HISTORY LESSON continued........

After some time passed, the hat's recipient graduated high school and left for college. I noticed that he had absent-mindedly forgotten to pack the hat so I quietly stuffed it in the innards of his suitcase.

His first Christmas break, his father and I stood among the throngs of air travelers waiting eagerly to catch a glimpse of our son...actually afraid we would not recognize him some 4 months after he had left home. We need not have feared because he was the only disembarking passenger wearing a fluorescent orange hat.

When opening the Christmas gift with the special wrap, it was my turn to receive his hat. However, I knew how important the item was to him so I mailed it to him. Over the years, the hat has turned up under mattresses and in the Canadian wilderness when he unfolded his tent. It has been mailed, sent with others, and handed back directly.

To see a picture of how very useful this fashion statement has been over the years, go to www.wyattjourney.com and look at his May 17, 2005, photo. It was about that time I determined perhaps he really wanted me to have it...so I put it away in my Mother's "hope chest" thinking someday I could wear it to his wedding rehearsal. The last time I saw the orange wonder, Geoffrey had tucked it in some attic bookshelves he thought were seldom, if ever, used. I wasted no time mailing it to him.

Now, he is the keeper of the hat. And I am wondering what color shoes I need to go with it.

A HISTORY LESSON

Since "someone" in my last blog commented on the subject, I feel I need to address the hat. And, since no one other than my family has found this cubby hole, no one in the telling of this story need feel embarrassed.

It all started at an enormous yard sale overlooking the Columbia River...crowds of people seeking hidden treasure among makeshift tables scattered over half an acre of prime property. I don't like to spend more than two figures for anything in these sales but this item was exceptionally fine so I handed the proprietor change that came to the full one-dollar asking price. It was not the first orange hunter's cap to be purchased by a family member. No...indeed, it was the memory of that first one that caused me to purchase this one.

So, I guess it actually started when Father took energetic youngest child garage saling one wintry day in Alaska. No one recalls whether the child left with a hat on his head, but we ALL remember that, upon return, he was proudly wearing a slightly used fluorescent-orange, naugahyde hunter's cap with "fur"-lined flaps. It was an adult-sized cap on a skinny five-year old. For years, he wore it with pride, and I did not discourage his wearing it. I could spot him in any crowd, particularly on playgrounds.

The hat never actually touched his head except where it rested on top. As the years wore on, the hat became a "bit" ragged until, one day, I disposed of it. It broke his little heart when I confessed my terrible deed. Now, years later, I stood with a brand new clone of that beloved article. At last, I could make it up to him.

That year, his big Christmas present was a bicycle. The dilemma of how to wrap it was solved with the stored-away hat. Father made everyone in the family a toy rifle...the kind that the cork pops out of the barrel when manipulated. Donning the hat and carrying his rifle, the young man led the family as we followed full-page-sized bear tracks through the house, up the stairs, through the shower (waterfall), down the stairs, out the front door, around the house...all the while singing the memorable camp song "Going On A Bear Hunt." When we reached the camper, everyone squatted and approached it cautiously. When our fearless leader reached into the cave (camper), touching his sister's polyester rabbit "fur" coat draped over the handlebars, everyone screamed and scattered from fear of the bear.

Thus, the orange hunter's cap was reintroduced to the family. The next blog will tell the rest of the story.

A LIFETIME OF SURPRISES

1- "It's a boy!"
2-"Can I go play with my best friend? I don't know his name."
3-"The other kids at school want a magic birthmark like mine."
4- "What has three legs and flies?"
5- Every teacher-parent conference ended with the teacher saying, "I want to know what this child does with his life!"
6. "You know that sweatshirt (or coin, etc) you gave me? I gave it to someone in need."
7. "Heavenly Father, help us find a ride....etc."
8. "Guess where I'm going!!"
9. "I have met someone and we are dating." This statement was followed two weeks later by
10. "Mom...Dad...I want you to talk to my fiance Dana."

Whatever the news from Geoffrey, with it comes joy; we look forward to getting acquainted with Dana and to sharing their joy on June 9th.

A rose by any other name....

We sat in a booth in the restaurant, facing our guests. All we knew of them was their first names, but that was the point of this meal --to become acquainted. They had lived in Louisiana, Colorado, Oregon, Arkansas, and other states in their 51 years of marriage. They had moved to the Pacific Northwest for health reasons. They had been high school sweethearts, married right out of high school. Children? Yes. Four, but one died of lung cancer.

And then the questions turned to us. When the word "published" slipped from John's lips, all eyes turned to me; and the gentleman stated questioningly, "Oh! You are an author?"

This is something I have thought about a great deal --"What has changed?" One night, I went to bed considering myself a writer. The next morning, I woke up and everyone began calling me an author. Had I done anything to change my life? Actually, My girl-child pushed the button that said "PUBLISH."

I am thinking there needs to be an interum term for self-published or Print on demand (POD) writers. After studying and trying to locate an agent or publisher who would even read my "Mother...May I?" (query) letter, I began studying the world of self-publishing. There is little respect for this area of literature. REAL writers will still not read Jessie. However, I have yet to hear a word of discouragement from over 500 readers in the less-than 3 months since Jessie's coming out.

Maybe the term should be "Marqueter" for, of course, my newfound friend purchased one of my books from me.

Here I sit...within reach are three calendars. One is a monthly calendar with a January photo of a reminder of my family's love: one is a weekly engagement calendar with a photo of Arizona, and one is a tiny look at this month's numbers only.

For many, January means a new beginning, a fresh start. For our tribe it is the month of birth. We can easily account for family birthdays on the 3rd, 5th, 7th, 9th, 12th, 13th, 21st, 26th and 30th. And with each date, there are of course special memories.

None of those memories can compare with those treasured in my heart for this day. This is the anniversary date of our firstborn. His name - so carefully chosen -- means Beloved Gift of God.

He came the very date predicted. I called the school office to have them pass the word to my teacher hubby that I was in labor. When there was no returned call, I called Ollie Marshall, Administrator at Sunset Haven "Old Folks' Home" for advice. She delivered me to the hospital then alerted John and his mother (100 miles away), who both arrived about the same time.

In the room with me was a 17-year-old girl whose husband was in Vi etnam. This was her first child also. Her mother had driven her to the hospital and dropped her off; she was obviously scared. John's Mom noticed her distress and stayed with her until she was whisked away to the delivery room.

In those days, the hospital had rules...LOTS of rules. However, John was the first to be allowed to bend the really big rule of no one watching the birth. He was not allowed in the delivery room, but he was allowed to watch through a big picture window. Just as Mary treasured up memories in her heart for Jesus, my heart overflows this day as I pull precious memories from my own treasure chest.

Happy Birthday, David Matthew.

Whatever you do...

Recently, I have become more aware of words. I know I am often half a bubble off when using descriptive words. One word that bothers me when I hear it spoken is "invalid." Does the speaker mean inVALid (the "a" sounds like catch) or does the speaker mean INvahlid (uh)? Which came first? or Are the two words even kinfolk?

From what I can learn, the description of a handicapped individual was first. Later, their passport or some other legal documents were stamped "invalid:" to indicate inability to fufill.

This is just the beginning of my blog, having been encouraged (yea, badgered) into starting one.

betty