Words & Deeds

Daddy was a preacher

2011-02-25T08:36:00.000-08:00

Prove yourselves doers of the word and not merely hearers who delude themselves. For if anyone is a hearer of the word and not a doer, he is like a man who looks at his face in a mirror, for once he has looked at himself and gone away, he has immediately forgotten what kind of person he was. James 1:22-25

Hugh Ousley was meticulous about his appearance. For example, he would often come into a room and say “Do you know how old these shoes are?” I would pick a number out of thin air and make my guess. “No. I bought these Florsheim dress shoes before you were born. I keep them polished and take care of them, and they still look brand new.”

Sundays, he wore a white shirt-- the cuffs and collar of which were heavily starched and laboriously ironed by my mother. The last touch to this article of clothing was a pair of cuff links.

He was a walker and always wore dress slacks and a fashionable hat (think Humphrey Bogart) – felt in the winter; straw for summer wear. He had very thick, straight hair, and always took pride in being presentable no matter what the occasion. His frequent trips to the barber shop kept him feeling presentable.

However, occasionally, he would stand before the congregation, read the scripture from the first chapter of James, and while holding his Bible as if it were a mirror, muss his hair enough that he appeared to have just risen from a toss-and-turn night of sleep. Then he would remove from his pocket one of his combs. The combs were all black, about six inches long, with a diagonal slant. The narrower the comb, the closer the teeth were spaced. Again holding his “Mirror” he would clutch his comb at the narrow end, reach up, and perfectly part his hair. Then, he would switch to holding the other end of the comb and restore his hair perfectly. Without missing a beat in his message delivery, he would call on the congregation to be using their Mirrors more. Lest we forget.

JOANNE ROBERTS

2011-02-16T15:44:00.000-08:00

For those of my readers who have never had a friendship like mine with Joanne Roberts, let me say you have missed one of God’s greatest treasures.

When we met, she was just newly married…raised as a Catholic….married to a Southern Baptist. Though I had been married much longer than she, Joanne was always the leader. She knew about budgeting and housework and cooking and being the perfect hostess. She and Ron lived in a tiny apartment; she washed their two windows, inside and out, almost daily until she took a job at a nearby bank.

The occasion of our meeting was a potluck at the Juneau Church of Christ when Ron brought his fresh-from-their-honeymoon bride to worship with us. We were packed like sardines at tables that completely filled the kitchen. John and I were sitting at the table with our backs to the window; Ron and Joanne were stuffed across from each other two tables away. Seems to me that John had to clamber over a couple of tables to introduce himself.

Ron was searching for a place of worship and had not found what he was looking for in either of the Juneau Baptist churches. We invited them for dinner the following night, and they accepted. The evening conversation was the usual – hunting, fishing, recipes, families, jobs, etc. But before they left that evening, we had decided they would come to our house every Monday night for a study of God’s Word. The first several weeks, John used a series of Jules Miller filmstrips to lead our studies. But each Monday, he and Ron would get into longer conversations on the Bible, always going to the Word for answers and more questions.

Joanne and I eventually excused ourselves and went to the living room. We became well acquainted, and I learned so much from (and about) her. It was not at all unusual for us to visit until the wee hours of the morning and call each other almost daily. For the first time in my life, I realized one does not have to talk all the time to be friends; we could talk out a subject and just sit silently and be perfectly content. Joanne came with Ron to support his desire to study. But just about the time Ron was thinking of being baptized, Joanne had been listening to the studies enough to realize they applied to her as well. It was a sunny day when Jesus washed their sins away. Bob Waldron baptized them.

She was always in charge whether it was leading a scrappy bunch of men beyond the trails to the top of Mount Juneau or lifting spawning salmon over an obstacle to help them on their way or teaching a children’s Bible class. When Joanne and I planned the baby shower for our friend Kathy’s firstborn, I fell apart because the baby came early so Joanne moved the party to her place and took on the entire occasion, without complaining. There is photographic proof that four of us young-married ladies hiked to Dupont. Joanne led the pack; I pulled up the rear, carrying our bear-protection rifle. Of course, Joanne was the only one who knew how to aim. I suppose any of us could have shot the gun, but so glad we did not encounter a bear to test that theory. The only wildlife encounter were the mice gnawing on my hair during the night.

Did I mention Joanne was beautiful? I know I mentioned it to her…just before they moved away. Whether dressed for a hike with a red neckerchief covering her hair or giving a talk to a group of ladies, she was knockdown gorgeous. She had the most perfect posture, the kind my father always prodded me to practice. I said, “Joanne, I have never said this to you, but I want you to know something. You are beautiful.”

She thought for a moment and replied, “I know; and you have no idea what a burden that is in life.” She was not vain; there was just no hiding the fact, even from herself.

She loved the outdoors, and frequently borrowed David and/or Patty Cake for an afternoon. My memories abound. When I read in scripture about the love Jonathan had for David or Jesus’ love for John, I praise God that I have a friendship like that. It is a rare calling and requires one thing that people do not give these days. That thing is T.I.M.E.

I have twice cried buckets for my precious sister. The first siege was when she told me she and Ron had made a decision to forego the six-figure income they had come to Juneau to buy into. They had decided to attend a preacher-training school in Denver, Colorado. Before they moved away, I took my children to California so that I would not have to face our “Goodbye.” When we returned, they were on their way to Denver, where, they completed the schooling and adopted baby #1. then moved to Texas. They added four more boys to their family and, eventually, moved with their five boys to Chile, where they continued to share the Good News of Jesus Christ. When they returned to the USA, they moved to the town where we reside.

The second siege of tears has already required more than one bucket. About 5 years ago, Joanne had a kidney with a tumor attached, removed. Last year, she found a lump on her breast and underwent surgery, chemo, and radiation. She lost her beautiful hair but kept her eyelashes and eyebrows. She missed her annual mission trip to Mexico. As soon as her treatment was complete, she began making plans to make sure of the supplies. Because she was fluent in Spanish, my friend was in charge of shopping and feeding close to 100 folks who take a few days to build houses for people living in abject poverty. On January 23rd, Joanne missed worship because she had a really bad headache, and after enduring a miserable pain for two days, Ron insisted she see a doctor. The rest is a blur of information gathered wherever and however I could get it. The MRI revealed seven (7) tumors on her brain. Medically, she received 3 hours of radiation daily for 3 weeks. Heavily sedated for the pain, she slept almost all of the time. I was allowed to sit with her briefly. She knew I was there; she knew who I was. She opened her eyes and told me she loved me so much.

I told you she was always a leader. Joanne Cimmiyotti-Roberts continues to lead the way for all of us to live our lives in service to God, not looking back. She is now among the souls described in Hebrews 12:1, cheering us on.

My Larry Story

2011-02-09T07:42:00.000-08:00

Our Bible study group was discussing babies one evening when Larry chimed in he had a story to share.

It seems that when his parents told him he was going to have a baby sister or brother, Larry's reaction was, "I don't want a sister or brother, but I would like another grandparent."

For the full story of who Larry Schoenborn is, go to my hubby's blog. http://www.avuncularjohn.blogspot.com/; then take a look at his January 18th entry.

2011-01-11T23:47:00.000-08:00

January 12th-- A Day to remember

Today is a day for celebrating the birth of our wonderful firstborn. We do not know much about Jesus mother, but we do know that she treasured His growth in her heart. I know just how she felt. We carefully chose the name David Matthew for its meaning – Beloved Gift of God; and, indeed, that describes this “child.”

He came the very day such charts in those days predicted. I think that may have been the last time he was on time. As a baby, toddler, and even early school boy, he loved to sleep. He was (and still is) a perfect older brother. He would come home from kindergarten every day and organize the neighborhood preschoolers to teach them what he had learned in school that day. I seem to recall that neighbor Amy spent a lot of time out of the “classroom” sitting on the floor in the hallway.

When he was a little older and his little sister started school, he asked me “Why is she so smart?” and I answered, “Partially because you shared with her the exciting things you learned.” He said, “I wish I hadn’t done that.”

He is such a good Dad to his lovely daughters, even taking them on clever and wonderful “dates.” He loves and cherishes his wife of almost 18 years. His website is www.loftics.com and his blog is awesome www.pirep.blogspot.com. To say I am proud of him does not do justice to the word pride.

Best of all is how he continually lives up to his name.

Memories are made of this

2010-11-11T12:33:00.000-08:00

In the exercise class I am taking, we end almost every session with a song. Loss of voice is very common among PD folk. Today being Veteran's Day, our instructor thought we needed to sing something patriotic. She chose You're A Grand Old Flag for our exercise. First, the class takes turns reading one line each. Then, in unison, we all sing it without words..i.e. ah ah ah ah ah ah ah ah ah ah, etc.

Finally, we get to sing the words at the top of our lungs. Now I can't get the song out of my mind. There is only one problem:

In 1976, our country celebrated its 200th birthday. We happened to be traveling in California on July 4th, the actual day for the big celebration. Our children had learned every possible patriotic song known to man in school that year and kept a steady stream of heartfelt music going for the family as we traveled.

At some point, it dawned on me that the words I was hearing Patty sing did not sound like the words coming out of everyone else's mouth.

Instead of singing "Forever in peace may you wave." She was singing "The hole in the freeway, the grave." Unfortunately, those are the words that stick in my mind when I sing this once loved song.

An excellent hero

2010-10-21T12:24:00.000-07:00

This morning, I baked cookies to take to a memorial service for one of my heroes. I know I have mentioned her before, but some things are simply worth repeating. John and I had the privilege of being invited into Forrest and Faye’s home on several occasions. Our first visit was on a sunny Sunday when we were invited, along with a young man and his little boy, to help harvest their corn crop.

As the wheelbarrows of corn were delivered from the well-tended garden, we husked them and removed the silky strings as best we could. The readied crop was then put into boxes to go to the church building for an “all you can eat” corn and melon fundraiser. Within a few weeks, her husband (Forrest) would make a trip of about 100 miles to buy boxes of fresh apples to be sold for another fundraiser. Then, a month later, items she had been making and collecting for the big “Holiday Fair” would be gathered. Often, I felt she may have paid more for what she sold than her asking price . Her focus was to raise money for Columbia Christian Schools and College.

The very first step I took into her lovely house, she warned me, “Don’t disturb the dust; I’m collecting.” At that moment, she became my hero. She often came up with surprising quips. She went to California once to stay with her grandkids while their parents took a trip, and one of the boys got the worst case of chicken pox I have ever seen. She shared photos of that experience.

One summer, a young couple asked if they could have their wedding in our back yard, and we said, “Certainly!” It seems the bride left town for a vacation with her parents a little over one week before the wedding, and the groom knew nothing about plans for their special day. The day before the wedding the bride returned to discuss with us seating, food, speaker system, parking, etc. John had worked all summer to keep our lawn green and to make the setting lovely. The morning of the wedding came and food was delivered. When Faye and Forrest arrived fashionably early, she asked who was helping in the kitchen. That’s when I learned the young bride had not even considered that little detail. Faye put on an apron and commandeered my kitchen for the entire wedding. Since then, the bride has apologized numerous times; she did not realize how labor intensive a wedding can be.

Faye was competent, confident, and gracious, capable, generous, and kind and so very thoughtful of others.

Planned obsolecence

2010-10-16T15:56:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, I wore out the sponge on my mop. Naturally, either entropy or Murphy’s Law (or maybe both) had something to do with it because I had just completed the Spic n Span layer. When I went to the basin to get the rinse water, the sponge split and became unusable. “No problem,” I says to myself. “I’ll just take that one off and buy a new one.”

Since we are only 1.5 miles from the nearest WalMart, I decided to shop for the replacement there. I got a parking spot really close to the door leading to the housewares section of the store. After some 10 minutes of winding back and forth on every aisle of that section, I finally asked a worker where the mops might be. She sent me to aisle 10 in the grocery section of the store. “Now why didn’t I think of that?” I wondered.

After that 1/2-mile hike, I was relieved to see an employee stocking that very shelf. She really wanted me to take the yellow sponges, but I knew exactly which one was needed to complete the task. When I arrived home, I went straight to the laundry room to install the new sponge only to discover the new one had two protrusions the old one was missing. Thinking maybe we could get some good metal cutters and make it workable, I went to ask the resident expert on the subject.

He pointed out to me that the old sponge had a threaded screw that was missing in the new one. So, I set that activity aside until tomorrow, which is now today. The refund was easily obtained; they did not even want to know why I was returning my purchase, And, sure enough, there was nothing that even came close to being the right piece. And now we know that Target also does not carry the item. I could buy a completely new mop for only $2 more than the cost of a refill, but what does one do with a perfectly good plastic stick? Even Goodwill will not take that donation.

My hubby thinks we can find exactly what we need by checking every store that could possibly carry mops. Meanwhile, our shoes stick to the floor reminding us of the urgent need to solve this problem. It’s a good thing I have a good collection of rags.

Waking Up

2010-10-05T07:36:00.000-07:00

So…you thought I had disappeared off the face of this earth? I may as well have when it came to blogging. I made the horrible mistake of taking my one-and-only list of passwords on a trip and losing it. Then, too, I could not recall my user name for blogging; and no matter what I tried, I could not gain entrance to my own blogsite. Well, finally John stuck with the problem long enough to help me out of the mess I created. Now I am onto other pursuits.

My last blog was April 25th. There has certainly been a lot of water under the proverbial bridge since then. If I could have blogged, I would have written about the following:

Of greatest importance was the exciting news of the birth of grandson #2 – Lucas JOHN Wyatt. He traveled here with his parents and big brother Eli to see us. I had the privilege of holding him every morning from 5 til 8 a.m. What bliss! It did not look like David and Geoffrey would be able to get together during that visit, but David surprised everyone.

For our 46th anniversary, John took me out to dinner and to experience the Broadway play The Lion King. Awesome!

Our one-and-only trip this summer was an annual campout with all of our Washington-resident family. This was our third time to meet at Ohanapecosh Forest Camp near Mount Rainier for a funfilled weekend.

I also volunteered my body to three new studies on Parkinson’s disease. Now, PeDee and I are back and ready to share some of our adventures.

Just to let you know, I was not completely idle through this dry spell. I did write about each of the mentioned activities; but I think I will begin blogging from a clean slate. Stay tuned.

PeDee Takes Seattle

2010-04-25T19:14:00.000-07:00

I apologize for the delay in this continuing saga, but my computer has had a limp.

When our children decided to give their septuagenarian father a fun-filled birthday present, they chose to meet in Seattle during Spring Break and do the Emerald City – whatever that meant. You see, his birthday is in January; but the earliest all the kids and grandkids could get together would be April. I expected to be the “odd man out.” Even if the invitation automatically would include me, I knew from past experience I would not have the stamina to climb the hills (rivaled only by San Francisco), maneuver the throngs of people, manage stairs, or stand in long lines. I figured PeDee and I would stay in whatever accommodations were arranged or, better yet, stay home. I should have known better. The day before we were to make the trip North, our oldest called to suggest I go online and look at rentable wheelchairs.
First morning/first thing, while everyone else toured the Seattle Central Library and Elliot Bookstore’s moving sale, my son drove me to Access Medical Equipment to select just the right chair for PeDee and me. The clerk showed us immediately the best wheelchair for the occasion. She did warn that we could expect some challenging terrain. I could just picture how that would go – sitting…abandoned…wondering where my transporter had gone or, worse yet, seeing him or her across a crowded area but unable to get their attention that I needed to be moved.
I won’t bore you with the details of how it came about, but by the time we left Access, PeDee was riding on a shiny little red scooter (hereafter to be referred to as the LRS) that could be broken down into five pieces. After turning the key, I had only to remember to choose my speed (turtle…..rabbit) and the right knob meant forward and the left meant backward. Dropping PeDee and me and the little red scooter (LRS) in front of Ivars restaurant where the lines were already forming for lunch orders, David went to park his vehicle. Meanwhile, I tootled to what I considered to be a nonconspicuous spot and parked, waiting for anyone from our group to join me. Within minutes the beggar carrying his cardboard “desperate” sign moved from down the way to position himself between the street and me.
Finally, our group of 14 convened and told me we had reservations to eat indoors. Driving the LRS in “hare,” I was able to keep up as we were ushered to Ivar’s very back table. As I entered that last room, the bump caused by the doorsill rendered LRS useless and completely blocked the doorway. Nothing I tried would restart it. A couple or more strong arms moved the dead vehicle into the corner of the room while we ate. After lunch, David was able to reassemble and resurrect the dead red scooter.
By the time we had eaten, it was decided to take the Harbor Tour next. While some of the group shopped for souvenirs and others purchased the tour tickets, PD and I stayed to the side. Instantly, a tour guide came up to me and said, “As soon as you have your tickets, let me know. We will put you at the front of the line.”
“There are 14 of us.”
“No problem.”
And so it was that we assembled for the group photo and were ushered onto the boat ahead of the crowd. PD was happily seated with a perfect view of Seattle City and constant narrative about the sights.
The next challenge was to cross the street to the parking garage and locate the elevator to Pike’s Market. How do I describe Pike’s Market? It is a very crowded public market. Some of the vendors stock and sell items they have created themselves (jewelry, tee shirts, note cards, CD’s, etc.); others hock fresh fruits and vegetables. What I wanted to see was the arrangements of bouquets of flowers (tulips, baby’s breath, and pussy willows). The group was to reconvene at the “flying fish” market. Try to imagine the ending of a ballgame or play when everyone is trying to exit and not lose sight of their party. Now, imagine that they are squeezed into a narrow aisle and are stopping every few feet to talk to vendors. To this mix, imagine a lady whose mode of transportation (LRS) dies ever time she stops. Now you have a hint of my experience. Each time the LRS died, I had to turn it off and back on to proceed to our rendezvous point.
It would be two days before Access would be able to swap the scooter so it was left in the car, and the decision was made to just return it. My diamond willow walking stick did not leave my sight while our tour continued. At the Science Center, Patty traded her identification for a wheelchair, and she and Geoffrey took turns pushing me. The most interesting elevator of the entire Seattle experience ushered us into the world of dinosaurs, visual illusions, and live butterflies. One wall of the elevator was transparent, and we could see into the room we were about to enter; the floor of that room was about knee high. Pushing the button to go up, we watched as the elevator inched its way even with the floor, a ride that took a couple of minutes.
Sunday morning worship and lunch with dear friends, REI, Space Needle, PeDee liked Seattle. He loved being with family – observing cousins and Aunts and Uncles interacting, and Papa John eating up this special birthday gift.

PeDee Untethered

2010-04-03T07:59:00.000-07:00

Now that PeDee has been released, he is actually allowed out in public. Two weeks ago, I volunteered my body at Oregon Health & Science University (OHSU) for another research study. Let me just state, right here, anyone can volunteer for medical research. Folks with little or no ailments are needed for the “control” group; their data are used for comparing the afflicted with normal.
I was asked to stay off PeDee’s medication for at least 12 hours before showing up for the study. If PeDee would not be recognized in public by my slowed gait or body rattle, he would certainly be noticed by my beautiful Diamond Willow walking stick. John allowed an hour to transport me during the morning Rush hour; and, this time, we were early. Kelsey met us at 8 a.m. sharp and guided us through the catacombs of the Hatfield building to a small, equipment-crowded room to meet Brent. These two students would be testing PeDee’s wits and balance while on and while off medication. Meanwhile, John took the tram down to the trolley and enjoyed a Portland-city morning.
The study went fine…the selected words to remember for the morning were face, velvet, church, daisy, and red. CHECK. Some may question this, but I believe PeDee’s mind is intact. The worst part of the study was balance -- trusting the researcher enough to lean all of my weight against her hands, which were placed firmly on my shoulder blades and knowing that she would let go. Stepping backwards is particularly scary for elephants.
Perhaps in the near future, the Development of the Instrumented Test of Mobility will benefit others with Parkinson Disease.

* Thank you to my friend Anita for labeling this blog upon reading Meet PeDee..
Stay tune for the next installment of PeDee’s adventures – PeDee Takes Seattle

Meet PeDee

2010-02-24T09:24:00.000-08:00

The time is right to introduce the world to our resident elephant. PeDee moved in with our family practically unnoticed almost 20 years ago. He was not much trouble. Why, he did not even need to be fed the first five years. Up until recently, as long as no one mentioned him, he required little care.
I recall the exact moment PeDee announced his existence to the world. The location was not in our house as I had always expected; it was in the security line at the airport. I was sure I had left our resident pachyderm at home. However, much like a grandchild always packing a stuffed animal for security when they come for a visit, PeDee had slipped unnoticed into my carryon luggage. After showing our identification and boarding pass to the first security official, John inquired how long it would take to get through the screening process.
“Eight to ten minutes,” was the official’s reply as we merged into the hoards of people shuffling along at a snail’s pace. They seemingly took no notice of my bouncing body. For some reason, my medications were not doing their job that particular morning. As I tried to stand upright and act calm, my tremor started with my toes and moved upward until my entire body was at a full-boil rattle, and my head was turning side to side. I knew instinctively the skimpy barrier straps would be of little use if my body decided to topple over. I grabbed each flimsy pole through which the straps were threaded for anything sturdy to hang onto.
“You have chosen the Happy line this morning,” the charming, young people mover was announcing. “If you are not happy, you are in the wrong lane. Please move to another line.” I knew to not try changing lines unless I was ready to reveal PeDee to the world.
Meanwhile, my legs were so weak, and my body was going like a jackhammer. At last, I removed my shoes and placed everything on the conveyor belt to be xrayed. Then I stepped through the metal-detector arch without removing my jacket. I must have set something off because rather than having me step back through the sensor station, this guard used his wand and declared me harmless.
At that instant, PeDee emerged from my luggage, exploding beyond full growth for any elephant, rearing his head and blaring his trumpet unreserved. I am certain the entire terminal shook as the happy people-mover lady left her station to offer me assistance. She asked if she could help me with my shoes. I gladly accepted. Then, she asked me if I needed a wheelchair.
What occurred next surprised even me. From my own lips slipped the words, “Oh! Please!” We waited a couple of minutes for the day’s hero (that person being the wheelchair driver) to whisk me away to the front of the boarding line.
Since allowing PeDee out of his silent world, I have introduced him to anyone who will listen. I also have probably overused announcing the fact that I have Parkinsons Disease.
I feel that I need to explain the description “There is an elephant in our living room.” To me, this means that there is a huge problem in the household, and as long as family and visitors alike do not acknowledge its existence, we think everyone can be deceived. Folks may tread all around the subject, and perhaps even deny its presence.
One might wonder how our house guest came to be called PeDee. Very often, I receive medical literature. In recent years, I have noticed a reference to PDP, but could not find an explanation of its meaning. After several of these reference newsletters, I deduced that PDP stood for Parkinsons Disease People...thus naming the ever-present reminder of my very human flaw.

My reader can expect to hear more elephant stories in the future.

Making New Traditions

2009-12-12T11:18:00.000-08:00

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?”

HAUGHTY SPIRIT

2009-11-24T09:33:00.000-08:00

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

Training Up A Child

2009-10-30T06:36:00.000-07:00

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!

WILLIE

2009-10-29T10:07:00.000-07:00

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.”

An Accidental Rescue

2009-09-19T09:23:00.000-07:00

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.

Precious Memories...

2009-08-29T21:02:00.002-07:00

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!

Afternoon Delight

2009-08-14T06:40:00.000-07:00

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!"

T.T.Tuc...S.S..Son

2009-07-10T06:45:00.000-07:00

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.

Princess Lines in West Texas?

2009-06-28T16:55:00.000-07:00

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.

WHICH ONE OF MY CHILDREN. . . .

2009-06-25T16:56:00.000-07:00

. . . .stepped on a crack?

Anybody home?

2009-06-22T13:35:00.000-07:00

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

A Deed, Indeed.....

2009-05-13T17:18:00.000-07:00

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!

Pun with words

2009-05-07T19:36:00.000-07:00

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!

Sixty Years Later....

2009-04-25T23:00:00.002-07:00

Helen Marie is coming...

2009-04-09T06:40:00.000-07:00

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!

Sitting A Spell

2009-03-17T17:53:00.000-07:00

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

Rescued...

2009-03-11T08:07:00.000-07:00

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.

And now for the news:

2009-03-08T06:14:00.000-07:00

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.

What are you doing this weekend?

2009-02-28T23:33:00.000-08:00

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.

Memories are made of this

2009-02-16T08:55:00.000-08:00

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.

A TALE OF THREE LADIES, (the rest of the story)

2009-02-11T07:54:00.000-08:00

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.

A TALE OF THREE LADIES

2009-02-08T04:56:00.000-08:00

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.

A thousand words does not a picture make

2009-02-05T08:07:00.000-08:00

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.

Challenge of 5 things...

2009-01-27T13:45:00.000-08:00

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

Another January Birthday ?

2009-01-17T16:24:00.000-08:00

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.

MAKING SANTA CRY

2009-01-10T19:18:00.000-08:00

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.

Anticipation

2008-12-14T07:46:00.000-08:00

‘Twas a fortnight to Christmas, when all through this house
Not a creature was stirring, except, of course, this mouse.

The cobwebs were hung from the mantle with care
By spiders so tiny, yet wanting so share
In the greeting of Eli, who was coming to visit
His grandma and grandpa; he’ll think “Who is it?”

With hair clippers stored on an out-of-reach shelf
Eli will wonder, “Could this be THE Elf ?
The one of such literary fame?”
You know the one…Papa John is his name.

And me in my sweats just wanting to know
My grandson, Elijah, who’s rarin’ to go
Meet grandfolks and cousins and uncles and aunts
Our time will be joyous; we’ll all want to dance.

With only hours to go ‘til his arrival,
There’s much to consider for this boy’s survival.
A child of today must not be lacking
In anything…Let’s start with snacking.

A high chair, a crib, and a diaper pail
Can be found with no trouble at many a sale.
However, budget is an important gist.
Thank God for computers and, of course, Craigslist!

Bathtub for baby and found toys galore
We’re set for Eli without entering a store.
His visit will be such a precious time
Getting to know our grandson sublime.

With five girl cousins excited to greet him
Many more folks are wanting to meet him.
Pictures are grand, and we love each one
But hugs in person are the most fun.

My spelling is wobbly, my rhythm not careful.
In case you’re wondering , we are all prayerful
Your family and friends have a safe, merry '08
And remember who gave it to you. Our God is great!

TOMORROW IS THANKSGVING

2008-11-26T05:09:00.000-08:00

Some reflections on this day....

Shopping in crowded grocery store
John and I braved this yesterday afternoon. We were just past the produce, heading for the bulk section, “conferring who gets what” when the young family with four little children pulled up next to us, and the father yelled, “WYATT.” We both jumped and turned to see who was so upset with us. What we saw was a 4-year-old boy jumping higher and harder than we. As the father instructed, “Watch where you are going!”
By then, both parents were staring at us, wondering why we had entered their private moment of instruction. “That’s our last name,” I explained as I looked over my shoulder maneuvering past the aisle cleanup ahead.

One lady was shopping for black cherry Jello. She was riding on her own, private, motorized chair, pushing a grocery cart beside her. Whatever aisle she was shopping was almost completely blocked. People were parking their carts at the end of the aisle, saying “excuse me,” and grabbing their item from the shelves around her. The blocker decided to help me look for lemon Jello for making Thelma Cameron’s cranberry relish. I think I convinced her that the picture of cherries on the box of cherry-flavored gelatin looked really dark to me.

Child/children to help make the cranberry relish
We used to have one child turn the handle on Mother’s grinder. However, whoever volunteers for this labor of love is eager to get back to their book or movie or music so we now feed everything through the Kitchen Aid grinder. I don’t think I even have the hand grinder anymore. This year’s relish will be made with orange Jello.

Two more days
Day after tomorrow, we are allowed to listen to Christmas music. We can sing along at the top of our lungs or even make up our own tunes. Memaw can search for where she stored those tapes of silly songs and spiritual music. And we can try, once again, to sing some of them in a round. BEGIN… “Little toy train; little toy track…” JUMP IN… “Little toy trains; little toy track…” NEXT… “Little toy trains; little Santa’s Sack…” Already, we are holding our sides with laughter.

Oh, yes…the meal
The table is heaping with bounty. Patty now provides the homemade jelly. At last, we will all come to the table. The person to Papa John’s right tells what they are most thankful for at this moment. After everyone has shared, he gives thanks to the Provider of Life.

It is a time to GIVE THANKS for food, family, and friends, and probably shed a tear or two for joyous and painful memories, realizing the year 2008 is nearing its end. We pray for our country and the year ahead.

Teach God's commandments to your children, talking about them when you sit at home and when you walk along the road, when you lie down and when you get up.
Deuteronomy 11:19, New International Version

STONE SOUP

2008-11-20T08:07:00.000-08:00

There is among our friends a group of (mostly) ladies who get together occasionally to play Mexican Train. The routine is to meet at noon and begin playing immediately. Nuts, candies, and snacks are set out for munching. However, the focus is not on the food; it is on the game. After the game is played, and only then, a meal is served.
This week, I decided to host this group. The problem is that these ladies do not drive at night, and darkness comes rather quickly around 5 p.m. Some have expressed concern that cooking a meal is too much of a burden to put on the person who voluntarily opens her home. Anyone who knows me well knows I prefer to take an easy way to accomplish any task. And today’s Mexican Train gathering is no exception.
· The first lady I invited said, “Let me bring something to contribute to the meal.”
· The next lady said, “Don’t go to all the work of preparing a meal.”
· And the third person said, “What can I contribute?”
By the time I called the fourth person, I had decided to keep the food very simple. Stew is easy to prepare, perfect for cold weather, and can be packaged in quart jars to transport leftovers. But still the ladies did not want to impose. So, I declared the recipe for the meal is Stone Soup. I have made Nail Soup in the past, but it is far inferior to a soup base prepared with my special, aged rock.
The stone I use came from the Mendenhall Glacier many years ago. It is dark gray in color…almost black. Its shape and size are that of an egg. It used to be smooth, but now it contains small chips and pocks caused from years of use. Long ago, it was used to strike matches for lighting kindling in our fireplace, but it is no longer useful for that.
I boiled the stone (and a few seasonings) for a little while. Lady #1 brought carrots; #2 onions, #3 celery, and #4 potatoes. Removing the stone from the pot, I add all the contributed ingredients and allow the stew to steep. The aroma of a stew stirred with God’s “Love one another” verses permeates the air.

Now, back to the game.

Trying to fool the Master....

2008-10-20T17:19:00.000-07:00

There was something about the scriptures we were discussing in Bible class yesterday morning that made me think of one of my favorite illustrations from my father’s sermons. In case you did not know, he was a preacher.

There was a wise old man who sat on his porch and entertained questions from people of all walks of life. All day long, he would expound wise sayings that could come only after many years of observing life.

One day, a young man caught a bird and thought to himself "I will fool the old man. Then I will be considered wiser than he; and people will then come to me for advice."

So he placed the bird in the palm of his hand and held it with his thumb pressing on its neck. He pondered how he would approach the old man and ask him whether he thought the bird in his hand was alive or dead.

If the old man answered that the bird was alive, the lad would use thumb pressure to break its neck so that he could prove the man of wisdom wrong.

However, if the old man declared that “Alas. The bird is dead.” He would release the bird to fly away. Either way, people would think him wiser by far.

So…the young man approached the porch with his hands behind his back and told the old man he had a riddle for him. He brought his hands around in front of him and said, “Can you tell me if this bird is alive or dead?”

The old man squinted his eyes and thought for a minute. Then he stated his answer, “Son. It all depends on you.”

How good are you at guessing?

2008-10-13T06:36:00.000-07:00

Saturday was "grape harvest" day...YUM! I always juice the concords and try to keep the mess to a minimum. In the dead of winter, it is such a treat to taste the "fruits of our labor." But, I especially love to save at least one container for communion as we travel or share a special time of worship.

This year, I goofed -- BIG TIME – in the cleanup, and knew John was not going to be happy with the result. So-o-o, when he came in, exhausted from his yard-work duties and plopped into his easy chair, I had prepared a quiz for him. See how you do, Dear Reader.

“Honey, I have a quiz for you to test the endurance of our marriage. See if you can guess which of these three I really did today:

1) I had some dish towels I used to strain the grape juice; I knew they’d wash up fine with bleach, but forgot I had put your blue shirt in the washer the day before.
2) Because it was midnight when I finished canning, I left the kitchen in such a mess. When I got up this morning, I had to face the cleanup and prepare for a potluck. Thanks to our wonderful, full-capacity dishwasher, I can fit about anything in it. So, besides the huge juicer, I also was able to fit in your favorite cutting board. Did you know you can delaminate wood in a dishwasher?
OR
3) I had a stack of things in the car to donate to a local charity, and after I got home, I realized I had left one of your tools in the car seat and must have donated it.
Which of these three do you think is true?”

Because John had trouble guessing, I made it easy for him. I asked him to place them in order of importance to him and to our marriage. I will tell you this much – our marriage is safe for the moment… he placed the real answer third in importance, stating “No one would be that dumb.”

Now…one more quick question – can you guess which of our three children never says to me: “So that’s where I get that gene!”?

SEPTEMBER'S SONG.....

2008-09-29T06:36:00.000-07:00

"There is an appointed time for everything. And there is a time for every event under heaven--" Ecclesiastes 3

"A time to give birth and a time to die...

9/1 -- We are traveling home after saying "Goodbye" to Sam, my only sibling.
This day marks the 18th anniversary of Daddy's death.
9/7 -- Sam would have celebrated his 69th birthday.
9/13 - Reports are that 2-month-old Elijah Hugh has doubled his birth weight.
9/16 -- Mother would have been 98 this day; she would not have wanted to live this long.
9/18 -- Mother died 19 years ago this day. I still miss her.

"A time to kill and a time to heal...

We are having an exceptionally warm Fall. We do not necessarily see every spider, but they have left their webs everywhere...in trees, on the grass, in every corner of the house, light fixtures, between cars parked beside each other for more than 10 minutes. We find ourselves at least tearing down cobwebs.

Mosquitoes are still hatching (and biting). Benedril helps the healing process some.

"A time to keep and a time to throw away...

The letter Sam wrote me for my 60th birthday has suddenly become more precious to me.

When I came across my stash of 2004 Christmas cards, I closed my eyes and tossed them; something I hate to do.

"A time to weep and a time to laugh...

When my wonderful friend and prayer partner called last night, the tears came...just thinking about her ordeal with cancer and treatment.

When she shared with me that her hair is starting to come back in. I thought it would be curly; she thought it would be blond. We were both wrong, and laughed together...she is Asian.

"A time to plant and a time to uproot what is planted....

Harvest time is really crazy this year. Neighbors are still picking corn and cucumbers and squash and tomatoes. The squirrels have been very busy burying walnuts gathered from our neighbor's tree and hiding them in little holes they have dug all over our yard.

The grapes need a frost before being ready to harvest. Now to get that bit of information to the birds.

Constant Reminder

2008-09-07T05:26:00.000-07:00

God’s timing never ceases to amaze me. For instance, what are the odds of my husband and all three of my children as well as two out of three in-law children all being in the same room with me at a crucial moment? One of the three we see maybe two or three times a week; maybe more; maybe less. She lives about 10 minutes away from us. One of them we see maybe three or four times a year for one or two days maximum. His branch of the Wyatts live about 200 miles east of us. And number three we see perhaps twice a year; he and his family live in Juneau, Alaska. The purpose for this gathering was to see and hold the newest addition to the family.

The point of all this is directed at any statisticians who might figure the odds of us all standing in my kitchen when our phone rang on August 21. The news was not unexpected, and it was brief. First my nephew called to say, “The time has come.” Moments later, my niece’s husband called to confirm what he had been preparing me for – they had removed my brother Sam’s life support systems, and his body could not function on its own.

“Alone.” I cried in John’s ear as he held me in his arms. “I feel so alone. All of my family is gone.” That pity party lasted less than 30 seconds because I was surrounded and touched by each and every person in the room. They joined me in tears and a group hug for the length of John’s prayer. Then my two youngest grandchildren approached (one in arms) to assure me I am not alone by any stretch of the imagination. There is always a constant reminder that we are never really alone in Christ.

Hebrews 13:5b-6a “He Himself has said, ‘I will never desert you nor will I ever forsake you.’ so we confidently say,‘The Lord is my helper. I will not be afraid.’”

P.S. This very day, Sam would have celebrated his 69th birthday.

SAM..he was

2008-08-22T11:12:00.000-07:00

MY BROTHER

AND

I WILL MISS HIM.

A Red Letter Day

2008-08-08T16:47:00.000-07:00

Today is a RED LETTER day.

RED LETTER days rarely occur.

I don’t know from where the term RED LETTER came,

But it certainly applies to August 8th 2008.

Scads of people are choosing to wed on 8-8-08.

As a matter of fact, we are going to witness just such a union tonight.

But that does not color this day.

My RED LETTER day has nothing to do with unexpected money,

Although there was an expected check to me in today‘s mail.

Today is a RED LETTER day because it is a day that ends an ordeal and reminds me, once again (Wake up, Betty!) Who is in control.

Today is the crescendo before radiation helps build and restores Anita to be in control of her life. Twenty four chemo treatments and eating when the thought of food makes things worse, She was challenged from every aspect of her life, and she is a champion in every sense of the word.

Oh, she is one of many on my prayer list,. You would have to know Anita to understand how brave she has been. You may quote me, “I wish I had a poets heart so I could describe things of such beauty that it takes your breath away.

REMEMBERING ANGIE

2008-08-06T06:16:00.000-07:00

Geoffrey’s website this morning should not have surprised me for Angie and Maurice are often his photo subject. I knew first thing yesterday morning that she had passed from this life but most of yesterday John and I went opposite directions. When we were together, we were working on projects and just did not take time to hold each other and mourn the loss of this great lady.

Geoffrey posted her Lemon Meringue Pie recipe. Prominent in my recipe files is her Pecan Pie recipe. Oh, I have spent many endless hours trying to get the crust right…bought every imaginable tool known to modern-day chefs…but that gift has completely eluded me. However, I can get the pie innards correct by following Angie’s recipe carefully. Even at that, the pecans don’t look as beautifully placed as hers.

My best “Angie pie story” is about our first visit back to Juneau after being gone some 10 years or so. We did not travel alone but rather invited close friends Gene and Marilee to join us. Naturally, after a morning of worship together, Angie and Maurice were some of the first to invite us for dinner. Discussing our invitations in the car going back to our housing, Marilee said, “I told Angie that I would bring dessert.” I am certain that there is an audible “gasp” every time I tell this story. As soon as I had recovered from thinking of an Angie meal without her pie, I explained to Marilee that some things were forgivable and she needed to apologize to Angie before it was too late for the rest of us. Marilee did graciously repent in time to save the occasion.

Memories flood my mind of hours spent in her living room catching up on news… sharing family stories and photos…listening, time and again, to the story of how she and Maurice had met….of his 12 brothers and sisters; three sets of twins (of which he was one-half). In all their years of marriage, a cross word had never been exchanged.

When you went to Angie’s and she offered you a cup of tea, she never heard you say “No. Thank you.” And with that refreshment came a slice of something she had baked. When you were asked to join them for leftovers, you could expect a meal suited for royalty. Her kitchen was so tiny, I cannot even picture where she rolled out her pie dough. Visiting was always what you were there for; sharing God’s richest blessings.

One more story ...
Our David was playing in the local orchestra, and there was a conflict with getting him into town in time for the performance. So I called Angie and asked if he could stay with them for the hours between school and the evening performance. I told her (knowing full-well that she would not hear me) that he could run down to the local Scarf and Barf for his dinner. Of course, she said they would be delighted. At the end of the evening, the report was not on the concert; David was still starry eyed from the hamburger and milk shake she had “thrown together” for him.

Geoffrey sent us a copy of the text of a sermon he gave last Sunday; Juneau Church of Christ is between preachers right now. His subject matter was "Hospitality." If Webster had lived in Juneau when he wrote the dictionary, seekers would find this definition for "hospitable" -- Angie and Maurice Long.

BACKING UP

2008-08-01T18:32:00.000-07:00

When we moved to this area of the country, it was necessary to acquire a new driver’s license. In order to obtain one, I was required by the State to take both a written and a “behind the wheel” test. Upon arriving home, my son asked me if I had passed the tests.

“Yes, and with only one restriction. I am not allowed to back up.”

Of course, he believed me. And even now (21 years later) he checks with me to see if I still have that prohibition on my driver’s license.

Now, the Good Lord knew my incapabilities in every imaginable area of life, and He selected for me a life’s partner (husband) to fill in where I am lacking.

When we take a journey in his van, pulling our camper, John can back into any parking spot with ease. He proved that recently by squeezing into a reserved campsite intended for a camper half our size. Immediately following that miracle, he talked our neighbor through the same process. Granted, it took this gentleman quite a bit longer and meant the removal of one sizable post to accomplish what John had done with such ease. The grateful family became our instant 3-day friends.

I once was appointed to take home our boat trailer after dropping John and our open-air boat where there was no parking. He set me up, pointing me in the right direction. All I had to do was drive straight home (less than 10 miles). The trick was that, when I arrived home, I was to back the trailer into the yard. Did you know that when you back up pushing a trailer, you do not steer the vehicle in a normal manner? To this day, I still do not understand the logistics of such a feat. Well…long story, short…(I know, I know. I’m too late.) I eventually got out of the car, unhooked the trailer, and pushed it by hand into its proper place. You can’t do that with a camper.

Now, you may be wondering what other areas of life John is more able to tackle than I am. The answer is simply “pretty much everything.” I don’t resent it at all; I just sit back and enjoy the ride…especially backing up.

WHAT'S IN A NAME?

2008-07-18T12:11:00.000-07:00

Naming a child has been on my mind a great deal these days. I must admit that my new grandson's name could not have been better picked.

When I first hear a name, I often catch myself thinking about how difficult it will be for the child to learn to write his name when they go to school. For instance, I once did some work for a scientist who named his daughter something like Elizabeth Carolina Pastapazoule. She should be out of high school by now, but I still picture her sitting in a first grade class learning to print her name. Eli has it easy!

When our daughter and her husband named the twins, they insisted they were avoiding naming them for family. But for certain, one bears the middle name of her other grandmother. And the girls' initials can be claimed by Betty, John, and even Aunt BJ.

This thought came to me recently when John and I were staying in the home of some folks we had never met but are now practically blood relatives. We had gone out to dinner, and each couple carried a styrofoam box of leftovers back to the house. The next day, we were ready to raid the refrigerator for lunch fixings when Joanne showed me that she had labeled their box..."B and J." Needless to say, it wasn't much help.

And, now, little Elijah Hugh Wyatt has entered the picture. Mom & Pop decided to let everyone know there was a boy on the way. They had shared with me that his middle name would be after my father -- Loyal Hugh. When Elijah's Daddy called to let us know he had arrived safely, that was when we learned his name. Unknown by most everyone is the fact that William Elijah Wyatt was John's Grandfather's name. I don't think anyone was more surprised than Geoffrey.

"What's in a name?" Shakespeare asks.

"More than one could imagine." is my reply.

What's that you say?

2008-07-11T08:25:00.000-07:00

Because PJ (Papa John) was sitting right next to the phone, he answered it. I could hear only his side of the conversation.

RING-G-G...RING-G-G-G

PJ Hello.

?

PJ Who is this?

?

PJ Well, it's nice to hear your voice. Are you calling to talk to me?

?

PJ Great!

?

PJ You lost your what?

?

PJ You lost your Keesh? What is a keesh?

?

PJ You lost your Kiss? How did you do that?

?

PJ Oh...You lost your keys. Car keys? House keys?

?

PJ Not your keys? You lost your what?

?

PJ I don't know what keesh is..

?

After several minutes...

PJ Well. Thank you for calling. I hope you find your keesh. Maybe your mother knows where it is.

?

CLICK

PJ to me -- That was our granddaughter, and she says she lost her keesh. I don't know why she called to tell me that. I don't even know what that conversation was about.

BW We have been watching that loose tooth for four days..

PJ Do you think that's what she lost?

BW I'll betcha...

Patty adds this thought: "Check out my blog for the snaggle-toothed surprise!"

COUSINS

2008-06-29T06:24:00.000-07:00

According to Webster, the number one meaning for the word cousin is the child of one's aunt or uncle. When asked to draw a picture of something beautiful they saw in the campout we were just completing, the littlest of the group drew five stick figures. One of the figures was the dog, and I assume the others were her two sisters and her two cousins. She added this explanation to her picture. "My cousins visitid [sic] me."

She could have selected to draw snow-covered Mount Rainier or forested unknown-name mountains. She could have drawn Tall trees looming over our camp site or nearby rivers or creeks of abundant flowing water. Butterflies or birds or chipmunks or caterpillars might have graced her page of artwork. Looking down on steep canyons as we rode up...up...up to Paradise or having a snowball fight when she was supposed to be eating lunch could have been her artistic choice. Even the swinging, cable bridge was one sister's choice of subject matter.

But this six-year-old grandchild chose the subject that kept me most enthralled with the wonderment of family on this occasion -- watching cousins interact and play and sing and pretend and chatter and make s'mores. I was mindful of my own youth and cousin Jan, many years and miles from this place. There were no trees to speak of and even tap water was scarce in the tiny West Texas town where our family reunion was held. However, as children, we just enjoyed the pleasure of each other's company...feeling the bond of kinship.

Cousin is such an important relationship that even the Bible sets the stage for the coming Messiah when pregnant Mary visits her pregnant cousin Elizabeth. Later, of course, John announced, "Behold, the Lamb of God who takes away the sins of the world!" How befitting it is that Christ's cousin was the herald of such great news.

I delighted in watching five girls interact and romp and spontaneously follow Papa John on his walk. And I wonder to myself, "Will the boychild cousin, due in the near future, change the dynamics of this love shown?"

One of Life's Bigger Lessons

2008-06-17T07:07:00.000-07:00

We have just arrived home after two weeks of spending time by Sam's bedside as he battles to regain his life. For more details and photos, visit John's blog.

Anyone who knows I have a brother knows at least one thing about us -- we were not very good at "getting along" as kids. Our sibling battles were frequent, and they grieved Mother.

After Sam was in the hospital for 8 weeks...basically on life support...the time was right for us to travel to be by his side. As I stood beside Sam's bedside in Modesto Memorial ICU for the first time, he took my latex-gloved hand and kissed my fingertips. His lips moved, but they formed no words. Tears came to his eyes (and mine).

The memories of wasted years flood my thoughts. Oh, reader, don't think of us as battling all those years. As adults, we have had two or three really good conversations about why we were always fighting as kids. Because we have not lived near each other, it has just been easy to live our lives with little regard for each other.

This illness has caused me to realize how precious family ties are. Our father died 18 years ago, following Mother's death by one year.

When we were kids, Sam would tease or hit or irritate me. Mother would force him to apologize.

He would say, "I'm sorry...but I don't mean it." Mother would make him say it again. "I'm sorry."

"But I don't mean it." This apology could take what seemed like an eternity.

Mother might even make him hug or kiss his little sister and once again...say the words "I'm sorry."

But as soon as Mother left the room, Sam would add "But I don't mean it." I realize now that she probably left the room to laugh.

After two weeks of "suiting up" to be near Sam, watching him sleep, cheering him on as he lifted his arms for the first time to exercise....as he "sat up" (his nurses pushed the buttons that made his bed into a chair )...as his speech became clearer through his tracheotomy...and many other firsts on his road to recovery, the time came for us to return home.

One last trip to the hospital to say "goodbye."

Again, the tears came..."Sis. I love you....."

And this time I believe he meant it.

Sam, he is

2008-06-04T12:20:00.000-07:00

Many of my days' hours are spent watching my only sibling struggle for each breath; nothing is easy for him. Tomorrow will mark the beginning of his 9th week since he has been able to walk, talk, eat, sit up.....etc. I read the following to his wife last night, and we all got a badly needed chuckle.

We had just moved to Dexter, New Mexico. While I was recuperating from a badly sprained ankle, Sammy had the freedom to explore and to meet other kids. About the third day, he came home with a black eye. Mother and Daddy both quizzed him. He did not want to talk about it in front of Mother so he and Daddy took a walk.

The story, as I recall it, came out that he had met some other boys. His description of them was vague, but they were about his age and wore felt hats with pop bottle lids attached somehow and they rode bikes. Apparently Sammy decided to explore around the edge of the cotton field and had ended up almost back at the highway in a shaded area near a church yard when he happened across these boys about his age but much bigger.

Anyway, somehow in the process of getting acquainted, one of the boys called him a :”Son of A Gun.” He put up his dukes and told the boy to take it back. It was not hurtful to him to be called such a name, but He was not going to get by with calling my Mother “a Gun.”

Our technicolor world

2008-05-18T17:13:00.000-07:00

It is not that I don't write for this blog,,,it IS that much of what I write gets set in moth balls never to be seen by other humans.

When the young man leading prayer in our Bible class mentioned my name, I flinched a little. And when he ended our petition for me to "return to normal," I could not help but smile. It reminded me of the man with the withered hand who constantly prayed for God to make both of his hands the same. Finally, God answered his plea; He made the other hand withered, also.

Some readers probably realize that I was scheduled during this time to have long-overdue surgery for cataracts. According to my appointments, first the right eye and, a week later, the left were to be operated on. Anyone who has met me in person knows that my body (and especially my head) can take off on its own with seismic tremor. I felt calm going into the first surgery even relaxed enough that I crossed my legs and laced my fingers together But, unbeknownst to me, my head had other ideas. Although I had warned the staff ahead that this could happen, they were not prepared for what did occur next. Some of my cloudy fluid escaped, causing some rather sizable :"floaters."

The doctors were afraid that they might need to hospitalize me in order to sedate me to remove the floaters at the same time as the left eye surgery. It looks like the floaters will continue to dissolve ; the second surgery is now scheduled for this Tuesday. When I ran into the surgeon at the appointment desk before the left eye surgery, he said, "We are ordering a really big strap this time." I am happy to report that the second went smoothly.

Meanwhile, I have discovered the world around me is brilliantly colored. This area of the country is so beautiful this time of year anyway...flowering bushes and trees and shrubs heralding fruits to follow. I had no idea my sight was so limited; it was like looking at the world through wax paper during a dust storm.

I feel like Calvin and Hobbes, having lived in a colorless world. Now things are too brilliant; "God is SO BIG!" Now I need a new photo for my blog. I do not have orange hair nor are my cheeks such a strange color. Besides, I am now viewing the world around me without glasses.

When things are not as they seem...

2008-04-19T12:22:00.000-07:00

When John's mother Alta bought a new sewing machine, she started with simple embroidery and, by nature, progressed beyond what the average seamstress would take on. Her first project was a large piece of white cotton (20" X 32") turned and hemmed with embroidered triangles in various colors. She made eight or ten for me for a Christmas present.

I enjoyed those table napkins so much. Especially men would comment on how much they appreciated the full-size napkins that actually covered the lap and stayed put. Her handiwork was so handy as a bib for babies and grown ups eating crab or artichokes dipped in butter or bar-b-que ribs. Obviously, they were saved for guests. And after each use, they were washed and ironed and put away for the next special occasion.

When my napkins were several years old, we went to California to visit our families. When helping Alta clean up after a meal, she handed me a cloth that looked all the world like my wonderful napkins. The only difference was that she did not iron hers. I was so surprised that she wanted me to use it as a drying rag. As it turns out, that was her intent all along. We had a good laugh together about my mistaking them as napkins.

I still have one "napkin" which I use as a dish cloth, but I caught myself this morning moving it to the bottom of the stack. After all, it is still my most special one.

In response to REAL readers

2008-04-09T06:41:00.000-07:00

OKAY..OKAY. All right already! I need to prove to David that he is not adopted and let anyone interested know what I have been reading. Please keep in mind that I am awaiting cataract surgery and have been looking at the printed world through a magnifying glass. But I do read...just not as voraciously as some folks I know.

I have started Dorothy Gilman's Thale's Folly. A little novel I
picked up at the Friend's of the lIbrary sale recently

I reread Don't Let the Pigeon Drive the Bus. A gift from Geoffrey that I recently regifted to a special family.

In the most recent edition of Book Women publication, my friend Carol Copeland wrote an article called "Three Woman." The article tells how we met each other through Jessie Mather.

Quicken Personal Finances 2007 Manual...I don't want to talk about it.

Taste of Home Slow Cooker Classics...proving, once again, "If you don't have the ingredients, stay out of the kitchen." This was a "must have" Valentine's gift from my wonderful hubby.

Bible studies that are presently ongoing are "Through the Gospels in Real Time," "Proverbs," "Jude", and a lady's study guide that gave me whiplash turning back and forth from Old Testament to New. I am also reviewing my Freshman "Basic Bible Study Guide" seeking a good study. Any suggestions?

Talking Drums by Patty Slack is a magnificent novel, yet to be discovered. I was looking for flaws (some call that editing) so my reading was somewhat skewed. As you can imagine, there were precious few errors.

I am privileged to be typing Jeanne Stinson's Memoirs. Jeanne is a dear 80-something friend who lived in Africa during her early years and in (much) later years, resided in a boat house on the Columbia River.

As you can tell, my reading is not as eclectic as some in my family. If it is not obvious to acquaintances by now, I am a dabbler in everything

Mysterious sounds

2008-03-05T07:22:00.000-08:00

There it goes again. By the time day breaks...in the still, quiet time of morning...the semi-constant sound begins. It is not annoyingly unpleasant but the mystery of its source is nagging.

It is not a buzz, and yet that might be the best way to describe it. I asked one granddaughter what she thought it was, and she said "It sounds like someone's cell phone." I had thought the same thing...but one would think the batteries would have worn out long ago. The sound dominates the usual jungle sounds of birds. Last week, when John and I returned from a shopping trip, two little girls were standing in our driveway; when we got out of our car, the older of the two, called to us "We were listening to your birds!" then continued their walk.

Back to the sound...

It could be a neighbor trying to start a small engine, but it is surely not that because it has gone on for days and many hours each day.

It goes like this rrrrrrrrrrrrr...pause..........rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr................. pause.................rrrrrrrrrr............pause...................rrrrrrrrrrrrr...pause..........rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr................. pause.................rrrrrrrrrr............pauserrrrrrrrrrrrr...pause..........rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr................. pause.................rrrrrrrrrr............pauserrrrrrrrrrrrr...pause..........rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr................. pause.................rrrrrrrrrr............pauserrrrrrrrrrrrr...pause..........rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr................. pause.................rrrrrrrrrr............pauserrrrrrrrrrrrr...pause..........rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr................. pause.................rrrrrrrrrr............pauserrrrrrrrrrrrr...pause..........rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr................. .................rrrrrrrrrr............pauserrrrrrrrrrrrr...pause..........rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr................. pause.................rrrrrrrrrr............pause

Well, maybe it is annoying. It is not so noticeable indoors though sometimes I notice it. However, as soon as any door leading outside is open, there it is again.
Usually it stops mid=day for a break, bu not always.

Finally, I went to my source for all of life's amswers...No..not God, He is the source of all of Life's Answers. No my greatest source is that walking encyclopedia I married.

"John, do you know what that noise is? Listen...there it is again... What do you think it is?"

"Oh..that? That is a woodpecker working on a dead limb?"

AMAZING!

A SCHOLARLY REMEMBRANCE

2008-02-10T07:02:00.000-08:00

Just because I have not posted a blog since January 30th is no indication that I have not tried. I throw out at least half of my attempts. However, there is nothing like writing for a specific date (in this case, a birthday) to outdate my efforts almost before they are published.

I have misplaced an important journal and spent much of yesterday, once again, searching for it. Quite naturally, that led to clearing my book shelves. Now that my youngest grandchildren are learning to read, about one fourth of my accumulated literary treasures would hold no interest to anyone except me. Of course, with a new grandbaby on the way, I'll hang onto most of those books.

Scattered haphazardly on the floor of a seldom-used room were books from various reading stages of my life. Lassie Come Home and coverless Cinderella as well as Hurlburts bible Stories and Aunt Charlotte's Bivle Stories are the only tomes that have survived since childhool.

There is one book that really haunts me. When John and I lived in Beaumont, Calfironia, there was an elderly christian lady who would stop me on a weekly basis and insist that I should read the best piece of literature ever written. Eventually, she brought me a copy of A tree Grows in Brooklyn. I have no idea how many times over the years I have tried to read this novel. I have never made it past the second chapter. I do not know why it has never held my interest; what little I have read was well written and even interesting.

Once again, I removed the book from my bookshelf where I keep books for loaning to people; although this book has never been loaned. Once again, I place it in the stack to take to the used book dealer's shop to trade in. And, once again, I remember the lady who loaned it to me over 40 years ago. And...once again...I place it back on my shelf. What am I feeling? Guilt? perhaps. Motivated? no. But maybe one day I will get around to reading it.

I wonder if others hang onto books or things, not really knowing why?

UNDERSTANDING FOOTBALL

2008-02-05T12:18:00.000-08:00

I know it is not football season but...
After one and one-half hours of composing a masterpiece, I needed only to wrap it up and post it. When I hit the "enter" key on my computer, everything disappeared...never to be seen again. So, I resurrected an old unpublished article. If you are desperate for reading material...you've got it!

Everyone is talking about football these days, and I got to thinking about the influence that sport has had on my life.

I was in junior high in Andrews, Texas, when I went to my first football game. There are two things I remember about that experience. 1) The band major was a full-blooded Seminole Indian. It seems to me that there was some controversy over a boy in that position. and 2) The junior high boys teased me because my hair kept falling in my eyes and, to avoid being conspicuous about the dilemma, I would stick out my bottom lip and blow it back.

We moved to Tucson between junior and high school. Of course, high school football was far more educational in the big city high school. I attended most of the THS home games and never missed a Thanksgiving rivalry game against Amphitheater; that game was played near our house at the University of Arizona stadium. What I recall most about high school football is my wardrobe. Without fail, I always wore red and white every Friday, My favorite outfit was a white blouse and a full skirt (red with huge white polka dots) poofed out with numerous crinolines. I remember most of the cheers: T-T-T-u-c; S-S-s-o-n and We are the Badgers, Mighty Mighty Badgers. Who can forget First and ten; do it again. Harder! Harder! Yessiree, I sat on the front row in front of the marching band and yelled my little heart out, It was not hard to identify me as a real fan though I hadn't a clue what the cheers meant, No one ever bothered to educate me; and, truthfully, it never crossed my mind to ask.

The year I started college was the last year Pepperdine had a football team. I may have attended two or three games. Early on, I learned how many players were supposed to be on the field. Apparently, this was a piece of information that had alluded our team.

In our years in Juneau, football was not a part of the school sports program nor even community sports. With the advent of cable TV, and eventually the addition of a daughter-in-law whose brother is a college football coach, at last I was (somewhat) educated about the game. So, when asked if I watched the Super Bowl, my answer was "The last 39 seconds."

"Well, then, you did not miss anything." has been the standard reply.

Somehow, there must be a message here about life.

THIS IS THE DAY...

2008-01-30T07:43:00.000-08:00

THIS IS THE DAY THAT THE LORD HAS MADE; LET US REJOICE AND BE GLAD IN IT!

10 - This is the last day of all of our family birthdays, and we still have a "leftover" day.

9 - Two more days, and we can change the calendar. A quick peek reveals the February photo is a picture of ice formations in Juneau, Alaska. Now, there's an original idea!

8 - The last of the inventory sales helps me prepare for 2008 baby showers. Hopefully that number is the year and not how many showers there will be this year.....though one can never be certain.

7 - Can seed catalogs be far behind?

6 - The United States Postal Service actually answered their phone with a human voice, took copious notes about the lost package, and said they'd get back to me today.

5 - My new dishwasher does all that the manufacturer promised -- quietly.

4 - Wednesdays are always my "marathon day" with a study of Proverbs mid afternoon and a gathering to study "Truth" later.

3 - My children rise up and call me Blessed!

2 - This is the day that we celebrate the birth of our youngest, who has brought us so much joy!

1 - HAPPY BIRTHDAY, GEOFFREY!!

Shopping Spree

2008-01-23T17:25:00.000-08:00

The challenge came in an email as I was heading out the door for a class on Proverbs, so I dashed off this answer. And, after reading it over, I decided I should not waste the opportunity to share with others.

THE CHALLENGE: I'm doing a survey. What's the longest shopping spree you ever had - and you can tell me a few details, if you want.

SHOPPING SPREE
Truthfully, I have not been much of a shopper since high school days. When we lived in Alaska, I had to have all of my shopping done by catalog by the end of October or the catalog item was sold out. The children were not even allowed to hum a Christmas tune until after Thanksgiving. So, playing Santa, I had to be pretty creative to get the kids to ask Santa for what I had already purchased. It did not always work out so great. To this day, we do not even mention Chatty Cathy in Patty’’s presence.

So…now that I think of it – my biggest shopping spree would have to be the Summer of 1976 when our family took about a 6-week vacation to visit folks in California. My parents lived in a single-wide mobile home near Modesto. I hit Mervyn’s with a vengeance for school clothing for the three kids and my hubby.…there is nothing that compares to the adrenalin rush of finding winter jackets on sale in 100+ temperatures, knowing there is no competition while shopping. There were even ads in the newspapers declaring things on sale, unheard of in Juneau.

After we “did” southern California family and theme parks, we returned to my folks for a few days to gather everything for transport via Alaska Airlines back to Juneau. Lo! And behold! If Sears didn’t have a linen sale going! Who could possibly say “no” to towels for $1.99 or sheets and mattress pads for under $10. Why! I was able to get two new blankets for every bed in our house. Then, the truth hit me. I had been stuffing all of my purchases in the storage shed. When I started reducing the bulk of packaging, it only caused my loot to expand. How was I going to get this all home? I had anticipated needing extra luggage for clothing and fresh fruits and vegetables, but the linens alone filled our sleeping quarters. The Stockton red onions and beefsteak tomatoes my father had lovingly grown just for us went as carryons; The clothing stuffed into our limit of luggage, but what to do with the linens?

Mother suggested it was time for her lovely cedar “Hope chest” (better known as the family’s despair barrel) to be passed onto me. My husband built a crate for it, but not before we made sure all of the purchases could be accommodated. It took some muscle to get it all in. Next, we took it to the airport and shipped it air freight. I hate to think what we paid for that means of transportation.

But, at least, John never found the snow plow he had shopped for!

time continues......

2008-01-13T15:04:00.000-08:00

Just an update on my last blog. That watch still reads 1:52. John took it to the store where it was purchased and even took his own set of tiny screwdrivers to open the back to replace the battery. It took a bit longer than anticipated for him to get the back open, but when he did, the clerk pulled out the old battery and found a replacement for it. Only problem was it did not work. Oh, I am told that the light now would illuminate the watch's face, but the time did not change.

This morning when looking through my jewelry for a certain stick pin I came upon five watches, three of which have been bought in the last 20 years. One of those three was absolutely identical to my 1:52 watch. One watch had been my mother's. Without looking, I could tell you the brand name because my parents were real believers in the quality of Bulova watches. When studying this timepiece, I could see it, too, contained a battery. I put it on my wrist and whacked it a couple of times and the second hand took right off as though it had just been stirred from sleep. Mother died in 1990, and that watch had not been worn since her death.

I knew I had her mother's Elgin watch which does not have a wristband so I hunted it down and wound it up and it keeps perfect time now. Mammy (my maternal grandmother) died in 1953. Both of those heirlooms still run. The one engraved to my grandfather in 1939 needs a good cleanng, but I'm thinking it would probably be wiser to clean them both than to purchase another watch made to today's standards.

A TIMELY REMINDER

2008-01-10T05:39:00.000-08:00

When I woke up yesterday morning, my watch read 1:52. All of the clocks in the house said it was closer to 5:30, but my watch said 1:52. As a matter of fact, it still reads 1:52.

I have a friend who writes each and every Sunday. He always begins with "I am reminded this week..." and the rest of his email message is always thinking positive and being the Christian you would like to meet -- helping others, not complaining, always positive, etcetera. He always ends with a scripture.. .usually a proverb.
Just over a year ago, he added a paragraph between his message and the quotes; that message began "This week, Jane..." For, you see, his wife faithfully went for her routine annual physical, feeling fine, and because of a "mass" sent a lot of us to our knees in her behalf. It has been a challenging year for many of us as both breasts were removed and her hair fell out. and the chemo made her so ill.
I spent a little time with Jane Saturday evening, and she looked radiant.I thank God.

Today, one of my dearest friends enters a hospital in another city for a "biopsy." She is single, and I pray fervently that God removes any blight that would cause her pain or illness. "Please, God, just make it go away."
Another lady, a widow, enters the hospital tomorrow. Her cancer has returned. And a very close brother in Christ continues to valiantly fight against one pain and another caused by cancer.

At the same time, Geoffrey and Dana will be at the doctor's office having a sonogram, possibly learning the gender of their baby.

Above my computer station is a recently acquired pendulum clock that ticks away the seconds and bongs on the half hour. It is a constant reminder of the passage of time. But my watch says it is 1:52.

Saturday, we will wish our oldest child Happy Birthday, and we will rejoice in remembering his goodness and the pleasure he has been in our life.

My heart is full of prayers for the Love God has placed in my life. I am thankful for the lives with which God has touched my life. Of course, there is a remedy for a watch that says 1:52 all of the time; I will probably get a new battery today. No, life did not stop just because one timepiece failed to function, and it did not speed up just because I asked John three times in two minutes what time it was.

It did, however, make me painfully aware of how much I rely on timepieces and to think about ETERNITY.

The Day I Met John Wayne

2007-12-24T04:22:00.000-08:00

I feel I need to preface this by explaining that my father was a preacher. The preacher's residence was always next door to the church building and always about the size of a cracker box. It was not uncommon to be awakened during the night by total strangers seeking refuge for themselves or their children. Folks migrating from the "dust bowl" of Oklahoma and Texas would come to our house needing money or food, desperate enough for assistance they would sell any of their goods they treasured enough to pack for the journey. Others sought us out for Daddy to help seal the bond of marriage of an eloping couple. Mostly, these people were strangers to us...people we met only once in this life. This description of my family life has little to do with John Wayne except to introduce you to my father. Now, on with the purpose of this tale. The names have been altered to protect the forgiven guilty parties.

We were living in Tucson, and it was the middle of the night when the phone call came. It was Mrs. Jones, a single mom struggling to launch her attractive teenage daughter Rhoda into life with the fewest number of scars. There were six or eight "thick as thieves" teenage girls in our congregation. For the most part, we were a screaming, talkative '50's pack, crammed into one car, all talking at the same time. Rhoda was a couple of years older than most of the group and the only word I can think of to describe her is voluptuous

Rhoda had gone to a party that night and returned home well beyond the limitations of curfew and rip-roaring drunk. Her mother called my father first, then the police. By the time my parents arrived on the scene, the police were already there. Mainly, the police put Rhoda in one room and her mother in another while they tried to calm both. One of the responding officers moonlighted as a security guard at Old Tucson, a tourist attraction in the desert, used mainly for making cowboy movies. Once the hysteria was calmed, that officer assured Mrs. Jones that her daughter was not a bad person, and after they had time to get a good night's sleep, they would need a day of good memories to overcome this night. If they would come to Old Tucson the next day to a certain gate, he would introduce her to John Wayne and Ricky Nelson. My parents were invited to join them, and "Certainly...bring your daughter, too."

At the appointed time, we picked up Mrs. Jones and Rhoda and drove through the countryside to Old Tucson. The guard was at his station. He took a break to accompany us to the setting for the bar. There, seated around a rickety table was John Wayne, Ricky Nelson, and Dean Martin. The female lead walked through, and I remember not wanting her autograph because she was an unknown -- her name was Angie Dickenson.

We watched them film a shootout scene. It took hours to get it right. When the movie came out, the portion we watched in the making equaled about 20 seconds of the actual movie. We posed for photos and gathered autographs and "dust from Ricky Nelson's feet." What I remember about John Wayne was that he was bigger than life with enormous hands. He and Ricky talked to each other during the photo session, discussing their upcoming scene.

The photos snapped that day never made it back from the drugstore developer. We always expected them to show up in some movie magazine; but if that was the case, we missed it. "What happened to the autograph?" you might inquire. I sold it to a man at an antique show for $150. Now, this blog is all I have to show for it.

Can you guess the name of the movie?

EVIE (1918--2007)

2007-12-13T07:59:00.000-08:00

We were prepared by Evie, herself, that the end of her life was nearing. She prepared us for everything, including this when she said "Do not grieve." However, I hope she will forgive some moments of tears as we individually recall our acquaintance.

The year was 1967 when we arrived in Juneau. We had packed only one stick of useful furniture for the move. That was David's crib. It did not take long for the members of the Church of Christ to furnish our rental. Stan and Evie had a desk they "loaned" us - for 20 years! When we left in '87, they requested its return

When one spoke of Evie they also spoke of Stan. To this day, Ron will tell you that it was the quiet, steady, daily example of the mailman that attracted him to seek out the church where Stan attended. I remember in the bitter cold of winter, several of us driving to the lake and everyone parking with their headlights barely penetrating the darkness to spotlight those brave enough to try to stand on the ice. Most of those skaters were pretty wobbly. But, then, out of the night came the most amazing sight. Not one person but two moving as one, dancing and twirling in harmony.....gliding, skimming the ice as though it had been miraculously groomed, moving in and out of the light. That couple was Stan and Evie.

Evie was a nurse. Each time we gathered to worship, she would make her rounds, inquiring about our health and that of our family. Apple juice seemed to be the remedy for many intestinal concerns; a small amount of 7-Up for colicky baby, the list is endless. When I voiced concern that my feet would be cold giving birth in the dead of winter, she showed up at my door with some fuzzy socks.

When visiting in their home, the offered beverage often would be a root beer float. Once, an already-troubled pre-teenager asked his parents for their car keys so he could listen to the radio as he waited for them to finish visiting after worship time. However, once he was in the car, he decided to try his hand at driving. He threw the gear shift into "R" and backed right into Stan and Evie's station wagon, shattering the rear window and damaging the door. For years, you would hear this story being repeated with this conclusion, "It was a good thing for that kid that he hit Stan and Evie's car." They not only spoke forgiveness, they lived it.

The last time we visited Evie in her room at the Pioneer Home, she pointed out her window to a little gnome scene she had created. Just weeks before, she had left the confines of the Home and walked around to her special spot. It was a sunny day, and she enjoyed the pleasure of being at eye level with her project. When she realized it was time to go inside for dinner, her knee replacement surgery prevented her from rising. Eventually, she was able to scoot close enough to the building to strike it with a stick, but no one came. As the day slipped into night and the temperatures dipped to freezing, typical of Evie, she did not panic. Rather, she enjoyed the peaceful setting, finding pleasure in the night sky, singing, talking to God and visiting with Stan. It would be well into the next day before her absence was discovered. Even this experience was a beautiful memory to Evie.

Tom Brokaw has correctly labeled Evie's age group as "The Greatest Generation." Yet, I pray that some of their legacy will survive because of their example and influence. We will grieve our loss for a short while, but remember joyfully for a great deal longer the life and love of Evie.

Seeking the Past

2007-12-10T06:03:00.000-08:00

Because of the research that went into writing Jessie's Story, I find myself wondering about friends with whom I have lost touch. Sometimes, that leads me to the people search. Recently, I have located and talked to two friends from the distant past. It seems to me that everyone I know should know each other, and sometimes I take a moment to place them in their slots of time and place.

Sherry belongs in the "early Alaska" slot. Without her, the book would have been very different. She is the one who accompanied her husband to Eagle in 1975, taking with her Jessie's photo album. Her assignment was to see if she could find out if any of the pictures in the album were of the trunk's owner. On that trek, she not only identified Jessie, but many others, beginning with the Native dancers. It was the presentation of these photos that led to the potlatch on July 2nd 2007.

Jean's slot goes back to college days. We lived across the hall from each other in the dormitory and wore our green beanies with the big, orange "P" for orientation to George Pepperdine College in the early 60's. She was from Arkansas, the baby of her family...if my memory is correct, her mother was a widow, Jean had two burly, rough-and-tumble, BIG brothers and a sister who was a missionary in Korea. What I remember most about "Jeanie Belle" was that she had short, red hair and freckles, and she loved to sing.

I remember someone asking her if her mother had been bitten by a Victrola when pregnant with Jean. I remember she went home with me for Thanksgiving, and when my Mother made me a new dress, she made one for Jean, too.

Thanks to the Internet, these connections were made. What fun...to catch up on friends of old and, yes, old friends. I am wondering if you have found anyone?

When Truth Becomes A Dream

2007-11-19T05:45:00.001-08:00

It has finally happened. The reality of peddling books has entered my dreams.

THE DREAM

With a crowd of others, I was waiting for the train to come. Patty and her daughters were also waiting. As the train approached, I realized that I did not have a single copy of my book with me. Without mentioning it to anyone, I dashed home, picked up two copies, and ran back to the train station. The train was already loaded and pulling out, but I was able to hop onto the caboose as it passed.

Though everyone seemed to know each other, I did not recognize anyone. Every passenger was a middle-aged woman, dressed in 1930's fashion (dark-colored, rayon dresses with full skirts accented only by white bobby sox). I soon realized that each lady had a book in her hand. They were highly intelligent, discussing their own piece of literary excellence. It did not take me long to realize the passengers were all authors. It did dawn on me that they might speak to me if I could introduce them to Jessie.

I set about trying to locate where I had laid my copies. When, at last, I spotted my book, there was only one copy. After searching diligently, I noticed a person standing like the Statue of Liberty. Instead of bearing the torch, she was holding up my book and stating, "Don't read this. It is not a true story." That is when I realized that all of the other's books were nonfiction. And since I have wavered between calling my literary piece of work "fact" or "fiction," I declared, "That is why I have always called it non-fiction." Then I walked to the next car and found my daughter and her youngest sitting in wicker seats. They refused to pay me any heed.

REALITY

John had shared with his class on Proverbs that he will be taking a train trip with Patty and the girls and other home-schooling folks.

Over our weekly dinner, before studying the Bible together, three other ladies and I were discussing a monthly book club they attend. Next month, the book of choice will be Jessie. I will be present at the critiquing session, and my Christian sisters are concerned that my feelings will be hurt by some of the "honest" comments.

As John and I left for an appointment, I realized there were no copies of the book in my car so I ran back inside to get one book. One never knows when someone will want to ask about it.

The only thing missing in reality is my hopping on a caboose. Stay tuned!

Happy Anniversary

2007-11-02T07:51:00.000-07:00

November 1st marked the first anniversary of my personally selling Jessie's Story. I know that several people had already ordered from Lulu and that other copies were "out there." However, this was the date I opened the box from Lulu and accepted money for a copy. The first customer was Judy.

According to Lulu.com, 979 copies have now been sold. This count is off by 10 because I pushed an order button twice and had to request a refund for those. It also is not quite accurate because, especially in the beginning, I hated to ask for money and gave away many. By far, the biggest customer has been the Eagle Historical Society & Museum (350 copies). The original price I set was $15. Lulu changed that to $15.99, and I altered that price personally to $16 in order to not have to deal with the pennies people refused in change. At charitable auctions, two copies went for a combined total of $1,100 and, more recently, $45 was the winning bid in Sitka.

If you think I penned the story of the life of Jessie Fox alone, you are gladly mistaken. You may quote me: "It took the Lord and an army greater than Gideon's final count." Many of the behind-the-scenes workers I mention in the acknowledgement section of the book. However, myriad others should have been named. A few that come to mind are

Vetta, who was the very first reader of the rough manuscript who encouraged me to keep going. She always knew how to ask the right question.

a hubby who drove me all over tarnation searching for a book or a clue or a grave or a salt shaker or a camper or, quite literally, the ends of the earth and the top of the world.

a daughter who prodded me to keep writing and designed eight covers before the final product. At the going rate of $85 an hour for her fine work, I figure I owe her around $10,000.

a son who set me up with a corner of his wonderful website, www.wyattjourney.com/jessie.

a son who designed a postcard for advertising.

a stranger who owns a tea shoppe, who gave me encouragement and space for a lovely evening of book-signing.

a local Dairy Queen owner who not only allowed me to launch the book on her premises, but even put the event on her marquee.

strangers along the AlCan and Cassiar Highways who believed my story enough to purchase a book.

a christian brother whose wife was just beginning radical treatment for cancer, who took time to share his equipment and expertise for framing some special photos.

the residents of Eagle and Eagle Village who put me in a position I never would have dreamed of and made me feel so welcome.

those who tackled the labourious task of teaching me about keeping financial records.

the few wonderful souls who took time and effort to write reviews of the book on Lulu.com.

the many who either wrote to me or told me how they loved her story.

Who would have ever dreamed the turn my life's road has taken as I approach my 65th birthday? and my 44th wedding anniversary? and my 2nd year with the book?

I thank God for every remembrance...

Who? Me?

2007-10-28T06:24:00.000-07:00

I am not certain, but I think I am being pursued by federal agents. I don't recall ever receiving an email from ebay, but there was one this morning -- all in Spanish! Now, I did take Spanish in high school but have even forgotten that questions begin with an upside down questioon mark.

Why would anyone be after me? Could it be because of the ridiculous circumstances that led me to my nom-de-plume for ebay. At the time I signed up for ebay, I was heavily into research for the book I was trying to write. You know the one... Jessie: the story of a genteel lady in frontier Alaska? Daily, I was listening to a taped reading of Charles Dickens's Pickwick Papers. If that 500-plus page tome had not been Jessie's favorite, I would never have attempted reading it. Forgive me; I digress. Let's see; where was I? Ahh, yes! Feds chasing me.

I was trying to register on ebay to purchase a highly recommended book on the Yukon and I was determined to do it on my own. But (as you probably know) every identification I tried had been taken: name? date of birth? name of firstborn grandchild? song titles? every visible item in the room? Finally, I came across one that worked...place of birth (Texas) plus present reading material (pickwick papers). Only problem was that made my i.d. so lengthy. Using my noggin, I abbreviated Texas and removed the word Papers. It was only after the deed was done that I noticed I had somehow dropped the first k in the book title--thus, the invention of txpicwick. So... do you think the g-men think I might be an illegal alien?

I proved my ineptitude in Spanish back a few years ago when John and I visited our son in Venezuela. Angel, the guard/doorman, was trying to tell me something about "esposa" as he pointed to the neighbor's front door. In return I was trying to tell him we were feeding the neighbor's cat while they were away. Not even knowing the word for "cat" or "away," I seem to recall that "casa" and hand motions were my best bet. Finally, he led me to that portal, turned the key in the lock, turned the knob, and opened the door carefully so the cat would not escape, revealing John sitting at a table viewing the city below. Turns out Angel was trying to tell me that my husband (spouse) was locked out of our apartment so he had placed him inside the neighbor's. I guess John could not rouse me from my siesta.

10-20-30, pass it on.....

2007-10-16T06:31:00.000-07:00

The following paragraph explaining this blog is copied directly from Patty's:

"An acquaintance in the writing community, Mary DeMuth, is doing a blog experiment to see how far-reaching blogs can be. She tagged 12 people and asked them to tag others to see how far this can go. If you decide to answer her question, either leave it as a comment on this blog or answer it in your blog and link back to hers. (http://www.relevantblog.blogspot.com/)

"The question is, what were you doing 10, 20 and 30 years ago? Here's my response:"

10 years ago:
In 1997, Geoffrey asked if his friend, Jim Fincher, could stay with us for a few days while he located a place to rent for the duration of some extended work with the US Forest Service. Of course, we said yes. Within days, his wife found a lump and needed to see a doctor. Long story, short, Carol and their two children (age 6 years and 5 months) also came to stay with us while she received medical treatment in this area. They stayed in our home for 4 months. Very soon after they moved to their own place, Edwin, Patty and 2-year-old girls came from Togo for their first real furlough. One highlight of that visit was a trip to Cannon Beach for the whole family; another was a family portrait day when David and Paige announced the expectant birth of another Wyatt due in May.

20 years ago:
Who can forget 1987? The year we tearfully said "Goodbye" to Juneau and moved to an area of the country that has roads that connect to other roads that lead to places like our parents' houses. I know, because we tested them several times. And after looking at some 200 houses for sale, we found just the right "country" house with acreage. The very night we signed the papers for that purchase, and the very minute I leaned back and put my feet up, stating, "Now we can relax," was the moment the phone rang. On the other end of the "line" (When's the last time you've heard that term?) were Patty and her fiance announcing they did not want to wait a year to get married; how did December 19 sound? So, while John shopped for a riding lawmower in mid-November and we both looked for furniture, there was always the constant thought of the pending wedding. And it was on the wedding weekend that we tested and coinedd the phrase, "Our dining table seats 13 uncomfortably." And we continue to test that theory to this day.

30 years ago
With my baby Geoffrey startiing kindergarten, I hand-made bread, knitted lots of hats, took classes in cake decorating, had time to read, study, and spend time with the creator of the beautiful land in which we lived. This was the year I met Diane Caldwell, and what one of us did not think to do, the other did. We were partners in room mothering, shopping (I loved to spend her money), took a University class in child nutrition together (Our big project was English Muffin pizza, complete with paint brushes), stood in the snow for hours at the crossroads between our residents, trying to say good bye, ignored warning signs of icy roads and tried to convince our kids we had planned the outing so we could pretend to be Swiss Family Robinson (sea weed IS edible), and giggled a lot.

I pass it on to **Geofrey, **Kay Neathery, and Dian

** Read their response in the comments.

"Important" People

2007-10-14T16:56:00.000-07:00

I have gone back and checked to be sure this is not a repeat. It happens to be one of my favorite "lessons learned from life." It recently came back to memory by the ongoing election news. If it is a repeat, I know several folks who will let me know.

Like most of us, our children's room occasionally would get cluttered and messy enough that I would declare a day of cleaning. Sometimes that was nothing more than tossing toys in a toy box and clothing in the laundry hamper. Other times, it meant digging to the bottom of the toy box and sorting play clothes from Sunday-go-to-meeting outfits. On those particular cleanup days, I would encourage them to clean their area as though the President of the United States was coming for a visit or the Queen of England would be dropping by with white gloves to check for dust.

Well, one afternoon I was finishing up a literal mountain of laundry. Everything had been washed and dried. The children were all sitting in the living room, reading or watching TV or watching me. I, too, was in the living room -- folding laundry and making stacks on every piece of furniture and probably even a few stacks in the middle of the floor. I could see the neighbors' house across the street and was aware that there was someone in the neighborhood, going door to door.

So, I was not particularly surprised when the doorbell rang. But I was surprised to see Governor Sheffield, the Governor of the great State of Alaska, standing on my porch. "May I come in for a visit?" he asked politely.

I looked around at the scene I had created and told him, "This would not be a good time." Somehow, from that day on, we never again cleaned for celebrities.

Harvest Time

2007-10-12T06:20:00.000-07:00

BOOTS - check; GLOVES - check; SNACKS - check; MONEY - check; CELL PHONE - check; DIRECTIONS - check; WEATHER REPORT - check (maybe); BAGS - Is plastic OK?

We have 3 hours before piano lessons. It should not take us much over an hour total driving time. Let's do it. Hug the hubby goodbye. Just Memaw, Mother, and three girls will be on this adventure.

The weather people are all saying the "high overcast" will burn off before the day ends and zero chance of rain. The autumnal colors have changed from dull yellow to brilliant reds and crisp oranges with touches of pinks, lavendars, and vibrant gold - a perfect day for a ride in the country.

We know to expect squirrels. That is a major factor in why we are having to make this trip. When the trees in Patty's yard start to produce, the local squirrels call their relatives and friends and pluck the tree's product while still green on the tree, leaving not a morsel for the rightful owner. So, we head for an entire grove of trees in a remote part of the county, expecting to be overtaken by critters.

True to his word the owner is waiting in his yard. It has been over 10 years since John and I discovered the ad in the newsaper. That year, we took his mother and a lad who had recently learned he was going blind. We picked only that one year, but our memory was rekindled recently when taking a country drive. We remembered the fruit of the trees as being plentiful and, best of all, ressonbly priced.

We ladies should have brought a wheelbarrow or wagon. Buckets would have been a great idea, too. Now that we are at our destination, we wonder if the crop has been picked over. Will there be any left for us? The owner leads us along a path to the terminal for the electric fence. The first step onto the path answers any question of "plenty." Each and every step I take, I can feel the snap underfoot and hear the crackling shell. I want to stop and pick them up but must keep pace with our leader.

Contest rules are set: "Whoever fills their bags first, wins a dollar." After hearing the discussion on the other team about which is the cutest and seeing some mighty tiny ones, a new contest is added, "whoever picks the biggest, wins a dollar. Put your biggest choice in your pocket."

In one hour's time, we gleaned 80 pounds of walnuts. We did not see a single squirrel but watched in disbelief the neighbors' dogs stirring enormous numbers of black birds from their roost.

Now the real fun begins - drying the nuts then shelling them.

O-O-OOP-S

2007-09-30T07:06:00.000-07:00

It is time to admit to the world that I am a klutz, especially when it comes to shopping.

I have been known to leave cases of soda in the grocery cart. Worse yet, I recently arrived home without my purse. Yep, you guessed it...I left it in the cart, and some nice man turned it into the Customer Service lady for me.

Once, I even left a VERY nice golf club behind. This particular putter was John's Christmas present that I had taken to the golf shop to have shortened. Some dishonest person must have claimed ownership. My only hope is that the new owner is very tall and suffering from back strain.

On the other hand, I am reminded of a time when the family was in a very crowded hardware store. John kept David with him, and Patty rode on my back in a backpack. When John helped me remove the pack, it was discovered that my daughter had pilfered a boat anchor! Needless to say, we went directly back in the store to return the item.

Well...this week, I purchased a movie at Goodwill. I had seen the movie before, but someone asked if I'd stayed through all of the credits at the end of the movie. At the end of the credits, there was something revealed that would make anyone go back and rewatch the movie for clues of a thread that ran through the plot. Well, when I was explaining to John why I wanted to sit through a second viewing, I removed it from its box. Staring me right in the face was the title...200 Cigarettes! Not the one so eloquently described on the container. I came in and looked it up on the internet. Ben Afleck stars as a bartender...now how bad could that be? The answer...pretty bad. As a natter of fact,,,downright awful.

We will not watch it, but my purchase will not be wasted. It will go perfectly with the can of road-kill possum at this year's White Elephant party for some lucky acquaintance.

God's little helper

2007-09-24T08:00:00.000-07:00

I was recently reminded a little of when I was going to personally finance my daughter’s family decision to be missionaries in Togo, French West Africa. How was that to happen? I was going to sell Watkins vanilla to Alaskans. But it turns out Watkins does not promote only vanilla so I had special permission to take 17 boxes of a variety of Watkins products to Haines, Alaska, for the Southeast Alaska State Fair. It was easy getting the product there; we mailed them.

When we arrived in Haines, our friends said for us to use their Cadillac for the week; the keys were in the ignition. Of course, we are talking an old car with Alaska rust. One door was wired closed so everyone climbed in through the driver’s side. I will never know why John went along with my scheme, but he did. He patiently carried all of those boxes into the tiny façade of a building allotted for just my product. That structure was leftover from the making of the movie “White Fang.” It still stands today.

Well, as folks have heard me say many times, “We spent a week in Haines one day.” --years before this trip. But even seasoned Haines residents had never seen rain to compare with the Watkins week. Even those brave enough to attend the Fair stayed in the one building with a roof over their heads. Even the area with a stage had a tarp that had to be emptied of the water that accumulated. And it seems that before week’s end that tarp gave way.

The façade building was only deep enough for one person at a time, There was no electricity to it, and besides being damp, it was cold. By week’s end, someone had run an extension cord out to me and plugged a space heater into the socket to keep me warm. At least my ankles dried out from the heat source.

The only prospective customers dropping by wanted to talk about how they had once sold Watkins, and what a great product it was and how they thought they still had some.

Well, as the week wound down, we loaded all of our fortune-making product into the car; onto the ferry, and into our Juneau friends’ garage. The only real sell I made was to Kathy, who signed up to be a salesperson; I am certain it was a pity move. Anyway, imagine the poor folks behind us in line at the airport…luggage, at least 15 boxes, well you know. And Alaska Airlines did not even charge us for the extra! AND the Watkins folks took back all of the unsold items.

Anyway, that is part of the story of one of the lessons God has taught me when I try to do His job.

Deja Vu all Over Again...

2007-09-21T04:33:00.000-07:00

I just thought it was funny enough to share with my blog that I received two strange emails yesterday.

In the subject line of the first message was something about a credit card. Upon opening it, I found that my cousin's husband had forwarded their credit card bill to Dillards! Since I've only once been inside a Dillards and since there are none that I know of on the West Coast, I figured somehow it was a mistake. The sender has no idea how it happened.

The subject line for the second email said "query." If you recall, when I sent my query to an agent recently, I had a couple of typographical errors, one of which was in the address. So I sent the same letter a second time to be certain he received it. Well, guess what?! He received both. I know because a duplicate rejection letter came yesterday.

Get on your mark...Get set...

2007-09-17T08:31:00.000-07:00

This is the week of our Big annual race. Not a relay, silly. No; not a marathon. Nope, not an iron-man race either. You have had three guesses. Give up?

This is the week that the starlings and grackles return to our yard. They have come for (what they consider their own) harvest time. They come by the thousands, and they can wipe out an entire crop of grapes in one afternoon. They are bandits. Each year, we can expect to see at least one news article with pictures of the black birds diving by the thousands into a favorite chimney in this area.

We watch them arrive on a weather front and speckle our yard and skyline in throngs. They load the enormous electrical towers until there is no space for another bird. Once they arrive enmass, we know we are too late to even place our toes on the starting line. Okay, I admit that we have been known to jump the starting signal and harvest some very tart grapes.

There are many methods used by desperate folk to try to keep them away. One local farmer has a recording of a gunshot being fired every little bit.Some years ago, we even saw a carcass of one hanging on a fence. Of course, there are scarecrows, fake owls, hanging CD’s in order to reflect the sun, hanging streamers of video tape for the unfamiliar sound and movement in the trees, and always there is covering with net. This is the protective method we most often choose.

But, this year, our crop is small so we picked them when our family taster gave us the "go ahead.” Granted, the first frost has not yet arrived, but the fruit is sweet this year even before the frost. Yep, this year, we won the race. The crop was tiny, but the reward of tasting the fruits of John’s labor is sweet.

Learning to Accept

2007-09-12T16:02:00.000-07:00

Well, the very kind letter of rejection came in less than a week. The agent with the misspelled name did not write it; he asked an associate to let me know Jessie just does not fit their needs at this time. How does it feel? It is never easy to be rejected when the rejectors have never asked to see the book. The good news is that, on that very same morning, someone ordered two books through Lulu.com., bringing my total sales to 918 in just over 10 months.

life's little lessons

2007-09-07T05:12:00.000-07:00

One does not have to know me well to know that God chose me to be John's humbling agent. Anything my hubby does is error free. In contrast, a motto I embraced early in life is "It's okay to be wrong as long as you are consistently wrong." That way, folks can often be fooled into thinking you may be right.

For example, two days ago, I sent a query letter to an agent for Jessie. This agent is one I have watched with interest because not only does he accept email but he also is reputed to answer queries within five minutes. For those who may not know, most letters of rejection don't arrive for agonizing weeks and by pony express or US postal service. Not only do I not know what an acceptance letter looks like,I do not even know anyone who does. Okey...okey...back to my original thought.

Well, without revealing this man's name for fear he could be inundated with manuscripts let me just continue. I wrote my letter in "Microsoft Word" and copied and transferred it to be emailed. It had been checked carefully for any possible problem, and (trust me) it was error free....until last night. Just as I was heading for bed, I decided to read this masterpiece one more time, to savor something done correctly. Just as my eyes grazed past the date, "What is this? Those computer gremlins have been working overtime!"

The agent's name was not spelled the same in the email address as in my greeting! Well, like a scab that is almost healed, this could not be left alone. I quickly removed the blatant letter of error and repaired his name to be the same as in the address. That was when I noticed a possible lifesaving error. Tucked in the left-hand margin of the space allotted for email addresses was a teeny, tiny dot (') that may have saved my skin. I can hope against hope that the first letter I sent is still searching for an agent whose address begins with an '. Meanwhile, I still await a reply.

My Mother had lots of wise sayings, one of which was "Two wrongs don't make a right." I am hoping, this time, that she was wrong.

Happy Birthday, Sam.

A LOST ART

2007-09-01T05:45:00.000-07:00

I received in the mail this week, believe it or not, a hand-written letter. This was not an oligatory thank you note for "the (fill in the blank) gift you gave us. I know we will use it a lot" No. This was a genuine 4-page piece of correspondence. There was nothing earth-shattering in the letter, just a hello and catching me up on her family's news.

In my recent letter, Patsy (the writer) shared with me about the camp we missed in eastern Oregon. Her best try for watermelon-seed spitting was just over 4 feet. She was whooped by a 10-year-old whose seed soared past 23 feet. There were photos from the camp: 1)tug-of-war, 2)beautiful sunset, and 3) look how my grandson has grown in one year. She purposely decided not to bring her needles and supplies for making pine needle baskets and, instead, brought a good book to read.

My Mother was a letter writer. For our 20 years in Alaska, Mother faithfully wrote me 2, 3, 5 times a week, sharing with me what she had seen at Gottschelks (her favorite store) or what she was fixing for dinner, or family news. Even after her death, I received two letters from her. Today is the anniversary of my father's death; he joined mother to their grave almost to the day one year later. I miss many things about my mother, but the greatest emptiness felt is evidenced each day when I open the mailbox.

Now, the reader may think that I am leading up to answering Patsy's letter with a pen-to-the-paoer letter from me, but that conclusion would be incorrect. At Christmas, I will send her one of our year-in-review newsletters,

WAXING NOSTALGIC...

2007-08-17T05:24:00.000-07:00

I dare not speak how many years ago this day, I was ready to end the pregnancy. For only an elephant would have been expecting a child longer. It, like most of my stories these days, is a long one. Suffice it to say that, somewhere in the past year, I had had a miscarriage, and by the time the obstetrician detected that, I was pregnant again--also undetected.

Would this child be a little brother or a little sister for our firstborn? God only knew. We purposely took a bumpy ride up to Perseverance Theater to encourage the delivery. After all, another expectant friend (2 weeks past her due date) had announced to me that very day she was taking castor oil to induce her delivery. The race was on.

When my labor pains began, John and I ran for the phone book...not to call the doctor, but rather to come up with a boy's name. That's when the silliness started....but I won't bore my reader with that except to say that amidst all our giggles, the baby joined in...with the hiccups. The more bizarre the name, the harder the hiccup; the harder the hiccup, the more intense the nudge to be born.

Probably because in winter they needed to keep the steep hillside clear and sanded, parking was not allowed at the old Saint Ann Hospital. The climb from the block below took only moments. By the time, I was prepped for the delivery room, a chattering flash by my doorway returned to inform me "You better not be first!" In truth, I cannot say which of us delivered our baby girl first nor can I recall the family name. But somewhere in this world is a lady named Darian celebrating her birthday today.

And this day I will once again hold my daughter in my arms and remind her how very loved she is! And how much joy she has been in our lives.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, PATRICIA KAY.

LIGHTS ALONG THE SHORE.....

2007-08-12T15:06:00.000-07:00

John and I just returned from a trip to the Washington coast; we spent time with three other Christian couples in a little-known RV park. After Friday's breakfast, John suggested he wanted to go into Westport to take pictures of boats. Everyone else decided to accompany him.

As we first entered the city limits, we spotted the top portion of a lighthouse towering over trees. Figuring that should lead us to some water, and perhaps boats, John turned left. However, when we approached the location, we could see that the lighthouse seemed to be in the middle of a forest. The road continued at least one-third of a mile with no water in sight. Turning around we did not stop to read the sign that was posted, so I drew my own conclusion (as I am prone to do). I decided it was not a real lighthouse but rather a restaurant or expresso structure.

Later, when the group decided to tour the local museum, I asked the lady who sold us tickets about the lighthouse in the woods not near the water. She told us the Grays Harbor Lighthouse is the tallest lighthouse in Washington State. It was built in 1898 and stood as a beacon for seamen for most of a century. However, silt from the Columbia River has changed the coastline, adding land in some places and subtracting land elsewhere. This structure of great pride is now more than half a mile from the shoreline. Later in our tour, we watched a video explaining the phenomenon further.

There is a hymn from my childhood (or maybe older) wherein God is our beacon, but we are the keepers of His lights along life's shore. Applying this natural phenomenon to life, I have been thinking about how each grain of sand that would distance one from the Father was so minute, no one would notice the change. I wonder how long and how far and how many grains of sand must accumulate before one realizes the perilous danger of being distanced from the Father. With the right equipment, one could dredge away the silt...but the better way is to live a pure and righteous life, unspotted from the world.

Sisters

2007-07-30T04:51:00.000-07:00

Just when I sit back in my easy chair and sigh, "Life cannot possibly get any better than this." Hang on....because, once again, this roller-coaster ride called LIFE is about to reach a new peak.

Yesterday morning, following public worship, our oldest granddaughter (she will be the first to remind you that she is four minutes older than her sister) came to give me her usual hug. Or so I thought. However, this time, she whispered in my ear, "Memaw, I am going to be baptized today. My sister and I are!" Well, naturally, I assumed that they were going to avail themselves to using the new multi-dollar addition to the church building, but as I prepared to go to the front of the auditorium, her younger sister walked up to tell me that their choice of place for the re-birth (see Romans 6: 3-4 for starters) was the Columbia River.

Just before 7 on a beautiful, mostly cloudless evening, about 30-40 chirstians gathered on the banks of the Columbia River to witness the most important decision they will make in their lives.

Someone had thoughtfullly brought a few chairs for the event, and since I was not very steady on my feet, I sat down. I knew there was an alto singing beside me but gave little thought to who she might be, but after a couple of songs, I turned to see that the person holding my hand was my dear, dear friend of 38 years, co-owner of the trunk, and still the most beautiful lady I know. Since I was unable to maneuver the rocks that lay between my station and the dripping wet and happy girls, Joanne and I talked. I said, "There has been a lot of water under the bridge in 38 years."

Now I am thinking "There have been a lot of bridges over the water in that time." While we stayed in Juneau, they lived in Chile. In more recent years, she and I have shared the same bridge between Vancouver and Portland. Mostly, though we do not share the luxury of time we once shared. Our bond is eternal...for, we, too are sisters in Christ. And we now have two new young sisters. "Life just cannot possibly get any better than this."

A Long Way From Home

2007-07-23T20:26:00.000-07:00

For the moment, let’s skip the report of getting to Eagle and our 10 days there. Let’s travel 3 miles South to Eagle Village on a dusty road which parallels the Yukon River.. There, we will find Charley Juneby’s House, or the community hall for the group of Athabaskan people – the Han Hwëch’in (pronounced Kwichin - with a little spit added in).

Most everyone knows that a potluck is an occasion when everyone brings a dish to share. A potlatch is the same thing except its purpose is to bring honor to someone. Postings in both Eagle and Eagle Village announced everyone was invited to honor Betty Wyatt at a potlatch on July 2nd. On July 1st, Joanne Beck came to our camper to discuss expectations.

The reason for the potlatch was two-fold. First, I wanted to present to Chief Marky the first several pages of Jessie’s photo album. The pictures on those pages are of Han youth in full regalia and of ancestors they have never seen. In 1975, a friend of mine took the photo album on a trip to Eagle and interviewed people who identified Jessie as well as other citizens. Second, it is important for the young people to witness such occasions.

At our preliminary meeting, Joanne asked if the pictures were framed, and I was happy to tell her that they had been beautifully mounted and framed. At that time, we also prepared her that we considered the photos to be a gift from Jessie, and we also wanted to present a gift from us. She said she would like to wait to see our gifts when presented.

In preparing me for the coming evening, Joanne said that after my presentation, a line would form to bring me gifts or hugs. She also said she did not know how many to expect but she knew of six from Dawson City and she thought there might be some from Fairbanks.

John and I arrived at Charley’s House shortly before the meal. Every Parkinson symptom I have experienced to that moment in time reared its ugly head for the occasion. After the wonderful meal, everyone gathered outside. John counted over 90 present so we figured 100 was a good guess. Young Chief Marky stood beside me as I shared my heart.

“In 2004, John and I came to Eagle to research the life of Jessie Fox Mather. Upon our arrival, we were invited to The Gathering which had been postponed because of fires in the region. We were shown around the property and went inside your church. When we came out, we walked to behind the church building.” At this time, I pointed to the huge bluffs across the Yukon River and stated, “When I looked at this scene, I felt I had been here many times before though I knew this was not possible. Then I realized that this was the exact place where some of the pictures of your ancestors were taken. It was not until we were ready to leave that I learned that Jessie’s possessions were a rarity. I apologize that it has taken me so long to present them to you.” Then John gave an eloquent speech, presenting the beautiful bent-wood, cedar box from Sitka.

After that, about 6 or 8 people lined up with gifts and hugs for me. Joanne’s aunt had made a lovely beaded necklace for me; it matched my clothing as though made for it; Joanne gave me foods she had canned, including salmon and “high bush,” and Carol Copeland presented to me a birch-bark basket which had been made by a lady from Eagle who had been taught the skills by Sarah, a Han master craftsperson. Of course, Carol waxed eloquent for her presentation. Then some of the heritage researchers from Dawson City presented a few gifts then demonstrated half a dozen songs and dances.

I think that I will never grasp the importance of the entire evening, but I know for certain that the pictures are in the right hands. To see them examine the notes from 1975 and see things I had never noticed even with a magnifying glass will live with me forever. And when I was visiting with a National Park Service employee from Fairbanks, I casually asked, “So, What brings you to Eagle? “His answer took me by surprise, “I came for this evening.”

The following day, Joanne Beck and two of the researchers from Dawson City came to visit. They talked of many things, but mainly they mentioned details they had seen in the pictures that mean something to their heritage, and they discussed preservation of the new treasures. It was a magical evening…a long way from home.

If you do not know the background of Jessie Fox Mather, you can learn about it by going to www.lulu.com/wyatt3.

Onward & Upward

2007-07-18T06:56:00.000-07:00

Our next destination was Wasilla, Alaska, where we were expecting to stay on a quiet lake for the better part of a week. John would work on a cabin recently purchased by a dear friend. The only other plan was to go into Anchorage for a couple of days for John to 1) have lunch with a Christian brother who goes WAY back and 2) to find where Sydney Lawrence Paintings are housed to view them. By the time we pulled out of our perch in Haines, we had already heard whispers of other plans for this portion of the journey.

Incidentally, from Haines Junction to Beaver Creek and beyond seemed to me the worst roads on the trip. The road signs that indicate three clumps of coal are a warning you are about to hit the ceiling, and everything in the camper is about to shift to spaces unknown.

As we neared our destination, the timing just seemed right to go straight into Anchorage, and since our friends could not be reached by phone, we decided to start at the Anchorage Museum to view Sydney Lawrence. At the end of our tour of this magnificent facility, we visited their gift shop. I was impressed with the book collection, and thought Jessie could do well there. But I was told the buyer does not work on weekends and he would expect to see a copy of the book first. I told her I could not spare a copy but did leave a postcard our son David had produced to help promote Jessie.

Well, "long story - short" (I know, I know. By the time one inserts this, it is too late!) We caught up with our dear friends in time for dinner only to find she was in the throes of preparing for church camp and he was shuffling a new job with a new business venture so we just stood aside and watched the activity. Anyway, the following day after morning worship, we found ourselves following him to a lake near Wasilla, but not his cabin lake. Instead, we set up our camper at a lake that came complete with campers! John held his title from "Faith Quest" as Camp Grandpa but picked up others such as Metalsmith, Fix-it man, and Sourdough Cook. Miss Betty helped where she could with the darling pre-schoolers. The campers and staff were a delightful God-send, and though it was not the week we had planned, the Master Planner (with a boost from our DEAR friends), certainly made it one for our memory bank.

During this week, I did find a spot to make a phone call to the Museum shop manager, and was surprised when he said he would like eight copies. After I took his information, I asked, "Why did you order without even seeing the book?" His answer, "Your references on the postcard are impeccable. I have never met Robert DeArmond personally, but I've been around a long time, and Stanton Patty is well-known. Did you know he has written a book?"

So...how does this get us to the potlatch? We are on our way. Leaving camp, we are headed toward Eagle and Eagle Village.

.

A Journey of a lifetime

2007-07-16T20:16:00.000-07:00

At Geoffrey and Dana's rehearsal dinner, John (proud papa of the groom) stood up, introduced himself, and asked each person present to stand, introduce him/her self, and to tell a brief story of how they were associated with the bride or groom. He saved me til the last. I stood, introduced myself as Mother of the Groom, and announced (to no one's surprise) "I don't have any brief stories about Geoffrey." I am learning that I don't have any brief stories on any subject.

I say this to say, "I will share with you about the potlatch in my honor, but you will have to endure the buildup."

On Monday, following the Saturday wedding, John and I flew to Sitka. Our hostess thought we were arriving by sea so, while waiting for her to come to the airport, I showed the book to the rental car fellow who had helped me locate Celeste's phone number. He asked what my wholesale price was, and when I told him, he said he'd like a dozen. Turns out he also owned the gift shop.

Anyway, we had just enough time to have a hot chocolate before I was to do a reading from the book at the Sitka Pioneer Home -- the setting for the beginning and the end of Jessie, the story of a genteel woman in frontier Alaska. Maybe 25 residents and staff were present for the reading, and because they were so receptive (laughing in the right places, etc.), I extended my time of reading. The following day, John and super-Celeste ran around town passing out flyers and encouraging folks to stop by the Pioneer Home. to meet the author. Much of that afternoon was spent unsuccessfully trying to locate Jessie's grave. I had a photo Geoffrey had taken earlier, but that photo was in Haines in the camper. We sold 37 copies in Sitka. We were invited to lunch in the Home, and felt doubly blessed to sit at the table with Robert DeArmond.

That evening, John and Celeste took her dogs to the beach. After the beach, it seems the two of them had been discussing the extreme honor of a potlatch and went in search of an appropriate gift. They located a local artist who agreed that the potlatch is very special and said he had a bent-wood cedar box he was working on that would be just the right presentation.

The next morning, there were a few stops to make before leaving Sitka. The first stop was a total surprise to me. The two of them introduced me to the artist, and we took possesion of the magnificent box. Already, I felt honored. We stopped by the bank to cash local checks, and the banker was the wife of the airport gift shop gentleman. She was half way through the book. She said I needed to leave several copies, but I told her it was early in our journey so I'd better wait. John and I caught the Fairweather ferry back to Juneau and, the next day, began our trek northward,

STAY TUNED!

watching...

2007-06-10T07:32:00.000-07:00

I know the world is watching our family's blog for word of the wedding. Let me just say every detail was thot out by someone other than us, and though communication was difficult with cell phones being out of reach, etc, the happy couple drove off to somewhere nearby since that is the makeup of this wonderland called Juneau.

We have sat in the home of our dear friends and watched a mother whale and her calf, eagles by the score, boats, planes, too much to take in. I'm certain you will hear LOTS more when folks get to their own computers and networks. Suffice it to say, we have been blessed by God beyond belief this entire visit.

Edwin, Patty, girls, with his mom and her hubby leave today; also Paige and all of Dana's kin.
John and I leave for Sitka in the morning for a 2-day visit. I will do a reading of Jessie selections tomorrow and a signing on Tuesday, both in the Pioneer Home where Jessie lived.

Meanwhile, Geoffrey and Dana will be preparing to head to Skagway tomorrow to begin the drive south.

and the other is....

2007-05-25T09:20:00.000-07:00

When my husband and teenage daughter were on a cross-country trek together, their last stop was in Seattle. There were many fascinating sights and people to watch but none so memorable as the panhandler carrying a gallon-size bucket. In large letters, printed on the side of his container were the words "No Canadian Coins!" My daughter looked at her father and said, "So much for Mother's advice that Beggars Can't be Choosers."

Publication reject

2007-05-18T06:32:00.000-07:00

I wonder how many others have sent humorous stories to Reader's digest, thinking they would be awarded a sum of money. Over the years, I have sent in two masterpieces. But, alas, I have never heard back from RD.

Here is one of my entries:

My husband and I were in Memphis, Tennessee, on a visit with our college-age children. Having exited the freeway, we were in a position to see across the overpass. What we saw was a snarl of cars with their lights on. A funeral procession had been delayed because the lead automobile had been in an accident. Just as we passed, we could see that the casket was being transferred to another funeral home vehicle. Our clever freshman commented "Look everyone! A re-hearsal!"

IT WORKED!!

2007-05-07T11:57:00.000-07:00

"Sunshine on my shoulder makes me happy."

"A sunbeam, a sunbeam, Jesus wants me for a sunbeam.
A sunbeam, a sunbeam, I'll be a sunbeam for Him."

"Let a smile be your umbrella."

"But that lucky old sun got nothin' to do but roll around heaven all day."

RAIN

2007-05-03T07:03:00.001-07:00

"Rain. Rain. Go away. come again some other day.
Little Suzie wants to play."

"Raindrops keep falling on my head,
but that doesn't mean my eyes will soon be turning red.
Crying's not for me..."

"Rainy days and Mondays always get me down."

"There shall be showers of blessing.
this is the promise of love.
There shall be seasons refreshing
sent from the Father above."

"Lord, reign in me; reign in your power."

"A little ducky daddle went wading in a puddle one day."

"Pitter patter Pittter patter Splish splash."

"April showers bring May flowers."
"But what do May Flowers bring?
"Pilgrims."

"It Ain't gonna rain no more"

"Into each life some rain must fall."

"The Rain in Spain stays mainly in the Plain
(By George, she's got it)"

"Listen to the rhythm of the falling rain."

"100% Chance of Rain."

"April Showers."

"April In Paris"

"Come Rain or Come Shine"

"Don't rain on my parade"

"I'M SINGIN' IN THE RAIN...JUST SINGIN' IN THE RAIN...
WHAT A GLORIOUS FEELIN'...I'M HAPPY AGIN."

A Poem

2007-04-20T19:41:00.000-07:00

When I was in sixth grade in Springtown, Texas, I memorized this poem for the class “Friday talent show.” For years, my father used the small card it was printed on as a bookmark It was given him by an insurance agent.

Wouldn’t this old world be better
If the folks we meet would say,
“I know something good about you.”
And then treat us just that way?

Wouldn’t your life be sweeter
If each handshake, tried and true,
Held with it this assurance
“I know something good about you.”
--Anonymoous

A story Crying to be heard....

2007-04-11T06:04:00.000-07:00

When I opened the Internet (http://www.wyattjourney.com/) this morning (April 11, 2007), there was a familiar sight punching me in the arm to share this one. The pictures were of racers running in Juneau. The race in my memory was called the "Governor's Cup Race." As I recall, it began in the street in front of the Capitol Building and ended near the hospital. The two main characters of this tale are the Web Master himself and me, his mother.

Geoffrey must have been about 5 years old when he heard there was going to be a race. He really wanted to run that 5K foot race. (Actually, I think we opted for the shortened 3K version.) However, he was afraid to try it alone. It did not matter at all to him whose body would stick with him so long as it was family. Where his brother or sister would be, I do not recall; they may have even run the race but declared their disdain for being encumbered by "him."

The morning of the race came, and we were there plenty early to collect our tee shirts and find a place in the crowd of runners. Of course there were serious runners -- properly attired, stretching, warming up. As more and more racers joined, Geoffrey and I moved further back. Then the officials stood on the steps of the Capitol and explained the route and rules. At this time, Geoffrey was inching us a little forward, to the back of center.

Ready...aim...fire. We were off. "I always thought the Capitol was at the crest of this hill. This is no time to realize there is quite a climb just from there to the Governor's mansion." About the time I spotted the familiar white columns (about one-half a block from the starting line), I realized I had lost sight of my little boy. "I must force myself to run no matter how it hurts..poor Geoffrey; he must be frantic." About the time the course wound around the neighborhood ABOVE the cemetery, my side began to ache. Never mind that I had been walking the greater majority since rounding the corner by the city library, which was the building just across the street from the Capitol. By this time, I was "running the race" (I do use that term loosely) completely alone.

By now, the main thing was to "Stay the course and hope Geoffrey was not too frightened. " Eventually, I remember seeing the long downhill stretch to the finish line, where a few stragglers from the real race awaited the arrival of us late comers. John walked up to meet me and to encourage me to pick up my feet and run the last little bit. As I recall, my name and age and race time were published in the Juneau Empire followed by three or four other names.

And Geoffrey? Well, he was waiting at the finish line to cheer me on. I see by this morning's photo that he still is talking unsuspecting women into running with him. For those curious if I went out and bought the wardrobe and exercised and got in shape for the next year, the answer is "No." I went back to baking chocolate chip cookies and being roommother, but I never ran another race.

.....and I wore that tee shirt for years, with pride.

HEROES

2007-04-10T16:48:00.000-07:00

All day long I have been thinking about people I consider my heroes, and then John goes and writes a wonderful tribute to one of his heroes, Johnny Hart. My heroes have no fame nor even the desire to be recognized for anything besides being faithful.

FAYE became my hero the first time I walked into her lovely “Country Gentleman” home. I had not taken two steps inside her front door before she said, “Don’t touch the dust. I’m collecting.” She is a craftsman of pithy sayings.

IRENE became my hero when she demonstrated her “green toe.” Anyone visiting her home did not leave without adopting at least one plant and an armful of vegetables from her perfectly groomed garden. When showing us a 40-foot tree that just suddenly appeared in her yard, I told her I would appreciate knowing her secret soil formula and any hints on planting.
She found a seed in her lean-to greenhouse and brought it outside where I stood and said, “Watch this.” Without even bending, she scuffed the grassy area with the big toe of her well-worn oxford. When there was a patch of dirt about 4 inches square, she dropped the seed on the ground, kicked it into the bare spot, and maneuvered with her foot what little loose dirt was available, tapping it lightly with the ball of her foot. Then she looked up into my eyes, and with that permanent smile of hers said, “That’s all there is to it.” And, you know? I think she believes that.

GERALDINE is a painter..an artist kind of painter. She did not know she had the skill until someone talked her into trying it. ERMA is a quilter beyond belief. Her stitches are so perfect that the first thing I saw quilted by her, I really thought she had cheated by using a sewing machine.

My list could go forever. My talent? Don’t you ever forget this. My talent is appreciating others' talents. Don’t kid yourself; that is a very good talent to have.

GETTING TO KNOW YOU

2007-03-28T10:43:00.000-07:00

For many years, my hubby and I have had a standard rule for visitors to our home. "The first day of your visit, we treat you like guests. After that, you are family." Generally, that means we show you where the eating utensils and extra blankets are kept, and if you need a cup of coffee or bowl of cereal, you are on your own.

But this week, we had to adjust the rule just a tad. When Dana walked in the front door, she was welcomed as "family" even though the wedding is still in the planning stages. The granddaughters are puzzled whether to call her Aunt Dana or Miss Dana or Hey You. They settled on Miss Dana though I have yet to hear anyone actually use her name when addresing her. Whatever name she is tagged with, she has fit into all facets of our life.

Patty and I are especially thankful that she loves the kitchen, for cooking and for cleaning. Dana is a preschool, special-needs teacher. One of the younger future nieces has shadowed her a lot this week...and this shadow is silent. Embarrassed, scared, unsure, fascinated and curious about this new relation, she approaches Dana with her head bowed but her eyes following. She tries to keep both future groom and future bride in site at all times.

It has been a special time, and we are, as always, impressed with Geoffrey's decision. She fit in very well, meeting our family and friends. She holds her own when being singled out as the brunt of the joke and when playing board games. Best of all, she loves the Lord and Juneau and Geoffrey. Maybe not in that order.

Wonderin'

2007-03-17T06:19:00.000-07:00

When I am reading the Bible or listening to it being read, there is one passage of scripture that makes me hold my breath and to think, "If I could be anyone in God's Word, this is the character I would want to be."

I wonder if others feel this way. I wonder whom others might choose. I know that some believe they know the name of my chosen woman. Many things have been said about the person they would name. Mostly, what one reads about her are completely fictional. In truth, as far as I know, there is only one encounter between this woman and Jesus Christ, and she is nameless.

Ah-h-h, but what an encounter! Jesus had accepted an invitation to eat in the house of a Pharisee; and when He entered the house, the host did not do Him the courtesy of washing His feet. But a woman, hearing of the visitor, entered the house of the Pharisee. When she came near Jesus, she dropped to her knees, crying.

Why was she crying? Why would I be crying? Coming in contact with God in flesh, knowing my shortcomings, knowing that He knows me. Not simply that He knows my name but He knows all about me; and loves me just the same. He cares.

Her tears flowed from her broken, penitent heart. They were not wasted. She used them to wash the accumulation of dust and dirt on His feet from His journeys. And she dried the briney liquid with her long hair. All the time she was wetting His feet with her tears, she was kissing them. What humility of spirit that would require. Finally, she used her perfume to anoint His feet.

At the start of this blog, I stated, "She was nameless." However, there is a descriptive word...an adjective....telling the reader much about her. That word is sinner. Jesus speaks to her twice, saying, "Your sins have been forgiven." and "Your faith has saved you; go in peace."

The Bible does not tell us anything more about that woman, but I can fully imagine that she left His presence IN PEACE. A good cry can feel so cleansing, and knowing one's wrong doings are forgiven....well, life just can't get any better!

Luke 7:36-50

remembrance

2007-03-11T18:30:00.000-07:00

This is one of my favorite lessons from Togo, West Africa.

There was a young African man named John. He was a young christian from a nearby village who would come weekly to sit for hours on the missionary's front porch and talk about the Bible and its teachings. John was the owner of only one shirt which he wore with great pride. It was a brilliant yellow, tattered, polyester, maternity top. Every time the young missionary saw John in that shirt, he would try to think of a way to convince John to somehow replace it.

Finally, he came upon the perfect plan. He taught a series of lessons about giving, especially to help those less fortunate than oneself. He stressed how our giving is from the heart and certainly does not necessarily mean that we give money. And, when he felt the subject was exhausted, he declared a "giving Sunday."

Giving Sunday seemed to go well. In the collection basket were some dried beans, a pineapple, a sack containing sugar, a slightly cracked bowl, and a live chicken as well as a size large tee shirt. On Tuesday, John showed up for his usual visit, still wearing the holey maternity top.

When asked, "Did you not see the new shirt?" John's reply was quick and sincere, "Yes, and I made certain that it went to the poor."

THANKFULNESS

2007-03-02T06:38:00.001-08:00

Ten things, in random order, that are great about e-mail:

#10 An occasional shared smile.

#9 Hearing from people I thought were gone from my life (example - high school buddy).

#8 Meeting new people (example - son's future mother -in-law).

#7 Daily Scripture ( example - First thing I see each day is scripture from Coach Fields).

#6 Keeping up on news.

#5 Salutations - One does not have to waste effort deciding on an appropriate ending of an email message such as"love" or "yours truly" or "sincerely."

#4 Making and breaking appointments.

#3 Keeping in touch with folks other than holidays.

#2 Keeping others informed of goings on and staying informed, too.

#1 Instantly learning travellers have arrived safely.

But who's counting?

2007-02-23T04:21:00.000-08:00

Today, John and I celebrate 43 years of marital bliss. Yep! Forty-three years ago, we stood before a small gathering, facing my earthly father, attended by John's brother and my college roommate, vowing "I do." to whatever the question was.

Most folks who know us have heard the story of our courtship. Basically,when LaPhonia (college roomie) asked if I'd like to get a group together on January 4th, to celebrate several January birthdays, I answered, "Because John and I have birthdays on January 3rd and 5th, I was sort of saving the 4th in case he asked me out." Naturally, LaPhonia went directly to John and told him that he and I had a date on the 4th.

So, beginning our relationship with a clear misunderstanding, he took me to a fine restaurant for our first date. By the end of January, we were spending quite a bit of time together, and I took it upon myself to tell him I really wanted only friendship, and if he wanted more than that, we needed to "cool it." He assured me that was his thinking also.

On February 4th, he phoned to ask me if I could find someone off campus to stay with; he had something important to share. Helen and Jerry McBee kindly took me in for the night. John got off work very late. He took me through the entire Bible, pointing out scriptures on marriage, wife, husband, parenting. Then he asked me to marry him. I asked for time to think about it; I promised to answer soon and drifted off to sleep. Every time I woke up, John was still right there patiently awaiting my answer. By dawn's early light, February 5th, I said ok.
Each of us should have learned a lesson about the other that fateful night. I should have learned that any project John undertakes, he studies it to the Nth degree. He should have learned that I can fall asleep under any circumstances.

For those reading this who are not mathmatically inclined, Our engagement was all of 18 days long. The wedding cost us less than $100, including flowers and the rings we still wear. And the preacher (Hugh Ousley) even returned our $5 payment with a note to John stating, "This is for taking Betty off our hands."

Now the exciting part is, we begin our 44th year with a love beyond what two silly kids in a VW bug declared often, and I wonder what subject he will pursue next.

LIFE'S LITTLE LESSONS

2007-02-21T10:08:00.000-08:00

Today, John and I celebrate 43 years of marital bliss. Yep! Forty three years ago, we stood before a small gathering, facing my earthly father, attended by John's brother and my college roommate, vowing "I do." to whatever the question was.

Most folks who know us have heard the story of our courtship. Basically,when LaPhonia (college roomie) asked if I'd like to get a group together on January 4th, to celebrate several January birthdays, I answered, "Because John and I have birthdays on January 3rd and 5th, I was sort of saving the 4th in case he asked me out." Naturally, LaPhonia went directly to John and told him that he and I had a date on the 4th.

So, beginning our relationship with a clear misunderstanding, he took me to a fine restaurant for our first date. By the end of January, we were spending quite a bit of time together, and I took it upon myself to tell him I really wanted only friendship, and if he wanted more than that, we needed to "cool it." He assured me that was his thinking also.

On February 4th, he phoned to ask me if I could find someone off campus to stay with; he had something important to share. Helen and Jerry McBee kindly took me in for the night. John got off work very late. He took me through the entire Bible, pointing out scriptures on marriage, wife, husband, parenting. Then he asked me to marry him. I asked for time to think about it; I promised to answer soon and drifted off to sleep. Every time I woke up, John was still right there patiently awaiting my answer. By dawn's early light, February 5th, I said ok.

Each of us should have learned a lesson about the other that fateful night. I should have learned that any project John undertakes, he studies it to the Nth degree.

He should have learned that I can fall asleep under any circumstances.

For those reading this who are not mathmatically inclined, Our engagement was all of 18 days long. The wedding cost us less than $100, including flowers and the rings we still wear. And the preacher (Hugh Ousley) even returned our $5 payment with a note to John stating, "This is for taking Betty off our hands."

CALF ROPE

2007-02-15T15:33:00.000-08:00

Are members of my family the only ones who say "calf rope" to let someone know you surrender? You have had enough tickling or wrestling or annoyance.

Ever since the first person who read Jessie's story asked me "When are you writing the sequel?" I have consistently answered, "When your character dies at the end of the book, how can there be a sequel?"

No fewer than six people asked me Sunday morning to please write more about Jessie. So it was that I sat down at the computer Sunday afternoon shouting "CALF ROPE" and typing a working title -- Searching for Jessie. It was my intent to trace the research necessary to create Jessie the story of a genteel woman in frontier Alaska. Only problem is that fewer than two paragraphs into the sequal, I hit a big problem.

Ever since the acquisition of the trunk in 1970 , I have been told that Jessie arrived in Eagle, Alaska, via the Valdez Trail. I have studied this path for some time and cannot rectify either her mother's illness or her arrival in Eagle. I have met a gentleman via telephone who may know how to fit the puzzle pieces together. I look forward to meeting him face to face (or as Jessie would say tete a tete).

Meanwhile, as sincere as I was when I shouted "calf rope," perhaps I had my fingers crossed when I spoke the words. Everyone knows it's okay to fabricate things if your fingers are crossed when you spoke.