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.