchen dear." She answered. Her voice warmed me like nothing else possibly could at that moment. I ran into the kitchen to find her washing some dishes. She turned around and wiped her hands on the flowered apron she was wearing. "Did you have a good time at Anita's party?" She asked.

I went to her. I wrapped my arms around her.

************************************

What inspired me to write this story is the memory I have of attending a school friend's birthday party when I was a young girl. My friend did live on the other side of the tracks in town. She planned her own birthday party. She baked her own birthday cake. It was sunken in the middle and it had no frosting and no candles. I was the only one who attended her birthday party although she had invited others. She and I did go up and down her street looking for other children to invite to her party. But no one else could come. She and her sister and brother lived with their father who took care of them. To this day I do not know what had happened to my school friend's mother and why she was not there.

Summer's End

2009-09-20T20:33:00.013-05:00

In a few days this summer will come to an end officially. I will miss it.

I will miss the hours my collie and I spent together on our deck. What a terrific companion this dog is for me and my hubby. As I took in the backyard scenery this summer and listened to the birds sing and gazed at my beautiful flowers, Max maintained his usual watchful eye and keen ear in case of trouble.

The only real trouble that came our way out on the deck happened one night while Max and I were sitting quietly in the dark. Our resident raccoon, unaware Max and I were sitting nearby, decided to check out our gazebo. Once I realized something big was nosing around the grill that sits in the gazebo, I let out a series of hisses causing the raccoon to scurry toward an exit. Max rushed toward the gazebo in hot pursuit of the intruder. Too late, Mr. Raccoon escaped to safe quarters in an oak tree close by surviving to snoop around another night.
(Double click the following photos for exciting detail.)

The wildlife in our backyard go about their daily business. They pay us no mind in the process. The squirrels chatter back and forth to each other as if they might be in disagreement over something. No one seems to care that Max and I are sitting there. I suppose the wildlife looks at us as just two more members of the backyard gang.

What a treat when a particular hummingbird pays us a visit. He flutters in mid air effortlessly while he takes a sample from first one flower then another and another before flying off to perch on a limb in our woods.
My flowers! They are like my babies almost. I pamper them. I worry about them. Do they need a drink? How about a little pruning?

I call these two rounded mounds of impatiens my flower girls. Normally they are hanging from hooks in the gazebo. But the day I took these photos I had them down on the floor because our son was staining that side of the gazebo. I call them my flower girls because they scatter their petals on the deck floor as if they are in a wedding and promenading down the aisle preparing the way for the bride.

The lovely orange/red begonias below were an afterthought on my part this summer. I had these extra begonias left over from another planting. I shoved them into this pot and, more or less, let them know they were on their own from that point forward. Usually I am much kinder toward flowers and fuss over them nearly to excess. But not these. Yet they managed. Even though they had to fend for themselves without my doting, they turned out great. This makes me think that all my doting is not really needed anyway.

The fuschia flower (below) is new to me. I never had one till this summer. Their blooms are most delicate and intriguing.

This is my "Grand" hibiscus. I bought this darling for nearly a song early in the summer. It has brought me much pleasure. I plan to prune it back some and bring it into the house for the winter and sit it in a sunny window in my dining room. It would not survive our winter outside.

If you double click the photo of this hibiscus plant you will be able to see more clearly the pair of angels sitting near the edge of the pot in front. After both my parents passed away, I spied this figurine at a garden shop. It reminded me of my parents. So I bought it in honor of them. They loved their flowers.

Fall is coming with all its brilliant colors. Although I will miss my summer days, I look forward to fall. I am a four-season gal. I like them all even winter with the challenges it presents. I thank the Lord for it all.

The Mosaic - One With All

2009-08-12T23:03:00.003-05:00

My son the artist is pictured below with the mosaic he created for author Brian McClure. I have no idea how many pieces went into this mosaic, but I can assure you it was thousands. The theme of the mosaic is one of universal unity. For a close-up, be sure to enlarge the photos by double clicking on them.

A floral feast for the eyes

2009-06-26T14:53:00.010-05:00

Here are a few photos of my favorite flowers in my garden this year.

Below are two photos of my Heirloom Hollyhock known as Nigra Hollyhock made famous by Thomas Jefferson who cultivated them. As you can see, the deep purple flowers are almost black in color.

I was not able to catch the spectacular detail of the spikes of this astilbe plant.

My pretty pink impatiens.

My stunning salmon hibiscus.

(Double click each photo for a close-up.)

50th Class Reunion

2009-05-14T22:47:00.009-05:00

While part two of Zucchini Nation continues to go through its gestation period, I thought I would share some photos of my 50th High School Class Reunion which I attended last fall. I am the one with the silver hair. The biggest surprise for me that night was learning that the brain of our class, whose destiny was never realized (she should have been a scientist), raises goats today. She was not in attendance.

We had a very small graduating class. These are some of our graduates from the year 1958. The man in the black blazer was our principal. Can you find me in this photo?

THE EASTER EGG HUNT AT NANA AND PAPA'S

2009-04-13T16:24:00.018-05:00

EASTER BLESSINGS TO ALL

2009-04-10T21:14:00.006-05:00

THE DREAM

I had a dream once years ago.

I was walking in the clouds in the dream.

I saw a figure walking toward me through the mist.

I wondered who it could be.

As the figure drew closer, I seemed to recognize the person.

My heart leaped.

I called out "Is that you, Jesus?"

The mist cleared, and then I knew.

I ran toward him.

When I reached him, I threw my arms around him.

He held me tightly.

I could feel his robe against my face and my arms.

It was red. It seemed so real.

The dream faded away and I awoke.

I laid there in my bed thinking about the dream.

It seemed so real.

"Was that you, Jesus?" I whispered into the night.

It's a wonderful world!

2009-03-09T22:45:00.001-05:00

Something beautiful to watch till part 2 of Zucchini Nation arrives.

ZUCCHINI NATION - A case of Gardeners Gone Wild

2009-02-08T19:15:00.047-06:00

Dear Mr. Burpee,

We want to compliment you on your catalogue's exquisite photos showing luscious red tomatoes that one might be willing to die for, sweet corn so yellow so succulent looking, bright orange crunchy carrots...well we could go on and on about your fine garden produce. In a word, the photos in your catalogue are intoxicating. Too intoxicating for some of us.

Now we are sure that 99.9999% of your customers have no problem keeping in check any tendencies they might have to indulge themselves and give in to every gardening whim that crops up in their minds while they thumb through your catalogue. Unfortunately, we belong to that minuscule percent of customers who can not keep such tendencies in check. Maybe it is because we are new at this gardening thing. We don't know the underlying cause of our problem. All we know is that we have a problem.

You can readily see from the humongous order we placed with you earlier this year that we have a problem and are prime candidates for some kind of intervention although we do not think such a program is in place yet anywhere in the world for gardeners gone wild. Consequently we are on our own in that regard and must devise our own curative measures for dealing with our excessiveness. We will begin by asking you, no begging you, to please not send us any more of your seed catalogues. We can't be trusted with them.

Sincerely,

Mr. and Mrs. P

...............................................................

This was the letter we should have sent the Burpee Seed Company at the close of 1975. We were more than just budding gardeners back then. We were budding gardeners gone wild. We overindulged ourselves. We didn't know when enough was enough and we didn't know exactly what we were doing either. That year has gone down in our family history as the year of the zucchini. But it could easily be known as the year of the tomato too. And the year of the sweet corn. And the year of the potato.

It all started with an especially drab and dreary winter that year. It snowed a lot, but it wasn't pretty snow. It was the kind of snow that melts a little and then looks messy for days. The skies were a constant gray. A chilling mist that makes the bones ache seemed always to be seeping from overhead. You just wanted to hole up inside the house and let cabin fever have its way with you.

What made it worse is that we lived out in the country where the nights can be pitch dark and the only lights you might see are yellow specks in the distance coming from other farm houses. You get to feeling abandoned by humanity during those dismal winter nights and you start asking yourself "Is anyone really out there?" It plays havoc with your mind.

It was our second winter on our small plot of land and our second summer was coming up when we planned to get really serious about gardening. We had decided a few years earlier to buy the house and the parcel of land out in the country so that our children could be close to nature. A goldfish bowl and a few brightly painted bird houses hanging in our backyard in town might have sufficed. No, we wanted our children to experience chickens and goats and cats and dogs and field mice...and gardens.

So there we were struggling under the curse of this winter spell and showing significant signs that cabin fever indeed had set in when one day what should appear in our mail box but none other than the Burpee Seed Catalogue America's official reminder that spring is coming. You could almost smell April showers on its glossy cover. The catalogue seemed like a gift from heaven. A blessing from above. An answer to prayer. But the devil would be in the details that followed.

With the seed catalogue in hand, it was not long before its vivid colors of red tomatoes, yellow corn, orange carrots and green spinach splashed across our gray world. With each turn of a page, we gradually were lifted up out of our winter gloom and cast into the bright healing light of glorious spring. Enthusiasm took root in us and we began planning and plotting and drawing diagrams of our gardens to be. Yes, that it is not a typo. It is gardens. We ended up that year with three big gardens plus four acres of sweet corn...our cash crop. We needed the money from the cash crop to pay f0r all our gardening.

As I recall we ordered practically everything from A to Z out of that catalogue. Not one vegetable lacked the power to lure us. Not even those we had never heard of before.

"What's a zuk chin ee? " I asked my husband Gene as I studied the photo.

One vegetable that we had never heard of before and knew nothing about was the zucchini. But like all the rest, it, too, seduced us.

"Maybe it's a cucumber. I don't know for sure, but let's order it too." He replied.

"Yes, why not."

That winter we ordered a wide array of vegetable seeds for the spring planting and in considerable amounts. There would be consequences.

TO BE CONTINUED......

Cooking 101 with Jackie and Nana

2009-01-23T13:30:00.006-06:00

Several months ago I promised to post something about the cooking lesson I gave Jackie, one of my granddaughters, in the summer of 2007. I taught her how to prepare the chicken and rice dish most veteran cooks are familiar with. We invited her family over for dinner that night. She has six brothers and sisters. The table was packed. It was fun. We took pictures of the event which I turned into a photoshow put to music. I got a little goofy with embellishments to the photoshow and that made my music selection of one of Bach's Preludes most appropriate. The musical piece has a silly touch to it.

The photoshow is more enjoyable when viewed with a full screen. So be sure to choose that "full screen" option. Also, if the music is muted, you can easily change it by pressing the sound icon. You sure don't want to miss out on Bach's psychotic accompaniment to this dubious masterpiece of mine.

Hope you like this.

Susie

P.S. I am trying to ease back into blogging without it swallowing up too much of my time. Wish me luck.

My Midnight Mass

2008-12-01T17:30:00.008-06:00

A letter to my grandson

(My grandson will be attending a religious retreat this coming weekend. He is fifteen. Family members and friends of the family were asked to write letters to him encouraging him in his spiritual growth and expressing their love for him. At one point during the retreat he will be given these letters to read in private. Below is the letter I wrote to my grandson.)

December 1, 2008

Dear Jakob,

At this important time in your spiritual growth, Papa and I want you to know that we love you more than words can ever convey. It is a love that resembles the love God himself has for you. It is unconditional love we have for you. It is love without strings attached. You did not earn our love and you will never need to earn it. It is free and yours forever and ever just because you are our Jakob. May this thought always be a comfort to you.

I have a special gift for you Jakob dear. It may take you a while, perhaps years, to fully appreciate it, because it involves heavy duty spiritual stuff. It is the story of my Midnight Mass. I hope it is an inspiration to you.

When I was a young girl of fifteen, your age exactly, I had an unusual experience during a Midnight Mass at St. Joseph’s Catholic Church in my home town of Manteno, IL. The year was 1955. That night at that particular juncture of the Mass the church was dimly lit by candlelight. The manger scene was situated in front of the Blessed Virgin’s altar. It was all decked out in Christmas greenery that perfumed the air inside the church. I was part of the Christmas choir and like everyone else in the choir I was dressed in a long white flowing gown. We looked like angels that had come down from on high to sing to mankind about the good tidings of the birth of the baby Jesus. Our choir stood alongside the manger scene. We faced the congregation as we sang.

The religious event had all the right ingredients in it for stirring the human heart, and at fifteen my heart was especially tender and easily stirred. So when our choir began to sing Silent Night, a lump started to form in my throat that would not go away. Soon after that my eyes welled up with tears and I found myself fighting the urge to cry profusely. Quickly I hid behind another choir member to escape notice. I didn’t want anyone to see me crying. Then suddenly I realized I felt deep affection for the congregation and even for people beyond our church, people I didn’t know, people all around the world. For a few moments in that dimly lit church with the smell of Christmas in the air, I loved all of humanity. As I struggled to keep my emotions in check, I realized something else. I realized that I felt very close to God. I realized that in a profound and mysterious way which I would never be able to fully explain to anyone, I was experiencing God’s presence.

Our Christmas carol came to an end eventually. I managed to regain my composure as our choir filed back to our designated pews. Someone flipped on all the lights in the church. The Mass proceeded and then it came to an end as well. But the experience I had that night has remained fresh in my mind and heart all these years. Whenever I have had a strong need for a lot of spiritual sustenance, I have returned in my mind to my Midnight Mass and have relived those moments when I felt intensely close to God.

We are taught, Jakob, that God is everywhere at all times. I believe this with all my heart. The experience I had at that Midnight Mass has helped me to appreciate this. I am more sensitive to God’s presence in the most ordinary situations, too, as a result of my experience. A baby sleeps and I sense that God is there. A mother hugs her child and he is there. Someone hurts and he is there. I notice that he is with us always no matter the circumstances. He is with us in our joy and in our sorrow. He is with us when we succeed and when we fail. When we come and go, he comes and goes with us. He never abandons us. He is our constant companion, whether we are aware of it or not, and he is always available to us when we need to talk to him. I pray that with each passing day you become more and more aware of God and his presence in your life and his perfect love for you. I pray that you are drawn to him and that you come to cherish the time you spend talking to him or merely being with him.

The scriptures tell us that God is love. I believe this with all my heart too. I believe that God’s love is a forgiving love and the very life force in the Universe. This forgiving love is what overcomes all obstacles. This love is the good and the beautiful that triumphs in the end over the bad and the ugly. When we spend time in God’s presence, when we talk to him, we expose ourselves to his forgiving love and we gradually evolve into vessels through which his love flows. This is according to God’s plan as I see it. I pray that you become a vessel for God’s love.

God is Mystery. I believe this too. I have another special gift for you. His name is Mortimer Adler. But I will save this special gift for another time.

God bless you, my dear grandson.

Love,

Nana

EASTER BLESSINGS

2008-03-22T22:38:00.002-05:00

Tom, you have been so good about stopping by my blog from time to time to check up on me that I am breaking my vow to abstain from blogging till I get caught up with stuff in my life so that I can wish you and anyone else who might happen by Easter blessings.

I also want to very briefly update you and others regarding my grandson Nik. Actually he is doing quite well. He has adjusted nicely to his new school (alternative schooling). He is making good grades (A's and B's). His very best friend started attending this very same alternative school about a month ago and is in Nik's classroom. This makes Nik super happy. Things are looking up for Nik I believe.

I am always on the lookout for grandchildren who could use a little TLC from their Nana. Sure enough shortly after things improved with Nik, along came Sarah who is four and having a tough time adjusting to a new baby brother. From time to time I take her under my wing and relieve my daughter-in-law of the headaches Sarah can cause her. My son has aptly named me the patron saint of troubled grandchildren. It makes me feel needed.

Even though it is tempting to get back into blogging what with the politics the way they are right now so that I can express my political opinions along with the rest of you, I have to keep blogging on the back burner for a while longer. When I left blogging in order to have time to help my grandson Nik and his family, I discovered a multitude of other things that I had been letting go for months. These things have been calling out to me. I have to get them done before I return to the world of blogging. That is all there is to it.

In closing I have to tell you how I was more than pleasantly surprised recently. On March 9th I had an Open House for my husband to celebrate his 65th birthday. I put a lot of work into it and was appropriately exhausted when it was over. The house that day was full of family and friends including 25 children. We had a great time. But I decided that I could not manage another huge get-together for Easter on the heels of such a big event. So I told to my adult children that we would not get together at our house for Easter since we had been together for my husband's birthday so recently and, consequently, there would be no Easter egg hunt this year at our house for the grandchildren. I assumed this would be okay with the grandchildren. I thought for sure that the older ones anyway would be tired of the Easter egg hunt. We have had one at our house every year for the past 15 or so years. I could not have been more mistaken about how this news would be received. It was the older grandchildren in fact who were the most disappointed. Why? Because it turns out that the Easter egg hunt that I thought was of little importance to the older grandchildren was a family tradition that they cherish. We are having the Easter egg hunt this year after all except we are all gathering at my oldest daughter's house for it and a light meal. My husband and I made 30 sandwiches tonight for the meal. Plus, I am bringing along a few salads I put together today.

Many blessings to all of you and your families on this most wonderful of religious holidays.

SusieQ (Patron Saint of troubled grandchildren)

I almost forgot how to sign in...

2008-01-10T22:29:00.000-06:00

I see I need to update all of you, answer your questions, and respond to your comments about Nik. How time has been flying by for me during the holidays and beyond.

Wow! I have been away from my blog for so long now that I almost forgot how to sign in tonight. I don't like the feeling of being that out of touch with blogging. I could not help it though. This past month has been a busy one for me due to the holidays and the birth of a new grandchild.

For most of this week my husband and I have had our son and daughter-in-law's three children (ages 6, 3, and 2) staying with us while she was in the hospital giving birth to their fourth child. Miguel who is 2 is into everything. So we had to watch him like a hawk. Chasing him around like I did and wrestling with him to change his diaper, which he did not want me to do most of the time, showed me just how old my body really is. Durnit anyway!

Benjamin was born late Monday evening. He had a little trouble with his breathing at first. However everything is normal according to the tests he was given. But he has had to stay in the hospital longer than usual waiting for the test results to come in. It looks like he will be able to come home tomorrow which is Friday. We are all looking forward to seeing him...and holding him. Benjie is our 15th grandchild. So we have been focused on these grandchildren lately and have had to delay for a while getting involved again with Nik to any great extent.

We had Nik and his sister for several days and nights over Christmas break though. I took that opportunity to continue our reading of the Spiderwick books. We finished book three and it is on to book four now. Nancy I know you are right about the importance of Nik reading every day. My daughter who works full time and is single with four children meets herself coming and going most days. It is hard for her find the time each night to sit down with Nik and read with him. She does the best she can under the circumstances. I wish so much that we lived closer to our daughter and her family so that I could just run over to her house and see to it that Nik gets in his daily reading.

I am considering doing his daily reading with him over the phone. I think we could pull it off with the speaker phone capabilities we both have. I intend to run it past him in the coming days and see what he thinks. Yes, and reading will increase his vocabulary Nancy. The Spiderwick books seem to be rich with unusual words that he doesn't run across much if at all. One that intrigued me was the word "bespectacled." I try to keep a good dictionary close at hand when I am reading with Nik so that we can look up these interesting words.

Nancy I like your suggestion that Nik be encouraged to write. I will talk to him about that. He is artistically talented. Maybe he could create a book for himself with writing and illustrations.

Josie you asked if Nik had ever been assessed for autism. That was considered in the beginning way back when he was five years old, but it has been ruled out for several reasons from what I gather. His noise sensitivity could involve something associated with his eardrums. After reading up on that recently I asked my daughter to take him to a hearing specialist and have that checked out.

We took him and his sister to the movies (Water Horse) over Christmas break. He was reluctant to go because movie theaters have a bad habit of turning the volume up so high that it becomes nearly intolerable for some people even those who don't have a problem with noise sensitivity. In fact one time my husband and I went to the movie theater and the volume was so high that I could not stand it. I went straight to the manager of the theater and complained. He turned down the volume pronto. There ought to be law. Seriously! Anyway, we promised Nik that we would sit next to an exit and if the noise became too much for him, we would leave. That seemed to satisfy him. Afterwards he admitted that the noise at times was hard for him to tolerate, but he never asked to leave the theater. The movie was fascinating enough to keep him there I suppose.

Josie, what is interesting is that Nik's half brother is autistic (Asperger Syndrome). I believe you mentioned earlier that your daughter works with autistic children. I would be interested to know what she thinks might be the cause for the escalating number of cases of this disorder. It was a rare disorder at one time. Now I believe one in every two hundred children suffer from it.

As far as what I want to do for Nik in the future aside from helping him with his reading, I'd like to help him gain some self-respect and self-confidence. He thinks so poorly of himself at times. He feels like such a failure at times. He gets down on himself whenever he loses it. I want him to respect himself and recognize his many personal assets and put those to work for the betterment of himself.

Earlier this week I watched an interesting documentary on PBS (Frontline) about the medicated child. As you know I am seriously concerned about the medications Nik has been on since he was five years old. If you did not catch it on your PBS station, you can watch this show by going here: http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/pages/frontline/medicatedchild/ Be sure to check out the discussion section too. There is a very interesting mix of letters written to Frontline reflecting the different experiences parents, teachers, therapists, and physicians have had with these drugs and children.

January is a busy month for me even without grandbabies arriving and grandchildren needing my attention. This is the month in which I get all our records in order on the business for our accountant. He wants this info by the 20th. Let's see, that gives me about 10 days to get my act together. Gulp! After I am done feeding this info to the accountant, I promise I will around to the different blogs such as Tom's and Paul's....and Nancy's and the other Susie Q's.....and Jenni's....and Josie's.....and Wreckless's. Have I left anyone out? Didn't mean to.

Thanks for stopping by. Finally, any suggestions as to how I can help our Nik (with self-esteem, self-confidence) will be greatly appreciated.

SusieQ

YOUR COMMENTS WERE:

Susie, just did a post that’s on topic – here’s the permalink. Just something to read "whenever," I know you're not doing much blogging right now -Paul
December 20, 2007 7:16 PM
patterns of ink said...
I'm going to be away from internet access until after Christmas day, but I wanted to stop by and wish you and yours a Merry ChristmasThank you for those words. I may take the liberty to cut and paste the parts not about cancer to my comment section so Mom can read them. She would be encouraged by what you said. Nik et al seem like a great bunch of grandkids worthy of every minute you and your husband are investing in their lives.
December 21, 2007 5:44 AM
Josie said...
SusieQ, I just read your post about your little grandson. He sounds like such a nice little boy. Has he been assessed for autism? Often children with high functioning autism are not able to tolerate noise or too much stimulation, or too many people around them. Has he been assessed for that?My heart goes out to you. He is one lucky little boy to have you in his life!
December 28, 2007 11:01 AM
patterns of ink said...
Happy New Year. Well, the holidays are over, but I know your duties probably still call. I trust you and your husband and family are well. Did you get any of this snow I've been traveling in?
January 05, 2008 3:08 PM
Nancy said...
I thought you were not blogging now so I had not stopped by in a long time. I am sorry to hear about your grandson's problems but admire you for trying to help. I did teach for 32 years but mostly in the kindergarten age range but I do know that you are correct about his reading. Just keep him reading everyday and continue to encourage him. The more he reads the better he will get. Try to find something he is interested in to keep him engaged and read with him, as you have been doing. Even read for him when he gets tired. Reading aloud to him is an excellent way to increase his vocabulary and his attention span. Bless you for taking the time to do this. I will keep all of you in my prayers and try to stop back often to look for updates. Hang in there... it will be worth it.
January 07, 2008 12:35 PM
Nancy said...
I thought of one more thing that may help... WRITING! Let him write without worrying about conventions like spelling/grammar etc... He will say he doesn't know what to write about but try to think of something exciting the two of you have done or maybe even how he feels about your dog. He may even write about the explosive times that he has had which would be good therapy. Let him just sound out the words and put down how he thinks it is spelled. This experimentation will spark him to watch for word patterns and spellings as you read together. Encourage him to read it to you and ask him if he sees any words that need help. Let him guide you with his questions when he has finished with a piece (which may only be a sentence or two) but the more he writes, the better he will read, and the better he will write. I is a wonderful cycle that builds confidence. If he uses the computer maybe word processing could help or even a good typing program which teaches him the correct finger keys. He can always use grammar and spell check. Good luck- my heart aches for him as it did for so many when I was in the classroom. My own daughter did not read alone until she was in 3rd grade and I worked with her constantaly. The one thing I did right- I never gave up on her. We read and wrote everyday and by 8th grade she was on grade level. Today- she teaches kindergarten with the same passion I had. So, hang it there Susie, it will be worth it.
January 07, 2008 1:09 PM
wreckless said...
They are lucky to have you.I will continue to think and pray for you.
January 10, 2008 3:20 PM

In Response...

2007-12-17T23:20:00.000-06:00

...to your comments.

I have decided to paste your comments in the body of this post, because they have stirred in me a lengthy response that is more suited for this format rather than the comment section.

I'll start with Tom:

patterns of ink said...
SQ,I just happened upon this and can't comment at length right now, but I am so thankful for the update. It sounds like you have been busy investing in very important things and showing the kind of love only a grandmother can pour out.I had mentioned that www.hope139.com site some time back. This may or may not be beyond the sort of help they can provide. We'll continue to pray for you and your husband as you meet this need. I loved your alertness to the dorky pajamas--good call!If you ever have time to read—understandable if you don’t—my project is wrapping up but has probably suffered from a lack of your kind, editorial prodding.Don’t mention this at POI because my mom reads there, but her cancer is worsening and she has resumed radiation and chemo (though she had previously decided not to). She thanked me over Thanksgiving for making her feel like her life made a difference (by writing about it). I share this only to say that what you are doing for your grandson is making a huge difference! It's a wonderful story of love.
December 06, 2007 10:02 AM

I was so very sorry to learn that your mother's cancer has returned, Tom. She has been on my mind ever since I read your comment. I will surely keep her in my prayers. I have had so many family members and friends come down with cancer. Most of them died from it, but not all. After my father went through surgery and then further treatment for his colon cancer, it returned and attacked his liver. He didn't survive in the end. I wish I could say otherwise. It would be wonderful to still have him around to shoot the breeze with over the phone each day which was our practice. But I must say that in many respects I feel closer to him and also to my deceased mother since their deaths.

I did check into the Hope139 website, but feel that it is not what is needed for our Nik at this time. Thank you for bringing it to my attention though, and if you have any other ideas please share them with me.

Once Christmas is over I plan to visit your blog and catch up on your continuing story about your parents. As I recall the last entry I read was about her being pregnant. I love your story about your parents. Tell your mom for me that indeed her life has made a difference and in mostly hidden, far reaching ways. This seems to be the case for most of us. We don't always know the good we do. I would say that rarely do we recognize when we truly have been an instrument of Providence. I like the way that works, because then we are not tempted to become full of ourselves.

About Nik, my husband and I have even thought about trying to home school him ourselves. Our daughter can't because she has to work in order to put food on the table and keep a roof over their heads. I just don't know if home schooling would be the right thing for Nik though or if we would have the energy for that task. He doesn't like school work. That has been his major problem in the school setting. But the school he is attending now passes a wand over each child before they enter the school in order to detect any weapons on them I assume such as knives and guns. So, I ask myself if that is a good environment for Nik to even be in. Maybe homeschooling would be a better choice. I don't know if my husband and I could handle it though. We will have to wait and see how things work out for Nik in this new school environment. The people who work with him seem to be very nice according to my daughter.

J_G said...
Gosh Susie I'm so stuck for words beacuse I know some of what Nik and you have been through. As I have told you before my brother has a similar type of learning disabilty and there was no one that could help him like you and your husband have helped Nik. I still keep Nikolas in my prayers a couple of times a week and will continue to do so. You and your husband are very special people.
December 10, 2007 11:40 PM

Jenni, I remember your talking to me about your brother and the problems he has had over the years due to his learning problems. I hope the educational system is well enough equipped in the end to help our Nik and deal with his "yet unidentified "learning disability. I don't have much faith in the system at this point. Although there have been well intentioned people all along who have worked with him over the years, I think it has been a case of too little too late. I have always thought that what he has needed is less medication and more therapy. Therapy is hard work and time consuming though for both parties. Thanks for your prayers and continued interest.

wreckless said...
I have visited and thought of you often, imagining but yet knowing you were doing exactly as you described. Grandparents do have a magical calm. My nephews still gravitate to my parents still after they were the only ones confided in in a nasty divorce years ago.Quiet, refuge, stability, structure, and consistent focused atttention are all found in your place.He is blessed to have you.I will continue to pray and think about you.
December 11, 2007 7:37 AM

Wreckless, it is true that Nik does best in a structured, calm environment. He is eleven now, but when he was about seven a social worker was visiting our daughter's home each week trying to help her gain some control over Nik. At that time he was pretty unruly. In that regard, he is much better today. The social worker stressed, among other things, the importance of structure in his day. She also stressed the importance of consequences when he misbehaved which is essentially the same thing as punishments except it sounds nicer. My daughter was teaching at the time. With papers to grade in the evenings and four young children to take care of, she could only dream about being able to provide the kind of structure to Nik's day that the social worker seemed to think he needed at home. It was also very hard for her to enforce consequences when Nik misbehaved, because of the time it took to do it. This has been part of the problem. There has not been enough time at times or enough human resources (enough helping hands) in the household. Thanks for your prayers.

Susie Q said...
Dear Susie Q...you are a blessing to this young man. I am no expert at all but the consistency and quiet and structure you give is just so important.How lucky he is to have you two.I will keep you all in my prayers and thoughts...Hugs,Sue
December 12, 2007 9:19 PM

Thanks for your prayers, Sue. I am no expert either. I have had to rely heavily on instinct or my gut much of the time in dealing with Nik. Of course, I touch him a lot. Give him lots of hugs and pats on the head and arm and hand. I tell him I love him. In turn he is very affectionate with me. We had all the children with us this weekend because our daughter was going to be out of town for the weekend. She dropped them off at our house Friday evening. When the doorbell rang and I opened the door, Nik was standing there with a big grin on his face. He said to me, "Finally, I get to hug you!" So, I have been affectionate with him, but also I try to explain things to him in order to help him understand the true consequences of his actions or lack thereof. He listens to me and usually he ends up seeing things in a different light one that is enlightening.

Paul said...
He's really lucky to have that support from you and your husband. I've seen that happen quite often as a school counselor - grandparents playing key roles in this sort of situation.
December 16, 2007 11:04 PM

Paul, when I was bringing Nik to the behavioral hospital so that he could participate in the day program there, I noticed that many of the other children had grandparents who had brought them there too. Grandparents are so important in a child's life. But I never dreamed that I would be playing this vital a role in the life of any of my grandchildren. I am ever so grateful that my husband and I are able to be there for Nik and our daughter. I do not know what our daughter would have done without our help all these years. We have been able to help her in many ways and we are glad.

I thank everyone for your prayers and support. I still plan to lay off blogging till well after Christmas except I might sneak over to Tom's blog and read the rest of his story about his parents. Aside from Nik and our daughter's needs, I have so much to do around here. I can't believe I have allowed things to get so disorganized in my house. I am a prime candidate for help from Operation Organization (think that's the name of the TV program).

May your Christmas celebration be blessed with joy and may all your wishes for the new year come true.

Nik is in the forefront of the photo. He is wearing a yellow shirt. Rachel is seated in the rocker. Erik is to the left in back and Jakob is to the right in back. They are all very sweet children.

Update on grandson and family

2007-12-06T00:05:00.000-06:00

(Edited)

I want to thank you all for continuing to be concerned about my grandson and our family. I thought you deserved an update. Plus writing about it will be therapeutic for me.

In my previous post of October 27, I said that my grandson Nik was no longer able to attend his regular school due to his deteriorating behavior. He was in Special Ed there. They were not able to give him the type of therapy he needed. His school district remains responsible for his education though so an alternative school was found. He started attending this alternative school on a Monday. Two days later he was suspended and could no longer attend there. He had gotten upset and tried to run out of the school. When he discovered that the door was locked then he tried to kick it in. With that he was told he could no longer attend there.

After my daughter picked up Nik from the school that Wednesday, she talked to the school psychologist at his regular school. The psychologist thought Nik needed to go to the crisis center and be assessed. The therapist at the crisis center talked to Nik and decided that he would benefit from the day program at a behavioral hospital in our area. So the following week he began participating in the day program at this hospital.

Transportation to alternative schools is provided by his school district except not in this case because it is a hospital. My daughter had to provide the transportation for him. My husband and I offered to drive him to and from the hospital for the duration so that our daughter would not have to take off precious time from work for that purpose. The hospital was less than 30 minutes away from us. It was more convenient to have Nik stay with us during the week for the three weeks he was involved in the day program at the hospital. So he did. I drove him to the hospital in the morning and my husband picked him up in the afternoon when the session ended. Nik went back home to be with his family on the weekends. The first morning I took him to the hospital to participate in the program I hated to leave him, because I knew he was frightened. He had such a worried look on his face.

At the hospital he was part of a group of about a dozen other children with similar problems and in his age range. He received group therapy and individual therapy there. About two hours of the day was devoted to school work.

Every day the hospital sent home a sheet of paper which showed how Nik had done in the program that day. He was awarded points based on his behavior in a variety of categories such as respect, group participation, working on goals, staying on task and so on. Actually he did quite well and often received the maximum number of points for the day. In turn, I completed the other side of this sheet of paper giving him points for his behavior at home in a variety of categories already established by the hospital. Each morning I returned this sheet of paper to the hospital so that they could see how he was doing in the home environment. Except for one day when I had to dock him a few points due to a minor infraction, he received the maximum number of points for his behavior in our home. He did very well here. In fact, we could not ask for a better behaved child.

It was such a joy having Nik in our home for those three weeks. We adore him. He is a beautiful child. A sweet boy. He is kind, sensitive, artistic, bright and funny. But he is a boy with lots of anxieties that at times can cause him to get frustrated and then angry and then he acts out. But not once while he stayed with us did he lose his temper or even come close. This was due in part to the fact that our household is very quiet except for our dog's occasional barking. There is little commotion. Things are calm around here. In fact it is so quiet here that I wondered if it might be boring for Nik hanging out with a couple of old people in such a quiet house. So I asked him about it one night at supper. He said that he liked the quiet in our house and wasn't bored at all. In the end he was proud of his behavior with us. It gave him confidence that he could control himself.

I was hoping this good behavior here would carry over when he returned to his own home. But it didn't at least not at first. He is coming along though and getting better about controlling himself. I got a phone call from him the first night he returned home which was a Friday after being here for a week. He was crying. He asked to come back to our house. I could barely understand what he was saying, because he was crying so hard. Later when I talked to his mother I learned that something minor had taken place between him and his sister that upset him, and he lost it. Then he felt bad about himself. Whenever he loses control he gets mad at himself and that just seems to make it worse. I told him that night that he would be coming back to our house on Sunday. It seemed to satisfy him. As I see it, he wanted to come back to our house because he would not have to deal with conflict here and could feel good about himself and his behavior.

Nik liked being here in our home with us. Well, we have a comfortable home and a nice collie that makes a kid feel loved and protected. Nik doesn't watch much TV, but he thoroughly enjoys playing a particular computer game. So we let him download the game on our laptop which is in the family room. That was his source of entertainment here, that and drawing. And then I make the best oatmeal in the world which just happens to be Nik's favorite cereal. Every morning I had a big bowl of it waiting for him on the kitchen table.

Of course as any good grandma will do I doted on Nik to excess and to his delight. He complained the first night here that the pajamas I asked his mom to send along with him made him look like a dork. Nik was right. They did indeed. He is a tall lanky boy and those pajamas only accentuated his lankiness. So the very next day I went out and bought him new pajamas that would not cling to him and I bought him some of those cool lounge pants the boys are wearing these days, those and brand new white undershirts to go along with. Well, he was thrilled with his new clothes.

When I noticed that Nik didn't have a good sense of time and had difficulty remembering what day of the week it was , I decided to buy him a wristwatch with a digital read and one that also tells him the date and day of the week. It was a good investment and I think it will help Nik to develop a sense of time.

We have four bedrooms in our home. Since I am a light sleeper and my husband snores a lot, I sleep in one bedroom and my husband sleeps in another. A third bedroom is devoted to antique furniture. A fourth bedroom which is rather large has our exercise equipment in it. This is the bedroom I used for Nik. In one corner of it, I placed a pop-up trundle bed. Next to the bed I placed an end table and next to the table a rocker. That cozy corner became his bedroom. He was proud of his "bedroom" and had to show it off to his cousins who popped in to visit. I have kept everything in place in the event that he needs to return here for an extended period of time.

At night at bed time, Nik and I read from the Spiderwick books for about 30 minutes. He sat in bed and I sat in the rocker nearby while Max our collie laid sprawled out on the floor pretending to be listening as we read. Nik would read three pages to my one page. While he was with us he managed to finish book one of the Spiderwick series. This was quite an accomplishment for Nik as it was the first time he had ever read a chapter book all the way through. This made him very happy.

Something else we did as part of the bed time ritual was to kneel by the side of the bed and say an evening prayer after we were done reading. He had never before knelt by his bed to say prayers. So, this was new to him and he was eager to participate. In the beginning he had nothing to say and left all the talking to God to me. But as time went by he began to pray a little to God himself. Finally one night he prayed and thanked God for his life. I just thought that was wonderful. He is being raised Catholic, but lately he has been refusing to attend his religious education class on Wednesday evenings and refusing to attend Mass on the weekends. So I thought it was important that we say evening prayers together while he was with us.

I said he is bright, yet his reading level is well below what it should be for his age. He is eleven. It took him a long to to learn to read and he still struggles with it. We are pretty certain that he has a learning disability, but no one seems to know what it is. I believe he is going to catch up in his reading however. Even though he struggled with some of the words in the Spiderwick book we were reading, he was patient with himself. I think he felt safe with me and this is why he could be patient with himself.

Nik started attending another alternative school last week one that uses physical restraint when called for. He has a bad habit of trying to run, usually out of the school building, in order to escape his anxieties when they come on. It is that old fight or flee thing that happens when a person gets anxious and the adrenalin starts flowing. He seems to be doing well at his new school. His mother (my daughter) is pleased with this school so far and the way they communicate with her daily about his behavior. They are able to give him the amount of therapy he needs right now in his life. The goal is to get him to the point that he can return to the regular school setting. Usually that takes one to two years.

I feel better about Nik's short time future now that he is settled in a school that seems to be able to give him what he needs for the time being. I am encouraged. But he has many challenges. There are some other things I want to do for him that hopefully will help. Once the holidays are over, I plan to get involved again in my daughter's household, if she will have me, helping her out with the children and all.
I will be keeping my blogging activities at a bare minimum consequently.

I welcome any suggestions, ideas, thoughts, direction any of you might have to offer here that I might use to help our Nik along.

Keep us in your prayers

2007-10-27T23:58:00.000-05:00

As many of you have noticed, I have curtailed my blogging activities lately. I have been busy helping one of our daughters with her family. This is likely to continue through Christmas.

This daughter is a single mother who works full time. She has four children. One of her sons has emotional problems that became worse when school started this fall. When several other problems erupted about the same time for our daughter, it became apparent to all of us that she had more than she could handle by herself. My husband and I decided it was time to pitch in and help her out temporarily.

Our daughter doesn't live that far from us (about 45 minutes). But she needs our help early in the morning, in the evening, and some in between. The distance and traffic are too much of a challenge for us under those conditions. Not to mention the cost for gas. So, we decided the only solution was for us to spend several days and nights with her during the week in order to help her out at those peak times. My husband is able to commute from her home to his work with a little extra time added to his drive, but it is tolerable. Our dog comes with us which eliminates the need for someone to take care of him in our absence.

Recently, our grandson's behavior reached an intolerable point at his school. The school felt he would be better off in another learning environment. So on Monday he will start attending an alternative school which is designed for children who have emotional challenges. There he will receive therapy on a daily basis. His story is a long and sad one that began when he was about four years old shortly after his father left his mother.

Our grandson has been on medication since Kindergarten except for about eight months when he was taken off medication for a brain imaging test. He did so well off the medication that the doctor kept him off. He behaved like a regular child during that time span. But when he changed schools after the family moved, the new school wanted our daughter to place him back on medication to make the adjustment go smoother. I have seen how the various medications have affected him all these years. It has been dreadful at times. In my opinion, the drugs have done more harm to him than good. From what I have observed and I have been very close to him, much of his undesirable behavior has been drug induced. This infuriates me. I have read up on these medications and I know what the side effects look like and how the doctors try to counter these side effects with other medications that come with their own set of side effects. What I could tell you.....

Anyway, I wanted to let all of you know why I have been absent from the blogs. Please keep us in your prayers, in your thoughts. Thank you all for the kindness you have shown me.

The Search For The Twins - Part IV, The Final One

2007-10-01T00:17:00.000-05:00

(Part III of this story ended with Rebecca rushing to tell Julia, who was resting on the porch, that the twins were missing. )

"The twins. They've disappeared, Julia. I can't find them anywhere." Rebecca gushed.

Of all the children, Julia found the twins the hardest to manage. They were happy little boys infected with rich imaginations that enabled them to craft a make believe world for themselves that could keep them busy for hours. But they were too inquisitive. They were curious about everything and they were not afraid of anything. As if that wasn't bad enough, they had this uncanny talent for disappearing from sight in the blink of an eye. "There isn't a nook or a cranny anywhere on this farm that those boys have not tried to investigate." Julia told David one night as she vented her frustration with the twins.

Julia had been especially uneasy about the twins ever since that one incident that happened the week before. So when Rebecca told her the twins had disappeared, that incident leaped into Julia's mind. At first she was weak from the adrenalin that coursed through her body. But soon she felt this boost of energy that reminded her of ice on her skin. She jumped to her feet. The Sears catalogue that had been in her lap dropped to the floor. "Quickly, Rebecca, go fetch David at the threshing machine and tell him to get to the pasture as fast as he can." She knew that David would understand.

"LOUISE." Julia shouted toward the kitchen. "Come quick and take the children." Louise hurried out of the kitchen and onto the porch. The two women exchanged a few words. "You stay here and Let ME go, Julia." Louise insisted. "No." Julia responded firmly, and she left.

Julia's heart was in her throat as she ran toward the pasture. How she wished Jacques was there. The dog seemed to know instinctively when to fill in for Julia and David and watch the twins when they could not. But shortly after that incident last week, he had taken off to be with his lady love for a while at the Boudreau farm and he had not returned yet.

Was it happening again? She asked herself. "Oh, God....please not again." She prayed. That frightening day the week before was in the forefront of Julia's mind now in vivid detail. David had gone to town that morning for supplies and had taken the oldest child with him. Rebecca was in the house with the other children except for the twins. They were outside with Julia. She herself was out in the garden hoeing a row of carrots and assuming that the twins were right behind her playing under the oak tree. All of a sudden she heard Jacques yipping incessantly in the distance.

Julia looked up and there were the twins just on the other side of the fence in the pasture and, what looked to be, only yards away from the bull. He was showing his muscled broadside to the twins which Julia knew was a sign that he would be turning any moment and charging the twins. She raced toward the pasture with the hoe still in her hands thinking she might have to use it to beat him off. As she got closer she could see that Jacques had placed himself in between the twins and the bull. He was yipping and dodging back and forth in front of the bull as if to distract him.

When she got to the twins , she quickly coaxed them under the fence to safety and then called to Jacques to come to her. The dog slipped under the fence but continued his yipping. The bull flared his nostrils and looked at Julia in a way that would haunt her dreams for years to come. She began to think he might try to bolt right through the fence. Slowly she moved the children to in back of her. She knew not to turn her back on the bull or move too quickly as this could incite him to charge. Slowly she walked the children backwards hoping to reach some kind of cover close by. But the bull's interest in Julia and her children waned suddenly and he turned and sauntered off as if nothing had ever happened.
That evening Julia and David sat on the edge of the twins' bed and talked to them. "Now I want you to promise never to go near the bull again." David said to them firmly as Julia plumped up their pillows. "But we want to ride him, Papa." They chimed in together. You would have thought that their freshly washed faces bronzed by the summer sun and exuding all their childlike glee might have inspired heaven to make the beast gentle enough for little boys to ride. You would have thought. Afterwards, as Julia and David sat at the dining room table sipping cups of coffee from what remained in the pot made that morning, Julia asked him once again to get rid of the bull. He agreed and said he would look for a buyer.

They had not had the bull that long, but from the start the bull had shown signs of aggression toward human beings. Fearing that he could hurt someone on the farm, Julia wanted David to get rid of the bull right away once they discovered this about him. He was supposed to be a good breeder though and, for that reason , David decided to keep him. "We will just have to teach the children to stay away from him." He had told Julia. But Julia knew that this was little more than wishful thinking, and she was right.

The clamor of the threshing machine had turned into a soft hum as threshing activities came to a halt. There would be no more threshing as long as the twins were unaccounted for. Threshing machines were dangerous back then with their long wide belts that could suddenly slip out of control. David had shut down the threshing machine before heading for the pasture along with some of the other men to look for the twins. It was shortly afterwards that Julia slipped, twisted her ankle, and fell to the ground.

Louise was holding the baby and watching with Marie and the other children from inside the fenced yard by the house. She saw Julia fall. "Oh, no, Marie. Look what's happened to Julia." She gasped. "I have to go to her. Here, Marie, you take little Phillip." Louise tried to hand the baby to her, but Marie backed away.

"Oh, I'm no good with children." Marie said as she backed away. This is what she always told people whenever anyone invited her to hold a baby or take care of a child. When it came to children, she kept her distance. But her reluctance was due to the pain she experienced when her only child, a boy, passed away at three years old. It was just too painful for her to hold another person's baby or play with other people's children.

"Take him." Louise responded angrily. "I have to go and help Julia. Take him." She demanded as she shoved Phillip at Marie who clumsily accepted him into her arms.

"Now you've gone and done it, Julia. You've gone and done it." Louise said as she helped Julia to her feet. "Let's get you over to this bench. And you stay here. I'll go hunt for the twins." Julia did not object. Instead she sat there in pain on the bench, while the minutes seemed to hang on forever, hoping the twins would show up by some miracle all of a sudden.

Louise went on to join Rebecca and a number of men who were combing the farm looking for the twins and calling out their names. "Leon......Leonelle." They would call. While David and some of the men were looking for the twins in the pasture, the others looked in the barn and its hay loft for them. They were looking in the carriage house, the chicken coop, the tool shed, the milk shed, the orchard, down by the creek, in the fields. They were looking for them everywhere always calling out their names. But they had not been able to find them yet.

When Julia married David and became a Catholic, she completely embraced his faith rich with all its religious symbols, its patron saints, blessed statues, holy medals, holy water. It was what she turned to in times of trouble when things seemed beyond human control. The winter before last everyone in the household had come down with the flu and she was too sick to cook and take care of them. With a raging fever, she pulled herself out of bed one day and went through the house with her vessel of holy water and sprinkled it everywhere. Everyone recovered. Was it a miracle? Who can say? What is a miracle anyway? Who can say?

Then there was the tornado. David was helping another farmer deliver a calf the day a tornado hit and cut a wide swath through the farmland in their area. It brought down trees and demolished barns and homes. Julia was home with the children by herself. When she noticed the stark stillness of the leaves on the trees that day and saw that foreboding clouds were starting to swarm in the darkening sky in the west, she grabbed the crucifix from off the wall and set it in the kitchen window. Then she gathered up the children and rushed them down into the cellar.

The storm arrived. The doors to the cellar began to slap against each other and their frame violently from the force of the wind outside. It stirred up dust in the cellar and dispersed it into the musty air causing Julia and the children to cough. Surrounded by root vegetables and mason jars, Julia huddled with the children. She pulled out her rosary beads which she always kept tucked in her pocket. "Our father who art in heaven......." She began to pray that day in the cellar.

Except for the hickory tree that blew over and landed on the chicken coop, no one was hurt that day. Even the chickens came out of it unscathed.

And so it was as Julia sat on that bench after twisting her ankle and waited for word from David who was still looking for the twins in the pasture, that she reached into her pocket and pulled out her rosary beads and began to pray. Her eyes were closed and she was just beginning the second decade of the beads when she heard that familiar wonderful sounding "yip." It was Jacques. He was standing in front of her. He had come home.

"Jacques!" She squealed as she bent over and threw her arms around him. "I'm so glad to see you, boy." With both hands, she grabbed the fur around his neck and roughed it up. "Where are the twins? Come on boy, go find the twins." She said excitedly. But Jacques already knew the whereabouts of the twins. He began to coax Julia in their direction. As she limped along behind him, he would stop now and then to let her catch up always throwing his head in the direction of the twins as if to say, "Come on, follow me." He was leading her to the ice house where Marie had parked her spring board so that it would not be in the way.

Julia was a few yards away from the spring board when she heard that familiar wonderful sounding "giggle." Then she watched as one curly dark head popped up from inside the spring board followed by the other. It was the twins. They were safe. She kissed the rosary beads still in her hand and dropped them into her pocket. Her joy was so intense that she forgot about her twisted ankle and tried to run. She could not wait to wrap her arms around her boys.

Julia reached inside the spring board for them and pulled them toward her. She started kissing their faces, first one then the other. Over and over again she kissed their faces while she gushed in French "I love you. I love you." Finally, she heaved a sigh of welcomed relief. Then some thoughts began to cross her mind. Surely, she thought to herself, they had been able to hear everyone calling for them. So, she asked herself, why had they not answered. As glad as she was to find them and know they were safe, it was time for her to start asking questions.

"Everyone has been looking for you for a long time. Where have you been?" She asked them.

"Here." They answered pointing to the inside of the wagon.

"Did you know everyone was calling for you?"

"Oui."

"And you didn't answer?"

"Non."

"And why didn't you answer?" She folded her arms and waited for their response, but they said nothing.

"Mon enfants, je te parle (My children, I am speaking to you)."

The twins hung their heads, because they knew they should have answered when they were called. Julia put her hand over her mouth; she was fighting a grin. She tried to appear serious and shook a finger at them. Then she lifted them out of the spring board. "You march right into the house this very minute." She ordered, and she gave them a symbolic smack on their bottoms to send them off. They scampered toward the house. She rushed after them and gave them another smack on their bottoms adding, "And no pie for you today."

Before going into the house, Julia waved to Louise who was coming out of the barn at that moment. "You can call off the search, Louise." She yelled, "I found the twins and they are okay. Get word to David."

When Julia came into the house, she could hear singing in the living room. She walked through the dining room and into the living room where she found Marie down on the floor with her skirt hiked up to her knees singing and playing patty cake with little Phillip who,it was obvious, had taken to Marie. "Oh, Julia, I see you found the twins and they are safe. Thank the Lord." She said cheerfully as she rose and picked up Phillip from the floor. Her hair was mussed up. A good sum of it had come loose from her bun. It was obvious that Phillip had been interested in her hair and pursued that interest with gusto by grabbing a big handful of it.

"Julia, I was just thinking about something." Marie continued while cradling Phillip. She was indifferent to the hunk of hair that hung down on one side of her head. Julia found this indifference a refreshing departure from Marie's usual prissy self. "I was wondering.....well, would it be all right with you, Julia, if....um......I came by here maybe once a week, maybe more, and, uh ......well...um......helped you with the children? "

Julia opened her arms wide and embraced Marie warmly. "It would be a blessing, Marie." She replied.

EPILOGUE

What is fact about this story and what is fiction? Well, it was a fact that the twins were hiding while everyone on the farm was looking for them and calling for them that day. As the story goes, they were hiding under a buggy and watching the whole thing take place and apparently having a good time of it.

It was a fact that Julia was a religious woman. I remember hearing the story about the time Julia dealt with a tornado and used some religious object, perhaps a crucifix, to ward it off. One other fact about Julia is that she loved her family. As you can imagine with all those children, their descendants grew to be many. Julia kept a mental record of all their marriages, births, names and on and on in the family. On her death bed, she was attempting to recite this mental record. What a precious woman!

Most everything else in the story is fiction. But there may have been a bull in which the children took a dangerous interest. There may have been a dog. Perhaps his name was Jacques afterall. And there may have been small miracles take place in Julia's life at least what she thought of as miracles.

The photo above is of Julia and David and their eleven children. My grandfather Leon is in the back row just left of center. The man with the white hair and glasses and seated in the front row is my Great-grandfather David. When I was a little girl of four or five and he came to visit, he would offer to pay me a nickel if I would sing him a song. I was more than happy to oblige him. Everyone liked David. According to my cousin Lloyd who I consider the family historian, David was a good, honest man.

One last thing. As you can readily see, no one in this photo is smiling. There must have been a law back then against smiling in photos. This photo does not reflect the happy dispositions which members of this family possessed in actuality. If the photo were to reflect that, everyone would have huge grins. This was a very affectionate, loving family too.

CREDITS: A few of the farm photos, representative of the historic Kline Creek Farm in DuPage County, Illinois, are the works of Michelle Benedicta. Also, I must give credit to my husband for taking a series of photos of Kline Creek Farm himself. I have used several of his photos too.

The Search For The Twins - Part III

2007-09-18T23:59:00.002-05:00

"Now you just sit right here in this rocker, Julia, on the porch so you can catch the breeze, and you rest, child." That's what Louise DuBois said to Julia after she helped her off with her corset that day and got her settled on the porch.

Louise DuBois was a stout, matronly woman with a stern look and a commanding voice that could be heard a mile away when she gave it full rein. But she had a heart made of pure gold. She had no qualms about taking charge when the occasion called for it. That morning was an occasion that called for it.

Julia had managed to feed the men their breakfast before Louise got there, but she was close to exhaustion afterwards. Not a morsel of the breakfast meal remained that could go toward the midday meal coming up next. Work on the farm in those days was extremely hard. A farmer had to consume between 6,000 and 8,000 calories a day in order to have the energy needed to do the work. A large man might need to consume close to 10,000 calories a day.

Julia was just starting to clean off the table outside on the lawn when Louise pulled her spring board up to the ice house in back so that it would not be in the way. The two women had not seen each other for more than a month. Louise had been up north helping a niece with a new baby. "Yoo-hoo, Julia." Louise called as walked into the yard. Julia seemed listless to her.

After embracing her warmly, Louise pulled back and placed her hands squarely on Julia's shoulders. She tipped her head first to the left and then to the right as she studied Julia's face intently. Then she dropped her right hand and placed it on Julia's abdomen. "You're in the family way." She announced. Julia nodded yes. In those days pregnancy was referred to in delicate terms such as that.

In 1900 half the babies were delivered by doctors. The other half were delivered by midwives. Louise had been a midwife for over twenty years. She knew all the signs. Yet, it was not unusual back then to find a married woman of child bearing age pregnant. It was almost a given if her youngest child was a year old or more. Indeed, Julia went on to give birth to a boy, Armond, the following January in the dead of winter with the ground covered in lustrous snow and Louise present to assist in the birth.

"Morning sickness?" Louise asked as she started to gather up the stacks of dishes on the table.

Julia brought her apron up and wiped the sweat from her brow with it. "Almost all day I am sick and want to throw up. Everything tastes odd to me. I get tired easily." She replied.

"Let's get you in the house, child, and get your corset off. You need to rest a spell. And the children? Where are the children today? "

"My sister Rebecca is watching them. She's taken them down to the creek to look for crawfish."

*****************************

The Corset. It had been around for centuries. Although it often provided support for the mid section especially the back, its main purpose was to prepare the female figure to receive the fashion of the day. So, the corset form changed with the fashions.

A woman living in Julia's time wore her corset everyday just as today's woman wears her bra everyday. A woman back then hoed the garden in her corset. She did the laundry wearing it. She prepared the meals all corseted up. It may have been a matter of propriety to wear a corset and inappropriate, perhaps even seen as immoral by some, to go without one in public.

Regarding pregnancy, it was considered inappropriate, even immoral, to be seen in public if you were pregnant and showing. The longer a woman could wear a corset while pregnant and conceal that fact, the longer she could be seen in public before the baby came. But Louise advised Julia that day not to wear her corset during the pregnancy, because she had heard that there was a growing concern in the medical community that corseting up could harm the developing child in the womb. In fact there is reason to believe that some women, upon finding themselves pregnant back then and wishing they weren't, tightly laced their corsets in order to deliberately cause a miscarriage.

******************************

"But there are chickens to cut up and fry, Louise." Julia said as she struggled with her corset.

"Now, never you mind about the chickens or anything else. I'll manage just fine in the kitchen without your help. You just rest."

"I don't feel right about leaving all that work to you, Louise."

"Lands sake, I'm fit as a fiddle. The Pelletier baby isn't due for 'nother week yet best I can figure and I'm free as a bird today. " Louise replied as she helped Julia get back into her dress.

With Louise close behind, Julia came down the steps and walked out onto the screened-in porch off the dining room. She eased into the rocker that David's mother had given her earlier in the summer. Julia had whitewashed it and set it on the porch in the corner by the hydrangea bushes.

"I stopped by the Boudreau farm on the way here and Zelia sent you a big pot of beef stew plus several loaves of bread for today's dinner meal." Louise said as she placed a small pillow behind Julia's head. "She said to tell you she's sorry she could not come here herself and lend a hand," her voice trailed off as she headed for the kitchen, "but her youngest is all a mess with poison ivy and her man is down on his back again with something."

"That was kind of her to send the stew." Julia called to her from the porch. "I'm sorry to hear about her man being down on his back again."

Louise chipped a few pieces of ice off the block of ice in the ice box. She drew water from the hand pump at the kitchen sink and carefully washed the saw dust off the chipped ice. Then she plopped the ice in a glass of water and walked back out to the porch with it. "Besides my pies, Julia, I brought along some of my pickled beets and a kettle of ham and beans too. Why, dinner is almost ready for the men."

Louise handed the glass of water to Julia and said, "This should cool you off right nicely." Tucked under her arm was a Sears, Roebuck catalogue she had grabbed off the table on her way through the dining room to the porch. "Here, Julia, look at this while you rest." She said as she handed over the catalogue to Julia.

In the evenings by the light of a kerosene lamp Julia would comb the pages of her Sears, Roebuck and look at everything a person could buy. Augers. Bailing wire. Oil chandeliers. Commodes. Divan couches. Chewing tobacco. Shaving soap. Plum pudding. Rolled oats. Vanilla extract. Chocolate. Men's dancing shoes. Ladies mufflers. Ladies ribbed drawers. Bustles. Buckles. Butcher's apron. And on and on. It was like touring a fantasy land of goods.

Julia wanted to take the twins to the new photographer in town to get their picture taken for their fourth birthday. So, she was particularly interested in what Sears, Roebuck had to offer in boys' clothing. She found an outfit for the boys which she favored. It was inspired by the Little Lord Fauntleroy fashions of a few years earlier. The shirt, or blouse, had a wide ruffled collar to it and long sleeves with ruffled cuffs. She decided upon a big floppy bow, too, in a red plaid for the boys that went under the collar and tied in front. At the time these bows were especially popular in America. Julia used her egg money to pay for the twins' outfits.

While Julia rested out on the porch, Louse busied herself in the kitchen finishing up some of the dishes Julia had started to prepare for the dinner meal. She glanced out the window at one point and then quickly called to Julia "Well would you look at who is comin' up the lane, Julia." She wiped her hands on her apron. "Sweet Lord, it is Marie Chouinard...and she's wearin' a hat of all things. Must be thinkin' it's Sunday."

Marie Chouinard was tall and thin with a mouth that rarely turned up at the corners and usually laid in a narrow abbreviated line right under her nose.

Whenever she spoke, the tip of her nose wiggled like a rabbit's nose. This made it difficult to take seriously whatever she was saying if you were looking right at her. Prim and proper, she was always snooping around looking for something that did not meet with her approval and she usually found plenty that did not meet with her approval. Despite Marie's shortcomings, Louise managed to get along with her and even liked her although at times Louise was forced to set her straight about certain things.

Louise rushed out the kitchen door to greet Marie who was struggling to carry two large wicker baskets. "What have you there, Marie?" Louise asked cheerfully.

"Oh, I thought Julia could use some spiced peaches and pound cakes for the men's meals." Marie replied then added snidely. "I don't suppose she's done much cookin' for the men with all those youngins runnin' round."

Louise shook her finger at Marie playfully, "Now Marie, let's not start that." She said. Louise knew where that was coming from. Marie had given birth to only one child, a boy, who died from pneumonia when he was three years old. That was twenty-five years ago. After the boy died, bitterness set in and never left Marie. It determined her attitude toward everything.

Julia was standing in the kitchen by the sink trying to wash some dishes when Marie walked in. "Oh, Marie, I am so happy to see you." She wiped her hands on her apron and went up to Marie. The two women embraced.

"Well, I know how hard it is to feed a bunch of farmers at harvest time, and I thought you could use some help Julia."

"What are you doing in here, Julia?" Louise squawked when she came through the kitchen door from outside. She set a basket down on the table. "You get right back out there on that porch." And she took Julia by the hand and led her through the dining room and back out onto the porch.

When she returned to the kitchen, she found Marie examining the curtains hanging in the kitchen window. "I wonder when the last time was that these were washed." She remarked as she fingered them.

Louise rolled her eyes and walked toward the sink. "Marie, help me wash up these dishes here, would you. And take off that hat, please."

The two women proceeded to work side by side at the long, trough-like sink covered in a sheet of metal. Marie leaned toward Louise and said quietly, "I see that Julia is not wearing her corset."

"Yes, that's true." Louise replied. "She's in the family way and exhausted right now. I advised her not to wear her corset anymore until after the baby is born. It could harm the baby, Marie. That's what the doctors are saying."

"I'm sorry, Louise. I try not to be judgmental, but...it is not right. It simply is not right. It is immoral, I do believe, to go without your corset in public." Marie replied smugly. "And here with all these men about on the farm today. When the other ladies hear about this, they will be shunning Julia for certain."

Louise began to vigorously pump the handle up and down on the hand pump up at the sink. Water gushed out. "MARIE," She bellowed as she pumped, "I'VE A GOOD MIND TO REMOVE MY CORSET THIS VERY MOMENT RIGHT HERE IN THIS VERY KITCHEN IN FRONT OF THIS VERY SINK. ....AND WHAT DO YOU THINK ABOUT THAT?"

Marie stiffened as she stood back. Her face glowed red. "Huh,...well.....I never." She muttered.

Julia heard the commotion coming from the kitchen, but just about that time she saw Rebecca running up the road toward the house from the creek with the baby on her hip and Eugene and Albert close behind her.

Rebecca leaped onto the porch steps and swung open the screen door to the porch. "The twins. They've disappeared, Julia. I can't find them anywhere." She said breathlessly. Meanwhile the humming of the threshing machine in the distance could be heard.

To be continued....

********************

EPILOGUE:

I know everyone is eager to find out what happened to the twins, and I was hoping to reveal that in this installment, but it got too long and I ran out of mental energy. Next time, I promise you will find out.

Forever there has been a sisterhood of women to help each other out like these women were helping Julia. In any group of women, too, there is bound to be a Louise and bound to be a Marie. I am sure these stereotypical women existed in Julia's group of women back then.

In researching Sears and Roebuck, I found a site devoted to their 1902 catalogue. I was amazed by the variety of things that one could purchase through this catalogue. If you are interested, you can purchase a CD of the 1902 Sears Catalogue
Here

The Search For The Twins - Part Two

2007-09-09T23:45:00.000-05:00

Even though it was still early in the morning, the day was already fulfilling its promise to be hot and sticky. Julia was thankful for the healthy breeze that was blowing through the window giving her some relief as she labored over the stove in the kitchen. Shortly after Eugene had appeared that morning, the twins had trailed down the steps, too, in their night shirts. Except for baby Phillip who was still sleeping in his crib upstairs, the children were in the dining room with their Aunt Rebecca eating their breakfast cereal of oatmeal. It had their favorite topping....cinnamon sugar.

In those days meals were served in the dining room. The small table that might be in the kitchen was reserved for food preparation. In fact the dining room was always humming with activity, aside from eating, of one kind or another in the household. Children did their school work at the dining room table. They played board games there such as checkers and chess. With her sewing machine nearby in the room, Mother used the dining room table to cut out pattern pieces to that dress she might be making for herself. Father sat at the table and paid the bills and made entries in his farm journal. It was a room that served many purposes.

As she watched over the potatoes frying in the skillet that morning turning them at just the right moment of crispness, Julia fingered the letter in her skirt pocket. It was from her cousin Emily. She had received the letter the day before. Emily wrote to say she was coming in the fall all the way from Vermont to spend a few months with Julia. The cousins had not seen each other since 1897 shortly before Julia and David married.

Emily's letter brought painful thoughts of the past to Julia's mind. "We are sending you to Vermont to live with your Aunt Leonia for a while." Like ghosts the words Julia's father spoke to her that day so long ago returned to haunt her. They laid like heavy weights upon her chest once again to the point that she could not breathe even after these many years later. That entire chapter of Julia's life began to seep into her mind as she stood over the stove preparing the day's breakfast for the farmers.

************************

"Papa, no!" She pleaded.

"My dear child, your very soul is at stake." Her father insisted.

"But I love him, Papa." She cried.

"Julia, I can not permit you to marry this man and leave your church. I must insist you go and stay with your aunt. Your train leaves next Wednesday for Vermont."

Tears washed over her cheeks as she rushed out the door and to the haven of the old oak tree in the corner of the yard far from the house. This is where Julia always went when she was troubled and needed to think and find peace. She leaned against the oak and began to sob as she slipped to the ground. The rough bark snagged her Sunday dress. She did not care. She prayed for peace.

Peace did not come to Julia that day although like a trusted friend it sought her out through the protective canape of the old oak, the soft breeze, and the sweet scent of lilacs. But it could not penetrate her anguish which imprisoned her spirit.

The following Wednesday Julia boarded the train for Vermont. Her heart broken, she waved a somber goodbye to her parents who stood on the platform outside the train station. The engine chugged along slowly at first then picked up speed. She felt so alone. Whenever she glanced at the strangers on the train, she saw no one but David. She caught herself sighing again and again. Wishing the world would disappear she closed her eyes and fell asleep for a while.

Suddenly there was a jolt and she was awake. The train had stopped to pick up more passengers at the next station. Once it was underway again, Julia allowed the countryside the train passed through to become a meaningless blur for her. She looked down at the purse that laid in her lap. Her mother had made that purse for Julia out of a remnant that came from her own wedding dress.

People were frugal back then. Nothing went to waste. Everything was recycled and used again and again in one form or another. Women were highly skilled at sewing and altering clothing. Their husband's old suit was cut down to fit Junior. Wedding dresses became purses and Sunday dresses for the little girls in the family. Worn tablecloths became tea towels, napkins, and hot pads. Every piece of fabric that still had thread life to it and could not be used in some other way became part of a quilt.

Julia loosened the strings of her purse and carefully reached inside. She pulled out a lace handkerchief that she had neatly folded earlier before she left home. She unfolded it and stared down at its content. It was the rose that David had given her. She had pressed it between pages of a book for a keepsake. He had picked it off one of the rose bushes on the Langlois farm the night of the square dance when they met for the first time. She closed her eyes and let the train rock her back and forth into a twilight state where she began to remember what it was like the first time she saw David.

Julia knew of him before she met him. She had heard that his first wife had died after giving birth to a son who survived. But she had never met David or seen him before that night. The moment she laid eyes on David that night she was smitten with him. He was a beautiful man. Tall. Muscular. He had strong features and the darkest of eyes.

Toward the end of the evening, David was smitten with Julia, too, by all indications. After a few dances, they had slipped away together from the crowd and the clatter. They found a moonlit path to walk along where they talked and talked to each other. Their courtship progressed rapidly after that first night.

Julia's parents were not pleased with her new suitor, because he was Catholic. But it was not until Julia started talking about becoming a Catholic herself so that she and David could marry that her parents decided to intervene and send her off to Vermont in order to separate the two.

After Julia arrived at her aunt's home in Vermont, a series of letters began to go back and forth between Julia and her father. Her letters always started with "My dearest Papa,..." and ended with "Your loving daughter, Julia." Letters from her father started and ended in a similar fashion. Then one day a money order arrived for Julia from her father with a letter instructing her to purchase a train ticket and come home. The issue was resolved. The quarrel was over. Julia had prevailed. She was free to become Catholic and marry her beloved David. She had her parents' blessings.

****************************

When she reached for the jars of jam on a high shelf in her pantry, Julia was still deep in thought about Vermont and what had happened years ago. The sound of horses' hoofs hitting the ground outside in the farm yard as neighbor farmers started showing up to help David with the threshing distracted her from what she was doing. Suddenly a jar of jam too close to the shelf's edge toppled off and crashed to the floor below. "OH, NO!." Julie shouted.

"Mama?" One of the children said in a small worried voice. It was Leon. He and his twin Leonelle were standing in the doorway of the pantry. "Are you hurt, Mama?" He asked.

"Oh, my hearts of love. No, mama's not hurt." Julia replied warmly. "Come here to Mama." She bent down and kissed each of them directly on the mouth which was the custom in her family. Then she rose up and pulled them toward her and pressed them tightly against her body. "Mon beau enfants (My beautiful children)." She whispered as she thought of what could have happened years ago and what might not have ever come to be today.

(To be continued....)

Epilogue: It is true that Julia's parents sent her to Vermont to be with relatives after she expressed a desire to become a Catholic. They were Protestants even though they were French and had come from Quebec which should have made them Catholics.

The detective in me has concluded that Julia wanted to become a Catholic so that she and David could marry. The Catholic church would have been very strict about mixed marriages back then. Plus there would have been influence coming from David's Catholic family. I believe her parents were trying to separate her and David by sending her to Vermont hoping that the two would forget about each other. At least it is a romantic thought.

The fact that Julia returned home eventually and became a Catholic and married David suggests to me that some communication was taking place between Julia and her parents while she was in Vermont and that letters most likely flowed back and forth between them giving Julia an opportunity to change their minds.

And surely there was the rose that she pressed between pages of a book, the rose that David gave her.

The Search For The Twins

2007-09-02T10:30:00.000-05:00

When the twins disappeared that day on the family farm and everyone was looking high and low for them, it was the dawn of the 20th Century.

Teddy Roosevelt was president of the United States. The
American flag had only 45 stars. The tallest structure in the world was the Eiffel Tower. In 1901 Queen Victoria passed away and the Victorian Era officially ended. There were only 8000 cars in the U.S. at the time and only 144 miles of paved roads. More than 95 percent of all births took place at home. The average life expectancy was forty-seven. There was no Mother's Day or Father's Day around the turn of the century. Only 8 percent of the homes in the U.S. had phones. The population of Las Vegas, Nevada was around 30. The crossword puzzle had not been invented yet. That did not happen till 1913. Coca Cola contained cocaine. Coffee cost 15 cents a pound. There were only about 230 reported murders in the entire U.S. in 1902. My grandfather, Leon, and his twin brother, Leonelle, were four years old at the time.

My knowledge of what happened that day on the farm when the twins disappeared is limited. So I poked around history to find out what life on the farm was like back then and I reviewed my genealogy records and refreshed my memory about family lore in order to add flesh to the skeleton of this narrative. I wanted the story to come alive for the reader. I have created an account of what I imagine might have happened the day the twins disappeared.

This story is a blend of fact and fiction then with photos to enhance the reading experience. Some of the photos are a bit deceptive though. They suggest that Great-grandma Julia may have lived in a darling Victorian farm house with copious manicured flower beds surrounding it when in actuality she probably lived in something austere by comparison and only daydreamed of having flower beds like that. But since she was a good woman all her life and deserved to live in a darling Victorian farm house, I am allowing her that luxury in this story.

It was a day in July. Harvest time. Winter wheat. As was the practice back then, several nearby farmers were coming that morning with their wagons and their teams of draft horses to help David with the threshing.

Julia was expected to feed all the men and tend to the children as well. Mrs. DuBois down the road promised to come later in the morning with an assortment of her pies for which she was famous in the county. She had won Blue Ribbons galore at the County Fairs with them. Julia's sister Rebecca was on hand to help. In fact she was spending the summer there helping Julia with the children and the household and Julia's share of the farm chores.

Life was exceptionally hard on rural women during those times. Their days were long and filled with tasks that were labor intensive. This often exhausted them physically and mentally. A helping hand was much appreciated and needed especially if there were many children in the household. At that time, Julia had five children in tow...all boys with the oldest no more than six.

Julia was in the midst of preparing for the day in the kitchen that morning just as the sun was about to appear and chase off the haze that hovered over the ground here and there like magic carpets. The roosters were nearly finished with their morning ritual announcing the arrival of day. A strand of her dark wavy hair had escaped from the bun she had hastily made on top of her head that morning. The strand swayed back and forth as she worked with another batch of biscuit dough under the dim light of the kerosene lamp nearby.

"Careful, Julia," she could hear her mother's words echoing in her mind, "not too much, or they won't be flaky....won't rise nice." How many times, she wondered, had she made biscuits and heard the echo of her mother's instructive words. Countless times, she decided, and every time. The echo was always in French. Her mother had emigrated with her family from Quebec to the rich black soil of the Illinois prairie. She never did master English. David's parents, who also were French, had come down from Canada too. Consequently, Julia and David were able to speak both French and English fluently. Sometimes they spoke in French. Sometimes, English. Sometimes both in the same day. As a result, all their children grew up bilingual.

Julia caught a whiff of the biscuits baking in the oven of her wood burning stove. She was especially proud of that stove. It was a wedding gift from her parents. Her astute sense of smell in the kitchen told her the biscuits were ready to come out of the oven. She quickly dusted the flour off her hands, bunched up the lower part of her apron with her hands, and opened the oven door to remove the biscuits.

"Ah!" She exclaimed when she saw her biscuits. "Parfait (perfect)!" Mama would be proud, she thought. The hot air from the oven rushed at her turning her face rosy red. She pulled out the biscuits and closed the oven door. About that time, she heard the screen door open in the back hall. It was her husband David. He was finished with milking.

David walked into the kitchen. Fresh milk sloshed against the inside of the pail he was carrying adding to its white froth on top. "Just set it on the pie safe for now, David." Julia said as she slipped the hot biscuits onto a waiting plate. "Coffee?" She asked.

"Oui, mon petit Shulee (yes, my little Julia)." He replied. Practically everyone called her "petit Shulee." Indeed she was so petite that when she was carrying the twins she had to use a strap of sorts to hold up her belly toward the end of the pregnancy. She was small, but she was spirited. Some people described her as downright feisty especially when it came to politics. She was a woman with an opinion, and she was not afraid to express it.

Quietly David moved toward her from behind then bent down and kissed the nape of her neck. She jumped. It gave her goose bumps. It always caught her by surprise when he did that even though he had been startling her like that every day practically since they got married. She turned around briskly and pretended to shoo him away all the while with her face beaming.

"How 'bout some of these biscuits, too," David said as he reached around Julia and snatched one off the plate and popped it into his mouth, "with those strawberry preserves you put up last month." He added while munching on his mouthful of biscuit.

David and Julia were wed in 1897. She was twenty and he was twenty-six. His first wife had died giving birth to a son who survived. Julia became a mother to little Albert then the instant she married David. She and David went on to have ten children of their own. The twins were the first to be born. That was in 1898.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Breakfast was to be served to the hungry farmers later than morning outside under the shade trees at a makeshift table which consisted of several wooden planks resting on wooden horses. Benches flanked the table.

Colorful patchwork quilts eventually covered the tabletop that morning. As an added feminine touch, Julia ended up placing a vase of freshly cut flowers right in the middle of the table mostly to remind the men to watch their manners as ladies were about, especially a young one...her sister. Rebecca who was only seventeen and had been given the task of chasing the flies away from the food while the men ate.

The breakfast menu that morning was to be bacon, smoked ham, eggs, fried potatoes, mounds of plated biscuits, milk gravy, sliced tomatoes and white radishes from Julia's garden, peaches Julia had canned the year before, a generous assortment of Julia's jams and preserves, and plenty of sweet creamy butter which Julia had churned herself. Last but not least, a big pot of coffee to wash it all down.

After breakfast there would be dinner to start working on. It would be served around 2 in the afternoon. Julia had killed and plucked some chickens the day before. They were waiting in her icebox to be cut up, floured, and then fried in lard. After dinner, supper would need to be prepared. The host farm wife was expected to feed the crew of farmers, who had come to help, three meals plus a snack that day. It was often the farm wife who encouraged her husband to invest in the new labor-saving farm implements so that she could be freed of the burden of feeding so many people at harvest time.

In a huge iron skillet on top of the stove, the thickly sliced bacon sizzled angrily as if in defiance. It spat at Julia when she was turning it, and hot grease hit her arm. "Ouch!" She squealed as she recoiled and rubbed the affected area. That was one thing she disliked about cooking. She was so engrossed in her quarrel with the bacon in the skillet that she almost did not notice the tug on her skirt or hear the small voice say, "Mama, I go wee." It was little Eugene standing there in his night shirt with the telltale spot.

(To be continued...)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

DISCLAIMER: Although I have tried to be careful when researching farm life and farming practices that took place in the early 20th Century, I can not guarantee that I have been accurate.

CREDITS: Some of the photos I have used in this story are the works of Boliyou.

Photo Prelude

2007-08-20T23:22:00.000-05:00

September 1 update: The photo show is not working at this time. I am in the process of trying to repair it. I think the problem exists with the source itself which is the Walgreen's Photoshow site. (Well, whadda ya know, it is working now. How 'bout that!)

This is a short photo prelude, set to music, to the story about my grandfather and his twin brother when they were children.

The photo show, which is similar to YouTube, is a new element I am introducing to my blog. I am hoping my readers will welcome this enhancement. Personally, I am excited about its creative possibilities.

For those of you who rely on a dial-up connection, the load time for the photo show may exceed your connection capabilities. I hope not. High speed connections should be able to handle it fine. In any case, if after activating the photo show, you receive an error message and you are told to "try again", do just that and you will be taken to a larger screen where the load time should be tolerable.

The musical piece, Blessed is the Man, which I have selected for this photo show is performed by the St. Eliyah Children's Choir of Kyiv. Their young voices remind me of angels.

Please give me some honest feedback on the photo show enhancement so that I will know whether or not it is a good idea to incorporate it into a few of my posts now and then.

I hope to have the story itself completed by the weekend. I have been trying to do a little research on the early 1900's and farm life back then.

Twins' story delayed...

2007-08-16T22:20:00.000-05:00

....due to problems with my high speed Internet connection. Again, for the umpteenth time! Consequently, I can't download those adorable photos of my grandfather and his twin when they were children until I get it fixed. Tomorrow a technician is scheduled to come to the house and fix it. I hope he is successful, because I am beyond sick of this.

In the meantime, allow me to indulge myself and let off a little steam that has built up inside of me due to my computer problems. Allow me to indulge myself by picking on a few TV cooks...specifically Sandra Lee of Semi-homemade Cooking and Robin Miller of Quick Fix Meals.

These women are NOT believable. They are impostors who only claim to be in love with food. Now understand that I watch these ladies practically every day, and I have printed off I am sure more than 95% of their recipes some more than once, in fact, although by accident. But, come on, these women deal with food all day long in their profession. Yet I have seen rails that had more flesh on them than these two. They look like they haven't eaten since 1997. It makes you want to jerk them right out of that TV set and force feed them biscuits and gravy, ham and eggs, and cornbread soaked in honey.

No, these two women are not authentic cooks. Even Martha Stewart with her steel will could not resist eating what she prepared and putting on the pounds which she tried to conceal under those big shirts. Remember the big shirts?

Give me the real thing, the full-bodied, well-endowed real McCoys in TV cooks like Paula Deen of Paula's Home Cooking and the Barefoot Contessa Ina Garten. Paula Deen, for instance, isn't satisfied unless she's put a stick of butter in whatever she is cooking. She's my kind of woman. All about comfort. I know butter has a bad reputation and is sinful, but can you think of any food other than chocolate that can make you feel that happy? So maybe you can. Well.

These women are authentic cooks. There are others like them too, who proudly wear their profession around their waists and on their thighs...God bless them. When they say on TV that they can't wait to dig in and taste what they have just cooked, you know they mean it. Not so with the spindly Sandra Lee and the twiggy Robin Miller.

If these two want to be skinny, I suppose it is their business. But I wish they would not pretend to salivate on TV when they lift that fork to their mouth to sample their recipes. This is insulting to their TV audience. Don't you know that as soon as the commercial comes they spit it out.

Okay, I think I may have gotten it out of my system...all that built-up steam. Now tomorrow I will turn on the TV and watch Sandra Lee and Robin Miller and dream of being that skinny.

***************************

August 19 update: It occurred to me after some comments were posted that I did not make my actual intentions for writing this piece entirely clear. I meant it as a humorous piece with a a slight element of truth to it.

Then Nancy left her comment in which she pointed out how these super thin women on these TV cooking shows serve as poor examples to our young girls who may struggle with the notion that only ultra-thin is an acceptable body size. I realized that Nancy is right and my piece more true and serious than humorous. As it is with myself, I have several granddaughters. Three of them (ages 16, 10, and 7) are already too focused on their weight and body size when they have no reason to be at all.

SANCTUARY III - The Finale

2007-08-05T23:10:00.000-05:00

I am late getting this final segment of my Sanctuary series published. What can I say in the way of excuses! Been busy, busy, busy with family, family, family. Last night for instance, we had my sister and her husband over for a steak dinner. Ooh! Those T-bones were to die for.

I am highly motivated to get this final segment published. Today I have been going through boxes upon boxes of family photos which belonged to our (my sister and me) parents who both passed away several years ago. After the funerals, which were weeks apart, my sister ended up with the boxes of photos. She brought them with her last night so that I could eventually sort through them and preserve the important photos on CD's for family members.

Well, I ran across three adorable photos of our grandfather and his twin when they were children. The twins were born in 1898 just to give you an idea of the time during which these photos were taken. Finding these photos brought to mind the story which I had heard again and again through the years about the day the twins came up missing on the farm during harvest time. My next post after this one is going to be about that incident. You will love the photos of Grandpa Leon and his twin Lionelle, and you will get a huge charge out of the story. And now to finish up with the Sanctuary.

Flowers, flowers, and more flowers. But these are potted ones on our deck. Be sure to click each photo to enlarge it so that you can get up close and personal with these beautiful flowers. The enlarged view is breathtaking. Let the show begin.

This is our deck. Want to stay for supper? There's a chicken on that rotisserie. Watch your step...don't trip on that extension cord you see laying across the deck floor.

Above: Supertunia Mini Blue Vein
Above: Euphorbia Diamond Frost

Above: Million Bells Yellow Calibrachoa hybrid by Proven Selections. This has been a very hardy and prolific flower this year. I have this particular flower in another pot in front of the house and the blooms just keep coming.

Below: Yellow Hibiscus and Impatiens

Above: Pink Geranium

Above: New Guinea Impatiens blended with Elfin Impatiens.

Note the small angels figurine sitting in the one pot. The spring after

our parents passed away, I discovered this figurine at a garden center. I was drawn to it, because our parents loved nature and all their flowers. I think of our parents every time I look at the angels.

Above: Begonia Elatior 'Kristy Fringed'

No one here gave any indication that they had spotted Woody our mischievous woodland gnome. Well, he was in a miff for a few days over that, but I was able to calm him down. I assured him that, indeed, he is a fascinating creature, but of course mostly just to children and grownups who are still children at heart.

Above: Woody says, "Hee...hee, come again!"

And please do come again!

HEALTH ALERT - DEADLY SUPERBUG

2007-07-24T12:49:00.001-05:00

Update of August 1: Since posting this piece about MRSA my site meter indicates that several people doing an Internet search for MRSA have ended up at my blog and then went on to use my Reader's Digest link so that they could read the article itself. It is gratifying to me to know that I have been instrumental in helping others learn how to protect themselves and their families from this deadly germ.

In the August issue of Reader's Digest is an article about deadly superbugs...in particular the bug known as CA-MRSA which is said to have become an epidemic and to be second ONLY to HIV as a public health threat.

The article is especially meaningful to me personally because my niece's baby, who is written up in the article, died from this bug two year ago. It happened so quickly.

Little Maddy seemed to be coming down with a mild cold. But it wasn't a mild cold. It was MRSA. Within a few weeks, Maddy died her little body ravaged by this bug. She died despite the intense efforts of the doctors to save her life.

My niece has established an online memorial in memory of Maddy. You can learn more at this memorial site about what happened to Maddy. You will also learn about Maddy's Bill there which is legislation Maddy's parents are attempting to get passed that, among other things, would help to prevent the spread of this bug from carriers who are not ill to others.

I am telling my readers about this health threat and the Reader's Digest article, because there are steps you can take to protect yourself and your family from this bug. The steps you can take are in the article. I hope you will read the article and visit Maddy's memorial site.

FOX HUNT

2007-07-19T13:31:00.000-05:00

WHEN YOU ARE IN DEEP TROUBLE, LOOK STRAIGHT AHEAD, KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT -- SAY NOTHING!

Good advice.

Tag Time - 8 Random Facts About Myself

2007-07-16T21:20:00.000-05:00

Tom from Patterns of Ink has tagged me. I am supposed to write 8 things about myself in a post. (Gee, thanks Tom. I like to write about myself.) Also, I am to list the rules of the tag before proceeding. Here are the rules which I copied from Tom's post and pasted below.

1. We have to post these rules before we give you the facts. 2. Players start with eight random facts/habits about themselves. 3. People who are tagged need to write their own blog about their eight things and post these rules. 4. At the end of your blog, you need to choose eight people to get tagged and list their names. 5. Don’t forget to leave them a comment telling them they’re tagged, and to read your blog.

EIGHT RANDOM FACTS ABOUT MYSELF

1. At the age of 2, maybe a little older, I left home to see the world. My parents were sick with worry as they combed our small town searching for me that day. They drove around and around looking for me. "Have you seen a little girl in a red velvet coat?" they'd ask people they had stopped. Finally they spotted me walking out of the post office. In those days, we picked up our mail at the post office. There was no home delivery. Maybe I was expecting a letter from someone like...Santa Claus maybe.

2. White Shoulders has been my signature perfume since I was a teenager. It still excites my husband whenever I wear it. Potato salad is my signature dish. Now that the two of us are older, my potato salad excites him more than my White Shoulders. As they say "The way to a man's heart...."

3. I sang on the radio and cut a record when I was in high school. My friend Sue and I entered a local talent contest with our rendition of the Patience and Prudence song Gonna Get Along Without You Now which was recorded in 1956. We won second place locally and went on to the next level which was to sing on the radio. We didn't place at that level, but we did walk away with a record which was cut at the studio the day we sang.

4. I was a delegate to Girls State when I was in high school.

5. I won third place at Rend Lake College for a fiction piece I wrote several years ago. The story was based on a true experience I had as a child. Rend Lake College is where I met my friend Sharon who leaves comment here now and then.

6. According to aptitude tests I took in college, I should have studied to be an architectural engineer. But I didn't. Most of the jobs I have held have been secretarial in nature.

7. I am a Foodie. I like to eat. I like to cook. I like to look at food. I like to read about food. I like to shop for food. I like to watch cooking shows on TV. I like to learn about food and its history. I have a huge collection of recipes I have printed off the Internet. I have a large jelly cabinet that is full of nothing but cookbooks. Our grandson Ricky (age 6) told me recently, "Nana, you are the best cook in the world." He has limited experience of course.

8. I still have the rocky horse that my paternal grandfather bought for me shorty after I was born. When our first grandchild was born, my father restored the rocky horse. Below is a photo of our first grandchild, Tali, riding the trusty steed from yesteryear.

On her trusty steed with straw hat on her head

Miss Tali had gone to town before bed

To buy herself a spankin' new hat

A ten gallon one! What you think about that?

And here she is in her spankin' new hat!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

These are the bloggers I am tagging. I am limited and can't come up with the 8 that is required, because almost every blogger I know has already been tagged for these things. Here is my list:

1. Crystal at Perspective. She is a beautiful young woman who writes intelligently about spiritual things.

2. Lucy at Lucy's Frugal Living. Lucy has all sorts of tips at her blog for saving money, saving time, improving health, and enhancing your general living experience.

3. Sharon at (no blog yet). She doesn't have a blog yet, but maybe this will encourage her to get one established. Otherwise, she can list her 8 random facts about herself in a comment to this post. Sharon is one of my best friends. We have a friendship that spans decades now. Although we are hundreds of miles apart, we keep our friendship going. She's been a shoulder to cry on when I have needed one over the years.

4. Wreckless at Greenpiece. This guy is funny!!! He is an elementary teacher who is all guy. He loves living and loves his family. Check him out!

5. Kelly at Full Metal Attorney. Kelly is a new father. His little boy was born the latter part of May. Since then Kelly has been very busy giving his son swimming lesson in the bathtub and feeding Russell his dog cupcakes with cream cheese frosting (ha...ha, check out Kelly's YouTube video of his dog). So he has not had much time to devote to blogging lately. But I might be able to coax him into doing this "8 random facts about himself" thing. I met Kelly at The Language Guy where lively debates used to take place. He is an excellent debater. Smart young man.

6. Susie Q (the other one) at the very charming Rabbit Run Cottage. You have to visit Susie Q's blog and see all her collections (bears and giraffes to name just a few.) She has a ton of them. She is a delight to read. She writes like a pixie. Nice photos too.

7. Rosanne at Smokey Mountain Breakdown. Check out her Porn Food Friday for some great down home recipes. Don't you just love that title though? Rosanne is a writer. She also raises goats. Odd combination, but it works for her. Not from those parts originally, she writes about the people who live there and that culture. She also writes some interesting fiction.

8. I need a volunteer to fill this spot. Anyone interested?

SANCTUARY - Part II, The Woods

2007-07-09T00:10:00.000-05:00

IF TREES COULD TALK....

Not long ago 13-year-old Jake, one of our grandsons, was gazing out our kitchen window at the woods behind our house. With a look of nostalgia on his face, he said, "Nana, I have such good memories of those woods." This delighted me.

For years our woods was the official domain of our grandchildren. It was their kingdom. They filled it with their enchanting fantasies transforming the woods into a place of magical adventure. They constructed fortresses out of brush and cleared paths that meandered. And they dug holes. What is it about children and holes? They appear to be born with an innate need to dig. They seem instinctively attracted to shovels of all sizes and shapes.

Those days when our grandchildren had free rein in the woods and could do almost anything they pleased are over for the most part. A few years ago my husband and I reclaimed ownership of the woods. But the woods will never belong to us entirely. Those youthful spirits remain and seem embedded in the trees themselves. Some days if I close my eyes and I am really quiet I can hear the sound of dry leaves crunching as they give way to young feet rustling about in their midst. Or maybe it is just a hyperactive squirrel causing all that ruckus I hear.

This is Shagbark Barney. Shortly after we reclaimed ownership of the woods, we nailed his happy face with all that moss stuck between his teeth to this tree. We intended Shagbark Barney to be something the younger grandchildren would enjoy. It turns out that the little ones are afraid of him, not that I blame them any.

In the distance under our stately old oak tree, which is the centerpiece of our woods, is our contemplation bench. In the forefront is a large bed consisting of hosta, brunnera macrophylla, corydalis lutea, and a groundcover of deadnettle. The delicate brunnera blooms are azure blue. The corydalis produces lovely bright yellow flowers. The deadnettle with its interesting greens produces dark pink flowers. Be sure to enlarge the photo by clicking and see if you can spot Woody our woodland gnome.

Ah, someone is planning something here looks like. I spy some books. And what is that, a tea cup? Let's zoom in below for a close-up.

Tea and Tennyson

I dedicate this arrangement to Paul of Original Faith, because one of his posts in which he talked a little about Tennyson was the inspiration for me to go on a hunt in my house for that antique copy I own of Tennyson's poems. Eventually I found it. When I did I thought how nice it would be to sip tea and read Tennyson's poems under that stately old oak tree. To be honest I have yet to do that, but the thought is such a delight and doesn't the arrangement make for a pretty picture though.

I have not given a name to this little iron woodland creature yet. Any suggestions?

This is our faithful canine companion Max looking for Woody. We adopted Max a few years ago through Collie Rescue. He has been a wonderful dog, and what a beauty.

Looking south through our woods. As you can see the woods just keep going from our property to the next and on to the next.

This is looking north through our woods. The woods just keep going in that direction too.

And now for a view from the edge of the woods of the back of our house. This photo was taken in the early spring a few years ago. Not much as changed though.

The two lovely young ladies in the photo above are our granddaughters Rachel and Jackie. As I told everyone in a previous Sanctuary post, our place is kid friendly. In 2000 our oldest daughter was experiencing financial hardship due to a divorce. She and her four young children had to live with us for a few years until she could get on her feet. In preparation for the children to be in our home, we bought this super duper swing set/slide/clubhouse/sandbox/gym combo and put it together. It was an instant hit with all the grandchildren. And this is one of the reasons our grandson Ricky calls our place "Nana and Papa's park."

Another shot from a different angle of the swing set affair. Note the American flag in both shots. Are we patriotic or what?

These are the steps leading up to our deck where a plethora of potted flowers are waiting to delight your eyes in part III of Sanctuary. Each step here hosts a pot of daisies. A bit of sad news....since the photo was taken all the daisies have gone to that big flower pot in the sky. I have no idea what I did to kill them off, but I must be guilty of something. Oh, and excuse the condition of the paint on the trim. Shortly after this picture was taken, we painted the trim.

BE HAPPY!

Independence Day

2007-07-03T23:05:00.000-05:00

The promise of the Declaration of Independence: that all men are created equal.

"[............ ............... ...................] is a monstrous usurpation, a criminal wrong, and an act of national suicide." "It will be known in all history as the most wicked, atrocious and revolting deed recorded in the annals of civilization."

"Mr............... will go down to posterity as the man who could not read the signs of the times, nor understand the circumstances and interests of his country; who could not calculate his own resources nor appreciate those of his enemy; who had no political aptitude; who plunged his country into a great war without a plan; who failed without excuse, and fell without a friend."

"....the craftiest and most dishonest politician that ever disgraced an office in America."

"........... is by all odds the weakest man who has ever been elected......he is vain, weak, sterile, hypocritical, without manners.....swears more than Uncle Toby, and is beneath contempt in every particular, morally and mentally."

I gleaned the above quotations from a book entitled The Political Cartoons of the Whispering Gallery. The gallery is in the new Lincoln Presidential Museum in Springfield, Illinois which we visited this past weekend. The political cartoons framed and hanging on the walls of the gallery remind me that the years can come and go, but people do not change that much in the process. Lincoln's contemporaries said awful things about him just like Bush's contemporaries are doing with Bush today. People are still just as mean and ornery as they have ever been.

I don't wish to turn this piece here into a political statement of my own necessarily, but the cartoons I saw make such a glaring point about the lengths to which people involved in politics will go to gain the support of the masses in order to further their own political agenda. The masses beware!

The first quotation above referred to Lincoln's Emancipation Proclamation and appeared in the Chicago Times first on September 24, 1862 and again on January 3, 1863. Imagine someone calling this document a "wicked, atrocious and revolting deed."

The second quotation referred to President Lincoln and appeared in the London Morning Post on October 5, 1864. How many times have we heard Bush accused of similar things?

The third quotation referred to President Lincoln, too, and appeared in the Illinois State Register.

The fourth quotation also referred to President Lincoln and appeared in the Wilmington (NC) Daily Journal on June 20, 1861.

In celebration of Independence Day, my husband and I joined our daughter and her four children and drove down to Springfield to visit the new Abraham Lincoln Presidential Museum and other historical sites there.

On the walls of the Whispering Gallery there in the museum are pictures of one political cartoon after another and commentaries pertaining to President Lincoln and his wife Mary Todd Lincoln. Their contemporaries said unbelievably cruel things about the Lincolns. President Lincoln was portrayed as an ape, a monkey, a buffoon and more. These cartoons and commentaries made me realize that harsh ridicule of a sitting president by his contemporaries is not anything new. History went on to show that President Lincoln was not the vulgar scoundrel he was portrayed at times as being by his political foes. Perhaps history will do the same with President Bush.

I highly recommend the Lincoln Presidential Museum.

This is the front of the museum. Across the street is the Lincoln Presidential Library. It was not open the day we visited.

Our daughter, her four children, my husband and myself posing with the Lincolns.

The museum has a room called Mrs. Lincoln's Attic which is designed to entertain children and help them connect to that period in history through a variety of toys and costumes. Above are some of our grandchildren playing with these toys.

We ended the day with a visit to New Salem. Above is young Abe Lincoln posing with our four grandchildren.

Have a wonderful Fourth of July.

P.S. Sanctuary II - The Woods is forthcoming.

SANCTUARY - Part I, The Introduction

2007-06-28T23:30:00.001-05:00

We live in a neighborhood which was heavily wooded before houses started to make their debut here some twenty years ago. The developers were very careful to preserve most of the mature trees and underbrush that grace this area today especially behind the houses. We have an abundance of well established oak, elm, hickory, ash, and mulberry. When we step out our back doors in this neighborhood it is like stepping into a forest preserve.

This natural setting invites a variety of birds to make their homes here: robins; cardinals; doves; blue jays; indigo buntings; orioles; goldfinch; yellow hammers; hummingbirds; wrens; martins; English sparrows; chickadees, and red headed woodpeckers.

Occasionally we see deer in the very early morning traipsing across someone's lawn. One evening late I spotted a fox in our neighbor's front yard. We have a few raccoons and opossums that make their homes here. Now and then a skunk will stroll through and leave its calling card. We have plenty of squirrels, chipmunks, and rabbits. And dogs! I was talking to a neighbor recently about this dog phenomenon. We both agreed that there must be a covenant law that states you have to own a dog if you live here.

I hope you will click each of the following photos to enlarge them as you go along so that you can appreciate the shots more fully.

This is our home. Hanging on our front door is a pine cone wreath with a shingle attached to it that reads: "Nana and Papa's nest, where the flock gathers." The flock now numbers over twenty. Mostly children. And gather here they all do for birthdays and holidays and other occasions. Our home is kid-friendly as the basketball goal in the photo suggests. There is more kid-friendly stuff in the back yard. This is why six-year-old Ricky, one of our grandsons, calls our place "Nana and Papa's park."

Even though the above photo was taken a few years ago in the spring, not much has changed except the trees are a little taller and their trunks a little larger. You can see in this photo that we have some spring trees and bushes in bloom: magnolia; rhododendron; dogwood; crab, and cherry. Our brightly colored tulips and yellow daffodils are a welcome sight each spring.

Above: Every year for I don't know how long I have gone to this particular garden center nearby and purchased several large potted geraniums for the front of our house. Above: This arrangement is mostly impatiens with a few English ivy mixed in for variety. I am not a big fan of yard art, but I do like to sneak in an animal figurine here and there like I have this little rabbit.

Below: A row of yellow lilies adorn the south side of our house. You can't see them in this shot, but further down are a few peony bushes.

Above: This is the north side of our house. This is the path we will take to the back yard where most of the action takes place. Note the lily of the valley that is to the right of the stepping stones.

Above: Our back yard, especially, has abundant shade. We rely on the shade loving hosta for beautiful variations of the color green. Alongside this particular hosta is spirea which sends up feather like spikes loaded with tiny flowers. It was not in its full glory when this photo was taken.

Above: Another flower we rely on because it loves shady places are impatiens. We plant them in bunches here and there on the perimeter of our back yard. The effect is a panoramic view of bouquet after bouquet of flowers.

Above: Our yard would not be complete without an array of bird feeders. This is one of them. I call it the "Feathered Friends Fast Food Eatery With Fly Up Window."

Below: One corner of our back yard looking into the neighbor's back yard. Note our big hosta plants.

Above: More hosta plants...this time with blue green leaves. I see some of our impatiens there, too, and some lily of the valley as well as more spirea.

Above: A close-up of part of the previous photo.

Below: More spirea. Another name for spirea is astilbe. This one is in white. These are really beautiful perennials.

***********************************

PART II of SANCTUARY COMING A LITTLE LATER

(SEE BELOW)

Previews of Part II - The Woods

2007-06-28T23:25:00.000-05:00

Meet "Shagbark Barney" and, perhaps if you are lucky, "Woody" our Woodland Gnome in Part II of SANCTUARY....coming soon to your favorite neighborhood blog. BYO Popcorn.

Coming soon - SANCTUARY

2007-06-24T23:10:00.000-05:00

"The Amen! of Nature is always a flower."

Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr.

I've been working on a post of many photos taken of our flowers and yard. I thought I might be able to finish it tonight and post it to my blog. Unfortunately, my Broadband connection with its high speed turned dysfunctional on me leaving me with my very slow dial-up connection which is incapable of handling the load. This happens way too often, this loss of my Broadband connection. Eventually it will start working again...out of the blue. I will have to wait on it, the temperamental thing.

In the meantime, enjoy this one photo I have up for you of one of our perky-faced daisies. Please give the photo a click so that you can see an enlargement of it. Those are raindrops you see clinging to its petals. The photo was taken just after a nice rain.

Till Broadband returns.....

The Great Ant Invasion

2007-06-12T22:22:00.000-05:00

Ants can make you see red like they are doing with my friend Sharon Robinson. She writes:

The small brown ants crawling on the cabinet and stove top (what Mom always called sweet ants) started as less than a dozen. I suppose they were scouts. I cleaned and removed everything I thought they might be attracted to. (Too late, Sharon, they have your number. )

I thought - now they'll be gone. I don't like to use poison on anything...if there's any other way.

For a few days the ants were almost gone, and I forgot about them. That was my first mistake. Still not wanting to give in, I thought "I'll give the ants two more days (Two more days???? Why didn't you just hand them the keys to your house and move out?) or until my next convenient trip to town. In a couple of days this voice in my head was whispering, "You might want to re-think this strategy."

That was when I decided to go to Fred's for some Taro ant killer. I had thoughts of a wind chime that was advertised and on sale for $12. Fred's had six wind chimes and a couple of boxes of he six-pack ant houses left on the shelf. Apparently I wasn't the only one with ants. I bought the wind chime and one box of ant houses. (There had better be something about wind chimes that gets rid of ants or I am going to start to wonder.)

Fred's didn't carry Taro.

I placed two of the six ant houses from Fred's in the kitchen and thought that should do it. They'll be gone in a couple of days, I thought. In a few days the ants were in the small honey jar on the cabinet on the other side of the sink. (Was it the gingham curtains you hung in the windows of the ant houses that turned them off and caused them to head for the honey?)

They had ventured that far before, but I thought they won't go there because I've got the honey jar sealed tightly. But I was wrong! (I bet they unscrewed the lid.) The jar has a top like maple syrup jars you find in restaurants. You just push down the top and out it p0urs onto hot pancakes. (Please...you're making me hungry.) The lid was not sealed 100%. There was a tiny crack under the spout. The ants found their way in and to the honey. They were in ant heaven. (And you were in ant hell by then.)

The jar of honey had a dozen or so dead ants floating on top of the golden brown clover honey. (I've heard of chocolate covered ants, but not honey covered ants. So, how did they taste?)

The other honey jar, with the regular screw on top and a tight seal, went into the refrigerator. I kept the dishes washed and the cabinets wiped clean immediately after every meal thinking that would do the trick. Again, that small voice whispered "You might want to re-think this strategy."

A week passed and I had to give up on the ant houses. (I tell you, Sharon, it was the gingham curtains...)

The next trip I made to town I bought some heavy duty Taro. Dad always put out a little Taro ant killer in a soda bottle cap and placed it strategically around the kitchen. (So how many cats and dogs did Dad lose due to Taro poisoning?)

I suppose the Taro stopped a full-blown invasion for Dad, but honestly, it never eliminated them in 14 days like the label on the container said it would. In time, I am sure Mom learned to live with a couple of ants on the cabinet top. She would wipe up a few, like I do, and move on. I think she waved the white flag years before I noticed those soda bottle caps with Taro in them just like I have waved the white flag over the mole hills in the yard. And over the deer population too.

"Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me." I whispered to myself. I don't know if there is a line somewhere about "fool me three times", but...I am sure you have already guessed what it was like the next morning after I put out the Taro poisoning. (I'm afraid to venture a guess. Doesn't sound good.)

The next morning the ants were back and they brought reinforcements. As I sipped a cup of hot tea, I watched the ants move in a steady stream up the wall in front of the kitchen sink and toward a small clay flower pot on the window sill. They had "moved in." (But not into the ant houses, because they could not stand the gingham curtains, eh.)

The entire bottom of that small clay pot was BLACK with ants. In case you have never had an up close and personal relationship with ants (Hope I never do...) and in case you do sometime in your lifetime, ants love moist dirt and they adore flower pots. (Had you put a few flower pots in the ant houses, they might have moved into them.)

I knocked off the ants from the flower pot and moved it to another room so the ants would not be tempted. A lot of good that did.

It has been six weeks and I am still dealing with ants although their population has diminished due in part to the Taro, but mostly because I have become combative with them. (Now that's the fighting spirit!)

First thing in the morning I notice them and the chase begins. They run like the devil is at their heels as I nail first one then another with my thumbs. They now know that this is dangerous territory and that it is already occupied. They know I intend to stand my ground.

This whole ant business is taking its toll on me psychologically though. I am becoming paranoid and imagining that the ants are only toying with me, wearing me down until I give up completely and let them have the run of the kitchen. (Don't give in, Sharon. Keep on keeping on. They are bound to give up eventually and go to someone else's house and honey jar. )

I can't seem to find the humor in all of this ant business. Or the moral of the story except maybe that everything is looking for a home. Everything is looking for a home around our place for sure: the ground hog; the opossum; the raccoon; the squirrels; the deer; the snakes; and the rabbits. They all behave like they own this piece of property too. Even the skunk thinks it has a stake in this place. She has moved in under our wood pile in the southeast corner of the yard...and I think she has babies. I guess I will just have to share this place with God's other creatures and try to be happy about it.

Your friend Sharon with news from

Down on the farm

(Maybe if you would try the wind chimes, Sharon....)

The Day I Made My Daddy Cry

2007-06-05T22:48:00.000-05:00

It was 67 years ago today that I made my Daddy cry. Mother and Daddy had been married for only a year and Daddy was still only 19 when I was born. I can imagine that the nurse swaddled me in a blanket shortly after my birth and handed me to Daddy to hold before taking me to the nursery to clean me up.

That evening Daddy said goodbye to Mother and went home. At the time my parents were living with my grandparents in their big old rambling farm house. When Daddy got home Grandma was full of questions. She wanted to know all about the birth and her first grandchild. "Who does she look like?" "Does she have lots of hair?" "What color is it?"

Daddy was sitting at Grandma's kitchen table when he broke down and started to cry. He could hardly get it out. "Mom," he whimpered, "she is the ugliest baby I have ever seen." He had never seen a newborn before especially not one that had just entered the world moments earlier and was all ruddy and wrinkly and full of goop. Only a mother could love a baby in those early moments after birth.

With soothing tones, Grandma assured Daddy that I would look much better the next time he saw me. And I did. After that shocking introduction and once I was all prettied up in the nursery, he fell in love with me.

This is me - six months old

This is me - 19 years old

This is my daughter and me taken more recently

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME!

Homesick For Red Velvet Cake

2007-05-21T23:31:00.000-05:00

Homesick
For times when I'd make
For my babies
The Red Velvet Cake

Homesick
For tots in a tub
Blowing bubbles
Playing rub-a-dub-dub

Homesick
For the moist mushy kiss
Big Bear Hugs
Oh! I wish...How I wish

Wishing
I could tuck them in bed
Once again
Kissing each little head

Wishing
To capture for good
Those dear times
Oh! If only I could

I'm stuck
With a bittersweet ache
Life was rich
Then like Red Velvet Cake

I'm homesick
For Red Velvet Cake

********************************

My mother-in-law (we called her Mom) introduced me to the Red Velvet Cake (recipe to follow) when my children were young. The cake became a family favorite with us. It was especially popular with our son Buddy. For a number of years now I have made this cake for him on his birthday with few exceptions. This year was no exception. This year he reached a milestone in his life. He turned forty.

Our family, twenty-one of us, gathered together at my husband's and my home to celebrate Buddy's birthday and grandson Josh's birthday. Josh, who turned four this year, was born on his Uncle Buddy's birthday.

I asked our son Buddy if he remembered the time when he was a youngster that he ate a big slice of his grandma's Red Velvet Cake and then went for a spin in her swivel rocker. As to what followed his spin, I leave that to the reader's imagination.

A few memorable photos:

Buddy, our little buckaroo - Age 1 year

Buddy, our big buckaroo (age 40) and his little clone Baron.
"I don't need no stinkin' reading glasses!"

(His sister surprised him with a pair of drug store quality reading glasses for his birthday.)

And we all sang "Happy Birthday dear Josh..."(Josh is the blond lad looking up at his mom.)
***************************

RED VELVET CAKE

2 tablespoons unsweetened cocoa powder

2 oz. red food coloring (2 large bottles)

1 cup buttermilk

1 teaspoon salt

1 teaspoon vanilla

1/2 cup shortening

1 1/2 cup granulated sugar

2 eggs

2 1/2 cups sifted all-purpose flour

1 1/2 teaspoons baking soda

1 1/2 teaspoons white vinegar

1. Grease two 9 inch round pans (or three 8 inch pans) and line with wax paper. Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Make a paste of cocoa and food coloring. Set aside.

2. Combine buttermilk, salt and vanilla. Set aside. In a large bowl, cream together the shortening and sugar until light and fluffy. Beat in the eggs one at a time, then stir in the cocoa mixture. Beat in the buttermilk mixture alternately with the flour, mixing just until incorporated. Stir together baking soda and vinegar, then gently fold into the cake batter.

This is the finished cake batter.

3. Pour batter into prepared pans. Bake in the oven for 30 minutes, or until toothpick inserted into cake center comes out clean. Place pans on rack to cool. Remove cake from pans after 20 minutes and allow to cool completely before frosting.

Cake cooling in pans on rack.

FROSTING

1 1/2 cups milk

7 1/2 tablespoons all-purpose flour

1 1/2 cups granulated sugar

1 1/2 cups butter

1 1/2 teaspoons vanilla

1. Combine the milk and flour until smooth. Cook in a saucepan over low heat , stirring constantly, until mixture thickens. Cook for one minute more. Then set aside to cool completely.
2. Cream together butter, sugar and vanilla. Beat for 8 minutes to a light, fluffy stage. Stir in the cooled milk and flour mixture and beat another 4 minutes to a spreading consistency.

3. Now you are ready to frost the cake. I increased the recipe for the frosting by one half, because I like to work with plenty of frosting. You will notice in the photo below that I added chopped nuts (pecans in this case) to the sides of the cake. I did this to conceal any red cake crumbs that might have gotten into the frosting. Enjoy!

Finished cake!

Displayed on a vintage glass cake plate with matching lid that my mother used for her cakes when I was a little girl.

Red Velvet Cake half eaten. Yum, yum!

Happy Birthday, Buddy and Josh!

Original Hand-written Recipe

2007-05-21T23:29:00.000-05:00

There is something very special about handwritten recipes. The writing seems almost an embodiment of the person. I thought you might like to see the Red Velvet Cake recipe my mother-in-law wrote by hand and gave to me years ago.

If you enlarge the photo by clicking it, you will see that the handwritten recipe bears the footprints, mostly in red, of Red Velvet Cakes I went on to make from it. You may also notice that I altered Mom's recipe due to an error she made regarding the amount of salt called for. You will see, too, that Mom suffered with arthritis.

My mother-in-law as a young woman.

If a 'gator knocks......

2007-05-11T13:55:00.000-05:00

"UPS delivery!"

"Um.....Avon calling!"

"Ah...Pizza man!"

A Shoe Full of Babies

2007-05-02T23:40:00.000-05:00

(double click for a larger image)

Mother Goose taking care of her many babies.

This picture is especially meaningful to me, because it hung over my crib when I was a baby. To this day I can still remember gazing up into it as a baby and thinking I was in that picture playing with the other babies.

Exactly how my mother obtained this print and from where remained somewhat of a mystery to me until a few years ago when I researched it on the Internet.

In the early 40's my mother took advantage of an advertising promotion offered by Lever Bros. maker of Swan Soap. She mailed in the number of soap wrappers required and, in return, the company sent her this print which she hung over my crib. The artists were Albert Staehle and Louise Rumely. Mr. Staehle painted the goose and Ms. Rumely painted the babies. Swan Soap, which is no longer manufactured, was known for its ability to float.

After my husband and I started our family, I hung this print over the crib of each of our children. When our grandchildren started coming along, I had the print professionally matted and framed. It has hung over the cribs of several of our grandchildren.

When I look at this picture my mind fills up with other memories of my early childhood. For instance, I wonder if any of you remember how large a dinner plate looked to you when you were four or five years old. I do. I remember how close my chin was to the top of the kitchen table when I sat down to eat too. Sometimes I was given a boost at the kitchen table with the help of some catalogues my parents stacked up for me to sit on. I don't think they had booster seats back then.

I remember how big grownups seemed to me, too, and what it was like to be short and have to look up at them all the time. It wasn't all that bad being a little kid though especially since I was the first born child, the first born grandchild and the first born great-grandchild on my dad's side. This first born status won me lots of attention and loads of accolades for my singing abilities. It was lucrative, too, when Great-Grandpa David came to visit. He paid me a nickel for each song I sang for him. Two nickels in the palm of my hand and I was rich.

I remember learning nursery rhymes: Jack Sprat could eat no fat....; Hey diddle diddle, the cat and the fiddle....;Three blind mice....; Humpty Dumpty. I must have learned them all.

I remember the summer days back then and the time I spent playing in my sandbox which my dad built for me. I recall the downy hair I had on my arms and legs and how the summer sun would bleach it blond. I will always remember the many holes I dug in my grandmother's vegetable garden trying to get to China.

I remember standing on the wooden platform of the train station in my home town one particular day when I was five years old. I watched from a few feet away as my parents hugged each other and cried. It was toward the end of WWII. Daddy was taking the train to Chicago for another physical. The Army was desperate for men to serve and was determined to pass him this time around. But he failed the physical for the third time. It had something to do with his heart. The Army left him alone after that. Grandma and Grandpa were so happy that they bought him a restaurant up on Main Street and called it Don's Cafe after him. At that time I was still an only child and my sister still just a gleam in my dad's eye.

The tastes and smells of that restaurant are forever imprinted on my mind especially those of the morning. Coffee brewing. Bacon and eggs frying. Assorted donuts, jelly filled bismarks and frosted long Johns made their appearance early each morning, delivered by a local bakery, and added their luscious aromas to the restaurant. The donuts back then far surpassed in flavor and texture any donut you can buy today. It must have been the lard they were fried in. I had my pick of the donuts in the morning. I had my pick of everything. I could eat anything I wanted, and I helped myself to many a candy bar behind the counter where the cash register was kept. I was the Eloise of Don's Cafe, the slightly mischievous princess roaming around sampling this and that and doing just about whatever I pleased. The restaurant business was spoiling me in other ways too.

The grownups in my family, my parents and grandparents, were busy waiting on customers, cooking their food, and cleaning up afterwards. This left me to be pestered and teased by well-meaning adults, who were only being friendly, and teenagers, mostly boys, who had picked Don's Cafe as their official hangout. It wasn't long before I started to develop a mouth on me for self-defense purposes. I became mildly cocky and a bit of a smart aleck with the patrons. I acquired a small repertoire of comebacks for those who teased me too much. Problem was my parents did not appreciate my new verbal skills at all. Unlike some of the patrons who got a chuckle out of me, my parents did not think it was cute.

The grownups sold Don's Cafe about a year later. My parents were still determined to be restauranteurs though and went into business with my aunt and uncle and opened the 54 Diner a few months later. That's a whole 'nother story involving my cousin Jimmy and me and our adventures as restaurant orphans.

Not all my memories of my early childhood are happy or funny ones. I remember with pain the day my little dog was hit by a big truck. Mother was painting the small concrete slab at our front door and I was playing in the front yard. Suddenly Blackie ran into the street just as a big truck was about to pass by. I remember seeing her hit. I remember feeling a rush of adrenalin wash over me. I could not speak. The words would not come out of my mouth so that I could Mother, who had not seen the accident, what had just happened. I could not catch my breath. Finally I remember how the red satin ribbon which I had put around Blackie's neck moments earlier was all wet with her blood after the accident.

But there were other pets in my childhood that gave me many happy memories such as Pansy, my grandmother's dog, and her litter of puppies. How good it felt to me to cuddle the puppies, to smell their puppy smell, and to kiss their little wet noses.

As a child I was sure no harm could ever possibly come to me as long as my daddy was near. I thought my daddy was strong. I remember his muscles. I remember, too, drifting off to sleep at night to the soothing sound of my parents talking softly to each other in the nearby living room. I felt safe.

I have many more memories of my early childhood, but all good things must come to an end eventually including this post. I hope you have enjoyed reading about my memories.

THINGS THAT BUG ME...(A CONTINUING SAGA)

2007-05-02T16:21:00.000-05:00

Trying to fold fitted sheets so that they look neat.

Ten Things...

2007-04-26T20:40:00.000-05:00

....you do not know about me (probably).

I am considering myself tagged by Nancy of Daily Blessings

1. I still have cinders embedded under my skin below my right elbow due to a nasty spill I took with my bike when I was 12 years old.

2. My favorite color when I was five years old was red.

3. I was a lifeguard when I was nineteen years old.

4. I was the first female mail carrier in our post office in the early 80's. It was a part time job.

5. My first childhood friend was a boy named Billy. We used to play Cops and Robbers, Cowboys and Indians, Tarzan and Jane.

6. As a child, I spent a lot of time at my grandmother's house swinging on a swing under a huge mulberry tree and staining my bare feet on fallen mulberries.

7. I learned how to milk a goat when I was in my thirties when my husband and I lived out in the country on our little farm.

8. I won First Place and received the much coveted Blue Ribbon at the county fair one year for my black raspberry jam.

9. I had the female lead in the school play both my junior and senior years in high school. I loved acting.

10. My favorite cereal is oatmeal.

Rye Ting N Yur Mudd Durtung

2007-04-20T23:59:00.000-05:00

(Somebody's Mother?)

I know what you're thinking. What kind of wacky language (Rye Ting...) is that? Right? Or maybe you are thinking...Was she typing blindfolded with mittens on?

Well, I wasn't wearing mittens when I typed the title. It is a wacky language of sorts. I learned to write in this language years ago when I was involved in the Seniornet message boards. One entire message board was written in this wacky language.

I thought it might be fun to devote a portion of this post and its comments to this wacky language. So, that means you are going to have to write in this wacky language yourself if you leave a comment...and I sure hope you leave a comment...or two...or three. Come on, give it a whirl.

Now you are probably wondering how you are going to learn to write in this language. It is really rather simple. By the way, have you been able to figure out that title yet? In order to move things along, I'll translate for you. "Rye Ting N Yur Mudd Durtung" translates "Writing in your Mother Tongue."

As I said, it is really rather simple. All you have to do is to rid your mind of rules, rules, rules and unleash your creativity. Forget about spelling! Forget about grammar! You are free to run words together! You are free to separate a word and join a portion of the word with another the way I did with the words "Mother" and "Tongue" in the title.

I lied. There is one rule to this wacky language. Never write the actual word such as "Mother." Instead, improvise (invent). What you are trying to achieve is something that sounds similar to the actual word, or words when read. What you are likely to end up with is something unique, something you wrote in your very own creative Mother Tongue.

And now to begin with a sad (sort of) story......

LOCT TOUT

Eye woe cup thet mourn ning n sud n lee reel eyes die wuzz herein garr bedge ter uks kum n. Weehed jess moove din aphee u daize urlee ur. Eyejumt toutovebedd n sed lowe dilly " O! JEENGITUPP!

Weet ravel led dowe n thest eps ez fess ez hourlit telleggs wood kairree uss. Ween eed ed 2 git argar bedge 2 theecur bonthyme b 4 theeter uks wynta bie.

N are hays tweeslemmed thahdough r 2 are howze b hine dus. Weewur loct tout n nokee 2 gitbakin.

Heerweewurr! Eyewuzz n a skym pee nyetee (ittwuzz code ou 2) n hub beeze fawst eeth wursit n n agg lassups tares n arb eth. Twuzza taws sup ez 2 witchwunofus wuzzgo n 2 anay burr 4 hell pand....a cuppahotcaughee hoe phully. Eye wuzz lukkee. Eyegott toost a bek n syttinakar n cuh earl upp wytha dallblain kit n tr eye toost a wore ma.

Poo ur hubb ee! Hee hed toog oh 2 anay burr 2 thell es lye ka hilb ill ee.

(Translation available upon request...Oh, come on. You guys can figure it out.)

****************************

ADDENDUM (added on 4/22): It occurred to me that many of you do not have 15 to 20 hours to spend trying to translate Loct Tout into understandable English. You will find the translation and followup to the story...Here I hope you enjoy it!

Evening Prayers

2007-04-13T22:07:00.000-05:00

My little sister and me - 1949

Now I lay me down to sleep,
I pray the Lord my soul to keep;
And if I die before I wake,
I pray the Lord my soul to take.

A classic children's prayer from the 18th Century, this simple prayer was the first one I learned as a child. My mother taught it to me. I remember kneeling by the side of my bed with Mother kneeling next to me helpng me learn the words.

I am especially fond of the following excerpt from Mother Teresa's book Everything Starts From Prayer:

"CONSIDER THAT YOU ARE IN GOD,

surrounded and encompassed by God,

swimming in God."

*********************************************

Postscript: I still have that bedroom suite which is in the photo. It is painted white and decked with a blue vintage bedspread that once belonged to my paternal grandmother.

This is your oven speaking...

2007-04-02T23:00:00.000-05:00

Did you ever stop to think about how many of our household appliances and gadgets today talk to us in beeps, buzzes, dings, and dongs? A lot, in case you have never stopped to think about how many.

Thanks to all these signals, we know when the pizza is done, when the coffee is brewed, when the clothes are dry, when someone is at the door, when someone is calling us on the phone, and when it is time to get up in the morning. The problem with all of these "talking" appliances is that many of them sound alike.

Unless you have trained your ear to tell the difference between the beep of the dryer, the beep of the coffee maker, and the beep of the oven timer, you can get confused like my husband does constantly. "Something is beeping in the kitchen." He'll call out to me if I am in another room. Or he might ask, "What's that buzzing sound?"

Even though I have a well-trained ear when it comes to our appliances, I found myself in a state of confusion one morning about a month ago when things started beeping. That particular morning our collie Max decided he wanted to get me up early so that he could go outside. Half in and half out of sleep, I slipped into some jeans, threw on a hooded sweatshirt with one of those front pockets for your hands, and I slid into my sneakers. Then I grabbed my handset phone, tucked it in the pocket of my sweatshirt and I headed downstairs. In my rush, I neglected to shut off the alarm by my bedside which was scheduled to go off in another 30 minutes or so.

After a few yawns and some serious head scratching, I began my morning ritual. Put on a pot of coffee. Started the oatmeal. Checked my emails. Let the dog back in. Drank my first cup of coffee. It was during my second cup of coffee that a faint "beep-beep-beep" sound caught my attention. It was coming from upstairs. "Oh, my alarm clock!" I said to myself. "I forgot to shut it off."

The dog and I hustled up the steps as fast as we could. I didn't want my alarm to wake my husband who was sleeping in another bedroom close to mine. We sleep in separate bedrooms these days due to our snoring problems. We manage to keep each other awake when we try to sleep in the same room. Such is life at our age.

In order to shut off my alarm I had to bend down so that I could see where the little buttons are located. They're so small. Why do they make these buttons so small? I managed to shut it off, and, thinking everything was okay, I headed to the bathroom to brush my teeth. I was in the midst of brushing when all of a sudden I noticed this faint "beep-beep-beep" sound coming from somewhere. I didn't know where. Was it my alarm clock again, I asked myself. I double checked and, sure enough, it was off.

"Where in the heck is that coming from!" I said to my dog Max who seemed to understand but couldn't give me an answer. "And what in the heck is it?" Max's ears perked for a moment as if to tell me he was thinking too. Is it another alarm clock, I asked myself. The sump pump maybe? A smoke detector? Some peculiar contraption my husband bought and didn't tell me about?

We began our hunt for the phantom appliance/gadget/contraption thingie that was going "beep-beep-beep." I went from room to room, upstairs, downstairs, and in the basement, looking for the source of the beeps with my faithful companion trailing close behind just as confused as I was. Ah, I'm getting close, I would think. No sooner would that thought come to mind than I would realize I was exactly the same distance from the beep-beep-beep as I had been before. No matter where I went in the house I encountered the same level of volume. In fact the faint beep-beep-beep seemed to be following me around the house as I went from room to room. Not only could I not find it, I could not escape it. Rather than me pursuing it, the beep-beep-beep seemed to be pursuing ME of all things like some kind of ghost. It was downright spooky!

I don't remember how long I was in this state of confusion before I finally realized that the beep-beep-beep was coming from the pocket of my sweatshirt where I had tucked my handset phone. Apparently, I had accidentally hit the talk button on it somehow when I bent over to turn off my alarm clock that morning. All that time, my phone was trying to let me know that I needed to disconnect it. If only it could have said something like, "This is your phone speaking....."

Due to my harrowing beep-beep-beep experience, I believe it is high time our household appliances started identifying themselves when they have something to say. It would save some of us a lot of confusion.

But would we just be asking for trouble? I wonder. Talking appliances? Could our household appliances get so adept at communicating with us that other problems erupt? Imagine a household with talking appliances that end up getting into heated arguments with each other over things like who had the floor first.

OVEN: "This is your oven speaking and the biscuits are done. In fact, they are a little overdone. You might want to hurry up and...."

COFFEE MAKER: "Excuse me. I was talking first and you interrupted."

OVEN: "Listen, all you do is brew coffee and you are done. You don't have to worry about things like biscuits burning."

CLOTHES DRYER: "Yoo-hoo in there. Isn't anyone going to pay attention to ME? While you two are arguing about who was talking first and whose work is more important, I am sitting here in the laundry room with a load of dry clothes on the verge of doing some serious wrinkling. And I can't get anyone's attention."

.............

Now wouldn't that make for a fun story. Talking appliances!

CANDIDATE FOR "ORGANIZATION MAKE-OVER"

2007-03-25T21:27:00.000-05:00

NO WONDER I CAN'T FIND TIME FOR MY LITTLE BLOG....

Cartoon by Dave Walker. Find more cartoons you can freely re-use on your blog at We Blog Cartoons.

The Bridge

2007-01-08T22:53:00.000-06:00

This evening after my husband came home from work, we were talking to each other in the kitchen while I finished preparing supper. All of a sudden he said "Next year I want to take you back to that bridge where I first kissed you, and kiss you there again."

Next summer it will be fifty years since he kissed me for the first time.
We were strangers then and we were strangers when we married. But over the years we have built a bridge to each other so that now we can say we are no longer strangers, but one with each other.

A person can say too much about an intimate relationship that spans fifty years. I could ruin it with too many words and cheapen the intimacy that has developed between us and belongs to us alone. So, I will keep my memories hidden from others and remember in private the times we have been together as husband and wife and the beauty of it all.

A few weeks after we were married, my husband was shipped to Pakistan where he spent close to eighteen months while serving in the Air Force. Shortly after he left, I took the hankerchief which I had carried with me on our wedding day and I sprinkled my perfume all over it. Then I boxed it up and mailed it to him. He brought it home with him. I still have that hankerchief. When we go next year to the bridge where we first kissed, I will give him that hankerchief again.

Christmas Greetings

2006-12-19T21:21:00.000-06:00

May you and yours be blessed this Christmas and during the coming year!

Victorian Domestic Arts

2006-11-30T20:46:00.000-06:00

Something which never fails to interest me is what everyday life, especially in the home, was like for people at different times in history.

The cooking stove to the left comes from the Victorian period. In my kitchen library I happen to have a reprint of a book originally published in 1879 titled Housekeeping in Old Virginia. Most of what the book contains is recipes. But in this book the author explains what is needed in a well equipped kitchen of the times. Funny thing is the author didn't mention a microwave. (wink).

Taken from this book:

"The furnishing of a kitchen is so important that I must here say a few words on the subject. First, the housekeeper must have a good stove or range, and it is well for her to have the dealer at hand when it is put up, to see that it draws well."

"Besides the utensils furnished with the range or stove, she must provide every kitchen utensil needed in cooking. She must have a kitchen safe, -- a bread block in the corner, furnished with a heavy iron beater; trays, sifters (with iron rims) steamers, colanders, porcelain preserving kettle, perforated skimmers and spoons, ladles, long-handled iron forks and spoons, sharp knives and skewers, graters, egg beaters (the Dover is the best), plenty of extra bread pans, dippers and tins of every kind, iron moulds for egg bread and muffins, wash pans, tea towels, bread towels, and hand towels, plates, knives, forks and spoons for use of the servants, a pepper box, salt box, and dredge box (filled), a match safe, and last, but not least, a clock."

"In cases where you cannot have cold and hot water conveyed into the kitchen, always keep on the stove a kettle of hot water, with a clean rag in it, in which all greasy dishes and kitchen utensils may be washed before being rinsed in the kitchen wash pan."

"Always keep your cook well supplied with soap, washing mops and coarse linen dish rags. I have noticed that if you hem the latter, servants are not so apt to throw them away. Insist on having each utensil cleaned immediately after being used. Have shelves and proper places to put each article, hooks to hang the spoons on, etc."

"If you cannot have an oil cloth on your kitchen floor, have it oiled and then it may be easily and quickly wiped over every morning. Once a week, have the kitchen and every article in it thoroughly cleaned. First clean the pipe of the stove, as the dust, soot and ashes fly over the kitchen and soil everything. Then take the stove to pieces, as far as practicable, cleaning each part, especially the bottom, as neglect of this will prevent the bread from baking well at the bottom. After the stove is thoroughly swept out, oven and all, apply stove polish. I consider "Crumbs of Comfort" the best preparation for this purpose. It comes in small pieces, each one of which is sufficient to clean the stove once, and is thus less apt to b wasted or thrown away by servants than stove polish that comes in a mass."

"Next remove everything from the kitchen safe and shelves, which must be scoured before replacing the utensils belonging to them, and these too must first be scoured, scalded, and wiped dry. Then wash the windows, and lastly the floor, scouring the latter unless it is oiled, in which case, have it merely wiped over."

"Never let a servant take up ashes in a wooden vessel. Keep a sheet-iron pan or scuttle for that purpose. At night, always have the water buckets filled with water and also the kettles, setting the latter on the stove or range, in case of sickness or any emergency during the night. Have kindling wood at hand also, so that a fire may be quickly made, if needed."

So there you have it ladies. If ever you should acquire a Victorian kitchen in the future, you will know how to equip it and keep it clean. If ever you should acquire a Victorian kitchen, I hope and pray you have servants to go along with it. Looked like a lot of work to me.

Thanksgiving

2006-11-22T22:22:00.000-06:00

Let us all be thankful for each other.

HAPPY THANKSGIVING !

RASCALS, INC. - Part One

2006-08-18T23:35:00.000-05:00

FIDDLERS ON THE ROOF
(Cousin Jimmy and me)

As I said in my preview post, my parents and my aunt and uncle opened the 54 Diner shortly after WWII ended. My cousin Jimmy and I were about six years old at the time and had not started school yet. Since all the adults were busy serving customers, supervising Jimmy and me was a challenge for them. Jimmy's sister Betty, who was four years older than us, was expected to watch us when she wasn't in school. But Betty preferred twirling her baton and playing her accordion instead.

With little supervision and not much to do (we lived in the dark ages...no TV, no Nintendo, no computer games, and only a handful of toys) Jimmy and I had plenty of reason to get into trouble. This is when Rascals, Inc. was launched. It turned out to be a huge success! Years later after the shock had subsided, the family gave our escapades rave reviews. They became the centerpiece of the family lore.

The restaurant was on Route 54 just north of Kankakee, Illinois. Right behind the restaurant was Aunt Sue and Uncle Art's house, their garage, and the chicken coop where they kept laying hens for the eggs they could supply the restaurant. Behind all of that was a corn field. Up the road from the restaurant a little was Divit's Fruit and Vegetable Market where Jimmy and I spent many memorable moments tormenting Mr. Divit by mauling his fruits and vegetables with our dirty hands.

To say that Mr. Divit was not fond of Jimmy and me is an understatement. Judging from the expression on his face whenever we showed up, I'd say we caused the hair on the back of his neck to bristle. To add to our unpopularity at Divit's Fruit and Vegetable Market, it still was not clear in our young minds that you just don't help yourself to a banana or an apple in a store without paying for it. Otherwise, we were fast learners. We quickly learned that Mr. Divit would usually shoo us home as soon as he saw us. So, we learned to be sneaky about our arrival so that we could nose around all those fascinating fruits and vegetables as long as possible before Mr. Divit discovered us.

The metal roof of the Divit's store was low and slanted so that the rain would roll off. Alongside the building was an assortment of interesting things including an inviting stack of wooden crates that seemed to whisper "Come. Climb me."

The sky was clear on the day the rumbling started at Divit's Fruit and Vegetable Market. It was intermittent, and to Mr. Divit it surely must have sounded like a cross between thunder and B52 Bombers flying overhead. At first he thought it must be a thunderstorm coming. But when he looked outside, there was not a cloud in sight and no darkness on the horizon. He began to worry that it might be his furnace. He checked it out. But it was okay. Then he began to get concerned about his refrigeration units. Maybe they were going bad. But there was nothing wrong with them either.

The rumbling continued. Mr. Divit ran outside to take another look at the sky. Still not a cloud was in sight. I am sure by then he was scratching his head and beginning to question his mental health.

Finally, he decided to get up on his roof and check it out as the rumbling was indeed coming from directly overhead. So, he got a ladder and leaned it up against the building and climbed up it. And what to his wandering eyes should appear, but Jimmy and me. We were squatted down on his metal roof and rolling a pop bottle back and forth to each other.

It would be the last time we fiddled around on top of Mr. Divit's roof and a long time before we would be allowed to return to his fruit and vegetable market.

To be continued.............

Coming Soon - Rascals, Inc.

2006-08-07T23:13:00.000-05:00

Trouble and Trouble-ette
(Cousin Jimmy and me)

World War II had just ended when our parents decided to become restauranteurs and open The 54 Diner. Rascals, Inc. came into existence shortly afterwards. It was the natural outcome of giving two six-year-olds complete freedom nearly to do exactly what they pleased while the parents worked the whole day long dishing up food for hungry truckers.

Although our antics produced no permanent harm to anyone and we all made it out of that period of time alive, it is not a pretty story. Certainly it is not a story that children 13 and under should read.

The ugly details are coming soon. But don't hold your breath; I'm a busy woman lately!

Fourth of July

2006-07-04T23:22:00.000-05:00

I am late with this post due to computer problems. But I wanted to say a few things about America before the day is over.

I love America. To me it is an idea that became a nation of people from all over the world. As Americans we have no tie to any one particular ethnic group. We are a conglomerate of ethnic groups. This makes America and Americans special in this world of many nations.

Today my husband and I enjoyed an afternoon at Cantigny Park. We spread our blanket out under some large trees and feasted on a picnic lunch while we listened to the band playing and watched people from all sorts of ethnic groups strolling across the large open lawn between us and the band. It was an American afternoon on a very special American day.

Ending on a light note, America is a young nation. This really hit home when my husband reminded me that he and I have been around more than one fourth as long as this nation. Ha! He just had to tell me that.

Happy 4th of July!

With Abandon

2006-06-30T23:03:00.000-05:00

With abandon I go
Into the Sweet Night
Feeling my way along
Trusting the Dark
Tasting its fruit
Waiting for Dawn to break
And fill me with Light

Happy Father's Day, Daddy

2006-06-18T23:40:00.001-05:00

The little boy in the above photo is my Daddy when he was about five years old. I am telling on him today. I have every reason to believe that he is going to get a chuckle, too, out of my telling on him. He loved to laugh.

Daddy was about five years old when he set the chicken coop on fire on the family farm. He was probably standing right there next to that very tree as his father passed by him going back and forth bringing pails of water to the chicken coop in an effort to put out the fire. According to the story, every time Grandpa passed by Daddy, he mumbled some choice words to him which I am reluctant to put in writing. But a mumbled tongue lashing was no doubt the extent of Daddy's punishment for setting the chicken coop on fire, because he was an only child and I think Grandma and Grandpa sort of spoiled him. In other words they spared the rod.

I don't think he ever received a spanking even though he probably deserved a few. In spite of being spoiled, he turned out to be a decent man and never again did he set a chicken coop on fire.

Daddy passed away from cancer in October, 2000. When I think of him I remember how much he loved to laugh. He was always full of jokes. Every time I visited him either in person or on the phone, he had a joke or two to tell me. They weren't good jokes either, in his opinion, unless they were slightly off color.

But the thing that really sticks in my mind about Daddy is how real he was. When he died, a friend of his said to me, "Your dad was a genuine article." I began to think about it and I realized that what the friend meant was that Daddy was real and human. There was nothing fake about him. He was honest in every way. He was not given to pretense. He was outspoken. If he had an opinion, you learned about it. He did not try to hide his emotions. He was unable to do that. If he was sad, you knew it. If he was happy, you knew it. If he was angry, you knew that too.

There was one time in particular when Daddy got angry during dinner. My sister and I still laugh about. It had to do with butter and its proper place on the dinner table. As it happened, my sister and I were in the habit of reaching for the butter dish, taking a slice of it for our bread, then keeping the butter dish right next to our plate. Well, Daddy got fed up with having to hunt down the butter dish each time he wanted some and, so, one day he blurted out angrily, "PUT THE BUTTER IN THE MIDDLE OF THE TABLE!" Immediately, we all burst into laughter including Daddy.

Daddy was not a deep thinker who wrestled with philosophical problems. I remember trying to engage him in conversation one time about the Holy Eucharist and whether or not it really was the body and blood of our Lord as the Catholic church claims. Daddy's response more or less was, "I have never been a very good Catholic." End of discussion.

Since Daddy was so obvious with his emotions, I learned from him how to get angry and then get over it. I learned that it was okay to get angry sometimes...even about butter. I learned that you were not a big sinner for getting angry. His anger was short lived. The sun never set on his anger. This kept him out of a lot of trouble. If in that emotional state, he ended up saying something hurtful, there was a flood of apologies that followed in short order. So, I learned that I could say sorry when I hurt someone with my words. I learned I could ask for forgiveness, and all of that was good.

Daddy had a rich emotional life I think because he allowed his emotions to flow. He did not try to bottle them up. Consequently, he was able to empathize and feel what the other person was feeling. This made him compassionate. One time after my boyfriend broke up with me, I was feeling a lot of emotional pain and was crying my heart out to Daddy about the break-up. There wasn't anything that Daddy could do to mend the situation. He knew that. But he did the most compassionate thing a person can do when trying to comfort another in pain. He sat down on the sofa next to me and placed his arm around my shoulder. Then he cried with me. We both sat there for the longest time crying together. I will never forget that tender moment.

Daddy was a family man who insisted that we adhere to certain rules of conduct as a family. For instance, he was a stickler about everyone sitting down to eat dinner at the same time. You were not allowed to dilly-dally in front of the TV, or in earlier times listen to your favorite radio program, and be late for dinner. No one was allowed to start eating till everyone was there. And dinner had to be served promptly at...well, I have forgotten the exact time it had to be served. And, of course, the butter had to be kept in the middle of the table.

I could tell you so much more about this lovely man who in his prime resembled Dean Martin only Daddy was much more handsome.

Daddy loved his family. He loved Mother. He adored Mother. He fought with Mother. But that was because he had a rich emotional life. He loved my sister and me, too. He loved all his grandchildren. When he died, almost all of us were there crowded around his bed in his small bedroom at the moment of his death.

There was an aura about that Sunday afternoon when he died. You sensed the presence of his parents coming to bring their only child over to the other side. You sensed the presence of something supernatural, something rare and unearthly. You sensed the Divine, the Christ. You sensed the spirit of God in that room, in that house by the river's edge.

Happy Father's Day, Daddy!

I remember Mother and the four-gored skirt!

2006-05-14T21:29:00.001-05:00

I remember many things about Mother. I remember the floral drapes and sofa slip cover she made for the living room in my first childhood home. I was about seven at the time.

I remember that she always insisted she was incapable of making decent pie crust, but she took great pride in her cakes. She loved angel food cakes. She made many of them much to my disappointment as I loved devil's food cakes.

I remember her contagious laugh and how Daddy would tickle her, sometimes chasing her around the house in order to tickle her, just so he could hear her laugh. He called her Butch back then. Why I don't know.

I remember that she did not like dogs in the house, but she put up with them, one after another, dog hair and all, to please Daddy, my sister and me. We three loved dogs.

I remember the time Mother made matching dresses for my sister, me and herself. I remember how proud she was of them. Then there was the four-gored skirt that she made. For some reason memories of that four-gored skirt have surfaced in my mind on this Mother's Day.

I was about eleven when I joined 4-H. My project for the County Fair that summer was to make a four-gored skirt. Either Mother lost patience with me as I fidgeted with the four-gored skirt and her treadle sewing machine, or I lost interest in the four-gored skirt and her treadle sewing machine. Anyway, she ended up doing most of the sewing of the four-gored skirt. She was ever so proud of her sewing accomplishment, too, and she was most confident that the four-gored skirt would receive the much sought after blue ribbon at the County Fair.

When the four-gored skirt did not receive the much sought after blue ribbon, Mother sulked about it for a good month. She could not understand how a four-gored skirt put together by an adult who knew how to sew would not qualify for the much sought after blue ribbon intended for children. I can imagine that, as a way of comforting herself, she might have entertained the thought that the 4-H competition at the County Fair was in fact rigged.

What would youngsters do if their mothers never pitched in at the last minute and covertly finish for their child that science project for school or that 4-H project for the County Fair? What would we do without our moms to take over?

Guest Contributor - Sharon Robinson

2006-05-04T21:30:00.000-05:00

Introduction: Sharon and I have been good friends ever since we met in a creative writing class back in the 1970's in Southern Illinois. Although I moved away a few years after we met, we have kept in touch with each other. Currently Sharon is working on her grandmother's biography. It was my privilege recently to read an excerpt from it about a famous tornado her grandmother witnessed as a youngster in 1925.

Sharon has been writing poetry and short stories for many years. She has a knack for taking ordinary things, such as dried Lima beans, and instilling them with meaning. She admits that her poem about dried Lima beans has "hidden" meaning which she hopes will manifest itself if the poem is read slowly and thoughtfully. So, read it slowly and thoughtfully then tell us what you think about it.

DRIED LIMA BEANS
by
Sharon Robinson

Dried Lima beans...in an old...blue...quart...Mason jar.
They were displayed...on the cabinet
.........just for decoration.

A long time.... they had been....in my grandmother's jar.
I am not....particularly fond
.........of dried lima beans.

For almost 24 hours...they soaked...in the refrigerator.
I knew these..."now old"...Lima beans
.........might be "dried out."

They started on high...and cooked...on low...now five hours.
The thought of... "slightly soft"...was...in reality
......... "hard as a rock."

I should have given...those dried Lima beans...to my mother
...years go. I should have displayed...Great Northern
...in my grandmother's ...old...blue..............Mason jar.

I was...,once upon a time,...fond of Great Northern
....flavored with a ham bone. They would not have..."become old,"
..."dried out," ..........and "hard as a rock."

Now, those Great Northern beans...in the jar...are
NEW...ready to soak and cook.
I am fond of...Great Northern beans...
cooked with an onion...
and served with
.......cornbread.

Why I believe in the Resurrection

2006-04-30T22:29:00.000-05:00

Darius, who left a comment regarding my Easter Greetings post, wants to know why I believe in the Resurrection.

I can't give him scientific reasons as to why. I can't provide a philosophical argument to justify my belief, and Christian Apologetics is beyond my scope of knowledge. What I would tell him resides in my heart.

Yesterday in the Catholic tradition, my grandson Nikolas received his First Communion. He was one among several children to receive it that day.

According to the ritual of the Mass, the bread and the wine were presented to the priest to be blessed and transformed into the body and blood of our Lord. One of the communicants, a little girl, carried the bread and Nikolas carried the wine down the long aisle to the priest who waited at the altar. Even though he was apprehensive, Nikolas carried the glass vessel of wine carefully and cautiously with respect. He did it with dignity and import. He displayed an emerging sense of the Sacred.

His success is meaningful to me for reasons that reside in my heart.

So it is with the Resurrection. I believe in it for reasons that reside in my heart, Darius. And one of those reasons is my grandson Nikolas.

In the words of Pascal, "The heart has its reasons that reason does not know at all."

Whirling Wind

2006-03-24T22:11:00.000-06:00

I sit in the dark........

I hear the wind blowing......

It hugs my house....... I know it is hoping
To find a slit through which it can ooze and sing
To me
Its Anthem of Truths

Oh! Woo me whirling wind of the ages!

Persuade me with the wisdom of sages!

And I will fly with you through the night
Through the sky......
....Till the world
.....Is washed
.....With Light

SusieQ

Little Orvalette

2006-03-13T00:04:00.001-06:00

LITTLE ORVALETTE
AGE 8 (approx.)
PENNY ARCADE PHOTOS TAKEN AROUND 1929

"I won't actually hit you. I promise." This was roughly what her older brother Paul said to little Orvalette when he was trying to coax her that first time into putting on boxing gloves and sparring with him in the attic of their Illinois home. I can see her reluctantly trailing behind brother Paul up the steps to the dimly lit attic with its musty smells and collection of cobwebs that swayed in the draft.

Paul didn't mean to hurt her. He had good intentions. He would not have hurt her on purpose. But with all that weaving from side to side and dancing about like a pro, he must have gotten caught up in the moment, because he bopped her on either the chin or the nose and, with that, their first sparring match ended abruptly. Unfortunately, Orvalette was gullible and trusting. So, a few more sparring matches followed with always the same empty promise made beforehand "I promise this time. I won't hit you....". Finally, after receiving enough unintentional jabs from the left and from the right, she learned her lesson. She learned that you can't believe everything your brother tells you even when you want to. Orvalette gave up boxing for good.

The youngest of seven children, Orvalette was born in 1922 in the hills of Kentucky. She started out in life as a hillbilly. As an adult, she used to joke about being a hillbilly, but at the same time she was embarrassed by it. Her parents were hill people. They knew folklore and folk songs and folk remedies. Her mother was married by age 14. Both her parents were uneducated having gone no further than the third grade. Yet, they managed to acquire the life skills they needed to make a living and get along.

When she was a baby, Orvalette nearly died. She contracted an intestinal disorder that threatened her life. The only nourishment she would accept was buttermilk. The doctor and everyone else warned her mother that the buttermilk would make the child's condition worse. In spite of the warnings, her mother fed Orvalette the buttermilk anyway. She decided that if the child was doomed to die it would not be on an empty stomach. Orvalette did not die. She recovered. Was it the buttermilk that was responsible for Orvalette's miraculous recovery, or was it the magic of her mother's nurturing? I lean toward the latter.

Living was hard for Orvalette's family in the hills of Kentucky in those times. Laundry day for Orvalette's mother involved hauling water up from the creek, which was some distance from their house, and heating the water in a big kettle over a fire built outside in the yard. In spite of hardships like this one, her mother was a clean woman who was so meticulous about it that she would sweep away the dust that accumulated on the bare, hard clay soil in that yard.

Switchings were the preferred method of disciplining a naughty child back then in the hills of Kentucky. Orvalette was no exception. When she was naughty, which is hard to believe she ever was, her mother would send Orvalette outside to find a switch. She would return with the smallest switch she could possibly find only to be sent back outside to look for one that was sturdy. In those days, switchings were considered necessary and part of being a good parent.

Orvalette's family moved from Kentucky to northern Illinois when she was about six years old. Shortly after they moved to Illinois, she was playing outside in their front yard when a Catholic priest walked by. He stopped to chat with her. As the story goes, he asked her "Are you Catholic?" Orvalette replied, "No, I'm English American." Apparently she had never been exposed to Catholics and did not know the meaning of the word. Later on in life, she fell in love with a Catholic, married him, and became a Catholic herself.

As a child, Orvalette liked to comb her father's hair. She would stand behind him while he sat in a chair and she would comb his hair and sing to him. She sang That Silver Haired Daddy of Mine. Gene Autry wrote that song. It was popular during the early 1930's. Orvalette would have been nine or ten at the time.

Orvalette's father had a pet name for her. He called her Dinktum which is from the folk song Teedle Dinktum Dinktum Day. He also had the annoying habit of flicking her on the head with his index finger. He thought he was being affectionate, but she thought it hurt.

We take for granted the abundance of food that exists today. It is not uncommon today to allow the last few oranges in the fruit bowl to shrivel up, or to neglect those last few oranges in the refrigerator bin until they grow moldy. But when Orvalette was a child, an orange was something children might discover to their delight in their stocking on Christmas morning.

Since her mother was from the hills of Kentucky, Orvalette probably ate plenty of beans and cornbread as a child. In addition to that, she probably feasted on biscuits and gravy, bacon and eggs, black-eyed peas, and wilted greens. But her mother's signature dish, which she would have prepared on Sunday for the family, was chicken and dumplings.

Sugar was inexpensive during the Depression years while Orvalette was growing up. So to satisfy everyone's sweet tooth in the family, Orvalette's mother would have made plenty of fruit cobblers. She would have used the fruit she canned herself. She would have brought the sugared fruit to a low boil and dropped dumpling strips into it. That was her version of fruit cobbler.

The radio entertained families at home when Orvalette was a child. She would have had her ears glued to the radio back then and she would have listened to such popular radio shows as Amos and Andy, Fibber McGee and Molly, George Burns and Gracy Allen, The Lone Ranger, The Green Hornet, and The Shadow. Fibber McGee's trademark was his closet which was packed with everything under the sun. Each time the closet door was opened during the program then, the radio audience could hear the clatter of things falling helter-skelter out of the closet onto the floor. It must have enlivened the imagination of a child. The expression "Fibber McGee's closet" became popular. As an adult Orvalette used that expression when describing a closet that might be in that much disarray.

Orvalette would have gone to the movie theater as a child during the Twenties and seen silent movies featuring such greats as Charlie Chaplin. Once sound arrived, she would have seen It Happened One Night with Claudette Colbert and Clark Gable which came out in 1934.

By the time Orvalette was twelve years old, she knew how to drive a car. At that age she was chauffeuring her parents around who never did learn how to drive a car.

Once she became a teenager, Orvalette did what other teenagers did during the Thirties. Since money was an issue back then, a date might be nothing more than the boy and girl going to the drug store in town, sitting at the soda fountain there, and sharing an ice cream soda. Often teenagers double-dated and took in a movie if they had the money. If they really had the money, they might get a hamburger after the show. Money or not, necking was not unknown to teenagers in those days.

Due to the Depression, children were forced to grow up fast back then. After her sophomore year in high school, Orvalette quit school and went to work. Just a month or so shy of being 17, she got married. A year later I was born.

Mother
(1922-2001)

"Moi" Knows Best

2006-03-12T17:30:00.000-06:00

If everyone would just do as I say
If everything would just go my way
If others would just think like me
What a happy world this would surely be

For I know best how things should go
How things should work, how things should flow
What folks should think, well, I know best
I know best more than all the rest

If only folks would think like me
If only they would act like me
If only they would BE like me
What a perfect world this would surely be

St. Moi

The Gift

2006-02-09T22:09:00.000-06:00

I could not have been more surprised by what I pulled out of my coat pocket that winter night years ago as I sat on the back steps of the old farm house with Norton and Tasha.

(We make a mistake when we underestimate an animal's capacity to love and its desire to express that love.)

Years ago while I was visiting my younger daughter, Margaret, shortly after her second child was born, I became friends with a small dog. She was an affectionate pup with floppy ears and brown eyes that seemed to speak volumes. My granddaughter who was about two years old then had named the dog Norton.

Margaret and her husband were renting an old farm house at the time. I had gone there to help her with the children.

Each night, and sometimes during the day, I would take a break, bundle up, and go outside to sit on the back steps and relax. It wasn't long before Norton the dog and Tasha the cat would appear from out of nowhere to join me and keep me company.

Out there in the cold night the three of us would huddle together like bosom buddies on the back steps of the old farm house. The crisp cold air felt good against my cheeks which were usually flushed from working inside the warm house. In the distance by the barn was the yard light which created an illuminated oasis in the otherwise pitch darkness of the night.

The deep silence of the country intensified the sounds of the night so much that no sound went unnoticed. During my visit a thin crust of snow covered the ground and revealed clumps of brown grass here and there prepared to green up with the arrival of spring.

It will not surprise fellow animal lovers to learn that it felt quite natural to me to talk to Norton and Tasha about all sorts of things out there on the steps in the seclusion of the country.

Norton seemed especially attentive to my every word. She would tip her head from side to side as if to hear me better. She'd wag her tail as if to say she understood what I was talking about. However, Tasha, being an independent cat, would slip off now and then into the night to hunt for field mice, I assumed. This left Norton and me alone together to grow closer to one another.

In no time, a friendship developed between Norton and me. Something magical took over and transformed this dog and this human into kindred spirits who were sharing a small slice of life together. I could have told Norton practically anything. I could have unburdened my soul to this dog, and I swear she would have understood.

One night toward the end of my visit with my daughter and her family, I was sitting outside on the steps with Norton and Tasha when all of a sudden Norton jumped off the steps and ran off toward the barn. She was gone for about 10 minutes.

When Norton returned she hopped up onto the steps alongside me and immediately dropped something into the gaping pocket of my coat. It startled me. What in the world...I thought.

Norton's enthusiasm was obvious as she waited for me to react. Cautiously with my gloves on I reached down into my pocket and pulled the object out. I took it to the light that was pouring through the kitchen window nearby and looked down at what laid in the palm of my hand. I could not have been more surprised by what I saw.

Gradually, as I stood there in the light staring at the object, it occurred to me that this might be a gift from Norton. Perhaps she had given me something she thought, in her doggie mind, I would like and appreciate. I became convinced that it was her way of expressing her affections for me.

When I finally turned around to show Norton my gratitude, I found that the small dog had disappeared into the night.

A day or so later when it was time for me to leave and head home, I said goodbye to Margaret and her family. I said goodbye to Tasha the cat. I said goodbye to the small dog who had given me so much.

I will always treasure the memory of Norton and her humble gift. I will always be grateful for the brief friendship I had with her and the time we spent together on the back steps of the old farm house.

(In case you have not guessed already what it was that Norton dropped in my pocket that night, you can find out by going....Here.)

Sarah Turns Two

2006-02-05T18:47:00.000-06:00

And there's that Nana helping little Sarah blow out her two candles.

Our Snow Angel

2006-01-21T08:57:00.000-06:00

(Double click for large view)

Take a look at this beauty. That's our buddy Max playing in the snow early this morning. He is still wearing his Christmas bandana around his neck that he got from the groomer. I need to throw that thing in the wash.

I'll have to tell you about Max someday and how we adopted him through Collie Rescue. I'll have to tell you how we can't say the word "walk" within earshot of Max without his going crazy with excitement.

Sometime I'll have to tell you how Max thinks he should be in the bathroom with my hubby and me when we are putting on our jammies at night and getting ready for bed. Our bathroom is not small, but when you get two people in it plus a big dog roaming about, the space gets a little cramped.

I'll have to tell you someday how Max hides when he knows we are about to leave the house to go somewhere and about to put him in the utility room. He thinks if he is out of sight, he is out of mind. Well, he would like the run of the house in our absence so that he can get into things while we are gone. We know what is on his mind.

Sometime soon, I will tell you how much Max loves his daily treat of a slice of Roman Meal bread. In the morning he follows me around the kitchen relentlessly until I give in and get him his slice of bread. Then he leaves me alone about it unless he hears the bread wrapper rustling later in the day. He could be at the farthest end of the house and still be able to hear the rustling of the bread wrapper.

What a dog! I'll have to tell you about him sometime.

************

We woke this morning to trees weighted down with snow and sparkling in the morning sun. Here are a few shots my hubby took of this winter wonderland.

(double click for a large view)

Scenes like these are what make winter tolerable.

Canvas Mural - Garden Scene

2006-01-20T23:19:00.000-06:00

(double click for a larger view)

My artist son painted this canvas mural for one of his clients. He has done Trompe L'oeil and murals for several clients in the Chicago area. I will be featuring his work here from time to time. Enjoy!

A Poem About Trust

2005-12-30T23:18:00.000-06:00

I will be

What Winter would have
Gray and stiff
With life hidden in my earth
Ready to rise up
When warm winds pass over
When sweet rains anoint me

When Spring has Her way
I will be
Green and supple

SusieQ

Christmas Eve At Nana and Papa's

2005-12-24T23:04:00.000-06:00

'Tis the night before Christmas in our little old house
And no one remains but me and my spouse.

Our kid's have gone home, twelve grandkids as well.

But they stayed and they played for quite a long spell.

We laughed and we ate. We played and we laughed.

We did this till we were all thoroughly daft!

The stockings which marched along banisters high

Were snatched and then emptied in the blink of an eye.

The mountain of gifts that surrounded our tree

Was leveled in no time from what I could see.

On our dining room table had been food of all kinds

And in an abundance to boggle most minds.

It was gobbled up fast. And now all that remains

Are crumbs, dirty dishes, and rugs full of stains.

The house is now quiet except for the snoring

Of our dear little dog. Or is that ME who's snoring.

Yes, I relish this time to kick back and unwind
To play over and over the day in my mind.

It was worth all the work. It was worth any stress.
Though it sounds strange to some, it was worth the big mess.

For it pleasured me so all the bright happy faces,
All the laughter exploding, all the heartfelt embraces.

It pleasured me so.