Oh, my goodness! I haven't posted a column since October! And yet, writing these columns is one
of my fondest passions! No apologies, however, since in the meantime I have been about the business of living. If you're reading, thanks for jumping back on board.
This is not my Christmas blog. Hopefully that is still to come. I'm not even sure if this is my
December blog, though it is indeed, December. I, like most of you, am currently in the throws
of December.....pre-Christmas preparations, completing my shopping, preparing to mail, doing
the cards, planning the baking. The Christmas decorations are all up and blazing (if you know
me, you know this to be true). In the midst of all of this, I am also in my pre-Christmas mood,
where I start to say to myself, "You need to do more Christmas reading. You need to do more
Christmas soul searching. You need to think more about what is important than what is not. You need
to slow down, take a breath, enjoy the season, the reason and the joy." So, this is my first overt
effort. Go with me, if you will. I covet your company.
I have a book called "Kneeling In Bethlehem" by Ann Weems. It was given to me thirty years ago
by the dearest of the dearest to me, Mary Limbaugh. This will probably not be the last time that I
quote this book. So beware. This book is priceless in its insight and if you have the
chance to peruse it, please do. It will prepare you for the Advent season in a very special way.
In this book, Weems takes us through the season of too much busyness, too much freneticism, into
the direction of finding Bethlehem. One of Weems' entries goes like this:
'"The whole world waits in December darkness for a glimpse of the Light of God. Even those who
snarl 'humbug' and chase away the carolers have been seen looking toward the skies.
The one who declared he never would forgive, has forgiven. And those who left home have returned,
and even wars are halted, if briefly, as the whole world looks starward. In the December darkness,
we peer from our windows, watching for an angel with rainbow wings to announce the Hope of
the World."
I guess, suffice to say, it is a season of expectancy....and not expectancy of what waits under the
tree on Christmas morning, but of what will arise in our hearts along with the re-birth of the Christ
child.
Another excerpt in Weems' book says, "In each heart lies a Bethlehem, an inn where we must
ultimately answer whether there is room or not." Wow. Just one line of an entry and yet so
powerful. Does Bethlehem really live within our hearts? And if so, does our sign read, "Vacancy"
or "No Vacancy"? Each of us must ponder that on our own.
So much of the Christmas season, if we are fortunate, revolves around gathering together to
celebrate friendship, family, love. I was fortunate this past week to gather with women with whom I have enjoyed friendship for possibly over 60 years. We ate, we laughed, we talked and reminisced about old times and were brought up to date with current lives. It was good to share this time together with girls with whom I graduated from Chester High School. It was fun and heartwarming. Though our lives have taken much different directions, we always seem to find more similarities than differences. We celebrate our pasts and our presences and even our differences. Our kinship is more important than our differences.
On somewhat the same track and yet, much different, today I attended the funeral of a very good
friend, a friend of nearly thirty years. Though sad, the service was definitely one of celebration
for the blessing of this person in our lives. Thank you, Eric, for the friendship, the laughter and the
commitment. I celebrate your life and the friendship we knew.
Wow. I have gone from the stresses of Christmas prep to the expectancy of the long awaited Jesus,
to friendship. Such a leap. Or is it? I think not.
Whatever your focus tonight, just days from Christmas, I hope and pray that you are able to find
joy and peace......that you find forgiveness where it is needed and to forgive where you need to do
so. It is so possible to forgive even if we do not accept behavior or attitude. It is so possible to
love, even where we do not find it offered or even deserved. Is this easy, simple? Gracious, no. Such a struggle. I know this because it has been given to me from above and also from dear ones along the
way who show the light of God in their lives. I am so blessed to be loved by people who humble me
with their loving spirit. And still....I struggle.
So - though this is not my Christmas column, Merry Christmas. Enjoy the days ahead with excitement and expectancy. Fight the urge to be stressed. (Note to me: Listen to myself).
It's Christmas, the most wonderful time of the year. Don't miss it!
Sunday, December 10, 2017
Wednesday, October 18, 2017
"My Time Of The Year"
Fall is in the air. It's brisk in the early morning and brisk at night. Shivery. So far, the midday temps are still higher than I would like, but we're getting there. I am hopelessly and forever in love with
Fall......enough so that I don't even mind that it's followed by Winter. Definitely my time of the
year. If you're a reader of "On The Porch.......", you know that my house turned orange weeks
ago, inside and out. At this abode, we love the antics of Halloween and I'm always a little sad to
take down and pack away the Halloween/Fall decorations. But I will do so, on schedule, and
they will be down and put away by November 2. Yep. Even though I own quite a lot of turkeys
and pilgrims and such, there's just not time to put them up in the house and still get the
Christmas extravaganza up in time to enjoy it. I won't turn any Christmas lights on until Thanks-
giving, but to me it's calming to know that, long before December 1, my Christmas world will
light up with the simple flip of a switch.......switches........many, many flips of switches.
And so...................talking about Fall and Halloween, it just follows that we are closely on the
heels of the holiday season..............I know. I know. It may seem that I'm getting ahead of
myself. But stay with me. I'm going somewhere. We all know that people do their Christmas
shopping earlier and earlier these days. I can't judge because this is October 18 and I did some
today. I start early for various reasons. It alleviates last minute stress and I enjoy it. It brings
me joy to know that some things are already selected, paid for and tucked away. Now, unless you
sit at your computer and select and order gifts online, you will be shopping in stores (Don't forget
Chester!) and you'll be standing in lines. You'll be dealing with other shoppers who may be
tired and grumpy - as you may be. You'll be dealing with clerks who, believe me, are more tired
than you are. It takes a special kind of person to be a store clerk, especially at Christmas. Am I
right? God bless them.
I am the type of shopper, not just at Christmas but all year long, that just might drive you crazy because I talk to people I don't know. I say hello. I tell them if I like their hair. I tell them if I
think their children are cute. I say excuse me, even if they stepped in my way. If I determine that
they seem stumped or lost about something I will offer my assistance. l have been known, when
shopping for a child I don't see often, to ask mothers for their advice on children's clothing sizes.
You know those women at the entrances to dressing rooms, who give you a number and direct
you to the changing rooms? Sometimes we get to know one another really well - in a very short
period of time (smile). I smile at people who seem to need one - or even if they don't. I'm incorrigible. I even do this in the grocery store. And people are really serious in the grocery store.
I don't share these things about myself in order to boast. It's not about that. It's because I REALLY
can't help myself. Sad. It seems I have no shame and I cannot be stopped. But women, you'll never know this first hand, because I'm not the type of shopper who shops with other women. No. Never. I'm a solo act. All the way. I will shop with Bob and he's a pretty good shopper - but he didn't come that way, all wrapped up in a box with a red ribbon. Training was involved, but he was receptive.
If you are a silent shopper, that's ok. I find, in my shopping escapades, that the public seems split
about 50/50. Some are like me; some are not. But for the most part, the silent, less outgoing ones usually put up with me and stop short of running away in terror. Regardless of our proclivity to be gregarious shoppers or not so much, let's just all make a concerted effort this year to be kind as we venture into the holiday "traffic". We're living in a tenuous time. On top of it, people are tired, stressed, worried, sad. If a smile or an 'excuse me' at any juncture can alleviate any of that, then
the cost is certainly not too high.
I'm not preaching, believe me. A long wait in a long line after a long day can certainly cause me to 'harrumph' and want to scream. But if we can, let's remember to be kind, just kind. I'll try if you'll try and that will be a start. We'll be tired and our feet will hurt. At some point our backs will seem to be
breaking and we'll be hungry. We'll wonder why in the world we're even doing this. But let's
give it a try. I'm in if you are. And if by chance we run in to one another on one of these little
shopping ventures, don't you dare turn and run from me. I'll try to keep it to a minimum, but
we're gonna' talk, at least a little. And we're gonna' smile at one another! Ya' hear me?
And remember, the coffee's on and the wine's on tap. See you on the porch. I have blankets!
Fall......enough so that I don't even mind that it's followed by Winter. Definitely my time of the
year. If you're a reader of "On The Porch.......", you know that my house turned orange weeks
ago, inside and out. At this abode, we love the antics of Halloween and I'm always a little sad to
take down and pack away the Halloween/Fall decorations. But I will do so, on schedule, and
they will be down and put away by November 2. Yep. Even though I own quite a lot of turkeys
and pilgrims and such, there's just not time to put them up in the house and still get the
Christmas extravaganza up in time to enjoy it. I won't turn any Christmas lights on until Thanks-
giving, but to me it's calming to know that, long before December 1, my Christmas world will
light up with the simple flip of a switch.......switches........many, many flips of switches.
And so...................talking about Fall and Halloween, it just follows that we are closely on the
heels of the holiday season..............I know. I know. It may seem that I'm getting ahead of
myself. But stay with me. I'm going somewhere. We all know that people do their Christmas
shopping earlier and earlier these days. I can't judge because this is October 18 and I did some
today. I start early for various reasons. It alleviates last minute stress and I enjoy it. It brings
me joy to know that some things are already selected, paid for and tucked away. Now, unless you
sit at your computer and select and order gifts online, you will be shopping in stores (Don't forget
Chester!) and you'll be standing in lines. You'll be dealing with other shoppers who may be
tired and grumpy - as you may be. You'll be dealing with clerks who, believe me, are more tired
than you are. It takes a special kind of person to be a store clerk, especially at Christmas. Am I
right? God bless them.
I am the type of shopper, not just at Christmas but all year long, that just might drive you crazy because I talk to people I don't know. I say hello. I tell them if I like their hair. I tell them if I
think their children are cute. I say excuse me, even if they stepped in my way. If I determine that
they seem stumped or lost about something I will offer my assistance. l have been known, when
shopping for a child I don't see often, to ask mothers for their advice on children's clothing sizes.
You know those women at the entrances to dressing rooms, who give you a number and direct
you to the changing rooms? Sometimes we get to know one another really well - in a very short
period of time (smile). I smile at people who seem to need one - or even if they don't. I'm incorrigible. I even do this in the grocery store. And people are really serious in the grocery store.
I don't share these things about myself in order to boast. It's not about that. It's because I REALLY
can't help myself. Sad. It seems I have no shame and I cannot be stopped. But women, you'll never know this first hand, because I'm not the type of shopper who shops with other women. No. Never. I'm a solo act. All the way. I will shop with Bob and he's a pretty good shopper - but he didn't come that way, all wrapped up in a box with a red ribbon. Training was involved, but he was receptive.
If you are a silent shopper, that's ok. I find, in my shopping escapades, that the public seems split
about 50/50. Some are like me; some are not. But for the most part, the silent, less outgoing ones usually put up with me and stop short of running away in terror. Regardless of our proclivity to be gregarious shoppers or not so much, let's just all make a concerted effort this year to be kind as we venture into the holiday "traffic". We're living in a tenuous time. On top of it, people are tired, stressed, worried, sad. If a smile or an 'excuse me' at any juncture can alleviate any of that, then
the cost is certainly not too high.
I'm not preaching, believe me. A long wait in a long line after a long day can certainly cause me to 'harrumph' and want to scream. But if we can, let's remember to be kind, just kind. I'll try if you'll try and that will be a start. We'll be tired and our feet will hurt. At some point our backs will seem to be
breaking and we'll be hungry. We'll wonder why in the world we're even doing this. But let's
give it a try. I'm in if you are. And if by chance we run in to one another on one of these little
shopping ventures, don't you dare turn and run from me. I'll try to keep it to a minimum, but
we're gonna' talk, at least a little. And we're gonna' smile at one another! Ya' hear me?
And remember, the coffee's on and the wine's on tap. See you on the porch. I have blankets!
Wednesday, October 4, 2017
"The Knife & Fork Drawer"
How long has it been since you walked in to a friend's house, went in to the kitchen and knew
just which drawer to open to get a spoon to stir your coffee? Odd question right off the top, isn't it? Well, I've been thinking lately about this very thing. I guess, admittedly, that I'm talking mostly to
women this time. I don't think this would be a subject most men would "get". But I believe that
by the time I've signed off this evening, most of my female readers will be thinking about it.
You have to know a person pretty well to be able to just automatically know where the knife and fork drawer is. Oh, you can find it by process of elimination, but that's not what I'm talking about. And
this little test isn't only about friends......it can also include family. If you're blessed enough to still
have your grandparents or mama or daddy or a sister or offspring within reach, then I'm sure you'll pass this test without fail. It's been many years since I've been that fortunate. If you have it, appreciate it.
Years ago, as a younger woman, I could say that I had a small handful of friends in whose
homes I could do such a thing. But times change. Situations change. Living arrangements change.
And although I still have good friends, I can honestly admit that if I need a piece of silverware
while I may be in their homes, I'm going to have to ask for it.
Ok, Ok, I guess the silverware analogy is a little specific. But to me it is indicative of other things.
I don't think people of my era actually spend time at friends' homes the way they used to. As I said,
I still have friends, we may go places together, talk on the phone, just stay in touch in general.
And that's all wonderful. But there's just something warm and intimate about being able to open
the screen door, stick your head inside and yell, "It's me! Anybody home?"
When I was a little girl, my Grandma Hasemeyer always had quilting frames up in her "front room".
There was always a quilt in progress. Sometimes hers - mostly hers. But sometimes someone else's.
It didn't matter whose it was. Neighborhood women just wanted to sit and quilt. They'd just
drop by and say, "Mary, do you mind if I quilt a while?" And of course she didn't. She'd hurry to
finish whatever she was doing and within minutes, she'd be in there too, quilting away. Part of
the goal was to quilt. The larger goal, I think, was to visit. And she'd always put the water on to
boil so she could fix them both a cup of Sanka. IYIYIYIYIYI! Sanka! But I digress.
If you still enjoy that kind of casual and relaxing camaraderie with neighbors or friends, I think that's wonderful - and I also think it's amazing. Because it just seems that those days are gone. I hope
I'm wrong.
I long for the time when I felt as comfortable in a friend's kitchen as I do in my own. And here we
are, back in the kitchen. But we all know that's the heart of the home and where everybody tends to
want to be when there's a gathering. You get two women talking in the kitchen, over a beverage,
warm or cold, and that's when the secrets and dreams are shared. Tell me I'm wrong. I'd love to
hear from you all on this one.
To my dear friends, don't panic. I'm not coming over anytime soon to invade your kitchen. But
when I do happen to be there, I'm hunting for that drawer - like it or not.
And by the way, it's very, very pleasant on my porch these days. I'm enjoying it so much!
just which drawer to open to get a spoon to stir your coffee? Odd question right off the top, isn't it? Well, I've been thinking lately about this very thing. I guess, admittedly, that I'm talking mostly to
women this time. I don't think this would be a subject most men would "get". But I believe that
by the time I've signed off this evening, most of my female readers will be thinking about it.
You have to know a person pretty well to be able to just automatically know where the knife and fork drawer is. Oh, you can find it by process of elimination, but that's not what I'm talking about. And
this little test isn't only about friends......it can also include family. If you're blessed enough to still
have your grandparents or mama or daddy or a sister or offspring within reach, then I'm sure you'll pass this test without fail. It's been many years since I've been that fortunate. If you have it, appreciate it.
Years ago, as a younger woman, I could say that I had a small handful of friends in whose
homes I could do such a thing. But times change. Situations change. Living arrangements change.
And although I still have good friends, I can honestly admit that if I need a piece of silverware
while I may be in their homes, I'm going to have to ask for it.
Ok, Ok, I guess the silverware analogy is a little specific. But to me it is indicative of other things.
I don't think people of my era actually spend time at friends' homes the way they used to. As I said,
I still have friends, we may go places together, talk on the phone, just stay in touch in general.
And that's all wonderful. But there's just something warm and intimate about being able to open
the screen door, stick your head inside and yell, "It's me! Anybody home?"
When I was a little girl, my Grandma Hasemeyer always had quilting frames up in her "front room".
There was always a quilt in progress. Sometimes hers - mostly hers. But sometimes someone else's.
It didn't matter whose it was. Neighborhood women just wanted to sit and quilt. They'd just
drop by and say, "Mary, do you mind if I quilt a while?" And of course she didn't. She'd hurry to
finish whatever she was doing and within minutes, she'd be in there too, quilting away. Part of
the goal was to quilt. The larger goal, I think, was to visit. And she'd always put the water on to
boil so she could fix them both a cup of Sanka. IYIYIYIYIYI! Sanka! But I digress.
If you still enjoy that kind of casual and relaxing camaraderie with neighbors or friends, I think that's wonderful - and I also think it's amazing. Because it just seems that those days are gone. I hope
I'm wrong.
I long for the time when I felt as comfortable in a friend's kitchen as I do in my own. And here we
are, back in the kitchen. But we all know that's the heart of the home and where everybody tends to
want to be when there's a gathering. You get two women talking in the kitchen, over a beverage,
warm or cold, and that's when the secrets and dreams are shared. Tell me I'm wrong. I'd love to
hear from you all on this one.
To my dear friends, don't panic. I'm not coming over anytime soon to invade your kitchen. But
when I do happen to be there, I'm hunting for that drawer - like it or not.
And by the way, it's very, very pleasant on my porch these days. I'm enjoying it so much!
Monday, July 31, 2017
Summertime, And The Livin' Is Easy
Wow. How time flies, fun or no fun, right? I meant to take a short sabbatical for the summer. Did
not mean for it to be so long. And now I'm itching to get back at it. Summertime, whether you
travel or not, seems to present events and activities that are exclusive to this time of the year. Friends
and families gather to celebrate the hazy, crazy, lazy days that fly so quickly into Autumn. As you
travel up and down the highways and byways, you see driveways crowded with cars - for Memorial
Day, 4th of July or just Sunday afternoon. People are on the patio, in the yard.....gathering to
celebrate whatever!
Restaurants and such places as wineries, etc., seem busier, more crowded. And if you see an
outdoor beer garden, it's usually jammed with people. Wednesdays and Thursdays become pre-weekend days. Why wait for the weekend!? As I relax on one of my porches on any
given day or evening of the week, I see vehicle after vehicle passing north or south, pulling beautiful
boats to or from the lakes. Just stepping outside in the evening, I can smell the aromas that tell of
nearby outside grilling. Oh, the hazy, crazy, lazy days.........wait. Lazy? I think not, anymore.
But I remember lazy and I'll bet you do too. As I so often do in this column, I think back and this time to the days when summertime did seem lazy and relaxed. Slow. Timeless. Careless. More gentle to the senses. Certainly as a child and teen, life was so very different. It wasn't perfect. Life had its
difficulties. But looking back, it seemed that from the end of May till Labor Day, time in general just stopped. We didn't have air conditioning - haha! Well, just a window unit that my father
wouldn't let us use. We had fans. But my sister Charmaine and I were outside so much. We rode
bikes, played Indian ball, croquet, badminton and tag with the neighborhood kids. We had
lemonade stands where we felt rich if we made fifty cents! We stayed outside late, sometimes
10 p.m. if we stood under the street light where mother could see us from the front door. And she'd
always let us sleep late in the summertime. Sometimes other adults would play the guilt card and
say that THEY didn't let THEIR kids sleep late. But mother didn't weaken. As long as we were willing to do our chores when we got up, we got to sleep late in the morning. And somehow the heat didn't seem to bother us very much back then. We just dealt with it. I deal with it now, too, by staying in the AC if at all possible! My, how time changes most things.
I was never quite ready for school to start. I dreaded it. But as it got closer to the end of August (because we actually stayed out till after Labor Day), I can recall feeling a thrill at starting back. I still remember the smell of the school building during those first few days back. Can any of you relate to that? Crazy how that has stayed with me. And seeing classmates I hadn't seen through the summer......that was exciting. Remember those oxford blue canvas three ring binder notebooks we all had? Starting back to school usually meant getting a new one that didn't have doodles written all over it from the year before. And there was always a new kid or two to get to know. Sometimes you'd
realize that an old friend and classmate was no longer there - they'd moved away during the summer.
Often through the years I've wondered what happened to those kids - gone forever from our lives.
Without a doubt, things have changed since the LAST CENTURY! Kids absolutely don't play
outside like we did. And I think that's partly our fault, as adults. And partly just the fault of "progress" which has provided so much technology.....the same technology that allows me to post this blog for you to read. I remember when Jamey was little, being able to hear the sounds of kids playing at dusk, around suppertime. That memory causes me to smile. But realistically, in this day and age, perhaps parents don't feel as secure letting their kids run the neighborhoods, out of parental sight.
I remember that Jamey was allowed to ride his bicycle as far as the Dairy Queen on Stacey Street,
just a few blocks from home. When I needed him to come home for supper or whatever, I would
go out to the back porch and scream his name - really scream. He said he could actually hear me
at the Dairy Queen! Smile. And in a couple of minutes he'd come pedaling up the alley or up
George Street toward home! Oh, how I miss those days. Sorry, too sentimental, I know.
Well, don't despair. Summer isn't over. There's still time to enjoy it, to do those fun things you still want to do before school starts, before the weather changes, before Fall is upon us. It's just been
so, so hot this summer and I'm really enjoying these few days of lower temps and less humidity.
I find myself sitting 'on the porch' probably way too late at night -after most of you are in bed. That's
one thing that hasn't changed for me. I never wanted to go to bed at night when I was a kid - always
afraid I'd miss something. I still feel that way. I push the day into evening and the evening into very
late night and the late night into early morning. And since I'm retired - I can sleep a little later in
the morning - just so I'm willing to do my "chores" when I get up. Mother would approve.
And so.....perhaps I'll see you 'on the porch'. And squeeze as much as you can into the next few
weeks. Make memories.
Restaurants and such places as wineries, etc., seem busier, more crowded. And if you see an
outdoor beer garden, it's usually jammed with people. Wednesdays and Thursdays become pre-weekend days. Why wait for the weekend!? As I relax on one of my porches on any
given day or evening of the week, I see vehicle after vehicle passing north or south, pulling beautiful
boats to or from the lakes. Just stepping outside in the evening, I can smell the aromas that tell of
nearby outside grilling. Oh, the hazy, crazy, lazy days.........wait. Lazy? I think not, anymore.
But I remember lazy and I'll bet you do too. As I so often do in this column, I think back and this time to the days when summertime did seem lazy and relaxed. Slow. Timeless. Careless. More gentle to the senses. Certainly as a child and teen, life was so very different. It wasn't perfect. Life had its
difficulties. But looking back, it seemed that from the end of May till Labor Day, time in general just stopped. We didn't have air conditioning - haha! Well, just a window unit that my father
wouldn't let us use. We had fans. But my sister Charmaine and I were outside so much. We rode
bikes, played Indian ball, croquet, badminton and tag with the neighborhood kids. We had
lemonade stands where we felt rich if we made fifty cents! We stayed outside late, sometimes
10 p.m. if we stood under the street light where mother could see us from the front door. And she'd
always let us sleep late in the summertime. Sometimes other adults would play the guilt card and
say that THEY didn't let THEIR kids sleep late. But mother didn't weaken. As long as we were willing to do our chores when we got up, we got to sleep late in the morning. And somehow the heat didn't seem to bother us very much back then. We just dealt with it. I deal with it now, too, by staying in the AC if at all possible! My, how time changes most things.
I was never quite ready for school to start. I dreaded it. But as it got closer to the end of August (because we actually stayed out till after Labor Day), I can recall feeling a thrill at starting back. I still remember the smell of the school building during those first few days back. Can any of you relate to that? Crazy how that has stayed with me. And seeing classmates I hadn't seen through the summer......that was exciting. Remember those oxford blue canvas three ring binder notebooks we all had? Starting back to school usually meant getting a new one that didn't have doodles written all over it from the year before. And there was always a new kid or two to get to know. Sometimes you'd
realize that an old friend and classmate was no longer there - they'd moved away during the summer.
Often through the years I've wondered what happened to those kids - gone forever from our lives.
Without a doubt, things have changed since the LAST CENTURY! Kids absolutely don't play
outside like we did. And I think that's partly our fault, as adults. And partly just the fault of "progress" which has provided so much technology.....the same technology that allows me to post this blog for you to read. I remember when Jamey was little, being able to hear the sounds of kids playing at dusk, around suppertime. That memory causes me to smile. But realistically, in this day and age, perhaps parents don't feel as secure letting their kids run the neighborhoods, out of parental sight.
I remember that Jamey was allowed to ride his bicycle as far as the Dairy Queen on Stacey Street,
just a few blocks from home. When I needed him to come home for supper or whatever, I would
go out to the back porch and scream his name - really scream. He said he could actually hear me
at the Dairy Queen! Smile. And in a couple of minutes he'd come pedaling up the alley or up
George Street toward home! Oh, how I miss those days. Sorry, too sentimental, I know.
Well, don't despair. Summer isn't over. There's still time to enjoy it, to do those fun things you still want to do before school starts, before the weather changes, before Fall is upon us. It's just been
so, so hot this summer and I'm really enjoying these few days of lower temps and less humidity.
I find myself sitting 'on the porch' probably way too late at night -after most of you are in bed. That's
one thing that hasn't changed for me. I never wanted to go to bed at night when I was a kid - always
afraid I'd miss something. I still feel that way. I push the day into evening and the evening into very
late night and the late night into early morning. And since I'm retired - I can sleep a little later in
the morning - just so I'm willing to do my "chores" when I get up. Mother would approve.
And so.....perhaps I'll see you 'on the porch'. And squeeze as much as you can into the next few
weeks. Make memories.
Saturday, May 13, 2017
"A Look Back At 'Shrinking Motherhood' "
Well, if you read last week's column, you may remember that I said this week I would be publishing
another "oldie and hopefully a goodie". I wrote the following - let's say article - many years ago.
You will see by my references to my son, Jamey, that at the time, he was a 'youth', a teen, a growing
young man. I sincerely hope that he doesn't mind my publishing this at this point in time. It was
written all those years ago with 'tongue in cheek' - but also with a lot of reality. I love you, Jamey.
I'm so very proud of you.
For any of my readers who are currently raising kids, I think you'll relate.
"Shrinking Motherhood"
Shrinking Motherhood. I think that term should be added to the rapidly growing list of euphemisms
we hear every day....such as "user friendly", "finding ourselves" and "service excellence".
Shrinking Motherhood. It says it all, doesn't it? I mean any mother of a growing-growing-gone
youth can relate to it. The thighs and waistline may be growing, but the Motherhood is definitely
shrinking!
You read in all the magazines today about how to hone your talents to insure career success. But
nobody ever addresses the subject of SMS, Shrinking Motherhood Syndrome Oh, sure, you hear
all about PMS, but to me that should refer to Pre-Mother Syndrome, when you thought Motherhood
meant much-wanted job security. Let's look at the facts. You're a professional in your field, but
suddenly you're left out standing in it - alone. You've specialized in, not only one area, but many and therefore, created job security for yourself. Nobody can "mother" like you can! You've given new
meaning to the word as a verb as well as a noun. Nobody knows her subject or has done her home-
work better than you have. You've had a great performance record, never missed a day's work in
all these years and vacation and sick days are unheard of. They've been erased from the book, unused! You've beaten the popular theory that no one's indispensable. You're a darned phenomenon!
It can't be denied! I say, "It can't be denied! Hello! Is anyone out there listening?" No response.
That's the first clue. There's no one home to listen or respond. Relax. It's only the beginning. The
youth has come of age.
The bed is slept in, but you don't actually see the youth enter or exit the sheets. The plate is empty,
but you don't see the youth consume the food. You're sitting quietly in front of the TV, wishing
someone was there to share the storyline with you. Suddenly you hear a faint 'ding' of the telephone,
somewhere in the distance. Why, you recognize that sound. It's the sound of someone hanging up
the extension upstairs. The Youth! Hope springs eternal! You didn't even know the youth was home.
The sweet lad was probably just calling one of his buddies to cancel the evening's plans - in order
to spend more time with you - his mother. You rush to the stairs to greet the youth - and in the process
are swept from your aching and shrinking parental feet by what would, in meteorological circles, be
referred to as a tornadic wind. You see a blaze of color as the wind spins you to the floor and you
recognize the vivid blue as the $75 Polo shirt the youth received for his last birthday. And you hear
a voice but you can't quite make out the message. But yes, it's definitely the voice of the youth. What
difference if you didn't catch the phrase? He spoke and your ears heard. God! Life is good to me.
There's no denying it.
Now, I know that women everywhere are constantly fighting the battles of cellulite and the bulging
waistline. Who isn't? But mothers, as a contradiction, I'd have to say that vital parts on the "mother
model" are definitely shrinking. Take the lap. There's a part that was once "user friendly" but is now
considered obsolete.
And the shoulder, well nobody needs the shoulder anymore. You know, they always say "use it or
lose it". I guess that's why all women's clothes have built-in shoulder pads these days. Now I know
the index finger seems like an unimportant part. But try living without it. Just think of all the ways
you've used it through the years - when the youth was growing up. It was essential for keeping his
place when he was first struggling with reading and there were always those last minute nose and
ear checks, just before he exited the car before school in the mornings. Remember this one? "Put
your finger here, Mom, so I can learn to tie my shoes." And when all else failed your index finger
was needed from time to time, to point in the child's face - just to make your point. TRY THAT
ONE NOW!
But the heart, I guess, is the shrinking part that amazes me most. I mean scientifically it just
doesn't seem possible for something that is so full to actually shrink. Maybe this particular part
will just end up breaking instead. And it's the current unpredictability of the heart that's driving
me crazy. I can't trust the darned think anymore. I used to know when my heart was going to make
me laugh and when it was going to make me cry. I knew what filled and what emptied it and most
of the time, at least for the sake of appearances, I could manage to control it. But now the youth
seems to have taken over total control of it, and that really blows me away! I'm the one who's
suffered the heartburn and heartache over the years. I'm the one who's heart skipped a beat every
time the toddler went down or the bicycle went down, or the quarterback went down. It's the very
same heart that heaved a sigh of relief every time the fever went down or the swelling went down
or every time the sun went down - and the youth was safe at home with me.
It's just the crowning blow that now the youth can play havoc with this vital part. And it's not like you
can just stop payment on the heart or return it. It's no longer under warranty. Too many miles.
I guess I could ask for the youth's heart, in trade of course. But that would be a little pushy, don't you think? I guess I could just say to the youth, "Here, have a heart! Take it. It's yours - the whole thing!"
But no, that wouldn't be considered "quality parenting". And besides, I already did that, many years
ago.
**********
Well, there ya' go. Obviously by the references to the upstairs extension telephone and the women's
shoulder pads, you know this was written a long time ago, at a time when I really was questioning every maternal action and decision I was making. You just do the best you can at the time and in
every individual situation and hope and pray you're not damaging your children for life! (smile)
I just thought that at Mother's Day it might be appropriate to share with my readers. I hope you've
gotten some enjoying from it.
And Jamey, thanks for my wonderful card and the beautiful gardenia corsage. And thanks for being
the man you've become. And thanks for being mine and for making me the one thing I always hoped
to be, a mom. I love you.
Right now, he's probably thinking, "Mush!"
another "oldie and hopefully a goodie". I wrote the following - let's say article - many years ago.
You will see by my references to my son, Jamey, that at the time, he was a 'youth', a teen, a growing
young man. I sincerely hope that he doesn't mind my publishing this at this point in time. It was
written all those years ago with 'tongue in cheek' - but also with a lot of reality. I love you, Jamey.
I'm so very proud of you.
For any of my readers who are currently raising kids, I think you'll relate.
"Shrinking Motherhood"
Shrinking Motherhood. I think that term should be added to the rapidly growing list of euphemisms
we hear every day....such as "user friendly", "finding ourselves" and "service excellence".
Shrinking Motherhood. It says it all, doesn't it? I mean any mother of a growing-growing-gone
youth can relate to it. The thighs and waistline may be growing, but the Motherhood is definitely
shrinking!
You read in all the magazines today about how to hone your talents to insure career success. But
nobody ever addresses the subject of SMS, Shrinking Motherhood Syndrome Oh, sure, you hear
all about PMS, but to me that should refer to Pre-Mother Syndrome, when you thought Motherhood
meant much-wanted job security. Let's look at the facts. You're a professional in your field, but
suddenly you're left out standing in it - alone. You've specialized in, not only one area, but many and therefore, created job security for yourself. Nobody can "mother" like you can! You've given new
meaning to the word as a verb as well as a noun. Nobody knows her subject or has done her home-
work better than you have. You've had a great performance record, never missed a day's work in
all these years and vacation and sick days are unheard of. They've been erased from the book, unused! You've beaten the popular theory that no one's indispensable. You're a darned phenomenon!
It can't be denied! I say, "It can't be denied! Hello! Is anyone out there listening?" No response.
That's the first clue. There's no one home to listen or respond. Relax. It's only the beginning. The
youth has come of age.
The bed is slept in, but you don't actually see the youth enter or exit the sheets. The plate is empty,
but you don't see the youth consume the food. You're sitting quietly in front of the TV, wishing
someone was there to share the storyline with you. Suddenly you hear a faint 'ding' of the telephone,
somewhere in the distance. Why, you recognize that sound. It's the sound of someone hanging up
the extension upstairs. The Youth! Hope springs eternal! You didn't even know the youth was home.
The sweet lad was probably just calling one of his buddies to cancel the evening's plans - in order
to spend more time with you - his mother. You rush to the stairs to greet the youth - and in the process
are swept from your aching and shrinking parental feet by what would, in meteorological circles, be
referred to as a tornadic wind. You see a blaze of color as the wind spins you to the floor and you
recognize the vivid blue as the $75 Polo shirt the youth received for his last birthday. And you hear
a voice but you can't quite make out the message. But yes, it's definitely the voice of the youth. What
difference if you didn't catch the phrase? He spoke and your ears heard. God! Life is good to me.
There's no denying it.
Now, I know that women everywhere are constantly fighting the battles of cellulite and the bulging
waistline. Who isn't? But mothers, as a contradiction, I'd have to say that vital parts on the "mother
model" are definitely shrinking. Take the lap. There's a part that was once "user friendly" but is now
considered obsolete.
And the shoulder, well nobody needs the shoulder anymore. You know, they always say "use it or
lose it". I guess that's why all women's clothes have built-in shoulder pads these days. Now I know
the index finger seems like an unimportant part. But try living without it. Just think of all the ways
you've used it through the years - when the youth was growing up. It was essential for keeping his
place when he was first struggling with reading and there were always those last minute nose and
ear checks, just before he exited the car before school in the mornings. Remember this one? "Put
your finger here, Mom, so I can learn to tie my shoes." And when all else failed your index finger
was needed from time to time, to point in the child's face - just to make your point. TRY THAT
ONE NOW!
But the heart, I guess, is the shrinking part that amazes me most. I mean scientifically it just
doesn't seem possible for something that is so full to actually shrink. Maybe this particular part
will just end up breaking instead. And it's the current unpredictability of the heart that's driving
me crazy. I can't trust the darned think anymore. I used to know when my heart was going to make
me laugh and when it was going to make me cry. I knew what filled and what emptied it and most
of the time, at least for the sake of appearances, I could manage to control it. But now the youth
seems to have taken over total control of it, and that really blows me away! I'm the one who's
suffered the heartburn and heartache over the years. I'm the one who's heart skipped a beat every
time the toddler went down or the bicycle went down, or the quarterback went down. It's the very
same heart that heaved a sigh of relief every time the fever went down or the swelling went down
or every time the sun went down - and the youth was safe at home with me.
It's just the crowning blow that now the youth can play havoc with this vital part. And it's not like you
can just stop payment on the heart or return it. It's no longer under warranty. Too many miles.
I guess I could ask for the youth's heart, in trade of course. But that would be a little pushy, don't you think? I guess I could just say to the youth, "Here, have a heart! Take it. It's yours - the whole thing!"
But no, that wouldn't be considered "quality parenting". And besides, I already did that, many years
ago.
**********
Well, there ya' go. Obviously by the references to the upstairs extension telephone and the women's
shoulder pads, you know this was written a long time ago, at a time when I really was questioning every maternal action and decision I was making. You just do the best you can at the time and in
every individual situation and hope and pray you're not damaging your children for life! (smile)
I just thought that at Mother's Day it might be appropriate to share with my readers. I hope you've
gotten some enjoying from it.
And Jamey, thanks for my wonderful card and the beautiful gardenia corsage. And thanks for being
the man you've become. And thanks for being mine and for making me the one thing I always hoped
to be, a mom. I love you.
Right now, he's probably thinking, "Mush!"
Monday, May 8, 2017
"Memories Of My Grandma Mary Hasemeyer"
YEARS AGO..........when my Grandma Hasemeyer was still alive, I decided to interview her and
do a little essay about her. Grandma was always a "hoot". In her later years she had a form of
dementia, and though that could be sad, most of the time she was funny and cute and very, very jolly.
She always knew me which helped. It helped a lot.
I'm going to publish that "years ago" essay and hope that you enjoy it. Rather than re-writing it in
the past tense, I'm going to leave it in the tense in which I originally wrote it. So, in honor of
Grandma and Mother's Day, here it is.
***
"Talking With Grandma"
"So, you're on your way to work," said my Grandma, one morning as I stopped by for an early
morning visit. "I wish I had a job," she said. The remark caused me to smile, as it always does. It
was a remark that Grandma makes many times daily. Her mind is not clear much of the time. She
still lives alone, although she probably shouldn't. Most days she isn't aware of the month or the
year, unless we tell her. She repeats herself a lot and much of the time, doesn't recognize most
people. But her sense of humor and self respect are still very much intact. At 87 years of age, she
can't quite accept the fact that her "working days" are over.
From the time she married in 1919, she never held a job outside her home. She did, however, raise
a family of four active children, as well as a very large garden - every year. In her spare time she did hemstitching for people, quilted and managed to find time to sell produce from her garden. Certainly her life has been busy and productive and she has earned a rest. And still....she wishes she had a job.
In a day when many people resent the day-to-day routine of working outside the home and look
forward to the glorious days of retirement, I find Grandma's attitude truly refreshing. She never
tires of asking if there are little odd jobs she can do for me, such as washing dishes, folding clothes,
etc. And when possible, such as on the day I attempted this interview, I do find small chores for her
to do while she's at my home. Later on, after work, Grandma was at my house. She readily accepted the job of cleaning vegetables for me.
Several years ago, Grandma moved from her large home with ample yard to a small apartment in
an elderly housing complex - right across the street from me. She always loved doing yard work or
just sitting in the yard or in the swing on her front porch. Now her days are filled mostly with
television, looking through old photograph albums or visiting with her neighbors. Even though she
isn't able to enter fully into the conversations with her neighbors, due to her confusion, she still
enjoys hearing people talking and knowing that she isn't alone.
On this particular day, I said, "Grandma, what would you really like to do with your time?"
"Oh, I don't know. But I used to be very busy," Now she just wants to feel the world around her
and know that she is still a part of it.
Grandma gets excited about such little things, like a picture of a horse, or cow or chicken. She'll look
for hours at a picture or book with animals and over and over again, will remark, "Isn't that a pretty
horse?" or "I used to milk cows." At that point I know that Grandma's thoughts are returning to
the days when she was very young, when she lived with her family on a farm. On this particular day
Grandma seemed interested in a calendar picture of a horse. I asked her what types of
horses she had when she was a girl. Her eyes lit up as she smiled and said, "Oh, I just loved my
bay mare that I used to ride to school." That small fact, which she found somewhere in her fading
memory, is priceless to me. Somehow it helps me to piece together just a little more of the picture
I long for in my mind of that pretty young brunette girl so long ago.
Each time I question her about the days of her youth, her memory grows a little dimmer. And when
I think she's forgotten her youth completely, she'll surprise me with another momentary memory, a
jewel from the past.
When I take Grandma with me as I run errands, she loves to stay in the car in the parking lot and
watch people. She enjoys sitting and watching the world go by. She smiles and waves to everyone
she sees, never hesitating to speak to someone she doesn't know. She's never stressed and doesn't
relate to the words 'rush' or' hurry'. In her quiet way, she reminds me to slow down.....and enjoy.
Grandma raised me from the time I was 14, along with my two sisters and brother. She relished
having us with her and I've always felt that it kept her young and active. She was, more or less,
forced to listen to our music, watch our television shows and get to know our friends. And she did,
with enthusiasm. But when left to her own devices, she loved to watch such shows as 'Tony Orlando
and Dawn' and wrestling! We teased her about these shows all the time. Now when she watches
TV, she has trouble following the story lines and seems confused about what is actually taking
place on the screen. Only occasionally will she remark about a humorous comment or incident in the
story. Something that I find amusing though, is that she always asks me if I know the people on the
screen, and if those same people are at my house. I just smile and assure her that they are.
As Grandma cleaned vegetables on this day, I asked her. "How old do you think I am?" She looked
thoughtful and said, "Well, I don't know. Maybe 83!" Since she is 87, it's very obvious to me that age has ceased to be of much importance to Grandma!
The older I become the more aware I am of the value of having known my grandmother. Somehow
she has shown me the broader spectrum of things.....the deeper meanings of living.....and dying.
And she's done it by just living her life, day by day, simply and quietly. Grandma was never an avid
reader. She's never driven a car. And I don't believe I've ever known her to belong to any group
or organization, except for her church. She's known immense grief in her life and has remained
kind and caring and jolly. She never speaks badly of people and always tries to find good in those
around her. I'm moved by the thought that I should try harder to pattern myself after her example.
Grandma may be confused, her memory less than perfect, but her good and loving ways and her
faith in God far outweigh all other aspects of her life. When I grow old I hope to be loving and caring, jolly and excited by life, just like my Grandma.
***************
Well, if you're still with me, thanks for coming along on this sentimental ride. I'm sure that this has been much more cathartic for me than it has for you. (smile). Grandma passed away in 1990.
On the day she died, she ate a bunch of cookies, which she sweetly requested from the hospital
kitchen. She made us smile and even laugh. And her last words were to tell me that she loved me.
I still miss my Grandma Hasemeyer and still have many things I wish I could ask her. But I'm not
complaining. I feel like I'm sure you do. I had the very best grandma in the world!
I'll be back in a few days with one more "oldie and hopefully goody". Have a great week. See you from the porch!
do a little essay about her. Grandma was always a "hoot". In her later years she had a form of
dementia, and though that could be sad, most of the time she was funny and cute and very, very jolly.
She always knew me which helped. It helped a lot.
I'm going to publish that "years ago" essay and hope that you enjoy it. Rather than re-writing it in
the past tense, I'm going to leave it in the tense in which I originally wrote it. So, in honor of
Grandma and Mother's Day, here it is.
***
"Talking With Grandma"
"So, you're on your way to work," said my Grandma, one morning as I stopped by for an early
morning visit. "I wish I had a job," she said. The remark caused me to smile, as it always does. It
was a remark that Grandma makes many times daily. Her mind is not clear much of the time. She
still lives alone, although she probably shouldn't. Most days she isn't aware of the month or the
year, unless we tell her. She repeats herself a lot and much of the time, doesn't recognize most
people. But her sense of humor and self respect are still very much intact. At 87 years of age, she
can't quite accept the fact that her "working days" are over.
From the time she married in 1919, she never held a job outside her home. She did, however, raise
a family of four active children, as well as a very large garden - every year. In her spare time she did hemstitching for people, quilted and managed to find time to sell produce from her garden. Certainly her life has been busy and productive and she has earned a rest. And still....she wishes she had a job.
In a day when many people resent the day-to-day routine of working outside the home and look
forward to the glorious days of retirement, I find Grandma's attitude truly refreshing. She never
tires of asking if there are little odd jobs she can do for me, such as washing dishes, folding clothes,
etc. And when possible, such as on the day I attempted this interview, I do find small chores for her
to do while she's at my home. Later on, after work, Grandma was at my house. She readily accepted the job of cleaning vegetables for me.
Several years ago, Grandma moved from her large home with ample yard to a small apartment in
an elderly housing complex - right across the street from me. She always loved doing yard work or
just sitting in the yard or in the swing on her front porch. Now her days are filled mostly with
television, looking through old photograph albums or visiting with her neighbors. Even though she
isn't able to enter fully into the conversations with her neighbors, due to her confusion, she still
enjoys hearing people talking and knowing that she isn't alone.
On this particular day, I said, "Grandma, what would you really like to do with your time?"
"Oh, I don't know. But I used to be very busy," Now she just wants to feel the world around her
and know that she is still a part of it.
Grandma gets excited about such little things, like a picture of a horse, or cow or chicken. She'll look
for hours at a picture or book with animals and over and over again, will remark, "Isn't that a pretty
horse?" or "I used to milk cows." At that point I know that Grandma's thoughts are returning to
the days when she was very young, when she lived with her family on a farm. On this particular day
Grandma seemed interested in a calendar picture of a horse. I asked her what types of
horses she had when she was a girl. Her eyes lit up as she smiled and said, "Oh, I just loved my
bay mare that I used to ride to school." That small fact, which she found somewhere in her fading
memory, is priceless to me. Somehow it helps me to piece together just a little more of the picture
I long for in my mind of that pretty young brunette girl so long ago.
Each time I question her about the days of her youth, her memory grows a little dimmer. And when
I think she's forgotten her youth completely, she'll surprise me with another momentary memory, a
jewel from the past.
When I take Grandma with me as I run errands, she loves to stay in the car in the parking lot and
watch people. She enjoys sitting and watching the world go by. She smiles and waves to everyone
she sees, never hesitating to speak to someone she doesn't know. She's never stressed and doesn't
relate to the words 'rush' or' hurry'. In her quiet way, she reminds me to slow down.....and enjoy.
Grandma raised me from the time I was 14, along with my two sisters and brother. She relished
having us with her and I've always felt that it kept her young and active. She was, more or less,
forced to listen to our music, watch our television shows and get to know our friends. And she did,
with enthusiasm. But when left to her own devices, she loved to watch such shows as 'Tony Orlando
and Dawn' and wrestling! We teased her about these shows all the time. Now when she watches
TV, she has trouble following the story lines and seems confused about what is actually taking
place on the screen. Only occasionally will she remark about a humorous comment or incident in the
story. Something that I find amusing though, is that she always asks me if I know the people on the
screen, and if those same people are at my house. I just smile and assure her that they are.
As Grandma cleaned vegetables on this day, I asked her. "How old do you think I am?" She looked
thoughtful and said, "Well, I don't know. Maybe 83!" Since she is 87, it's very obvious to me that age has ceased to be of much importance to Grandma!
The older I become the more aware I am of the value of having known my grandmother. Somehow
she has shown me the broader spectrum of things.....the deeper meanings of living.....and dying.
And she's done it by just living her life, day by day, simply and quietly. Grandma was never an avid
reader. She's never driven a car. And I don't believe I've ever known her to belong to any group
or organization, except for her church. She's known immense grief in her life and has remained
kind and caring and jolly. She never speaks badly of people and always tries to find good in those
around her. I'm moved by the thought that I should try harder to pattern myself after her example.
Grandma may be confused, her memory less than perfect, but her good and loving ways and her
faith in God far outweigh all other aspects of her life. When I grow old I hope to be loving and caring, jolly and excited by life, just like my Grandma.
***************
Well, if you're still with me, thanks for coming along on this sentimental ride. I'm sure that this has been much more cathartic for me than it has for you. (smile). Grandma passed away in 1990.
On the day she died, she ate a bunch of cookies, which she sweetly requested from the hospital
kitchen. She made us smile and even laugh. And her last words were to tell me that she loved me.
I still miss my Grandma Hasemeyer and still have many things I wish I could ask her. But I'm not
complaining. I feel like I'm sure you do. I had the very best grandma in the world!
I'll be back in a few days with one more "oldie and hopefully goody". Have a great week. See you from the porch!
Sunday, April 30, 2017
Beacon Lights of Literature, Book Seven
I pulled an old book off the shelf last week, one I hadn't looked at in a long while. But to me this
isn't just any old book. It may be my favorite book ever. It's green and dog-eared.....Beacon Lights
of Literature, Book Seven, compiled by Rudolph W. Chamberlain. I remember when I was about
seven or eight years old, my mother brought home a cardboard box full of discarded books. I have
no memory or idea of where she got them. I also have no memory of any of the other books, only
this one. It contains 96 literary selections. "A year's good reading" the intro states. I am aware,
from some searching on the internet, that Beacon Lights came in several publications - as evidenced
by the fact that mine is Book Seven. It was intended to be used as a school book, as there's a
teacher's guide at the front. It was recommended by the National Council of Teachers of
English. I didn't notice any of that when I was seven or eight. But for some reason I fell in love
with this book and at the risk of sounding a little silly, this book may have somewhat formed my
life and the interests I've enjoyed and pursued.
I realized about that time in my life that I really loved to read and I spent a lot of time honing this
skill with this very book. At first I'm sure I stumbled through a lot of it, but over time, I learned much of the book by heart by reading and re-reading the various essays.
I immediately loved "Paul Revere's Ride" and "The Courtship of Miles Standish", both by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. Another favorite was "Grandmother's Story of Bunker Hill Battle" by Oliver Wendell Holmes. This book brought my first introduction to Charles Dickens in "Christmas With The Cratchits" from "A Christmas Carol". Has anyone ever heard of the non-sensical poem, "Godfrey
Gordon Gustavus Gore" by William Brighty Rands? "Godfrey Gordon Gustavus Gore -- no doubt
you have heard his name before -- was a boy who never would shut the door! The wind might
whistle, the wind might roar, and teeth be aching and throats be sore. But still he never wold shut
the door!"
There are so many selections in this book that I love, but I think that my very favorite would be
"A Song of Sherwood" by poet Alfred Noyes. I would read it and re-read it throughout my childhood. It always brought me a magical feeling and a sense of delightful mystery. It still does to this day.....
"Sherwood in the twilight, is Robin Hood awake? Grey and ghostly shadows are gliding through the
break; Shadows of the dappled deer, dreaming of the morn, dreaming of a shadowy man that winds
a shadowy horn.
Robin! Robin! Robin! All his merry thieves - answer as the bugle note shivers through the leaves;
Calling as he used to call, faint and far away. In Sherwood, in Sherwood, about the break of day."
Now I will reveal myself a bit further and tell you that I was not satisfied to just read the poetry and
stories in this book. Nothing would do but that I would read them aloud - at the top of my lungs
usually. I would stand in my front yard - on top of an old metal lawn chair and orate from this
book! I believe that my mother thought this was a bit strange, but that didn't stop me. I would read
to the old "haunted" house across the street as if a host of spirits were listening! Maybe they were,
especially when I read to them about Robin Hood!
This past weekend when our house was delightfully full of wonderful young men from the up-and-
coming musical group 'High South', my son spied this book on my desk and brought it into the room
where we all were. "Beacon Lights of Literature," he said. "I remember this." And he began reciting
the lines of "A Song of Sherwood". I guess I had read it to him too. (smile) A proud moment.
I know many people love reading from their electronic devices and that's great. But for me, I have
to be able to hold it, feel it, smell it and pull it from the shelf from time to time. I love being able
to recall the finding of this book and the 'falling in love' with it. Can anyone relate? I hope so.
I'll close with this verse from "Paul Revere's Ride".....
"So through the night rode Paul Revere;
And so through the night went his cry of alarm
To every Middlesex village and farm,
A cry of defiance and not of fear,
A voice in the darkness, a knock at the door,
And a word that shall echo forevermore!
For, borne on the night-wind of the past,
Through all our history, to the last,
In the hour of darkness and peril and need,
The people will waken and listen to hear
The hurrying hoof-beats of that steed,
And the midnight-message of Paul Revere."
These words speak to us still.
Thanks, my friends, for indulging me - yet again.
I will not loan my Beacon Lights but I will pull it from the shelf and enjoy it with you - on the
porch! But let's wait till the monsoons stop, ok with you?
****
Postscript:
Thank you, Josh, Phoenix, Kevin, Mike and my Jamey of High South for sharing the wonderful
weekend with us! We're so proud of you all!
isn't just any old book. It may be my favorite book ever. It's green and dog-eared.....Beacon Lights
of Literature, Book Seven, compiled by Rudolph W. Chamberlain. I remember when I was about
seven or eight years old, my mother brought home a cardboard box full of discarded books. I have
no memory or idea of where she got them. I also have no memory of any of the other books, only
this one. It contains 96 literary selections. "A year's good reading" the intro states. I am aware,
from some searching on the internet, that Beacon Lights came in several publications - as evidenced
by the fact that mine is Book Seven. It was intended to be used as a school book, as there's a
teacher's guide at the front. It was recommended by the National Council of Teachers of
English. I didn't notice any of that when I was seven or eight. But for some reason I fell in love
with this book and at the risk of sounding a little silly, this book may have somewhat formed my
life and the interests I've enjoyed and pursued.
I realized about that time in my life that I really loved to read and I spent a lot of time honing this
skill with this very book. At first I'm sure I stumbled through a lot of it, but over time, I learned much of the book by heart by reading and re-reading the various essays.
I immediately loved "Paul Revere's Ride" and "The Courtship of Miles Standish", both by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. Another favorite was "Grandmother's Story of Bunker Hill Battle" by Oliver Wendell Holmes. This book brought my first introduction to Charles Dickens in "Christmas With The Cratchits" from "A Christmas Carol". Has anyone ever heard of the non-sensical poem, "Godfrey
Gordon Gustavus Gore" by William Brighty Rands? "Godfrey Gordon Gustavus Gore -- no doubt
you have heard his name before -- was a boy who never would shut the door! The wind might
whistle, the wind might roar, and teeth be aching and throats be sore. But still he never wold shut
the door!"
There are so many selections in this book that I love, but I think that my very favorite would be
"A Song of Sherwood" by poet Alfred Noyes. I would read it and re-read it throughout my childhood. It always brought me a magical feeling and a sense of delightful mystery. It still does to this day.....
"Sherwood in the twilight, is Robin Hood awake? Grey and ghostly shadows are gliding through the
break; Shadows of the dappled deer, dreaming of the morn, dreaming of a shadowy man that winds
a shadowy horn.
Robin! Robin! Robin! All his merry thieves - answer as the bugle note shivers through the leaves;
Calling as he used to call, faint and far away. In Sherwood, in Sherwood, about the break of day."
Now I will reveal myself a bit further and tell you that I was not satisfied to just read the poetry and
stories in this book. Nothing would do but that I would read them aloud - at the top of my lungs
usually. I would stand in my front yard - on top of an old metal lawn chair and orate from this
book! I believe that my mother thought this was a bit strange, but that didn't stop me. I would read
to the old "haunted" house across the street as if a host of spirits were listening! Maybe they were,
especially when I read to them about Robin Hood!
This past weekend when our house was delightfully full of wonderful young men from the up-and-
coming musical group 'High South', my son spied this book on my desk and brought it into the room
where we all were. "Beacon Lights of Literature," he said. "I remember this." And he began reciting
the lines of "A Song of Sherwood". I guess I had read it to him too. (smile) A proud moment.
I know many people love reading from their electronic devices and that's great. But for me, I have
to be able to hold it, feel it, smell it and pull it from the shelf from time to time. I love being able
to recall the finding of this book and the 'falling in love' with it. Can anyone relate? I hope so.
I'll close with this verse from "Paul Revere's Ride".....
"So through the night rode Paul Revere;
And so through the night went his cry of alarm
To every Middlesex village and farm,
A cry of defiance and not of fear,
A voice in the darkness, a knock at the door,
And a word that shall echo forevermore!
For, borne on the night-wind of the past,
Through all our history, to the last,
In the hour of darkness and peril and need,
The people will waken and listen to hear
The hurrying hoof-beats of that steed,
And the midnight-message of Paul Revere."
These words speak to us still.
Thanks, my friends, for indulging me - yet again.
I will not loan my Beacon Lights but I will pull it from the shelf and enjoy it with you - on the
porch! But let's wait till the monsoons stop, ok with you?
****
Postscript:
Thank you, Josh, Phoenix, Kevin, Mike and my Jamey of High South for sharing the wonderful
weekend with us! We're so proud of you all!
Wednesday, February 22, 2017
"A Picture Is Worth A Thousand Memories"
I won't be serving a meal on my dining room table anytime soon. I'm in the zone. I'm determined to get this job done. I have always told people that I am the keeper of 10,000 pictures. I believe I may have underestimated. And though I am the "keeper", that doesn't mean I've been terribly organized
at the storage or preservation of said pictures. Simply put, they're everywhere. I have pictures in small boxes, large boxes, plastic tubs, photo albums, drawers, trunks, closets. Do I have to embarrass myself further or do you get the "picture"? For the past couple of years I've been attacking the trove
little by little, trying to at least determine just what I do have. I thought I had made good progress
until a few weeks ago when I found four (count 'em - four) more large boxes of pictures in storage.
Obviously, my major goal is to no longer be that keeper. I want to look at the pictures, oooooh and
ahhhhhhh and then put them in one of an organized grouping of stacks in preparation for mailing the
pictures to siblings, my son, cousins, nieces, nephews, friends, etc. Simply put, I want the pictures to go away. I have enjoyed them. I have housed them. Time now to go. It's not that the pictures don't mean anything to me. On the contrary, pictures - as all of you know - are priceless and precious. I cherish them. But they have to go.
Oh, they're not all going. Certainly I'll keep some, probably too many. If there are doubles, in many
cases I'll keep one and send off the other. Of course - there are no doubles of the very old prints. So
then I have to decide if I, in fact, can bring myself to share them. PRAY FOR ME!!!!! :)
I have pictures that belonged to my grandmother, my great-grandmother, my parents, my siblings,
my son, his friends, my friends, my husband........I have pictures I cannot begin to identify. Way too many of those. And sometimes, in such an instance, I force myself to just let them go.
I love the old pictures. I can stare at them for the longest time. I love history, particularly family
history and each picture tells another story - usually one I've never actually heard. So I have to
make it up as I study the picture. Sometimes they include old family homes of people I never
actually knew. My ancestors are so young in those pictures and they're holding babies that grew
up and lived and died. And the fashions of the women are amazing! I have pictures of my grand-
mother and grandfather in Forest Park, St. Louis - I believe taken before they even married. Grandma
looks like a fashion model with her wonderfully stylish clothing of that era! It makes me appreciate them both in a way I was never able to when they were still with me.
And some of the old pictures include family pets. I'll never know their names, but you can tell that
they were loved. If you know me, you know that these pictures particularly speak to my heart. They too lived and died and were mourned and missed by the family who loved them.
I actually have two funeral pictures of family members as they lay in state - both taken professionally at the old Welge Funeral Chapel. This is a custom that I don't believe takes place anymore. One is of my great-grandmother and the other of my aunt who was murdered when she was only 17 years of age. I know the idea of having these pictures sounds gruesome, but somehow when I look at these pictures, I don't feel that way. Again, it allows me a glimpse into events and people I did not actually experience but who I feel I knew.
And oh, the baby pictures! I have to admit that when sending manila after manila to my son for his
own keeping or pitching, I cannot part with the baby pictures. I can send him all sorts of pictures of
his many activities - but not the baby pictures. They will always be with me. And each time I look
at the multitude of them I am reminded of a new, sweet memory. Precious and Priceless.
If you are one of those people who specializes in scientifically preserving pictures, don't call me
to give me advice, please. That is not and never will be my modus operandi. Apparently, in my
seeming ignorance, I've done allright - because they're all still here with me. And also if you are
someone who is passionate about "cropping" - I beg you - don't tell me about it. Not only do I
not care to attempt that feat, the thought of it causes me to be short of breath.
So, in the coming days and weeks you may be receiving a manila envelope from me - or perhaps
in some cases - an actual package, containing pictures that I have decided you should have. All you
have to do is let me know they have arrived. Thank me politely and then - if you don't want the
pictures inside those packages, YOU throw them away and DON'T EVER TELL ME!
As we grow in years we become aware that "things" do not really matter as much as we may have
once thought they did. But I believe pictures do not fall within that category. In one of the rooms
in my house I have what some may call an unusual grouping of small framed pictures - all of me
as a small child with my family members who are now all gone. Someone who saw them once asked me why I had this grouping of pictures in such a prominent place. I responded that these pictures
remind me of who I was. I KNOW who I AM. But I often need to be reminded of who I was. A small
thing, I guess. But precious and priceless.
Friends, I've been on the porch a lot this week - at all hours - enjoying the wonderful fresh air! I
enjoy Winter. I really do. I'm possibly one of the very few people who actually does enjoy Winter. But this respite has been amazing! So enjoy these next couple of days. I know I will be!
at the storage or preservation of said pictures. Simply put, they're everywhere. I have pictures in small boxes, large boxes, plastic tubs, photo albums, drawers, trunks, closets. Do I have to embarrass myself further or do you get the "picture"? For the past couple of years I've been attacking the trove
little by little, trying to at least determine just what I do have. I thought I had made good progress
until a few weeks ago when I found four (count 'em - four) more large boxes of pictures in storage.
Obviously, my major goal is to no longer be that keeper. I want to look at the pictures, oooooh and
ahhhhhhh and then put them in one of an organized grouping of stacks in preparation for mailing the
pictures to siblings, my son, cousins, nieces, nephews, friends, etc. Simply put, I want the pictures to go away. I have enjoyed them. I have housed them. Time now to go. It's not that the pictures don't mean anything to me. On the contrary, pictures - as all of you know - are priceless and precious. I cherish them. But they have to go.
Oh, they're not all going. Certainly I'll keep some, probably too many. If there are doubles, in many
cases I'll keep one and send off the other. Of course - there are no doubles of the very old prints. So
then I have to decide if I, in fact, can bring myself to share them. PRAY FOR ME!!!!! :)
I have pictures that belonged to my grandmother, my great-grandmother, my parents, my siblings,
my son, his friends, my friends, my husband........I have pictures I cannot begin to identify. Way too many of those. And sometimes, in such an instance, I force myself to just let them go.
I love the old pictures. I can stare at them for the longest time. I love history, particularly family
history and each picture tells another story - usually one I've never actually heard. So I have to
make it up as I study the picture. Sometimes they include old family homes of people I never
actually knew. My ancestors are so young in those pictures and they're holding babies that grew
up and lived and died. And the fashions of the women are amazing! I have pictures of my grand-
mother and grandfather in Forest Park, St. Louis - I believe taken before they even married. Grandma
looks like a fashion model with her wonderfully stylish clothing of that era! It makes me appreciate them both in a way I was never able to when they were still with me.
And some of the old pictures include family pets. I'll never know their names, but you can tell that
they were loved. If you know me, you know that these pictures particularly speak to my heart. They too lived and died and were mourned and missed by the family who loved them.
I actually have two funeral pictures of family members as they lay in state - both taken professionally at the old Welge Funeral Chapel. This is a custom that I don't believe takes place anymore. One is of my great-grandmother and the other of my aunt who was murdered when she was only 17 years of age. I know the idea of having these pictures sounds gruesome, but somehow when I look at these pictures, I don't feel that way. Again, it allows me a glimpse into events and people I did not actually experience but who I feel I knew.
And oh, the baby pictures! I have to admit that when sending manila after manila to my son for his
own keeping or pitching, I cannot part with the baby pictures. I can send him all sorts of pictures of
his many activities - but not the baby pictures. They will always be with me. And each time I look
at the multitude of them I am reminded of a new, sweet memory. Precious and Priceless.
If you are one of those people who specializes in scientifically preserving pictures, don't call me
to give me advice, please. That is not and never will be my modus operandi. Apparently, in my
seeming ignorance, I've done allright - because they're all still here with me. And also if you are
someone who is passionate about "cropping" - I beg you - don't tell me about it. Not only do I
not care to attempt that feat, the thought of it causes me to be short of breath.
So, in the coming days and weeks you may be receiving a manila envelope from me - or perhaps
in some cases - an actual package, containing pictures that I have decided you should have. All you
have to do is let me know they have arrived. Thank me politely and then - if you don't want the
pictures inside those packages, YOU throw them away and DON'T EVER TELL ME!
As we grow in years we become aware that "things" do not really matter as much as we may have
once thought they did. But I believe pictures do not fall within that category. In one of the rooms
in my house I have what some may call an unusual grouping of small framed pictures - all of me
as a small child with my family members who are now all gone. Someone who saw them once asked me why I had this grouping of pictures in such a prominent place. I responded that these pictures
remind me of who I was. I KNOW who I AM. But I often need to be reminded of who I was. A small
thing, I guess. But precious and priceless.
Friends, I've been on the porch a lot this week - at all hours - enjoying the wonderful fresh air! I
enjoy Winter. I really do. I'm possibly one of the very few people who actually does enjoy Winter. But this respite has been amazing! So enjoy these next couple of days. I know I will be!
Thursday, January 26, 2017
Maya Angelou's Legacy To Us All
Most of us have favorite writers who have authored the types of books we most like to read. Whether
we prefer historical novels, mysteries, romance novels, how-to books, whatever!! And much of the
time our preferences are multiple. We like to read various kinds of books by various authors. Many years ago, and I don't remember exactly when or how, I became aware of Maya Angelou. And then I became a little obsessed about her, reading all of her books that I could get my hands on. In her
lifetime, she wrote autobiographical books, much poetry and books of essays. The first one I read was "I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings", written in 1969. If you haven't read it, I encourage you to do so. Absolutely a life changing read, chronicling the woman's early and very difficult life. Opened my eyes in ways I can't even describe.
Maya Angelou was born Marguerite Annie Johnson in 1928 in St. Louis. She is called an American poet, memoirist and civil rights activist. In her lifetime she published seven autobiographies, three books of essays, several books of poetry and was credited with a list of plays, movies, and television shows. Many may remember her for her 1977 role in the made for TV movie, "Roots". She was a very close friend of Oprah Winfrey and Winfrey aired many of her shows with Ms. Angelou as her
guest.
After receiving acclaim for Caged Bird, Angelou began to publicly address her personal life and was
respected for her role as a spokesperson for black people and all women. Through her many gifts, Maya Angelou touched people's lives in remarkable ways. She touched people of all colors and
backgrounds. To say that she was inspiring seems very inadequate. But through her work, her passion and her ability to speak to one's heart, she certainly has inspired my life.
On January 20, 1993 at the inauguration of President William Jefferson Clinton, Maya Angelou
read a poem, "On The Pulse of Morning", written specifically for the event.
In the early fall of 2007 I had read in the newspaper that Ms. Angelou would be speaking at
SIU-Carbondale. When I read the ad, her engagement was just a few days away. I was very excited
and was trying to decide if I would be able to attend. That morning my old friend, Sue Reiman, came
bounding through my office door and said simply, "Ya' wanna go?" I knew immediately what she
was referring to and shouted, "Yes! I do!" We went together. On a cold, dark, rainy evening
Sue and I ill-advisedly took off down Route 3, on our way to Carbondale. Sue knew the campus really well and drove us right to the appointed location. The crowd was very large and we waited in
line for at least two hours before we were admitted into the auditorium. The standing was very
difficult for Sue, as she was not well, but we did it and we did it happily. Imagine how surprised we
were when Ms. Angelou was finally ushered into the room and on to the stage by Chester native and
then SIU student Nate Brown! Maya Angelou was a tall woman, with broad shoulders and a smile that could light a room! Her presence in the room immediately changed the very atmosphere. During
nearly two hours she made us cry. She made us laugh. Men and women. Young and old. Her words and the meaning behind them were deep and heart changing. I can only say that her unique delivery was so large and powerful, electrifying the large auditorium.
I have always been so grateful for my Maya Angelou experience - and for the fact that Sue and I were able to share it. We laughed that night like two young girls. And our lives were forever altered for
having been in that auditorium that evening. Sue's forever, though, was brief. A little over a month after that night, Sue lost her battle with cancer.
Maya Angelou died May 28, 2014 at the age of 86. But her work and her inspiration go on through the work she left behind. A huge legacy for us all. I could write so much in today's column about
Ms. Angelou's writings, her wonderful quotes, her experiences. But that would be wrong. I hope
you will decide to experience her on your own, if you have not already. I encourage you to make
the effort to pick up one of her books and read it. I hope you find her life and her writings as
inspirational as I have.
Not today, but earlier this week I actually had coffee on the porch. It felt marvelous!
we prefer historical novels, mysteries, romance novels, how-to books, whatever!! And much of the
time our preferences are multiple. We like to read various kinds of books by various authors. Many years ago, and I don't remember exactly when or how, I became aware of Maya Angelou. And then I became a little obsessed about her, reading all of her books that I could get my hands on. In her
lifetime, she wrote autobiographical books, much poetry and books of essays. The first one I read was "I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings", written in 1969. If you haven't read it, I encourage you to do so. Absolutely a life changing read, chronicling the woman's early and very difficult life. Opened my eyes in ways I can't even describe.
Maya Angelou was born Marguerite Annie Johnson in 1928 in St. Louis. She is called an American poet, memoirist and civil rights activist. In her lifetime she published seven autobiographies, three books of essays, several books of poetry and was credited with a list of plays, movies, and television shows. Many may remember her for her 1977 role in the made for TV movie, "Roots". She was a very close friend of Oprah Winfrey and Winfrey aired many of her shows with Ms. Angelou as her
guest.
After receiving acclaim for Caged Bird, Angelou began to publicly address her personal life and was
respected for her role as a spokesperson for black people and all women. Through her many gifts, Maya Angelou touched people's lives in remarkable ways. She touched people of all colors and
backgrounds. To say that she was inspiring seems very inadequate. But through her work, her passion and her ability to speak to one's heart, she certainly has inspired my life.
On January 20, 1993 at the inauguration of President William Jefferson Clinton, Maya Angelou
read a poem, "On The Pulse of Morning", written specifically for the event.
In the early fall of 2007 I had read in the newspaper that Ms. Angelou would be speaking at
SIU-Carbondale. When I read the ad, her engagement was just a few days away. I was very excited
and was trying to decide if I would be able to attend. That morning my old friend, Sue Reiman, came
bounding through my office door and said simply, "Ya' wanna go?" I knew immediately what she
was referring to and shouted, "Yes! I do!" We went together. On a cold, dark, rainy evening
Sue and I ill-advisedly took off down Route 3, on our way to Carbondale. Sue knew the campus really well and drove us right to the appointed location. The crowd was very large and we waited in
line for at least two hours before we were admitted into the auditorium. The standing was very
difficult for Sue, as she was not well, but we did it and we did it happily. Imagine how surprised we
were when Ms. Angelou was finally ushered into the room and on to the stage by Chester native and
then SIU student Nate Brown! Maya Angelou was a tall woman, with broad shoulders and a smile that could light a room! Her presence in the room immediately changed the very atmosphere. During
nearly two hours she made us cry. She made us laugh. Men and women. Young and old. Her words and the meaning behind them were deep and heart changing. I can only say that her unique delivery was so large and powerful, electrifying the large auditorium.
I have always been so grateful for my Maya Angelou experience - and for the fact that Sue and I were able to share it. We laughed that night like two young girls. And our lives were forever altered for
having been in that auditorium that evening. Sue's forever, though, was brief. A little over a month after that night, Sue lost her battle with cancer.
Maya Angelou died May 28, 2014 at the age of 86. But her work and her inspiration go on through the work she left behind. A huge legacy for us all. I could write so much in today's column about
Ms. Angelou's writings, her wonderful quotes, her experiences. But that would be wrong. I hope
you will decide to experience her on your own, if you have not already. I encourage you to make
the effort to pick up one of her books and read it. I hope you find her life and her writings as
inspirational as I have.
Not today, but earlier this week I actually had coffee on the porch. It felt marvelous!
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