Sixty Years Later....

Helen Marie is coming...

My very best friend from 1st and 2nd grades is coming for a visit. Our family moved clear across country as soon as school was out after 2nd grade. As I recall, I spent one night with her when we were both 16, and that was our only contact through the years. Truth be told, she was on a date most of that visit.

Anyway, when my brother(Sam)attended his wife's (Billie Jo) 50th class reunion, he spent much of his evening visiting with Helen Marie, whose husband (Marvin) graduated with Billie Jo. Sam passed on to me her contact information; and we did connect last summer...again, for a brief visit.

What do we have in common? We will learn as we become reacquainted. For now, we share precious memories of 60 years ago, of each other's family, of making mud pies and paper dolls, birthday parties and valentines,...friendship!

Sitting A Spell

Remember a couple of weeks ago my admission of not living up to my pride when it came to a spelling bee in high school? It’s okay if you forgot; you have read other things since then. It wasn’t great enough to bother going back to find it.

Well, it seems I have not learned from that experience. Today, I was sent to a website of the 25 most misspelled words (somehow an extra 2 were snuck in). John often asks me the spelling of a word, and I’m usually correct. Therefore, I do believe I could write the word out better than selecting one out of four.

I feel I should warn anyone taking the challenge. Examining closely the ones I missed, I feel certain that my trying to navigate using the arrows instead of “page down” resulted in some of my answers getting changed.

See how you do: http://www.businesswriting.com/tests/commonmisspelled.html

Rescued...

Well, I’ve done it this time. I decided to thin my collection of cookbooks. After all, any recipe I can possibly ever need, can be found on www.allrecipes.com.

I started the process a couple of weeks ago. Selecting the old AWP (Associated Women for Pepperdine) book because it had obviously had the most use, I checked its remaining pages carefully for anything of value. What surprised me was that in spite of it’s missing covers and the index being used in various pages as bookmarks, I only salvaged three recipes to be sure they are preserved in my computer “recipes” file.

That was the last time I touched that project. However, last night I found myself needing the recipe for leftover turkey – not just any recipe. Angie Long’s recipe. I knew exactly where to find it. It is on the lower right-hand page of the “Daybreak Camp Cookbook.” When Cindy Thorpe, Pepperdine secretary par excellent, was visiting us in Juneau umpteen years ago, she asked several people to contribute to a money-raiser cookbook. I have ALWAYS used Angie’s recipe for “Chicken Supreme.” Even on the next page, there are other, similar recipes; but Angie’s recipe has been proven in my own kitchen.

I took down all of my cookbooks, and Daybreak Camp was nowhere to be found. My first thought was to call someone – anyone – in Juneau to see if they had their copy still. However, everyone I could think to call is traveling. Then I thought of Jack and Carolyn. Jack is Cindy Thorpe’s grandson, and he and Carolyn actually lived on the premises of Daybreak Camp, in the Bay area of California, for awhile; they now reside in central California. By some weird coincidence, I actually had Jack’s phone number stored in my computer address file.

On the fourth ring, what I assumed was the answer machine picked up the phone saying, “Hello, you’ve reached Jack.” When the voice did not add “Leave a message,” I gathered my wits enough to ask if this was a real person. Indeed, it was.

“Jack. This is Betty. Do you have the “Daybreak Camp Cookbook”? I muttered as though we converse often.

“Sure do. Whatcha need?”

“Angie Long’s Chicken Surprise or Supreme or something like that.”

“Carolyn’s already getting it down.. Here it is…”

I love it when a plan falls together! Thanks Jack & Carolyn.

And now for the news:

I have yet to catch the early-morning deliverer of our paper, but there are days I just know we have a new delivery person. I will admit we have been spoiled by our Russian fella (I cannot read his name on his annual Christmas card). In the years he has delivered the morning news, I have never had to take more than six steps from my front door to pick up the newspaper. Mostly, in those years, it has been swathed in plastic. In the summer, I don’t mind going out in my bare feet to feel the dew between my toes as I pick up the daily drop of pinecones on our lawn. But, somehow, I just can’t muster up the same enthusiasm when there is snow or ice out there. Some warmer mornings, when I am outside trying to beat the squirrels to the pine morsels, the news delivery person and I wave to each other as he carefully gets out of his car and hits his target once again.

Delivery usually is made between 4:45 and, on weekends, sometimes as late as 7:30. Often, I am at my computer when I hear a simple thud against the front door. I listen for a car engine or the sound of gravel being moved by car tires. However, the only ways to know for certain the sound came from the delivery person is to peek out a side window to see if there are car lights heading further down our road or else go to the door and check.

You may wonder how I know someone new is taking his place? The first clue was when we returned from a week-long trip, and the expected subscriber stack of papers did not show up on our doorstep on the day of our return. (Let me digress enough to say “I love this service!”) Nor did they come the next day. So, on the third day, I called and asked that delivery begin again. And there it was on day four, held together by a single rubber band. The banded papers continued for several days, rain or shine, snow or dry. And, did I mention, just beyond my reach?

Now, here, I must admit that each day must come as a surprise to anyone pulling into our driveway. One day, the cars may be in the garage. The next day, there could be several autos in the driveway. Another day, our lengthy van might be on the side, blocking view of our porch. And still another day, the van may be parked with a camper or trailer attached. I have marveled at good service all this time.

The new delivery person has managed to hit the muddy flower bed and hidden the news under vehicles. I have had to search around house corners and in stacks of fire wood. I say all this to say “I miss the regular fella.” I do notice that the paper weighs less these days and excused the poor aim somewhat to this. This does not, however, make walking barefoot in the snow any more pleasurable.

What are you doing this weekend?

The question has been asked, and I have decided to answer it. We prepared for this weekend by cleaning and heating the guest room. I’d say it really began when John’s cell phone alerted us to a caller. We were sitting in the “cell phone” parking at the Portland airport. Our guests were waiting outside the baggage pickup area of Alaska Airlines. The fellas had conversed several times, but we girls had not seen each other since June 2007 when we were in Alaska for THE wedding.

But, you know, some things never change. After catching up on each other’s kids, grandkids, acquaintances, parents, and news, we settled into sharing life as usual. When I showed her photo- and scrap-books, she stopped on a special page. It was a photo of four very young (and slender) brides. YUP…Joanne, Autumn, Kathy and me..all four of us decked out for hiking. The greatest danger of the entire trek was the rifle our husbands insisted we carry; as I recall we all took a turn carrying it (trepidatiously). The wildest animal contact was the mouse chewing on my hair during the night.

While the menfolk went to get a rental car, we reminisced about threads in the tapestry of our lives. Mike and Kathy took us out to lunch, and it was time to say “Fair thee well.” We plan to see them in a couple of weeks at their daughters wedding. We will probably greet formally in the reception line; there is little hope of time for a REAL visit. They were our guests for fewer than 24 hours, but it was refreshing to have them.

They were gone only a couple of hours when our doorbell rang. Again, it was a “child” from our Alaska days. Not only did he grow up with our kiddos, Rob entered college in Portland just after we moved to this area, and we ended up adopting him along with a few young ladies, one of whom he ended up marrying in our back yard. He had dropped off his older son nearby for a gathering which would take about 3 hours. So, since he was in the neighborhood he dropped by to fill us in on their busy lives. Again, the topics of family, kids, jobs, mother, friends, and loved ones filled the time entirely too quickly.

It has been a good weekend, saying “Hello” to folks we see so seldom. Tomorrow afternoon, we will say “Goodbye” to a dear brother in the Lord. Over the years, we visited Bill in his home. He and the dog would greet us cordially, and he would sit in his recliner with his Bible within reach, always. Long before we met him, he was a public school teacher. We have been told, and we do believe it, that he was a great instructor. No doubt his beloved Aleda Mae will also be mentioned...so many reminders of good folks' love of the Lord and consideration for others.

Memories are made of this

There are things that occur in this life that, at the instant of their occurrence, I just instinctively know this will stay in my memory forever. Sometimes, it is a milestone – such as saying “I do” in front of a group of friends and relatives. And sometimes it is not worthy of taking up space in one’s brain – such as watching ants on my 5th birthday scurrying with new-found crumbs and my surmising they are taking them to their hill to gift wrap them for me. I am chasing rabbits…back to my tale.

Today, my memory bank is full of the word OUGHT. It has been permanently embellished on my mind for over 50 years as the word that caused me great embarrassment. When my sophomore English teacher chose two people in the class to choose teams for a spelling bee, I just knew that this was my opportunity to shine. After all, had I not learned to spell e.v.a.p.o.r.a.t.e. in kindergarten? Why, in Texas, I had proven my spelling many a time. Apparently, my team captain thought I had some capabilities since I was her first pick.

Team captains were called on first and spelled their simple words with little effort. Then came my time to impress. The teacher called out my word to spell…”Ought,” she said. “A.u.g.h.t.” I replied. “No, Betty. Perhaps I did not pronounce it well. Let’s try again.” Ought.” “O.t.t.” I guessed. “No, you have been eliminated from the race…Next!” I was mortified to have done so poorly on such a basically simple word.

The reason this memory has been itching my brain so recently is because one of my granddaughters spelled the word “Sleight” by dropping the “e” (s.l.i.g.h.t) during a recent spelling bee. I rather suspect that it will become her “forever” word.

p.s. I think she should have received credit for her spelling; modern usage shows it both ways.