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.

Christmas memories on a snowy Christmas Eve

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



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Baking goes "smoothly" at our house

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



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

My four-legged therapist gives great advice

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


Can you believe it’s December already?

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

And that didn’t take long.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Christmas and family - a mix of the old and new

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Calendar? What calendar? Oh, THAT calendar!

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Surprising conversations around Mom's table

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Riding the storm with those we love and who love us

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



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

May God be with you, Patti and 'Mas.

A shiny new grill, family, friends and fun

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gosh, it was a good time.

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

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

No medicine for the pain bullies inflict

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



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dad and Mom at their wedding reception.



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

I should have taken the map.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Birthday was one for the books

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


Never say never.

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

I was wrong.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



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

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

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

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

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

OK.

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

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

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

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

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

You know who you are.

Cutting (some of) the cable cord

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Playing hooky from work the weird way

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



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ah, family.

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

Lots of things make life worth living

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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