For Auld Lang Syne

Now that Christmas has come and gone for another year, everyone we meet tells us, "Happy New
Year!" We're ending another year that has been filled with much joy and happiness or much sadness
and grief. Truth be known, for each of us 2016 has probably been a combination of all of those emotions.  Many years ago I read a passage from a book by artist and writer Kahlil Gibran. In this
particular writing he talked about the Tears and Laughter that fill our lives. And it is so. In this
writing, Gibran stated, "I would not exchange the laughter of my heart for the fortunes of the
multitudes; nor would I be content with converting my tears, invited by my agonized self, into
calm. It is my fervent hope that my whole life on this earth will ever be tears and laughter." And
certainly we know that regardless of who we are, where we live, what we do - tears and laughter
will always be a  part of our lives, a part of every year of our lives. But still we look backward
upon the year ending and we feel nostalgic. And we look forward with hope and expectancy, even
though we know that this new year will most certainly include both tears and laughter.

As we approach the end of any year and look toward the next, I believe it is in our nature to get a little nostalgic or perhaps introspective. We may reminisce about what has been, perhaps what
could have or should have been - and then what might be in the coming year.

As a little girl my sister and I loved New Year's Eve. Though our parents usually went out "on
the town" on that night, we knew that at home or at Grandma's, we could stay up very late and
at midnight when the strains of "Auld Lang Syne" came on the radio or television, we would be
allowed to go outside in our nighties and bang on kitchen pans with large spoons,  making all
kinds of racket that at any other time would not have been acceptable. Then the next day we would
delight in the tchotchkes that our parents had brought home to us. There would be cardboard
new year's hats, noise makers, horns, paper necklaces and confetti! We were enchanted by these
meaningless items. Fast forward a few years. I remember that when my mother would hear the
traditional new year's song, "Auld Lang Syne", she would always shed a few tears. I didn't under-
stand and she seemed at a loss to find a way to explain her emotions to me. I no longer need an
explanation, as I now react the same way when I hear the song. And for goodness sake, I can't
really explain why either! Regardless of the time of year, it moves me.

The song, though familiar to literally everyone over the age of ten, has words that always leave
us confused. What do those words really mean? And depending on who is singing, WHAT ARE THOSE WORDS???? Personally, being a Rod Stewart fan, I think his rendition is my absolute
favorite and if you haven't heard him sing it, I encourage you to pull it up online and listen. His
delivery, as far as I'm concerned, adds even more depth to the meaning.

But let's look at some history of this song, shall we? A little research tells us that in 1788 Robert Burns sent the song to the Scots Musical Museum in Scotland, indicating that it was an ancient song, but that he'd been the first to record in on paper. The phrase 'auld lang syne' roughly translates to 'for old times' sake' and the song is about preserving old friendships and looking back over the events of the year. Ok, that's not so tough, right?

Most of us know the first verse and the chorus, but it usually goes downhill from there. The original words, with their Scottish flair and brogue, leave us totally confused, with words like pint stoup and braes and gowans, etc.............But still, I think by even muddling through it, we can figure out the
true meaning of the song, or at least the feelings behind them.
                                                                          **
Should auld acquaintance be forgot, and never brought to mind?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot, and auld lang syne.

Chorus:
For auld lang syne, my dear, for auld lang syne,
We'll take a cup o'kindness yet, for auld lang syne.

And surely ye'll be your pint-stowp and surely I'll be mine!
And we'll take a cup o'kindness yet, for auld lang syne.

Chorus:

We two hae run about the braes and pu'd the gowans fine.
But we've wandered mony a weary fit sin' auld lang syne.

We twa have paidled i' the burn, frae morning sun till dine;
But seas between us braid have roared sin' auld lang syne.

Chorus:

And there's a hand, my trusty fiere, and gie's a hand o'thine!
And we'll tak a right quid-willie waught - for auld lang syne!
                                                                            **
Wow. Well, we tried. Suffice to say, I hope that it's about friendship and friendship lost.
Perhaps about love and faithfulness to one another and belonging to something larger, a fellowship. About all kinds of loss, but finding each other once again. I think it refers to the fact that we're in this together and perhaps we can try to be a little kinder.  Regardless, wherever you are at midnight on New Year's Eve, if you hear the strains of "Auld Lang Syne", I hope you'll allow yourself a moment of nostalgia for what has been and a moment of hope for what may come. If you've suffered loss this year, I hope you find peace and consolation as you look to the new year.

I want to thank you all for taking this journey with me. I hope you have found on these pages, at
least sometimes, something that resinates with you or that interests you. I'm wishing each of you
a healthy, happy and prosperous 2017. I'll be back in January. Let's take a cup of kindness yet,
for auld lang syne.

"A Christmas Memory"

Well, it's been a few weeks since I've managed to get back to this page. I'm sorry - because I've
missed it, missed talking with you. My only excuse is that the season has caused time to fly faster than usual. I'm planning to be back more regularly after Christmas.

Today I want to share with you, a story that I wrote some time ago, a true story of a little girl
at Christmas. I know it's a true story because I was that little girl.

                                                                    ***
I remember a Christmas when I was just a little girl, about seven years old, I think. Santa was
still very important to me and I had made sure that he knew just exactly what I wanted that year. At that time a very popular line of dolls - the Ginger Doll - had caught my eye, and I had studied and
studied the entire variety, which was on display that Christmas season at one of our local dime stores.
The Ginger Doll line included a variety of choices, all with different hair colors and different outfits. The one I wanted had auburn hair and she wore a sort of Scottish tartan outfit, two piece and plaid, with a little green Tam on her head. I loved that doll and every time Mother and I went to this store, I
would wander to the particular area where the dolls were displayed, just to look at the doll and hope
she would be mine on Christmas. Although my sister, Charmaine, and I were never sure of what
we would be able to get from Santa, I was as sure as I could afford to be that this doll would be mine
on Christmas day.

Sometime in the wee hours between Christmas Eve and Christmas morning, I crept from my bed without waking Charmaine who was in the next bed sleeping. I went to the Christmas tree
in the living room. Immediately I could see the Ginger Doll under the tree, along with a doll
bed I'd also wanted. But in the moonlight streaming in through the window, my excitement flew to
despair. I could see it was not the doll I had wanted, but another - different hair color, different clothing.

I didn't wake anyone at that hour, but I remember lying down by the tree and quietly crying myself
to sleep over my disappointment. Mother found me there the next morning, sleeping, very cold and
very downhearted.

As I awoke and began telling her my sad story, I looked again at the Ginger Doll. The early
morning light allowed me to see more clearly and I was amazed to see that it was, indeed, the doll of my dreams! I was ecstatic but even at that young age, I remember feeling a bit foolish at my quickness to be disappointed.

In the years that have followed that early and memorable Christmas of mine, I have seen and
shared many times of disappointment and despair. Many times it has seemed that joy and gladness
would not follow. But just like that Christmas morning so many years ago, I have always been
surprised at my own foolishness - at my own readiness to be too soon disappointed. Human
nature, I suppose, but each time a teachable moment. I believe in my heart what I learned that
long ago Christmas. "Weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning." (Psalm 30:5)

                                                                    ***

I don't know about you, but it seems to me that this week - just before Christmas - there's a feeling of slowing down, taking a moment and a deep breath. I hope you're able to take that moment to access and calm down, to enjoy the anticipation and hope that is Advent. The waiting for Christmas.

May your every Christmas dream come true.

Happy Thanksgiving!

It's just a special day. It's not a religious holiday, like Christmas or Easter. And yet we certainly
remember today to be thankful for all that we have. For family and friends. For health. Good fortune. All of that and more. Probably we are always thankful for these things. But today, we stop to take
extra time to be grateful, to thank our God if we are believers. We bow our heads - or lift our heads, depending on what is our custom. And we say thank you. Thank you for all of it. And thank you for
seeing us through the hard times. We ask for God's protection and for His favor in the days to come.

I'm hoping at this time on Thanksgiving evening, that you're easing down, taking time to relax and to
take stock of the day. Some have worked very hard to make it a special time for family and
friends. Others of us (me, this year) have had a very relaxing day. If you've been well fed and cared
for today, please remember to find a way to thank your cook. She/he is exhausted. Trust me.

And as things are quieting down, let's just take a few minutes to utter some extra words of
thanks. I'm going to wager that you've already said thank you for the wonderful food you've been so
fortunate to consume. And probably you've said thank you to God for your precious family and
friends. I know I have. Let's remember to be grateful for our men and women in service to our
country and to our first responders who serve us closer to home, daily. And just a sidebar, this is one area where social media is so valuable. By mid morning today I'd been in touch with loved ones from across this great country and even from across the world. It was a wonderful, warm and special feeling. In an era when social media can be so dark, this start to my day was a blessing.

I'm also so thankful for tradition. I touched a little last week about the traditions that we, as women,
have inherited from our mothers - such as the ways that we cook and bake. But more than that, we
have all taken on the traditions of all of our ancestors, in celebrating this wonderful holiday. Think
back, if you will, on the memories of Thanksgivings of your past, when we were children. When
mothers cooked and cleaned, as they do now. And when families gathered together, as they do now.
Remember the days we spent with our grandparents, our aunts, uncles and cousins. As I've done
some of that remembering today, it's caused me to "smile out loud" if you know what I mean. I have
some wonderful memories of being with Grandma and Grandpa Hasemeyer and other extended family.

I specifically remember one Thanksgiving as a child when my little family was hosting the day at
our tiny home. I remember how the house smelled with everything cooking and baking and how
excited my sister and I were to know that everyone was coming to our house. Somehow, as it turned out, there was room for everyone. By early afternoon the snow began to fall, unexpectedly. Obviously
technology was not what it is now. :) The snow fell and fell and our house full of people went from
excitement and wonder to some apprehension. How would everyone get home? Would they even
be able to get out of the driveway and on to the main road? But you know what? No one left
early. Everyone stayed all day and into the evening. Though I could not have explained it this
way at that time, in memory I know that on that day I felt somehow insulated and protected. As that blanket of snow fell and drifted all around our little world, I felt safe and warm and loved. It's a feeling that I still remember and a memory that I cherish after all these decades.

My hope for you on this Thanksgiving night, is that your day has caused you to feel safe and warm
and loved. And if you're celebrating tomorrow or Sunday or even next week, it makes no difference.
May you know that wonderful feeling. Each year is different. Each celebration and holiday are
different. Life enters in, with all kinds of problems and issues, but it's the feelings, the memories we hold in our hearts that last.

And now the craziness begins. As Thanksgiving ends, the Christmas season has officially begun. It's going to be a bumpy ride. It always is. Hold on tight and remember to be thankful.

"Christmas Memories...A Little Early"

I haven't posted here since Nov. 9. Sorry. Life has been chaotic and a little crazy. I guess at my age
that can be a good thing. :) I guess it means I'm still putting along. I'm sure you can all relate. Time flies and days are busy. Let's be thankful we are busy and that to some extent, we can still manage "crazy". Right?

I know that Thanksgiving is next week - less than a week away. Today as I was making my way through this and that around town - I could actually feel the electricity that accompanies this time of year. People are talking about the size of turkeys they have ordered or that they're about to order. Almost everyone asks one another, "What are you doing for Thanksgiving?" "Where are you going?" "Are you cooking?", etc., etc. It's a good excitement and it's just the beginning. For the next several weeks, it will be like that wherever we go. Bustling, hurrying, busy, busy, busy. Electric. During these weeks, let's try to also remember that not everyone is going to be bustling. Not everyone is going to be sharing the excitement and anticipation. Some people are alone. Others are not well. Many are
worried and apprehensive - for many reasons. Whether it's a phone call, a 'thinking of you' card, a
visit with a pot of soup........ anything that says 'I care'. I am going to make that a concerted effort.
Will you do it with me? I hope so. I need your encouragement as much as you may need mine. Thanks.

Here at home, things are bustling. Not by requirement but by design. We love to decorate for
Christmas. I say "we". I hope I'm right. :) The day after Halloween, all those fun decorations come down. I mean immediately. Nothing drives me crazier than to see Halloween decorations after Halloween! Just a personal pet peeve. And immediately after that, the Christmas TUBS begin coming
in to the house. Approximately 45 tubs. I know. I know. Bob and I are eccentric Christmas decorators. By that, I mean he carries it all in to the house from storage and I decide where and how it goes up.
I vacillate between tradition - such as this tree ALWAYS goes here - to trying to do things a little differently each year. Some years it's murder! This year it's gone pretty easily. We put up lots of trees - all over The house - and then there are the mantels, countertops, on and on. I absolutely love it. The reason for getting it up early is that we can then sit back and actually enjoy it. We don't turn on the lights until after Thanksgiving. But if I wait until after Thanksgiving to begin, we don't get to enjoy it.
I know not everyone enjoys the profusion of Christmas everywhere, but we do. It's a good thing Bob
and I agree on this. :)

Remember that old movie, "I Remember Mama"? Well, it's a sure thing that everyone reading this
does remember mama. I mean - we women always fix the stuffing the way mama did. We make
pie crust the way mama did. The older we get the more we tend to do things the way mama did it. Am I right?  As a child, our home was always a bit chaotic - for lots of reasons - and we didn't have
a lot. But my mother always made decorating for Christmas a big deal. Certainly we only had one
tree and it was a real tree. (Today, my trees are artificial, however.) Mother let my sister and me
put the decorations on the tree and we loved it. When we were finished, Mother handled the rest.
She used tinsel. Remember tinsel? Mother would begin hanging the tinsel on the tree. She did it all
day long and all night long, as she'd take a break from cooking or as she'd walk through the living
room, or just before bedtime and then early in the morning before we woke up. Any extra moment she had, she'd be hanging more tinsel! She'd still be adding tinsel to that tree until Christmas! And it was perfect, put on one piece at a time. It was beautiful. A  wonderful memory for me.

But before the tree, came the yule log. Before daddy would get the tree, Mother would get out the
yule log that she kept year to year. It had three red candles and it would sit on top of the television. We never lit the candles because she used them year after year. But when Charmaine and I got home
from school and saw that yule log on the TV, we knew the tree was coming soon and so was Christmas. Memories. I thank God for them.

I think we all hope we have somehow instilled fond memories in the hearts of our own children, memories that they will carry with them through their lives. Several years ago when Jamey came
home for Christmas, he immediately noticed that I had a different tree topper on the traditional
tree. He said that he remembered the angel that had always been on our Christmas trees when he
was growing up. Touchdown!!! I do still have that angel. Of course. If you know me, you know
that I still have that angel.

Well, tonight I've spoken more about Christmas than I have Thanksgiving and we haven't had either one yet. It's not that I'm overlooking Thanksgiving. It's just that I'm already in the throws of Christmas. Bear with me, please.

More importantly - I guess if I'm sending a message tonight, it's just this.  Whatever your traditions, whatever your holiday preferences or family practices, just remember to "soak it up", enjoy it, relish
it. Cherish it. Treasure it. It's fleeting. And I'm not just talking about Thanksgiving and Christmas.
You get the message.

By the way, my porch is screened in. Albert and I absolutely love it.

Nov. 9, 2016

Wow. I did not get to this blog last week. So much to do and so little time. It's a common
complaint, I know. But it's very realistic.

Today, I post, perhaps not in a way any of you or many of you will appreciate. But still I blog, because I can and because no one signs my check. Smile. Such relief. So if you do not approve,
sign off, never to sign back on - or sign off in forgiveness - or sign off and then sign back on when
you see something of which you do approve.

My blog today will be brief, fragmented, broken.

Integrity. Or lack thereof.
Ethics. Or lack thereof.
Honesty? Or lack thereof.
Regret for what is and what is not.
Morals.
Soul. Actual Soul.
Choices. And I do respect choices.
Differences. And I do respect differences. I celebrate them. How could I not? I embody them
for the most part.
Hope. Because I cannot live without it.
Joy. Because I will find it again.
Surprise, though I should not be.
Surrender, because what is my choice?
Acceptance, because what is my choice?
Respect. Though it is a monumental effort at this point.
Expectation. Which I will not discuss at this point. But to which I look forward.

Heartbreak. Devastation. Though the art/act of rising above. Which I will do because I have

Integrity.

Blessings to all.

"Ghostly Memories At Riley Lake"

Deliver us from "goblins and ghosties and long legitty beasties and other things that go bump in the
night". It's certainly the time of year for that age-old verse, a time for thoughts of mystery and
intrigue, memories of 'haunted Halloweens', when our minds were free enough to believe, even if for only one night.

Who of us hasn't at least one favorite memory of a spooky evening, a haunted house, a ghost story
that sent chills up and down our spines? And who of us didn't enjoy it, at least a little? I mean,
come on, those of you who know me - look where I live! Spooky can occur here when we least
expect it!

Years ago I did some writing for the Southern Illinois Weekender Newspaper, submitting feature
articles a few times a month. The following was one of those features that was printed in that
newspaper. I thought, after all this time, it might be fun to do a reprint as a part of 'On The Porch...."
Here goes.....

Longtime residents of Riley Lake, located in Randolph County, along the Mississippi River, just
north of Chester, remember a ghost story, a story that has lived on, generation after generation.
The ghostly figure, in this instance, has a name, Prix Paget, and as the natives tell it.......

One of the most famous mills in the early history of the Mississippi Valley was Paget's watermill at the outlet of Riley Lake. The date of its establishment is not definitely known, though some believe it was in operation as early as 1709. Records certainly exist telling of the mill's operation between
1735 and 1763. The business, located on the east side of the Kaskaskia River, was apparently a
thriving one, as records indicate that Paget was engaged in shipping flour, at that time, by the Mississippi River as far away as Mobile, Alabama, New Orleans, Louisiana and to the troops at Ft. Duquesne. Much of Paget's mill work was done by slave labor.

In 1751 Paget married Marie Francoise Michel and the couple had four children, Joseph, Francoise,
Helene and Marie. Although most published sources list Mr. Paget's death as occurring in 1765, the
old French records at the Randolph County Museum and Archives show that Paget's family met to
decide the fate of his children on or before November 9, 1763. Therefore, his death must have occurred prior to that date.

Local lore, mixed with historical "fact", tells us that Paget met his death at the hands of the
Kickapoo Indians, a warlike tribe that lived to the north and northeast of Kaskaskia and raided
the area from time to time. Reportedly they attacked the mill, killing Paget by scalping and beheading him. His severed head, legend tells us, was thrown into the mill's hopper. Several of his slaves
were also killed, but it is believed that one of the slaves escaped to tell the tale and give an alarm.
Now, as tragic and horrific as that must have been, that's the stuff that Halloween is made of!!!

Although exact reports of ghostly sightings of Paget in the Riley Lake area are hard to come by, area
residents, young and old alike, attest that the story is undoubtedly true.

One Riley Lake native that I spoke to stated that he's heard the story all of his life. He can't prove
that it's accurate but he certainly enjoyed its mystery as a youngster. When asked if the story
frightened him or his friends, the gentlemen said, "When it got dark around here, we stayed inside."
And who could blame them?

In earlier days, Riley Lake was a thriving community, boasting a hotel, stores, many homes and
farms. Today there is virtually no sign that a community actually existed there. The hotel, which
was also said to have been haunted, was destroyed by fire many, many years ago. I remember
seeing it when it was just a dilapidated shell of an abandoned building. Storefront buildings have
long ago been torn down - or have fallen down - and all that remains are a few scattered houses
alongside the hillsides, which are densely covered with years of forest growth. Here and there
are the remnants of a building's stone foundation. Without streetlights, darkness falls quickly on
a Fall or Winter evening. And with the railroad tracks nearby, the ghostly whistles only add to
the haunting theory that somewhere, out there in the darkness of the forest, among the ancient
ruins of a gristmill, lurks the spirit of a former resident of Riley Lake, Prix Paget.

Well, probably none of us will be spending Halloween night at Riley Lake, so we don't have to
fear the spirit or the severed head of Mr. Paget. However, there's just something wonderfully spooky about Halloween night, don't you think? At our old tomb on the hill we love to celebrate Halloween to the max! So, if you've nothing else to do that evening, stop by and say hello. We'll be happy to see you and you never know - there could be a ghost sighting!!!

"Life Is Full Of Surprises"

Life is amazing, isn't it? Or at least it is if you show up, don't just phone it in and try your best
to enjoy the surprises along the way.

I have to admit that the older I get, the more regimented I am. When I was a "working woman", you'd
have thought I'd have been more structured. But no, during those years I was less so. Now that I'm
retired, I tend to be - as I said - more regimented. Perhaps it's because I feel that, if I am not, I
won't be able to "keep it all together"......that I will just get too relaxed about it all.

Anyway, enough self-analyzing for now. This little blog will be brief tonight. I just want to comment
on how wonderful it is to be surprised by good things, good friends, good times, good timing. Great
stuff.

This evening, after a day of the usual schedules, I expected the evening to hold much the same - things that I thought needed to be done, things on the lists I spoke of last week. But instead I was surprised by good friends and the rest of the evening gloriously went to heck in the proverbial
handbasket. How wonderful it was. Re-connecting, laughter, wine under the moonlight - while we
bundled in blankets. The love of old friendship.

I said I would be brief tonight. So suffice to say, thank you, my friends for the unexpected and
totally welcome visit. I loved every minute and loved the joy of the unexpected!

The lesson to be learned? You never know what's around the next corner. Look for it. Wait for it.
Enjoy it. Surprise!!!!!

"Lists, Lists, Lists"

Do you make lists? Without hearing you answer, I can almost be sure that you're nodding your
head. Everybody makes some kind of list.....at least I think they do. Shopping lists, for sure. If
I go to the grocery store without a shopping list, I will walk the entire store three times and still not
get everything I need. However, with my trusty list in hand, I can make fairly short work of the
project (assuming I don't run into people I know in the aisles with whom I will spend time talking). And just having the list is not enough. I have to cross off the items as I put them in the cart. If I think
of something while I'm shopping that I forgot to put on the list - I'll actually add it to the list, right then and there, so that I can scratch it off. Yep. And if while out shopping, I need to make a few stops,
I'll categorize the list so that I know what will be purchased at the grocery store, what will come
from the pharmacy, then the post office, on and on.

I'm already making progress on my Christmas shopping list. Remember, I told you I love to
Christmas shop! I carry a small book, complete with names and ideas of what I hope to find for
each individual. Checkmarks indicate success, so I know I'm through shopping for that person. It works for me! And hanging on my fridge right now is the list of youngsters near and dear to
my heart for whom I need to make special treat bags for Halloween. Can't forget that.

I was looking through my desk today and found a notebook from last year's Christmas home
party - complete with lists of what I'd served and who I had invited. Well, I certainly saved that
for a reason. I'll keep it a while longer. It will help me with this year's planning. You're
with me here, right? And I don't know about you, but I still have a hard copy Christmas card
list. How can anyone not be most productive with hard copy lists - something to hold? I just don't
understand people who have things like this on the computer or ON THEIR PHONE!!!

I remember when my son was little and then a teenager and even when he was in college, his
lists of wishes for his birthday or Christmas were works of art. He certainly surpasses my "list
abilities". He would write the desired items and alongside the list, he would draw - with various
colored pencils - pictures of the items.....really extravagant pictures! Or sometimes he would cut
out a picture from a catalog to coordinate with the written list. I have kept a few of those lists. I still marvel at them. He's much more creative than I am - in many ways!!

Certainly I make mental lists just about every day - to include what I need to get done, where I
need to go, etc. And those mental lists are also valuable, but not as effective, at least for me.
I'm much more productive if I actually write it all down.

So, I've established that I'm a list maker. And I've speculated that I think you probably are too -
at least to some extent. Now, let's talk just a minute about the next step. If I have a "to do" list
of chores, I absolutely have to scratch off each chore as it's done. And again, if I dig into some-
thing I didn't actually have on my "to do" list, I'll add it too - just so that I can scratch it off.
I did this every day during my years in the work force and I do it at home. At work it was the
best way to make sure I had achieved my goals for the day and met whatever deadlines were
sitting there staring at me. It helped me face the next day with a little less dread, knowing exactly
what was done and what awaited me in the a.m.

Now that I'm retired, I find the same rule pretty much applies. Don't get me wrong, I can
waste time with the best of them. I can manage to while away a day when I really want to. But
when things need doing, there will be a list. And I will scratch off the duties, one by one, till
I'm done. Hopefully. I think it's because I need to feel the sense of accomplishment that comes
from looking at that list and seeing it all completed. I did have on my list for today - WRITE
TODAY'S BLOG. As you can see, it's taken me all day to get to it. But here I am. I'm writing.
I'm about to close it out and publish it. And then I'll check it off my list. Feels good. And I've
caused you to waste at least five minutes reading about my lists.

Have a great tomorrow and as always, thanks for reading.

"It Truly Does Take A Village"

I was born in this small town and I've lived here all of my life - except for about a minute when I was
a very young woman. Some may say that narrows a life. In fact - I remember one time when someone
actually did tell me that, suggesting that I wouldn't have an opinion on "things" because I'd "never
BEEN anywhere". Well, it's not that I've never been anywhere, I've just always LIVED here,  laid my
weary head here - as it were. I love going places, but I've always called Chester home. If you have
too, then you may understand where I'm going with this. Or maybe not.

As I look back on my life, it is so obvious to me that I was planted here for a reason. I was going
to need a village. My family was going to need a village. And so, I was planted where a village
would be there for us. And it has been. It certainly has been. A "village" can manifest in a variety
of ways, of course. It can be a neighborhood, a group of friends, a church family - or an entire
community. However it appears and helps is not important. It's just important that the support, love
and encouragement are there.

Now, I'm not going to suggest that the village aspect doesn't present itself in larger communities.
Cities can be just as supportive as small towns. Let's look for a moment at the tragic situations
in St. Louis recently, with Officers Flamion and Snyder. The entire city of St. Louis and its
counties have joined forces to support the families and the Back Stoppers organization. What
heartwarming stories we've read and seen on the news about the many projects the people of St.
Louis have sponsored in order to be supportive and caring. It renews one's faith in mankind, doesn't it?

In a small town like Chester we've seen this type of support all of our lives. Some may wench and
complain about our small town and its shortcomings. But one cannot deny the heart of the people who reside here.

Growing up was a tad difficult for me and my family. I only say so, not to whine or complain, but
to make my point. I was blessed with a closely knit neighborhood and church family. Almost as
early as I can remember there were wonderful women in my life who "saw to things", made
sure that I had things I really needed. One woman was the late and wonderful Bernice Woolcott, who
lived just a couple of houses from me and also attended our church. She taught me to cook and to bake. She taught me to sew, though I don't hold my failure at that against her. :) She taught me
things about life that I can't begin to explain. She and her wonderful husband, John, took us to school every day. She would tell us little things - like when it was time to get out the winter coats for us and the kids. (We were smart enough to know, but we were kids and probably didn't always show a lot of responsibility.) She held me accountable in many ways - without ever shaking her finger at me or raising her voice. She loved us. That simple.

And always present in my life, has been Mary Limbaugh - wonderful, accepting, loving Mary
Limbaugh. I suppose I first met Mary when I was less than a toddler, attending the Methodist
Church in Chester. Mary is fond of saying, "Honey, I've loved you since you were in diapers."
And she has. There was never a time in my life that I have not been able to talk with Mary about
ANYTHING. She usually knew and understood what I was going through before I discussed it
with her. Mary's presence in my life has been a gift like no other. She has taught me about God's
love, just by being who she is. She has taught me about forgiveness and generosity, about
substance and the importance of laughter. Most of life's major and important life lessons have
come from her. Her door has always been open to me. And her heart, that wonderful heart, has
always been big enough to include me in it.

Eileen Gordon was my cousin and so she was always in my family circle. As a very young adult,
she took me under her wing and introduced me to community service and involvement. Also, for many years, I was blessed to have the opportunity to actually work with her at the Randolph County Herald Tribune. She was a talented and insightful writer. I too loved to write and she encouraged me to do so. Eileen and I were very close friends, as well as cousins, and I hold her impact on my life
as priceless.

I would be remiss not to mention another who mothered me and cared for me and that would be
Esther (Nance) Johnson. Esther's daughter and I were good friends during our teen years. Esther
and I had many mother/daughter talks and she made every effort to teach me the things she felt
I needed to know. She helped me more than she knows and I am so grateful. I remember my senior year in high school that Esther designed and made my prom dress so that I could attend the
CHS Spring Dance. No, Esther, I have not forgotten! Thank you so much for including me and
loving me!

Oh, my goodness, there have certainly been others - others who stepped up at the right moments
and took charge or guided me in a right direction.....or who forgave me when I took the wrong
direction. Others perhaps who protected me from who knows what! You know, being that "village"
 to others is not a concept that has gone out of style. It is as needed today as it ever was! It is still the
best way to show our love for others. It is still the best way to lift others up. It is still the best way
to be our best selves. And the need is all around us. I write this today, partially to acknowledge
special people I have loved and who have loved me. But I also write it as a reminder to myself to
"be the village". And I want to remind you to "be the village". At any given moment - any one of
us may be the only hand that is offered in a critical situation. Money is not always the answer.
Most often it's the hand or the heart that is offered in love. Thanks for reading, my friends.
I'm out the door and to the porch.

J.O.Y.

I've done a lot of talking on here about things I like and enjoy. And last week I talked
about some of my pet peeves. So now you know some of the things I don't like. I don't want to
"beat a horse to death", but I hope you'll bear with me as I ponder a little about some of the things
that also bring me joy, since I think there's often a big difference between things we like and things
that actually bring us joy. There are far too many things about our lives and our world that cause us
to lose our joy or to overlook it, misplace it, forget about it or even forget that we're missing it. Am
I hitting a chord? I hope so.

As I get older (yikes, there I go again with that thought), I'm more aware of what brings me joy. When I was young(er) I didn't give it a lot of conscious thought. I know I experienced joy, but didn't often dwell on it. I suppose I was busier, but I'm more inclined to think that it was because I just
hadn't developed the insight I needed to cherish it. Now, as I look back on my life, I'm over-
whelmed with the wonderful things that brought me joy then. When the kids were little and the entire family was together.  Joy. The night I gave birth to my son was, without a doubt, the most joyful moment of my life and that joy has never lessened. However,  there were the day-to-day joys that came with watching him grow and mature, watching him become a little man, a big boy, an adult. Certainly the big moments, like Christmases, birthdays, graduations and singing engagements are engraved in my heart. But even more so were the smaller moments, the moments of mother and child that shine brighter for me. I could go on and on about the "mamma moments" that still bring me joy to remember, but you'd stop reading, I fear.

At this point in my life there are so many small things that bring me joy every day. You all know
I love my morning coffee and if it's enjoyed on the porch, all the better. I love the feel of the
breezes that blow this time of year, whether early morning, midday or evening. That's joy. And I
love music, most music. Whether I'm listening in the house, in the car - wherever.......listening to
and singing along - that brings me joy. I'm not sure how much joy it brings to others who are
nearby, however. Joy.

 It goes without saying, but I would be remiss to omit it......my wiener dog Albert and his siblings - bring me more joy than I ever thought possible for a tail baby to do. Total Joy.

My loved ones, family and friends. Absolute joy. I have lost many, many dear ones through the
years. I know the loss, the absence, the void. So - my memories of these dear ones bring me much
joy. But being with and hearing from my friends is priceless joy. And family? Well, as families are,
some stay closer than others, but all are loved, prayed for and wished joy.

It is joyful for me to smell freshly cut grass and to smell and crunch through crisp fallen leaves.
I find enormous joy in just putting up my (over the top) Autumn decorations and also my (more than
over the top) Christmas decorations! Bob can tell you that I fondle each item as though it's a
precious momento. It's a joy.

I certainly cannot leave out the smells that we all will be enjoying in the coming months. Isn't it a
joy to walk into the house and smell something baking, whether it's cookies or breads or the
Thanksgiving turkey? These sensory impressions remind us of our history of our families. To me,
they bring joy. I look forward to them. I hope you do.

Another thing that you may or may not relate to is the joy of Christmas shopping. Yep, I love it.
Now, I do prefer to do it in November or December and not summer! I'm aware that for some, this
will never be a joy and that's ok. But I love it. I can't hear those carols blasted overhead on the P.A. often enough and I love the crowds that bustle and shove. Joy. I may have lost some of you on this
paragraph.

A good movie, shared alone or with someone we love. A favorite book, read over and over. A pair
of comfortable shoes that you hope will never wear out. The feel of fresh sheets or a warm quilt.
A hot bath on a cold night. The sight of fresh snow falling outside the window - or even better,
walking through it when the ground is still pristine and untouched, everything quiet.

If you're an antique lover or collector, finding that long-sought item. Looking through old family picture albums. Making home made soup before the family comes home for the evening. Joy.

Have I touched that chord or have I "beaten the horse to death"? I hope it's the former. But just in case, I'll bring it to a joyful close. I'm no expert on joy. I certainly don't own it. It's free and it's available to us all, as you all know. It's just that different things, different experiences speak to each of us differently. Each of us views life through a different window and what we see is ours - to take joy in - if we choose.

Do I still wish for the trip across the world and all that goes with it? Sure! It would be great and I'm
sure it would bring me great joy. But for now, I'm trying to remember to FIND JOY in all the smaller things that already bring me JOY.

And my faith. My day-to-day relationship with God. It brings me joy. More and more as time goes by. Go find some joy this evening - and revel in it!!!

What's Your Pet Peeve?

Who of us doesn't have at least one pet peeve? I mean, come on - you know you do. My guess is we
all have more than one, maybe several. By definition a pet peeve is "something that a particular
person finds especially annoying". Now we're talking', right? Just think about it.

I have a few...........though I'll try not to wench about them ALL here. :) One, in particular, is poor
customer service. I guess since I worked as a Patient Advocate for many years, it's particularly
important to me. Seeing or hearing someone who does not provide good customer service to an
individual, causes me to want to step forward and say, "Hey, wait a minute here! This person
deserves to be treated better than this!" There is definitely something to the old adage that 'the
customer is always right'. We all know that this isn't true, of course. The customer is NOT always
right. But that's not what good customer service is all about. Unless a customer is being abusive
or threatening, then it's just good business (or good manners) for an employee or business owner to go the extra mile for a customer. As consumers that's the kind of treatment that speaks to us and keeps us going back to a particular business.

When I was working in hospital community relations and patient advocacy, the "customer"/patient was often stressed, worried, frightened. Anxiety, particularly in medical situations, runs high - and understandably. Therefore, when patients or their families had complaints or problems, just genuinely
listening to them and being compassionate was key. In most situations, people just want to know
that someone cares about their problems and what they're going through. This philosophy, in my
opinion, applies whether we're talking about patient care or trouble shooting a computer!! I fear that
we are in an era when good customer service is more rare than it once was. Sad.

Another thing that gets to me - and I know this is petty - is when I get a phone message from some-
one and all they say is, "This is ______________. Call me back, will ya'?" Yeah.....I probably
will but I would really rather you'd have given me some idea why/what you were calling about.
Wouldn't it have been helpful to me if you'd said, "This is _______________. Will you call me
back? I need to talk to you about _________________. ? I know. I said it was petty!!

I certainly am guilty from time to time of using popular slang. But doesn't it just drive you wild
when you see people on TV or maybe in person - who use the word "like" ALL THE TIME?!?! I mean, LIKE it just makes me LIKE crazy. It just LIKE makes me want to LIKE scream!

And most of us are pretty much physically attached to our cell phones these days. I have no
problem with that fact. What I cannot abide is the person in a restaurant or at a checkout counter who
carries on a loud, personal phone conversation to the extent that everyone within a mile radius must
experience the conversation. Use some basic good manners, will ya'? The rest of us don't care to
listen!!!

Ok, I guess I've saved the best for last. So here goes. The following comments are not meant to
offend anyone or even to be judgmental. Just part of who I am. Throughout school my favorite
subject(s) were always Grammar/Language Arts/Literature. That in no way makes me an expert
in the field of grammar. I can make errors, just like anyone else. For some reason, though, the
rules of the game always stuck with me. The tenses, prepositions, adverbs, adjectives, verbs and
helping verbs, subject and predicate, double negatives, etc., etc., etc. When talking with someone, the words swirl in my head like I'm diagramming a sentence! I just can't help it. When I hear the language being butchered, I get chills. I may love the person dearly, but I still get chills. However, I will NEVER correct someone's grammar. I'll just suffer in silence. :) And here's the reason, I may be fairly good at grammar, but to balance the issue, I'm sure I have lots of shortcomings or quirks that cause me to fall into the pet peeve category of someone else!

OK, that's it. I'm finished. I'll stop. It just feels good to vent a little. I guess there's a lesson to be
learned here. It's the little things in life that create differences. In the big things of life, we are as one. And the pet peeves, for the most part, are the little things.

See you on the porch! And wear a sweater!!

My Extended Methodist Family

I've been a member of the First United Methodist Church at the corner of State and Servant Streets
in Chester since 1962, though I'm told I began attending there at the tender age of six months. Included in a long list of things for which I am grateful in this life, I am grateful for my membership there and for the church family that helped in the raising of me.

Taken from Chester's history book.......the First Methodist Church in Chester dates from 1840 when D.H. Hatlon, a Methodist circuit rider, collected six communicants in Chester and organized the church. A German Methodist Church was organized in 1848 and together the two congregations
erected a brick church in the year 1850 at 851 State Street. The Methodist Episcopal Church (English speaking) met upstairs and the German Methodists met downstairs. In 1872 the Methodist Episcopals
moved to the building presently being used by the First Christian Church, purchasing it from the
United Presbyterian Church. The Methodists stayed in that location until 1919 when they sold it back
to the United Presbyterians. The Methodists then moved to the location at the corner of State and
Servant where they now reside. The building was built between 1919 and 1920 at a cost of $25,000.
The cornerstone of the building was placed on Sunday, July 11, 1920 at 2:30 p.m. by Chester's mayor and by church member Dr. W.R. McKenzie. Rev Josiah G. Harmon was the pastor. The church continued its growth until there was a need for an educational building to be added in 1961, under the leadership of Pastor R. Paul Sims. This building addition cost the congregation a total of $83,000.

I have memories of the women of the church having weekly community mid-day lunches in the church's basement to assist in raising the money for the addition. They charged 25 cents for each lunch! I'm sure most church members of most churches feel that their women are the best cooks in the world. But I have a step up on the others, because I know that mine are. :) And you are always invited to one of our potlucks, just to help me prove it to you!!!

I have so many wonderful memories of growing up in my church. Sunday School was
uppermost in importance, with such memorable teachers as Manley Limbaugh, Ray Rednour, Ruby
Cheek, Mae Ferrell, Harry and Gertrude Jackson, Bernice Woolcott, Jessie Huffstutler and on and on. They taught me the Bible stories, the Sunday School songs. Through them I learned to know Scriptures and the lessons that have brought me back, time and time again, to a kneeling position - closer to where I need to be. Even after all of these years, those early lessons anchor me. I don't remember this first hand, of course, but my dear, faithful friend Mary Limbaugh has always said, "I've loved you since you were in diapers!" And she has, since she was my nursery teacher in Sunday School. In my case - as in many people's experiences, it has taken a village. I am so thankful for that village.

United Methodist history, in general, tells us that early Methodists were well known for their love
of singing. Throughout my memory we have certainly done a lot of that. I'm sure you have also done so in your own churches. For me, music is a huge part of any worship service. We love the old
standard hymns and tend to belt them out - even though our little congregation is not as large as it
once was.

In addition to a lifelong membership and attendance in my own church, living in a small town has afforded me the opportunity to develop relationships with other local churches. Living in a
closely knit town, we typically attend services and events at other churches and learn about their people, their orders of service, their customs and traditions. How valuable this has been to me. It has caused me to have great respect and love for the other congregations, as well as for my own.

Those who have had the advantage of being raised in a church know the wonderful memories of
experiencing the weddings, the baptisms, funerals, Christmas programs, etc., the events we tend to remember all of our lives. I know that wonderful old building at the corner of State and Servant in Chester is only a building and not my actual church family. Theoretically I know it. But emotionally I do not. Emotionally - when I walk through the doors of my church - I am in the presence of all of those decades of wonderful Christians who I knew and those I didn't know......those people who worked so hard, studied, sang, prayed, struggled, rejoiced and lived. I know that I am a part of them and they are a part of me. Invaluable. Priceless. Memorable. Precious.

I hope I haven't offended anyone as I've raved about my church and church family. My hope for you
is that you have such a relationship with yours. Life is and always will be a struggle, right? How well
we all know that. But when we have a wonderful, loving extended family to prop us up......well, life
is just better.

Have you been outside this evening? It's wonderful out there. And the Cardinals are losing again anyway. So Albert and I are going out for a while, just to close out the day. Enjoy your evening and as always, thanks for reading.

The Old Weinrich House

You know, a new house, in some ways, is like a new car. It's shiny and bright and even has a new house smell. New wood, new paint......it's just got that wonderful NEW smell! I am, not infrequently, in the new or newish homes of friends and I certainly admire the beauty of it all. For a woman, you absolutely can't deny the attraction of a brand new, fully equipped and modern kitchen. All the amenities, cabinet space, counter space/island.....you know what I'm talking about.  Just like the pictures in a magazine, right?

But though I can genuinely admire such an abode, for me it's just not home unless it's old. That's putting it pretty bluntly, but it's the truth. I am unabashedly drawn to antiquity - to the look and feel of  vintage. We're in the process of trying to nail down the exact age of our home. We believe it was built between 1860 to 65, perhaps a little later. We're working on it.

My family, Jamey's dad and I, bought this old tomb in 1976 from two sisters, also our friends, whose grandfather, Christian Weinrich, built the home. They told us that Mr. Weinrich had come from Germany in 1859 at the age of 15 and that, at the age of 16, he went to fight for the north in our country's War Between The States. Weinrich's Company played an important part in the Battle of the Wilderness. He was wounded at Perrysville, Kentucky and returned home to recuperate, as his Company had been dissolved. Later the Company was recalled and they accompanied General Sherman on his famous March To The Sea. He was honorably discharged. Sometime during these years, we are told, he purchased this ground and incrementally built the house. That old German certainly built it to last. It's not fancy, far from it. But it's sturdy and it's stood the test of time thus far.

Mr. Weinrich and his wife, Marie, had nine children in this home, some who lived to adulthood and some who did not. When the last of their children passed away, the home was inherited by their granddaughters, the sisters I mentioned earlier. For many years they rented out the house to more people than I can count or will ever know. But in 1976 when it went on the market, we bought it and became only the second family to ever own it. I raised my son here and it holds great emotional value to me.

Bob and I have worked very hard on the house through these past few years. Will we ever feel that we're finished? I think not. It's a continuous journey but one that we love. Frustration often accompanies us on this "journey" but it doesn't derail us. A few years ago while preparing to redo a bedroom on the second floor, Bob was removing old plaster from the walls. He found that several of the Weinrich children had written their names in pencil on the plastered walls. Certainly we felt an obligation to preserve these areas, which we did. It just seemed like the only respectful thing to do.

Most of the time I think of this house as their house, Christian's and Marie's. We just live in it and try to maintain it. It's always uppermost in our minds that we would never want to do anything to it that they would not find pleasing. That may sound odd to someone who doesn't share our love of the old, but it's just how we feel.

Speaking of kitchens a little earlier -- I doubt that there's a woman alive who would want my kitchen. Once in a blue moon I even wonder if I do!! It's certainly not convenient or modernized. It's pretty primitive. But then I remind myself that it IS what I want. I'm willing to live with the inconvenience in order to maintain the character. Bob and I are a collective "lost cause" when it comes to this kind of thing!

Right now we're in the process of screening in one of our porches so that we can enjoy it more throughout the year without being bothered by mosquitos! You know that this idea certainly speaks to me, as it will allow me more time on the porch!

In a subsequent column, I'll talk more about Christian Weinrich, who was a prominent businessman in Chester.

And if I haven't said so of late, thanks for reading. It brings me great joy.

"Fall Is In The Air Or It Soon Will Be"

She's baaaack! If you've missed reading On The Porch With Gwendy, thank you. If you haven't noticed I've been "off the grid" for two weeks, no problem there either. For a variety of reasons, I just needed a little time off.
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Today I'm moved to talk about Fall - Autumn - my favorite time of the year. So guys - some of you may want to bail on this one. It's probably going to go a little "girlish" today. We'll see.
The calendar tells us that Autumn actually begins on Thursday of this week. Though the temps right now sort of deny that fact, I'm still claiming the date, claiming the season as UPON US. The season is brief enough; I have to be ready for it and enjoy each and every day of it.

Very soon the leaves on the trees will begin to change to the glorious reds, golds and browns that we all love. Then they'll start spiraling downward to the ground, piling up, and many will no longer be in love with their splendor. Many people feel such a need to rake them into orderly piles, bag them and make them go away. Personally, I love crunching through them as I walk. I even love the musty smell they produce. To me, everything about the transformation is beautiful and magical. Maybe part of that fascination is that it means summer is finally behind us. Boo! Hiss! Summer is with us so long, it seems, and we only get Fall for a little while.

Another aspect of Fall is the glorious clear sunlight. It just changes and is almost mottled as it passes through the trees. And that brings me to a poem that I have loved for years and had to search for in order to quote it correctly. It's titled "October's Bright Blue Weather" by Helen Hunt Jackson......"O suns and skies and clouds of June and flowers of June together, Ye cannot rival for one hour October's  bright blue weather. When comrades seek sweet country haunts, by twos and twos together, And count like misers, hour by hour, October's bright blue weather. O suns and skies and flowers of June, count all your boasts together, Love loveth best of all the year...October's bright blue weather." That just says it for me! How about you?

I have a very dear friend who also loves Fall. Each year during this time we can't wait to get out our Fall decorations. One of us will be first to get it done and will text the other to say, "My house is orange!" She won this year and got it done first, which was fine because it inspired me to get mine done also. Thanks, my dear Kasi!

My family and close friends know that when I say decorate, I'm not saying it lightly. Fall is in every corner of the main floor of this old tomb and fortunately Bob and I both love it that way. It's no small order to get all the storage tubs carried in (thanks Bob) and I then begin the process of arranging, playing as though everything is a cherished toy I haven't seen in a year. I try this here, that there. No, not there. I rearrange. Can't have it just the way it was last year. So it's all out and arranged and I'm going to enjoy it every day!

So now it's time to get the outside decorated, right? Bob is making plans to gather the cornstalks that will be placed on the porches. Special thanks to our good friends in the country who have agreed to make those available again this year. And then I go on the hunt for the best possible pumpkins and gourds......lots of them. Too many of them. I can't help it. It's an addiction. And I'm not likely to come home with the normal round orange pumpkins. I love the oranges AND the greens, whites, grays, etc. I also love the ones with warts, lots of warts. Most of my pumpkins and gourds will be sporting big warts all over them. My fave place to shop for pumpkins and gourds is Pumpkin Blossom Hill between Red Bud and Baldwin. A great place to go to get in the mood for Autumn. Great selection, prices and people. Expect to open the trunk of the car. You're going to need plenty of room to transport.

But you know, a person doesn't have to pull out all the stops, like me, to enjoy the glory of this coming season. All it takes is a single pot of colorful mums, a pumpkin or TWO, anything that makes us stop and appreciate the splendor and beauty that God has bestowed. Let's just make sure that it doesn't get past us before we've enjoyed it. When the leaves are changing, take a drive through the country and stop to ooooh and ahhhhhhh. For those who enjoy a glass or two of wine, remember that most wineries are IN THE COUNTRY!!!!! Gather friends on the patio. Slow it down a bit if at all possible. We need the break because you all know what's coming next! The Autumn tubs will be re-packed and out will come the trees, the glitz and greenery! Somebody stop me! I'm getting ahead of myself!
When you see the adornments on the porches, don't hesitate to stop and join me for a drink, a cup of coffee and some laid back conversation, alfresco! It will be good to take it all in with friends. It's all calling my name - loudly!!!!!

"Full Moon At High Noon"

Have you ever been embarrassed? Well, sure you have. Lots of things can happen on any given day that might cause us to be a little embarrassed. We get through it. Perhaps we blush a little or just laugh it off. It's over. It doesn't stick with us to ruin our day - on most occasions. Sometimes a person who clearly knows us, starts talking to us and we don't have a clue who they are. That's embarrassing, but with a little maneuvering and pretending, it's manageable, right? Or maybe we forget a friend or family member's birthday. We've all done that. Not a horrible embarrassment.

 I was reading an article recently about various ways in which people had embarrassed themselves publicly. Yikes. Pretty horrifying. The article talked about a bride who stepped on the train of her own wedding gown and ripped off the bottom of her dress - in public! Another story was about people at a wedding reception who had a little too much to drink and while dancing, actually crashed into the cake table. Ooooh, show me the way to go home - and now! That would be an embarrassment not soon forgotten. I'm assuming that if we got into things that people have done when they've had too much to drink, this column could go on much longer than it should!

We've all known of situations when a public speaker may "burp" or begin hiccuping at a podium - or worse, when someone publicly develops flatulence. That's hard to hide! How many of you have actually seen someone, male or female, walk out of a public restroom with tissue trailing from the sole of their shoe? Whether you know that person or not, the only humane thing to do is tell them....and fast! Something we have all done at least once is fall down in public. Why is it that our first response when we see this happen is to laugh! It's always our SECOND response to ask if the person is all right.

Well, by request, I'm going to share with you a story about "someone I know" who - years ago -
embarrassed herself in public and the story spread like wildfire through our little hamlet of Chester.
Yeah, it was me. No need to pretend it wasn't. It was a Sunday. We had just arrived home a little late from church and my son had an event he had to go to early that afternoon. He was hungry and it was apparent that with the time crunch, there would not be time to fix him lunch. He wanted chicken. Ok, I completed a couple of necessary perfunctory duties, before dashing out the door and to the car. Hardee's was my destination, as at that time, they served fried chicken. Now remember, time was key. I parked in the parking lot, dashed from the car into the restaurant only to stand in line before I could order. It appeared I wasn't the only person with this idea. I kept looking at my watch. Gotta hurry! Gotta hurry! It was almost Noon. Finally I reached the front of the line and others were in line behind me. I ordered his chicken dinner and waited. When it arrived, having already paid, I turned around and found that all of the people behind me were staring at me - oddly - and THEY looked a little embarrassed. Not to be deterred, however, I smiled and dashed to the condiment counter to gather what was needed. It was at that moment that reality set in. For the first time, I felt a draft, a definite draft in the posterior regions. I reached around and realized that my skirt was tucked into my panty hose, completely from left to right. Wow. I quickly rectified the situation and turned on my heel. I looked at the crowd of over a dozen sheepish people - and said something like, "It's pretty bad when your (bleep) is showing in your hometown and nobody has the decency to tell you!" I lifted my head, stuck out my chin and walked out as if they were the ones who should have been embarrassed! In reality I was so embarrassed I could have cried. But I didn't want THOSE PEOPLE to know it!
When I got home I quickly told my son the story and he said, "I'll never be able to show my face in this town again!" Really??? What about me? It wasn't his (bleep) that was showing! Smile.
Well, by the next morning when I got to work, the story met me immediately, told pretty much to perfection. They got it all right. What could I do? I owned it. And we all laughed. From that time on, that event in my life has been known to those who know me as "Full Moon At High Noon".

I guess, if I gained any wisdom from that event in my life, it would be to not take things too seriously. We have to laugh at ourselves, because its a cinch people are going to laugh at us. One thing is for sure. Sooner or later and in one way or another, we all show our (bleep) and it's usually when people are around to see it. Get over it. Move on. Laugh.

It's a beautiful day. You know where I'll be. Enjoy this weather while you can. It's a gift.

THOSE PRECIOUS THINGS WE KEEP - AND WHY

Oh, the things we keep, the material things that we wouldn't trade for the world. The things we
wouldn't sell for any price. They're not the diamonds and rubies, are they? They're not the exquisite museum pieces! Not the first edition books. Well, maybe they are, but probably not. They're probably the more simple things, small or large, that we keep because they mean something to us - in our hearts, in our memories. Maybe it's that piece of vintage furniture or set of cookbooks, handed down to us by a loved one. A set of fine china, silver, vintage linen or piece of jewelry. Am I right?

But if someone asks us what we'd save first in an emergency, what do we usually say? Yes, our pictures, our old pictures. The ones of our ancestors. The ones of our children when they were babies, growing up. Wedding pictures, etc. The NEW pictures we have on our telephones! We'll probably never touch those or put them in frames or actual albums. They're supposedly floating somewhere on a cloud - of sorts. That's "magic" to me, "magic" that I don't begin to understand, but of which I'm
entirely too dependent.

I remember  m a n y  years ago, summer 1980. The emergency sirens were blaring, warning of a
storm. The wind began to blow ferociously. My first thought was to find Jamey, my most prized possession, who was out riding his new bike. I went to the porch to scream for him and finally he appeared, the wind blowing him backward as quickly as he pedaled forward. A little Wizard of
Oz-ish as I think back! But, long story short, I had him in my clutches. We retreated to the cellar. The storm that day was pretty devastating to Chester. I'm not sure if they ever technically decided if it was a tornado or straight line wind, but it took most of the roof off of the courthouse, downed trees all over town, damaged many, many houses, etc. Power was out immediately - and for a couple of days. In our little corner of town, lightning struck the old Gilster feed store buildings on Stacey Street, across from the old Dairy Queen. It was a mighty fire and from our vantage point farther up the hill, we could see the tall flames licking into the storm darkened sky. In what seemed like no time, the wind was blowing the embers upward and toward us. Men and women, many of whom had raced home from work, were out in their yards, some even on their roofs, with garden hoses, making an effort to save their homes if it became necessary. I had an immediate plan - since I couldn't get on the roof! I grabbed my Grandma Hasemeyer's vintage trunk and started stuffing it with framed pictures and photo albums. I dragged that heavy trunk as close to the front door as I could get it. And thankfully, there it sat for a couple of days until electricity was restored and our lives were calmed. It sat as a stark reminder that we had been faced with a possible disaster. Who knows if I would have been able to drag both it and that boy of mine out of the house if I'd actually had to. But I was ready to try. When pressed, we save what means the most to us.

A few weeks ago some dear friends of mine in Louisiana awoke to a quickly flooding home. They said they grabbed their little girls and very few precious items before they raced out the door to a "do-gooder's" rescue boat that was waiting outside. Days later when they were able to get back to their
water damaged home, it was truly devastating to see what was lost, what was damaged beyond saving, what was gone forever. But they're moving on. Faith and strength, determination and fortitude. They know first hand now, the pain of loss, the joy of what and who were saved.

We know that these things we love are just things, right? Of course we do. For many of us, the most precious THINGS we have and love and protect are only priceless to us, not of monetary value to anyone. I have that earlier-mentioned old camelback trunk that belonged to my Grandma Hasemeyer. She saved the money to buy it from her first job at the old shoe factory. Wouldn't trade it for anything. I have an old wooden box trunk that my Great Grandpa August Hasemeyer brought over from Hanover, Germany in 1888. He was 16 and it held everything he owned in the world. The front of the box, in indelible ink, says, A. Hasemeier, Schester, Illinois. Fewer will understand this one, but I have an old set of deer antlers, brought to me when I was seven or eight years old, by my Grandpa Hasemeyer when he bagged a deer on a hunting trip to Colorado. When he called on the phone and asked what he could bring me, that's what I asked for! I've got 'em. Wouldn't trade 'em for anything! You see where I'm going with this. And I hope that, as you're reading, your mind is traveling through your home, thinking of those THINGS you wouldn't trade for anything either.

But the truth is, and we all know it, we could lose these things and survive. We would never really lose them because the memories of why we have them and of why they mean so much to us, resides in our hearts, in our minds. We have the memories of mom and dad, grandma and grandpa, our kids, our friends. It's because of them that these items are priceless to us. Because those people are and were priceless to us. And that, my friends, is what it's all about. I pray none of us ever has to face
such a loss. But if we do, may that same faith and strength of my friends, be with us all.

It's early morning, a time I don't often see but only hear about. That means the air will be cool for
a while yet. You know where I'm going. The porch calls as does the first of cup of morning coffee. I hope your day is wonderful!

Memories Of Chester's Camptown & Fairgrounds

I spent a little more time today with Dean Lochhead, who may just be my "new best friend"!
That man is a never ending bundle of historical information, combined with great humorous stories,
all about Chester and its people. Let me say up front how very much I appreciate the time he's been
willing to spend with me, helping me to better understand the town I call "home".  He talks. I scratch notes. I ask crazy questions. He laughs at me and he talks some more. More notes. On and on.

Today Dean and I discussed a subject about which I have been curious for a long time. Maybe you have also. Most of you know where Chester's Camptown is, right? For those of you who may not know, Camptown is NOW considered to be the area - approximately from Grace Church on Route 150 east, on east to the edge of town. But have you ever wondered how or why that area became known as Camptown?

According to Dean, in the 1920s and early 1930s, it was not unusual for bands of gypsies to travel the country, moving from area to area. These groups would camp near to towns. They would park their wagons, build their bonfires and rest a few days before moving on. Townspeople in general were very wary of gypsies, as gypsies had a reputation for kidnapping children and for thieving. Now, I in no way wish to cast aspersions on any group of people. I'm just telling you how it apparently was in that time. Chester was no exception to that pervasive attitude. According to Dean, Chester's constabulary at that period in time would not allow the bands of gypsies who would approach Chester to camp inside the city limits. They were told they had to set up their camps in the area east of town - which henceforth came to be known as Camptown. Dean said Camptown at that time was considered to begin approximately where WalMart and McDonald's are now located, continuing on eastward. After informing them of where they were allowed to camp, the gypsies were only allowed to come in to Chester after word went out to the citizenry that gypsies were in the area and that children should be watched or taken indoors for safety purposes. Then the gypsies could only come to town a few at a time to do whatever shopping or bartering they needed to do. Dean said that minimizing the numbers made it easier for merchants to keep an eye out for stealing, but he believes that it still took place. Dean speculated that overwhelmingly the gypsies were of eastern and southern European descent and my research bears out that probability. Now, is it just me - or does this information not blow your mind?

Another area in Chester that has always fascinated me is what I think of as the Fairgrounds Addition. And you may ask, WHERE IS THAT? I remember my dad referring to the area around Lincoln and Washington Blvds. as the Fairgrounds Addition. We've all seen the very attractive stone gate archway
that sits on State Street, just between Lincoln and Washington. Well, that archway is there for a
reason. Behind it and far to the right and to the left of it was Chester's fairground area. Dean grinned when he told me that the horse racing track still exists. I looked at him questioningly. "The race
track," he said, "was where Lincoln, Garfield and Washington Blvds. now are!" Amazing!

According to Dean, there were additional entrances to the fairgrounds behind Carter's Market (now Korando Heating/Cooling); on what is now Lee Street near the Schmerbach home; two more gates nearer where the high school track now is; one on the County Farm Road; two more by what is now Lincoln Blvd.; two more where East State St. now is; and one by where the Bill Sherrell house was later built (now the home of Ila Mae Kloth).

The fairgrounds included a top notch baseball field where the Chester National Baseball Team defended its honor throughout the year. Among those who played for this team were such as notables as Erwin Schueren, who went on to play in the minor leagues; and Roger Wolff who ultimately played several years in the major leagues. Both were pitchers. If a fella wanted a cold beer during a baseball game, he couldn't buy it on fairgrounds property. But he could cross over to the original New Moon where an outside wooden beer stand was roughly constructed. "Cold beer here!!!!!"

Dean told me that a carnival was always brought to Chester for the days of the annual fair. He also remembers that one of the carnival attractions each year was a verrrrry big live bear that local young men would be invited to wrestle in a ring. Dean's Grandma Lochhead ran a boarding house in her home in the 1400 block of State Street. During fair time, she would always tell her boarders that she was glad her sons had more sense than to try to fight a bear! Many years later, Grandma Lochhead's son, Lenny Lochhead, confessed to his mama that he had, in fact, fought the bear. She was horrified!

Dean recalled that as the years went by, those who owned the properties that the fairground was on began to want to sell their properties for development. Early families to build in that area included Mr. and Mrs. Willis Carter, Sr., Mr and Mrs. Jim Crawford, Harry Draves, Powleys, Knapps, Eggemeyers and Smiths. Dean's parents wanted to build a home on East State Street. Mr. Lochhead hired day laborers who dismantled a house in Grasshopper, Illinois (near Pinckneyville), moved it to Chester and reconstructed it on East State.

It is certainly my hope that as I share these bits of historical information, you - my readers - are able to see in your minds the pictures I'm attempting to "paint". I fear I am limited by my own imagination. I am, however, fascinated by it all and I hope you are finding it interesting too. I welcome your comments and/or suggestions.

 I'm not even thinking of the porch today. The heat and humidity have driven me inside. But, as always, I have hopes for tomorrow. And how appropriate, I suppose. Here on these pages we see a bit of what yesterday was like in our fair city. And now, we all have high hopes for tomorrow. May your
tomorrow be fair and pleasant.

A Short Trip To McGuireville

I hopped in the car recently and headed north on Illinois Route 3 to a place called McGuireville. Have any of you ever been there? Of course you have, though some of you may not realize it. I certainly didn't have to fill my tank or pack a bag to get there.  If you've headed north through Chester, past the Evergreen Cemetery, you are already in what some still call McGuireville. In my early years I always
knew where McGuireville was, but I'm learning that there are now fewer and fewer people in Chester who do.

I spent part of my afternoon with Dean Lochhead as he kept watch over Lochhead Brothers Garage in McGuireville, as his well known son, Mike Lochhead was busy working on cars and answering service calls. Dean and I whiled away the afternoon talking about McGuireville history. Actually, for the most part, Dean talked and I just listened - occasionally asking a question or two. For those of you who don't already know it, Dean is a treasure trove of historical information about all parts of our community.  I was blown away by some of the information he gave me.

Apparently McGuireville begins as we've passed Evergreen Cemetery, approximately at the turn off to Allendale Street. Beyond that point - you are officially in McGuireville. Named for one of its early entrepreneurial citizens, Jim McGuire, the area pretty much stood alone, even with its own water system, and was not incorporated into Chester's city limits until just after the end of World War II. Dean says that the citizens of McGuireville were approached about becoming part of Chester and it was decided that they would, with a couple of stipulations. Chester agreed to enlarge the current water line and purchase the water district from McGuireville. A done deal.

Jim Lochhead, the late father of Don, Dean and Dale Lochhead, first opened a gas and service
station in Chester in 1929, on State Street where the Salty Dog now sits. Around 1935 or '36 he moved his business to a location in McGuireville where he managed a station that was owned by Jim McGuire. This business sat between a feed store (building still there) and what was then The Gables, a bar, restaurant and dance hall, also owned by Jim McGuire. In the early 1940s The Gables was, for a short time, Chester's American Legion Post. Later it became the El Capri Steakhouse and bar.

Around 1939, Jim Lochhead purchased the property down the road where the family business now sits. He approached three local men, Elmer Kipp, Ed Driska and Charlie Caron, who along with Lochhead, drew up plans for his station and small garage. Mr. Lochhead told the men he wanted to open in 30 days, so they set to work and got the job done.

During those early days, Dean said there were several businesses in McGuireville, including Mrs. Allen's grocery and small attached motel, which sat next to Wide's Service Station and Diner. He remembers going to Mrs. Allen's store for ice cream and candy, as his family lived just up the road. Later on, Mrs. Allen's was turned into The Bal Tabarin and motel, owned by Art and Marty Maes. Dean recalled that a very well know sign that sat atop the Bal read, "As The Crow Flies, 60 Miles To
Cape Girardeau Bridge". What a memory!!

Dean had a lot of stories about incidents involving McGuireville and "residents" of Menard Penitentiary, considering the proximity through the woods from the penitentiary to McGuireville.
He said that during World War II, the warden's lake area was absolutely off limits to anyone without special permission to use it. But he said that didn't stop him or his buddy, Ernie Schuchert. They would sneak in to the woods to the lake property where they would fish - not usually with much luck.
One such day a very LARGE man on a horse approached without them noticing - until he spoke. "Doin' any good, boys?" he asked. It turns out that this man was in fact an inmate, entrusted to the care of the warden's cottage and lake area. He told them to wait while he went to the other side of the lake and retrieved a healthy string of caught fish and brought it to them. He told them that any time they fished there and had no luck, there would be a string of fish there for them and to feel free to take
it home to their families. Dean said, "Meat was hard to come by during World War II and we had to buy it with ration stamps. Our moms were glad to get that fish!"

Dean also shared stories about a few times when inmates either escaped or left the prison farm and
came to McGuireville. One time an inmate got into Dean's family's house while his mom and the boys were home, but he left as quickly as he'd entered. Another time, two prisoners got into a
neighborhood home and tied up the residents, a man and his wife, threatening at first to kill them! After changing their minds about the murder, they then stole the family car and headed north on Route 3 and were caught the next day. Certainly the most humorous story was about an inmate, a trustee who was the caretaker at the warden's cottage. Dean said that a couple of nights a week the inmate would change into street clothes at the cottage, walk through the woods and do business at the Bal. He'd drink a beer, buy a fifth of whiskey which he put into his back pocket and head back across the road in to the woods. When he arrived back at the warden's cottage, he would change back into his prison issue clothing and no one was the wiser.......until one night Jim Lochhead figured this had gone on long enough and he placed a call to the warden. When the inmate returned to the cottage that evening, he was met by prison officials who quickly put a stop to that little plan.

When Dean was in the 8th grade, he decided he wanted a job. With the help of his father, he contacted three St. Louis newspapers, the Globe Democrat, Post Dispatch and The Star. Seven days a week, a Gulf Transport bus would deliver newspapers to the Lochhead station, where Dean would
prepare them and deliver them to McGuireville residents and businesses. He kept these paper routes for the next three or four years - in all kinds of weather. And that was the beginning of Dean Lochhead's excellent work record!

Now - I want to apologize in advance - just in case I may have misquoted any of Dean's great stories. I've certainly tried not to. In the next couple of weeks I'm planning to talk about some other areas of
Chester that often went by names you may not recognize. Check in and see for yourself.

Have you been outside today? Well, I have and it's pretty inviting. I'm heading back out with a cup of
coffee. If you see me on the porch, don't hesitate to stop by!

Uptown Chester Culture

A couple of weeks ago I wrote about the many taverns that once existed in Chester. That kind of got me thinking about some of the earlier history around town. Again, let me say, I'm not the best historian for Chester, but I like learning as much as possible about how it "once was" up and down our city streets.....even perhaps before the streets were paved. I've often said to my husband, "I'd like
to have the ability to see it the way it was for one day." Short of that, I have to use my imagination.

I spoke in my earlier column of Wittenbrink's Tavern which sat where our gazebo park now sits. Let's take it back a bit. Early history tells us that for many years prior to 1937 the Wiebusch Saloon stood there at 995 State Street. It was a two story building. In the early days of the Wiebusch Saloon, there was an adjoining home on the west side, toward the back of the property. This allowed for a lovely, large front yard. In 1937 Oscar Wittenbrink purchased the tavern from Louis Boettcher. Mr. Wittenbrink remodeled the second story of the tavern with a large apartment in the front for his family and others toward the rear for rentals. He then removed the house and in that space, he built a store building that later became the Ben Franklin Store. It was first operated under the management of M.J. Boettcher who only had it a short while. During the 1950s the Ben Franklin Store was owned and operated by Tony Lassiter. I so clearly remember that store and all the treasures it had to offer. I remember being fascinated by the tiny little red children's chairs that sat here and there in the aisles of the store. And, unfortunately for my mother, I used to love buying her the little $1.00 bottles of Evening In Paris cologne. She always said thank you, but I'm sure she didn't appreciate the scent. Later, as a Ben Franklin Store, the business was owned by the McDonald family. Ultimately it housed Hall's Discount Store and finally Turkey Two Crafts and Gifts.

Oscar Wittenbrink operated Wittenbrink's Tavern for many years. After his death, H.A. (Howard)
Boxdorfer, Oscar's son-in-law, took over management for a while, before he began subletting the
business. Milton Wittenborn operated the business for a while and later it became R. & R. Tavern. The tavern was finally called Wilson's 3-Way Stop. There was a fire in the building in 1987 and it was completely torn down in 1990. The city established the gazebo park at the location in 1992.

Next door to the gazebo park is the building now housing Spinach Can Collectibles & Museum. During the early 1900s the Chester Opera House was located on the second floor of the building. There was a double stairway entrance to the theatre which was in the back of the building. The opera house was one of the popular centers of cultural entertainment and pleasure for the people of Chester and the surrounding area. There were extravaganzas by local drama clubs, stock companies of  high repute, many of them coming to Chester for a week's stand. There were concerts by one of the three Schuchert bands, local parties by written invitation only, many home talent programs, dancing for the public and by local dance clubs, a skating rink, silent movies, then the talking pictures. A few years ago I acquired a small paper program from Friday evening, March 15, 1918, for the presentation of "A Little Savage" by the Juniors of Chester High School. Music was by Fritze's Orchestra. Settings for the play were provided by Herman Schroeder Furniture and Undertaking. Hats for the performers were supplied by the Smith Sisters. Among the performers in the presentation were Lilburn Perry, Glenn Douglas, George Heuer, Briggs Howorth, Dorothy Herschbach, Vesta Mudd, Fay Divers and Kathryn Thomas. Are any of these names familiar to my readers?

The interior of the opera house theatre was very elegant with a large stage equipped with a drop curtain, stage scenery and plenty of dressing rooms behind. A piano sat off-stage. Chairs were used
for the audience and the seating capacity was about 350! Two large stoves in the front corners heated the theatre. The stairway came up in the center of the floor with a closed railing around three sides,
while in the back of the hall was a most gracefully curved balcony which extended forward on both
sides.

John F. Schuchert built the elegant opera house in 1875 and was the proprietor and projector operator. His son, John William (Windy Bill) Schuchert, grew up in the business and became owner and operator. He was said to be a jolly man, a good host at all times. He reportedly always had a tale to tell and so became known as Windy Bill. One of his most popular traits was his love for hamburgers. These were usually bought at the Wiebusch Saloon next door to the opera house. Many years later, Elzie Segar would immortalize Windy Bill as the character Wimpy in his Popeye cartoon series. Elzie Segar sometimes operated the projector in the opera house and did a variety of other jobs there, as well. In his spare time, he enjoyed creating cartoons, which lead to his very successful, though short career. At various times the right side of the first floor of the opera house building housed the Sigmund Aszmann Grocery Store, Aszmann Shoe Store, Harris' Midway Restaurant, Schuren's Shoes, Mode O' Day Dress Shop and Forget Me Not Florist. Businesses on the left side of the first floor have included Heitman Drugstore, Gleich's Drugstore, Fleming Electric and the Chic Shoppe.

If you have no knowledge of Chester or have no connection to its history, these little bits of information probably will mean little to you. But if you do have a connection or have an affinity for this small river town, then perhaps these bits and pieces will speak to you. And if that is the case,
imagine, if you will, how it once was, how this little bluff community once looked and lived and breathed, how its people lived their lives. Obviously it fascinates me. I hope it peaks your interest too.
Next week we'll talk about different areas of Chester that you may or may not recognize by the names
that they were called.

The sun is down and there's a breeze in the air. You know where I'll be. Care to join me on the porch?
Coffee and conversation are free.

A PATRIOTIC TRIBUNE ON SEPT. 11

My column today will be a little different than most of the others. This will be more of a news release for an event that is near and dear to my heart, Chester's annual sacred concert, which is held during Chester's Popeye Picnic. This year's sacred concert will be Sunday, September 11 at St. Mary's Catholic Church in Chester. An instrumental prelude will begin at approximately 1:40 p.m., followed by the vocal concert at 2 p.m. As I continue here, I'd like to convince you to attend! It will be an hour well spent, I assure you.

Chester's first sacred concert was held in 1979 in conjunction with Chester's sesquicentennial celebration. It was coordinated by Sue Reiman, who played the wonderful pipe organ at St. Mary's. Vocalists, if my memory serves, included Gordon Bovinet, Richard Janssen and Jane Akers Stallman.
Sue continued to coordinate the concert for several years. When she retired, I took the reins.

This year's 38th annual concert falls on the 15th anniversary of the brutal 9/11 terrorist attacks on the USA. Therefore, most of the concert will feature beloved patriotic music. Following is a listing of vocalists and their chosen selections:

Steve Colonel -   1. America, The Beautiful
                            2. Let Freedom Ring!

Mitchell Colonel - 1. Battle Hymn Of The Republic
                              2. God Bless America

Chester High School Swing Choir, Directed by Steve Colonel
                1. Star Spangled Banner
                2. We Honor You
                3. God Bless The USA

First Baptist Church, Chester, Directed by Linda Schafer
                1. I Love This Land
                2. This Is Our Freedom

Ensemble, St. John Lutheran Church, Chester, Directed by Jane Stallman
 (Don Stallman, Steve Stallman, Shirley McCormick & Jane Stallman)
                1. Come To Jesus
                2. In Christ Alone

Piano Accompanists: Vicky Beers & Jane Stallman


As I mentioned above, the annual sacred concert is always held in conjunction with Popeye's Picnic. Although there is other music on the picnic grounds, this is the only event of its kind during the picnic weekend. Father Gene and the people of St. Mary's Parish generously welcome us each year into their beautiful air-conditioned sanctuary. We stress that people are welcome to attend in their appropriate picnic attire.

And so, having given you all plenty of advance time, I am hoping that you will plan to attend this wonderful event. Spread the word, please, to family and friends. Chester has so many talented people who give of their time and musical gifts to provide this concert. Come. Enjoy. And thank these vocalists and musicians for what WILL BE  a wonderful patriotic concert!

School Starts Very Soon

Its almost time for school to start. I can feel it in the air. All the stores are offering sales on school supplies and clothes. I see that Chester High School had its Freshman Academy this week - an orientation for 'newbys'. The Boys of Fall are already having football practice. It's almost time for school to start, for sure.
I get a little restless this time of year. I think that feeling reverts to the days when my own son was preparing to go back to school at the end of summer. I was excited for him, but sad for me. I loved having him home for the summer and dreaded the day when our summer would end. I remember years ago, when he was about 9, I started working at the Randolph County Herald Tribune in May of that year. It was a tough summer. I hated working while he was out of school. When May came around the next year, I gave my notice at the H.T. because I just didn't want to miss another summer. My boss, good ol' J.T. Akers told me that if I'd write youth baseball news over the summer - from home essentially - that I could come back in the fall. That arrangement worked for a couple of years, until I felt like I could actually bear to be away from home. I'm still so grateful to Joe Akers for that - and for lots of things.

Going waaaay back to my school days, I too remember feeling torn when it was time for school to start. I missed my friends. And I loved getting the new school supplies, notebooks, pencils and pencil bag, all that good stuff. But leaving summer behind was difficult. My sister and I didn't  have a schedule during the summer. Other than going to Chester's swimming pool, our time was pretty much our own. Back then there was no summer ball for girls. We just chilled for three months. Yes, three months. We didn't go back until after Labor Day, remember? Summer, when I was young, seemed endless. So carefree. So magical. Staying outside till late.....sleeping in.....just a feeling that I haven't had since. Can anyone relate?

I attended Chester Grade School where it now sits. I believe Chester's earlier grade school, which sat in downtown Chester, closed a year before I started Kindergarten. My sister, Charmaine, did attend the old school for one or two years. What I remember most about that old building was the large outside fire escape, a tubular thing that one could slide through. It went from the top floor to the ground. I don't think I was ever inside the building and I never tried the fire escape, but for a youngster, it was fascinating to look at!

The current grade school opened in 1954, following what at the time was the passing of a large public bond issue to provide funding for the construction of the school. Anyone from my era who visits Chester Grade School now will see a much changed building. Wonderful improvements and additions have been added and that's a good thing. However, feeling a little sad over what had been, it eased my grief a little to see, during a tour of the facility, that portions of the school still look somewhat the way I remember them.

I had some wonderful teachers in that school. Looking back, almost all of them were single women, having never been married. They had a name for that back then. People called them old maids. I wonder what those wonderful, dedicated, loving women thought of that phrase. Who remembers Mrs. Zeiger from Kindergarten? Or Mildren Plog, Helen Proctor, Hulda Rickenberg, Margie Bryden, Blanche Garver, Leta Fricke, Mary Gladys Ervin, Marie Bollinger? There were many others. Junior High brought us Clara Taggart, Bernice Woolcott, Waldo McDonald and Warren Buescher. I know one thing. Teachers in that era certainly didn't look like teachers look today. Teachers today look younger because, for the most part, they are younger! But one thing they all have in common is the dedication. Teachers today are still dedicated to educating children. With an occasional exception, in my opinion that has not changed.
Just recently someone shared with me a lot of old composite class pictures of the years I was in school. These pictures included 1955 through 1962. I hadn't seen them in years and it brought back so many wonderful memories of schoolmates and teachers. These pictures had belonged to a former classmate of mine, now deceased. His widow wanted me to try to identify the kids in the pictures. Wow. I did a better job than I thought I would, but could not identify them all. A couple of the girls' pictures haunted me. I knew their faces but could not think of their names. Then one day, I picked up the pictures and their names just came to me! Dixie Laramore and Doris Davenport, where are you today and do you ever think of those years you lived in Chester and attended Chester Grade School? I hope so. I remember you.

Chester is rich with good schools, St. John Lutheran, St. Mary's Catholic, Chester Grade School and Chester High School. For a small community, it's a really good thing that all of these schools are still open and thriving, in spite of funding issues, etc. I hope they all continue to thrive for many, many years to come. I know all three local elementary school principals and am proud to call them friends.....Wendy Lochhead at St. John; Janelle Robinson at St. Mary's and Tim Lochhead at CGS. With their continued guidance and love, I'm sure these schools will be around for a long time. I am also acquainted with Dr. Sara Gass, principal at Chester High School. She too is working hard to see that our high school students receive the very best possible educations.

Yes, it's time for school to start. And in a very few days I'll watch, from my porch, as those school busses pass by, filled with children who are probably just as torn as I was about another summer being over.