HAPPY NEW YEAR !

We have had a very good Christmas holiday. We have been so happy to be with all our
children and grandchildren. And we always receive the best of all presents from them that any parent/grandparent could receive. That is the joy we feel when we witness again what caring and thoughtful adults they have all become. Oh, and they are pretty silly and funny, too. But, then, they learned that from Dad/Grandpa, not from me.

It was also wonderful to be able to walk without a cane or any help this Christmas.
Other than an occasional Tylenol, the holidays are going completely unassisted medically. Praise the Lord for that.

So this afternoon, as I look forward to an exciting New Years Eve (pizza and pepsi), I am excited to see what 2011 has in store. There are always a few bumps in every road, and the family tripped along over a few in 2010. But, thankfully, it looks like things will smooth out nicely in 2011.

That is our prayer, for our family, and for one and all. I wish everyone loved one,
both family and friend, a smooth and bump free New Year!

I Hab a Code

A week or so ago I told you that Don had a terrible cold. Well, now his is gone, but he passed it on to me, of course. I am feeling perfectly miserable. One of my former students, Keith, used the line, "I had a code", or something like that on his Facebook page a while back, and it rang a bell. I remembered a poem from my teaching days that sounded very much like that. So today I looked for my old teaching days poetry books, and, sure enough, I found the poem by that title.

Back in the 1990's Anderson Area Reading Council would bring in a published author every year as a feature speaker at their annual Young Authors Conference. When I was president of the group, our featured authors were Carolyn Lesser and Larry Shles. They are a couple of former teachers who collaborated on several children's books. I purchased their poetry book called "The Knees Knock Again." The following is one of the poems from this book.


I Hab a Code

I hab a code id by dose
Ad I cad pway today.
Baby I cad pway tobow-woe.

I wand to wud ad jumb ad skib
But here I ab stuck id bed.
Stufd wid bedicine,
Yuk!

I hab a code id by dose
Ad I cad pway today,
Bud......
I ab GOIG to pway tobow-woe!



I would like to think that Keith learned this in my reading class, but I had Keith in class long before I met Carolyn and Larry, and bought their book. Keith probably
bought the book for his daughter!

Colds seem to be a favorite topic for children's poets. You have no doubt heard of
Shel Silverstein, whose absolutely nonsensical poetry delights children. Delighted them so much, in fact, that his books had a way of walking out of my classroom. I don't know how many I have bought in my life. I recently found copies at the Friends of the Library book sale, so I replenished my book shelf once again.
Here is Shel's contribution to cold-related poetry:


BAD COLD

This cold is too much for my shirtsleeve.
Go get me a Kleenex - and fast.
I sniffle and wheeze
And I'm ready to sneeze
And I don't know how long I can last.... (exactly how I feel)

Atchoo --- It's too wet for a Kleenex,
So bring me a handkerchief, quick.
It's - atchoo - no joke,
Now the handkerchief's soaked.
Hey, a dish towel just might do the trick.

Atchoo - it's too much for a bath towel.
There never has been such a cold.
I'll be better off
With that big tablecloth,
No - bring me the flag off the pole.

Atchoo - bring the clothes from the closet,
Atchaaa - get the sheets from the bed,
The drapes off the window,
The rugs off the floor
To soak up this cold in my head.

Atchoo - hurry down to the circus
An d ask if they'll lend you the tent.
You say they said yes?
Here it comes - Lord be blessed -
Here it is - Ah kachoooooo - there it went.


See, the longer he writes, the sillier he gets, and kids love it!
Anyway, now you know just how I am feeling.
I hope to see the family on Christmas - all well again.
In the meantime, stay away from our house. I don't want to pass this on to
anyone else but the circus tent!

A New Look At My Dad

Last night sister-in-law, Janie, called me looking for dates that are pertinent to our family history. She has misplaced her address book into which she has always recorded all important family information over the years, so she is frantically (if you could call anything that calm little Janie does as frantic) trying to make a new book. It is good that she is redoing the book, because the whole family ALWAYS calls Janie when in doubt of some statistic. She is a book-keeper-numbers kind of girl.

Anyway, today I ventured out to the storage to dig out all my mother and dad's papers that have been in the storage area since their deaths. I did manage to round up all the dates that Janie was wanting. (Now Don and I must try to organize all our records, too.) But, more importantly, I found a small envelope on which my mother had written "Mark's writing". Hm, I thought my mother was the writer. But, lo and behold, I have now discovered a new side of my father.

Most of the short writings (mostly poems) were religious in nature. My dad was a preacher's kid, and a choir director, so church and his faith were very important to
him. But I also found a very charming little poem that he had written to my mother on the occasion of their fifth wedding anniversary. I love it because it shows a side of my father that I rarely saw. I was, after all, the fifth child, born when my dad was in his forties. By then, having gone through a depression with little money, and having five children, he was always a pretty serious kind of guy. But, my mother must have loved his poem, too, for she had kept it safe the rest of her life.

So I here now publish my dad's charming little love poem to my mother on their fifth (wooden) anniversary on June 12, 1932. They were already parents of two sons.

ODE TO A COUPLE OF SPROUTS

For the first five years of living as one,
If you and the years have been good,
Protocal states any gifts that are brought,
Shall be made of nothing but wood.

The reason for this has never been plain,
Some say there are two schools of thinking.
It could be some fruit has been picked from the tree,
Or the roots into good soil are sinking.

Be that as it may, you should still keep in mind,
As you're sipping it up from your bowl,
Things of wood are often devoured by fire,
So keep your flame of love under control.

The question of questions, as we celebrate,
Is not so much could you or couldn't you,
But, if the power were yours to turn back the years,
Be honest now, "wood" you or "wooden" you?

Then when our trunks are warped and our limbs are bent,
And no leaves on your branches are seen,
Look at the saplings from the seeds dropped,
And think kindly of the scrubs ever "Green."

by Mark Edward Green
for Gladys Green

I don't know about those flames of love being under control, the third son was born the next spring.

The Hanging of the Greens

We've hung the wreath
of garland long.
Its circle is small;
its powers strong.
Ever circling
round and round,
bringing wishes
that peace may abound.
Everlasting, all winter long,
bringing hope that spring will return.
Ever showing that we care
that blessings be yours
in the coming year.
Ever embracing
like God's love on Earth.
Ever celebrating
His Son's birth.

Orienteering Life

Hey, you, with your GPS,
are you looking for a hidden cache?
Is it a kind of orienteering where
maps and compass do the steering?
Does it bring a joyful feeling
when the cache you are revealing?
Oh, wouldn't it be just the BEST
if life's goals could be GPS-ed?
Freedom, due north, thirty degrees,
or ten degrees east to whatever you please.
Head west to realize ambitions,
and south to lose all inhibitions.
Check the map to find Fulfillment
in the state of Strong Commitment.
Due north leads to true romance.
A jog to the west gives love a chance.
Heading east for many a mile,
will lead to a life of elegant style.
And a few miles south brings fame and wealth,
while heading back west will guarantee health.
But, how about values like honesty and trust?
Where do you acquire what's fair and just?
Won't you need compassion on your road
and perseverance to carry the load?
Where, oh GPS, is loyalty and honest sweat,
and the joy of many good friends, just met?
Turn around! Look back from where you roam.
You'll find it all with family and home.

A Cat's View of Thanksgiving

Our family had a terrific Thanksgiving, full of good food, love of family, and lots of laughs. But I am going to let the really good story teller of the family handle that description. I refer you to the link, Smithbites, the food blog hosted by our daughter-in-law, Debra. Debra and our son, Rod, were the very able hosts for our Thanksgiving celebration, as you can tell from their blog.

The various families present at our Thanksgiving are owners of quite a good number of cats. Debra and Rod, alone, have five cats living at their house. Considering Thanksgiving from a cat's point of view, I don't think they are are very thankful.
In the first place, I doubt there were cats present at that first Thanksgiving held by our Pilgrim fathers. History says that there might have been one cat on those boats bringing those pilgrims across the ocean. But, as hard as that first year in America treated those pilgrims, I wonder if that first cat survived. It wasn't until the 1700's that tamed cats are mentioned again in the Americas.

I know for a fact that Debra and Rod's five cats were not too enthralled with the crowd that invaded their household. Windy took up roost in a basket, trying to look as pretty as possible while still avoiding the possibility of being stepped on. Sparky stayed out of the way in a Scrabble game box lid. Rags just hid in the basement as usual. During dinner itself, they were all locked away in their basement cat room, much to their distress. I'm sure the smell of roasted turkey was wafting down the stairs.
and old, dry food was their only Thanksgiving treat.

Accompanying this blog entry you will see our cat, Frank, waiting patiently for his share of the feast. Alas, it wasn't going to happen. Immediately after this picture taking, he was confined in "Kitty Prison" in one of our bedrooms, where he spent most of the day. This was on Friday, when our children and their families gather at our house for "Leftovers Friday." The name of the celebration pretty much explains itself. Except that granddaughters, Lydia and Avery, did finish decorating our Christmas tree, as has been the custom for a few years now.

Frank never discovered the charm of the day. When he was finally released from prison, he spent a good amount of time smelling all the shoes in the room. Since all our children are cat owners, it must have given him many thoughts to ponder.
The thoughts made him so excited that he must have forgotten that he is an OLD cat, because he attempted to climb the Christmas tree. Either it was his excitement or the fact that Lydia was attempting to take his picture at the bottom of the tree.

Why, he even hissed at Lydia! Now this is a cat of limited vocabulary. He is a very old quiet cat, living in a household with old, sort of quiet people. He has a quiet purr which he employs while being cuddled in an old person's lap. He has a funny noise he makes when he carries a stuffed animal in his mouth. It must be some kind of ancient hunter's call.....I don't know. Then he has some cuss words that he utters when he is released from some place like a closet wherein he has accidently been locked! Ohhh, he can be one grouchy cat.

Anyway, while all the humans in the family had a perfectly wonderful holiday. the cats are delighted that things are returning to normal. Normal being that they pretty much get whatever THEY want.

I forgot to mention that the Cincinnati family have a cat who has taught himself how to unlatch the window and let himself outdoors. Daughter-in-law Elaine has a video of said cat caught in the act. Randy kept wondering why Elaine would get up in the mornings while he was showering and open the window, then go back to snuggling in her warm bed. (Insert picture in your mind of one wet, towel-clad husband shivering in the breezes while wife sleeps warmly in bed.) Randy was very irritated with Elaine until they discovered that the cat was opening the window.
Anyway, the cat was left in Cincinnati under the care of a cat sitter who came in daily to check. I hope that he wasn't able to figure out the lock that they put on the window. If he did, he may have had an especially interesting Thanksgiving.

Now, one cat in the family may have had a feast worthy of mention. Cheryl and Jon have the queen of all mousers, Ditto. Ditto goes outside in the mornings, runs to the field across the road, and HUNTS! Every day they find multiple dead mice lined up on their driveway. Now there is a cat who knows how to provide a perfect cat Thanksgiving feast.

Okay, Now I'm Really Angry

Did you notice that I have changed the title of my blog from the "New ABCs" to "Mining the Golden Years" ? Well, I have been through the alphabet three times, and maybe that is enough. And, as you will see, from this entry, my anger today made me think that perhaps I should and could address some issues important to a senior citizen, and to all citizens. Either that, or learn to laugh at our Senior foibles.

Today's blog was spurred on by my reading an editorial in today's Herald/Bulletin.
It was another attack on our Anderson schools. It was written by a John Hughes of Chesterfield, and is titled, "Bring in the State for the Betterment of Students."
Now, Mr. Hughes does make some valid points. But near the end of his letter he states, "I read recently somewhere that teachers are considered the bottom of the barrel for college grads."
I refer you, dear reader, to www.theheraldbulletin.com, Friday, November 19, the editorial page.

I was so angry. It took me barely two minutes to get the computer fired up, and to start writing my own letter to the editor in defense of teachers. It took me even less time to mail the letter. I don't know that it will be published, or if it will do any good. But it made me feel better.

The picture accompanying this entry, are some of the very good teachers that I had the privilege of teaching with through the years. We were all together today, as we continue to work with books, kids, and people. We are all volunteering our time with the "Friends of Anderson Public Library." Now that's the kind of people that teachers are.

The following is a copy of my letter:

Okay, now I'm really angry. I just read the latest editorial attacking teachers and their ability to teach - calling them the "Bottom of the barrel!" I know many teachers. I taught for nearly thirty years. I am married to a retired educator. The "bottom of the Barrel" we are not.

I remember the hours I spent at my job. I remember the work I took home and finished every evening. I remember days when a fifteen minute break was impossible, and I ate my lunch in twenty minutes. I remember applying band-aids, comforting hurt feelings, calming fears, confronting anger, trying to instill some manners and values where none had been taught at home. I remember my fellow teachers, some not so good, but most of them tireless workers who had the best interest of students at heart.

The writer's words are like daggers in my heart. I never took a class on a field trip, when, at the end of the day, the exhausted parent chaperones did not say to me, "Thanks for all you do. I really don't know how you do it." But then, those were parents who cared, who took the time to teach their children manners and values. They took the time to be involved in their children's lives, to spend time at school involved in education.

I lived through all the so-called "educational movements, reforms, and improvements".
I witnessed the teachers' union go from gaining much needed change to unreasonable demands, just like the industrial unions that have caused industries to flee to foreign countries. I watched many changes in superintendents - some who fought everything teachers requested, some who were union sympathetic, some who built big "super-sized" school buildings intended to save on utilities and administrators' salaries. And all research shows that small, neighborhood schools with small classes are the best learning environment for kids. They are also much more accessible for parents and families.

I lived through the time when the School Board changed from being a mayor-appointed board to an elected board. Now, it is true that there have been many highly qualified board members elected to our school board. But it is also true that there have been some who were not qualified, and came with very selfish agendas.

And then there are the lawmakers who are now trying to legislate us out of the mess we are in. Let us consider merit pay for teachers, and the fact that the merit is to be measured by standardized testing. We are living in a society that has now abandoned its children. Teen, unmarried mothers think it is "cute" to have a baby. Few parents feel it is necessary to marry or establish a family and home where children can be taught to respect teachers, elders, or authority. Am I wrong to feel that teachers need bonus pay to teach in schools with the lowest scores? Call it "combat pay", if you must. Be realistic! A teacher must deal with the raw material that he/she receives.

And now we have closed schools, pushed students into huge schools that are grossly over-crowded, where there are inadequate means for discipline, where police are necessary in the hallways and lunchrooms. It is no wonder that all those caring parents,who are most concerned with their child's education, are fleeing our school system in favor of some alternative.

True, this is a turbulent transitional year. And all the transition years are difficult. Things will settle down. AND there are some wonderful things happening in education right here in Anderson, right in the midst of all the turmoil. Mr. Finger wrote an editorial in defense of the arts in schools. Everyone should have the chance to witness Mrs. Finger as a teacher of music. Let us talk about an outstanding and dedicated educator. Mrs. Finger TEACHES, she demands respect and gets it, she changes lives, she causes many of her students to set out on a path to becoming outstanding citizens. She is just one of many.

While we are at it, let's talk about merit pay for parents. Let's determine their salary by the hours they spend with their children, by the way their children show up at school ready to respect the teachers and be educated. This job is the responsibility of our entire society, not just the schools! And I have never heard on outstanding citizen say, "I owe it all to a teacher who taught for the standardized test." It was alwalys that teacher who was allowed the time and luxury to foster a love for learning, an excitement for some subject matter, and gave the student opportunities to pursue those subjects for which he felt a passion.

Z3 - Zounds! That Was a Lot of Work. I'm Zonked

Yesterday was the once-a-year fund raiser held by Christian Women's Club that raises money to provide Christmas gifts for the Mission Couples that Stonecroft Ministries supports. For the last couple of years we have joined forces with the Noon Exchange Service Club that meets the same time we do in another banquet room.

For years they have held a decorated wreath and tree auction to raise funds for needy families. So, on this one Tuesday a year, we meet together, eat together, make the decorative trees and wreaths to donate together, and bid on the auction items together! Truthfully, they do much more of the work and much more bidding than do our "older" ladies, but they do keep a larger percentage of the resulting funds.

Here is how it works. In August or September at our meeting, we signed up to decorate either a wreath or a small, table-top tree. Exchange Club purchases the artificial wreaths and trees at a discounted price. At the October meeting we pick up our tree or wreath. Then each person spends his or her own money to light and decorate. Then we bring them back on auction day, and all together they make a splendid display. Then we spend even more money buying back a decorated wreath or tree. Actually, last year I bought BACK the tree that I had already spent tons of money on to decorate! Can you imagine? But, I had grown fond of it, and couldn't bear to part with it.

This year I chose to do a wreath. I made poinsettias out of satin ribbon, along with other decorations, and a large red satin bow. It was very traditional, but pretty, and it sold at a pretty decent price. (I didn't bid on my own this year.)
The items sold well, I think. The highest price was about $90.00, with the average being about $40 - $45, I think. Some of the items were really beautiful and unusual.
There was a leopard print small trunk used as a container for a tree decorated in exotic feathers and animal print decorations. I think it brought the highest price.

I bought a very pretty wreath done in greenish-gold and shiny grapes, sprays, and
two green poinsettias - really pretty. But it was bid up and up and up. I payed way too much!

The thought occurred to me that we could all just donate about a third of the money we spent and probably make more money for missions. BUT - we wouldn't have reason to meet, eat, and have so much fun. And we wouldn't have seen the beautiful room full of Christmas that put us in the mood for the holidays to come. AND - folks always grumble about donations - don't they? And, many of us had the fun of creating something new and unique.

Oh, by the way. In the picture you see a tiny little tree that I already had at home. I decorated it in Scotty dogs, and tartan plaid ribbon, in honor of the Highland Scots High School that closed this year. It sold for $20! - probably for someone's child or grandchild who went to HHS.

Y3 - Yet Another of Mother's Stories

Yesterday I entered one of Mother's stories in my blog. Today I will record the second one. I truly believe that this is the one that she entered into Arthur Godfrey's contest. Sadly, her story won no prize.



IT'S AUTOMATIC



Not many people in Middletown know the story back of Mary Brent. You see, Mary's husband is the owner of the town's leading newspaper. Well, to be perfectly frank, it is the only newspaper. Middletown has a population of only 2000 people, so it wouldn't support a daily paper, let alone two newspapers. So you see, it is more or less a family affair. The paper was handed down to Tom from his father. Tom would rather part with his right arm than the "Weekly Clarion," as the paper is called.


Well, I almost feel like one of the family. I've lived next door to the Brents all my life, and Mary and Tom seem like my own children. I watched Tom court Mary and bring her home to live next door. After Tom's folks had gone beyond, the old home place was just as if it had always belonged to Tom and Mary. I've been Aunt Hettie to all their children, four boys and one girl. Most all of them are grown now.

But, I'm getting ahead of my story. As I said before, I've been Aunt Hettie to all of them. I've baby sat with'em - nursed 'em when they were sick - spanked 'em and loved 'em. Mary helps Tom on the paper, as did all the boys. But, Mary's biggest
help to Tom and the paper is her weekly story. Why, I'd sooner miss a meal than one of her stories. And, mind you, this has been goin' on for years.

I might never have known how Mary writes her stories, if it hadn't been for what happened a few weeks ago. But, let me start from the beginning. It all began when Mary entered one of her stories in a contest, and, lo and behold, Mary came off with first place. Now, the funny part of it was, the first prize was an automatic washer and drier. Well, the whole town of Middletown was right proud of Mary, and happy as could be for her.

Mary had always done her own laundry work, and, believe me, the shirts those four boys and Tom wore added up to around twenty-five or thirty shirts a week. I know, 'cause I used to count 'em when they were flying on the line like so many white flags of surrender. There were many colored ones, too. I used to love the way Mary would hang the colors so they would look pretty together, and match 'em with colored plastic clothes pins.

Mary and I do a lot of visitin' over the back fence. I used to laugh at her matchin'
the clothes pins to the shirts, but Mary's a funny little thing. Things like that help her to forget that she is doing all that hard work.

But, all that changed after she had the washer and dryer. It certainly saved her totin' all those clothes back and forth, and I knew it would save her so much hard work, and give her more time for the newspaper.

But, a funny thing happened. Mary's stories started changing. They were shorter and shorter. And, finally, they began repeating stories that Mary had written years ago. They couldn't fool me, 'cause I hadn't missed a one. Then, one morning I turned to the story section, and there, as big as life, in place of Mary's story, was a new column headed, "My Favorite Recipe."

Let me tell you that this made me and lots of other folks pretty sick. We all had more recipes than we could ever use. Well, this kept on for a month or more. Amd everyone in town was pretty upset about the change in the newspaper!

Then, one morning I looked out the window and there they were, sixteen white shirts flapping on the line, not to mention the snowy white sheets and pillow cases. Well, honest to goodness, it was a sight for sore eyes. They sure looked tood to me. I hurried and put on a fresh apron and ran a comb through my hair. Something must have happened to Mary's new washer and dryer, else why was she hanging her wash outside?

I called through the screen door and Mary answered from the basement.
"Come on down, Aunt Hettie."
"Is your washer broken, Mary?" I asked.
Mary acted sorta sheepish - that's the only way I can express it.
"No, Aunt Hettie," she said. "Now that you've caught me, I guess I can confess my secret to you. Maybe you'll have a hard time believing this, but, so help me, it's the honest to goodness truth. You see, this old washer talks back to me, and it's here I get all my ideas for my stories. As this old washer gyrates back and forth, it says things to me. Listen, Aunt Hettie, hear it now? It's saying,'a new fur coat, a new fur coat, a new fur coat.' Now watch while a put a new load in, all socks this time. Do you hear what it's saying? It's saying, 'Jim mustn't know, Jim mustn't know.'
"Well," I said, "I guess I can hear it now that you mention it. But, land sakes, how can you make a story out of that?"
"Well you see, Aunt Hettie, I put down all those things in my note book, then they start my mind working and I have no trouble writing my stories. But, with my automatic washer, I never get a single idea, and I simply run dry. I just had to come down and use my old washer."

Well, I helped her empty the water and hang up the socks and went on home. I could hardly wait for the next paper. I went out early to bring it is so I could read it while I had my breakfast coffee. I turned right to the story section. And there it was. Mary had called her new story, "The Secret." It was a dandy story. The secret, of course, was a fur coat that the wife's hushand didn't know she had bought. I even forgot to drink my coffee until I had finished reading the story.

Mary's stories have an even greater attractgion for me now. Of course, she uses her sutomatic, but every time I see Mary's washing flappin' on the line, I know that she has gone to her old washer for inspiration. Then, I try to pick out which phrase in the story the old washer had suggested. It may not be an automatic washer, but it sure is an sutomatic story teller.


by Gladys Lininger Green





Not until I read this story yesterday, did I realize that my mother probably did arrange her washing on the lines so that the colors made an artistic arrangement, and the clothes pins matched. That would be pleasing to her artist's eye, and make all that hard work bearable.

XXX - Kisses to My Mother

Yesterday I wrote about my parents, and about their lives and marriage. Then, today, as I was cleaning out some drawers, I ran across copies of two stories that my mother had written. I mentioned her love of writing yesterday. What a coincidence that I would find her stories today. I believe that these were written about 1946 or 1947. I believe that she submitted at least one of these stories to a contest held by Arthur Godfrey's radio show. My mother listened to this show every day in the mornings as she did her work. So the following is her story - just as she wrote it.


THE HOME SHOW

I was standing at my ironing board, not doing my weekly ironing, but an array of unironed shorts belonging to my daughter. They were of assorted colors and styles. I was rather enjoying the outlay of color and thinking disconnected thoughts, with the radio going in the background. All of a sudden, the announcer's voice caught my attention. "Be sure and attend the Home Show beginning this week in your capitol city. On and on his voice went , telling of all the wonderful new home appliances and inventions. He even told of a model home, completely furnished, to be seen Sunday at the show in Indianapolis.

Thes set me to reminiscing. How many home shows had I seen? How had they affected me? If I were to go this year, what would I look for? - What would I see?

I remember the first one. I was quite a young thing then. This was the first time that I was aware that a home show existed. I had been going with a young furniture salesman, who proved that he could sell more than furniture, because later I married him. His company had given him two tickets and had asked him to attend. Since we lived in a progressive town of about 40,000 people and were about forty miles from Indianapolis, it was quite a trip at that time.

We had a delicious dinner at a rather swanky place. I was dressed in my very best. I can remember now how important my clothes were to me at this stage of my life. Perhaps it was good to have had so much that I wanted then. I think it made it easier to do with less later on.

But, the home show - we were so confident then, that all those new things would be a certainty in the home of our future. I can see that model home now, with the rows of red geraniums in the kitchen windows. I still think I would like that. But, you know, twenty-five years later, the most I have had at one time in my kitchen windows, were two geraniums, and they were pink, not red.

The first home show was one of the memories that has a way of lingering. It is strange how little things remain in one's memory.

The next home show found us married. In fact, very much married. We were interested especially in the booth devoted to helpful necessities for the nursery. I can remember how terrible I felt. I was in the early stages of pregnancy, and felt as if I would have to make a dash for the rest room at any moment. But, in spite of this, the whole thing was fun. We didn't have our own home, so we were vulnerable to everything. But, nothing looks especially good when waves of nausea are sweeping over one.

The next home show was several years later. My husband had changed positions in the meantime, and the country had gone through a war and a depression. We had gone through several small wars ourselves. This home show found us in our own rented home with four small children. But we still had our dreams of our own home that would have all the new ideas and improvements.

Up to this time our furniture was just "gathered together". We added pieces as the requirements arose without much stress on beauty and design. It was usually bought to fit the pocket book rather than the house, and after much juggling of the family budget.

By the next home show, my husband had gone back into the furniture business. This was the time we made our one and only purchase at a home show. It was a little packaged "start" of a giant redwood tree, with instructions for planting. In fact, it was to be started in water, in a bowl. This "knot" of a redwood tree happened to be the shape of a tiny, standing bear. It sprouted and grew beautifully and adorned our dining room table for months. To this day, the children call the bowl our "bear dish," although the tree is only a memory now.

We went to the home show a few times after that. I must confess, the model house didn't impress me much. The whole show had taken on more of the atmosphere of a fair. Our lovely dinners were my nicest memories of the trips. We always had fun.
No, I think I will change that. We always "have" fun.

But, the realization came to me this morning, that perhaps I would see so much more, if I were to go this year. To be sure, we have a nice rented home now- still furnished with pieces we have gathered together through the years. But, they do have a certain charm to us. We probably never will have that home we were so "cocky" sure we would own on that first trip. Our home has not been built with material things. But, ours has been built with more lasting things - a happy home with five children.

All of a sudden I want to go to that home show this year. I will dress up in my very best. We will eat at some perfectly dreamy place, and, who knows, perhaps we will find another tree for the "bear dish."

by
Gladys Lininger Green

W3 - With Love for My Parents

My mother, Gladys Muriel Lininger Green was born in 1900 at the turn of a new century. She was to become a very Twentieth Century kind of woman, later becoming a charter member of a ladies'club, appropriately named "The Twentieth Century Club." This club was always to be an important part of her life.

Mother had just one brother, my Uncle Clyde, and they grew up in a very working class way, our grandfather being a mechanic. When the automobile was invented, the Lininger family had one of the first cars in Anderson, and our grandfather opened one of the first car repair businesses. After mother graduated from high school she worked keeping books at the "garage" for her dad.

Mother was always very artistic. She loved to paint and to write. She kept a diary and wrote short stories. She mostly painted lovely flower pictures. From her diaries, it seemed her days were filled with activities along side her mother. After her school days were over, they cooked, they walked to town and shopped, they had lunch or bought chocolates at the chocolate shop. Our mother LOVED her sweets, and passed this love on to all her children. Mother helped with chores at home, and she loved to read. I think she would have loved going on to college, taking art courses, and writing courses. Sadly, there was only enough money to send her brother, Clyde, off to college. And, of course, in those days, college wasn't deemed important for a daughter. They were just supposed to get married.

Mother put off the marriage part until she was 25 years old. I think she must have really loved her life of painting, writing, trips to town with mother, reading, and going to parties and church with her friends. She even owned her own gift shop for several years. And she ALWAYS loved a gift shop. Even in late life when she could barely walk, her step got a lot livlier if she was near a gift shop!

While attending her young adults class at church, Mother met a gentleman who had just moved to Anderson. His name was Mark Edward Green, and he had moved to Anderson, working at a furniture store, and supporting his widowed mother and younger sister. Of course, you guessed it, they fell in love. But to tell the truth, I think mother strung him along for quite awhile. I think she was reluctant to give up her idyllic single life. But love, and Daddy's perserverance won out.
They were married at the OLD ages of: Mother was 25, and Daddy was 30.

Silly people. They went on to have four boys, and then one girl in the next eleven years - and did all this during the Great Depression! They even had to live together with my grandparents for sometime during those depression years. As I think back on my childhood, I was a pretty happy child, but I know that our parents really struggled. We never owned a home - always rented. There were a few years during World War II, that we had no car. My dad always rode the bus to work during those years. In fact, riding the city bus was always a big part of our lives, because our mother never drove a car. So, when Daddy was at work, we either walked or rode the bus. I can still tell you the times and routes of the buses! And, if you walked to town,I can tell you where you could buy an ice cream cone on the way home.

Since I was the fifth child, and the only girl, Mother and I became great pals, just as she and her mother had been. I know that my parents were very tired with the struggle of caring for a big family with little funds. Our mother cooked three big meals a day, when she would really have preferred fixing fancy party desserts. She washed laundry for five males (my Dad wore a white dress shirt every day of his life) in a manual washing machine. The laundry had to be hung outdoors in warm weather, and indoors in the winter. And ALL those dress shirts had to be ironed. A loaded laundry basket was a constant presence in our house.

Mother always kept up her membership in the before mentioned Twentieth Century Club, and all those women had finer homes and more money than we did. Mother and Daddy belonged to a bridge playing club that met one Saturday night each month. And all those couples had fine homes and more money. I remember well the epic house cleaning our house underwent when it was their turn to host the bridge club. Mother also belonged to church circle and a home economics club called "The Golden Rule Club." Those Golden Rule ladies were really life long friends. I remember mother taking part in Mothers' Club at school. I think she was always treasurer. I remember feeling so proud when she visited school, because I thought she was prettier than the other mothers.

Our dad was not at home much. I first remember his being a furniture salesman with the Sears Roebuck Company. Needless to say, all our furniture came from Sears. Then, during the war, he was able to get a job with General Motors at the Guide Lamp Division, where he worked until retirement. He also always directed choirs, at church, a community choir, and for the American Legion mens' chorus. He was also on the city council for some time. So his evenings were often spent a way from home. I think that his children were somewhat a trial for him. He was older when we all were born, and he was always burdened with earning a living for such a big brood. He was a good man, a good Christian, but I think he really battled depression. He was so often serious, and did not seem to enjoy his life at home very much. Later in life, he made the comment that he only learned how a father should enjoy his children by watching his son-in-law, Don.

Even though Mother was very tired from all the demands of her household, I think she enjoyed her children. The boys always made her laugh. However, she would have probably made a very happy single woman artist, had she chosen that life. I know that she grieved for our father when he died in his sixties, but I think she managed to enjoy the twenty years or so of widowhood, experiencing the first freedom to do as she pleased in all her life.

But both parents loved us, for sure. And they passed down to their children, and then to grandchildren many of their passions: art from Mother, music from Daddy, a love of writing from both, a taste for sweets, an enjoyment of family celebrations, and the importance of family and education.

V3 - Very Good Grandparents, Indeed

Don really only knew one set of Grandparents in his life - his maternal grandparents.
But he knew them very well. His maternal grandparents were Walter and Grace Brizendine. I was only privileged to meet Walter one time right after we started dating. He died soon after, that summer after our senior year in high school. But Don has good stories and memories of his "Papaw." In fact, the whole family remembers him as a wonderful man. Don's mother, Madge, ALWAYS says, "Now, I loved my mother, but she was always strict. But I really loved my daddy!"

From all the family stories, I believe that he was just a quiet, steady man, a really honest person that was always to be trusted. He was a red head without the red head's temper. By the time I met him, he had had one leg amputated because of his diabetes, so he was confined to a wheel chair.

Don grew up in his grandparents' home, because his mom and dad were divorced when he was a baby, and his mother had to work. So, even though he was an only child, he actually grew up with his Uncles Jack, Bobby, and Max. And I have heard plenty of stories about their shenanigans. They were the younger three of Grace and Walter's children, having been born several years later than the older three. The older children were Loren, Madge, and Madonna. Walter and Grace raised and sold chickens.
Then they bought a property in the "Acre" , a neighborhood in South part of Anderson.
Their house was large, and after the children were grown, they divided into three apartments. In fact, several of the children started married life in one or another of the apartments. The large house was surrounded by several tiny houses, barely three roomed affairs. These they rented out also, mostly to folks coming to Anderson from the South to get work at General Motors plants.

And, I take it, that "Mamaw" ruled the roost ---- in a nice way. She cooked lots of chicken, lots of rice, lots of tomato soup, fried bread, and apple pie for all that showed up at meal times, be they family or friend. She shared her phone, her newspapers, her listening ear, her compassion, and her advice with her renters, her family, and her friends alike. I remember that she bought us a mattress and box springs when we got married, and with an ornery chuckle, said that is what newlyweds really needed. And she was always sending me a home made apple pie. I guess that for some time, she and Walter managed the old Colonial Theatre at 29th and Columbus Ave. And all the children had to work there doing whatever had to be done - mostly cleaning up.

And, even though Don tells hair-raising stories of their boyish exploits: hitching rides on moving trains, hanging on to the back bumpers of buses and sliding on the icy streets - all the Brizendine children grew up to be some of the most hard-working, successful citizens any parents could want. All of them, and that includes granson Don, have been abolutely honest and reliable. I think they are a real credit to the kind of people and parents that Walter and Grace tried to be.

U3 - Uncovering My Heritage

Having extended family together these last few weeks has given me cause to reflect on our ancestors, and what strange and/or wonderful traits we may have inherited.

So let me go back and consider the first generation that we knew first hand, our grandparents.

On my side of the family, my maternal grandparents were Harry and Madella (Della) Lininger. Grandpa Lininger died when I was 7 or 8, so I never really got to know him well. But Grandma L. was one of my very favorite people when I was growing up.
She was a tiny, pretty lady, standing about 4'10" tall. I only knew her with snow white hair, but her early pictures showed a very pretty young lady with brown hair.

Grandma was always busy and walked wherever she went, probably because she never learned to drive, and didn't have a car after Grandpa died. She would even walk the
12 or 13 blocks to downtown to shop and pay her bills, then walk back home again. That was when she was in her late seventies. Even when she was sitting or watching TV, her hands were always busy with crocheting. She was always crocheting. She made each of her children and grandchildren an afghan for a wedding gift. I still have the one she made for us.

She was a feisty lady. She always said she would "box your ears" if you misbehaved.
Actually, that was a threat she made jokingly to my brothers when they teased her. I don't think she ever threatened me with a "boxing." After Grandpa died, the grandkids would often spend the night with Grandma to keep her company. I loved to stay with Grandma. She let me wear her silky nightgowns. As I was falling asleep, she would ask what I wanted for breakfast in the morning, naming all the options. I didn't have to choose, and I knew it, because she always fixed everything she mentioned anyway.

What I remember about Grandpa Lininger was that he was always smoking a cigar, and the living room would be blue with a smoky haze. I know Grandma hated it because the next year after Grandpa died, she re-wallpapered the house, and bought new living room furniture. Grandpa never said much, except when we ate Sunday dinner there after church, my dad and Grandpa discussed politics. They were both staunch conservative Republicans, and they really disliked FDR. Grandpa had a fishing cottage on the river, and he called his outhouse the Roosevelt. Once, when we were getting ready to go home, he slipped a silver dollar into my hand! The most exciting gift I ever received as a child, because Grandpa NEVER paid us much attention. He did have some quirky habits. If he got tired and company hadn't left, he would just get up, go bathe, and go to bed. AND, he would put on his clean white shirt, tie, with pencils in the shirt pocket, and wear them to bed. I guess he was already to get up and start the next day.

My paternal grandparents were George and Lydia Green. George died before I was born.
In fact he died long before my folks were married. He was a lot older than Grandma Lydia. She was his second wife, his being a widower with two daughters when she married him. Grandpa Green was a Methodist minister, who spent most of his career traveling and establishing new Methodist churches. That is how he met Lydia. She was a young woman teaching school near Muncie, Indiana, when Grandpa came to town to help establish the church. They met, he wooed her, and they were married. They went on to have three children of their own. So Grandma helped raise his two daughters, Oma and Dietta, and her three: Rosa, Alice, and my dad, Mark.

After George's death Grandma lived parts of each year with her various children. When Grandma stayed with us, I thought her very old. But she was a most kind and sweet lady. She always had to use some aid, a cane or walker, to get around. And she had very poor eyesight for which she wore very, very thick glasses. She spent her days reading (she read every word of the daily newspaper), and writing letters.
She wrote beautiful letters, and maintained correspondence with many, many relatives.

I think I must have inherited a lot of my traits from the Green side, although folks always say that I look just like my mother. In the face, I do, with my dad's smile and dimples. But in build I am definitely a Green, much taller than my mother, and broader, too! Grandma Green couldn't benefit from the hip replacement surgery that is saving me from a cane or walker, at least at this time. And she did not benefit from the eye surgeries that are helping my vision problems. And, oh yes, I do like to write and I did teach school. Do we see a pattern here? And, I promise, I will never walk to town or crochet an afghan, though I might "box your ears!"

I think that is enough for tonight. Tomorrow I shall consider Don's Grandparents.

Brother Clyde

It has been just two weeks since the death of my brother, David. And last evening we
lost another brother, Clyde. He was rushed from the nursing home, where he had been trying to recuperate from a total hip replacement, to the emergency room at St. John's Hospital. He was fighting several post-op complications, and a severe infection was the cause of his death. The folks at St. John's surely did all they could possibly do to save him, but they lost the battle.

He had suffered many things over the last few years: prostate cancer, a shattered shoulder, cancer of the mouth, and then fell and broke his hip five weeks ago. I think he was exhausted from fighting the pain. On Wednesday when we visited, the nurse was with him. When she was ready to leave she asked Clyde if there was anything else he wanted. He right away answered,
"Released." Well, he has his release. No more pain. And that is good.

We will surely miss this sweet brother. Two weeks ago I wrote that David was the brother who was my buddy and playmate. Well, Clyde was my "hero" brother. He was seven years older, so that when I was a little girl, he was the hero of a big brother that I looked up to. Janie told me last night that Clyde told a story about his little sister. I don't remember this event. I must have been very young. Clyde said that I told him that I was "always going to keep him." He was then, and always has been a keeper.

I don't know, but maybe the announcement was prompted by some teasing by the other brothers. He may have been the only one I thought worth keeping at that moment. Clyde was always the kind one, the sweet one. The one you could depend on. He was the only blonde haired child in the family, and our very ornery oldest brother, Jack, always tried to convince Clyde that he was the adopted one. But Clyde was very much like our mother's family, especially his Uncle Clyde for whom he was named.

So what qualified him as a hero in my heart? Well, he was handsome. And he was smart, a very good student. He made excellent grades in school. He wrote wonderful stories. He has always had a quiet, dry sense of humor. You had to really listen to catch the essence of his wit. In my eyes as a young girl, Clyde accomplished great deeds. He was a class officer, he sang in the choral club. In college he was part of a quartet that sang on television. He was a good athlete. I remember the walls of his bedroom being covered with ribbons he won for high jump and hurdles.
His most heroic moment was being part of the Anderson High School State champion basketball team in 1946. Our whole family was able to attend all the tournament games. Now Clyde only played a half minute or so at the end of the championship game. He wasn't one of the starting seniors. But I was so excited and proud. I told everyone around me that he was my brother.

Clyde earned a scholarship to Butler University, something no one else in our family ever did. He did well in college, and came home every summer to work jobs that helped him go back to school the next year. He met and married the cutest girl at Butler, and they have been married for 55 years. He served our country in the military after graduation, earning the rank of First Lieutenant. He spent a year
on an atoll, Eniwetok, in the South Pacific, helping to clean up after A bomb tests.
He went to IU law school and became an attorney with the government small business administration. And he helped guide all of us when there were family issues that needed a clear head to make wise decisions.

I think he deserves the hero status that his little sister always granted him. I think I always told him he was my favorite brother. I think I told all four of them that. But I may have meant it just a tiny bit more with brother Clyde. I will miss his sweet smile.

T3 - Turbulent Tuesday

Today was a strange day, to say the least. It started at 4:30 am with the weather radio sounding its alarm. It said that a storm system would be passing through central Indiana if a short time, with possible tornados and/or winds up to 60 mph.
Well, that sounded like fun, and, since we hate to ride out these storms in a mobile home, I decided to get dressed in case we needed to flee to the safety of the hospital basement where we usually go for safety during storms.

So, I quickly dressed, and then, just as quickly, hopped right back into bed and went to sleep immediately. So, when I awoke at the usual time, I was quite surprised to find myself fully clothed. Then Don and I spent breakfast and morning paper time monitoring the TV weather news. Randy Hollis and his buddies were having a high ol' time telling about the storm chaos in Illinois, and the line of storms all along the western border of Indiana, and how fast they were moving our way. You know, those weather guys and gals just live for these exciting days.

However, photos assured us that this was indeed going to be a rather active storm day. And I was scheduled to attend a breakfast planning team meeting for Christian Women's Club at nine, and then be picked up by my dear old friend, Elva Mae, to go for lunch. What to do, what to do? The projections seemed to say that the storm might hit Anderson between nine and nine thirty, right when the breakfast meeting would be happening on the West side of Perkins Restaurant in their all glass porch!
Not a place I wanted to be with 60 mph winds coming out of the west! Since I play a very small unimportant part with the planning team (breakfast eater, observer, friendly, unimportant chatterer), I decided to skip that meeting. Elva Mae and I touched base by phone at eight. She was heading for bible study in the basement of her church (sounded safe enough). We decided that Don and I would head to St. Johns Hospital if the storm sirens sounded, and then, if the weather emergency was over, I would ride with him to Hoosier Park. Then Elva Mae would meet me there for the buffet lunch. There we all could drive to the covered entrance and benefit from valet parking.

Guess what! It all worked just like clock work. The storm began to blow about nine.
We headed to St. Johns and had coffee and such in the basement cafeteria. We watched the weather Tv in the lounge. The sirens sounded shortly after we arrived.
The storm blew in - really BLEW in. We were snug and safe there. Elva Mae was snug and safe at church. The weather alert ended. We all drove through moderate rain and wet streets to Hoosier Park. Don went to his own entertainment down stairs. Elva and I had a wonderful lunch and caught up on the news in our lives. Then she took off for home, I found Don, and we left a bit later. When we left Hoosier Park the sun was shining, and it couldn't have been a more beautiful day.

Turbulent Tuesday turned out to be just fine.

Post Script: There was quite a bit of storm damage in the state - some just south of us in Greemfield and about, some west in Lebanon and surrounds, and some just north around Kokomo. This has been the weather pattern all summer, rain goes south and north of us, and just skips Anderson. Today we received the rain, but thank God, skipped the storm damage.

S3 Some Thoughts in Response to Reading

I am presently reading the third book by author Marlena de Blasi. After reading her first book, "A Thousand Days in Venice," I ordered the rest of her books from my favorite on-line book store, Alibris.

Marlena is an American, educated in New York who was a journalistic, food critic, chef, and cook book author. She was often sent to Europe to sample and critique different cuisines. On one trip to Venice in the 1990's she has a chance meeting on the street with a Venetian banker. He pursues her, woos her, and after she returns to home in the USA, he comes for an extended visit. Now, these two are not children.
She is the divorced mother of two grown children. He is a middle-aged Italian who has never been married. But they do fall in love, he proposes, and she sells all and goes to live in Venice.

Her first book tells about her settling in his tiny,bare apartment in Venice, and her adjustments to life in Venice. Her second book, "A Thousand Days in Tuscany," tells how the couple sells the apartment and moves to a renovated stable that has been turned into a very basic home. It is located in the countryside outside a small Tuscan village. The third book, that I am presently reading, tells about their decision to uproot again and move to Umbria.

Each move has its frustrations, hardships, loneliness, and eventual settling in and making close friends. But most of all the books are delicious descriptions of love -
love of two middle-aged folks, love of Italy, the love of discovering a new culture, and the love of food!

Other cultures have such a different approach to life's necessities. It makes me sad that I have such an American approach to food. I really don't cook. We eat out, carry in, or use all the shortcut, prepackaged, precooked, frozen foods that we can find. It is true that I always worked, always took care of others, never had much time to think about meals, and never learned to cook at my mother's side. But
I am ashamed to say that for us eating has always been the shorter, the quicker, the better.

It is fascinating to read how Marlena and Fernando manage to make friends with the cooks, the farmers, the food providers that lead them to learn all about the local cuisines. In Italy they cook what is fresh THAT DAY. Marlena learns to shop at the local farmers' markets, becomes acquainted with the sellers, learns their secrets of cooking. She helps to gather wild herbs, mushrooms. She learns how and helps with the olive harvest. She witnesses the pressing of the oil. She learns how and helps with the grape harvest, and learns about wine making.

In Tuscany they become very close friends with the local villagers - especially Barlozzo and Floriana. He helps them constuct an outdoor baking oven, and an outdoor fire pit and grill. They initiate Friday night village suppers at the local bar, where all the villagers share a supper dish. In all their cooking in Italy every one eats what is ripe and harvested that day. They hunt or raise their own animals for meat. They rely on fresh herbs, wild onions, wild garlic, and lots of olive oil for their flavors. They make their own cheese, and bake their own bread.
It all sounds delightfully delicious.

One farmer at the market tells her that "The earth is rich so we don't have to be."
If you have enough to eat for today, you are rich. If there is some left for tomorrow you may have too many riches." Another tells her, "The less there is, the more important it all becomes." They feel rich having just enough of life's necessities to get them through each day.

I think that our American culture may have it all wrong. Our dependence on industry, labor, high salaries, government care, and all the need for immediate gratification has led us to live lives that are truly less rich. At the same time I am reading these rich books, I also run across the "Amish Cook" column that appears regularly in our local newspaper. The Amish wife and mother who writes the column tells about how the whole family helps raise the food on their farm. She tells how they are all involved in the canning and preserving, the daily washing of clothes, and hanging them outdoors to dry. She talks about how their farms are self-sustaining. I think maybe the Amish have it right, after all.

R3 - Rain - Or What Is That Falling From the Sky?

When Don picked me up this afternoon from the hospital, he said, " I see something
falling from the sky. I don't know what it is. It feels sort of wet."
Very funny, Don. I don't think it has been THAT long since you've seen rain! That is what rain looks like, isn't it?

We did get a pretty good soaking. I don't think things are going to turn green, though. Foilage is very colorful and falling, falling, falling. After the rain the temperature seemed to be falling, falling, falling also. I actually found the winter robe to put on this evening and I'm wearing socks with my slippers. That is a sure sign that the seasons are changing - much more predictable and dependable than the leaves.


This AM we had a treat. When Taylor is through with school for the day, he sometimes comes to find Grandma and Grandpa because we are an easy touch where lunch is concerned. Also Grandpa had earlier taken Taylor an extra set of truck keys, because he had locked his in his truck in the school parking lot. Obviously, school just starts too early in the morning for this boy. No keys ---- no breakfast--no fun.

We three went to Frisch's for lunch. Well, Don and I had lunch. Frisch's makes THE BEST vegetable soup ever. It was unusually thick and chocked full of veggies today.
mmmmm- it hit the spot. Taylor opted for the breakfast bar since he had skipped that meal altogether earlier in the day. He barely stopped to breathe until he had cleaned the first plateful. He topped that off with the best looking French toast.
Then he was off to work off the calories at his job on the farm.

I went to work at the information desk at the hospital in the afternoon. Elaine and I were both working, so we were able to catch up on all the news and weekend happenings. Mark, her son the policeman, has gone back to work as a drug prevention officer with the public schools. They have allowed him to write his own program since the schools are no longer affiliated with the DARE program. Mark was a great officer/counselor/teacher with the DARE program for several years before the program was discontinued. I know he will do a super job, even better with his own program.
And the schools really need his presence. I wish him all the best.

Don went out for Sex in the City. Hmm---maybe I had better rephrase that. He went to the casino and played the slot machine called, "Sex in the City." Yes, it features Carrie and all the girls on the TV show, and Mr. Big, too. It is fun to play, and has very interesting bonuses. It either gives you lots of bonuses and very nice prizes, or takes your money away very quickly. Don reports that the Sex was very good today. Hmmm - maybe I had better rephrase that!

Q3 - Quiet Day

After a week filled with troubling events, tiring moments, and emotional ups and downs, Don and I found ourselves thoroughly worn out and ready for some peace and quiet. And that is exactly how we filled our day.

We did set the house in order, but did it at a slow and tranquil pace. And there is something quite healing in setting your environment back into order. We worked a little, sat a little, worked a little, had some coffee or such, worked a bit, napped a bit or a lot (Don - a lot, myself - just a couple of short dozes.) The only break in this routine was to shower and run up to see Clyde at the hospital. He was fine, and will be returning to Rawlins House tomorrow, so he must be healing. We took him some Kit Kat bars and a couple of Reeses bars. He promptly ate one of each. It was sort of a reverse trick or treat, where the scary visitors furnish the treats!

After feeding Clyde the chocolate, we fed some noisy machines some pennies. And yes, they happily took our money and gave us back nothing! Then it was time to feed ourselves. We had had the rest of the ham sandwiches last evening and for lunch, so we needed a change. We opted for Italian food - the fast kind at Fazolis. Actually it tasted quite good.

This evening I did some mending, some laundry, and watched the Colts barely escape from Washington with a W in the win column. Whew! They had a tough time. But with a little help from the clock, they pulled it out.

I hope this coming week will be happily uneventful.

My Brother David

Yesterday I lost my first childhood buddy, brother David. David passed away last evening. He had spent the last 2 or 3 years in an alzheimers unit in Muncie. Even with alzheimers he never lost his sense of humor or his ability to appreciate even the smallest kindnesses offered him. These things and his beautiful children were his greatest gifts to the world.

David was the youngest of my four older brothers. I was, of course, the youngest in the family, and the only girl. Being the closest in age, David and I were good buddies growing up. There is a picture somewhere that I can't find. It shows Dave and I on our tricycles, brown as berries from fun days in the sun. He is 5 and I am 3. He is supposed to be in kindergarten. Our parent sent him every day, and about an hour or so later went to fetch him home because he was "sick". They finally gave up and let him skip kindergarten so that we could continue our carefree, fun days.

The next year the state of Indiana required his presence in first grade, and I experienced my first taste of real loneliness. I missed my buddy! As we grew up we had great fun listening to "The Shadow" and "Fibber McGee and Molly", "Jack Armstrong" on the radio. We made fudge and cookies. Once when Mother and Daddy were gone for the evening, we got out all the best china and crystal and set the table and pretended to have a fancy dinner party. Our dad taught vocal lessons. We had heat registers that were just grates in the ceiling that allowed the heat to go upstairs. David and I would lie on the floor and watch the vocal lessons, and giggle at the student's mistakes.

When I was a senior in high school, my prom date (who also happens to be my husband)
was hit in the eye with a baseball the night before the prom. Don was in the hospital prom night, and my handsome brother, David, pitched in as my prom date. I think he was the only graduate of Anderson High School who ever attended three high school proms.

Of course, we did grow up and our lives of raising families and earning livings did not allow us much time to be together. These were such busy years. So that when we were all retired it was nice to have some time to becomes buddies again. Clyde and Dave had their weekly lunch dates at Storeys in Chesterfield. Sometimes I joined them, but couldn't keep up with their banter. Once Dave and Rosalyn, Janie and Clyde, and Don and I spent a hilarious afternoon making applesauce. Clyde and Dave had bought an apple peeler, and they made the applesauce --- so funny, but it was good.

Once, when Rosalyn was working we picked up Dave and we all went to Bear Creek Farms for dinner and the show. When we picked him up, he had been all ready and waiting for an hour on the porch (maybe one of the first indicators of his Alzheimers that we observed). But no one ever enjoyed a dinner and show at Bear Creek any more than did David. And I think that that enthusiasm and appreciation for the small things was the gift that David gave to Don and I over and over these last few years.

We truly liked visiting him at the nursing home. And few people ever say that. You could tell that he loved for us to be there. And, even though you know that he was often confused and bewildered, often in pain, he never, ever complained.
"How are you feeling, Dave?"
"I feel fine."
"Are you sleeping well?"
"I sleep great."

And he always loved the coffee we brought, and, oh yes, he loved the honey buns to eat. The Honey Bun company is going to experience a huge drop in sales now that David is no longer here. And the few times we were able to take him out to breakfast at a restaurant, he loved it! Once we took him some handkerchiefs and new socks. He said, "I feel like a rich man!" What a gift that was for us. I just have to thank the Lord for the blessing of this time we were able to have with my buddy.

The last words I was blessed to be able to say to my buddy were, "I love you."
And the last words that I was so blessed to hear from him were, "I love you, too."

My sweet brother and his beautiful children have taught me to never part from a loved one without saying those words.

P3 - Phyllis is Tired

I worked all day today at the hospital. I usually work just four hours on a Monday afternoon. However, my working buddies who share Mondays were both going to be absent today, so I worked both morning and afternoon. Also, Clyde was having his hip surgery today, so I could see him before they sent him off to surgery, and I could be there to keep Janie company.

Janie went home for part of the day, coming back in time to talk with Dr. Schick when the surgery was over. I guess it went well, but they are going to do some more testing because his bones are so soft. I guess that explains why he has had these breaks.

Then Janie sat in the information office with me through much of the afternoon. It was nice to have her company. It did make the day pass quickly. We have so many interesting questions and interesting people who pass by. Every week brings some new question that I have never had before, and I have worked there since 1996. But the employees are very nice about my calling around and finding answers. It is very important to have someone there to answer questions. People are often just lost when they arrive at the hospital. It is rewarding to know that I have been helpful.

The recovery room had trouble getting Clyde's blood pressure up. I guess it was quite low. So they sent him to ICU for the night tonight. There he will be constantly monitored. I am sure he will be able to go up to Bennett rehab tomorrow where all joint replacement patients go. I hope all goes well with his recovery.

Tomorrow Don and I bake and deliver cookies for those volunteers who are working to
clean up and fix up sites in Anderson. It is a community clean up effort sponsored by Madison Park Church after Pastor Lyons preached a series of sermons called "Do
Something." I sincerely believe in such grass roots efforts. Instead of complaining, perhaps it would be better if we try to do something. Don and I cannot do a lot of the heavy labor. (Actually, he can, but I can't.) So we volunteered to bake and deliver treats to the working teams. They have graciously made it possible for folks of all ability levels to participate in some way. More about this in a later blog.

O3 - Oh My Gosh!

I can't believe how long it has been since I wrote on this blog site. It is so typical of all the efforts I have made in life. I start out with a zeal, and then
all my enthusiasm just dwindles away. Oh well, it is MY blog, so I can do it MY way.

I have just been having too much fun enjoying my office/craft room. That, and the fact that I have been teaching a craft at our monthly library sales. The crafts started as an effort to sell all the magazines that had been donated for the sales.
We were simply being buried in magazines. So I put "Crafts made from magazines" in Google search and discovered many things that could be made from your old magazines.
Last month I taught anyone interested how to make paper beads. Sarah and I got so
inspired that we have both been making beads at home. She is making necklaces for gifts, and I have just been playing around and experimenting. I give them away as fast as I make them. But it is fun!

Before that I found a craft book at the bookstore in Bloomington. It had directions for the nicest bookmarks made from cloth with magnets inside and trimmed with a decorative button. These, too, were claimed by others as fast as I could make them.
But, isn't it nice to be able to send guest home with a little memento- a useful reminder of our happy visit.

This month I taught many customers at the sale to make Christmas trees from magazines by folding the pages. Of course, prior to the sale I practiced by making
five or six of the trees and painting and glittering them in different colors for samples. That's a lot of folding, let me tell you. But everyone seems to like them and like to learn to make them. I think several Library Friends are planning to come to the house in a couple of weeks and make some of the trees to sell at our
Friends of the Library Christmas sale.

We have also been dealing with family health and nursing home issues. Mother has been moved to a new room twice, so we have been busy trying to help her adjust, so that the moves are not so traumatic. David experienced a bad fall leaving him with
a terrible hematoma on his right temple , two very black eyes, and a total lack of
responsiveness to his surroundings. He did finally say one word, "okay" to Don yesterday.

And then brother Clyde's broken and pinned hip did not heal properly. And Jane found it impossible to give him the home care that he needed. So last Tuesday we helped Jane get him to the Dr. and then to Rawlins House nursing home. He has been there all this week, and is doing well. Tomorrow morning Dr. Schick (my hip doctor) is going to give Clyde a total hip replacement just like I had. I am sure he will be at the hospital for a while and then will return to Rawlins House for his rehabilitation. I look for him to be there for at least the three months that medicare will allow. At least I hope that he can.

All these issues have been a big worry to us, and also make me very sad. But Don and I try to do all we can to help these situations, and then try to see all the beauty and joy that the rest of the days can bring. We are getting to the age where we realize that we may need help sooner that we want to think about. So, by golly, we plan to enjoy each day as much as we can!

N3 - News Update

Do you remember way back in May when I began this little blogging diary of mine?
About the fourth entry was on May 18th, and it had to do with the cable guys coming
to install at our neighbors. However, the light pole on which cable lines are attached is located in our yard. If you recall these same cable guys proceeded to
paint a lovely, meandering flourescent orange line all around our yard to show where other lines are buried, so things could be avoided when they started digging to install Bill and Mary's line.

After painting the lovely flourescent orange path, they surrounded the path with many, many orange flags so as to catch the diggers' attention, I assume. Then these same cable guys disappeared never to be seen again. As you can imagine, after two or three lawn mowings the paint was no longer there. Then, after a month the flags disappeared. Now, I'm not saying that Don threw them away, but one of our trash bags had a suspicious orange tint as it went sailing into the trash truck.

Early this week the telephone rang. A neighbor across the street called to say he was concerned because a truck had just pulled up and two guys with shovels were wandering around in our yard. As you can see from this dated blog, it was now
September 18th. Let me see, I believe it has been four months, and the diggers have arrived. Yep, when Don went out, they readily admitted that they were the cable line
diggers, and where, they wondered was their lovely little path.

So Don showed them where he remembered the path to run (it was indelibly etched in his memory). They did their digging, buried the lines, left some lines hanging limply on the light pole, and went happily on their way. Their part of the job is apparently finished. Installers must come now to do the hook-up.
Let's see, according to the cable time table, they should be here about January 18th.

M3 - Many, Many, Many Cats

Strangely enough, Don and I always considered ourselves dog people. We both always have had dogs as pets. And we raised our children more years with a dog in the house than with a cat. Although, the children did bring home cats who lived at our house from time to time as they grew up. I think Smokey lived with us the longest until he chose to move to my mother's house where things were quiet and peaceful for an old cat.

The pet we had for the longest time was Scot, THE BEST DOG IN THE WORLD EVER, who lived with us for 16 or 17 years. He was a shepherd mix who was an abandoned puppy that followed Don all around the Highland Scot football field as Don mowed one day. Then he came home to live with us for the rest of his life. He was sweet, smart, well behaved and fun. All in all an excellent family member.

The summer after Scot died we brought two cats, Frankie and Johnny, home from the lake. I've told the story before how they were born on our porch and marched straight into our hearts and lives. They were totally misnamed. When Frank was a new baby I looked into his baby blue eyes and started calling him "Old Blue Eyes."
Of course, that was Frank Sinatra's nick name, so we started calling the kitten Frankie. When we were looking for a name for his sister, we thought of the song,
"Frankie and Johnny." Later on, as Frank grew, his eyes turned green. I guess all baby cats have blue eyes. And in the song, Frankie is the girl and Johnny is the boy. So they were totally misnamed. Johnny died a few years ago of diabetes, so we now just live with Frankie.

Frankie is skinny, his fur is rough, he has brown spots on his nose, so I may be the only person who thinks he is beautiful. Don loves him because he is so low maintenance: he doesn't eat much, he doesn't drink much, he doesn't use the litter box much, he sleeps a lot, and has never been sick. See, you would think he is beautiful, too, if he lived at your house. He likes to sit on my lap and be loved.

The peculiar thing is that all our children upon leaving home and marrying, have become definite cat people. They not only have one cat, but have multiples.
Elaine, Randy, and girls have had several cats, and I really can't remember all their names. Where they live, the yard and outdoors is a kitty wonderland of huge trees, a overgrown ravine, and many little wild critters to chase. So this Smith family has always allowed their cats to go outside as they please. But they have not had very good cat luck. Their cats have left them through accidents, fights, and sicknesses. I think that right now they just have one cat name Algernon, or Algie. as they call him. He is a lively, smart, and always curious cat. His strangest behavior is to go out the second story window and climb to the high roof.
From there he surveys his kingdom, chases squirrels and things, and looks over the edge of the roof to taunt anyone trying to entice him inside.

Debra and Rod live in a rural area. The have three HUGE indoor Maine Coon cats: Windy, Sparky, and Rags. They are beautiful, long-haired cats who would like to rule the roost. Now, living in the country, Debra and Rod feed several outdoor cats that have been dumped in the road by nasty people. Of course, these poor creatures have a hard time surviving even though they get fed. So, from time to time, Debra and Rod have taken these strays to the vet, and have brought them inside to convalesce. Hoopsy, a coal black female came inside when she had suffered in a fight, and was also pregnant. Guess what? She still lives inside. Her kittens, Peanut Butter and Jelly, also lived there until they were adopted by friends. Now
Hoops lives in the lap of luxury where she eats her food and everybody else's that she can steal! Having starved for so long as a stray, she simply cannot get enough to eat. So she has turned into one very fat menopausal middle aged lady. I can identify. On the other hand, Rags spends his life harrassing her.

Rod and Debra also doctored a sweet grey and white cat they call Little bit, I think.
Little Bit was in the house while recovering from injuries, but has been forced now to live on the front porch. There really is a limit to litter box capacity. However, Little Bit, spends all the time peering in the window looking pitiful and wanting back inside. Just be patient, Little Bit. When it gets cold enough, Debra and Rod will weaken.

Then there is the Holloman family. Our daughter has the softest heart of all. She adopted their dog, Hunter, because the neighbors didn't want him and mistreated him.
They adopted their cat, Ditto, because it showed up at Rod and Debra's while Taylor was working there in the studio. Taylor begged and begged until he was allowed to bring her home. She is a very beautiful coal black cat with bright green eyes. Taylor named her Ditto because she looked like Hoopsie who lives in Rod's studio.
Rather than call her Hoopsie II, they call her Ditto. She is the princess of the household, who loves to strike a pretty pose and be admired. Truly, she knows how beautiful she is, and fully expects to be admired. But, like any beautiful woman, she has a wicked side. Cheryl calls her a Ninja cat. She will chase anything that she spies outdoors, does some wild gymnastic moves, and will fetch anything as many times as someone will throw it.

Then during August a male Tom cat showed up at Cheryl and Jon's. Well, he actually showed up next door where the six Martin kids live. The Martin kids loved this orange, good-looking cat, and played with it, loved on it, and begged Mom and Dad to adopt it. But, Brian and Heidi are extemely wise and determined. They not only did not adopt the cat, but absolutely refused to feed and water it. They KNOW what that gets you.

After watching the poor cat beg for anything for a week, Cheryl couldn't stand it any longer. YOU KNOW WHAT SHE DID, DON'T YOU. Of course, she started leaving food and water on her deck. Then she started sitting on the deck in the evening holding the sweet cat in her lap, and driving Hunter the dog, and Ditto the cat crazy. Then she started calling sweet cat, Mellow Yellow, because he was so laid back and calm.
Jon asked her how she knew that Mellow Yellow was a male Tom cat. Cheryl said because he had a ball sack. From then on, Jon called the sweet cat, Ballsack.
Yes, he did.

Aunt Jane, another soft touch where cats are concerned, said she would pay for Ball sack to be neutered. Cheryl said, "How can I take him to the vet where they will ask what his name is, and I have to say, Ballsack?"
I said, "Well, at least give it the foreign spelling, Balzac, like the famous author."
Aunt Jane said, "I am going to call him Zac."
Cheryl said, "I am going to call him Ballsie." (And that is any better?}
Don said, "What was wrong with Mellow Yellow?"
Taylor said, "I feel used. All he wants from us is that food dish."

Well, today the above mentioned cat went to the veterinarian for his little surgery.
Cheryl told them his name is Zack. They removed that part of his body for which he has been named.

So I guess we can now call him Zackless.

L3 - Have I Lost My Lust for Blogging?

It seems the days between blog entries is growing longer and longer. I really don't know why, except that I am enjoying my newly reacquired office/craft room soooo much that I have started several (make that many) craft projects that have been holding my interest into the wee hours of the night.

The craft demonstrations/tutorials at the Friends of the Library sale last Friday and Saturday went pretty well. Several customers participated and seemed to enjoy themselves immensely. We had good feedback, and several requests to repeat with another demo in October. We will see. It does require a lot of planning, experimenting, gathering of materials, and my working both days of the sale. Before I have always worked just one day as do most of the volunteers.

It was fun though. Sarah sat with me most of the afternoon on Friday, and she is well on her way to becoming paper bead maker extradonaire! She wants to make some jewelry for Christmas gifts. The beads really are very pretty. Amazing that old magazine pages can be recycled in such a glamorous way. I am researching some further refinements to the craft. I am considering ordering a fancy little tool and the waterproofing/ glossy finish medium that puts that shiny finish on the beads.
So pretty!

On Saturday I had several children learn to make beads, and they were so sweet - such good bead makers too. Each went home with a finished necklace or bracelet. One little girl was quite a challenge. She tried to paint my Cutting mat with Elmer's Glue. But she did stop her actions when I asked her to. It was just a little frantic keeping one step in front of her. I understand she is a special needs student. I did send her off with a finished bracelet of which she was most proud, and received a blown kiss in return. Awww - it was worth the effort. Little
Ilea who worked at the same time was so patient with her, too. She was a most precious child, and finished a necklace that was very nice.

Next month we may try to make Christmas trees from folded magazine pages. They are very pretty when finished, and the one magazine is the only material needed. They do take some time to complete, so I will have to decide if this project is plausible.
We will see.

Hmmm. I intended to write about all the cats that live in our extended families, but I certainly got off on a different track. Well, there's always next time. Besides I have trouble remembering all my Grandcats' names, there are so many. But I do have an interesting story about the new Grandcat named Ballsack. I'm sure you want to hear that!

K3 - Kids and Pastimes

I'm considering another question from the book "Reflections from a Mother's Heart."
The question asked was, "What were your favorite pastimes as a kid?"

You need to know that there were five kids in our family, and very little money. These two circumstances certainly set limits on the pastime possibilities. It caused us to be pretty creative in finding things to do. For instance, I never had a bike of my own until I retired from teaching - almost too late. Now, I couldn't begin to ride a bike. Although I did ride mine around Redbud for a few years into retirement. We also didn't have transportaion of other kinds. For several years at the end of World War II, we had no car. My dad rode the city bus to work, and we walked to school.

The time frame that remains upper most in my mind when I think about my childhood, were the years of middle elementary school, a time that we lived in a rental house on south Meridian Street. Being the only girl and the youngest in the family, I had to follow around after my brothers a lot of the time. In the summer David and I would walk from where we lived at 23rd and Meridian to the city swimming pool on
East 8th Street in Park Place. That is a good long walk! I think we swam most every nice day all summer. We never rode the bus there. If we used the money to ride the bus, we couldn't afford to pay to get into the pool. I remember that it took me a couple of weeks every summer to get up enough nerve to go down the big slide into the water. Then, after the first time, I did this over and over. David and I would also throw something into the water, and dive down to find it. This required that we keep our eyes open under water. Our eyes would be so sore from chlorine all evening that we couldn't keep our eyes open. Hmmm, maybe this is one reason we both have such bad eye sight now.

The magical summer there on Meridian Street was when Clare
Windsor moved in across the street. Clare was really smart, and really imaginative. We spent several weeks in their attic arranging all their attic stuff into "artful arrangememts" and pretending that the attic was a gift shop, and we were the proprietors. Clare's older sister, Prudence, made marionettes. Not puppets, but real marionettes with strings and all. Of course, we were not allowed to touch them. But I loved to go into her room and look at all of them.

Clare, my brothers, Dan and Dave, and I then fixed a stage (I don't know how) in our garage. Clare wrote a whole show. We rigged up costumes, made scenery, made and sold tickets, and had the neighborhood kids there one evening for our production.
You know, I don't remember what the show was about, or what role I played. I think Clare did most of the show. My brothers rounded up kids and acted like fools. I think, being younger than the rest, I was just awe struck by the show biz glamour!
What fun it was!

In the winter, unless there was snow for playing, we mostly stayed indoors. We listened to the radio: The Shadow, Jack Armstrong, One Man's Family, Fibber McGee and Molly, and Gildersleeve. We had no television. Actually there was no television yet. But I was entranced by those radio shows. I can tell you exactly what all those people looked like, what their houses looked like, and the streets where they lived. Even though those visions only existed in my mind.

David and I made a lot of cookies. Mother had a recipe book with something called Hermit cookies. We made them a lot because they were pretty plain, and we usually had all the ingredients. As I recall, they weren't terribly good to eat, but we dunked them in our hot chocolate that we made from the recipe on the Hershey chocolate powder can. We also made Mother's "Never-Fail Fudge" from that same cook book. Sometimes it was scrumptious. But sometimes it did fail, let me tell you.
We dropped lots of drops of fudge into a glass with cold water to test for the right doneness and we could quit stirring and pour it onto a plate to set up. Yum! Maybe that's why our teeth aren't so good.

I went bare foot all summer. Did cart wheels and back bends in the yard. I would get poison ivy at least once a summer, and could hardly stand putting on shoes when school started. I dreamed a lot that someone would give me lots of beautiful hand- me- down clothes, so that I would have more than two outfits to wear to school each year. I envied my friends who had older sisters and received the hand-me-downs that they so hated. That never happened. Although when we finally moved to a house where I actually had a bedroom of my own, Mrs. Canaday gave me her married daughter's beautiful long vanity with a pink sateen skirt and a long mirror, frilly lamps, and matching drapes. I was in heaven. I felt like a real princess. I slept with those in my room until I got married and moved away from home.

All in all, not a bad childhood.

J3 - Jotting Down Ideas from "A Mother's Heart"

Tonight I was looking through some old photo albums of Mother's (Don's Mother.) Tucked in with the albums was a tiny book that someone had given her called "Reflections from a Mother's Heart." It had a page for every day of the year.
Each page asked the Mother some question, and then there was space for the Mother to
write her response to the question.

Even years ago this kind of written response would have been difficult for Mother. She loved to talk, but didn't enjoy writing. I know that letters were quite a chore for her. Of course, now even talking has become a chore. I think there are some ideas left in that mind, but the right words simply cannot find there way out.

I looked through the little book. It says you should leave these reflections in written form for later generations to get to know what you were like. I know that I have a couple of my mother's diaries, and I love reading about her day by day life when she was a teenager.

Well, I have become more and more negligent about this blogging. Didn't I warn you about this? I have been really busy with other things: nursing home visits, volunteer work, and I've been having a lot of fun in my reclaimed office/craft room.
At our Friends of LIbrary we have been swamped with old magazines to sell by the sacks full. I mean BURIED in magazines. So I have been coming up with, and trying out crafts that use magazines as the raw material. It has been fun, and I plan a display and how-to demonstrations at our sale this coming Friday and Saturday. But it has been a lot of work getting this ready.

Anyway, I've decided that I will take some of the questions from Mother's little book and try to answer one at a time in my blog. Today's question is: "Who gave you your name? And did you ever have any nicknames?"

My mother told me that my arrival was quite a unique event in a family where there were only boys --- four of them! So my mother and dad let the boys name me. I'm not sure that it was such a good idea. Where in the world did they come up with the name, Phyllis? Although it may have been a popular name for say... a month? A day or two? I do know a few women my age who have the same name. They also brought people in from off the street to see this strange new creature. "What...A girl?
Can you believe it?" I'm sure the mail man was delighted. He had probably seen girls before.

I keep telling Don that I have a sure-fire way to take years off my life. All I need to do is change my name. What do you think? Maybe Madison? Or Tiffany? Or
Brittany? I'm sure it would make me seem like a much younger person.

Now, for the second half of the question. Did I have any nicknames? My mother was always calling me something like Harriet or Agnes, and she often called me by my initials - P.A. I have always signed any card, letter, or note that I give to Don with those initials, too. Once Taylor asked his Grandpa, "Pa, why does Grandma sign her cards "Love, Pa?"

My maiden name was Phyllis Ann Green. I had a friend in high school who always called me "Green Ann," instead of Phyllis Ann. She said that I was so horribly naive that Green suited me much better than Phyllis. Well, she did live a much faster life than I did. In fact, a snail probably lived a faster life than I did.
So maybe I deserved the name. I saw Sandy the other day. She still calls me
"Green Ann." And I still live a pretty tame life.