Five-foot-high Sylvester just what this kid wanted

“There is nothing sadder in this world than to awake Christmas morning and not be a child.”(Erma Bombeck)


My husband loves to attend auctions. I have to admit, he does bring home some screaming deals and he has willpower. We’ve both learned it doesn’t pay to bid and win something based purely on emotion.

A week or so before Christmas I was perusing a favorite auction site and saw something highly unusual: a five-foot tall stuffed Sylvester, Tweety Bird’s nemesis. I pointed at the picture, laughed, then said, “I want that for Christmas.” The response? “Yeah, right.”

I was gone the Sunday of the auction, and when I got home I had a couple of homemade end tables. After some magical maneuvering I managed to fit the newest additions into the perfect spots. I asked about Sylvester and was told that he’d gone for $52.50. “Who in their right mind would pay that much for a stuffed cat?” I asked. A strange look crossed hubby’s face, but I chalked that up to him thinking I was including anyone who had bid on the kitty.

As Christmas drew nearer and the gifts started to accumulate under the tiny tree, Sylvester faded from my mind.

Then more wrapping paper was needed and it looked like a trip to the attic was in store. I offered to go up but I was told, firmly, that someone else would go up. I started to wonder, like a kid, if maybe there was a big surprise in the attic.

I may be a kid at heart but I’m realistic enough to know that if we hauled out a giant stuffed cat to put by the tree we would have one freaked out yellow Lab and no one would get any sleep. Maybe Sylvester was at someone else’s house after all, and there was something else in the attic.

On Christmas morning I tiptoed down the stairs, but it was darker than normal. The softly lit snowman was still plugged in and the light we usually leave on was off. After reaching out the front door and grabbing the newspaper (yes, there was one that day) I came back inside, closed and locked the door and started toward the kitchen.

Something wasn’t right.

You know how you can sometimes sense that someone is in a room with you? My eyesight isn’t that great but my fear factor was notching up. I stood still and listened. No heavy breathing except for Sarah Jane snoring in the living room. No, there was someone or something in the foyer with me. After a second or two, I found out what it was.

I could have said, “I tawt I taw a puddy tat!” Instead, I think I said something like what Frank Barone used to say in nearly every episode of Everybody Loves Raymond. If you don’t know what that is, ask me sometime and I’ll tell you.

Big black and white eyes stared at me from behind a giant red nose. Sylvester was leaning nonchalantly against the grandfather clock just waiting to be noticed. Once I was over the shock, I had to go over and give him a big hug.

After the rest of the gifts were opened, there was one more surprise. “Oh, I almost forgot,” said my bargain hunter. “Here. The auctioneer threw this in too,” he said as he handed me a big stuffed Snoopy.

The cat and the dog get along fine. Sarah Jane is ignoring both of them as I sit with one on either side of me in the upstairs office.

Erma Bombeck was right. I’m glad I’m such a kid and I think more of us need to find the child inside of us again. Christmas morning is always better when the children are home.

Christmas memories on a snowy Christmas Eve

This photo was taken at our home on Tenney Street. Must have been in 1974, with Mom and Dad holding their first grandson, Clinton Dean. So many memories, so many years ago. I'm so thankful the kids got to grow up knowing their grandparents.



It’s Christmas Eve. I’m sitting here with a mug of fresh, hot coffee doctored with honey and cinnamon. Sarah Jane is snoring softly on the living room sofa, and everyone else is snug in their beds.

I got my shopping done a few days ago, and I think the gift recipients will be happy with what they open tomorrow morning. Christmas came so fast this year I haven’t had the chance to be the usual pain in my husband’s neck. Usually I start at least a couple of weeks before the big day, asking over and over again, “So, what'd you get me?” Or I drop hints so big he couldn’t possibly miss them. His response to the hints is, “Well, thanks for telling me. That’s exactly what you’re not going to get.” And he was true to his word—most of the time.

The TV is silent this morning because I want to be able to hear myself think. Today there will be no negative thoughts, though I plan to relive past Christmases when the whole family was together for holidays, birthdays and other special get-togethers. I don’t consider that negative thinking; there is a difference, you know, between bringing up something that stirs anger and bringing to mind sweet and poignant snapshots of Mom, Dad, aunts, uncles, cousins and siblings all together under one roof.

There isn’t any one Christmas that stands out, really. We were blessed (and still are) to have a family that knows why we celebrate this holiday and the importance of that was and is still the best part.

All of those December 25ths have kind of run together. Dad cooked the turkey and stuffing, Mom was in charge of potatoes and homemade gravy, and other small essentials. The sons brought in their well-bundled kids, and the wives lugged side dishes, desserts and homemade bread.

There were a few years when I sent my better half out with freshly-baked, still-warm iced cinnamon rolls to deliver to family early on Christmas morning. As families got bigger and we all got busier, I had to stop but it was a blast while it lasted.

After a big dinner in the early afternoon, one in which the kids hardly touched their food, we would clear the table and head for the living room. We would pick a Santa, usually one of the older kids who could read the gift tags and madness soon followed as wrapping paper, bows and ribbons were ripped and flung around Dad’s big living room. Photos were snapped, we ooohed and ahhed and pulled ourselves up to head to the kitchen for hot coffee and pie.

As I sit here and my coffee cools just a bit, I can almost smell the scent of cinnamon rolls baking. In a few hours I’ll put the turkey in a roaster, not the oven, and it will cook in less than half the usual time.

There are no little ones to wake before the sun rises and come running to the tree to see what Santa left them, but that’s OK. I can wait, and truth be told it’s nice to have an hour or so to myself this morning to reflect on this most beautiful of holidays. Family memories like these are meant to be cherished slowly and with a deep thankfulness.

Merry Christmas, dear readers. It’s a blessing to share this day with all of you.

Baking goes "smoothly" at our house

Here's the dessert bar at the latest family cookout a couple of months ago. We also enjoy homemade yummies throughout the year, and sometimes, most times, it's as much fun to make food for people to eat as it is to eat it. That, and the fellowship around the table is priceless.



Faced with a “what to bake first” dilemma the other night after supper, I unwisely asked for an opinion.

The choices were banana bread, yellow cake with milk chocolate frosting, or apple or peach pie. One wise guy came up with a solution: “Bake ‘em in alphabetical order,” he suggested. “Not according to flavors, according to product.”

That night I mixed and baked banana bread, since the word bread came first. I wasn't supposed to put in walnuts because a certain someone thinks such additions don’t belong in breads, cakes, ice cream, cookies or even—get this—peanut butter. “Ice cream and peanut butter should be smooth,” he often says with authority. Whose authority he speaks with I have no clue, but you won’t find Super Crunch at our house any more.

The next day was a special birthday; OK, a birthday for the special guy in my life so a cake was next on the list. I gazed longingly at the chopped walnuts still nestled in their bag; I wanted to sprinkle them in a pretty pattern on the frosting but that would have ruined the cake for you-know-who so I shut the drawer and never looked back.

The apple pie will come next (“a” comes before “p”) but I’ll have another choice to make here. Should I attempt to make my own pie crust (again?) or simply roll out the prepared crust from the box in the fridge?

Years ago I was interviewing a couple at their home and almost the entire hour I was there, the wife was preparing pies. She was whipping out one crust after another with an ease that blew my mind. I didn’t have the nerve to ask her for her recipe at that moment so I waited a few weeks. Before I could call her, she passed away.

In mid-August a friend and I were having lunch. We began discussing recipes of all kinds and since I knew her to be a great cook I asked if she knew of a pie crust recipe that used oil. Did she! She told me the ingredients, and I asked her to repeat them a few times. Neither of us wrote them down, but I kept repeating them to myself until I got home, at which point I promptly forgot one or two items but I figured, hey, I can just call her sometime and get the recipe. She passed away a few weeks later.

Why bring up such sadness in the midst of a baking tale? I guess it’s because cooking and baking for loved ones is one of the best ways I know to show how much I love someone. I don’t think we consciously realize that love enters into the process; after all, we just throw together the eggs, flour, oil, sugar or whatever we use to make something yummy. If we get a compliment, great; if all you get is a plate licked clean, all the better. If they didn’t enjoy what you made, you’d know it.

If you’re the cook in the family, take a moment to remind yourself who you are cooking for. I’m thankful beyond words to have someone to prepare meals and goodies for, and while the compliments are nice, it’s the presence of those I love I find to be the greatest gift. If you’re the recipient of a mouth-watering piece of pie or a still-warm chocolate chip cookie (without nuts, of course), take a second to thank the cook. She (or he) will appreciate it more than you know.

My four-legged therapist gives great advice

So, here she is, our Sarah Jane. She's such a good listener, and she has a heart of gold. I plan to have more "therapy sessions" with our pooch.


Can you believe it’s December already?

Family and friends have taken off for either a few days, weeks or months and that’s interrupted the usual gatherings. We had our breakfasts on Sunday mornings after church, and the Monday-night round-table discussions in Mom’s kitchen, but when most of our group is gone we have to fill in the time somehow.

And that didn’t take long.

Frankly, I don’t know how we found the time to meet and chat with one another. No sooner were our buddies gone than we were busy doing something else. How does that happen?

I certainly don’t feel any more rested now that we’ve dropped some items off the schedule. We must have filled those holes immediately with other stuff because neither of us is lounging around waiting for everyone to return. It’s going to be hard to get back on track. Weird.

We didn’t participate in Black Friday, Small Business Saturday or Cyber Monday. We read the newspapers, watched the news, and I read a whole book (and it was good!) There was work, dog-walking, cleaning, making meals and all the other stuff most of us do on a daily basis.

It makes me wonder if our priorities are in the right place. Could be we’re supposed to sit down and look over our to-do lists more often to see what we can mark off to make room for new things. Or, how about this? How about if we cross some things off and we don’t put anything in their place? What would we do with a little extra time?

I’m not sure some of us could handle that. Personally, I have projects waiting in the wings for when my list is whittled down a bit. There’s a memoir and two novels in various stages of non-completion, and it seems like forever since I’ve seen my sister. I’d love to find the time to talk, laugh and share Christmas with sis before the snow flies and socks us in.

Sometimes when Sarah Jane is the only one around, I’ll talk to her about what I would do if I just had a bit more time. For a dog, and a lab at that, Sarah’s a good listener. She looks me straight in the eyes, wiggles her eyebrows and pays close attention to every word. If she detects a hint of sadness, she’ll pad over to me and put her head on my leg, look up and wag her tail. “Everything will be OK,” she seems to be saying, and I can’t help but believe it.

I guess I’ll take another look at that to-do list. December is a busy, busy month and it would be wise to schedule some regular time with our four-legged friend, just to remind me that we all need to take time to share quiet moments with those we love, and who love us.

Christmas and family - a mix of the old and new

OK, we're not there yet but it won't be long. It's COLD! And it's after Thanksgiving so our thoughts turn to the Christmas to come and Christmases past. Maybe I'm being cynical but I don't see how any future Christmas get-togethers can match the ones that are now precious memories. Our large family gathered (mostly Gary's relatives--I have only my sister), we actually got along well and we loved getting together at Mom's for a great meal and opening presents. Those days are over for good, but hey, that's Life.

Monday morning came too fast this week. My better half promised to drive his relatives to the Moline airport at around 4 a.m. so naturally we were up at around 2:30. We stumbled around until 3 when the call came that no one would be leaving that day since someone didn't feel well. The plan was to try and schedule a flight for today, but we all felt bad because the whole idea was for them to be together for Thanksgiving. What fun is it to arrive the day after?

Miraculously a flight was snagged for Tuesday, so that morning came even faster because it was an earlier departure time. Again we stumbled out of slumberland, this time around 2:15. Fresh-made coffee was poured into a travel mug and off went the driver into the cold, dark morning. I should also mention that Sarah Jane thought that getting up really early was a fine idea and she wanted to see what was going on outside. On Monday we let her have a peek, but Tuesday we snarled at her to go back to bed.

It's amazing what we'll do to get together for special occasions. We'll fly even though we don't want to face the pat-downs and scanners. Or we'll brave busy roadways and high gas prices to drive to see family and friends, even for a short time. It's worth it to get away from the demands in our lives and simply enjoy good food and even better company.

Our Thanksgivings tend to be small gatherings; most times it's just the two of us. Or three, if you count the dog and trust me, we've counted her for the last four years. We don't always participate in the insane Black Friday escapades because we've found it's infinitely more pleasant to remain under warm covers while zillions of bargain hunters risk pneumonia to get a steal of a deal.

I've learned to listen to my heart to find out what makes the holidays enjoyable to us. Baking is at the top, as is having time to sip hot chocolate with whipped cream while reading a book. Having leftovers after Thanksgiving is pure bliss, and after naps and watching favorite holiday shows we get in the mood to climb the attic stairs and drag down the Christmas decorations. We decorate differently since we brought Sarah into our home, but that hasn't taken the joy from setting up the tree, and all of the doodads we use year after year.

It must be the soft, colorful lights placed carefully throughout the house that makes it feel so cozy and warm. There's a peace that settles over our home as we concentrate on what Christmas means. We make the effort to turn away from what causes us stress and turn toward what brings a smile to our faces and a lift in our spirits.

I'm mindful that the holidays can be a sad time for some. Our family is missing many of those who used to gather for Christmas, and at some point their absence gets to me in a big way.

Something tells me that every one of them would tell us not to let their absence cast a shadow over the festivities. Maybe that's why we go to such lengths to gather with the family and friends we still have with us, to savor every moment together for as long as we can.

This year I'm going to take pictures and videos and I'll write about what we do and who was here, because that's another beautiful part of the season: getting comfy and pulling out the albums and journals so we can go back in time for an hour or so and relive Christmases past with those we wish were still here.

Calendar? What calendar? Oh, THAT calendar!

That's right, the squirrel is looking for me and you know why. You'll need to excuse me now while I go and try to find what's left of my mind.


I like to think my life is somewhat organized. There are calendars and clocks in every room, and the daily planner I keep in my purse is usually promptly filled in every time a new appointment comes up.

That's why the past few days have been so baffling.

Breakfast and lunch at our house are hit and miss, except for those eye-opening and oftentimes hilarious Sunday morning breakfasts. Supper is always a sit-down affair, with the dog sprawled in the "drop zone" between those humans willing to slip her some table scraps. Sarah Jane is awfully partial to mashed potatoes, and we can't figure out when that happened.

Most of us have seen dogs who rip through meat like there's no tomorrow, but this dog has a tummy for taters. We came up with the term "potato pan" and those two words will send her into a frenzy. She must have the potato pan and she'll jump through hoops to get it.

The other night I noticed my favorite big spoon was missing. After checking everyone's alibi, we turned our collective attention to the yellow Lab waiting impatiently in the drop zone. I used another spoon, and supper went on. Afterward, there was an incident. Before she could get the potato pan, one of the guys demanded that the dog give up the missing spoon. Sarah was about to go into a frenzy, so she got her pan and proceeded to clean it. While she was busy, the canine interrogator got down on the floor to look beneath appliances to see if the spoon got pushed underneath one of them.

None of us noticed that Sarah was finished and had turned her attention to the human on her level. By the time we saw what she intended to do it was too late to get out of her path, and our son got head-butted with enough force to rock him back into the cabinets. But hey, he found the spoon.

After supper we all go our separate ways. By that time I've met my work obligations, yet I check the planner in case I missed something. This week I noticed an Avon meeting and a gathering of the Red Hat ladies. Wednesday was going to be busy.

Just fifteen minutes before the scheduled start of the Avon get- together I pulled into the restaurant parking lot and noticed-- nothing. Not a car, a bike or a truck was parked in the lot, so I got out my planner. Ah, yes. The meeting is for next Wednesday. That left the Red Hatters at noon so I rearranged things and went about my business.

At fifteen minutes before noon I went to meet my friends in red and purple. The first mistake was walking into the wrong building, which was easy enough to correct. The next mistake was getting the wrong day; I was off by one. I checked my schedule again but it firmly states Wednesday which means I wrote the date down wrong. If I hadn't, wouldn't the other gals be there? Yeah, I thought so too.

If I didn't know better, I'd swear I was the one who got head-butted by the dog the other night. I'm afraid to think there might be another explanation.

Surprising conversations around Mom's table

We were trying hard to figure out how to work the new grill that afternoon, and when I saw Mom walk over to it I asked her to act as though she knew everything about it. I think she pulled off the "act"!


By now we've all been experiencing a collective sigh of relief that the midterm election season is behind us and we don't have to listen to all the little boys and girls calling one another names and pushing each other off the playground swings. Whew.

That said, the name-calling was still in full swing when the family gathered for coffee at mom's Monday night. We all arrived at almost the same time, dropped our coats on the living room chair and headed for the warm kitchen.

Banana cream pie topped with slivered almonds awaited us, as did a pot of freshly-brewed coffee.

Then we went and ruined things by talking politics. Just kidding.

We have a way of being able to discuss this volatile subject without ripping one another's faces off, and since it was so close to the end, I don't think our hearts were really in it. So our gaze, literally, turned to what turned out to be the last game of the World Series.

Our cousins live in Texas so a couple at the table were rooting for the Rangers, while I was cheering on the Giants. Hey, the Rangers beat the Yankees and if it was up to me we would've been watching country music videos instead of baseball.

During commercial breaks, mom and her sister were perusing the latest Avon book and I was hoping for a big order. I think Christmas was on our minds, and I tried to hint at stocking stuffers but we somehow got off-track and into a conversation about Halloween. Let me tell you, you would be surprised at what these kind and gentle ladies did on Halloween many, many years ago. In fact, I'm guessing you wouldn't believe me if I told you.

I won't say exactly what went on but it involved outhouses and getaway drivers. They still find it hilarious after all this time and I can only say I'm glad their impressionable grandchildren weren't around the table that night as we all got an earful of their mischievous behavior. Shameful.

As the guys continued to intently watch the Giants pitch the stuffing out of the Rangers and discuss their afternoon disc golf game, talk between us girls turned to telephones and specifically to when General Telephone sold phones from their office on Main Street. There was a time in the 1970s when I got a new phone about every three months, just for the fun of it. That brought to mom's mind her job at the phone company and what happened when World War II ended. She told us the operators had to walk the floor of the phone company, some 18 to 20 feet, and watch for the switchboard to light up.

I got tears in my eyes as she told about the end of the war, and how light after light came on as people called one another. She told us how, after work, she and several of her co-workers piled in a car like so many others and drove around town honking and yelling and laughing. Good times.

That night the Giants won, politics took a back seat, Halloween shenanigans were recalled and more memories were unpacked and talked about as our family found out a little bit more about one another. I can hardly wait until next time.

Riding the storm with those we love and who love us

It can seem like we're alone as we battle seen and unseen forces, but we're not alone. Loved ones are with us, always...even if we can't see them.



For as long as I can remember, I've loved stormy weather. Thunder, lightning, wind (within reason), blizzards, and fog—as long as no one has to travel in such conditions, of course. It's most fun to me when I'm inside our home, sheltered from harm.

Of course for some of us, high winds mean that trees fall on our roofs, or if lightning hits we may blow some electrical appliances and that's when the scary stuff comes inside where we thought we were safe.

I guess that means we often acquire a false sense of security. We think that because we're tucked inside with the doors locked, then no one can get to us. And I've found out that type of thinking is a metaphor for something else.

For too many years I thought that diseases like cancer only happened to others, meaning it hit those I didn't know or would likely never meet. I felt safe (and blessed) that none of my family or friends had cancer, so I became complacent. Then things changed.

A dear friend of mine discovered a lump in her breast last April, and I became mildly concerned. My own experience has been with benign fibroid tumors and I thought that this was probably what my friend was dealing with, so I went on with my life and she pretty much did the same. Well, until the diagnosis came back that she did indeed have breast cancer.

Another friend told me she had a feeling this was going to turn out just fine. She apparently had a vision of some sort that nothing bad was going to happen, but I didn't feel as certain. I got a bit nervous, and began praying.

As the months flew by and things got progressively worse I prayed harder. I woke in the wee hours of the morning and usually the first thing on my mind was my friend and her husband. More prayers flew up as I went back to sleep hoping to hear good news that day. Facebook and CaringBridge.org provided a place where we could gather to get information, and we've all been checking those sites several times a day.

We've kept up with doctor visits and other updates over the last 17 months and that makes me more thankful than ever for the Internet.

My friend and her husband are intimately familiar with what the cancer has done to their daily lives. They wisely took a couple of "bucket list" trips across the country and caught up with family and friends they hadn't seen in a long while. They took thousands of pictures and visited places where natural and man-made beauty has made for some precious memories my friend can bring to mind as her sight fails her. She did this on purpose because she knew what was coming, even if some of us thought(and prayed) otherwise.

There is physical stormy weather, and then there is this kind, the kind you can't see. I don't care at all for storms that blow through our lives and leave us stunned, walking around in a fog as we search for clear-cut answers to questions that keep us wide-awake at night.

I now know that the warm, cozy feeling we get as storms rage can suddenly change and leave us chilled, frightened and feeling helpless. Strength, warmth and hope come from family, friends and even strangers who take your storm and ride it out with you—all the way.

May God be with you, Patti and 'Mas.

A shiny new grill, family, friends and fun

Vonnie, son Rick,and Mom (Frances) as they try to figure out how to get the new grill going. Reading the directions helped immensely!


We pulled up to the house just a tad past 1 p.m., which I thought was fashionably late for a cookout that was to begin at 1. It was odd that we were the first to arrive, though, and I got a little nervous.

I brought the crockpot of chili into the house and we were greeted with, “I don’t have anything ready! Can you help?!”

Turns out the hostess had a bit of a chaos problem going: No grill for the burgers, brats and chicken; the sweet corn was still in its cellophane wrapper; one guest was unable to attend; and the list went on.

We were called to look out the back door, and as we stared in shock at the shiny, big, fancy new grill, my aunt turned and said, “I thought we were going to borrow a grill. Oh my gosh!”

And that started a whole new bag of challenges. The manual had to be read, the temperature system had to be learned (the heat once registered at 700 degrees, a wee bit hot for what we were cooking), and perhaps most important, someone needed to volunteer as cook.

I insisted that the men played chef at all the other cookouts, but that observation went unheeded. I wasn’t about to do it, so the rest of the women kept stepping back until my poor sister-in-law was left standing closest to the grill. As I saw flames jump up through the black slats and visions of the movie Backdraft came to mind, I was thankful I was a chicken.

Lisa did a great job; so good in fact that she’ll probably be elected again next time.

Since the party was a little late getting started, some folks got hungry and found ways to quietly pry open the potato chip bags. Yes, Joyce, I’m talking about you and I’d love to know how you did that without the rest of us noticing you.

I don’t think I’ve seen a more perfect day for a family gathering. The ground was covered with crunchy leaves, kids played disc golf, basketball, football and kick-the-pumpkin (until the little guy’s dad put a stop to it), but it wasn’t just the weather. Any time a big family can come together for something other than a funeral it’s a wonderful thing.

Some gathered around the outside patio table, others stood in the kitchen, a few watched the football game in the living room and the rest sat at the dining room table. Kids wandered in and out, nibbling on burgers and macaroni and cheese, then moved on to cake and ice cream. Adults sipped coffee and enjoyed slices of banana cream pie while catching up with one another’s lives.

Gosh, it was a good time.

I have to give her credit. Our aunt may have felt she had no control over the seemingly unending challenges thrown her way on Sunday afternoon but she needn’t have worried. As we talked and ate, laughed and reminisced, the earlier chaos was quickly forgotten and replaced with hugs and smiles and contentment.

I just hope the one who was sitting closest to the refrigerator has recovered from her near-beaning by a big box of Eggo Waffles. You can bet we’ll bring that up at the next cookout.

No medicine for the pain bullies inflict

I try to freely admit when I don't understand what someone is going through. I've never lost a spouse, had cancer or any serious illness, have never been fired (though I've quit plenty of jobs). But I have lost a child, and another has been missing for going on eight years. I never knew my grandparents--any of them, and I've lost both parents, so I "get it" in those situations. And I've been bullied...in school, at different jobs and within our own family. So I get that, too. Will we ever put an end to it? Can we help those who seem to have nowhere to turn? And would folks please stop telling the victims of bullies to "just ignore them"?



I’ve always enjoyed the columns written by Sarah Reeves but there are some that speak to my heart and are almost impossible to forget. Not that I’d want to, especially those written about bullying.

That word has been in the news a lot lately, and for good reason. Most of us have heard the tragic stories of lives ended too soon, because of kids who “went just a little too far”, etc.

Sarah is a wise young woman, and she is someone I could have used as a friend in school, especially in junior and senior high. She may not ever realize how many people she has helped already, or how many of her columns are being passed around, mailed and hung up on refrigerators.

Bullies don’t just exercise their special talents in schools. They’re everywhere—in traffic, workplaces, and even in families. Who hasn’t been made to feel unwanted and less than perfect among their own relatives? It’s not just school birthday parties where certain ones aren’t invited; it happens in families too.

Scars left by being rejected are impossible to see with the naked eye. And those who never suffer that kind of treatment just don’t get it. You’ll often hear them say things like, “Act like it doesn’t bother you; I mean, really, why should it? It’s their loss.” Easier said than done.

Thing is, though it’s taken far too many years, they’re right. It shouldn’t bother us, at least not for years like it did me, but there is a reason that it does. It’s because at one time there was love between those who now don’t associate with one another. If there were no friendly, loving feelings then there wouldn’t be pain now. It truly would not matter, would it?

Bullies want things their own way—always. And they want others to follow their lead and punish certain people they feel are inferior or who have done something unforgiveable.

Some who have been on the wrong end of the bully stick have struck back, and sometimes the bully backs down. It happens, but I’m guessing that’s a painful experience in more ways than one. I’m too chicken to try that; in fact, when someone says something unkind to me I often don’t think of a darn good comeback until hours or days later.

A long, long time ago someone I knew thought it would be great fun to share poetry with each other and thousands of others. I hadn’t written many poems but they were surprisingly fun and easy and we had the best time. After about a year or so, something went awry and I neglected to respond in a timely manner to a new poem and that was the end of a beautiful friendship. Of course that’s not what really permanently damaged the relationship, though that was the initial excuse given.

Sillier things than that happen in all walks of life, and it would be much less traumatic for everyone if those involved simply ended things without a lot of drama, allowing people to go on with their lives with dignity and acceptance.

Instead, we find ourselves being punished repeatedly until we do something drastic to stop the pain, or we cut off all ties and never communicate again.

Sarah has written with wisdom, truth and heart. I heard what she said; I hope you did too. And if you have a friend like her in your life, consider yourself blessed.

A small town, two cousins and Dad. It doesn't get much better

Dad and Mom at their wedding reception.



"Do you need a map?" he asked before I left for Tampico. I told him no, it shouldn't be that hard to find.

I should have taken the map.

Ever since my cousin Rita suggested I meet with her and her sister Kathy to talk about my dad and mom, I'd been in a state of high anticipation. Would our meeting be awkward? Would I feel "related" to them? Would they like me? Would I remember all the questions I had about a man I never knew?

The answers came: No, yes, I think so and I hope so.

I won't go into the hair-raising trip there because I couldn't recount it if I tried. When I parked across from Dutch's Diner in downtown Tampico, I noticed there were no cars at all nearby. I was 20 minutes late and worried my cousins had left. I walked inside, looked left and there they were.

We got to know each other quickly; after all, Rita and I are Facebook friends and we've written and talked on the phone a bit. The two sisters were more than willing to share anything they knew about Dad and Mom and I listened with every fiber of my being.

As a kid of divorced parents, all I ever heard about was the bad side of my father. Even as a young child I knew that couldn't be all there was; somewhere inside me was the little girl who wanted a daddy that loved her and kept her safe.

Sometime around the age of 11 or so, I would imagine that Dad was here in town, watching me from afar and making sure I was being cared for. But the rumors persisted within the family that painted a much darker picture. I knew that someday I would find out what kind of man my father really was.

Rita and Kathy filled in the family portrait for me, on a Wednesday afternoon over chocolate cream pie, tea and coffee. To Rita, he was a favorite uncle. Dad loved to cook, loved kids, horses, farming, and my goodness did he love making music. He was in a band for 40 years, an accordion player, an instrument Rita took up because of his influence.

I watched as my cousins spoke about Dad, their eyes telling every bit as much as their words. A man loved that much had to have been a good man, one I would have loved to have known.

In December of 1993, about a week before Christmas, Dad had a physical exam and was pronounced in good health. I was told he stayed active, and was a happy, contented man. It was a shock to everyone when he never woke up on Christmas morning. Dad died of a heart attack in his sleep.

I've written before about how I met my father once on our oldest son's second birthday. At the urging of my husband, we made the drive to Amboy and visited for an hour or so and left. I never saw him again.

But a couple of days ago, Dad came back, just for a couple of hours. He spoke to me through Rita and Kathy, through stories of his life and Mom's and their early days on the farm. I listened as they spoke of tire swings and sundresses, lilacs and music and much, much more.

We wrapped things up, and while Rita and Kathy went looking for an antique shop I headed back to Kewanee. I made it almost to Hooppole before the tears came.

See, the thing is, kids are impressionable little folks but they're not stupid. It's not wise to fill their heads full of negative images of whichever spouse is absent from their lives because there is something inside us all that simply craves the love of the ones who gave us life. And just like me, we'll go searching for answers until someone is willing to talk to us and give us, for lack of a better phrase, the rest of the story.

I've got half siblings out there that I would love to get to know. They obviously knew Dad the most and would have some great stories to tell. Someday I'm hoping to meet them too, and if that comes to pass, I'll be sure to take a map.

Thanks, Rita. Thanks, Kathy. Dad would have been very proud of you both.

Birthday was one for the books

I can take my nook here, there and almost everywhere (like this bench at Windmont Park.) A perfect gift for a book lover, and I couldn't be happier with mine.


Never say never.

Apparently on Friday, August 6 my column proclaimed that “The ebook reader is one gadget I think I can do without.”

I was wrong.

In my defense, I am a victim of my own research. Someone, and you know who you are, asked me to compare the Kindle and the Nook, both very nice electronic readers. The basic models allow you to hook up to wireless internet service, whether you have a router in your home or at businesses that carry the service.

I did plenty of Googling for both devices, but I’m such a softie for Barnes & Noble that my pick was the Nook. Still, it’s one thing to do the research and quite another to recommend one reader over another so I strongly suggested that only an in-person investigation would do.

Thing is, I ended up doing that too—sort of. That’s because the whole notion of having all kinds of books in one place just fascinated the stuffing out of me. At night I couldn’t fall asleep because I was busy thinking of all my favorite authors, cookbooks, mysteries and more.

Then, something wonderful happened: My birthday. As I get older I get better presents. I take very good care of them, and I only ask for what I will use so that made this choice a no-brainer. But I still had to convince someone that this is what I really, really wanted.

I pointed out the advantages of being able to choose from a million books, getting to choose from nearly that many for free, having the ability to jump on the internet with just the basic model, and the sheer fun factor. Plus, prices have come way down since the release of Apple’s iPad so that was a big deal in my book, pun intended.

On that special day I was able to visit both of my favorite bookstores. After buying my Nook and adding a gift card to my account, I happily focused on this electronic wonder until my ride came over an hour later. By then, I’d downloaded over 20 free books and had a monstrous pain in my neck. But boy, was it worth it.

Today I’m closing in on 50 books. All but two were free; I did find the American Standard version of the Bible for .99, and I’ve reserved Stephen King’s newest that will be released in early November. I got it for a fraction of its hardcover cost.

My collection contains several works by Edgar Allan Poe, fairy tales from Hans Christian Anderson, 365 breakfast dishes, a book called Famous Coffee House Recipes, Dracula, and books by Jane Austen. I feel like I won the lottery.

The perfect gift for a book lover, a delicious dinner with family, cards from family and friends and a beautiful fall day made for a birthday I will remember for a long time.

What will they think of next? I know someone who probably doesn’t want to know, but that’s OK. I’ll be more than happy to do the research.

A couple of Life's funny moments, courtesy of my better half

My better half enjoying quality time with his best bud, Sarah Jane



I feel sorry for family and friends who too often have a columnist in their midst during embarrassing moments.

One recent afternoon I was either working away in my upstairs foyer office or I was catching up with Facebook, when I heard a mild swear word coming from inside the Bat Cave. The first thought that popped into my head was that someone was having trouble with their TV channels. I was wrong.

The door opened and this question was posed: “Do you have anything that’ll take Super Glue off of skin?”

I slowly turned around to find that someone had glued two of his fingers together. “How did that happen?” I asked as I Googled “how to remove super glue from skin”.

The answer was just as comical as the result. “I was gluing a tennis ball to the doorknob,” came the reply.

OK.

Turns out that fingernail polish remover might do the trick but we had none on hand, so to speak. I do use nail polish, but I nibble it off instead of removing it the sensible way. Eventually the glue came off, but the memory gives me the giggles.

Another funny thing happened the other night. I had baked a cherry pie to take over to Mom’s for our weekly family gathering and gab fest. Everyone seemed to like it, though I did detect longing glances toward a banana cream pie on the counter. If that one hadn’t been too frozen to cut, I might have had more cherry pie left over to take home.

As it was there were two good size pieces left, and I passed the glass pie plate to hubby to put inside its plastic carrier. Someone, I won’t surmise who, might have missed clicking the carrier completely shut because the conversation around the table was rudely interrupted by a loud crash.

“Whoa,” said someone. Whoa indeed. Splattered cherries and flaky crust could be seen on Mom’s shiny kitchen floor and her lovely throw rug. The glass plate wasn’t broken, and when we turned it over, I found two lonely cherries clinging to a small piece of crust.

Hubby and his brother cleaned up the mess, and everyone felt bad that there was no pie to take home but that was fine with me. I’m sure the banana cream pie is thawed by now, so we’ll just have to pop over and have a piece—if someone hasn’t eaten it already.

You know who you are.

Cutting (some of) the cable cord

It's cool...now I can watch Bugs Bunny cartoons whenever I want. I love it.


The new fall television programming has always been an exciting time for me, simply because I love getting lost for just a little while in someone else's fantasy world.

In our home we favor crime dramas, mysteries, thrillers, some horror and comedies. We also love tennis, especially the big tournaments, so the U.S. Open is getting a lot of play right now.

Like so many others we jumped on the cable bandwagon and kept adding to the channels we thought we would watch. The cable tiers moved and changed and we moved and changed along with them. And our bill kept rising, but we poo-pooed the cost by telling ourselves that this was pretty much our only entertainment.

Eventually the cable TV part of our bill became awfully high and there were dozens of channels we never watched. We began eyeing ways to downsize, and that's when we found a money-saving way to get what we wanted for little cost. Eureka!

First I have to say I cannot get along without high-speed Internet broadband service. I send and receive photos to and from work, and I'm not about to go back in time and wait on slow service if I can help it. We made the decision to drop our telephone land line and everything but the most basic cable service.

Boy, did that cut out a lot of our favorite shows. We're fans of The Closer, Rizzoli & Isles and lots more on TNT. TBS, SyFy, History Channel and ESPN2 are faves too, so the decision to pare the channel selection was a tough one.

That's where the broadband comes in to save the day. We found an inexpensive blu-ray DVD player that will stream movies over the Internet. We already have a subscription to the movie service, and setup was a breeze. The remote and menu are user-friendly and we've taken advantage of watching unlimited movies and older TV shows whenever we want.

Still, we have a bit of tweaking to do if we want to stream some of our favorite stations but that's coming and it's well worth the effort if we can save some bucks here and there.

After all, it won't be long now before the wind will carry a frosty bite, the days will grow shorter and you'll hear the distant sound of sleigh bells. I told you we liked horror stories.

Playing hooky from work the weird way

I'm with Sarah Jane...I couldn't believe what I was hearing either.



It would seem that the movie watchers in our home have been exposed to some rather odd storylines in the past couple of weeks.

We took in the strange “Shutter Island” starring Leonardo DiCapprio and some other fine actors. I loved that show and my better half thought it was a total waste of time. The storyline stayed with me for days, and when I recall the ending I get a shiver.

The other night we saw “Informant!” with Matt Damon. Let’s just say the main character was no Jason Bourne, another Matt Damon role, but boy, this guy can tell fibs that’ll run rings around just about anyone. I used the present tense here because this story was based on a real-life dude that used to be a biochemist for Archer-Daniels-Midland out of Decatur. We were still shaking our heads the next day over the intricate webs of deceit this guy spun that took in the FBI and countless other mopes. Way cool, unless, I suppose, you were on the bad end of one of his schemes.

Movies are one thing, but what happens if you happen to stumble upon strange goings-on in your own family?

I’ll never forget the time I got a phone call asking me if I knew that my aunt and uncle had died. The caller mentioned the first names right away, and it had been over five years for my uncle, and less than three for my aunt so the part about them dying wasn’t a shock. The shock was that their obituaries were in the newspaper that day.

I stood where I was and blinked as the caller went on to say how sorry they were, blah, blah, blah. I’ve watched enough episodes of Twilight Zone to know when my world is beginning to tilt in that direction. I couldn’t wait to get off the phone and find that newspaper.

A few minutes later I had the proof in hand, along with an open mouth and a head full of unanswered questions. Though I love Stephen King stories, I was sane enough even then to know I wasn’t in one. A mystery, yes, but one that would probably be a lot of fun to solve.

It did turn out to be fun, and we got lots of laughs as we made the necessary phone calls to unravel the mystery that is my family. There was the obituary writer and funeral homes and pastors, and finally we had our answer: A cousin who was in a bit of hot water for taking too much time off of work decided he wanted even more “vacation” so he figured he’d rerun the obituaries of his grandparents to get some funeral leave. Now that’s using the old noggin’, wouldn’t you say?

I’d never heard of this before, and though on the surface it sounds like it might get the job done, it didn’t happen. I wondered how he thought up the idea in the first place. Did he see it in a movie? Read it in a book? Create it out of thin air?

There was also the matter of finding a newspaper (not the one you’re holding) that would print the false obit, and before that he had to find a funeral home that would hear his tale of woe and send the obit to the one and only newspaper he had chosen.

Ah, family.

As I thought about the weird movies and my oddly endearing yet misguided cousin, I came to the conclusion that I’ll likely never get bored with so many possibilities at hand to keep me entertained.

Lots of things make life worth living

Sometimes I love to just stand at the door and look out at one of the biggest blessings in our lives. Sarah Jane has been with us over four-and-a-half years and not one minute with her is dull. She's our best bud and she knows it.


Just before leaving for my courthouse reporting duties one morning I stopped to pick up a couple of dollar breakfast sandwiches at a local fast food joint. I'd never had these before, and I was very pleasantly surprised to find them hot, tasty and a bit too filling. No way could I finish two, and I can't stand to waste anything so I put on my thinking cap.

It was a bit after 8, and it occurred to me that someone was probably walking the dog about now. No, I wasn't going to give the sausage, egg and cheese delight to the pooch but I knew her walker would gladly accept it.

I headed up Main and as I crested the slight slope at Second I stared toward the next stoplight. Sure enough, there they were. I saw a white ball cap and just a bit below that was a curly tail bouncing toward the west. I moved to the turn lane so I could pull up on the proper side of Third Street.

I've caught up with the man and his best bud before, but never with food in tow. As I slowed and pulled up to the curb, Sarah Jane lifted her nose from the ground, focused on the white car and tilted her head in that quizzical way of hers. I love it.

When she was told, "Hey, there's The Woman!", Sarah bounded to the car and placed huge muddy paws on the passenger door--inside and out. She sniffed toward the food bag, and once she was safely away from it, I handed it over. Now I could leave for the rest of the work day with a smile on my face.

It seems like this happened just yesterday but it was over a week ago. I was reminded again of this pleasant memory because we can still see the muddy paw prints inside the passenger door. I've been a bit too busy to take care of the dried mess and today I'm thankful for that.

Do you have sights, sounds or smells that bring a smile to your face? I think we all have something; maybe it's a song or the smell of bread baking or the taste of homemade chicken and noodles.

Some sights that give me a grin have to do with cruising over to Mom's for coffee, goodies and conversation. The road going down to her house is a nightmare at the moment (well, it's been a bad dream for a couple of years; now it's a full-blown nightmare), but once inside the cozy kitchen we soon forget about the bumpy road and get right to the fun stuff. Over the years we've had so many memorable visits there I can pull one up and watch it like a movie in my head.

Another happy sight is seeing my sister walking toward me whenever we get a chance to visit in person. That happened last week in Geneseo and I've brought that sight to mind over and over again simply because I love her to pieces and miss her something fierce.

Sounds that soothe are usually connected to songs, and I have to admit that I now have a ringtone from Jaron and the Long Road to Love's "Pray For You". My sister warned me not to get it because her youngest daughter had it and when it went off, she got nothing but glares from those within earshot. I do love Sis, but I don't always listen to her. That song may not soothe anyone; I like it because it makes me laugh.

I like the sound I make as I put supper together. I start off with telling Sarah, "Time to make supper", and she's in the kitchen in a flash. Her body makes a thunk! as it hits the floor; that's the beginning, followed by the sounds of dishes placed on the table, the rattle of silverware and the sound of the five o'clock news starting.

The smell of fresh coffee brewing, cinnamon rolls baking or turkey roasting bring a smile to most people. There are far too many delectable aromas to mention, and they're different for everyone anyway.

I guess the point I'm trying to make is this: We're bombarded today with news that makes us nervous, angry and fearful. I don't want to bring up specifics because we're hearing and reading about them every day. And I'm not saying we should stick our collective heads in the sand and let the world sail by without us.

Bad things happen and they always will. Too often they outshadow the good and lovely and wonderful things going on in our daily lives. We can turn that around and make a real difference in our outlook on life.

Some day when you have a few minutes, why not grab a favorite drink, a piece of paper and a pen and find a quiet spot to think. Put a title like, "These things make me happy" and make three columns, one each for sights, sounds and smells. The physical act of reminding yourself of what makes you happy should bring a smile to your face. It worked for me.

Living with a few physical limitations

I may be in my late 50s, but I'm a kid at heart even though I can't do some of the things I used to do. That's OK because I've seen folks who deal with much more challenging issues and they do it with dignity, grace and humor. I'm learning from them every day and I thank God they are a part of my life.



I've lived with physical limitations for as long as I can remember.

First it was poor eyesight. The lazy left eye was obvious, and Mom was told back in 1957 that it could be surgically fixed by cutting a hole in the side of my head and tying up a loose optical something-or-other. She decided against that, thinking it was much less risky to fit me with glasses.

Throughout the years I've been told the left eye is legally blind, that I can see with only one eye at a time, eye exercises might improve my sight, or, and this is obvious: I'm nearsighted in one eye and farsighted in the other. This is something I've learned to live with. Thinking ahead is something I do often, so my thought was that if I begin to go blind I will learn Braille and I'll stock up on audio books. Some folks have it a lot worse.

Another problem is stamina. It's just not there like it used to be. I can stay up until around 10 or so, then it's bedtime. The sole exception to this is if I'm writing, and then the hours fly and it's often far later than 10 by the time I finish.

Heat is beginning to get to me, so it's a good thing we moved from Arizona a couple of decades ago. Still, the heat and humidity of an Illinois summer is tough to take but I won't complain too much. We have air conditioners in our home and our cars, at work and at stores and restaurants. There are those with breathing problems who simply cannot handle some of our weather; they have it a lot worse.

And the other day I came face-to-stairway with a big dilemma. I was to meet someone at their home for an interview, and upon arriving I was told to come around to the back of the house. The possibility of a big dog waiting there crossed my mind; instead, I found a tall, narrow stairway that sent me right around to the front again where I waited to be let inside. It was a bit embarrassing but it couldn't be helped.

Seems like Mom always had problems with walking. Most of the time she did fine, and other times she was in so much pain she crawled on the floor. I couldn't possibly wish more that I had asked her about those times because there is no one around today who can explain to me what her problem was.

Sis and I have had problems walking on and off for years. There was the time I was walking down the steps at a workplace in Tucson when I simply dropped and fell halfway down. The legs gave out and down I went. Everything checked out fine, and it didn't happen again until over 20 years later when I stood to get out of bed and fell right down to the floor.

As I take stock of new (and some old) physical limitations, I don't sit and cry about them. Nor do I dwell on what I can no longer do. My usual approach to a problem is to see how to get over, under, around or through it. There have been times when severe headaches seemed to come every day for a couple of weeks at a time. After the first few days, I would get determined to carry on with life and live with the pain. Eventually it went away, and I was thankful for each day my head didn't feel ready to explode.

And when walking problems begin to interfere with normal living, I haul out my late father-in-law's cane so I can keep going and get things done. When that no longer works, we'll go from there.

Eyesight, stamina, mobility--three mighty important things we need to live a productive life. But when stuff happens, and it will eventually, try to find ways to outsmart the attacks and remember that there are others who have it a lot worse.

Off to Branson and the million-dollar bathroom

From left, here they come: Gary, Vonnie, Mom and Tom. We left this mall in short order - it was incredibly hot and the trolley never came by. Still, we had more fun than we could shake a stick at. Or something like that.


I think the conversation went something like this:

Me: “You guys going to Branson pretty soon?”

Aunt: “Yes! You two want to go along?”

Me: “OK.”

We dropped off Sarah Jane at the vet's for boarding on a Wednesday afternoon (that's a column itself, but we won't go there. It was traumatic to leave the dog who's been by our sides for over four years and we missed her something fierce.) I wanted to start off early on Thursday morning, say around 7 or so but we didn't pull out until after 8. I get a tad freaked in heavy traffic and on long trips so this was going to be a test of my sanity and of everyone else involved.

Traffic was terrifying (to me) for most of the way there and back, but the drivers handled things beautifully. Auntie did a spot-on impression of me and my reactions to speeding vehicles of all kinds. “This is Margi,” she said, as she stiffened both arms and legs and bugged out her eyes. Heck, she was in the car ahead of ours yet she captured my expression perfectly.

We found our hotel, put our things away and set out for supper. One thing I found difficult to handle (and yes, there was more than one thing) was the way the roads and parking lots were not at all flat. I kid you not, once when Mom stepped out of our car and began an out-of-control downward descent, I was thankful her sister grabbed the back of Mom's jacket to hold her in place.

There was the usual stuff: TV breaks down, gets replaced; forgetting where one put their toiletries, cosmetics and medicines; and sending someone out to get ice a few steps from the room and having them take half an hour to return—without the ice. Fun times.

The highlights, though, were the two shows we saw. Shoji Tabuchi puts on a dazzling act, playing his violin as if he was born with it in his hands. The special effects, the energy and the talent left us in awe for hours afterward. I took plenty of pictures but honestly, you have to experience something like this in person to truly appreciate it.

On an important side note, we had been told that even if we weren't going to see Shoji's show we simply had to at least use the, um, facilities at his theater. I can remember thinking, sure, it's probably a fancy bathroom but how fancy could it be to warrant all the accolades. Trust me when I say this: It is that fancy. It's beyond description. It cost a million bucks each—for the ladies and the mens rooms.

It's 2400 square feet of “Oh, my gosh!” We had live ivy and violets, a chandelier imported from Italy, granite sinks, a marble fireplace and over two dozen “thrones”. The guys had black leather cushy seats for relaxing, black sinks, red carnations and—get this—a pool table. I've left some things out, but I took lots of photos there too because it's unlikely I'll ever set foot in such a place again. These bathrooms have been voted the best in the U.S. I was more than a little unimpressed with my own facilities after we got home.

We also saw the Pierce Arrow show that featured country and gospel music, and one of the funniest comedians I've ever seen. We laughed ourselves silly, and the patriotic songs brought tears to our eyes. Classy stuff.

Wherever we went to eat, we found budding entertainers who told us jokes or sang while they waited on diners. We met some of the friendliest people on earth in Branson, and it's a trip we'll never forget. Memories were made, and I'll always be thankful our family had this time together.

Just one little thing; well, maybe a couple. Try to never get caught in bumper-to-bumper traffic in 90-plus degree weather for over an hour with a car full of family unless you all love one another very, very much.

And two: There's nothing in the world like coming home, picking up your furry friend and just sitting side-by-side on a quiet, summer night. It doesn't get much better than that.

Holding on to that warm, fuzzy feeling

I know this picture has nothing to do with the story below, but I love Sarah Jane and time is flying by so fast (she's over four years old already!) and these earlier shots of her make me smile. Kinda gives me that warm, fuzzy feeling, you know?



It’s time to admit that I’m a gadget fanatic.

My dream house would have an office and a library in every room. There would be easy chairs, a big desk, plenty of lamps (including lighted bookshelves), and a fireplace. It would be nice to have hardwood floors with splashy throw rugs, but I’m not much into designer digs. I just want the rooms to be useful and comfortable.

Computers would be networked throughout the house; no more carrying work around on flash drives and disks. I could walk into any office and pick up where I left off. As it is now, I sit in front of one of my computers and wonder if this is the one that has the court news on it or the poodle birthday party.

Still, that’s a lot of expense to go through just to keep my head straight. It would be simple enough to write what I was working on last on a piece of paper next to each computer. And that, oddly enough, brings me to electronic book readers.

Ah, another gadget I thought I must have. Imagine! You can load a few hundred books onto each ebook reader and carry them (it) around without weighing yourself down. One such device is made to read in bright sunlight, some are designed to hold horizontally or vertically, whichever is most comfortable for the reader. I can’t get over having hundreds of books at my fingertips without having to lug them around.

Yet I can’t let go of the feel and smell of a real book. I simply love the whole idea of holding a book in my hands, turning the pages, placing the bookmark for later reading. If that makes me a tree killer, so be it. The ebook reader is one gadget I think I can do without.

Besides, I found out that you can download an ebook application from a Web site onto your computer. It’s free, and so are hundreds of books. The only catch is, you have to read the books on the computer and while that may work some of the time, it won’t work when you want to curl up in bed or in a chair and get lost in another time and place.

How many of you have one book next to your easy chair, another in the car and a third by your bedside? Add magazines and newspapers to your reading stash and you’re talking some serious multitasking, but those of us who love it wouldn’t have it any other way. There are lots of ways to recycle our used stuff now, so we needn’t feel terribly guilty about the poor ol’ trees.

There haven’t been too many times I’ve wanted to throw a book across the room when I got to an ending I didn’t care for, but think of the different result if one got seriously ticked off and threw their electronic gizmo at a far wall. Ebook readers are still a bit pricey, and they lack that warm, fuzzy feeling. Plus, I have to say there is one other thing that keeps me from forking over hard-earned money for such a gadget: What would happen if, after downloading dozens of books, your reader decided to up and quit on you? Gadgets do that, and most times without warning.

It’s taken me a while, but I’m learning to combine simple tools with electronic wonders. I love the way both worlds can work in harmony, giving me what I need with as little stress as possible. I’m all for that.

Good memories soften the bad times

You know how it is when you're having one of those weeks? When time gets away from you, and sometime in the wee hours of the morning you're jolted awake with the thought that you forgot something important? That's happened more than once in the last few days and if that isn't enough, there has been plenty of news that tilted our world a bit. Still, we count ourselves blessed that things aren't worse.

When I get a bit too much on my plate and things start spiraling out of control, it's time to find a comfy chair and zone out for a bit. I go to my Happy Place.

To do this properly and get the most out of it, the TV is turned off, the dog is put out in the back yard and no one else can be around. That done, I brought back some fun memories of summer when sis and I were kids.

I settled back in my chair and in seconds I was back on Tenney Street, when it was a two-lane brick road. It was a sultry summer afternoon, the air was heavy and every breeze was a godsend. Sis and I were sitting on the front steps watching cars go by, and there weren't many of those. The neighbors across the street were sitting on their porch swing, fanning themselves and sipping lemonade.

We weren't just watching traffic, though; we were waiting for Mom to come back from Cooper's Gas Station less than a block away. We didn't have a car, we walked everywhere. Mom was getting her Pall Mall cigarettes, and we didn't expect anything else, but we sure got a happy surprise.

As we sat waiting, both of us too hot to even talk, we heard a sound coming from about half a block away. I can still see her making her way home. Mom held three bottles of Pepsi, the glass slick with condensation, the red, white and blue logo beaded with water drops. The bottles were tinkling against each other making the sweetest sound. Mom was smiling, just a little, another welcome image that makes for a happy memory.

I don't think ice cold soda has ever tasted as good as it did that summer afternoon when I was ten.

Fast forward a few decades, and there I am, married, with two little boys. This was an especially sweet recollection of a time when the whole family got along well, when we celebrated for no good reason. We simply got together for a cookout, baseball, volleyball and tag. The kids chased and caught lightning bugs and let them go, and rode with Grandpa on his tractor or piled in the wagon behind it and made countless trips around the house. In-laws and cousins laughed together and talked for hours, until the little ones fell asleep in our laps and we carted them off home to tuck in their own beds.

We all grew older and sadly, in some cases, grew apart, yet each of us carries our own memories of those times and it would do everyone good to bring them back to mind. Maybe if we did it often enough we would be tempted to create more good experiences that our kids and grandkids can bring to mind when they need a happy place to visit.

This week I was fortunate enough to be invited to a poodle birthday party. I got to meet half a dozen of the most well-behaved, one-year-old standard poodles all gussied up in their finest fur, hair bows and party hats. There was cake and ice cream and a dandy behind-the-scenes story to go along with this special day for some incredible women and the dogs they love and who obviously love them. I'll share that with you next Wednesday in the Lifestyles section.

I mentioned this story because I'm putting it away for the future when I need a heart-warming and fun memory to get me through a tough day. We're all going to get those, you know, but I'm betting that each of us have had more good times than bad. Let's all work on creating fun times, and when we're going through a rough patch, let's get together and support one another. It couldn't hurt, and it just might end up being brought to mind someday when you need to visit your own Happy Place.

Martyrdom not all it’s cracked up to be

We practice a lot of martyrdom in our house, but it's not the kind one would normally think of.

When the checkbook is screaming for mercy we will buy store-brand diet soda, which, truth be told, isn't half bad. If Pepsi or Coke is on sale, we'll grab that instead--after all, what's a few cents once a month? And we like to add flavors like root beer, Dr. Pepper, 7Up, that sort of thing.

Eventually the fridge will play host to a mixture of the good stuff and the not half bad stuff, and then the game begins.

Me: "Hey, grab me a soda while you're up."

Him: "What kind?"

Me: "A cola's fine."

Him: "OK. Here's yours, I'll be a martyr and drink the store brand."

That used to bother me; now I just smile and say thanks.

We went from soda martyrdom to air conditioning martyrdom about a month ago. I have a small office on the northeast corner of the house and it gets plenty warm and stuffy in there in summer. I love the privacy, and it's got quite an organized-chaos thing going on, but stepping foot inside the door discourages serious work of any kind. The ice cubes in my name-brand soda melt awfully fast so I mentioned how nice it would be to have an air conditioner in there. Without the slightest hesitation, the remaining air conditioner was given up, installed and started up for me.

"I don't need one," he said. "I'll just use that old box fan and stick it in the window."

I shrugged, got a tall glass of Diet Coke and ice and disappeared into my cool little office.

Eventually I noticed that someone wasn't spending much time at all in his favorite room, and I began to feel bad. Not bad enough to give my a/c, just bad.

I began dropping hints that this was a good time of the year to buy air conditioners, but someone really relishes his role as martyr so nothing much happened at first. Then the 90+ degree days began piling up, and I could feel a weakening in someone's resolve, so off we went to compare prices.

We split up and went to two different stores. Cell phones charged, we gave one another time to get to the proper department then I placed the call.

"I'm looking at a 5000, 8000, 10,000 and 12,000. Didn't we decide it should be 8000?"

"Well, yeah, but I'm not really in front of mine yet. Hold on a sec."

And that's when a helpful, elderly clerk approached and asked me what I was doing. It obviously looked like I was spying for someone and giving out pricing information, so I decided to act natural. "I'm letting my husband know how much the air conditioners are so he can tell me which one to buy."

On the other end of the line I heard, "Huh?"

I continued. "He's outside having a cigarette and he wanted me to come on ahead and pick one out."

"I'm not outside having a cigarette. I told you I just wasn't in front of the air conditioners yet."

The clerk narrowed his eyes, but I was sure he couldn't hear the other end of our conversation. Still, I felt guilty, so I smiled and shook my head. "I've got someone here helping me, and hey, he's pointing out that there's a rebate with this one." I nodded at the clerk, and he proceeded to pick up the unit I pointed at.

In my ear I heard, "Don't pick anything out yet until I compare prices over here. Can you hear me?"

The cart trembled under the weight of the giant box now nestled inside it, and I walked away with a rebate form in hand. "OK," I said, "I'll let you go now. Give me a call when you're ready." And off I went to wander around the store until the phone rang a few minutes later.

"I think I got a real good deal here. I'll be there to pick you up in about five minutes."

I thought about the nice man who had helped me out, and then I headed for the customer service desk. The folks there were polite and understanding and allowed me to leave the loaded cart and rebate form with them. I'm glad I didn't run into the clerk on the way out.

Once home, we switched out the living room unit, put in the new one, read the instructions and waited for cool dry air to make living in our home tolerable again. The smaller unit went upstairs, and all seems to be well. A certain someone is spending more time in his favorite room.

I guess in some cases, martyrdom isn't everything it's cracked up to be.

New job duties, newfound respect for people who care for us all

(Hubby's grandpa, Marvin Grayson, Kewanee's first motorcycle policeman. Thank you, all who came before and all who have come since, for putting your lives on the line for us every day. And that goes for all others who protect us, give us aid and teach - you're all very much appreciated.)



The last few weeks have been eye-opening. New duties at work have allowed me to meet some folks I ordinarily would avoid; you know, police officers, courthouse security, judges and the like.

I mean, really, who wants to be within eyesight of these keepers of the law? Actually it’s quite OK as long as you’re not breaking said law, but still.

Much to my surprise, I’ve found some of the nicest people ever to cross my path. There are police officers who smile and laugh and joke around. You soon realize that they have family, hobbies, just regular outside lives like most everyone else. Thing is, you also soon realize what they have to deal with day in and day out and that’s when it’s time to be thankful that someone felt called to what they do for a living.

Law enforcement people are held to a higher standard in many areas, so in addition to the pressures of everyday duties they must maintain what must seem like impossibly high expectations. They know this going into the job so it comes as no surprise, and it’s good to know they are out there protecting us all.

These aren’t the only people taking care of us. Think of the caregivers in hospitals and nursing homes, doctors’ offices and clinics. Where would we be without them in our lives?

I wish I had the time and energy to interview those listed above. I would ask them why they were led to do what they do, what keeps them there, because in most cases it certainly can’t be the money. I’m a curious sort and the more people I meet doing my job, the more I want to know why others do theirs.

Like a lot of people I have a scanner that picks up traffic incidents, accidents and those sorts of things. It makes one wonder what goes through an officer’s mind when a domestic disturbance is taking place, or an alarm is going off at a bank, or a fight is happening after midnight. How do their families handle the worry day after day after day?

I also send a prayer of thanks for the emergency responders—firemen, EMTs, anyone who goes into that special frame of mind where the number one priority is to keep their patient alive until they get to a hospital. Honestly, I don’t know how you do it but please keep on doing it. Someday we may need you, and we want someone who loves what they do.

One of the reasons I love covering court proceedings and such is because I’m a big, big fan of shows like Law & Order, and authors like John Grisham. Crime interests me because they are a mystery that must be unraveled and the right criminals caught and brought to justice.

Tough jobs for tough people, true. Here’s to all of you who put your lives and sanity on the line so the rest of us can go about our business knowing you have our backs. Thank you, and stay safe.

Someday you'll say, "This ain't nothin'"

"Here's Max, looking out the window, hoping to see her 'daddy' coming home. Well, Max is gone now and we haven't seen her daddy for over seven years. Whatever we're going through now, please stop for a few minutes and ask yourself if it's the worst thing you've ever experienced. Have you been through something even worse? How did you get through that? Are you old enough now, experienced enough from Life's battles to look at your situation with a calmer heart and make things better instead of worse? I miss having Max in our room every night at bedtime, and I miss our oldest son, but missing them won't bring them back. So, the stuff I'm going through right now, well, this ain't nothin'."

I’ve never been to the Bureau County Fair but I’m hoping to go next month. Craig Morgan, one of my favorite country music entertainers is scheduled to perform and I can’t wait.

Morgan sings a tune called, That’s What I Love About Sunday and though few of the lyrics apply to what happens with our family on Sundays, the sentiment is the same. Sundays are special, from sleeping in, to reading the Sunday papers, then church and finally, spending time on whatever you want to do.

Another Morgan favorite is Redneck Yacht Club. I used to buzz around in my little red convertible, and when that song came on I turned up the volume and let the words wash over me while I rode around town. That tune means summer, and I love it.

International Harvester is a fun sing-a-long song. Who hasn’t been stuck behind a big piece of farm machinery on the two-lane, wishing the driver would turn already? In this song, Morgan tells the other side of the story and I’m sure a lot of people feel he sings the truth.

But one of Morgan’s songs struck a nerve recently and the words made me stop and think. Actually, it was mostly the title that did it: This Ain’t Nothin’ tells the story of an old man who loses just about every material thing he owned in a tornado. When a newsman pushes a microphone in the man’s face and asks him what he’s going to do now that he’s lost everything, the response is, “This ain’t nothin’.” The old man goes on to say that money can replace what was lost in the storm.

What really amounts to something is what the old man has lost throughout his life: His daddy when he was a boy of eight; his brother in the Vietnam War; and his wife of 50 years after a long illness. To him, then, having his home reduced to rubble in seconds’ time was really nothing to be overly concerned about.

When we’re young, it seems we get bent out of shape over the silliest things. We collect hurt feelings and carry grudges until we’re weighed down and worn out. We don’t realize that Life is going to hit us upside the head with real sorrow and loss some day, and many of us aren’t prepared to handle the big things like losing our parents, a job, our home, a sibling or what I found to be the most painful of all, the loss of a child. Now that’s something that sticks with a person forever.

I don’t ever want to lose our home to a tornado or anything else; I’m not all that sure I could be as seemingly unfazed as the old man in Morgan’s song. But if I make it to the fair and this song is sung, I’ll be able to identify with the lyrics, to a certain extent anyway. And that’s somethin’, I reckon.

Isn't it time, maybe past time, for you to take care of you?

Windmont Park, a great place to get away for a minute or two and take in the beauty we're blessed with. We take pics, have lunch, walk or just sit still and...listen. Take some time for you, just you, every now and then. Have the courage to say a firm "no" to those who may have come to think you owe them vast chunks of your time and energy. Enjoy life - on your terms.



Lovely stretch of weather we’ve been enjoying lately, isn’t it? Hold the applause; we can’t take all the credit, just a good chunk of it. Say, over a hundred dollars’ worth which is what it cost to get our car’s air conditioning running again. And now we don't need it much.

Maybe we’re big babies, though our ages belie the fact. As we get older we should be more tolerant of Life’s curve balls. We’ve had experience, having gone through trials that test our mettle, yet some of us begin whining at the first sign of warmish air coming through the dashboard vents. Guilty as charged, but I have to say this: That frigid blast we now have really keeps me awake while driving.

I’m spending a bit more time on the road nowadays so having a comfy ride is appreciated. And while my attention is focused on driving, there is a chance to be alone with my thoughts for short periods of time. As long as I don’t have the radio on, I can concentrate on both of those things at the same time.

For instance, this past Monday would have been our youngest son’s 34th birthday. The road trips afforded the opportunity to bring Luke to mind once again, to marvel over the impact he had on the lives of others in his short time here, and this is most important—to send up a heartfelt thanks for the loved ones still with us.

I have also been working on a new book, one that takes an entirely different direction than anything I’ve tried before. Ideas for this quirky piece of fiction come unexpectedly and most often when nothing else is occupying my thoughts.

New experiences have been a great source of material for my journal, and possible short stories. I can’t stand to waste anything, so whenever there’s a spare minute or two I find a way to record what’s happening.

It’s important, I think, to shoehorn in some “alone” time. Take a notebook or a recorder and drive or walk to a nearby park and just sit and be still. I take my camera, too, to capture images I might forget later. Usually those photos end up on a homemade greeting card, another fun, artistic venture of mine.

I love having these precious moments alone. Time passes too quickly and these opportunities are here and gone in the blink of an eye.

If you find the idea of taking some time for yourself impossible, why not take a short five minutes and make a list of your weekly obligations? Do you find yourself collapsing at the end of the day and falling asleep before bedtime? Can you possibly say “no” to those who continually ask for vast chunks of your time and energy?

Five minutes is all it will take, and maybe, just maybe you’ll find that you really do have enough time to slow down and see things from a new perspective. Don’t wait until circumstances force you to sit still; instead, stand up and take charge of your life and how you spend your time or someone else will do it for you.

Dogs made the whole trip worth it

Meet Thistle, my new yellow Lab friend. Well-behaved, happy and healthy--full of life and love and well worth the trip in a thunderstorm. Dogs rule.



Last Friday afternoon I headed toward Galva to do a feature interview. The sky didn’t look bad, just a few clouds here and there dotted the blue background so I didn’t pay as much attention to the weather as I did to the car behind me. It freaks me out when drivers feel the need to ride within kissing distance to the trunk of my car. I had never been to where I was going, so I wasn’t whizzing along at 55 mph. It was important to watch for the sign that would send me in the right direction.

All turned out well, though, and as I headed over lesser-traveled roads I got kind of excited. Soon I would get to meet some dogs and people who love dogs—a dream assignment.

Upon pulling in, a half a dozen pooches of different breeds greeted me with their versions of hello. Beautiful.

During the interview, I glanced up at a very tall window that showed a sky full of dark, churning clouds. The earlier blue background was gone, and the roof of the building was making sounds not unlike one would hear on Halloween in a haunted house. Then the rains came, complete with thunder and plenty of lightning.

We closed up the interview and I stared out the front door. During an apparent break in the monsoon I made a run for the car. Keep in mind, I no longer “run” anywhere, but as I walked really fast to the car I sent up a prayer that went exactly like this: “I don’t wanna die!” I repeated that line all the way, and once safely inside I followed up with, “Thank you, God.”

After a minute, I started down the road that now sported many large puddles of rain water. Lightning flashed, thunder rolled and the defroster was on full-blast. Bent over the steering wheel, I could see a gigantic piece of farm machinery heading straight for me. With no place to pull off, I veered right and started praying again. To my surprise, the driver pulled into a gravel drive ahead of me and I made it to the highway. Now all I had to do was make it home down Rt. 34.

The windshield wipers were going at warp speed but even that wasn’t enough as three semis buzzed past me and sent waves of water onto the windshield. More prayer, and soon I was at Walmart, huddled in a pathetic ball of pent-up fear and waiting once again for a let-up in the downpour. Eventually I made it inside, got what I needed and headed home.

It never occurred to me to ask if the interview I’d just done was worth it, or to complain (too much) about the timing of the storm while I was out in the country. All I had to do was load the pictures of the dog I’d just met onto the computer. Seeing his smiling face I immediately brought back the experience of meeting someone new, and hearing them share the love of what they do.

Jobs don’t get much better than this.

Please don't weirdify my happy place

Ah, Dad's and Mom's back porch. We spent so much time together here, talking and laughing and eating and making plans. Dad used to line the top rail all 'round with tomatoes from his garden, then invite anyone and everyone to take what they needed whenever they wanted. I go here in my mind every now and then because it truly is a "happy place" for me.



I had to laugh out loud the other day when I read the cartoon strip Get Fuzzy. The cat’s name is Bucky, the dog’s name is Satchel and their owner is Rob.

Bucky has no respect for Rob, often calling him Pinkie. He doesn’t think much of Satchel either; in fact, he considers himself the smartest of the three. But I’ve been following the storyline where Bucky decides to change his name to Steve because he believed most geniuses nowadays are named Steve. Bucky’s a genius, most men he knows of named Steve are geniuses, ergo, Bucky should change his name to Steve.

Rob dismissed Bucky’s fantasy for a little while, then felt bad about it so he bought Bucky a couple of outfits with the names of two famous Steves on them. If you’ve ever tried to dress up a cat, you can probably see where this is going. It wasn’t pretty, but Rob finally stuffed his cat into one of the outfits, and the line that sent me into a giggle fit was, “Why must you weirdify my happy place?”

Isn’t that the funniest thing? I mean, have you ever been in your happy place when someone’s come along and just messed up your whole space? Maybe they dampened your mood or dismissed your one-of-a-kind idea. In effect, they weirdified your happy place.

I’ve decided to add this little phrase to my vocabulary. It’s my favorite one at the moment, though there are other ditties I like to toss out now and then.

If someone shares a good experience, I often say, “Cool.” That never gets old to me. “Cool beans” is another popular phrase around here. Many times folks will hear us use Seinfeld-isms, those are our own private jokes; we haven’t run into too many people who get what we’re saying and that’s OK.

Stephen King has inspired a few favorite phrases, though I’m not willing to put my job on the line and use any of them in this newspaper. They’re a hoot though, and I like using one every now and then just to see the look on a certain someone’s face. It’s, well, cool.

Now my father-in-law said some funny stuff. One favorite was, “gosh-darn-it-to-heck anyway!” I tend to use that one often, but one we all remember is, “Let’s get goin’ so we can get back.” Thing is, I say that and mean it, just like Dad did.

That reminds me that this Sunday is Father’s Day. My dad passed on over 15 years ago, and my father-in-law has been gone for six years. We miss him something fierce and not just on Father’s Day. He was such a big part of our lives in so many ways and what we wouldn’t give to turn back time and spend more of it with Dad.

Well, wouldn’t you know it? Gosh darn it to heck, I’ve gone and weirdified my happy place. And that’s not cool.

If your dad is still a part of your family, do something extra special for him this weekend. You’ll be glad you did, and so will he.