She's gone, finally. I hope.

One (hopefully) last hate-filled rant came quietly into my email box tonight from a former friend and business partner. I will say she does know me well, a little too well, but that's my fault. God willing, I'll never be that open with anyone like that ever again.

I've re-read her note several times. She obviously dislikes me intensely, and in a few ways that surprises me. She's a Buddhist and she's the one that taught me they (the Buddhists) are a gentle and loving people, a peaceful people. And I never thought they were a materialistic people, but maybe I'm wrong.

Like I said above, hopefully this is the end. She gave me something, I no longer have it, she demanded it back and now she's finally faced the fact that it is gone forever. Lots of "things" hold sentimental value to us, we're human after all, but honestly I thought this whole thing was going to go on forever. For her own mental health I hope she gets over this once and for all.

If I could pick friends as family, these two would be a part of ours

Someday we'll meet again, as we all eventually travel on ahead of loved ones. The important thing is that we all reunite at the same destination.


There are some people who come into your life and leave a loving and deep impression. You may see them often or years could go by before you meet up again. They are the ones who make us smile whenever a memory pops into our head, and even after too much time apart it feels like no time at all has passed. They’re special, and when we lose them for good, at least here on earth, they are irreplaceable.

Donna was one such friend. She never forgot to send a birthday card, never looked at you without a smile on her face that went all the way up to her eyes and was always ready with a hug. She had a way of getting you to talk about yourself and making you comfortable doing it.

Her work ethic was unmatched. When we both belonged to the Evangelical Covenant Church, Donna volunteered to be its janitor. At one point I was doing the sanctuary cleaning—vacuuming, dusting, cleaning out the pews and such. But Donna did the heavy stuff. She cleaned the kitchen, the tile floors, the Sunday school rooms and nursery. She didn’t just wipe a mop across the floors and the steps; she got down on her hands and knees and scrubbed because, as she pointed out with that smile of hers, “You just can’t get ‘em clean in the corners when you use a mop.”

Not many saw Donna cleaning since the church was almost always empty then, but we saw the results. And she knew Who she was cleaning for and she felt honored to do it. Donna passed away last week and I’m going to miss her like I haven’t missed someone in a long, long time.

A few days ago I said good-bye to someone else high up there on my list of friends I’ll never forget. Hubby and I watched Pastor Bruce on television most Sunday mornings, and I almost always took notes. As soon as he’d hit a topic close to my heart I’d say, “I sure hope so-and-so heard that!” Then, without fail, I’d realize the message was meant for me. That never got old.

Late Sunday afternoon I was leaving the office when I caught the sound of a car idling. I looked across the street and saw Bruce walking slowly down the steps of the church, holding a cake. He glanced my way and called my name.

As the sun set and cars traveled back and forth on Main, we met in the middle of Central Boulevard and spoke briefly. “I’m going to miss you,” I said, feeling the deep sadness so many of us felt as we watched him preach in Kewanee for the last time that morning.

“I’m going to miss you too,” he replied. He carefully waved the cake as he added, “This is my home, and I’ll miss it.”

I don’t remember what else we said, but it was short and bittersweet. United Methodist pastors often are moved after four or five years, and we were blessed to have Bruce for nine. It’s going to feel strange for a while to not see him standing in the pulpit on Sunday.

It’s likely we’ll see Bruce again; after all, he and his family are only about an hour away. And here’s the thing. He’s that kind of friend I told you about, and when we do run into one another again we’ll pick up where we left off. I love that in a friend, no matter where they are.

Let's not take one another for granted

Have you ever noticed how easy it is to take people and things for granted and forget how lucky you are to have either? I have.

Even though sometimes I’m busier than a one-armed paper hanger I make the time to read. Usually I have three books going at once: one by the bed, one by my chair in the living room and one in a travel bag that goes with me out of town every Monday.

Someone at the Star Courier left two Michael Connelly paperbacks on my desk about a year ago and now I’m hooked on the guy’s stories. I finished a Connelly book, plus the crime novel in the travel bag and I wanted to leave the Murder, She Wrote tale by the bedside. The bookshelves didn’t yield anything interesting, so I sat in the living room and began to panic about having nothing to read.

Boy, you talk about a “slap to the forehead” moment. A glance to the right brought my Nook into view. There are no words to describe what I was thinking at that moment.
Not counting this week, there are over 150 books on my Nook. They aren’t all novels; I have cookbooks, biographies, memoirs and all kinds of other things, including Reader’s Digest. Almost everything was free or close to it. And here I thought I had nothing to read. How could I forget one of the best birthday gifts ever?

Something else got my brain cells going the other day. Both of the guys were gone for quite a while and I was home with just the sleeping dog for company. As someone who has never lived on her own, and I mean never (unless you count the time I ran away from home for less than 10 hours when I was a teenager), I thought it would be cool to have some time to myself.

As the door closed behind our son, it hit me: So, I thought, this is what it’s like to be alone. I didn’t like it one bit.

The hours stretched and I got little done. It occurred to me that, in time, this could actually happen. I’ll have all the time I need to get things done and there’ll be time left over to think too much about how busy and fun life used to be.

The other day we were talking about this and that and I don’t know how it came up, but hubby said he would rather have me around than a million bucks. We laughed, but he was serious. “I guess you’ve grown on me,” he said. “I’m kinda used to having you around.”

Then it hit me. I may take some things for granted and forget a few of them, but I’ll never take the people closest to me for granted. And though they’ve grown on me too, I want them to be around for a long, long time.

Everything we see is temporary...do what you need to do while you still can

I took this photo on the way home from Cambridge one Monday afternoon. Instead of being frazzled and frustrated because I was stuck in traffic for a bit, I took advantage of the situation. Got a beautiful shot, and kept my blood pressure down. Win-win.


“If money was no object, and you could live anywhere you wanted, where would you go?”

My better half thought for a few seconds. “I’m not sure I want to live anywhere else but it would be fun to travel.”

Then he just had to add, “Traveling with you would be like hell on wheels.”

He’s probably right.

I have a problem with heights, sheer drop-offs, bridges, insects (especially spiders, bees, wasps and such), snakes, green scaly things, bats, open-back staircases. You get the idea.

A few months into our first year of marriage we visited some caves in Missouri. I had a great time except for wearing the wrong clothes and shoes. It was hot outside, but inside was no place for shorts and flip-flops. At one point during a climb or a descent the cave went completely pitch dark and I froze. It’s something I do in a panic and no amount of persuasion was going to get me to move, and that was after the light returned and I was told I was holding up the line. That may have been our last “extreme” vacation.

I read fellow columnist John Sloan’s vacation pieces with more than a tinge of sadness, simply because he and his lovely wife seem to have such a blast doing crazy, fun and (to me) dangerous things. In my mind they’re living life to the fullest, the way God intended.

Gee, on last year’s trip to Branson I was so freaked with the maniacal traffic I completely missed the scenery. I heard it was awesome.

These thoughts came to me after reading columnist Leonard Pitts’s piece on the reasons to live our lives to the fullest. He wrote, “Get done what you came here to do, give the gifts you were meant to give, do the good you’re able to do, say what you need to say, now, today, because everything you see is temporary, the clock is ticking and the alarm could go off any second.”

Wish I’d said that.

I hope I get done what I came here to do, but sometimes it takes us years to figure out just what that is. And the gift-giving part is easy enough because it can mean all kinds of things, material or otherwise.

Many of us try to do good but we all slip and fall in that area. The trick is to keep trying.

As far as saying what we need to say, now, today—well, that’s a toughie. Our words can get us into deep trouble, the kind that it’s nearly impossible to free ourselves from no matter how hard we try. On the flip side, we too often hold back what we really want to say, time passes, and before we know it, it’s too late. The relationship is beyond repair and we move on, hoping to never repeat what happened.

It’s true. The clock is ticking and the alarm could go off at any time. Maybe we should open ourselves up to new opportunities, new places to visit and/or live, keeping in mind that as far as anyone knows, this is It. We don’t get another go-round, so let’s make the most of it.

Now all I need is a wee bit of courage and a windfall of cash and I’m good to go.

These ladies have class

This picture was taken at Tremont and First streets in Kewanee. Our little group has traveled this road many times on the way to meet for lunch or breakfast. I'm blessed to have these ladies, and I do mean ladies in my life. They've taught me a lot, all good things, and I hope to keep learning from them for a long time.


Our little group of eight met this week for breakfast at a local place. We used to have more regulars; some have passed away and some have simply drifted away. It’s the kind of group where no one scolds you for not showing up once a month but we do let each other know they will be missed.

I’m the secretary and card-sender here, and honestly, though it’s a volunteer position they should fire me. I get caught up in work and other stuff and I forget to do my job. On this particular morning I even forgot the recording book. The leader just laughed it off and told everyone the next time I’d probably have to read a couple of months’ worth of entries. I think she expects me to forget it in June too.

We usually meet for lunch in town. We have lunched in Galva, Bishop Hill, Galesburg and at Tanner’s Orchard. No matter where we gather, most of the ladies have many things in common.

Looking around the table I noticed the matching clothes and jewelry, from earrings and necklaces to rings, bracelets and brooches. They wear makeup, including lipstick, and their hair is beautifully done. These women care about their appearance and it shows.

When we get together we talk about current world events, news around town and what’s happened to us or our loved ones since we last met. If you sit near us you won’t hear mean-spirited gossip or cursing because these gals have class.

I watched as they laughed and ate and listened intently to one another. It’s refreshing to be with people who don’t lament over the menu items and complain about what they can and can’t have. Orders were placed for eggs, sausage, bacon, biscuits and gravy – you name it, and one of us probably ordered it. And we enjoyed every bite.

At our ages we’re well aware that time is precious. There are some that travel but most everyone finds a way to get out and about often. We’ve met in the dead of winter and on the hottest summer days, and once the weather talk is over we find other things to laugh and talk about and we leave feeling happy and full and looking forward to the next month.

I wasn’t sure what to expect when I joined this Red Hat group. They’ve turned out to be some of the kindest and fun-loving people I’ve ever met. They have an inner strength and even when their world has been rocked, they don’t cower or complain. I found tender-hearted tough women here and I’m learning a few things.

I do like to throw them off base now and then. While we finished breakfast that morning I noticed a news story on the television across the room about a woman running down an interstate and the headline said she wasn’t wearing any pants. As their attention turned toward the story, I watched the news sink in and the laughter rippled up and down the long table. We left the restaurant that day in good moods, ready to head out and tackle whatever Life had in store.

I’m thankful for many things, and this group is one of them. Our leader said before we left, “We sure know how to have fun, don’t we?” Yeah, Marilyn we do. Thanks for welcoming me in all those years ago, and I promise you this: I will bring my book next time. But maybe you should give me a call, just in case.

I imagined the possibilities and it was good

You could have knocked me over with a feather.

The mailman came by early Tuesday morning and along with an AARP advertisement and a Netflix movie (Unstoppable, starring hunk Denzel Washington) I brought in a piece of mail that is undoubtedly going to change a lot of things for me.

My novel about a small town’s few surviving inhabitants making it through a natural disaster was accepted for publication by one of the Big Houses. I can’t tell anyone except a few chosen people just which publisher it is, but you’d know it if you heard the name.

I can see it now: My name among the now-famous authors already on bookshelves in libraries and bookstores around the country. Maybe there will be book signings and radio gigs, library talks and other appearances. I’m not good at public speaking but I’m willing to give it a try.

The book took almost two years to write, and another 18 months to find an agent, go through edits, then sell it to the publisher. It was hard to keep the whole process a secret, especially for me.

I can’t seem to stop daydreaming about other possibilities. What about the next book? I’m working on two, a novel and a memoir, and I’m guessing with all the hoopla there will be even less time to write. What if some big movie house or television studio wants to buy the rights? I can see I’ll need legal advice; maybe John Grisham is still practicing law and is available to help out a fellow scribe.

And what if the movie producers want to film the story in a real small town? I know they’ve shot some flicks in Iowa, and that wouldn’t be such a trip but what about someplace in Illinois? That’s where the story takes place, after all, but I’m guessing a first-time author wouldn’t have a lot of say in the matter.

Still, if a famous producer does decide to buy the book and make it into a film, he or she would need movie extras. It would be the icing on the cake if folks around here could be a part of the whole experience.

Now I’ve gone off and let my imagination run away from me. The publication date hasn’t been announced yet and here I am making a movie out of it. I think it’s about time to come back to Earth.

Oh, I almost forgot to give you the title of the book. Ready? It’s called, “April Fool’s Day”. (I really love April Fool’s Day.)

Hey, don’t blame me. Two of my fellow columnists have penned fiction and I thoroughly enjoyed both of their “stories”.

And someday, when my daydream does come true, I’ll tell you all about it. The book currently under construction could use a good-looking leading man like Denzel, or maybe Matt Damon would be interested. Hey, a girl can dream, right?

Where is he?

This is Gary - many of you know him. He's the main reason I'm trying so hard to find Clint. His dad is gone now and we miss him more than ever. We couldn't contact Clint to let him know his grandpa was sick or that he had died. I just can't let this go until I feel there is nowhere else to turn. In this electronic age I would think there has to be something I'm overlooking and that's why I'm trying everything I can think of, hoping someday to see our son again.


The photo on the right is the one being used for a Clint Washburn Facebook page, a page many of his friends and acquaintances are associated with. We can't seem to find anyone who has heard from him or who gets an answer from him when they write.



I really did not want to write this entry.

A few months back a brother-in-law came home tipsy, not an uncommon occurrence, but something he said during a rambling moment cut hubby and me to the core.

We were sitting around his mom's kitchen table and the subject of our missing son came up. It was then that we heard this family member say that he and our nephew knew where our son "probably" was and that they knew he was fine.

I felt such a range of emotions I can't put them into words. I think my husband aged a year in that few seconds.

With one look from his mom, my brother-in-law shut right up and laughed off our facial expressions and unasked question: just WHERE IS OUR SON?

I'm guessing most of you would have physically jumped the guy and demanded answers, but in this family you don't do that. You keep your mouth shut and...pray. That's it. We're supposed to just pray about it and wait for an answer.

Well, I've had it. I DO pray - dozens of times throughout the day but I also believe that you have to sometimes take action.

I've written to ask the nephew for information, then I e-mailed him. No answer.

This family full of praying members has splintered, probably beyond repair, and we're as puzzled as we can possibly be. I cannot imagine what keeps us from coming together, what awful thing we (or I) have done to cause this giant rift.

So, here I am - again - pleading for some guidance in how to go about finding our son. I'm getting a very bad feeling about the outcome, no matter how bright a spin I try to put on it.

This family stopped asking about our son years ago, as if he doesn't exist anywhere anymore. That is simply not acceptable, or Christian.

I'm open to ideas. And if anyone is ready with criticism about this post, do me a favor: pray about it first. Because like I said, I really did not want to post this. As a mom and a wife I just had to.

Thanks.

Of Nooks and books and writing dreams

Last year was the first time in a long while that I didn't finish a novel during National Novel Writing Month. I was sad about that; and the feeling persisted for weeks after that special month was over. Even though I've written at least half a dozen novels, and tens of thousands (or more) of words in personal journals, there's just something about writing a book along with fellow writers from around the world. It's special--in more ways than one. So, back to writing I go!


Monday and Tuesday were long days this week, full of all kinds of interesting people and events. I was out of town working all day Monday, then came home to work some more. Tuesday was spent doing a lot of the work I started on Monday, plus the opportunity came by to attend a session on learning more about my Nook.

Turned out I knew most of what this remarkable e-reader is capable of, but I still came away with some golden nuggets of information I plan to use. (And no, the very nice man did not teach us how to remove the “skin” that’s put over the Android operating system, or show us how to then tweak said device to turn it into a very inexpensive computer “tablet”.) But I digress.

Thing is, I learned more than what the Nook can do. What made me smile was how focused and excited the folks were who attended. Yes, I’ll admit, some knew even more than I did but that’s cool.

What impressed me was how much people love to read. We were all over the map with our favorite genres, and as some learned how to shop for e-books it became apparent that we all wished we could live long enough to read the hundreds of thousands of books available to us.

I have to say that our library is beyond wonderful. Think about it. They could be moaning all over the place that e-books will take the place of hold-in-your-hands books, magazines and newspapers. Instead, the director and a couple of staff were on hand to learn along with the rest of us, and they were excited too.

We know we can combine the new with the traditional. I’m willing to bet that although those who attended the two sessions have quite a number of e-books on their Nooks, they also have paperbacks and hardbacks strewn throughout their homes. I’m reading four books at the moment; one’s by the bed, another is in my extra purse, and two are on my Nook. I figure I need to live at least another hundred years to read everything I want to.

Which brings up another thought—I want to write books too. Yes, I’ve written about half a dozen and they’re not awful but I need some time to work on them. I got the boost I needed to continue on with that dream when I saw how excited the group was that night over finding the books they wanted. It takes precious time to lose oneself in a story, time we’re willing to give if the characters, setting and plot keep us enthralled.

At the end of that long Tuesday, I was exhausted but happy. I was going to give up writing my family memoir and the mystery novel I started a few months back, simply because there seemed to be no time left over after work. Well, guess what? There is time, if you are determined enough to go for the dream. Turns out all I needed was a reminder from a book’s best friend—our library.

Forgetting to remember - or something like that

This is our library - and, good news! Nook sessions are rescheduled and will be held next Tuesday. Can't wait, and this time I'll have everything I need. I hope.



It takes something near and dear to my heart (or our bank account) to get me out of the house once I’m home for the day. After work and errands are done, so am I. It seems there is so little “me” time that I’ve been saying no to anything not absolutely necessary.

Tuesday morning I finished some work, went to McDonald’s for breakfast then it was off to pick up three things at Walmart. I knew there were three things because I wrote them down on a small piece of yellow paper that I forgot on the kitchen table. Two things I can remember, but three requires making a list.

When I made the list I must have had some premonition I would forget it because I played a mind game to help me—just in case. As I finished my coffee at McD’s it dawned on me the list was across town. I smiled as I got ready to recall the three items: meds, soda and, oh rats, what was the third thing?

Ah, yes. It began with a “p”. Now, what item in Walmart begins with a p? I could see precious time slipping away while I went through the possibilities, when all of a sudden it came to me. It was light bulbs.

Light bulbs? There isn’t a p to be found in light bulbs! Whoa. I needed a nap.

No time for a nap, since there was someplace I needed to be at 3, so I gathered everything together. I’ll admit this wasn’t a have-to type of event, but I had been looking forward to this for a while. The library was hosting a couple of sessions on how to get the most out of our Nook ebook readers.

I’ve had my Nook for a few months and can navigate it pretty well. There are over 100 books on it, and I love that darn thing. I was sure the representative from Barnes and Noble would be able to teach me a thing or two, plus I had my own set of questions written on a piece of yellow paper stuffed into a library book I needed to return.

I brought my Barnes and Noble book bag downstairs, put the charged Nook inside along with the charger, grabbed my purse and headed to the library. After parking the car and turning it off, I sat and let the realization sink in: the list of questions and the book were sitting at home on the desk in the foyer.

On my way across the street I struggled to remember the questions that were so important to me. When would we ever get another rep to come to town to help us? My mind was a blank, and then I arrived at the back door of the library.

It took about three seconds to sink in, but then my blank mind filled up with all kinds of thoughts. None of them were pretty, nor are they printable. I was looking for the flyer for the sessions so I would go to the right floor when my gaze fell on the note taped across the flyer. I’m paraphrasing here, but the message was something like, “There will be no session as the person who was coming had a family emergency.”

I know, I know. Family emergencies trump Nook sessions—no argument. And I did forget my list of questions, so I’ll save them for another time. I really hope there is another time because as of this moment, I have the library book and questions inside the book bag.

On second thought, maybe I should put the whole shebang in the car. That should work, unless we take the truck.

Never let anyone define you - define yourself

Never be bullied into silence. Never allow yourself to be made a victim. Accept no one's definition of your life; define yourself. (Harvey Fierstein)

The probability that we may fail in the struggle ought not to deter us from the support of a cause we believe to be just. (Abraham Lincoln)



I was working downstairs Saturday when Sarah Jane came running through the living room. No one was chasing her, but soon it was evident the dog was in trouble. Then I heard a word that doesn’t belong in a family-friendly newspaper and it all came together: husband painting a wall plus a dog opening the laundry room door explained the bright blue streak on Sarah’s right side. It wasn’t a pretty color combo.

After a few tries I cornered the poor pooch, and with a wet towel we got her cleaned up. One could say that even though she looked fine, Sarah was still blue—just in a different way.

Most of us might admit we’ve felt blue on occasion. Some folks feel out of sorts when winter drags on too long, or after they see a sad movie, or for dozens of other reasons.

There are those who can shake off the “blues”; they are strong enough to let go of whatever is coloring their world, and look toward the future without shedding tears or losing sleep.

I found the first quote above on Facebook the other day, and it made me think of some friends of mine who have allowed themselves to be bullied into silence. After speaking their mind they were bombarded with insults and almost instantly they retreated into silence, and having been there myself I can tell you it can make you feel blue. Instead of shaking off the barbs and standing tall, some will opt for the safer choice by retreating and becoming a victim. In addition, they have allowed someone else to define them.

The quote by Lincoln at first may not seem to have much to do with the previous one, yet in this case it does. One of the friends mentioned above voiced how they felt on a social issue and before you could say boo, the comments came fast and furious. My friend went silent instead of defending himself so I sent him a private message. In it I told him I hoped he would continue to fight for what he believed in, and that he would shake off the insults.

There are times, though they are few anymore, when people can share their differing views on politics, social issues and the like without resorting to name-calling. This wasn’t one of those times and I didn’t want to see my friend deterred from supporting a cause he whole-heartedly believed in.

Turns out I needn’t have worried. Word came that although he wasn’t posting his opinion where we could see it, he was still fighting the fight and, as he told me, he wasn’t feeling “blue” at all.

Friendship connections like that brighten my life and I’m thankful for all of them. I was thinking about that the other day on my way out of town. Remember when we had the thunder, lightning and icy rain Sunday night? I thought my trip out of town the following day would be canceled, but the day turned sunny and as I drove down the highway beneath a stunning blue sky I couldn’t help but notice the ice that clung to branches, utility poles and long grass. The beauty of it all took my breath away, proving once again that even in the aftermath of an ice storm you can find something to make you glad to be alive. And there’s no reason to be silent about that, is there?

Warm thoughts on a cold winter's day

Like most everyone else, we were snowed in last Wednesday. But we had plenty of food, our boiler was heating the house, and I was feeling plenty blessed. There were many others who had to be out in that mess and as far as I could tell, they did their jobs quite well indeed. Thanks--to all of you!


To say today feels weird is an understatement. It’s Wednesday morning, the first day I can remember in years when almost the whole town is “closed”. As the closings and cancellations were read off on the radio I had to wonder if it wouldn’t have been easier to tell us what was open instead.

No newspapers arrived at their usual time; no mail either but I’m not complaining. I hope no one else did either. How often does something like this happen anyway?

The dog was a bit bewildered about the whole winter landscape thing. If us humans had snowdrifts up to our you-know-whats, think about the poor dogs—especially the little ones. Sarah Jane needed paths shoveled in the back and front of the house in order to use her facilities. To make it more interesting, she takes pills each day with one side effect being increased thirst and having to go potty.

I really thought the weather forecasters were full of beans but that didn’t stop us from stocking up on essentials and comfort foods. Turns out two of us were out shopping at about the same time a couple of days ahead of the storm, and by the time I texted the message, “I bought milk” it was too late. We have two gallons of milk that expire on the same day, two bottles of salad dressing and four bags of potato chips.

There are chocolate chip cookies in the cookie jar, and a freshly-baked apple pie on the counter. Bread is rising near the stove, and soup sounds great for lunch. It’s a blessing to be inside where it’s warm and cozy, and I couldn’t be more thankful most everyone kept their power on during those horrendous winds.

It’s been interesting to listen to the scanner chatter. I’ve heard conversations about what kind of people are dumb enough to risk life and limb to drive at times like these, how many cars and trucks were stuck in the middle of the road or in ditches, and alarming reports of snow plow drivers who found themselves lost because they couldn’t tell what street they were on.

Some who were sent out to rescue others needed rescuing themselves. Thoughts swirled around here about whether we should buy a generator in case the heat went out. Our boiler struggled to keep up with the frigid wind whipping out of the northeast, and we began shutting doors to rooms we wouldn’t be using until the weather calmed down.

Even if you’ve had a bit of a tough time over the last few days, there are probably plenty of things to be thankful for. And after having a home and loved ones safe inside, I’m thankful for those who are out there shoveling, plowing and rescuing stranded strangers. Kudos to all of you.

Remembering Dwen, Patti and Dad

Don't you sometimes wonder what goes through a dog's mind? Sarah Jane loves to sit and stare out a window and she gets this faraway look in her eyes, like she's having a special memory. I do that too, especially when I want to bring someone back for just a little while.


Many years ago when there was a Bonanza restaurant on Tenney St., I remember walking inside for breakfast and finding a table off to my left with three deceased diners seated around it. Time stopped as I gaped at the two men and one woman eating eggs, drinking coffee and laughing, apparently unaware they shouldn’t still be here—on Earth.

I took a spot on the right side of the restaurant and continued to steal glances in their direction. Today I can’t remember who these folks were, and even back then my eyesight was terrible so obviously these three simply resembled my dearly-departed acquaintances.

Obviously.

Nowadays I only see those who have passed on in my mind and dreams. Take the Australian Open, now in its second and final week. Some top seeds are still in the running—Roger Federer, Kim Clijsters, Andy Murray—though that could change by the time this sees print. I’m pulling for Federer and Clijsters, but was sad to see Rafael Nadal lose so soon. A match between him and the “Federer Express” is always a fun one to watch.

I mention this event because it brings a dear friend to mind. Dwen Freeburg played tennis for decades, up into his 90s. He introduced my husband to a group of friends who play tennis every week, something we’re both thankful for. And we had a blast talking about the major tennis tournaments and players throughout the year, something we miss now since Dwen is gone.

Almost every Monday I head to the courthouse for hearings, and that’s when my friend Patti comes to mind. Patti passed away a few months ago from breast cancer; I pause by her artwork on the first level of the courthouse and in my mind we say hi to each other. I only use my pink breast cancer awareness pen while there because it makes me feel close to her.

Then there’s Dad. There have been dozens of opportunities since he passed where a situation comes about that calls for a right or wrong declaration. In my dealings with my father-in-law, he saw things as one way or the other and he wasn’t a bit shy about telling you what he believed. At times I thought he was a bit rigid, that there was more than one way to look at something, but I admired the heck out of a man who was bold enough to put what was in his heart into words that he stood by.

Dad comes to mind when I struggle with something or someone and my heart is telling me one thing while those around me tell me something else. More often than not I end up deciding on the answer that gives me peace of mind, even if it doesn’t please everyone. I believe that’s what Dad did, and he was admired by many for that trait.

While it’s mentally healthier to remain rooted in the present, I find it comforting to return to the past now and then to bring those we loved to mind, just for a minute or two. It’s much less shocking to the system than imagining you can actually see them out and about at a local eatery. Which reminds me, I really do need new glasses.

Missing our little guy

A tribute to our youngest, Luke Anthony. It's comforting to know we'll see him again someday.



It’s been 33 years ago today, and I wonder how many of those who came to know him, even a little, remember this date.

He was born July 28, 1977 at Kewanee Public Hospital. Luke Anthony weighed 3.5 pounds, and following a collapsed lung, our youngest was whisked away to the neonatal unit at Peoria’s Saint Francis Hospital. I was allowed a quick look at him through his portable incubator before he was off on his journey. It would be 10 days before I saw our son again.

I don’t believe anyone in our family or circle of friends thought for one minute that Luke would never come home to Kewanee again.

Once the shock, denial and anger at our situation subsided, our little family made the best of a bad situation. Luke had two older brothers and both were under 5, so they weren’t allowed at the hospital. Hubby had to keep working, and as a mom I simply had to be at our son’s cribside as much as possible.

We learned more than we ever wanted to about premature birth, the health consequences, quality of life and much more. Luke was on oxygen, he had shunts put in to drain water off his brain, he had a hernia, and his blood was taken for testing so often the doctors and nurses ran out of places to draw from.

You would think that the world we were living in at that time was a scary and dark place, and in many ways it was. We prayed our hearts out that Luke would come home to live with us, but every setback (and there were many) seemed to say it wasn’t to be.

But the world wasn’t all gloom and doom. Members of the First United Methodist Church quietly stepped in with offers of free babysitting for the boys, money for travel, a new outfit for me—just to lift my spirits, food and prayers. Pastor Phil from Peoria and Pastor Bob from Kewanee visited our home and the hospital regularly.

Now and then I would bring someone along to visit Luke so they could learn how to prepare to enter his special room. No jewelry, lots of hand scrubbing, masks and gowns—that was the routine. There was a brief time when we were taught how to care for our son when he came home, and we were prepared to take on that job, no matter what it took.

The call came in the wee hours of a cold January morning. Everything that could be done for Luke had been done. We were told we had to make a decision, so we prayed and then asked hubby’s brother and wife to be with us and our two pastors on that unforgettable day.

I held our son, Daddy’s arm around us both as Luke passed away. His Uncle Mark and Aunt Debbie drove us home that day, and they, along with other family and friends helped us get through what comes after the loss of a child.

I have a few favorite memories of that time, and I kept daily journals that are tucked away in the attic. The few photos we were allowed to take have darkened over time, but I remember that sweet face. I hope I always will.

If you know someone who has lost a child, whether through illness or some other way, please know that moms and dads most always welcome the chance to talk about their son or daughter. We just need someone to remember, and to listen.

I need to be surrounded by things that inspire me

Sarah Jane in one of her more peaceful poses...makes me realize even Labs slow down and rest once in a while.



“Creativity is a road out of pain—physical and mental misery.” (Stephen King)

Those who know me well know my favorite author is Stephen King. The quote above speaks volumes, and for me it’s true.

King has had plenty of physical and mental misery. He was a drug user for years, he fought mental demons throughout that time, and then he was hit by a wayward van one day as he was taking his daily walk. The accident, as it were, nearly killed the author but he wrote through that pain just as he wrote through psychological pain.

Ray Bradbury is on my list of favorite writers, and one time I read where he surrounds himself in his office with untold numbers of odd items to keep his imagination active and sharp. I’ve not read much of his work lately, but obviously I’ve picked up his idea of loading my foyer office with interesting doodads to help me jumpstart the ol’ brain.

In front of me is a framed picture of a majestic wolf. Its close-set ears are at attention, and the golden eyes seem to see right through me.

Below that is a calendar with 12 pictures of lighthouses. I have lighthouses all over the place, but the photo for January is especially stunning with the sun setting in Fond-Du-Lac, Wisconsin. A few seconds of gazing upon that scene brings peace.

To my left is a wooden, hand-painted foot-high lighthouse given to me by our oldest son on the last Mother’s Day we spent together. It’s never far from eyesight, for many reasons.

A goofy stuffed Bugs Bunny sits near my green banker’s lamp, and an Isabel Bloom figure of friends hugging stands to the right.

A sign with my name on it sits next to a picture of two lions. The sign is from my job as a teller at Union Federal from 1970 to 1972.

I have a miniature version of a three-bulb lamppost sitting close by. There’s a comical story behind that piece that few people know about, and I’m guessing the “shopping” girls will keep that a secret as long as they can.

On the bulletin board to my left are four photos. One is of Cujo, our Saint Bernard mix we adopted from an Arizona animal shelter. Max, our malamute-husky is there too, as is our current pooch Sarah Jane. Our youngest son is the fourth photo, and I haven’t heard him complain that he’s the only human face in the bunch.

When I consider this odd collection, it doesn’t seem like all that much. Then, this morning, hubby asked me, “Do you feel like eyes are watching you?” When I told him no, he pointed out that my five-foot stuffed Sylvester was less than a foot away.

“I guess I’m used to him being here,” I answered, as I swiveled around to stare up at my Christmas present. A swivel to the left and there was Snoopy, smiling, with one paw in a basket full of odds and ends.

The past week has been a challenge, mentally and physically. I’ve written quite a bit about what’s happened so I know that King was right. Creativity, no matter the type, does provide a road out of pain. I’ll take that road, thank you very much, as long as I can bring along what I’ve collected and held close to my heart over the years. I want my imagination alive and well for as long as God allows.

Setting boundaries tough to do

A cold winter's day, a perfect day to be inside where it's warm and cozy. We get more time to think, re-evaluate, and even do some serious soul-searching. For a short while I was editing myself here but after reading a great Joyce Meyer book, I've decided that was a mistake. We simply can't please everyone and it's crazy to even try.


When we’re forced inside during the frigid winter months, we watch far too much TV. There are plenty of newspapers, magazines and books around the house but it’s easier to veg out in front of the idiot box. You can let your mind wander, and most of the time you can catch up with the storyline even if you zone out or leave the room during important moments.

It used to be that summertime gave us a breather from TV. That changed years ago and now we have new shows, series and season finales and returns of old favorites all year long.

If that isn’t enough we also have computers that give us the opportunity to play games, use search engines until our eyeballs fall out, and socialize with people we will never meet if we live to be 150.

It’s easier to interact, if that’s the right word, with fictional characters. No matter how real they seem, we know they’re not. There are no complicated relationship issues because once the show’s over, you go on to the next one.

With social networks we can have a mixture of family and friends, and if that isn’t enough we are free to add friends of friends, who usually turn out to have something in common with us. Seems like most of my “acquaintances” are dog lovers and that’s fine. For the most part, I’ve been very thankful to be a part of the on-line community, especially Facebook.

Still, there are only so many hours in one day. We work some of those hours, run errands, cook, clean, shop and sleep. It takes little effort after all of that to simply plop in a chair, and click the remote or turn on the computer. No one can see what we look like, or gauge the expression on our face to see if we’re angry, sad, amused or uninterested. It’s become a chore to pull ourselves together, dress for the weather and purposely go out to meet up with real people.

I can’t put my finger on it, but for some reason I’m not missing that part of my life as much as I used to. I see real people at all of those other places—work, the stores, around the supper table. Most of the rest I talk to on the phone or over the internet, so it’s not like we don’t keep up with one another’s lives.

Relationship experts might not agree that this is enough. Through the very machines mentioned above, we learn that we’re supposed to gather with family and friends and build our relationships. Talking heads abound, giving us pointers on how to improve our bonds with one another.

I’m reading an inspirational book by Joyce Meyer called, In Pursuit of Peace, 21 ways to conquer anxiety, fear and discontentment. It’s been worth it to cut out other things to learn how to improve relationships with those we come into contact with in the real world. Oddly enough, Meyer notes that it’s important to establish boundaries with the people in our lives, especially to avoid being agitated and disturbed. She went on to say, “Some of the people and circumstances in life that upset us will never change until we establish boundaries and keep them out.”

Wow. I’ll have to think about that one, because even though it sounds like the answer to some problems, doing that will likely create some brand-new ones.

Guess I’ll make some popcorn and put in a movie. This is going to take some more thought.

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.

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.

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.