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.

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.

Little pieces of Heaven

I remember where I was the day I knew I wanted to be a writer.

A friend and co-worker had loaned me a paperback novel by Stephen King. If you’re at all familiar with King, then you know about Cujo, the story of a Saint Bernard whose descent into doggy madness after contracting rabies made for one heck of a horror tale.

This book had it all: A troubled marriage, a little boy trying to make his parents love one another again, another troubled marriage, a boy and his dog, a broken down car and mind-numbing desperation. I was enthralled.

And when I turned the last page of that novel, I said to myself, “I can do this. I can write like this.”

That was back in 1984, and I’ve been writing ever since.

I thought the joy would be in publication, and it is. And I thought that having folks come up and tell you how much your words meant to them would bring happiness, and it does. But the deepest love I feel for writing is the journey itself.

Tomorrow, September 21st, is Stephen King’s birthday. My birthday is two days later, but I love birthdays (and as hubby says, especially my own) so I begin the celebration a week ahead of time.

Maybe we should have gone to Borders yesterday when it was sunny and in the 70s. Instead, we drove off into a virtual downpour and we made it just fine. There were lots of people out and about, getting wet and not seeming to mind it.

Hubby dropped me off and I walked into one of my favorite places on earth. Writing magazines in hand, I made my way to the coffee café, ordered a chocolate coffee, found a table and settled in. “This is what Heaven must feel like,” I thought, as I sipped the perfect hot drink for such a day.

The voices of children, moms, dads, grandparents and more rose and fell around me. Friends chatted in hushed tones, people with laptops surfed the Internet and some were writing. The readers were there, too, deeply engrossed in the written word and watching them gave me hope that my words could have that effect someday. Someday, that might be my book they’re reading while they shut out the world and become engrossed in the story I created from my imagination.

The trip to and from the bookstore was almost as enjoyable as the time I spent reading and writing today. Going places with my husband is always an adventure. Even after almost 37 years of marriage we find things to talk and laugh about, and we grow closer every minute we’re together—yet another example of what Heaven must be like, a place where we spend our time with those we love the most.

Once home, the dog greeted us as if we’d been gone for four years instead of four hours. To see the love in those eager brown eyes makes my heart melt every time, and it makes me wish that we, as humans, could be as loving and forgiving as these four-legged furry friends. Heaven has to have dogs—after all, Sarah Jane and those who came before her have given us a glimpse of what it’s like to be loved unconditionally. Everyone should have the chance to feel love like that.

The sun is out now, and the raindrops are glistening on the trees. The dog would rather stick nearby than be outside alone, and hubby is taking a well-deserved nap. The week ahead is a busy one, but for right now, this minute, I wanted to take the time to reflect on a day that brought a little bit of Heaven to earth—even if just for a few hours.

Merry Christmas and catching up

(This photo was taken last year, and yup, we're having the same awful cold, snowy, icy, windy winter weather as December of 2007. Sarah Jane loves it.)

Long time between posts, huh? It's been a busy time, full of work, play, shopping, an historic presidential election, holidays (three of them!), birthdays and lots more.

Halloween was no big deal, as usual. The high point was when the kids came by (Mike stayed home to hand out candy), and Luke sat on the step with Sarah Jane and said, "I love this dog." Beautiful.

Thanksgiving was weird, but it almost always is. One year I made meat loaf (a specialty of mine), homemade potato salad (ditto), and we took it all over to mom's. We thought it was pretty neat, but not everyone else did. This year we stayed home, and we thought mom was going with a friend to another friend's house only to find out at almost the last minute that she wasn't going anywhere. We felt bad, and eventually my sister-in-law made up two trays of food to take over so at least there was a semblance of a Thanksgiving meal. Like I said, weird.

Christmas is less than a week away, and more than a few of us are sick. I've had a horrendous cold or something for almost a month. I've missed some days at the office this week (which I'm sure they appreciated because no one wants to be around a constant cougher/sneezer/germy person.

We've done some shopping and I know what I'm getting. Can't wait to open my bread machine; I've already bought some box mixes, and I want to learn from-scratch recipes too. Should be a blast.

We're supposed to go to mom's for Christmas Eve, but she's sick now and it usually takes quite a little while for a cold to work its way through for her. Tonight she's dealing with a temperature, coughing, that sort of thing. I pray she gets well quickly.

Here's a shout out to all my friends and family. Know that you're in our prayers, our hearts, our daily thoughts - you're loved and we hope to see you soon.

Shopping trip turns into a lesson about priorities, sort of

By Margi Washburn

Usually I can describe a shopping trip with the girls from when I get The Phone Call, until we pull into our respective driveways, but this trip was different.

You know how it is. In each of our lives, there are big moments that change the landscape of our memories. Often those occasions are happy, like when we met our spouse for the first time, or our wedding, first home, first child. Memories up to that point become a bit faded or out of context because of a life-changing event.

So, I’m using that excuse to explain why I don’t remember what happened before one of our little group ended up on the floor of the restaurant after eating a loaded baked potato and a piece of pie. Plus, she kept nibbling on her sister’s lemon square, but maybe that had nothing to do with it.

A couple of hours before the floor incident, we’d gone our separate ways in the mall. I perused the bookstore, found a Dairy Queen next to an Orange Julius (now there’s a hard choice to make), and too soon it was time to meet for a snack at a restaurant inside the mall.

One of us was on a special diet, so the choice was fish and veggies. The rest of us chose the baked potato and dessert, along with coffee.

We had conversation, some laughs, and good food. It was mid-afternoon, and our part of the restaurant had about two dozen diners enjoying themselves. Then things changed.

I remember looking over and seeing her hand rubbing the side of her head. Eyes closed, she murmured something about feeling light-headed and she felt her heart beating too fast. It was kind of hard to hear her because of the noise level of the conversations around us, plus her voice was barely a whisper.

We asked if she’d like to leave, or have us get help, but she only wanted to be put on the floor so she could rest. We were in a very nice place, but the floor? What woman wants her hair to touch a floor where hundreds of shoes have been?

One would have to feel pretty awful to do such a thing, so after placing her carefully on the floor, we waved our arms to get attention. Soon, mall security was on the scene and they alerted the paramedics. Before long, our four-person shopping party was joined by about half a dozen men in uniform. It didn’t escape our notice that not only were these guys terrific at their job, they were cute, too.

While one of us was whisked away to a nearby hospital, the rest of us gathered our purchases and got ready to follow the ambulance. It took off ahead of us while we paid the restaurant bill and headed for the car. Since it was our driver that had gone on ahead with the cute guys in uniform, the new driver led us through a department store on the way to the car. That’s when things got fun.

We had to stop and pick up purchases that had been left there for pick-up on our way home. We found out that the original driver had some things at the checkout desk, but she hadn’t paid for them. None of us volunteered to do that for her, so off we went to find out how things were going.

The hospital was easy to find and the three of us were allowed inside the emergency room. Someone was looking quite a bit better, and before long she wanted to know if we’d picked up her purchases at the store. We admitted we hadn’t, she told us that was all right, and then we all had a nice, long wait for tests results to come back.

During this time, one of us made the phone calls home to let everyone know what was happening. It was our good luck that a couple of friends from Kewanee were nearby, so they offered to take me home, and as soon as the doctors released the patient, the rest would come back to town. Sounded good to me.

However, my two new car mates are the adventurous kind. They like to find a new way home every time they travel. We barreled along back roads through cornfields and around farms and for a very long time I didn’t know where I was. Thing is, the two in the front seat were having a conversation straight out of a Stephen King novel, and they were so matter-of-fact about the subject matter that it started to freak me out. One of them must have sensed something, because the wife turned around and asked if I was OK and I told her of course I was. What was I going to say?

The patient turned out to be fine; in fact, they stopped and had a sandwich on the way home. When they called from the restaurant to tell me the good news, I could hear laughter in the background. It was kind of late when the call came, so I just had to ask one question.

“Tell me you guys didn’t go all the way back and pick up her clothes,” I said.

The silence coming through the phone line said it all.