Travel Plans

Before our trip started, we decided that on the way home we would stop at Biltmore in Ashville and at the Hermitage Hotel in Nashville. This morning, while preparing to leave the Marriott, we decided that "six days on the road and we're gonna make it home tonight" was going to be our theme song. We are just tired of traveling. At about 7:30, Maureen decided she had driven long enough, so we stopped at Lexington, Ky.

She just asked me what was my biggest accomplishment this year, I think just surviving 2011. When I asked her B A, she had a whole list: Taking the GRE and applying to Grad School; Going to Italy with the women of our family and getting Press Passes for John Paul II's Beatification.

What is your best accomplishment in 2011?

Happy New Year!!

Traveling Still

It's Friday Morning, the Wedding - the goal of this trip - is early evening today. As I write this I am sitting on the balcony of our room that overlooks the Savannah River. FYI, Savannah is the fourth largest port in the U.S. We just watched a big container ship sail silently by.

We left Wilson, North Carolina yesterday morning and our first stop was in Smithfield, N. C- home of Smithfield hams - to the Ava Gardner Museum. The museum is very well done. She was born in this town. Very interesting. The rest of the day we drove, some on I95, and when Maureen got tired of being part of a moving parking lot, we would go on a secondary road. Her dad used to travel the same way.

Came over a beautiful bridge on Route 17 into the city of Savannah. We found our hotel and up to our room, hooked up with the brothers - they were at the Bohemia Hotel Roof. Cabbed over. I came back to the hotel about 9:00. Worn out from laughing.......and maybe a little too much wine.

Here we are in one of the most beautiful cities ever, and we are both tired of moving and are content sitting here overlooking the River, feet up, listening to a Miranda Lambert CD.

Traveling

We started out about 9:00, Indiana Time yesterday morning. Beautiful sunny day. We mostly, traveled. When we arrived in the Alleghenys at sunset, there was actually a purple haze over the area. Quite beautiful. We drove as far as Bedford Pa. Which is pretty little town. Lots of old homes and still tastefully decorated for the holidays. Had supper at the Jean Bonnet Tavern,built in 1762. Good food, loads of atmosphere.

Yesterday morning we were up a little earlier and our first port of call was about thirty miles East to the Flight 93 Memorial. It opened on September 10 this year. It began to rain as we traveled East up the mountain and when we arrived at The site, it was coming down pretty hard. We put on raincoats and walked out to the monument. It is a long low black walkway that curves and then culminates in a white pleated wall with the names of the passengers and crew. Beyond the wall, a huge boulder has been placed at the point of impact. Very moving. Imagine, knowing you are going to die and deciding you are not going down without a fight. Heroes and martyrs!

On the way back we stopped at A Lutheran Church built in 1806. Built of logs and two stories high. Pretty neat. Our next stop was Gettysburg. Several years ago when my sister Judy and I had visited there we bought a CD that plays while you drive through the park. We used it again. it is a good tool to give you a good overview of the battle at your own pace. The rain continued harder so we didn't get out much along the way. Those three days in July,1863, changed the tide of the War being fought then. 23,000 Union Soldiers and 28,000 Confederate Soldiers died. Whenever I visit a site like this, I am struck with the thought: "Why don't we get it, that No one wins". 51,000 young men dead. The similarity and contrast of the two sites we visited of Schellsville and Gettysburg is interesting. The first site, shows everyday people making a decision to change the course of history. Gettysburg also changed Our Country's history, because everyday soldiers followed the orders of Officers trained in the strategies of War.

We headed to Fredrick, Md, where we had made plans to meet our nephew, Eric for dinner. He called to say he would be a little late because the rain was causing fog in the mountains he had to cross. Having experienced that Mountain fog earlier in the day, we certainly understood. So, Maureen and I ordered a plate of Mussels and relived memories of our Good Friday meal at the Villa this Spring in Italy. Eric was there before we finished and we had a good visit. He looks great. Last year he had been diagnosed with kidney cancer with a 1% chance of recovery. He is now cancer free and happy and healthy. I love Eric, he has always been one of my favorite people. When we came out of the restaurant - Bone Fish - the rain had stopped and the crescent moon was bright overhead. A good end to an interesting day.

Christmas Morning

Here it is, 3:00 a m and I am wide awake.

For how many years was I just going to sleep at this time after having arranged toys and presents, just so, under the Christmas Tree. Making an effort to have it look like someone had just casually taken them out of his bag. And yet placed so each daughter would know which gift was hers from Santa.

Some years I would just doze off and hear a stirring on the stairs, usually led by Lora and Alissa. Out of bed, quick as a flash and in a loud whisper: "Girls, it's 4:00, go back to bed, you 'll wake the little girls - which really meant "are you nuts, I haven't been asleep for an hour yet." So. They would go back upstairs, whispering excitedly - and loud enough - that the whole crew was soon awake. I'd nudge Vern: "They're awake". "They can't be, it's 4:15". "Might as well get up, ready or not." (He had gone to bed at Midnight after taking a bite of the cookie and I drank some of the milk - because Vern didn't like milk)) He'd put on his kakhis, plug in the tree lights and like a gaggle of gazelles, the daughters rushed down the stairs. Leah always last and holding on to the railing. All of their eager faces reflected in the lights of the tree.

Unwrapped gifts were perused. And since everyone knew what everyone else had asked for, if a sister hadn't spotted her Christmas wish,one of the others pointed it out to her. By this time, Vern had made his cup of Instant, turned on a few more lights, the wrapped present orgy began. A veritable sandstorm of paper and ribbon from gifts that I had painstakingly wrapped - oh, well, they had looked pretty under the tree - and their gifts to us and one another. I usually received a bottle of Evening In Paris perfume - I think they all liked the blue bottle. Vern and I oohed and ahhed over our gifts and I can still remember the pleased look on their faces because they had gotten us the 'perfect' gifts. A little more time to play with toys and breakfast and then get ready for Church....but that's a other story.

Still wide awake but middle of the night memories are good when you can't sleep. May all your memories and minutes be sweet this Blessed Christmas Day.

The Shepherd Boy

Over the hills the shepherds hurried
To honor their new-born King;
Seeking the manger where He lay,
And each a gift did bring.
One had a lamb, and one had grapes,
And one brought a woven shawl,

But there was a ragged shepherd boy
And he brought nothing at all.

All he had was a thin tin whistle, all he could do was play,
And all he knew was a little tune that he whistled all the day.
He had no goodly gift to give, no splendid deed to do;
Would they let him play for the little Christ the only tune he knew?

The shepherds knocked; on creaking hinges
The door of the stable swung.
Soft fell the light on the scene within
From where the lantern hung.
Here was the angel's word fulfilled,
And the shepherds cried with joy,
And each had a goodly gift for the Christ
Save the litttle shepherd boy.


All he had was a thin tin whistle, all he could do was play,
And all he knew was a little tune that he whistled all the day.
But Mary looked at him tenderly, and so did Joseph too;
Perhaps they would let him play for the Child the only tune he knew.


The oldest shepherd offered the lamb,
Another the shawl of wool,
A third the grapes,  then came the fourth
With a jar of honey full.
Behind them all knelt the ragged boy,
Giftless and shy, but soon
He raised his eyes to the Child Divine
And started a trembling tune.

All he had was his thin tin whistle, only one tune he knew,
And his fingers shook as he shyly tried to play his one tune through;
But the shepherds suddenly heard with awe great music rise and ring,
And roll and surge, from the whistle played for love of the new-born King.
                               .....Patrick O'Connor 

Christmas Cards

      This is the time of year when about every mail delivery has at least one Christmas Missive that is a Picture Card.  It's wonderful to see how the great nieces and  great nephews are growing.  My cousin, Peg sends a picture of her grandchildren - good looking group of kids -  and Jackie and Dr. Dan, each year send a picture of their growing family. It's so great watching them go from wee babes to teenagers and eventually parents themselves.   Several friends are sending pictures of them with their family or just the grandchildren.  I love getting those images each year.  I have a Flip Frame that I put the photos in and then display them on a bookshelf and replenish it when the new ones come each year.
     Another card that I look forward to is the one from our former Pastor, Msgr. Swaner.  Always a picture of  of him and something from his garden.  This year, he says, it was  all cukes and zukes - too much rain.
    People ridicule the Christmas Letter people send, but I like them.  It keeps me caught up with what's going on.  The Nieukirks got a new house this year - all on one floor - Great!!! and on a sad note, Vern's cousin, Virginia, lost two grandchildren this year, one in a vehicle accident, the other to cancer.  But a granddaughter got married, so in the midst of sorrow there was joy.

   Like most people, I get very caught up in what's going on in my life, so these yearly remembrances remind me of the importance of the people I know and love.  The cycle of life, sent out each year in pictures and letters.

    The picture on the left is the most poignant of all those I received this year and  expresses "The Cycle of Life" the best.  Caught by the lens, Loraine Sepich, who died this year, and two year old Great Grandson, Aydan.  As Sue wrote on the Card: "It pretty much sums it up".   

Keith's American Christmas

     Daughter Angela, while in college had worked summers at the Chicago Boys Club in Indiana and she met several counselors who lived in English speaking countries that had come to America to work at the same camp.  She made some good friendships and when she and her friend, Cindy had backpacked through Europe, they partook of the hospitality of their camp mates and we in turn reciprocated on several occasions.   One year her friend, Keith Sykes from Great Britain was visiting us. My goal, was to give Keith a good Midwestern Christmas in our home.  I was planning to write a blog about it and needed some input from Angela or youngest daughter, Maureen and after reading Maureen's account, decided hers was much more interesting than what I had planned.

     Angela, Keith Sykes, Craig Smith and I drove to a party in Chicago on the night of December 23 with every intention of being home at a reasonable hour on Christmas Eve.  It was so cold that morning with wind chills of 70 below zero - something Keith had never experienced.  When we stopped to fill up the gas tank, we drew straws to see who had to get out of the car and pump gas.  In that biting stinging cold, chivalry was dead.
     We started home early enough but the weather was turning worse and the going was slow on I-57.  Blizzard conditions, icy roadbeds and the punishing winds were causing travelers to stall, slip and skid.  After several hours (we should have been home by now), we had only made it about 80 miles down the highway.  All of a sudden, there seemed to be a huge accident up ahead with flashing lights from police cars blocking the road.  As we approached the roadblock, we saw that cars were starting to pass us going north in the southbound lanes.  The police were turning everyone around and diverting us to the last exit.  Interstate 57 was closed.
      With about 500 other holiday travelers, we limped our way into the tiny town of Ashkum, Illinois, a farm community between Kankakee and the wide open prairie.  Safety officials and townspeople directed us to an ad hoc emergency shelter in the town hall.  Like everyone else, we were hungry and tired, se we ventured out into the blizzard.  The town hall was flanked by a cafe and a bar.
      A lot of the travelers spent Christmas Eve wandering between those three locations - I later learned from a co-worker at OSF and native Ashkumite, that several residents opened their homes to stranded travelers.  We weren't so lucky.)  We made friends at the cafe and bar, especially two gentlewomen and their poodle we called "Fang".  Someone kept playing Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer on the jukebox.  After several hours, each of the eateries had to close to "restock" and the crowd was sent to the other establishment or went to the emergency shelter to find a place to sleep.  After several more hours, Craig and I decided we were tired, but Angela and Keith were enjoying a real Midwestern Christmas Eve in a bar full of merry refugees making the most of the circumstances.
      Craig and I crept into the shelter where cots, blankets and pillows had been provided by the townsfolk.  The place was packed with hundreds of displaced travelers and despite all the body heat, the bitter cold permeated the building.  All the cots were taken.  There wasn't an extra pillow or blanket to be found.  Even floor space was at a premium.
      Craig and I managed to work our way to the back of the building.  There, just in front of the coat racks, was a family of four:  dad, mom and two little children, all wearing their winter coats and hats, spooned together and covered in a thin pink blanket.  Craig and I laid down on the little bit of floor space behind them and cuddled close to get warm - I had just met Craig at the party (He had worked at the Boys Club Camp as well), but in this emergency situation, sharing body heat was crucial to making it through the frigid night sleeping on a cold concrete floor.)
      Back at the bar - or cafe, just before dawn, Angela and Keith heard word that the Interstate was open and the stranded travelers could safely continue their journeys.  They tiptoed through the shelter looking for Craig and me.  It took awhile, but they found us.  I was spooned between Craig and a man I did not know who was still spooning with his wife and two shivering children.  And somewhere in the middle of the night, we had managed to get ourselves under their thin pink blanket. (I have photos).  We woke up, grabbed some breakfast from the restocked cafe and got back on the road.  We had to drop Craig off in Watseka, his hometown, and then we headed home with tales of the best Christmas ever....

     The daughters got home, laughing and talking about their adventure.  We had our typical Midwestern Christmas.  We had dinner, passed out presents and Keith certainly had a more memorable time then what had been planned.  

An Irish Welcome

'Twas Christmas Eve at St. Mary's and the Pastor Father Gibb,
Was watching Michael the sexton, as he carefully fixed the Crib.
The sheep and the oxen were standing guard - the straw was neatly piled:
And Mary and Joseph were kneeling admiring their tender Child.
The star that guided the Magi flooded the stable with light.
"Tis beautiful, Michael," the Pastor said, "It looks like that First Holy Night."
"Ah, faith, and I think it is terrible," the sexton replied with a frown;
"The way that Our Savior had to be born, in that miserable pagan town.
Sure, there isn't an Irishman living, much less is there one in the grave,
From County Derry down to Kerry that'd let Him be born in a cave.
If the Irish were living in Bethlehem, Joseph need not have knocked;
Sure, Mary and he could have walked right in, for our doors are never locked.
And if they had come to my cottage, they'd have found the door full wide - 
'Cead mile failte,' I'd say to them, God bless ye and step inside.
I'd shake up the old turf fire, and make them  as warm as could be,
And I'd have my wife, God rest her, make them a pot of tea.
And if the soldiers of Herod, came after the Baby, the fakes;
Me and the neighbors would rout them, like Patrick drove out the snakes.
Tis a pity, Father, I tell ye, without a word of lie,
That there wasn't an Irishman livin'when Mary and Joseph passed by."
                      .....Rev. James Connaughton

In Search of Our Kneeling Places

    Don Smith opened our St. Vincent dePaul meeting last week with this reflection.  I asked his wife, Jan, for a copy.  It's a good meditation for  this last week of Advent.

              * In each heart lies a Bethlehem,
   an inn where we must ultimately answer 
                   whether there is room or not.
        *When we are Bethlehem-bound
    we experience our own advent in His.
        *When we are Bethlehem-bound
    we can no longer look the other way
        conveniently not seeing stars
          nor hearing angel voices.
   *We can no longer excuse ourselves by busily
        tending our sheep or our kingdom

      *This Advent let's go to Bethlehem
and see this thing that the Lord has made known to us.
        *In the midst of shopping sprees
    Let's ponder in our hearts the Gift of Gifts.
            *Through the tinsel
    Let's look for the gold of the Christmas Star.
  *In the excitement and confusion in the merry chaos,
     Let's listen for the brush of angel's wings
         *This Advent, let's go to Bethlehem
             and find our kneeling places  
                                       Ann Weams

Pudsy Kelly

     Our Fifth Grade teacher at St. Patricks School on Peoria's Southside, Sister Mary Adolphine, S.S.N.D., after noon recess, to settle us down, would read to us.  One of the books was Marjorie Kinnen Rawlings book, The Yearling.  She helped foster my love of reading.  She also read us a series of poems written by Patrick O'Conner, a Columban Priest.  The poems came from a couple of books written in 1942, very Catholic, and by today's standards, a little schmaltzy, but I still love them.   A couple of years ago, I found one of the books on Amazon and the other day, while looking for something for Christmas week, I picked up my copy of  Pudsy Kelly's Follower and found this beloved poem.  I intend to blog the Christmas one later.

                    Just For A Minute
I remember, when I was only four,
Mother would bring me round to the store,
And just outside of the church she'd stand,
And "Come in," she'd say, reaching down for my hand,
                    "Just for a minute."
And then when I started going to school,
She'd bring me down every day as a rule;
But first the steps of the church we'd climb
She'd say: "We'll go in - you've always got time -
                      Just for a minute."
Then I got real big, I mean seven years old,
And I went by myself, but was always told:
"When you're passing the church don't forget to call,
And tell Our Lord about lessons and all
                      Just for a minute."
Sometimes I run the most of the way,
Or meet some guys and we stop to play;
But I manage to squeeze out time enough
To make for the church, where I pant and puff
                      Just for a minute.
And now it's a sort of habit I've got
In the evening, coming from Casey's lot,
Though it takes me out of my way a bit,
To slip into the church with my bat and mitt
                     Just for a minute.
There are things inside of me, bad and good,
That nobody knows, and nobody could.
Excepting Our Lord, and I like Him to know,
And He helps, when in for a visit I go
                     Just for a minute.
He finds it lonesome when nobody comes
(There are hours upon hours when nobody comes).
And He's  pleased when anyone passing by
Stops in (though it's only a little guy)
                     Just for a minute.
I know what happens when people die,
But I won't be scared, and I'll tell you why:
When Our Lord is judging my soul, I feel
He'll remember the times I went in to kneel
                     Just for a minute.











                           

I still Believe

       It's probably no coincidence that a child questions the existence of Santa Claus shortly after he begins going to school.  There is always some "no-it-all" eight year old who can hardly wait to be the one to burst the Santa bubble.  And of course, it isn't long before the Easter Bunny and Tooth Fairy myths are dispelled with as well.
       I remember when Lora came home from school and told me that someone had told her there was no Santa.  I asked her how she could believe that because every year didn't we put out cookies and milk on Christmas Eve and weren't they gone the next morning?  And weren't there always presents under the tree?  "But ..... said that You and Dad buy things and say it's Santa."   "Well", answered I, "Maybe parents do buy things but all I know is that when there is no extra money, there always seems to be enough for gifts so that money has to come from somewhere, so there must be a Santa."  And I stuck by my story because it was true.  No matter how bad the economy or our circumstances, we always found the money to give the girls a pretty nice Christmas.  I also encouraged her to not say anything to Leah or any of her sisters because now that she was grown up enough to think this way, if she said something it might ruin it for the others.  And as far as I know she didn't tell and when the others came of age, they didn't come to me but Lora told them what she suspected  and asked them not to "spoil" it for Leah and the younger ones.  Then one day, Leah told me she didn't believe anymore and I asked her to keep the secret and not to tell anyone.  Maureen, our youngest daughter,  told me some years back that when she questioned the existence of the Jolly Old Elf, an older sibling told her that yes it was true, but not to say anything  because it would ruin it for me because I still believed.
         For a lot of years, we invited my parents, David and Suzanne, Grandma Scovil, Aunt Pearl and Uncle Roy Elliot  and/or any combination of this group along with Judy and Bill to come to the house on Christmas Eve for a party.  My Aunt Juanita always came too and with her came Santa Claus - in reality her husband, Bob Mohn -  I rented the suit the first year and then he acquired one for himself.  He spent time with our six and Judy's two - Michelle was way in the future.  Someone always brought Bob some cookies and egg nog.  His nog laced with something quite a bit stronger.  Then they were on their way, I think they went to cousin Ben's house and to visit other places.
        Five of the six daughters were born between August 20th and September 21st and one was born on January 13.  So that Christmas, I was pretty pregnant and uncomfortable and that was the year I began catalog shopping  and still like shopping that way.  We would get Christmas catalogs from Sears, Penneys and Spiegels.  By the time, December 25th came along, the toy catalogs had lost their covers and the girls letters to Santa specified catalog company, page number and catalog number.  I remember them lying on the floor, catalogs in front of them, writing out their lists.  And the older one's helping the younger ones write out their preferences.  I always tried to hide the catalogs when they first came so I could read them intact.
       The girls always got to open one present on Christmas Eve.  For a week before they scoped out which one they would open and how disappointed were they when the one they chose happened to be underwear or socks.  Then dressed in a new pair of pajamas, they would go to bed and by 5:00 A.M. they were up to see what Santa had brought.  Santa, while they were in bed - not sure they were sleeping -  had brought numerous unwrapped gifts and  that always included a book of LifeSavers from a special someone.
        This happened every year in pretty much the same way when they were growing up.  I hope they have good memories of those times, I do and that is why I still believe in Santa Claus because the memories are as wonderful as those Christmases so long ago.

How Did You Feel

Written some years back when Monsignor as penance for Confession said I should spend time meditating on the life of Mary.  I came home afterwards and wrote down as much as I could remember.

      When I had come into the Daily Chapel, I had put my coat on one of the chairs in the back.  So for the meditation I decided to go sit in front of the Tabernacle.  I sat, legs out in front, arms folded and then thought:  "You are sitting in the Presence of the Lord, sit up straight".  I sat up in the chair, hands on knees, closed my eyes and began.

       I really don't want to do this, Mary.  You know that I say the Rosary when I travel and when walking, but honestly just don't 'get' having a relationship with you.  In fact, I almost resent you sometimes.  I don't know if that's because of the interaction with my own mother or because you have always been held up to us as the perfect mother, and I know I don't measure up.  I think of that old joke about Mrs. Murphy coming into Mass late and noisily Sunday after Sunday with her eleven children and the old Irish priest admonished her that when she and her brood come into church late each week, that even the Blessed Mother Statue frowned.  Mrs.  Murphy replied:  "Humph, her and her One".  I related to Mrs. Murphy.  I know how I felt coming into Church, trying to marshal that gaggle of girls into and during Mass.  There were time's when I looked up at your statue, to see if you were frowning.

So here goes:
       Tradition tells us that Anna and Joachim prayed for a child and yet when you were young, they took you to the Temple to be  a handmaiden.  How did you feel to be presented that way, was it a glorious day like our First Communion, did you wear a special garment, were you nervous, did you hold Anna's hand, did Joachim hug you goodbye.?  What were your duties?   Did you spend the night and go home each day?  Did you have a best friend.  I think the Church makes you seem so stiff sometimes, did you ever giggle and share secrets with a friend?
       When you became betrothed to Joseph,  how did you feel?  Was he your choice, your parents choice?  Did you like him right away?  As a temple handmaiden, were you of a different social strata than Joseph, the carpenter?
       And when the Angel came how did you feel when he appeared?  Did your heart leap with fear?  Did you cry out, kneel down, breathe deeply?  I've been so afraid to try things in my life, always choosing the safe way, that fact that you said yes to what he asked is amazing.  How did you feel when Joseph found out you were pregnant and told you he wanted out?  Were you resigned or apprehensive?
       Some years back, our daughter, Mary and I were visiting a Cathedral in Mexico and she stood for a long time in front of Joseph' s Altar and when I commented on that, she said she had a great devotion to St. Joseph and "besides, Joseph always takes care of Mary!"   At  St Joseph's Church near downtown, there is one of my favorite stained glass windows.  It depicts the Visitation.  Mary is being greeted by Elizabeth and Zacharias and watching unobtrusive, behind a pillar is the figure of Joseph.  I like to imagine he would have accompanied you on your journey, standing back but keeping an eye on his betrothed as she visited this cousin.  Did Elizabeth show you how to prepare for a newborn, what clothes you would need, you might have still been there when John was born, did she teach you how to cut the cord, and how to clean and take care of this little Boy you were having.
       How did you feel riding to Bethlehem on the back of a donkey, or did you walk and only use the animal to carry your things?  Those last few weeks of pregnancy are so uncomfortable, just the thought of riding and trying to be a part of the animal's gait makes my loins hurt thinking about it.
      How did you feel when Joseph said the only place available was a stable?  Were you so tired by this time, that anyplace with a roof sounded good.  A stable has such a good smell, hay and the smell of the animals breathes and bodies.   I always liked to go into the pony barn when we lived in the country.  Even after they were long gone, you could sometimes get a whiff of that pungent but satisfying aroma.   In a book I read, it supposed that if you and Joseph had trouble finding an Inn that others might have been in the same predicament and that there might have been several families in that barn with you.   I like to think that might be true.   How did you feel when your time came, were there other women there to take charge or was it just you and Joseph alone, you helping him to do what Elizabeth and maybe Anna had passed on to you or did other women, as women do, tell Joseph, to step aside and they would do what needed to be done.  God always seems to send women friends to us when we need them.
       How did you feel when you held that little Guy for the first time, did he snuggle into your neck?  Did you run your fingers over his soft skin, counting fingers and toes?  One of the best smells in the world is a new baby, did you smooth his hair and just breathe in His scent?  Were you worn out?
      How did you feel when the astronomers found you?  Were you and Joseph in awe of these learned men or did you think about who your Son was and know that no one, could be more awesome than He and take it all in stride.  When did you get back to Nazereth and then you took that flying trip to Egypt.  How long were you there?
     Was Jesus a good little boy, did He have colic, did He have favorite toys?  How old was He when He first wanted to help out in the carpenter shop?  Did He ever cut his finger?  How did you feel when you saw Him asleep in his bed at night?   Nothing, just nothing is more beautiful than a sleeping child.  It makes the day all worthwhile.
      In the Bible it talks about Jesus brothers and sisters, did you and Joseph have other children.  I believe in the virgin birth for Jesus but have always wondered if you were a typical married couple.  How did you feel  laying next to your husband?  Did you touch in the night?  Did you talk in the quiet of your bedroom?
      I remember the time Leah took off without permission and how frantic we were, we beat down the high grass on our country roads, went down into the woods, went up to the shopping center but no sign of her or her bike.  And then all at once she came riding down the road and was upset that we were upset and never really explained where she was.  So I kind of know how you felt, when you were coming home from Jerusalem and Jesus wasn't with you.  Panicky, "it's all my fault", "it's all Joseph's fault".  What were you doing that He got away from you?  and then He gave you His explanation which wasn't what you expected and that was that.

   About this time someone came into the Chapel and began a rather loud dialogue with Monsignor.  I was distracted and  came out of my reverie.  What was interesting was that when I had started I was sitting straight and when I stopped my meditation, I was bent forward, almost doubled over.  In the quiet before the Tabernacle, I had spent a few minutes contemplating Mary's life.  Asking her questions that I relate to as a wife and mother.  Maybe Mary seems a little more real now.  The next meditation should be the latter part of her life - the hardest part - watching your child suffer and die.

     I am so grateful to Monsignor for giving me this penance, this quiet reflection.  "Be still and know..."  Ps. 46:10

 

     

Meeting People

       Little stories about people who touched my life this week.


       Last Sunday at the Orpheus Concert, one of the men sang as a solo, Mary Did You Know.  He was a little shaky starting  - this was his first time to solo - and hit a couple of wrong notes along the way but when he got to that last line: "This sleeping child you're holding is the great...I...AM",  his voice was strong and I got chills when he hit that last note.  Awesome!  A good analogy on making a commitment.  In any endeavor we start out 'shaky' and if we believe in what we're doing and like what we are doing, we only get stronger.  By the way, I downloaded Clay Aiken's version to my Christmas playlist because of Mr. Mueller's heartfelt rendition.
                                                                          * * * * *
            On Thursday, I had lunch with some of my classmates from the Academy of Our Lady Class of '54.  When I came in, I saw first a woman who has been in very ill health -  she has been on our prayer list - and it was so great to see her.   Good food and good conversation and when lunch was over, two members of the staff came and set up a ramp over the steps so that Marta could leave with her walker.  A lot of us, probably most of us, had two thoughts as we watched her leave:  1.  How great that she could be with us when she had been through so much and 2. How grateful we were that we are still able to negotiate life on our own.  It's the everyday things for which we are thankful.
                                                                          * * * * *
      I have not been able to find my good green shirt.  Have looked the house over, including the basement.  And then I thought maybe I took it to the cleaners.  So Friday, when I took my red coat to Starcrest, I asked the young man at the window, if he would check.  He said: "Yes, it's here,  Mrs. Mall, I saw it there just this week ".  I looked at him askance because he didn't  look familiar to me and so asked:  "How do you know who I am?"  He said he had worked at CEFCU in Sunnyland in the early 90s and when he had seen my name on the shirt's ticket, he remembered waiting on me there.  And then he said some nice things.  Isn't it interesting, what makes us remember a person.  The smallest thing, that we might do naturally -  without thought, can mean a lot to someone else.  By the way, the shirt had been there since September and Starcrest, FYI,  keeps items for a year.               
                                                                         * * * * *
      Last night, I picked up my friend, Phyllis, and we went to Mike and Laurie Hawley's annual Christmas Party.  Lovely evening.  This is really a good event, a good mix of people.  When we left, Mike walked us to the car, it was a little icey in front of the house and I thanked him again for his kindness to Vern.  Vern was in and out of the hospital  several times in the last couple of years.  Mike heads the Pharmacy at OSF, and everyday, he would pop his head in, ask how things were going, always had something to say that would make Vern smile.  Vern looked forward to his visits.  And towards the last, when our daughters were taking turns being with their dad around the clock, Mike would tease and joke with them as well.  God just puts the best people in our lives.  People who do things that keep life so rich.  How blessed we are.

Wisdom from the Rabbi

      "And the Lord said to the rabbi, 'Come, I will show you hell.'  They entered a room where a group of people sat around a huge pot of stew.  Everyone was famished and desperate.  Each held a spoon that reached the pot, but each spoon had a handle so long that it could not be used to reach each person's mouth.  The suffering was terrible.
      'Come, now I will show you heaven, '  the Lord said after a while.  They entered another room, identical to the first - the pot of stew, the group of people, the same long spoons.  But there everyone was happy and nourished.
     'I don't understand, ' said the rabbi.'why are they happy here when they were miserable in the other room and everything was the same?' The Lord smiled, 'Ah, but don't you see?' He said, "Here they have learned to feed each other.' "
                                                                    * * * * *
 A cheerful glance brings joy to the heart. .......Proverbs 15:30

                                            * * * * *
Overheard on Noah's Ark:  "Hey, there are more than two flies in here!"
                                                                   * * * * *

       A rabbi, a priest and a minister were debating the beginning of life.  The minister said that life began at birth.  The priest said life began at conception.  The rabbi said that life begins when the children leave home and the dog dies.    

LISTENING

My friend, Jean, and I have been meeting for spiritual reflection for close to twenty years.  Through the years, sometimes weekly, and sometimes monthly.  Others have joined us for periods of time, but we two are the base.  Jean has been keeping journals for 30 plus years and sometimes she sends me a page or a quote from one of them.  This is one I found in the files, I don't know when it was sent or the circumstance.

To Carolyn, Norma, Don, Tom and Catherine
  You listened patiently
Sometimes you gave me pieces of feedback
You listened again and again - 
        to what you probably knew was foolishness,
        not wise, didn't make sense.
But you listened, because I needed to talk.

 You allowed me to be where I was - wandering
                       in a place no where
 I sat on chairs that did not exist,
Slept in beds that were not there.
And you all waited for me to get through this. 

You never pushed or pulled me.
Though sometimes you may have wanted to.
You never laughed, though sometimes
       I may have seemed very silly.

You listened - heard my dreams and desires
        even when I couldn't see or accept them myself.
You were my sisters and my brothers
      in ways I had never known.

In tears I thank God for each of you
     given to me for a special purpose
             to help me survive this past nine months.

Who I will become - I don't know?
But I am wizer, richer, more at peace,
  feel loved in many new ways.

                          all because you listened.
                                                          Jean

    Recently our grandson Stephen, who has been getting up at 5:00 a.m. to feed the poor in Spokane - he lives about 35 miles away -  told his mother:  "I noticed that sometimes all people want is for you to listen!"  Very insightful for an 18 year old.


Jean says to think of our ears.  Considering their shape, the two of them together form a heart... to listen.

  

Paraprosdokians

Vern's cousin, Virginia Frye sent me these in an e-mail.  I love these(and so did Winston Churchill)  A Paraprosdokian is a figure of speech in which the latter part of a sentence or phrase is surprising or unexpected; frequently used in a humorous situation.  Here are some examples.
  1. Light travels faster than sound.  This is why some people appear bright until you hear them speak.
  2  If I agreed with you, we'd both be wrong.

  3. We never really grow up, we only learn how to act in public.

  4. War does not determine who is right - only who is left.

  5. Money can't buy happiness, but it sure makes misery easier to live with.
  6. To steal ideas from one person is plagiarism.  To steal from many is research.
  7. I thought I wanted a career.  Turns out I just wanted paychecks.
  8. Behind every successful man is his woman. Behind the fall of a successful man is usually another woman.

  9. Nostalgia isn't what it used to be.
10. A clear conscience is the sign of a fuzzy memory.
11. You do not need a parachute to skydive.  You only need a parachute to skydive twice.

Now about meeting Vern's cousin, Virginia.  This is a picture of the two of them taken over seventy years ago.    Vern went on line to a Historical Website for Shawnee Mission, Kansas (I think) and in a group of pictures, he noticed a wedding picture and his mother was a bridesmaid in the picture.  He contacted the Historical group, they gave him the name of the person who had posted the picture and that is how he re-established contact with Virginia.  So in October of 2007, Maureen, Vern and I drove to Kansas City to meet her.  We toured the old neighborhoods where he had grown up and  the cemeteries where family members are buried. We thoroughly enjoyed meeting this lovely, interesting woman.  Three months later he was gone.  Vern died in  January of 2008.  She and I still stay in touch.

Gallimaufry

Just some things on my mind.


   Well, It is officially the Christmas Season.  Yesterday afternoon, I went to hear the Orpheus Chorus sing their Winter Concert.  Instead of sitting in the front, I sat towards the back and I think you could hear the blend better.  Their rendition of Mood Indigo was awesome - not very Seasonal but then folks do seem to get the blues this time of year.  This men-only group has been around since 1902, we've been going since 1997 when our friend, Bill Calliss joined.  They have a Spring Concert as well.  Any of you living in Peoria should make it a must-do.
     Afterwards we went to the Fish House - another good Peoria institution - and I had fried halibut and fried zucchini.  Excellent, but had a hard time sleeping.  Too much fried.  
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     The bulb burned out on my back yard light post, so I went out to replace it and while unscrewing the decorative nut on the top, the screw on the bottom fell to the ground - I had forgotten to hold both sides.  Add appropriate expletive - I did.  Replaced the bulb and I had visions of the winter wind roaring around the garage and lifting the top and destroying the lantern.  I bent down to rifle through the grass  - which is a little long for winter - to see if I could feel where the screw had dropped.  Nothing!  But as I was standing back up, I glanced over and on a leaf on the ground was the screw.   You tell me there aren't miracles or at least Someone looking out for us.  I was stunned - still am.

                                                * * * * *

      One of the places in this country that touches me the most is The Andersonville Site in Georgia.  It was a Confederate prison during the War between the States and the conditions for the Union Soldiers were horrific.  I have been there three times and every time, I have had an eerie feeling just sensing a presence.  Our daughters felt it too when we were there last Thanksgiving time.  
     While doing research on Ancestry.com, I found that one of our ancestors, Peter Bishoff,  had been imprisoned there. (Is the theme from  Twilight Zone playing in your head?)  Amazing! 
                                                                       * * * * *

      Back to the blues and the Season, my new favorite Christmas song is by Marty Stuart, Even Santa Gets the Blues.  I hope it puts you in the holiday mood. 

A Treatise on Books

      Last night, instead of straightening up my kitchen, I spent the time downloading free books from I-Books.  Some were books of poetry by Edgar Guest - sappy but wonderful, several by Willa Cather, every free book available by Edna Ferber and a few historical romances too.
      My love affair with books goes back to my sixth birthday when Mother took me to The Lincoln Library to get a LIBRARY CARD - a rite of passage!!!  I remember walking up those marble stairs inside the doors and her handing me over to the librarian who helped me fill out the registration and who gave me a card with a  number and admonished me that  I could only keep the book - only one when you were six - for two weeks and I must return it on time so that other children could take it out.  I can still see the young books section.  The shelves, the bench, the feel of the books as you held them and turned the pages.  Garrison Keillor says that a book is a gift you can open again and again.  That's how I felt, looking at those books over and over was a gift to myself.  Among my favorites was Babar, written in cursive.
     Here my story turns dark!!!  The next year, we moved up to and rented a house on College Avenue and I went to St. Marks School.  No library close that I can remember.  In our classrooms were a row of books that we could read after our work was done and if we were really good, we could take one home.  In third grade, I was a good student and was able to take a book home several times.  The problem was I didn't take them back.  I loved seeing those books standing upright on my dresser.  I read them again and again, they were dear friends.  One day, Sister commented that there were several books missing and one of my classmates said: "Norma Scovil stole them, I saw her take them home!"  Branded a thief at age 8, oh, the shame of it!!  I didn't feel I had stolen them, I knew that at the end of the school year they would have to go back, I just wanted to look at them in my house.
     The next year, my parents had saved enough to put a down payment on a home on Howett Street in the Southside, one block from Lincoln Street and two blocks to the Lincoln Library.  There I became friends with Lois Lenski's books like Strawberry Girl and the Tib, Tacy and Betsy series by Maud Hart Lovelace.  I loved reading books in a series or by the same author - still do.
   In High School I worked in the AOL library and read everything I could.  And when my children were in school at old St. Patricks, under Sister Mary dePaul's tutelage, I learned the rudiments of the Dewey Decimal System, and put some order to the Library there.  I also worked as a librarian at St. Patricks in Washington.
     The books that I own - bought and paid for - are like friends that you don't see all the time but when you do they are full of memories and good times.  I just reread The Wizard of Oz, and neither the movie or Wicked are as good as the original by Frank Baum.
     Some years back, I read a series of books by Lorna Landvic, Patty Jane's House of Curl, was the first.  I have two copies, a paperback that I loan out - someone has it now, can't remember who - and a hardback I keep for myself.  I will read anything by Marion Chesney and The Mitford Series by Jan Karon is wonderful.  One of the women in Swim Class told me about a series of books, the first of which is A Year at Ladybug Farm.  So good, I read it in one sitting.  Recently, I bought new copies of  two old favorites, Cold Sassy Tree and 1000 White Women that I had loaned out so long ago, that I have given up hope of getting them back.
      I never wanted a kindle or a nook because I love turning the pages in a book, but my I-Pad turns the pages as you read - so cool!  The loveliest thing about I-Books is that the books don't have to be dusted, no one can borrow them and when I am done reading, if I choose, I hit delete.  Life is good.

My Part of the Ceiling

     Recently a young friend was questioning why bad things were happening in her life.  Why did her beloved mother, who had had cancer surgery in the summer, now get an unfavorable  test result and how come she herself seemed to have such crummy luck lately.  We all at some time or other have played the Why Me Game.  I could play it, Why did I get lung cancer when I never smoked?  Why did our oldest child have learning disabilities and die at age thirty eight?  Insert here,  your "Why Me" Question.
     I bring this up today, because on December 1, 1958, a Catholic Grade School on the west side of Chicago caught on fire and eighty nine children and three religious Sisters died in the fire.  I remember how devastated all of us were.   How could this happen to kids at a Catholic School?  Leah was just a little over a year old, Lora was three months old - and I was probably already pregnant with Alissa - and we considered that some day they too would be "out in the big world" and we were grateful that as young as they were, they were safe. 
      That Sunday, at Mass, in his homily, Father said that so many were asking Why, Why, Why?  He said he couldn't answer why and he gave the analogy that  it is like an ant crawling across the magnificent ceiling in the Sistine Chapel.  It only sees what it is moving over.  We don't know the "big picture", but just our experience.
      You can see that his words have stayed with me all these years and when something happens that is unexplainable, I remember what he said  and try to keep in mind that there is  more to it than I know and that I as a woman of faith,  believe that some day, in a better place,  I will know the answers to all of the "Whys."
      The name of the school in Chicago was ironically named Holy Angels and I don't know why 89 children died but that fire went swooping up the stairways in that two story school house and the flames moved so quickly that the children were trapped.  Shortly after that, schools, hospitals and all public buildings had fire doors installed and if the fire alarm goes off those doors are shut immediately.  Maybe 89 little ones died to save thousands and thousands.  I don't know the answer, I just know what I can see, my part of the ceiling.
     

Why I'm Thankful

     This was one of the nicest Thanksgiving weekends.  I got up on Thursday morning, celebrated the day with 9:00 Mass at St. Thomas.  Back home and I began the drive up to Pecatonica, the car radio singing from a playlist of  upbeat songs.   When I arrived, on the sun porch, great niece and nephew, Lily and Jarrett, were watching "The Great Pumpkin"  on  a laptop.  In the living room were several noble heads staring quietly  into space and underneath the mounted deer heads were several people staring at the TV and occasionally shouting or moaning depending on what was going on with the Packers/Lions game. In the kitchen was daughter, Angela and niece, Michelle, putting the finishing touches on dinner.
       When the game was over - Packers won - grandson Joel came out into the kitchen to carve the turkey.  Those two years he worked as a chef at Eagle Ridge showed as he sharpened his knife and then methodically stripped the meat from the carcass.  So cool to watch.  Then THE DINNER.   First we gathered in prayer around the dining room table, holding hands and giving thanks.  Grabbed a plate and walked along the kitchen counter for our wonderful meal.  Great food, great conversation and dessert.  Grandson Tim had made a cheesecake, so good and rich, a one inch piece was filling, pies and apple dumplings and granddaughter Ellen's Turkey cookies.   Truly a bountiful meal.
        Just before I headed into Rockford to the hotel, the daughters who were there presented me with my early Christmas gift from all five of them. An I Pad 2.  Joel had been giving me some advice on what to look for in a Notebook - I planned on buying one for when I traveled - but I never expected something as nice as this.  What a great gift.  Last night after several hours with Ricky in India with ATT, I am on the internet and ready to enjoy my new toy.
         Spent time Friday morning at the hotel pool with John Evers - nephew by marriage.  He was on dad duty with Jarrett in the pool.  Then we headed out - Evers family to the Rockford Discovery Museum and Angela and I to the Art Museum. (The other family members had all gone home)  A good mix of art.  Two amazing  Loredo Taft sculptures and a series of handmade quilts, made from scraps, obviously well used, definitely not made on a frame but oh so charming.  Nowadays when quilting is often done by skilled artisans, these misshapen , unmatched squares and patterned quilts had a beauty all their own.
       We also went to the museum to see Jane and Homer.  Some years back, when daughter Maureen was digging in Eastern Montana, Vern and I had gone to visit the site.  The day we arrived, Homer's ruff - he is a tyrannasourus -  was found.  So the last time I saw it was there in the ground and now it's on display in Rockford.  Jane is the first young dinosaur this group from the museum found and Homer was found in the same area. 
       Lunch at Beef a Roo, a Rockford landmark and back to the hotel to nap.  Supper at Angela and Tom's and  then John and the kids went back to the hotel, Tom relaxed in quiet and Mich, Angela and I attended "Christmas Belles", the play at the Pecatonica Playhouse.  Darling play, well done by the cast.  When  I was doing my first Chemo treatment, Angela had brought the play for me to read, and so I really looked forward to seeing it.  I wasn't disappointed. 
        Up early Saturday morning, to make the trip back to Peoria - I was here by 8:30.  Misty rain all the way.   So glad to be home but I am so thankful for my life and the people in it.

HAPPY NEW YEAR!!

    Today is the First Sunday in Advent, which means that it is the beginning of the Church year - not the Hallmark year.  The Priest's Chasuble is purple, all of the plants were gone from the Altar and there is an Advent Wreath in front of the Altar with one candle.  Very austere, very solemn.  Today was a little more arresting than usual because for the first time in about fifty years there are minute changes in the Mass for the congregation but quite a bit of change in the words of the Priest.    And it's not really change but back to the words we said during Mass before Vatican II.  
     Change is good.  It shakes us up.  Sometimes we get pretty complacent in our lives but a new job, a new teacher, a new grocery store moves into the neighborhood and our routine can get altered.
     Today  we start a new season, and most of us  will be spending the next few weeks altering our lives by decorating the house, preparing special foods and let's not forget going crazy choosing, buying and wrapping all those presents.  My hope is that you will take the time to change someone Else's life by having a good word for that annoying grocery clerk,  a small gift for someone who might not be getting one from anyone else and most of all, quiet time with the Lord   - rest in the quiet of the Person that all this is really about.
       This is a little story I read long ago that I love and it's a good lesson for this first week of Advent.
                                                       THE ELEVATOR RIDE
   A mother spent hours Christmas shopping with her three children.  They looked at numerous toys in several stores, and, of course, the children wanted everything they saw.
   She was already exhausted from putting up the Christmas decorations, going to numerous Christmas parties, picking out gifts for her family and friends, making sure she didn't forget anyone on her card list, planning church activities and the Christmas dinner.
    In one department store, the mother - carrying all her bags and dragging her three kids - pushed her way into a crowded elevator.
    When the doors closed, she blurted out loud, "This is too much! Whoever started this whole Christmas thing should be strung up!"
     From the back of the elevator, a calm voice responded, "Not to worry, ma'am.  We already crucified Him." 

    In Advent we await the Beginning, in a couple of months, during Lent, we remember the End.  The cycle of life. 

Native American Prayer

Hold on to what is good even if it is a handful of earth.
Hold on to what you believe even if it is a tree, which stands by itself.
Hold on to what you must do even if it is a long way from here.
Hold on to life even when it is easier letting go.
Hold on to my hand even when I have gone away from you.

Anniversary Memories

      One day in the early 1930s, Bernadine Burrell was driving her dad's car down Second St. in Peoria.  Her new friend, Wanda Hartman was in the passenger seat.  Wanda had recently moved to town from the Arcola area to live with her sister, Laura and her family.  Bernadine spotted her boy friend, Russ Scovil  walking down the street carrying a sack of groceries, and rolled down the window and asked if he would like a ride.  He said yes, crawled in the back seat and Bernadine introduced her two friends.  A couple of weeks later, Russ asked his good friend, Ralph Dixon if he would take Wanda out and double date with he and Bernadine.  Ralph,  who was extremely shy  and not the fastest thinker in the group - gave this classic answer: "I can't take her out, I have a sore finger".  (He was teased about this comment the rest of his life and said one time, it was just the first thing that popped into his head, as he was just to shy to go out with girls),
       .....And now the rest of the story:  The rest of the story, I suppose,  is that Russ and Wanda eventually became a couple, got married, and had eight children of which I am the oldest.  But there is more to Ralph's story as well.  During WW2, he was stationed in Italy and sent my parents a post card from there.  Dad's cousin, Nadine, was visiting at our house and the parents suggested she write to him.  Nadine was one of the most loved of my Dad's family and had a great sense of humor.  Her first letter to Ralph started:  I am Mae West in Kate Smith's body - if you are too young to know who Mae West and Kate Smith are, ask someone.  They corresponded until the end of the War.  It was love at first write!   I'm not sure but I think he came home on leave once during this time.  He was not Catholic and while he was in the Army he took instructions in the Faith and was Baptized, made his First Communion and Confirmed all in one day at the Vatican and about a week after he got back to Peoria, he and Nadine got married and lived truly happily ever after. Wonderful, wonderful people.
     I'm telling these stories today because November 23 is my parents 76th wedding anniversary.  My sister, Suzanne and her husband, Jim Godfrey chose this day to get married as well.  I'm thinking it's 28 years.  Happy Anniversary to Suzi and Jim.   And some people said it wouldn't last!!

Thoughts on The Eucharist

     Sometime in the late 1980s, I became an Extraordinary Minister of the Eucharist at OSF St. Francis.  This means I brought Holy Communion to the patients in the hospital.  We Catholics believe that during the Celebration of the Mass, bread and wine become the Body and Blood of Christ.  And in the Tabernacle are kept, in the form of unleavened bread, the Body of Christ to be taken to those who are sick or dying.  This is called Viaticum - food for a journey.  So many times, instead of ministering to, I was the one who received a blessing.
      I continued doing this at OSF until a couple of years after Leah died and I was assigned to bring the Eucharist to a patient in the room where she had had her final stroke.  While saying the Our Father, tears welled up and I told Father Tom, the Chaplain, I just couldn't continue and he asked if I would consider doing the same at Methodist Medical Center.  I did until my knee surgery.  For a lot of years, I took Communion to shut-ins at St. Patricks Parish in Washington and recently began doing the same here in Peoria.  What a gift to be able to bring Our Lord to others.
      A few years back, while Vern and I were visiting our daughter, Lora in Wisconsin, she and her husband, Randy took us to the museum in Milwaukee to see items from the Vatican archives.  One display was of beautiful Chalices - the cup used by the priest during Mass that holds the wine.  Some of these were hundreds of years old and very beautiful with carvings and jewels.  The thought by many in the Church was that the more beautiful the cup, the more glory to God.
      In the center of a shelf, in the middle of all this magnificence, was a small stemmed glass and the lid from a tin can.  This was the Chalice and Paten - the plate used to hold the bread - of St. Maximillian Kolbe.  Maximillian Kolbe was a Polish priest who because he helped many Jewish people was sent to Auschwitz, where he was starved to death.  At the prison, the inmates were given unleavened bread to eat and some of the guards would clandestinely bring wine to him and he would say Mass and distribute Communion  to other Catholics imprisoned there.  Of all the Chalices I have seen, Maximillian Kolbe's simple glass and tin lid are what touched me the most.  It is not the vessel but what it contains.    And couldn't that be said of us:  it's not what we look like but what we are.
      By the way, the word Eucharist is from the Greek and means Thanksgiving

Remembering Thanksgiving

     There are really two wholly American holidays.  July Fourth and Thanksgiving.  We celebrate the Fourth with parades, flying flags and bratwurst, as we should.  These days it's not so much our declaration against the tyranny of taxes but our independence to speak our minds, worship as we please, and the freedoms from want and fear.  But as Father reminded us at Church this morning because we have a global media,we are more aware of the famine in Somalia and the strife in Equador as well as the persecution of Christians in Muslim countries.  The four Freedoms that we have taken for granted for so long are slowly eroding away.
      Last week our daughter, Maureen, was here to go with me to the Doctor - another good report  - and the next day,she and I went on a Field Trip.  As we traveled to Springfield we noticed a lot of houses already decorated for Christmas and we talked about how we seem to go from Halloween to Christmas bypassing the wonderful holiday, Thanksgiving.
      Later in the day, we were discussing our ancestors and talking about one of them, William Bradford, the Governor of the Plymouth Colony.  She printed out the following guote of his:
                     
                  "And afterwards the Lord sent them such seasonable showers, with
                  interchange of fair warm weather as, through His blessing, caused
                  a fruitful and liberal harvest, to their no small comfort and rejoicing.
                  For which mercy, in time convenient, they also set apart a day of
                  thanksgiving...By this time harvest was come, and instead of famine
                 now God gave them plenty...for which they blessed God". 


      Governor Bradford as the civil authority recognized Thanksgiving Day in 1623.  This date is almost 150 years previous to July 4th, 1776

      I propose that we do not decorate, do not buy or do not plan Christmas until we have taken time to give thanks.  Thanks for the fact that we are a country, for the most part, without strife, famine and persecution.  Thanks for the fact that we can get on a plane, train, a bus or get in the car to go over the river and through the woods to be with those we love or are related to -  and sometimes it's both.  Thanks for the fact that we can - or cannot - watch the Packers and Lions play football even if you are a Bears fan.  Thanks for good health enough to enjoy all of the above and enough wealth to live as we do.  So if it's turkey and all the trimmings or Smelt, because that's what you can afford, give Thanks.  Our God is good.

DESSERTS

Do you get the idea that if there is cooking to be done I want it to be as easy as possible?  You are so right. 


This recipe is from Sue Sepich.  I haven't tried it but she says its wonderful and her husband, Steve, said it was great.  I'm a "One piece of pumpkin pie a year is enough and make it a sliver" type person but I think I'll take it for Thanksgiving dinner at Angela's just to experiment. 
Easy Pumpkin Pie
16 oz can of Pumpkin
1 can Eagle Brand sweetened condensed milk
2 eggs
1 tsp cinnamon
1/2 tsp each of ginger, nutmeg and salt.
      Mix together, pour into prepared pie shell and bake at 425 for 15 minutes and then 350 degrees for 35 to 40 minutes or until knife in pie comes clean.


This recipe is from Beth Doolan.  For years, there were four couples of us who would meet on Sunday nights at our house for a Bible Study/Wine Tasting group....but that's another story.  Someone would always bring dessert. Beth brought this one time.  It is such a pretty presentation  and good too.

Chocolate Lasagna

Cool Whip
Ice Cream sandwiches (I prefer Kroger brand)2 boxes for a 9x13 pan
Chocolate Syrup
Caramel Syrup
Heath Bar Pieces
       Put a little whipped cream in the bottom of your pan.  Cover pan with a layer of ice cream sandwiches, Spritz caramel sauce over ice cream.  Cover with whipped cream.  Sprinkle half of a package of Heath Bar pieces.  Another layer of sandwiches, caramel sauce, whipped cream.  Sprinkle the top with the rest of the Heath bar pieces and drizzle chocolate syrup over top.  Refrigerate.  Can be frozen.


I have been making this dessert for me lately.  A  4 oz  pudding (they come in cups in the refrigerated case at the grocery store, six to a package).  I prefer vanilla or butterscotch.  A little Heath Bar Sundae Shell and Reddi Whip on top.  Looks pretty and tastes yummy.  The puddings come in chocolate flavor as well and I suppose you could use your pretty stemmed glasses, layer the pudding in the different flavors, cover with the shell and whipped cream and that might make an elegant looking dessert.  Just saying!

Finding Uncle Fred

     One of the stories that Vern's mother used to tell was about her brother, Fred.  Clara was the youngest in her family and very spoiled - ...but that's another story - and especially by  Fred.  She adored  him.  He was 17 years older than her.   There was a falling out  of some kind between Fred and Clara's oldest sister, Anna and Fred left home never to be heard from again.  Anna as the oldest,  and even though she had a beau, was told by the parents it was her responsibility not to marry but stay home and keep house for them.  Clara was devastated when Fred left and she often said she wished that she could find him.  Somehow they had gotten word that he had homesteaded in Billings, Montana.
  When Anna was older and came to live in southern Missouri in the early 1960s, Clara and another sister, Mamie were getting ready to sell the family home in Kansas City and came across two letters that Fred had written to Clara but Anna had hidden them from her.  Clara went ballistic - many times -  and poor Aunt Annie, slightly senile at this time, caught the brunt of her anger.
      A couple of months ago, I got rummaging around on Ancestry.com  and checking records that they had, located Alfred Julius Beeker - Uncle Fred.  From census records and his WW1 draft card, he had lived in Yellowstone, Seattle, Spokane and finally in Wenatchee Washington.  I got the following information from the Wenatchee Genealogical Society from the Wenatchee Daily World, February 16,1942:
                                                  :               ALFRED BEEKER
                              Mr. Alfred J. Beeker, 59, died at his home, 1102 So. Columbia St.
                              early this morning.   Mr. and Mrs. Beeker attended church services
                              Monday night and he apparently was in good health.  His sudden
                              death came as a shock to his family and friends.
                              Born in Kansas City, Mo., March 4,1882, he spent his early life
                              there and later learned the plumbing trade.  Later, he moved to the
                              Pacific coast and spent several years in Washington, Oregon and
                              California.  He has resided in Wenatchee since 1936.  On Dec. 20,
                              1941, he was married to Miss Ramoth Phipps in Wenatchee.  He
                              was a member of the Christian Missionary Alliance church.
                              Surviving is his widow of Wenatchee.  Services will be announced 
                              by the Hennesy mortuary.

      In another small blurb it says that services were held at his church and burial in the Wenatchee cemetery.
   
      My first thought when finding this information was how much Vern would have enjoyed  knowing about Uncle Fred and then I remembered that where he is, he probably already knows and has enjoyed a great reunion with this uncle so beloved by his mother.  Finding Uncle Fred makes me think of the broadcaster, Paul Harvey who always said: "and now for the rest of the story".  Getting married at age 59 and dying a little more that two months later?  I'd love to know "the rest of that story"!!