What a wonderful word – “Tradition.” To speak it, we almost have to stamp our foot and yell out “TRADITION.” In our family, if you do an act twice, it could easily slip into becoming a tradition. For instance, if we attended any play or concert which included music, tradition dictated that event must be followed by ice cream. Of course, our children became experts at bursting into song if an evening’s play did not include music.
When Geoffrey decided to take a bride, he was especially excited that she experience our traditional family Christmas, which is bereft of what others might expect. Only twice have we ever strung lights outdoors, and the traditional family tree has been reduced to an elfin four-foot creation which may be kept completely bare….or not.
Our Christmas tradition begins on the day after Thanksgiving. That is the day we are allowed to bring out the few items which prod our reminiscing. We begin with the music. As December 25th draws closer, the hand-stitched stockings are brought out for hanging. Each child can still show you on his or her own stocking just which stitches they contributed to the project.
The hand-made, plaster ornaments emerge. Each one is special – not because of its beauty, but because of the story that goes with it. Geoffrey globbed black paint on his sheep so thick that only he recognizes it as a sheep. David camouflaged his by gluing on cotton balls. There is the dark blue angel candlestick, created by one proud kindergartener, utilized as a doorstop. The Mrs. Buttersworth bottle completely covered with collaged bits of tissue paper did eventually dry, but still appears to be oozing glue some 30-plus years later. And the piece de resistance. . . . the last thing to declare we are ready to come together to celebrate. . . .the fat angel is given a place of honor. She was handsewn many years ago and stuffed by an overly enthusiastic three year old Patty. For when she is in place, it is as though the angels are heralding, “Let the traditions begin.!”
There is one bit of silliness that keeps our pot of tradition stirred. It is a set of fourteen red, green, and white wooden blocks. With one exception, each block has letters on two opposing sides; the exception has only one letter. When placed one way, the blocks read JESUS LOVES YOU and the other way MERRY CHRISTMAS. Once, years ago, I came into the room and noticed some “Rocky” fan had changed the message to read YO JESUS LOVES. That was the beginning of a new tradition, which gets pretty crazy. The following are just a few samples of the unexpected messages which greeted us last year: MR. TEACH IS R JURY and I JUST LOVE MUSH and MUST I LOVE MUSH and MASSIVE TRUE JOY and OLE RUMMY STARES and USE MY WATCH SIR and R CREATERS MESSY and RUSTIC MOSS and MERCY SO SURE.
It makes one ponder. “What traditions, begun with our generation, will be passed along to future family?”
Saturday, December 12, 2009
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
HAUGHTY SPIRIT
When I acquired a pen pal in China, I was unprepared for one of Lucy’s questions. She had specialized in the study of the English language for 18 years of her short life. By her letters, she seemed to have an excellent command of her topic of study. I have since been told that, in person, it was hard work for Americans to understand much of her spoken words.
In one letter to me, she asked, ”Why is your language so difficult? In my language, there is only one word that means to walk. But in English, there are many. For example saunter, swagger. shuffled, moped, skipped, etc.. Can you help me to grasp this concept?”
As I recall, I spent quite a chunk of time gathering information, forming my thoughts, and answering her question. Now, I am finding myself searching for just the right terminology in describing the word fall.
In May of this year, I had on hosiery that caused hardwood floors to be very slippery. And, sure enough, I slipped. The result was two crushed vertebrae and eventual back surgery.
Last Sunday morning at 5 a.m., out of concern for a neighbor, I traipsed across our lawn in bare feet. I know exactly where the short path lies, the familiar clearing we have worn from years of crossing our property lines to visit or share with each other. What I did not take into consideration was the complete darkness that time of morning and the fact that the path had not been used very much in recent times. Well, I tripped, tangled in a short, brushy ground cover. And here I sit with my left arm in a splint, learning to type with one hand, and kicking myself that I will still be thus encumbered when Eli comes to entertain and be entertained in one short month.
I am really hoping to not plunge, dive, stumble, hit the dust, faint, misstep, step in a hole, become upright challenged, tumble or....must I say it? FALL ever again!!
Proverbs 16:18
In one letter to me, she asked, ”Why is your language so difficult? In my language, there is only one word that means to walk. But in English, there are many. For example saunter, swagger. shuffled, moped, skipped, etc.. Can you help me to grasp this concept?”
As I recall, I spent quite a chunk of time gathering information, forming my thoughts, and answering her question. Now, I am finding myself searching for just the right terminology in describing the word fall.
In May of this year, I had on hosiery that caused hardwood floors to be very slippery. And, sure enough, I slipped. The result was two crushed vertebrae and eventual back surgery.
Last Sunday morning at 5 a.m., out of concern for a neighbor, I traipsed across our lawn in bare feet. I know exactly where the short path lies, the familiar clearing we have worn from years of crossing our property lines to visit or share with each other. What I did not take into consideration was the complete darkness that time of morning and the fact that the path had not been used very much in recent times. Well, I tripped, tangled in a short, brushy ground cover. And here I sit with my left arm in a splint, learning to type with one hand, and kicking myself that I will still be thus encumbered when Eli comes to entertain and be entertained in one short month.
I am really hoping to not plunge, dive, stumble, hit the dust, faint, misstep, step in a hole, become upright challenged, tumble or....must I say it? FALL ever again!!
Proverbs 16:18
Friday, October 30, 2009
Training Up A Child
As I write this, David (our firstborn) is on his way for a visit. He called a couple of days ago to say he would be coming by train. I arose at 5:20 a.m. and called his cell phone to make sure he was still coming. He answered."Yes. The wheels just started turning. I am on my way."
I do not know how much life's experience he has riding this mode of transportation; however, I do recall our first visit to the "lower 48." After living in Juneau 3 years, our family of four flew to California. Mainly, the reason for this journey was so our two children could experience unconditional love otherwise known as "Grandparents." The plane we were on from Seattle to San Francisco had a scheduled stop in Portland, Oregon, where David peered out the window and noticed the sprinkler system watering the grass and asked, "What are they doing?"
We explained to him that places other than Juneau sometimes had to make certain their plants did not die from lack of rain. The way this was accomplished was to feed water to them. He thought for a second and surmised, "That is the silliest thing I ever heard!"
He did not realize that life was full of silly things. This child was too young when we moved north to recall "cows" and "sheep" and "goats" other than in books we read. In real life, he was accustomed to "seals" and "whales" and "bears." So, when riding from the airport, Grandma pointed out the sheep "over yonder" (thus earning her the title That Yonder Lady). "But where is the shepherd?" he asked. Another time, Grandpa stopped the car to point out the"horned toad" crossing the road.
After the allotted time with my parents, we decided to take the train south to visit John's family. The train left us free to point out every herd of cattle or grazing horse or bleeting sheep as we passed. Hours after John and I had tired of that game, David was still going strong, identifying every living thing God made. Somewhere around Santa Barbara, David called out "tiger" to which we started to explain that tigers don't live in California. That is...we STARTED to tell him, except that, looking out the window, we discovered that he was right. For the train was passing through a zoo!
I wonder what splendor he will discover on today's journey!
I do not know how much life's experience he has riding this mode of transportation; however, I do recall our first visit to the "lower 48." After living in Juneau 3 years, our family of four flew to California. Mainly, the reason for this journey was so our two children could experience unconditional love otherwise known as "Grandparents." The plane we were on from Seattle to San Francisco had a scheduled stop in Portland, Oregon, where David peered out the window and noticed the sprinkler system watering the grass and asked, "What are they doing?"
We explained to him that places other than Juneau sometimes had to make certain their plants did not die from lack of rain. The way this was accomplished was to feed water to them. He thought for a second and surmised, "That is the silliest thing I ever heard!"
He did not realize that life was full of silly things. This child was too young when we moved north to recall "cows" and "sheep" and "goats" other than in books we read. In real life, he was accustomed to "seals" and "whales" and "bears." So, when riding from the airport, Grandma pointed out the sheep "over yonder" (thus earning her the title That Yonder Lady). "But where is the shepherd?" he asked. Another time, Grandpa stopped the car to point out the"horned toad" crossing the road.
After the allotted time with my parents, we decided to take the train south to visit John's family. The train left us free to point out every herd of cattle or grazing horse or bleeting sheep as we passed. Hours after John and I had tired of that game, David was still going strong, identifying every living thing God made. Somewhere around Santa Barbara, David called out "tiger" to which we started to explain that tigers don't live in California. That is...we STARTED to tell him, except that, looking out the window, we discovered that he was right. For the train was passing through a zoo!
I wonder what splendor he will discover on today's journey!
Thursday, October 29, 2009
WILLIE
John and I have attended four memorial services recently -- Vicki (King) Thompson (48) and Charles Fikes, Jr. (41) both passed away quietly in their sleep; the only diagnosis I have heard for both was pneumonia. Neither death was expected and came as a complete surprise to everyone; they will be sorely missed. The 3rd was Jeanette Dean, daughter-in-law of my good friend Ava Dean. Jeanette had not been well for some time.
Last Sunday afternoon, we joined family and friends remembering Willie Rudkin. Willie was our next-door neighbor, the owner of the 5 acres to our north. Just one year before we moved here, Willie had been given the heart of a 20-year-old motorcycle accident victim. He made certain we had a file of his medical history. At the time of his surgery, he was told his life expectancy was 5 years. He lived just a few days shy of 23 years with his new heart.
Willie was a good neighbor. We need never fear grass fires on the Fourth of July because he made certain his field was mowed. When we had a wedding in our back yard, and on other special occasions, he allowed folks to park in his field.
Willie was like a wind-up toy. If we spotted him coming for a visit, we knew to cancel any plans for awhile. He loved to talk. One of his favorite topics was his property. He told how his place once looked like a city park. He loved sharing it with families for picnics. However, because people littered and did not respect his hard work, he had to stop granting permission to use.
Willie especially loved his trees. When we first moved here, he had very recently planted a number of evergreen trees. Now, they have grown enough to obscure our view of Mount Saint Helens. When John had the greenhouse full to overflowing with bonsai miniature trees, he invited Willie over to see that 16-year hobby. Willie studied each tree or group of trees as John pointed out the manipulating skills it took to form the perfect work of art. He asked pertinent questions and was in no hurry to end the visit. When the guided tour ended, Willie summed up his feelings for John’s labor of love.
“Just think,” he said. “Someday, you could take these plants outside and plant them. Then they would grow to their intended size.”
Last Sunday afternoon, we joined family and friends remembering Willie Rudkin. Willie was our next-door neighbor, the owner of the 5 acres to our north. Just one year before we moved here, Willie had been given the heart of a 20-year-old motorcycle accident victim. He made certain we had a file of his medical history. At the time of his surgery, he was told his life expectancy was 5 years. He lived just a few days shy of 23 years with his new heart.
Willie was a good neighbor. We need never fear grass fires on the Fourth of July because he made certain his field was mowed. When we had a wedding in our back yard, and on other special occasions, he allowed folks to park in his field.
Willie was like a wind-up toy. If we spotted him coming for a visit, we knew to cancel any plans for awhile. He loved to talk. One of his favorite topics was his property. He told how his place once looked like a city park. He loved sharing it with families for picnics. However, because people littered and did not respect his hard work, he had to stop granting permission to use.
Willie especially loved his trees. When we first moved here, he had very recently planted a number of evergreen trees. Now, they have grown enough to obscure our view of Mount Saint Helens. When John had the greenhouse full to overflowing with bonsai miniature trees, he invited Willie over to see that 16-year hobby. Willie studied each tree or group of trees as John pointed out the manipulating skills it took to form the perfect work of art. He asked pertinent questions and was in no hurry to end the visit. When the guided tour ended, Willie summed up his feelings for John’s labor of love.
“Just think,” he said. “Someday, you could take these plants outside and plant them. Then they would grow to their intended size.”
Saturday, September 19, 2009
An Accidental Rescue
Things just keep happening as a result of the book I wrote and self-published. It has been three years since Jessie: the story of a genteel lady in frontier Alaska came off the press, and I am still finding adventure as a result of Jessie's story. However, the latest turn of events came about because I volunteered to type my friend, Jeanne Stinson’s, memoirs. In May 2008, she entrusted with me her 285 (handwritten) pages. The typing was completed by Christmas, then came the “work.”
She and I met almost every week for 2 hours to read the manuscript watching for errors and clarity. It was my intention to read a few paragraphs and then trade off, but Jeanne read every word out loud to me. I WISH there had been at least a tape recorder or video camera to share those precious hours with others.
When it came time to print I Dream of Jeanne: A Memoir by Jeanne Stinson, she had decided to not purchase an IBSN (every book with this set of numbers supposedly can be found in Books in Print). This way she could control who read her story. However, after her initial 25 copies went like hotcakes, she decided to get an ISBN. As soon as her number was published, she ordered another 25 books.
When that order came, there were three boxes. When opened, the first two boxes contained her books. However, the third box had 16 copies of a book titled Water in My Veins: The Pauper Who Helped Save A President by LCDR Ted Robinson, USNR. I immediately notified the printer of the mistake. They issued me a case number while they researched how to handle my complaint. As a matter of fact, before the saga ended, they would issue me four numbers.
Meanwhile, I decided there must be a way to reach the author. So with a minute amount of research, I found what city and state the author resides in and also four phone numbers for that region. There was no answer for the first three numbers, but a lady answered the phone for the fourth. I inquired if she knew of anyone with that name who authored a book.
Silence.
Long story; short. Somehow, I had managed to reach the wife of the book’s author. Since Jeanne was the keeper of the surplus books, I gave Mrs. Robinson Jeanne’s phone number. The next morning, Ted Robinson called me briefly and then called Jeanne. After several days of waiting for instructions from the printer, Ted arranged for Fed Ex to pick up the erred books. Soon, Jeanne and I had exchanged our books for his.
And, before I knew it, I was reading a 455-page book about growing up in the days of the Depression and World War II. Meanwhile, Jeanne and I have finished reading this fascinating story. Finding they had much in common, she has talked to him several times on the phone. John just finished reading my autographed copy and found the story to be enthralling. It could use some grammatical cleanup; other than that, it is a great read.
Just a quick PS – the printer folks finally got around to reading my plight and wrote to tell me to destroy the books. Too little…too late…the books were long gone.
She and I met almost every week for 2 hours to read the manuscript watching for errors and clarity. It was my intention to read a few paragraphs and then trade off, but Jeanne read every word out loud to me. I WISH there had been at least a tape recorder or video camera to share those precious hours with others.
When it came time to print I Dream of Jeanne: A Memoir by Jeanne Stinson, she had decided to not purchase an IBSN (every book with this set of numbers supposedly can be found in Books in Print). This way she could control who read her story. However, after her initial 25 copies went like hotcakes, she decided to get an ISBN. As soon as her number was published, she ordered another 25 books.
When that order came, there were three boxes. When opened, the first two boxes contained her books. However, the third box had 16 copies of a book titled Water in My Veins: The Pauper Who Helped Save A President by LCDR Ted Robinson, USNR. I immediately notified the printer of the mistake. They issued me a case number while they researched how to handle my complaint. As a matter of fact, before the saga ended, they would issue me four numbers.
Meanwhile, I decided there must be a way to reach the author. So with a minute amount of research, I found what city and state the author resides in and also four phone numbers for that region. There was no answer for the first three numbers, but a lady answered the phone for the fourth. I inquired if she knew of anyone with that name who authored a book.
Silence.
Long story; short. Somehow, I had managed to reach the wife of the book’s author. Since Jeanne was the keeper of the surplus books, I gave Mrs. Robinson Jeanne’s phone number. The next morning, Ted Robinson called me briefly and then called Jeanne. After several days of waiting for instructions from the printer, Ted arranged for Fed Ex to pick up the erred books. Soon, Jeanne and I had exchanged our books for his.
And, before I knew it, I was reading a 455-page book about growing up in the days of the Depression and World War II. Meanwhile, Jeanne and I have finished reading this fascinating story. Finding they had much in common, she has talked to him several times on the phone. John just finished reading my autographed copy and found the story to be enthralling. It could use some grammatical cleanup; other than that, it is a great read.
Just a quick PS – the printer folks finally got around to reading my plight and wrote to tell me to destroy the books. Too little…too late…the books were long gone.
Saturday, August 29, 2009
Precious Memories...
Precious Memories how they linger...
Today was the day...finally. In three years, I have donated four separate "Evenings with Jessie" for an auction raising funds for Columbia Christian Schools. Sadly, two of the four never took place because of the busy lives we live. Trying to find time for eight adults to gather is nigh unto impossible. Actually, last November's successful bidders gave their space to others for that very reason.
After months of negotiating, a date and time was decided on, and the chosen meal was a brunch. The co-owner of Jessie's trunk, Joanne Roberts, prepared deviled eggs and a lovely breakfast crab casserole. John exercised his sourdough starter and fixed pancakes with ancient batter. Other things on the menu were rice pudding, fruit salad, moose meatballs with cranberry sauce, shrimp and asparagus salad, and salmon ball with crackers. One would think this was a memory-making occasion, and indeed it was. However, it was amazing how many memories of years, even beyond my lifespan, this day evoked.
First of all, the "Time with Jessie." goes back to the 19th century as we opened the trunk and viewed things a total stranger had felt worth keeping until her death. One of the guests learned that we once lived in Juneau and asked if we knew the Long family. "Of course. The sourdough starter came to us from Nello. The mention of the starter brought to mind Lucille Weir and her Mother Bertha Goetz...the original owners of the starter." Seems our guest had hosted one of Nello's girls for about a year when his family lived in Sacramento. The cranberry sauce was prepared by a lady at a book club I spoke with; she used a recipe directly from Jessie's book.
The salmon was provided for the occasion by the host of our Wednesday p.m. Bible study group; the moose meat by hunters from church. The rice pudding came from my recipe box. the explanation of its origin is in my mother's handwriting -- "This recipe tastes like my mother made when I was a child." The memories brought out with each item removed from our trunk were priceless.
As Joanne removed each item, I shared stories of Jessie's life and loves and family; also names and faces of so many folks I have met because of her trunk -- special Eagle Village and Eagle residents of then and now, folks who have bought the book, people I've never seen who own a piece of Jessie's puzzle, etc.
Our walk through Memory's Trunk was sadly incomplete because Ron (co-owner's hubby) was sick abed. He was sorely missed. For me, the highlight of "Brunch with Jessie" was precious time with my very dear friend Joanne and another reminder of what a terrific man I married. Not only did he, unquestioningly, set and prepare the pancakes, he also hand washed my special dishes.
How they ever flood my soul!
Today was the day...finally. In three years, I have donated four separate "Evenings with Jessie" for an auction raising funds for Columbia Christian Schools. Sadly, two of the four never took place because of the busy lives we live. Trying to find time for eight adults to gather is nigh unto impossible. Actually, last November's successful bidders gave their space to others for that very reason.
After months of negotiating, a date and time was decided on, and the chosen meal was a brunch. The co-owner of Jessie's trunk, Joanne Roberts, prepared deviled eggs and a lovely breakfast crab casserole. John exercised his sourdough starter and fixed pancakes with ancient batter. Other things on the menu were rice pudding, fruit salad, moose meatballs with cranberry sauce, shrimp and asparagus salad, and salmon ball with crackers. One would think this was a memory-making occasion, and indeed it was. However, it was amazing how many memories of years, even beyond my lifespan, this day evoked.
First of all, the "Time with Jessie." goes back to the 19th century as we opened the trunk and viewed things a total stranger had felt worth keeping until her death. One of the guests learned that we once lived in Juneau and asked if we knew the Long family. "Of course. The sourdough starter came to us from Nello. The mention of the starter brought to mind Lucille Weir and her Mother Bertha Goetz...the original owners of the starter." Seems our guest had hosted one of Nello's girls for about a year when his family lived in Sacramento. The cranberry sauce was prepared by a lady at a book club I spoke with; she used a recipe directly from Jessie's book.
The salmon was provided for the occasion by the host of our Wednesday p.m. Bible study group; the moose meat by hunters from church. The rice pudding came from my recipe box. the explanation of its origin is in my mother's handwriting -- "This recipe tastes like my mother made when I was a child." The memories brought out with each item removed from our trunk were priceless.
As Joanne removed each item, I shared stories of Jessie's life and loves and family; also names and faces of so many folks I have met because of her trunk -- special Eagle Village and Eagle residents of then and now, folks who have bought the book, people I've never seen who own a piece of Jessie's puzzle, etc.
Our walk through Memory's Trunk was sadly incomplete because Ron (co-owner's hubby) was sick abed. He was sorely missed. For me, the highlight of "Brunch with Jessie" was precious time with my very dear friend Joanne and another reminder of what a terrific man I married. Not only did he, unquestioningly, set and prepare the pancakes, he also hand washed my special dishes.
How they ever flood my soul!
Friday, August 14, 2009
Afternoon Delight
It has been a long time since I have laughed out loud at a movie. I actually even found myself screaming once from hilarity along with the onscreen actress and some of the audience. When Patty called to see if we'd like to hit a matinee, we both jumped at the opportunity. I had already determined to rent "Julie & Julia" (or vice verse) when it came out on DVD. Over and over again, during the viewing, I kept thinking of what few things I could recall reading about Julia Child or seeing her on TV. Even at that, I have a story to share.
When our youngest was in pre-school, we purchased a color TV set, which led to getting cable hookup. One day, he and I were watching Julia Child at work in her kitchen. I don't recall what she was preparing, but I do recall it required a lot of flour. So, I am guessing it may have been bread. Anyway, she looked down at her well-floured work area and, with her bare hand, wiped a substantial amount of flour directly onto the floor. Geoffrey looked up at me and said, "Can you do that?" I told him she probably had people who would clean up after her.
It was about that time in his life that he asked Granny Ruth to make him an apron and a chef's hat. When he donned this wardrobe, he announced "When I have this on, you can call me Cheffrey!"
When our youngest was in pre-school, we purchased a color TV set, which led to getting cable hookup. One day, he and I were watching Julia Child at work in her kitchen. I don't recall what she was preparing, but I do recall it required a lot of flour. So, I am guessing it may have been bread. Anyway, she looked down at her well-floured work area and, with her bare hand, wiped a substantial amount of flour directly onto the floor. Geoffrey looked up at me and said, "Can you do that?" I told him she probably had people who would clean up after her.
It was about that time in his life that he asked Granny Ruth to make him an apron and a chef's hat. When he donned this wardrobe, he announced "When I have this on, you can call me Cheffrey!"
Friday, July 10, 2009
T.T.Tuc...S.S..Son
The year was 1956 when our family of four moved to Tucson from Frankel City, Texas (population 9). Sammy was not happy about the move because, this being his senior year, he would not be graduating with his close friends. When we walked into the Mabel and Santa Rita church building that first Sunday morning, several girls came and asked me to sit on the second row with them.
Before that Sunday ended, we had learned it was necessary to register for school. “Register” would be the first of many three-syllable words added to our vocabulary. None of the others at church would be attending Tucson High that year, but everyone agreed we should start at the bookstore to register. The only clue we had about required classes was another three-syllable word – Algebra.
Monday morning, Sammy drove me to the high school, and we hunted for the bookstore. Already, anyone we met had hung the moniker “Tex” on Sammy’s drawl. He was my big brother and my protector...or so we thought. Finding the tiny entryway labeled “bookstore,” we went in the door to the left. A big “no no.” Entrances and Up stairways were always on the right; we were sent out to correct our first (of many) assumptions.
“Yes, Ma’am. No Ma’m,” Sam answered any and all inquiries. “We were told we have to buy our books for school.”
“What books do you need?”
“Well, Ma’am; for sure, we need Algebra.
Both ladies searched through every file cabinet in the tiny space, and one of them even went through the (righthand) door behind her in search of any hint of our name. Returning through the (lefthand) door, they were both mystified.
“Do you have your printed schedule with you?” Note that schedule would be a three-syllable word to a Texan.
“No, Ma’am. What does a sked-dew-all look like?”
“Who is your counselor?”
“What is a counselor? And where do I find one?”
“You go across the street to the Main Building. Go up the stairs and, after you have passed the columns, go through any of the doors. Walk straight ahead until you come to a wall of windows; you will see counselors sitting at their desks. They will help you get your schedule.”
Following those directions, we found the counselors’ office. The lady at the front desk said we could not just walk in and expect to be registered. I was assigned to Counselor Miss Smith; she would stick with me for 4 whole years. A man was to counsel Sam. We had to make an appointment (three syllables) to meet with our counselors to work out our schedule.
As it turned out, Tucson High School was the largest school in the Nation that year. We were on triple shifts, from dawn to dusk. Our shift was early morning, and we were out before noon. Before the school year ended, 3,000 students would move into the brand spanking new Pueblo High School, and 2,000 more exited THS’s halls to become Catalina High School.
Academic classes were held in the Main Building; imagine how hot those third-floor classes were without even a fan much less air conditioners. The Vocational Building housed classed fpr training for life’s careers: Home Ec, secretarial classes, auto shop, machinery, and (who knows why?) Algebra. The Annex held the cafeteria, boys PE and girls PE and gyms, band and choir, and the bookstore.
Some quickly learned rules -- Stairways were marked for “Up and Down," and woe unto you if you erred from that rule. Hall monitors sat in every hallway, and one did not dare peek out of the assigned classroom during class hours without a hall pass. Hundreds of students filled the cafeteria for study hall. The wrestling coach was assigned my table to make certain there was no talking; he wasn’t very much help with Algebra.
Before that Sunday ended, we had learned it was necessary to register for school. “Register” would be the first of many three-syllable words added to our vocabulary. None of the others at church would be attending Tucson High that year, but everyone agreed we should start at the bookstore to register. The only clue we had about required classes was another three-syllable word – Algebra.
Monday morning, Sammy drove me to the high school, and we hunted for the bookstore. Already, anyone we met had hung the moniker “Tex” on Sammy’s drawl. He was my big brother and my protector...or so we thought. Finding the tiny entryway labeled “bookstore,” we went in the door to the left. A big “no no.” Entrances and Up stairways were always on the right; we were sent out to correct our first (of many) assumptions.
“Yes, Ma’am. No Ma’m,” Sam answered any and all inquiries. “We were told we have to buy our books for school.”
“What books do you need?”
“Well, Ma’am; for sure, we need Algebra.
Both ladies searched through every file cabinet in the tiny space, and one of them even went through the (righthand) door behind her in search of any hint of our name. Returning through the (lefthand) door, they were both mystified.
“Do you have your printed schedule with you?” Note that schedule would be a three-syllable word to a Texan.
“No, Ma’am. What does a sked-dew-all look like?”
“Who is your counselor?”
“What is a counselor? And where do I find one?”
“You go across the street to the Main Building. Go up the stairs and, after you have passed the columns, go through any of the doors. Walk straight ahead until you come to a wall of windows; you will see counselors sitting at their desks. They will help you get your schedule.”
Following those directions, we found the counselors’ office. The lady at the front desk said we could not just walk in and expect to be registered. I was assigned to Counselor Miss Smith; she would stick with me for 4 whole years. A man was to counsel Sam. We had to make an appointment (three syllables) to meet with our counselors to work out our schedule.
As it turned out, Tucson High School was the largest school in the Nation that year. We were on triple shifts, from dawn to dusk. Our shift was early morning, and we were out before noon. Before the school year ended, 3,000 students would move into the brand spanking new Pueblo High School, and 2,000 more exited THS’s halls to become Catalina High School.
Academic classes were held in the Main Building; imagine how hot those third-floor classes were without even a fan much less air conditioners. The Vocational Building housed classed fpr training for life’s careers: Home Ec, secretarial classes, auto shop, machinery, and (who knows why?) Algebra. The Annex held the cafeteria, boys PE and girls PE and gyms, band and choir, and the bookstore.
Some quickly learned rules -- Stairways were marked for “Up and Down," and woe unto you if you erred from that rule. Hall monitors sat in every hallway, and one did not dare peek out of the assigned classroom during class hours without a hall pass. Hundreds of students filled the cafeteria for study hall. The wrestling coach was assigned my table to make certain there was no talking; he wasn’t very much help with Algebra.
Sunday, June 28, 2009
Princess Lines in West Texas?
OH DEAR! I've done it this time. What started as a simple notice of my upcoming class reunion took an unexpected turn. Sorry!
Our family moved to Tucson during the summer before Sam’s senior year; I would begin my freshman year at Tucson High School. Sam was not happy about the move because he would not get to graduate with his good friends.
We moved to the big city from Frankel City, Texas. Frankel City was located 14 miles west of Andrews. For the 2 years we lived there, Sam and I rode the bus to school in Andrews. Entering Frankel City (also known as Franklin and Fullerton), the posted population read “9.” Within the “city limits” was a grocery store, a café, and two church buildings, one Baptist and one Church of Christ, and a garage.
What would sustain such a town? It would not take a visitor any time at all to ascertain who made up the tiny congregation of believers. Oil derricks and pumps dotted the landscape; housing was provided for the workers in the field. When our family would have guests, we would take them on a drive of the area; pointing out sagebrush, desert creatures, small sand dunes, oil derricks…a flat, parched land. Daddy would always try to time the tour so that, right at dusk, he would stop and point out the lights of “the desert ship.” Guests were always taken aback at how such an enormous vessel could possibly exist in such a barren land. Then Daddy would drive up closer so one could see clearly that the ship was not a sea-going vessel at all. It was an oil refinery.
Our house and church building sat next to the grocery store, right on highway 181. Folks who were familiar with the area knew that this was a shortcut to the big town of Seminole; otherwise, anyone else on the road was just plain lost. Daddy marked the road every quarter mile for a mile, and Sam and I ran. We got to be pretty good runners. On Sunday afternoons, Sam would go hunting for rattlesnakes with other boys his age. Daddy occasionally went dove hunting. They were both hugely successful hunters for their chosen prey. Jackrabbits were also plentiful, but only at night when spooked out of hiding by car lights.
When leaving the house, we learned rather quickly to jump off of the concrete stoop. This was an important lesson because the rattlesnakes would hunker in the shade right where we would normally step. Otherwise, we made our own entertainment. On my 13th birthday, Sam taught me the game of Mumblypeg. His knife punctured the top of my left foot. To see a movie (or doctor) meant a trip into Andrews.
My grandfather had paid for and had shipped to us a tower for attaching a TV antenna, but it would be several years before anyone purchased the television set to accompany it. We moved it three times and never made use of it.
Check back here in the future for the story of two teens from population 9 town trying to enter the largest high school in the Nation.
Our family moved to Tucson during the summer before Sam’s senior year; I would begin my freshman year at Tucson High School. Sam was not happy about the move because he would not get to graduate with his good friends.
We moved to the big city from Frankel City, Texas. Frankel City was located 14 miles west of Andrews. For the 2 years we lived there, Sam and I rode the bus to school in Andrews. Entering Frankel City (also known as Franklin and Fullerton), the posted population read “9.” Within the “city limits” was a grocery store, a café, and two church buildings, one Baptist and one Church of Christ, and a garage.
What would sustain such a town? It would not take a visitor any time at all to ascertain who made up the tiny congregation of believers. Oil derricks and pumps dotted the landscape; housing was provided for the workers in the field. When our family would have guests, we would take them on a drive of the area; pointing out sagebrush, desert creatures, small sand dunes, oil derricks…a flat, parched land. Daddy would always try to time the tour so that, right at dusk, he would stop and point out the lights of “the desert ship.” Guests were always taken aback at how such an enormous vessel could possibly exist in such a barren land. Then Daddy would drive up closer so one could see clearly that the ship was not a sea-going vessel at all. It was an oil refinery.
Our house and church building sat next to the grocery store, right on highway 181. Folks who were familiar with the area knew that this was a shortcut to the big town of Seminole; otherwise, anyone else on the road was just plain lost. Daddy marked the road every quarter mile for a mile, and Sam and I ran. We got to be pretty good runners. On Sunday afternoons, Sam would go hunting for rattlesnakes with other boys his age. Daddy occasionally went dove hunting. They were both hugely successful hunters for their chosen prey. Jackrabbits were also plentiful, but only at night when spooked out of hiding by car lights.
When leaving the house, we learned rather quickly to jump off of the concrete stoop. This was an important lesson because the rattlesnakes would hunker in the shade right where we would normally step. Otherwise, we made our own entertainment. On my 13th birthday, Sam taught me the game of Mumblypeg. His knife punctured the top of my left foot. To see a movie (or doctor) meant a trip into Andrews.
My grandfather had paid for and had shipped to us a tower for attaching a TV antenna, but it would be several years before anyone purchased the television set to accompany it. We moved it three times and never made use of it.
Check back here in the future for the story of two teens from population 9 town trying to enter the largest high school in the Nation.
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Monday, June 22, 2009
Anybody home?
I stood in the enormous room and shouted, "Anybody home?" ....anybody home?
It isn't just any room; it is a room of my own making. ....own making
I cut the trees and hewed each one to stack in a Lincoln Blog fashion. ...log fashion
I laid a tin roof for shelter. ....shelter
The ceiling is high enough for a basketball hoop. ...hoop
Someone must be here, but all I hear is an echo. ....echo
Oh! there is someone outside...calling my name. ...betty riot?
But I don't see anyone anywhere in this blog cabin. ...bin
What's that? They've all moved to facebook. ....book
Or Twitter. ...ter
I guess I'd better go look for them. ....em
It isn't just any room; it is a room of my own making. ....own making
I cut the trees and hewed each one to stack in a Lincoln Blog fashion. ...log fashion
I laid a tin roof for shelter. ....shelter
The ceiling is high enough for a basketball hoop. ...hoop
Someone must be here, but all I hear is an echo. ....echo
Oh! there is someone outside...calling my name. ...betty riot?
But I don't see anyone anywhere in this blog cabin. ...bin
What's that? They've all moved to facebook. ....book
Or Twitter. ...ter
I guess I'd better go look for them. ....em
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
A Deed, Indeed.....
I find myself writing mostly about words, but now I want to share a little about deeds.
Have you ever done something for another person out of love? I don't necessarily mean love of the person as the motivation but, rather, the love of God. It is such a good feeling. But, then, when the task is complete and the person wants to show their gratitude, how do you accept their thanx? We were blessed to spend an evening with our friends, enjoying a fine German meal and good company.
Many of you who read our family's blogs have read the book that I wrote about an amazing lady who lived in Alaska for many years and died in 1969. If you have read the book, you probably recognized Eagle Village and Eagle, Alaska, in the news this past week. Two emails today confirmed houses destroyed, and folks learning about true "Homelessness." Great deeds of kindness by fellow citizens saved an amazing amount of "stuff" from the museums, and they say they are ready for tourists.
We thank God for much good news!
Have you ever done something for another person out of love? I don't necessarily mean love of the person as the motivation but, rather, the love of God. It is such a good feeling. But, then, when the task is complete and the person wants to show their gratitude, how do you accept their thanx? We were blessed to spend an evening with our friends, enjoying a fine German meal and good company.
Many of you who read our family's blogs have read the book that I wrote about an amazing lady who lived in Alaska for many years and died in 1969. If you have read the book, you probably recognized Eagle Village and Eagle, Alaska, in the news this past week. Two emails today confirmed houses destroyed, and folks learning about true "Homelessness." Great deeds of kindness by fellow citizens saved an amazing amount of "stuff" from the museums, and they say they are ready for tourists.
We thank God for much good news!
Thursday, May 7, 2009
Pun with words
I just entered the world of selling on Craigslist. I have purchased a number of small items by this means, but never had a reason to sell. However, now that Eli has outgrown the bouncy seat and car seat base and bath tub, I need to recycle them.
I could not resist advertising one item as a "barely used bath tub." I wonder if anyone will notice!
I could not resist advertising one item as a "barely used bath tub." I wonder if anyone will notice!
Saturday, April 25, 2009
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Thursday, April 9, 2009
Helen Marie is coming...
My very best friend from 1st and 2nd grades is coming for a visit. Our family moved clear across country as soon as school was out after 2nd grade. As I recall, I spent one night with her when we were both 16, and that was our only contact through the years. Truth be told, she was on a date most of that visit.
Anyway, when my brother(Sam)attended his wife's (Billie Jo) 50th class reunion, he spent much of his evening visiting with Helen Marie, whose husband (Marvin) graduated with Billie Jo. Sam passed on to me her contact information; and we did connect last summer...again, for a brief visit.
What do we have in common? We will learn as we become reacquainted. For now, we share precious memories of 60 years ago, of each other's family, of making mud pies and paper dolls, birthday parties and valentines,...friendship!
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
Sitting A Spell
Remember a couple of weeks ago my admission of not living up to my pride when it came to a spelling bee in high school? It’s okay if you forgot; you have read other things since then. It wasn’t great enough to bother going back to find it.
Well, it seems I have not learned from that experience. Today, I was sent to a website of the 25 most misspelled words (somehow an extra 2 were snuck in). John often asks me the spelling of a word, and I’m usually correct. Therefore, I do believe I could write the word out better than selecting one out of four.
I feel I should warn anyone taking the challenge. Examining closely the ones I missed, I feel certain that my trying to navigate using the arrows instead of “page down” resulted in some of my answers getting changed.
See how you do: http://www.businesswriting.com/tests/commonmisspelled.html
Well, it seems I have not learned from that experience. Today, I was sent to a website of the 25 most misspelled words (somehow an extra 2 were snuck in). John often asks me the spelling of a word, and I’m usually correct. Therefore, I do believe I could write the word out better than selecting one out of four.
I feel I should warn anyone taking the challenge. Examining closely the ones I missed, I feel certain that my trying to navigate using the arrows instead of “page down” resulted in some of my answers getting changed.
See how you do: http://www.businesswriting.com/tests/commonmisspelled.html
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Rescued...
Well, I’ve done it this time. I decided to thin my collection of cookbooks. After all, any recipe I can possibly ever need, can be found on www.allrecipes.com.
I started the process a couple of weeks ago. Selecting the old AWP (Associated Women for Pepperdine) book because it had obviously had the most use, I checked its remaining pages carefully for anything of value. What surprised me was that in spite of it’s missing covers and the index being used in various pages as bookmarks, I only salvaged three recipes to be sure they are preserved in my computer “recipes” file.
That was the last time I touched that project. However, last night I found myself needing the recipe for leftover turkey – not just any recipe. Angie Long’s recipe. I knew exactly where to find it. It is on the lower right-hand page of the “Daybreak Camp Cookbook.” When Cindy Thorpe, Pepperdine secretary par excellent, was visiting us in Juneau umpteen years ago, she asked several people to contribute to a money-raiser cookbook. I have ALWAYS used Angie’s recipe for “Chicken Supreme.” Even on the next page, there are other, similar recipes; but Angie’s recipe has been proven in my own kitchen.
I took down all of my cookbooks, and Daybreak Camp was nowhere to be found. My first thought was to call someone – anyone – in Juneau to see if they had their copy still. However, everyone I could think to call is traveling. Then I thought of Jack and Carolyn. Jack is Cindy Thorpe’s grandson, and he and Carolyn actually lived on the premises of Daybreak Camp, in the Bay area of California, for awhile; they now reside in central California. By some weird coincidence, I actually had Jack’s phone number stored in my computer address file.
On the fourth ring, what I assumed was the answer machine picked up the phone saying, “Hello, you’ve reached Jack.” When the voice did not add “Leave a message,” I gathered my wits enough to ask if this was a real person. Indeed, it was.
“Jack. This is Betty. Do you have the “Daybreak Camp Cookbook”? I muttered as though we converse often.
“Sure do. Whatcha need?”
“Angie Long’s Chicken Surprise or Supreme or something like that.”
“Carolyn’s already getting it down.. Here it is…”
I love it when a plan falls together! Thanks Jack & Carolyn.
I started the process a couple of weeks ago. Selecting the old AWP (Associated Women for Pepperdine) book because it had obviously had the most use, I checked its remaining pages carefully for anything of value. What surprised me was that in spite of it’s missing covers and the index being used in various pages as bookmarks, I only salvaged three recipes to be sure they are preserved in my computer “recipes” file.
That was the last time I touched that project. However, last night I found myself needing the recipe for leftover turkey – not just any recipe. Angie Long’s recipe. I knew exactly where to find it. It is on the lower right-hand page of the “Daybreak Camp Cookbook.” When Cindy Thorpe, Pepperdine secretary par excellent, was visiting us in Juneau umpteen years ago, she asked several people to contribute to a money-raiser cookbook. I have ALWAYS used Angie’s recipe for “Chicken Supreme.” Even on the next page, there are other, similar recipes; but Angie’s recipe has been proven in my own kitchen.
I took down all of my cookbooks, and Daybreak Camp was nowhere to be found. My first thought was to call someone – anyone – in Juneau to see if they had their copy still. However, everyone I could think to call is traveling. Then I thought of Jack and Carolyn. Jack is Cindy Thorpe’s grandson, and he and Carolyn actually lived on the premises of Daybreak Camp, in the Bay area of California, for awhile; they now reside in central California. By some weird coincidence, I actually had Jack’s phone number stored in my computer address file.
On the fourth ring, what I assumed was the answer machine picked up the phone saying, “Hello, you’ve reached Jack.” When the voice did not add “Leave a message,” I gathered my wits enough to ask if this was a real person. Indeed, it was.
“Jack. This is Betty. Do you have the “Daybreak Camp Cookbook”? I muttered as though we converse often.
“Sure do. Whatcha need?”
“Angie Long’s Chicken Surprise or Supreme or something like that.”
“Carolyn’s already getting it down.. Here it is…”
I love it when a plan falls together! Thanks Jack & Carolyn.
Sunday, March 8, 2009
And now for the news:
I have yet to catch the early-morning deliverer of our paper, but there are days I just know we have a new delivery person. I will admit we have been spoiled by our Russian fella (I cannot read his name on his annual Christmas card). In the years he has delivered the morning news, I have never had to take more than six steps from my front door to pick up the newspaper. Mostly, in those years, it has been swathed in plastic. In the summer, I don’t mind going out in my bare feet to feel the dew between my toes as I pick up the daily drop of pinecones on our lawn. But, somehow, I just can’t muster up the same enthusiasm when there is snow or ice out there. Some warmer mornings, when I am outside trying to beat the squirrels to the pine morsels, the news delivery person and I wave to each other as he carefully gets out of his car and hits his target once again.
Delivery usually is made between 4:45 and, on weekends, sometimes as late as 7:30. Often, I am at my computer when I hear a simple thud against the front door. I listen for a car engine or the sound of gravel being moved by car tires. However, the only ways to know for certain the sound came from the delivery person is to peek out a side window to see if there are car lights heading further down our road or else go to the door and check.
You may wonder how I know someone new is taking his place? The first clue was when we returned from a week-long trip, and the expected subscriber stack of papers did not show up on our doorstep on the day of our return. (Let me digress enough to say “I love this service!”) Nor did they come the next day. So, on the third day, I called and asked that delivery begin again. And there it was on day four, held together by a single rubber band. The banded papers continued for several days, rain or shine, snow or dry. And, did I mention, just beyond my reach?
Now, here, I must admit that each day must come as a surprise to anyone pulling into our driveway. One day, the cars may be in the garage. The next day, there could be several autos in the driveway. Another day, our lengthy van might be on the side, blocking view of our porch. And still another day, the van may be parked with a camper or trailer attached. I have marveled at good service all this time.
The new delivery person has managed to hit the muddy flower bed and hidden the news under vehicles. I have had to search around house corners and in stacks of fire wood. I say all this to say “I miss the regular fella.” I do notice that the paper weighs less these days and excused the poor aim somewhat to this. This does not, however, make walking barefoot in the snow any more pleasurable.
Delivery usually is made between 4:45 and, on weekends, sometimes as late as 7:30. Often, I am at my computer when I hear a simple thud against the front door. I listen for a car engine or the sound of gravel being moved by car tires. However, the only ways to know for certain the sound came from the delivery person is to peek out a side window to see if there are car lights heading further down our road or else go to the door and check.
You may wonder how I know someone new is taking his place? The first clue was when we returned from a week-long trip, and the expected subscriber stack of papers did not show up on our doorstep on the day of our return. (Let me digress enough to say “I love this service!”) Nor did they come the next day. So, on the third day, I called and asked that delivery begin again. And there it was on day four, held together by a single rubber band. The banded papers continued for several days, rain or shine, snow or dry. And, did I mention, just beyond my reach?
Now, here, I must admit that each day must come as a surprise to anyone pulling into our driveway. One day, the cars may be in the garage. The next day, there could be several autos in the driveway. Another day, our lengthy van might be on the side, blocking view of our porch. And still another day, the van may be parked with a camper or trailer attached. I have marveled at good service all this time.
The new delivery person has managed to hit the muddy flower bed and hidden the news under vehicles. I have had to search around house corners and in stacks of fire wood. I say all this to say “I miss the regular fella.” I do notice that the paper weighs less these days and excused the poor aim somewhat to this. This does not, however, make walking barefoot in the snow any more pleasurable.
Saturday, February 28, 2009
What are you doing this weekend?
The question has been asked, and I have decided to answer it. We prepared for this weekend by cleaning and heating the guest room. I’d say it really began when John’s cell phone alerted us to a caller. We were sitting in the “cell phone” parking at the Portland airport. Our guests were waiting outside the baggage pickup area of Alaska Airlines. The fellas had conversed several times, but we girls had not seen each other since June 2007 when we were in Alaska for THE wedding.
But, you know, some things never change. After catching up on each other’s kids, grandkids, acquaintances, parents, and news, we settled into sharing life as usual. When I showed her photo- and scrap-books, she stopped on a special page. It was a photo of four very young (and slender) brides. YUP…Joanne, Autumn, Kathy and me..all four of us decked out for hiking. The greatest danger of the entire trek was the rifle our husbands insisted we carry; as I recall we all took a turn carrying it (trepidatiously). The wildest animal contact was the mouse chewing on my hair during the night.
While the menfolk went to get a rental car, we reminisced about threads in the tapestry of our lives. Mike and Kathy took us out to lunch, and it was time to say “Fair thee well.” We plan to see them in a couple of weeks at their daughters wedding. We will probably greet formally in the reception line; there is little hope of time for a REAL visit. They were our guests for fewer than 24 hours, but it was refreshing to have them.
They were gone only a couple of hours when our doorbell rang. Again, it was a “child” from our Alaska days. Not only did he grow up with our kiddos, Rob entered college in Portland just after we moved to this area, and we ended up adopting him along with a few young ladies, one of whom he ended up marrying in our back yard. He had dropped off his older son nearby for a gathering which would take about 3 hours. So, since he was in the neighborhood he dropped by to fill us in on their busy lives. Again, the topics of family, kids, jobs, mother, friends, and loved ones filled the time entirely too quickly.
It has been a good weekend, saying “Hello” to folks we see so seldom. Tomorrow afternoon, we will say “Goodbye” to a dear brother in the Lord. Over the years, we visited Bill in his home. He and the dog would greet us cordially, and he would sit in his recliner with his Bible within reach, always. Long before we met him, he was a public school teacher. We have been told, and we do believe it, that he was a great instructor. No doubt his beloved Aleda Mae will also be mentioned...so many reminders of good folks' love of the Lord and consideration for others.
But, you know, some things never change. After catching up on each other’s kids, grandkids, acquaintances, parents, and news, we settled into sharing life as usual. When I showed her photo- and scrap-books, she stopped on a special page. It was a photo of four very young (and slender) brides. YUP…Joanne, Autumn, Kathy and me..all four of us decked out for hiking. The greatest danger of the entire trek was the rifle our husbands insisted we carry; as I recall we all took a turn carrying it (trepidatiously). The wildest animal contact was the mouse chewing on my hair during the night.
While the menfolk went to get a rental car, we reminisced about threads in the tapestry of our lives. Mike and Kathy took us out to lunch, and it was time to say “Fair thee well.” We plan to see them in a couple of weeks at their daughters wedding. We will probably greet formally in the reception line; there is little hope of time for a REAL visit. They were our guests for fewer than 24 hours, but it was refreshing to have them.
They were gone only a couple of hours when our doorbell rang. Again, it was a “child” from our Alaska days. Not only did he grow up with our kiddos, Rob entered college in Portland just after we moved to this area, and we ended up adopting him along with a few young ladies, one of whom he ended up marrying in our back yard. He had dropped off his older son nearby for a gathering which would take about 3 hours. So, since he was in the neighborhood he dropped by to fill us in on their busy lives. Again, the topics of family, kids, jobs, mother, friends, and loved ones filled the time entirely too quickly.
It has been a good weekend, saying “Hello” to folks we see so seldom. Tomorrow afternoon, we will say “Goodbye” to a dear brother in the Lord. Over the years, we visited Bill in his home. He and the dog would greet us cordially, and he would sit in his recliner with his Bible within reach, always. Long before we met him, he was a public school teacher. We have been told, and we do believe it, that he was a great instructor. No doubt his beloved Aleda Mae will also be mentioned...so many reminders of good folks' love of the Lord and consideration for others.
Monday, February 16, 2009
Memories are made of this
There are things that occur in this life that, at the instant of their occurrence, I just instinctively know this will stay in my memory forever. Sometimes, it is a milestone – such as saying “I do” in front of a group of friends and relatives. And sometimes it is not worthy of taking up space in one’s brain – such as watching ants on my 5th birthday scurrying with new-found crumbs and my surmising they are taking them to their hill to gift wrap them for me. I am chasing rabbits…back to my tale.
Today, my memory bank is full of the word OUGHT. It has been permanently embellished on my mind for over 50 years as the word that caused me great embarrassment. When my sophomore English teacher chose two people in the class to choose teams for a spelling bee, I just knew that this was my opportunity to shine. After all, had I not learned to spell e.v.a.p.o.r.a.t.e. in kindergarten? Why, in Texas, I had proven my spelling many a time. Apparently, my team captain thought I had some capabilities since I was her first pick.
Team captains were called on first and spelled their simple words with little effort. Then came my time to impress. The teacher called out my word to spell…”Ought,” she said. “A.u.g.h.t.” I replied. “No, Betty. Perhaps I did not pronounce it well. Let’s try again.” Ought.” “O.t.t.” I guessed. “No, you have been eliminated from the race…Next!” I was mortified to have done so poorly on such a basically simple word.
The reason this memory has been itching my brain so recently is because one of my granddaughters spelled the word “Sleight” by dropping the “e” (s.l.i.g.h.t) during a recent spelling bee. I rather suspect that it will become her “forever” word.
p.s. I think she should have received credit for her spelling; modern usage shows it both ways.
Today, my memory bank is full of the word OUGHT. It has been permanently embellished on my mind for over 50 years as the word that caused me great embarrassment. When my sophomore English teacher chose two people in the class to choose teams for a spelling bee, I just knew that this was my opportunity to shine. After all, had I not learned to spell e.v.a.p.o.r.a.t.e. in kindergarten? Why, in Texas, I had proven my spelling many a time. Apparently, my team captain thought I had some capabilities since I was her first pick.
Team captains were called on first and spelled their simple words with little effort. Then came my time to impress. The teacher called out my word to spell…”Ought,” she said. “A.u.g.h.t.” I replied. “No, Betty. Perhaps I did not pronounce it well. Let’s try again.” Ought.” “O.t.t.” I guessed. “No, you have been eliminated from the race…Next!” I was mortified to have done so poorly on such a basically simple word.
The reason this memory has been itching my brain so recently is because one of my granddaughters spelled the word “Sleight” by dropping the “e” (s.l.i.g.h.t) during a recent spelling bee. I rather suspect that it will become her “forever” word.
p.s. I think she should have received credit for her spelling; modern usage shows it both ways.
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
A TALE OF THREE LADIES, (the rest of the story)
Two senior ladies checked luggage and cleared security at the Portland airport without any trouble. Though the young man announcing the flight was not happy we did not have “something blue” as proof of our need to pre-board, he let us by.
Jane wanted an aisle seat so I took the middle. The young lady who sat by the window took her seat, pulled out her iPod, plugged them into her ears, and leaned back to take a nap. The flight was above the clouds…and only about 50 minutes.
Anita was only moments away and picked us up in her little red car. Boxes and paper products were stacked to the ceiling in anticipation of Saturday night’s Chinese New Year celebration. After dropping our luggage at her house, we had lunch at the “Cracker Barrel.” I ordered catfish with sides of hush puppy and coleslaw. After lunch, I waited in one of the porch rockers while the others “shopped.” Did you realize that penny candy is now 15¢? Our next task was to trade the red car for one with four doors. After a brief introduction to Boise, we spent the rest of the evening relaxing, trying out a “simple” won ton recipe (with little success), peeking in our welcoming gift bags, eating dinner, and introducing our hostess to Canasta.
Saturday, We began the day with a devotion and prayers followed by breakfast and out the door. Anita needed to pick up an acquaintance to transport her to a housecleaning task. This drive took us by HP multiplex, also “fast-toured” a former church building now a bistro and a look at Boise’s memorial to Anne Frank. Then it was time to get Anita’s mother at the airport.
Now, we were complete.
After dropping Hilly’s luggage by the house, we were expecting to meet a couple who is very special to Anita; the woman was a nurse and a great support to Anita during her cancer battle. They were looking for a red car so we were a little late bumping noses. We were the first customers to be seated in the very ornate surroundings of the Thai restaurant. We were privileged to have an expert ordering our meal of duck and dishes of curry and stir fry and fried rice and steamed veggies. An abundance of food for our group of six left us with plenty to take home.
Speaking of which, the three weary travelers took naps while our hostess prepared scads of won tons for the Chinese New Year gathering that evening. Refreshed and wearing our appropriate red, we went early to help set up for the event. This is “the Year of the Ox.” Door prizes included a children’s book The Ox-Cart Man, stuffed oxen dolls and other thematic gifts. At the announced 5 p.m., there were three people (besides us), but by 6 the count was closer to 50; and by evening’s end, we figure about 80 people were present. The Asian community was well represented, and the dishes they prepared were from every imaginable eastern country. Red envelopes of gold-coin chocolates were handed out to the children and a movie was provided for them also. We left about 8:30. When Anita returned from taking us to the house, some kind souls had already cleaned up.
Sunday morning began with a devotional – more thanks giving for the purpose of our being together, Then it was time to pack for our trip home. We worshipped with the Grace Church of Christ. Then went back to the house to help polish off the leftovers from the day before. Another brief, scenic drive of the area preceded dropping us at the airport for our return home. Again, we were allowed to pre-board (though, truth be told, we still do not know what a "blue thing" is nor how to obtain one). We even saved a seat for a lady who had helped us up the banisterless ramp on our arrival only two days earlier.
So-o-o, how is everyone doing? Anita called to report her one-year checkup on February 5th came back N.E.D. (no evidence of disease)! And, just yesterday, Hilly sent this report: “Result of my bloodmarker test today CA19-9 is 13.5 that is normal. My last one in 2008 CA19-9 was 187.4.” And Jane’s oncologist says, “He sees no evidence of any cancer cells anywhere.”
THANK YOU, FATHER! And Thank you, Anita, for a fine visit.
Jane wanted an aisle seat so I took the middle. The young lady who sat by the window took her seat, pulled out her iPod, plugged them into her ears, and leaned back to take a nap. The flight was above the clouds…and only about 50 minutes.
Anita was only moments away and picked us up in her little red car. Boxes and paper products were stacked to the ceiling in anticipation of Saturday night’s Chinese New Year celebration. After dropping our luggage at her house, we had lunch at the “Cracker Barrel.” I ordered catfish with sides of hush puppy and coleslaw. After lunch, I waited in one of the porch rockers while the others “shopped.” Did you realize that penny candy is now 15¢? Our next task was to trade the red car for one with four doors. After a brief introduction to Boise, we spent the rest of the evening relaxing, trying out a “simple” won ton recipe (with little success), peeking in our welcoming gift bags, eating dinner, and introducing our hostess to Canasta.
Saturday, We began the day with a devotion and prayers followed by breakfast and out the door. Anita needed to pick up an acquaintance to transport her to a housecleaning task. This drive took us by HP multiplex, also “fast-toured” a former church building now a bistro and a look at Boise’s memorial to Anne Frank. Then it was time to get Anita’s mother at the airport.
Now, we were complete.
After dropping Hilly’s luggage by the house, we were expecting to meet a couple who is very special to Anita; the woman was a nurse and a great support to Anita during her cancer battle. They were looking for a red car so we were a little late bumping noses. We were the first customers to be seated in the very ornate surroundings of the Thai restaurant. We were privileged to have an expert ordering our meal of duck and dishes of curry and stir fry and fried rice and steamed veggies. An abundance of food for our group of six left us with plenty to take home.
Speaking of which, the three weary travelers took naps while our hostess prepared scads of won tons for the Chinese New Year gathering that evening. Refreshed and wearing our appropriate red, we went early to help set up for the event. This is “the Year of the Ox.” Door prizes included a children’s book The Ox-Cart Man, stuffed oxen dolls and other thematic gifts. At the announced 5 p.m., there were three people (besides us), but by 6 the count was closer to 50; and by evening’s end, we figure about 80 people were present. The Asian community was well represented, and the dishes they prepared were from every imaginable eastern country. Red envelopes of gold-coin chocolates were handed out to the children and a movie was provided for them also. We left about 8:30. When Anita returned from taking us to the house, some kind souls had already cleaned up.
Sunday morning began with a devotional – more thanks giving for the purpose of our being together, Then it was time to pack for our trip home. We worshipped with the Grace Church of Christ. Then went back to the house to help polish off the leftovers from the day before. Another brief, scenic drive of the area preceded dropping us at the airport for our return home. Again, we were allowed to pre-board (though, truth be told, we still do not know what a "blue thing" is nor how to obtain one). We even saved a seat for a lady who had helped us up the banisterless ramp on our arrival only two days earlier.
So-o-o, how is everyone doing? Anita called to report her one-year checkup on February 5th came back N.E.D. (no evidence of disease)! And, just yesterday, Hilly sent this report: “Result of my bloodmarker test today CA19-9 is 13.5 that is normal. My last one in 2008 CA19-9 was 187.4.” And Jane’s oncologist says, “He sees no evidence of any cancer cells anywhere.”
THANK YOU, FATHER! And Thank you, Anita, for a fine visit.
Sunday, February 8, 2009
A TALE OF THREE LADIES
Well, the first two voices are in on what I should blog about. Believe it or not, they both say the same thing. LJ suggests I tackle “What’s up Doc,” “Answered prayers,” and “Journeys I have taken”; and PJ wants me to tell about my weekend in Boise.
Any folks who read my blog regularly surely know some about my prayer life in 2008. On January 10th, a phone call came which sent me to my knees for a period of nine months. Those pleas were in addition to many others.
This time of petition was for a very special friend whom God placed in my life almost 14 years ago. She is an engineer with HP in Boise, Idaho; intellectual, very bright, a fellow networker of acquaintances and believers. Often, the first impression people have of her is that she is shy, but don’t let that skinny, Asian exterior fool you. From January 10 to September 30, 2008, many pled for her biopsy for breast cancer to be negative, for the lump to be contained, for her stamina to withstand months of chemo and radiation, for her spiritual well-being and for Divine intervention for her loved ones. Obviously, many of His answers came different from my requests.
She did survive, and only time will tell what God’s will is for her life. On the very day of her last radiation, her mother started treatment in Denver, Colorado, for pancreatic cancer. One of the other prayer warriors during this time was a recent “pink ribbon” survivor herself. Though she did not know the mother, and had (years earlier) had only a nodding acquaintance with the daughter, she prayed for their well being and talked at length with the mother on the telephone, being an encourager in her concern for her daughter.
About three weeks ago, another call came from Boise. “One of the airlines has great prices right now, and my mother is coming for three days. I would like you to meet my Christian family here. And, too, we are having a Chinese New Year celebration. We could thank God together that Mother is cancer free; I am doing well; and the encourager seems to be doing okay.” She called the encourager friend who also agreed it sounded like a great plan.
In a few days, I will report on the travel itself. I just don’t want to lose the main reason for the trip in the midst of activities. This Journey was to thank our Loving Father for answered prayers for three ladies: Anita in Boise; Hilly in Denver; and Jane in Battle Ground, Washington.
Any folks who read my blog regularly surely know some about my prayer life in 2008. On January 10th, a phone call came which sent me to my knees for a period of nine months. Those pleas were in addition to many others.
This time of petition was for a very special friend whom God placed in my life almost 14 years ago. She is an engineer with HP in Boise, Idaho; intellectual, very bright, a fellow networker of acquaintances and believers. Often, the first impression people have of her is that she is shy, but don’t let that skinny, Asian exterior fool you. From January 10 to September 30, 2008, many pled for her biopsy for breast cancer to be negative, for the lump to be contained, for her stamina to withstand months of chemo and radiation, for her spiritual well-being and for Divine intervention for her loved ones. Obviously, many of His answers came different from my requests.
She did survive, and only time will tell what God’s will is for her life. On the very day of her last radiation, her mother started treatment in Denver, Colorado, for pancreatic cancer. One of the other prayer warriors during this time was a recent “pink ribbon” survivor herself. Though she did not know the mother, and had (years earlier) had only a nodding acquaintance with the daughter, she prayed for their well being and talked at length with the mother on the telephone, being an encourager in her concern for her daughter.
About three weeks ago, another call came from Boise. “One of the airlines has great prices right now, and my mother is coming for three days. I would like you to meet my Christian family here. And, too, we are having a Chinese New Year celebration. We could thank God together that Mother is cancer free; I am doing well; and the encourager seems to be doing okay.” She called the encourager friend who also agreed it sounded like a great plan.
In a few days, I will report on the travel itself. I just don’t want to lose the main reason for the trip in the midst of activities. This Journey was to thank our Loving Father for answered prayers for three ladies: Anita in Boise; Hilly in Denver; and Jane in Battle Ground, Washington.
Thursday, February 5, 2009
A thousand words does not a picture make
Well, we knew it had to come some time. No one could keep up a busy schedule of being creative every day…especially, when their medium of choice was photos and their residence is Alaska. February seems like a good month to take off.
However, it leaves the rest of us folks with a pretty blank screen when we call up the day’s Internet. Oh! Wail away and woe is me! I must try to help fill the void. Which would be better for a blog subject?
How I spend my time.
Journeys I have taken.
People I have met.
People I have known.
Fiction.
Family tales.
Recipes I favor.
Answered prayers.
Favorite scriptures.
What’s up, Doc!
Whatever is up must come down.
However, it leaves the rest of us folks with a pretty blank screen when we call up the day’s Internet. Oh! Wail away and woe is me! I must try to help fill the void. Which would be better for a blog subject?
How I spend my time.
Journeys I have taken.
People I have met.
People I have known.
Fiction.
Family tales.
Recipes I favor.
Answered prayers.
Favorite scriptures.
What’s up, Doc!
Whatever is up must come down.
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Challenge of 5 things...
Now she’s done it. Linda must know I cannot pass up an opportunity to fill out a form.
And to think, I am only one day late in posting my reply.
5 Things I Was Doing 10 Years Ago
1. Flew south to celebrate father-in-law’s 80th birthday. Boy…was he surprised when the voice behind him in the buffet line was John’s brother!
2. Shopped for Geoffrey’s automobile. That was an educational experience!
3. So educational, in fact, that I did the same for myself. Purchased my “little red wagon.”
4. Surprised by flower-bearing sons on our doorstep.
5. Offered my body for science.
5 Things On My To-Do List Today
1. Celebrate #5 granddaughter’s turning 7; only one more January birthday to go……this year.
2. Laundry.
3. Dust.
4. Catch up on news.
5. Check on a few folks wellbeing.
5 Snacks I Like
1. Nuts.
2. Tillamook cheese and Fuji apple.
3. A good guacamole dip.
4. Snickers.
5. Popcorn.
5 Things I Would Do If I Were A Millionaire
1. Help some great missionaries such as Ben and Juliana, Jay Don and Mary Lee, Martins.
2. Buy a harp for granddaughter #1 and pay for her lessons.
3. Become a snow bird.
4. Hire a housekeeper.
5. Pave our driveway.
5 Places I Have Lived (For Various Lengths Of Time)
1. Dexter, New Mexico (3 years)
2. Tucson, Arizona (4 years)
3. Corcoran, California (1 year)
4. Frankel City, Texas ( 2 years)
5. Juneau, Alaska (20 years)
5 Jobs I Have Had
1. Alaska Bureau of Vital Statistics – clerk/registrar.
2. Salesclerk and licensed corsetiere.
3. Secretary to the Dean of Fisheries, University of Alaska – Juneau.
4. Secretary and Editorial Assistant – NOAA’s Auke Bay Fisheries Laboratory.
5. Substitute teacher.
5 People I Tag (to post a "5 Things . . . " list on their blog)
1. Kristi
2. Anita
3. Alice
4. Jane
5. Prisca
And to think, I am only one day late in posting my reply.
5 Things I Was Doing 10 Years Ago
1. Flew south to celebrate father-in-law’s 80th birthday. Boy…was he surprised when the voice behind him in the buffet line was John’s brother!
2. Shopped for Geoffrey’s automobile. That was an educational experience!
3. So educational, in fact, that I did the same for myself. Purchased my “little red wagon.”
4. Surprised by flower-bearing sons on our doorstep.
5. Offered my body for science.
5 Things On My To-Do List Today
1. Celebrate #5 granddaughter’s turning 7; only one more January birthday to go……this year.
2. Laundry.
3. Dust.
4. Catch up on news.
5. Check on a few folks wellbeing.
5 Snacks I Like
1. Nuts.
2. Tillamook cheese and Fuji apple.
3. A good guacamole dip.
4. Snickers.
5. Popcorn.
5 Things I Would Do If I Were A Millionaire
1. Help some great missionaries such as Ben and Juliana, Jay Don and Mary Lee, Martins.
2. Buy a harp for granddaughter #1 and pay for her lessons.
3. Become a snow bird.
4. Hire a housekeeper.
5. Pave our driveway.
5 Places I Have Lived (For Various Lengths Of Time)
1. Dexter, New Mexico (3 years)
2. Tucson, Arizona (4 years)
3. Corcoran, California (1 year)
4. Frankel City, Texas ( 2 years)
5. Juneau, Alaska (20 years)
5 Jobs I Have Had
1. Alaska Bureau of Vital Statistics – clerk/registrar.
2. Salesclerk and licensed corsetiere.
3. Secretary to the Dean of Fisheries, University of Alaska – Juneau.
4. Secretary and Editorial Assistant – NOAA’s Auke Bay Fisheries Laboratory.
5. Substitute teacher.
5 People I Tag (to post a "5 Things . . . " list on their blog)
1. Kristi
2. Anita
3. Alice
4. Jane
5. Prisca
Saturday, January 17, 2009
Another January Birthday ?
Two years ago, we did not even know her name. The only hint we had of her existence came in a mysterious email signed by our youngest. The message read something like this: “I just wanted to let you know that I have started dating someone. I don’t want to talk about it, and I especially don’t want you discussing it among yourselves.”
Less than 2 weeks later, a late-night phone call came. The trembling voice on the other end of the line announced, “Mom. Dad. I would like you to meet my fiancé.”
I gathered from this introduction that the ban on our mentioning her was over, but I decided to “test the waters” before diving in. I wrote, “Does she have a middle name?”
“Yes. And, making conversation, I asked her the same question back awhile ago. And she told me what it is, but I don’t remember.” Their wedding followed, on June 9, 2007
Soon, they will celebrate their 2nd anniversary of his proposal. And we have all come a long way. As a recent guest in our home, besides feeding, bathing, shopping for, playing with, and keeping the baby on schedule, she handcrafted gifts for everyone in the family, instigated a “ladies night in,” permed, braided, and trimmed hair; trimmed and beautified fingernails and toenails; and impressed everyone she came in contact with her abilities and especially her love of our son and our Lord. In other words, she has stolen this family’s collective heart.
When asked “What impressed you most about Dana?” the replies are certainly varied:
Papa -- “One of her best attributes is completely engaging everyone in a happy, joyous manner.”
“She cared about how I looked.”
“That girl knows how to pack!”
EVS -- "Cinnamon rolls."
PKS -- "What impressed me most about Dana is that she loves all the same things I do: Jesus Christ, a day at the spa, scrapbooking, shopping craft stores, Geoffrey (and now Eli), and hanging out!"
KTW -- I like the magic she works on Uncle Geoffrey! And I really like her hand crafted greeting cards.
APW -- I think she’s a great mom.
PAW -- Aunt Dana is really nice and she does hair for Tabitha and me.
DMW -- I am most impressed with Dana’s decorating skills. As we all know, Geoffrey lived out of cardboard boxes and suitcases for several years. It’s fun to see pictures of their remodeling projects. Their home looks very comfortable.
And, did I mention “She can cook”?
Happy Birthday, daughter…and many, many more.
Less than 2 weeks later, a late-night phone call came. The trembling voice on the other end of the line announced, “Mom. Dad. I would like you to meet my fiancé.”
I gathered from this introduction that the ban on our mentioning her was over, but I decided to “test the waters” before diving in. I wrote, “Does she have a middle name?”
“Yes. And, making conversation, I asked her the same question back awhile ago. And she told me what it is, but I don’t remember.” Their wedding followed, on June 9, 2007
Soon, they will celebrate their 2nd anniversary of his proposal. And we have all come a long way. As a recent guest in our home, besides feeding, bathing, shopping for, playing with, and keeping the baby on schedule, she handcrafted gifts for everyone in the family, instigated a “ladies night in,” permed, braided, and trimmed hair; trimmed and beautified fingernails and toenails; and impressed everyone she came in contact with her abilities and especially her love of our son and our Lord. In other words, she has stolen this family’s collective heart.
When asked “What impressed you most about Dana?” the replies are certainly varied:
Papa -- “One of her best attributes is completely engaging everyone in a happy, joyous manner.”
“She cared about how I looked.”
“That girl knows how to pack!”
EVS -- "Cinnamon rolls."
PKS -- "What impressed me most about Dana is that she loves all the same things I do: Jesus Christ, a day at the spa, scrapbooking, shopping craft stores, Geoffrey (and now Eli), and hanging out!"
KTW -- I like the magic she works on Uncle Geoffrey! And I really like her hand crafted greeting cards.
APW -- I think she’s a great mom.
PAW -- Aunt Dana is really nice and she does hair for Tabitha and me.
DMW -- I am most impressed with Dana’s decorating skills. As we all know, Geoffrey lived out of cardboard boxes and suitcases for several years. It’s fun to see pictures of their remodeling projects. Their home looks very comfortable.
And, did I mention “She can cook”?
Happy Birthday, daughter…and many, many more.
Saturday, January 10, 2009
MAKING SANTA CRY
It seems odd to me that, of all people on this earth, I would somehow be the keeper of the key to making Santa Claus cry. What do you think would bring on those ancient tears?
Crying tears of gladness.
Give Santa a Calvin and Hobbes or B.C book. He will be rolling on the floor in tears in no time at all.
Crying tears of empathy
Give Santa an autobiography, written, self-published, autographed by a surviving artist from the Japanese Interment camps.
Crying tears of being touched
Give Santa an art book he has been pricing and drooling over for several years.
Crying tears of surprise
Give Mrs. Santa studio-quality photos of all of their grandchildren. He is, after all, an old softy.
Crying cheers for our team
Choose your sides with care. Times Up is a good game of choice. Santa will be crying when no one guesses he is trying to get his team to guess “Tinkerbell.” by his hand actions.
Crying saying “Hello”
Picking up family at the airport, he is overcome seeing how the children have grown.
Crying saying “Goodbye”
Dropping the family at the airport, Santa is sad to see them go. These tears can be drowned by a coffee order of “Velvet Hammer” at the Airport Coffee People.
Crying over the loss of curls
This is my best qualifier for bringing on Santa’s tears. I didn’t mean to cut off his length of growth. How long did it take him to grow those? And how long did it take me to obliterate them? I’m sorry, Santa. Don't cry.
Crying tears of gladness.
Give Santa a Calvin and Hobbes or B.C book. He will be rolling on the floor in tears in no time at all.
Crying tears of empathy
Give Santa an autobiography, written, self-published, autographed by a surviving artist from the Japanese Interment camps.
Crying tears of being touched
Give Santa an art book he has been pricing and drooling over for several years.
Crying tears of surprise
Give Mrs. Santa studio-quality photos of all of their grandchildren. He is, after all, an old softy.
Crying cheers for our team
Choose your sides with care. Times Up is a good game of choice. Santa will be crying when no one guesses he is trying to get his team to guess “Tinkerbell.” by his hand actions.
Crying saying “Hello”
Picking up family at the airport, he is overcome seeing how the children have grown.
Crying saying “Goodbye”
Dropping the family at the airport, Santa is sad to see them go. These tears can be drowned by a coffee order of “Velvet Hammer” at the Airport Coffee People.
Crying over the loss of curls
This is my best qualifier for bringing on Santa’s tears. I didn’t mean to cut off his length of growth. How long did it take him to grow those? And how long did it take me to obliterate them? I’m sorry, Santa. Don't cry.
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