I love little kids and the way they hear things. Sara Donnoe sent me some quotes from little children that triggered this blog.
From three year old Alicia: "Our Father, who does art in heaven, Harold is His name".
And a four year old's take on the most perfect prayer: "And forgive us our trash baskets, as we for give those who put trash in our baskets".
Our mother grew up on South Eastern Illinois and attended the Church of Christ. She said one time, that as a child they would sing the refrain to an old hymn: Onward, Christian Soldiers, marching as to war, With the cross of Jesus, marching on before.
When she was young, she thought they were saying" "the cross-eyed Jesus" and couldn't understand if Jesus could heal people, why He couldn't do something about His own eyes.
Judy and I were talking recently about when we were kids and there would be a beautiful service in the Church, such as Forty Hours that would be all in Latin. There were always a lot of priests up on the Altar and they would be saying a Litany, One priest would lead it and the others answer him in Latin: "Ora Pro Nobis" - Pray for us - but that it sounded like they were saying: "Oh rah PRO no biss" or to our young ears, "Oh, rotten apples".
One of my best memories is picking up 5 year old nephew, Chris, from Kindergarten and he told us - Maureen and his little brother, Mike were also in the car - that he had learned the Pledge of Allegiance that day. My heart remembers that little fellow standing in the back seat on the hump that ran under the middle of the car, with his hand on his chest, Maureen and Mike watching him in awe, reciting what he had heard but not exactly in the way I had learned it. I remember I had a hard time keeping a straight face because he was so earnest in his delivery, but oh, how I wish I could remember his exact words.
So, to all of you with young children or grandchildren, in these days of high tech, record these times, so that the words become part of the memories.
Saturday, December 29, 2012
Thursday, December 27, 2012
Detailing The Bill
Some years back, while having lunch with my friend, Edie - who at the time was Bishop John Myers secretary - she told me that there were all kinds of papers and such in file cabinets in a back room of the basement of St. Marys rectory. Me, with an interest in history, said I'd be glad to sort through what was there. Permission came for me to proceed and I did. Periodically, I'd find something of interest and the Bishop would tell me a little of the history of what I had found. There were a lot of worthwhile items found, enough that the Diocese hired an archivist and now there is a museum on the first floor of the new Diocesan building.
This is a copy of a paper found in one of the files. I thought it was clever. Sort of 'Ecclesiastical humor'. There is no date on it but I'm assuming it is quite old. The title is above.
An old Church in Belgium decided to repair its properties and employed an artist to touch up a large painting. Upon presenting his bill the committee in charge refused payment unless the details were specified, whereupon he presented the items as follows:
To correct the Ten Commandments..............................................5.12
Embellishing Pontius Pilate and putting new ribbons on his hat......................................3.09
Putting new tail on rooster of St. Peter and mending his comb......................................2.20
Replumbing and gilding left wing of Guardian Angel................. ................5.18
Washing the servant of the High Priest and putting carmine on his cheeks...............5.02
Renewing Heaven, adjusting the stars and cleaning up the moon.................. 7.14
Touching up purgatory and restoring lost souls.........................................................3.06
Brightening up the names on Hell, putting new tail on the Devil,
mending his hoof, and doing several odd jobs for the damned................................. 7.10
Rebordering the robes of Herod and adjusting his wig.............................................4.00
Taking spots off the son of Tobias............................................................... ..1.30
Putting earrings in Sarah's ears....................................................................1.71
Putting new stone in David's sling, enlarging the head of Goliath,
and extending Saul's leg..................................................................................6.13
Decorating Noah's Ark and putting a head on Shem....................................4.31
Mending the shirt of the Prodigal Son and cleaning his ears..........................3.30
This is a copy of a paper found in one of the files. I thought it was clever. Sort of 'Ecclesiastical humor'. There is no date on it but I'm assuming it is quite old. The title is above.
An old Church in Belgium decided to repair its properties and employed an artist to touch up a large painting. Upon presenting his bill the committee in charge refused payment unless the details were specified, whereupon he presented the items as follows:
To correct the Ten Commandments..............................................5.12
Embellishing Pontius Pilate and putting new ribbons on his hat......................................3.09
Putting new tail on rooster of St. Peter and mending his comb......................................2.20
Replumbing and gilding left wing of Guardian Angel................. ................5.18
Washing the servant of the High Priest and putting carmine on his cheeks...............5.02
Renewing Heaven, adjusting the stars and cleaning up the moon.................. 7.14
Touching up purgatory and restoring lost souls.........................................................3.06
Brightening up the names on Hell, putting new tail on the Devil,
mending his hoof, and doing several odd jobs for the damned................................. 7.10
Rebordering the robes of Herod and adjusting his wig.............................................4.00
Taking spots off the son of Tobias............................................................... ..1.30
Putting earrings in Sarah's ears....................................................................1.71
Putting new stone in David's sling, enlarging the head of Goliath,
and extending Saul's leg..................................................................................6.13
Decorating Noah's Ark and putting a head on Shem....................................4.31
Mending the shirt of the Prodigal Son and cleaning his ears..........................3.30
Monday, December 24, 2012
A CANDYMAKER'S WITNESS
He began with a stick of pure white, hard candy. White to symbolize the Virgin Birth and the sinless nature of Jesus; and hard to symbolize the Solid Rock, the foundation of the Church and firmness of the promises of God.
The candy maker made the candy in the form of a 'J' to represent the precious name of Jesus, who came to earth as our Savior. It could also represent the staff of the 'Good Shepherd' with which He reaches down into the ditches of the world to lift out the fallen lambs who, like all sheep, have gone astray.
Thinking that the candy was somewhat plain, the candy maker stained it with red stripes to show the stripes of the scourging Jesus received by which we are healed. The large red stripe was for the blood shed by Christ on the cross so that we could have the promise of eternal life.
Over time, the candy became known as a candy cane - a meaningless decoration seen at Christmas time. But the meaning is still there for those who "have eyes to see and ears to hear." I pray that this symbol will again be used to witness To the Wonder of Jesus and His Great Love that came down at Christmas and remains the ultimate and dominate force in the universe today.
I don't know if this little story is true or not, but I heard it years ago and think it's worth repeating. Sometimes the small things in our lives take on a new meaning when we hear 'the rest of the story'. A very merry and blessed Christmas to all.
Sunday, December 23, 2012
Rendevous
In October, 1991, Peoria celebrated its 300th birthday. The city is the oldest continuous European settlement in the state. I was part of the History and Research Committee. This is a paper I wrote for an English class at ICC about one of the events.
The journey had started at Henry, Illinois. They had stopped at towns along the way and camped overnight. The night before, their encampment had been at Chillicothe. Each morning they would take their vehicles down to that evening's campsite and this night they would be in Peoria. We were part of the cavalcade that would drive them back up to have breakfast before they started down river again for the Tricentennial Grand Opening and the reenactment of the first Voyageurs coming down the Ilinois River with Henri DeTonti in 1691.
Seven men dressed in authentic garb, introduced themselves and then piled into my old station wagon for the ride north. Reaching for my seat belt, I got a handful of flesh, the man sitting close beside me, a dentist from Chicago was wearing not buckskin leggings, as I had thought, but a breech cloth and thigh high moccasin boots. "Well," I told him, very surprised, "I didn't realize we were going to get quite so intimate!" He and the others chuckled and as we traveled up Route 29, told me of their involvement with recreating the Voyageur way of life.
In their group, were doctors, engineers, a janitor, computer operators, a lawyer and a few retired persons. Most were canoe enthusiasts who hunted, fished and enjoyed camping. Their reenactments were on weekends or during vacation, so they brought their families along and they too dressed in seventeenth century garb.
The majority were Midwesterners but a few were from as far north as Ontario, Canada. An interest in canoeing history had led them to the North American Voyageur Council, the organization that sponsored such assemblies and brigades, such as the Tricentennial Grand Voyage, and the reenactment each year at Fort Creve Couer.
From our conversation and from what I had learned researching Peoria's history, the Voyageur was a lusty fellow. He was short, gregarious and roamed and trapped on the waterways of middle America. Mostly, French Canadian, he loved women, his own and the Native American ones, telling tall tales, singing and drinking wine. For these reasons, they usually lived outside the Forts. However, this energetic, genial backwoodsman, was respected because he worked hard and never complained about the primitive way of life. He could be counted on in a skirmish, but preferred to avoid one, and unlike his English and American counterparts, was well-liked by the Native Americans.
At about four o'clock on that Friday afternoon, we all met again. While I was standing on the bank of a grassy area at Detweiller Marina with about fifteen hundred other people, around a curve in the river came seven long canoes with flags and banners flying and brimming with people and supplies. The canoe paddles skimmed across the water as the crafts came serenely and swiftly to shore. The crowd began to cheer and as the vessels got closer to land, a loud welcoming roar went up. After the canoes plowed into shore, and everyone disembarked, one of their number, portraying a black-garbed Jesuit priest, led them in a prayer of thanksgiving for the safe journey. Following a quick introduction of local dignitaries and assorted speeches, Hana Sine of the Winnebago Tribe, welcomed the reenactors in a moving authentic Pipe Smoking ceremony.
Afterward, the Voyageurs began to set up camp and invited all those present to watch, help or ask questions. Hay bales had been scattered throughout the area to be used for seating and their bedding. All of their gear and the modern amenities to which we are accustomed was stowed in burlap bags. They quickly put up their tents and built a huge bonfire in the center of the ring of primitive dwellings. Some canvas structures had their own fire pit in front and before long the sound and smell of coffee being made in rustic pots filled the air.
That night, about 9:30, after checking if the voyageurs needed a ride for groceries or to use a phone, (1991 was pre-cell phones) we prepared to leave. Before getting into our car, we turned and looked towards the river. The scene was from another era. The moonlight zigzagged across the river and onto the trees and rocks along the water's edge. It shone on that small settlement just as it had on another three hundred years before. But most astonishing, was that this peaceful, historical oasis was situated in the heart of Peoria's inner city.
I received an A on the paper and this is the instructor's comment: I like the ending! you've hit on the contrast. You've combined a profile of a person (or a type of person) and an event effectively - really, you've created a capsule portrait of a whole time period.
The journey had started at Henry, Illinois. They had stopped at towns along the way and camped overnight. The night before, their encampment had been at Chillicothe. Each morning they would take their vehicles down to that evening's campsite and this night they would be in Peoria. We were part of the cavalcade that would drive them back up to have breakfast before they started down river again for the Tricentennial Grand Opening and the reenactment of the first Voyageurs coming down the Ilinois River with Henri DeTonti in 1691.
Seven men dressed in authentic garb, introduced themselves and then piled into my old station wagon for the ride north. Reaching for my seat belt, I got a handful of flesh, the man sitting close beside me, a dentist from Chicago was wearing not buckskin leggings, as I had thought, but a breech cloth and thigh high moccasin boots. "Well," I told him, very surprised, "I didn't realize we were going to get quite so intimate!" He and the others chuckled and as we traveled up Route 29, told me of their involvement with recreating the Voyageur way of life.
In their group, were doctors, engineers, a janitor, computer operators, a lawyer and a few retired persons. Most were canoe enthusiasts who hunted, fished and enjoyed camping. Their reenactments were on weekends or during vacation, so they brought their families along and they too dressed in seventeenth century garb.
The majority were Midwesterners but a few were from as far north as Ontario, Canada. An interest in canoeing history had led them to the North American Voyageur Council, the organization that sponsored such assemblies and brigades, such as the Tricentennial Grand Voyage, and the reenactment each year at Fort Creve Couer.
From our conversation and from what I had learned researching Peoria's history, the Voyageur was a lusty fellow. He was short, gregarious and roamed and trapped on the waterways of middle America. Mostly, French Canadian, he loved women, his own and the Native American ones, telling tall tales, singing and drinking wine. For these reasons, they usually lived outside the Forts. However, this energetic, genial backwoodsman, was respected because he worked hard and never complained about the primitive way of life. He could be counted on in a skirmish, but preferred to avoid one, and unlike his English and American counterparts, was well-liked by the Native Americans.
At about four o'clock on that Friday afternoon, we all met again. While I was standing on the bank of a grassy area at Detweiller Marina with about fifteen hundred other people, around a curve in the river came seven long canoes with flags and banners flying and brimming with people and supplies. The canoe paddles skimmed across the water as the crafts came serenely and swiftly to shore. The crowd began to cheer and as the vessels got closer to land, a loud welcoming roar went up. After the canoes plowed into shore, and everyone disembarked, one of their number, portraying a black-garbed Jesuit priest, led them in a prayer of thanksgiving for the safe journey. Following a quick introduction of local dignitaries and assorted speeches, Hana Sine of the Winnebago Tribe, welcomed the reenactors in a moving authentic Pipe Smoking ceremony.
Afterward, the Voyageurs began to set up camp and invited all those present to watch, help or ask questions. Hay bales had been scattered throughout the area to be used for seating and their bedding. All of their gear and the modern amenities to which we are accustomed was stowed in burlap bags. They quickly put up their tents and built a huge bonfire in the center of the ring of primitive dwellings. Some canvas structures had their own fire pit in front and before long the sound and smell of coffee being made in rustic pots filled the air.
That night, about 9:30, after checking if the voyageurs needed a ride for groceries or to use a phone, (1991 was pre-cell phones) we prepared to leave. Before getting into our car, we turned and looked towards the river. The scene was from another era. The moonlight zigzagged across the river and onto the trees and rocks along the water's edge. It shone on that small settlement just as it had on another three hundred years before. But most astonishing, was that this peaceful, historical oasis was situated in the heart of Peoria's inner city.
I received an A on the paper and this is the instructor's comment: I like the ending! you've hit on the contrast. You've combined a profile of a person (or a type of person) and an event effectively - really, you've created a capsule portrait of a whole time period.
Wednesday, December 19, 2012
Gallimaufry
When John F Kennedy died, we only had three television stations, I'm not sure that the PBS channel was up and running yet. But we watched non stop that weekend, that is until the station went off the air with the National Anthem and then the test pattern. Vern took Leah and Lora to Mass that Sunday and I stayed home with the younger ones. I still remember having the telly on and seeing Lee Harvey Oswald get shot. Shocking!! We couldn't get enough of the classic grace of Jacqueline. All these years later, I can still conjure up those memories.
Now with stations and particularly news 24/7, I got caught up in the shooting in Connecticut. I couldn't stop watching. Finally on Saturday, I made myself take a shower and leave the house. I went grocery shopping at Lindys in Washington. When I got home again, I was back in front of the TV.
This shooting was not about mental illness or weapons control but out and out evil. The shooter knew what he was doing, damaged the hard drive on his computer, shot his mother, carried his brother's ID and killed babies because they would give him no resistance and then the coward killed himself when the police came. We need to stop citing reasons why people do these acts and just admit there is evil in this world.
* * * * *
In our bulletin last Sunday, there was a story about a young woman who took part in the London marathon last year. She was running to raise 500 pounds for a charity. A mile before the finish, she collapsed and died. When the public heard about her death, people sent in money to the charity and over 100,000 pounds was raised. There is also a lot of good in the world.
* * * * *
I got the results from my last PET scan on Tuesday. I was really concerned as it has been seven months since my last chemo treatment. I asked if any daughters would be available to go with me so I wouldn't be alone when I got the results. Two of them came to town to be here. The news was good or at least good enough. The cancer has increased a little but not significantly. In fact, the result is the same as when I was getting treatments. We talked a little about why my cancer is so slow growing and others that I know, diagnosed after me have died or are near death. The doctor said that most lung cancer is more aggressive and this slow growing type is unusual. I will go back in March for another scan. My friend, Phyllis says that God is not done with me yet.
On the way home from the Cancer Center, we stopped at Jim's Steak House for bloody marys, our drink of choice for good news. Maureen told the waitress we were celebrating because I had had good news. I told her what had happened. She just looked at me for a second and said: "That's really nice for you, but my mother has lung cancer and there is nothing that can be done for her!" I took her hand and told her I was so sorry and I would pray for her mom. We ordered soup and when we were done and the bill was paid, she came over and whispered in my ear: "I think God sent you here today, to give me hope!" Is that what God wants me to do, give hope? Lord knows, we need a large dose of it these days.
Now with stations and particularly news 24/7, I got caught up in the shooting in Connecticut. I couldn't stop watching. Finally on Saturday, I made myself take a shower and leave the house. I went grocery shopping at Lindys in Washington. When I got home again, I was back in front of the TV.
This shooting was not about mental illness or weapons control but out and out evil. The shooter knew what he was doing, damaged the hard drive on his computer, shot his mother, carried his brother's ID and killed babies because they would give him no resistance and then the coward killed himself when the police came. We need to stop citing reasons why people do these acts and just admit there is evil in this world.
* * * * *
In our bulletin last Sunday, there was a story about a young woman who took part in the London marathon last year. She was running to raise 500 pounds for a charity. A mile before the finish, she collapsed and died. When the public heard about her death, people sent in money to the charity and over 100,000 pounds was raised. There is also a lot of good in the world.
* * * * *
I got the results from my last PET scan on Tuesday. I was really concerned as it has been seven months since my last chemo treatment. I asked if any daughters would be available to go with me so I wouldn't be alone when I got the results. Two of them came to town to be here. The news was good or at least good enough. The cancer has increased a little but not significantly. In fact, the result is the same as when I was getting treatments. We talked a little about why my cancer is so slow growing and others that I know, diagnosed after me have died or are near death. The doctor said that most lung cancer is more aggressive and this slow growing type is unusual. I will go back in March for another scan. My friend, Phyllis says that God is not done with me yet.
On the way home from the Cancer Center, we stopped at Jim's Steak House for bloody marys, our drink of choice for good news. Maureen told the waitress we were celebrating because I had had good news. I told her what had happened. She just looked at me for a second and said: "That's really nice for you, but my mother has lung cancer and there is nothing that can be done for her!" I took her hand and told her I was so sorry and I would pray for her mom. We ordered soup and when we were done and the bill was paid, she came over and whispered in my ear: "I think God sent you here today, to give me hope!" Is that what God wants me to do, give hope? Lord knows, we need a large dose of it these days.
Wednesday, December 12, 2012
Gallimaufry
I've had a visit from a Christmas elf this past week - an extra pair of hands and feet. The elf decorated the tree, did odd jobs to get the yard ready for winter, straightened up the garage and helped clean up the basement. I am embarassed to say that it had gotten entirely out of hand, so it was great to have someone give me the incentive - and hands and feet - to get it done. We took the back seat of the car plus the trunk full of 'stuff' to Goodwill on University, mostly holiday decorations.
When the children were young, I decorated the house for every season and particularly Christmas. Leah had a tree in her room with cat and dog ornaments on it. Our tree in the living room alternated each year between one with all birds - mostly cardinals or a blue and gold more formal tree. Someplace in every room was a Christmas tree - Vern even made me a wooden tree with about six arms to hang hand towels on for the bathroom. A bit of overkill, actually. But I loved doing it. In this house, one tree, with lots of ornaments - some from all of those trees. And with each ornament is a memory. Like the ones we bought for half price the day after our first married Christmas, at Central Hardware in St. Louis coming home from Marshfield. Some ornaments were gifts - sister Suzanne gave her sisters White House ornaments when she was working at the Pentagon in D.C. And I usually bought a Christmas tree ornament when we traveled. "Memories are made of these."
* * * * *
Yesterday we drove up to Whitewater, Wisconsin to see granddaughter, Ellen - I know she goes by Elle, but she is still Ellen to me. We went to see her senior art show - she graduates this month. She is amazingly talented. The gallery was filled with several students art, some whimsical and some disturbing, but very interesting to see. Very enjoyable evening.
* * * * *
When we got to the toll booth just before Beloit the cost was $1.90, I was shocked, the last time it had been a dollar toll. On the way back I asked the attendant when the price had gone up, he said the first of January! That means it had been over a year since I had gone North. Where have I been? Obviously not Wisconsin!
Another thing I noticed coming home in the dark. All of the giant windmills on the landscape have red or white lights on them at night. Pretty cool, particularly this time of the year.
* * * * *
Every year, the Christmas season begins for me when I go to the Orpheus Winter Concert. This men's chorus celebrated their 110th year this year. Always enjoyable. Last year, I added a song to my Christmas playlist when one of the men soloed "Mary, Did You Know". I ordered Clay Aiken's version on I Tunes. At this years performance, one of the chorus sang "This Little Child" by Scott Wesley Brown. Take some time to listen to his version on You Tube. Beautiful!
When the children were young, I decorated the house for every season and particularly Christmas. Leah had a tree in her room with cat and dog ornaments on it. Our tree in the living room alternated each year between one with all birds - mostly cardinals or a blue and gold more formal tree. Someplace in every room was a Christmas tree - Vern even made me a wooden tree with about six arms to hang hand towels on for the bathroom. A bit of overkill, actually. But I loved doing it. In this house, one tree, with lots of ornaments - some from all of those trees. And with each ornament is a memory. Like the ones we bought for half price the day after our first married Christmas, at Central Hardware in St. Louis coming home from Marshfield. Some ornaments were gifts - sister Suzanne gave her sisters White House ornaments when she was working at the Pentagon in D.C. And I usually bought a Christmas tree ornament when we traveled. "Memories are made of these."
* * * * *
Yesterday we drove up to Whitewater, Wisconsin to see granddaughter, Ellen - I know she goes by Elle, but she is still Ellen to me. We went to see her senior art show - she graduates this month. She is amazingly talented. The gallery was filled with several students art, some whimsical and some disturbing, but very interesting to see. Very enjoyable evening.
* * * * *
When we got to the toll booth just before Beloit the cost was $1.90, I was shocked, the last time it had been a dollar toll. On the way back I asked the attendant when the price had gone up, he said the first of January! That means it had been over a year since I had gone North. Where have I been? Obviously not Wisconsin!
Another thing I noticed coming home in the dark. All of the giant windmills on the landscape have red or white lights on them at night. Pretty cool, particularly this time of the year.
* * * * *
Every year, the Christmas season begins for me when I go to the Orpheus Winter Concert. This men's chorus celebrated their 110th year this year. Always enjoyable. Last year, I added a song to my Christmas playlist when one of the men soloed "Mary, Did You Know". I ordered Clay Aiken's version on I Tunes. At this years performance, one of the chorus sang "This Little Child" by Scott Wesley Brown. Take some time to listen to his version on You Tube. Beautiful!
Sunday, December 2, 2012
Grandchildren
As our grandchildren have grown up, I saved every photo, drawing and letter or thank you note and greeting card they (or their mother) sent us. There are a lot more photos and drawings of the oldest children, Joel, Ellen, Tony and Stephen than the youngest, Tim, Charlie and Jonny. For a gift for their graduation from high school, I have put all of this in a scrapbook. I think they have enjoyed them. They seem to enjoy looking at the photos, smile at their preschool drawings and laugh out loud at some of their comments in the letters they wrote. I have two to do this year, Charlie and Jonny are both graduating in May. I've already started to collect things for their scrapbooks and will get started after the first of the year.
Each card we received started with their name written by parents and then markings by them while their parents held their hand and then those first - usually very large letters, with sometimes backwards 'n's and 'r's. and as they grew the almost indecipherable scrawl that is their signature as a teen.
This all came to mind this morning when Father's homily talked about how each of us is a work of art, created by God - I couldn't help but think some of us are more like a Picasso than a Botticelli. And the best part of being a creation of the Almighty is that we are constantly changing. The portrait we were when we are young is not who we are now and that is a good thing. Unlike the masterpieces of Michelangelo and Monet, we grow, we become better, more beautiful as we learn to be.
Just as those signatures of my grandchildren changed over the years, so have they grown from babes, adolescents and now to interesting multicolored adults. The joy of a grandparent is surviving the kaleidoscopic crises in life our children create for us and now enjoying their prismatic offspring. I am blessed.
....and really glad I own a thesaurus!!!
Each card we received started with their name written by parents and then markings by them while their parents held their hand and then those first - usually very large letters, with sometimes backwards 'n's and 'r's. and as they grew the almost indecipherable scrawl that is their signature as a teen.
This all came to mind this morning when Father's homily talked about how each of us is a work of art, created by God - I couldn't help but think some of us are more like a Picasso than a Botticelli. And the best part of being a creation of the Almighty is that we are constantly changing. The portrait we were when we are young is not who we are now and that is a good thing. Unlike the masterpieces of Michelangelo and Monet, we grow, we become better, more beautiful as we learn to be.
Just as those signatures of my grandchildren changed over the years, so have they grown from babes, adolescents and now to interesting multicolored adults. The joy of a grandparent is surviving the kaleidoscopic crises in life our children create for us and now enjoying their prismatic offspring. I am blessed.
....and really glad I own a thesaurus!!!
Tuesday, November 27, 2012
Thanksgiving in Florida
My friend Phyllis took me to the air port on Monday before Thanksgiving to catch a 10:15 flight to St. Petersburgs/Clearwater, Florida. I was one of the first persons on the plane and there was another woman in the same row. I asked her if she lived in Peoria as well and she said no, that she was from a small town near Mattoon called Sadorus. I was not familiar with that town but told her my mother was born in a little town near Mattoon called Rardin. She said that her father was born in Rardin. I asked her if she knew the name 'Hartman' - my mother's maiden name. She said no, her family names were Stewart and Stiff. "As in Clancy Stiff?", I asked. "How do you know Clancy Stiff?", came her next query. "Clancy Stiff was my uncle. His wife, Laura was my mother's sister." I told her. "Clancy Stiff was my father's brother", she replied. Shirley Goudie was her name. She was a former P.E. teacher at Allerton High School and had been married to a farmer from Sadorus. Small world department! She made a comment about being on the same family tree, and I suggested that it wasn't maybe the same tree, but possibly the same forest. A nice lady, and I enjoyed our visit.
Judy picked me up at the air port in Florida and our first stop was the Dillards store in Brandon. The large woman's section at that store is amazing - the whole store is. We then went to one of our favorite restaurants, "The Oaks". Great atmosphere.....and food.
We really didn't do a whole lot in Fort Pierce, just chilled. Judy made pies and other desserts on Wednesday to take to David and Joanne's for Thanksgiving dinner. There were probably twenty five people at dinner Thursday and a variety of food. David and Joanie's house is a great party house. A great kitchen/great room with a huge Florida room just off of it. So there were tables set up outside, inside and I don't think anyone sat in the formal dining room. David knows I like Ronbauer Zinfandel and he poured me a glass and every time there was a 1/2 inch in the bottom of the glass, he filled it up. So I can honestly say I just had one glass of wine, but I never saw the base. All in all, it was a good day, as usual with my siblings, lots of teasing, lots of laughter.
Ryan and Tess Simpson were there. Tess is expecting their first baby in April. You often hear the expression that 'pregnant women have a glow about them' and Tess, who is very pretty is prettier now than ever and she does glow but the cool thing is that Ryan does too. How wonderful to see this happy young couple.
We spent the night in a Sarasota hotel and the next day drove to Cocoa and took and air boat ride. Vern would have enjoyed it so. He and I had stopped at a place somewhere in Florida to take one years ago but it was too late and the rides had stopped for the day. Our guide on Friday was a good one, who took
us down the St. Johns River looking for wild life and we saw a lot and some wonderful views. I recommend it to anyone going to Florida. Great fun!
Back to Fort Pierce for a couple of days and then back to St Petes/Clearwater to catch Monday's 8:00 a.m. flight for Peoria. Two hours and fifteen minutes later I was home. Phyllis met me at the air port.
It was a good week and I have much to be thankful for. I am so grateful for my life. It is good!
Judy picked me up at the air port in Florida and our first stop was the Dillards store in Brandon. The large woman's section at that store is amazing - the whole store is. We then went to one of our favorite restaurants, "The Oaks". Great atmosphere.....and food.
We really didn't do a whole lot in Fort Pierce, just chilled. Judy made pies and other desserts on Wednesday to take to David and Joanne's for Thanksgiving dinner. There were probably twenty five people at dinner Thursday and a variety of food. David and Joanie's house is a great party house. A great kitchen/great room with a huge Florida room just off of it. So there were tables set up outside, inside and I don't think anyone sat in the formal dining room. David knows I like Ronbauer Zinfandel and he poured me a glass and every time there was a 1/2 inch in the bottom of the glass, he filled it up. So I can honestly say I just had one glass of wine, but I never saw the base. All in all, it was a good day, as usual with my siblings, lots of teasing, lots of laughter.
Ryan and Tess Simpson were there. Tess is expecting their first baby in April. You often hear the expression that 'pregnant women have a glow about them' and Tess, who is very pretty is prettier now than ever and she does glow but the cool thing is that Ryan does too. How wonderful to see this happy young couple.
We spent the night in a Sarasota hotel and the next day drove to Cocoa and took and air boat ride. Vern would have enjoyed it so. He and I had stopped at a place somewhere in Florida to take one years ago but it was too late and the rides had stopped for the day. Our guide on Friday was a good one, who took
Back to Fort Pierce for a couple of days and then back to St Petes/Clearwater to catch Monday's 8:00 a.m. flight for Peoria. Two hours and fifteen minutes later I was home. Phyllis met me at the air port.
It was a good week and I have much to be thankful for. I am so grateful for my life. It is good!
Sunday, November 18, 2012
Calling 911
About 4:00 a.m this morning, I awoke and as I passed by the front window, I noticed two people walking towards my street, down the side street. I thought: "Wow, early walkers even for this neighborhood"! - we have a lot of walkers, dog and otherwise as well as early morning joggers. One of the pair ran across the street and into the driveway of a neighbor and tried to open the door on the car parked close to the garage. It was locked, so he ran back across and met his companion and they crossed the street in front of my house. Down to the corner and right into the Knolls.
We have had some suspicious happenings in the neighborhood and from the Homeowners Association came the message, if you see something that doesn't look right, call 911. What didn't look right to me, was the young man trying to open the neighbors car door, so I called, gave them the information I had and that was that. The 911 operator said they would send a car into the area. End of story - for me - this morning.
But it reminded me of an incident when we lived on Martin Street on a corner, one block from Western Avenue and one block from Proctor Center in the mid 1960s.
Our bedroom was on the back of the house. It was right around midnight on a summer night and the window was open. We had a box fan in a window in the hall, that pulled outside air into all three of the upstairs bedrooms. I slept nearest the window and was a light sleeper and I heard voices outside and sat up and looked out. A car was parked in the alley across the street and they shined a flood light on the back of Vern's Volkswagen parked in front of the garage and I heard them reading the numbers on the license plate. The car waited a few minutes - they must have been verifying the car did indeed belong where it was - and then traveled into the alley behind our house.
I woke up Vern and so he and I sat on the side of the bed, looking out the window wondering what they were looking for, when all of a sudden, we saw a figure, walking through our next door neighbors back yard and out the gate into the alley. I said: "Vern, the police are obviously looking for someone and that person might be it." "Don't get involved", he said, "It's probably nothing." We watched as the figure walked through the yard of the neighbor behind us - toward Kettelle Street and I said: "I'm calling the police!" and I did. I told them what we had seen and all of a sudden, cars and armed men came out of nowhere. Down our alley, on the side street, walking cautiously, carrying rifles in front of them. It looked like all the scenes we had seen on the news of what was happening in Viet Nam and Israel. Pretty scary, like a war zone. The men checked all around the area and most of them then went away, but a car stayed at the end of the alley across the side street.
The next day, the morning newspaper headline read: Policeman shot at Bellevue Drive In. A policeman working security at the Drive In had been killed. I believe his last name was Espinoza. The afternoon edition said: Killer Caught in South side. The shooter was found on a porch roof at a house on Butler Street, two blocks from us. Do I think it was the same person, absolutely! That was the direction he was heading when he passed through the neighbors yard.
It wasn't long after that incident that we began to look at property away from the city. Although I had grown up in the area, and we loved that our children were attending the same school I had, things were changing and it just didn't seem safe anymore. A couple of other incidents happened that made us decide to move to Washington.......but that's another story.
We have had some suspicious happenings in the neighborhood and from the Homeowners Association came the message, if you see something that doesn't look right, call 911. What didn't look right to me, was the young man trying to open the neighbors car door, so I called, gave them the information I had and that was that. The 911 operator said they would send a car into the area. End of story - for me - this morning.
But it reminded me of an incident when we lived on Martin Street on a corner, one block from Western Avenue and one block from Proctor Center in the mid 1960s.
Our bedroom was on the back of the house. It was right around midnight on a summer night and the window was open. We had a box fan in a window in the hall, that pulled outside air into all three of the upstairs bedrooms. I slept nearest the window and was a light sleeper and I heard voices outside and sat up and looked out. A car was parked in the alley across the street and they shined a flood light on the back of Vern's Volkswagen parked in front of the garage and I heard them reading the numbers on the license plate. The car waited a few minutes - they must have been verifying the car did indeed belong where it was - and then traveled into the alley behind our house.
I woke up Vern and so he and I sat on the side of the bed, looking out the window wondering what they were looking for, when all of a sudden, we saw a figure, walking through our next door neighbors back yard and out the gate into the alley. I said: "Vern, the police are obviously looking for someone and that person might be it." "Don't get involved", he said, "It's probably nothing." We watched as the figure walked through the yard of the neighbor behind us - toward Kettelle Street and I said: "I'm calling the police!" and I did. I told them what we had seen and all of a sudden, cars and armed men came out of nowhere. Down our alley, on the side street, walking cautiously, carrying rifles in front of them. It looked like all the scenes we had seen on the news of what was happening in Viet Nam and Israel. Pretty scary, like a war zone. The men checked all around the area and most of them then went away, but a car stayed at the end of the alley across the side street.
The next day, the morning newspaper headline read: Policeman shot at Bellevue Drive In. A policeman working security at the Drive In had been killed. I believe his last name was Espinoza. The afternoon edition said: Killer Caught in South side. The shooter was found on a porch roof at a house on Butler Street, two blocks from us. Do I think it was the same person, absolutely! That was the direction he was heading when he passed through the neighbors yard.
It wasn't long after that incident that we began to look at property away from the city. Although I had grown up in the area, and we loved that our children were attending the same school I had, things were changing and it just didn't seem safe anymore. A couple of other incidents happened that made us decide to move to Washington.......but that's another story.
Thursday, November 15, 2012
Journey - Two Years Later (First Treatment)
Part of the diary I kept starting in 2010 when I was diagnosed with stage four lung cancer.
August 13, 2010, Friday. Today is first grandson, Joel's 25th birthday. Hard to believe. He is up in Alaska working on a fishing boat to make some good money for school.
Yesterday I went to lunch at Linda Ryan's. Phyllis, Karen, Carol Lee, Maggie Duncan. Just a lovely time. Kind of a 'lets send Norma off on this journey' lunch. As usual we talked on a lot of subjects and laughed a lot. God has blessed me with a remarkable friend base. I am blessed and recognize it.
Well, today is the day this journey takes a new fork in the road. Today I start the chemo. A little trepidation, but calm (resigned?). I pray for strength, perseverance, patience and peace. Angela and Maureen arrived late last night. Maureen first. We went out on the front patio, to watch some sort of meteor shower, I just saw one meteor and Maureen saw several. There is just too much light around this house - which is mostly a good thing. I remember once being at the farm in Missouri and it was one (meteor) after another, crisscrossing the sky, amazing to see. And of course, there was no light other than the summer sky. There were a lot of stars out tonight, more than I've noticed for awhile. Still warm at 10:00. The weather the last couple of weeks has been in the mid 90's with heat indexes over 100. Ironic! The hottest July on record here in Peoria was 1936, the year I was born. Mother said to keep the babys cool in the nursery, they took blocks of ice and put fans behind the ice to blow cool air on us. Look how far we've come. Sitting here now in this air conditioned house. Isn't technology wonderful. Sort of a link to this cancer thing. This trial that I'm doing may be the one that will help scientists find a cure.
Mary put on facebook that pearls are the symbol for lung cancer so she and several of our friends are wearing pearls today. Neat!! (actually cream colored ribbons)
We got at the Cancer Center about 8:15. We went out War Memorial and no traffic. They took one container of blood, we visited with the doctor - I gave him the St. Peregrine card. St. Peregrine is the patron of Cancer victims.
About 9:30 we went into the chemo lounge. Chose a space with two guest chairs. I was in a recliner. The nurse was Linda. She put a very warm towel around my left arm to bring up the veins. She put the IV port in my forearm. Hung three bags. Angela set me up with her I pod with the book, 'The Help' and I started to listen. Got to Chaper 5, I think I will like it. I shooed the girls away, they certainly didn't need to sit there and watch me. They came home and worked at their computers. Then came back about 12:30 and I was about done. Amy Kennard's sister works there and she came over to say hello. Very, very nice person. The staff couldn't be nicer. They made the experience a good one.
Afterwards, we went to eat at 309, a new restaurant in Junction City. Started with the requisite bloody mary and then salads. As we were leaving, the hostess came over and said: "Don't leave yet, someone has ordered 'lemon drops' for you. Lemoncello and vodka courtesy of Mary Luann. On the way home we drove down Prospect and Grandview Drive.
This was my horoscope in the Journal Star today: Once you overcome your fears, several matters that have been difficult to finalize will work out quite smoothly. It's amazing what a little faith will do.
Pretty appropriate, huh!!
August 13, 2010, Friday. Today is first grandson, Joel's 25th birthday. Hard to believe. He is up in Alaska working on a fishing boat to make some good money for school.
Yesterday I went to lunch at Linda Ryan's. Phyllis, Karen, Carol Lee, Maggie Duncan. Just a lovely time. Kind of a 'lets send Norma off on this journey' lunch. As usual we talked on a lot of subjects and laughed a lot. God has blessed me with a remarkable friend base. I am blessed and recognize it.
Well, today is the day this journey takes a new fork in the road. Today I start the chemo. A little trepidation, but calm (resigned?). I pray for strength, perseverance, patience and peace. Angela and Maureen arrived late last night. Maureen first. We went out on the front patio, to watch some sort of meteor shower, I just saw one meteor and Maureen saw several. There is just too much light around this house - which is mostly a good thing. I remember once being at the farm in Missouri and it was one (meteor) after another, crisscrossing the sky, amazing to see. And of course, there was no light other than the summer sky. There were a lot of stars out tonight, more than I've noticed for awhile. Still warm at 10:00. The weather the last couple of weeks has been in the mid 90's with heat indexes over 100. Ironic! The hottest July on record here in Peoria was 1936, the year I was born. Mother said to keep the babys cool in the nursery, they took blocks of ice and put fans behind the ice to blow cool air on us. Look how far we've come. Sitting here now in this air conditioned house. Isn't technology wonderful. Sort of a link to this cancer thing. This trial that I'm doing may be the one that will help scientists find a cure.
Mary put on facebook that pearls are the symbol for lung cancer so she and several of our friends are wearing pearls today. Neat!! (actually cream colored ribbons)
We got at the Cancer Center about 8:15. We went out War Memorial and no traffic. They took one container of blood, we visited with the doctor - I gave him the St. Peregrine card. St. Peregrine is the patron of Cancer victims.
About 9:30 we went into the chemo lounge. Chose a space with two guest chairs. I was in a recliner. The nurse was Linda. She put a very warm towel around my left arm to bring up the veins. She put the IV port in my forearm. Hung three bags. Angela set me up with her I pod with the book, 'The Help' and I started to listen. Got to Chaper 5, I think I will like it. I shooed the girls away, they certainly didn't need to sit there and watch me. They came home and worked at their computers. Then came back about 12:30 and I was about done. Amy Kennard's sister works there and she came over to say hello. Very, very nice person. The staff couldn't be nicer. They made the experience a good one.
Afterwards, we went to eat at 309, a new restaurant in Junction City. Started with the requisite bloody mary and then salads. As we were leaving, the hostess came over and said: "Don't leave yet, someone has ordered 'lemon drops' for you. Lemoncello and vodka courtesy of Mary Luann. On the way home we drove down Prospect and Grandview Drive.
This was my horoscope in the Journal Star today: Once you overcome your fears, several matters that have been difficult to finalize will work out quite smoothly. It's amazing what a little faith will do.
Pretty appropriate, huh!!
Friday, November 9, 2012
DAD
This was written in late 1993. It's a little long but tells a story about our family. I think I wrote it for a Class at ICC.
On Labor Day of this year, we had a big family gathering. All of our six daughters and some of the nieces and nephews and all of my brothers and sisters were here. We had one of our family's specialties. A Garbage Can Dinner - vegetables and smoked sausages cooked over a roaring fire in a clean galvanized garbage can. There were about fifty-five people here and we have found this is a great way to feed a large crowd. Our daughter, Lora, had organized games for the young children, sons-in-laws, Tom and Randy, organized a clay pigeon shoot on the back of our property - we live on three acres in a rural area, and my husband, Vern, had put up the volleyball net and the croquet set. Just a typical family get together.
What made this one different was that our dad had gotten permission from the Hospice nurse to come out and stay as long as he felt like it. In the past few weeks, the cancer in Dad's system had daily begun to take it's toll. He was now using a walker to get around and a hospital bed had been put up in their family room. With the help of the walker he was able to get from bed to chair and watch his beloved Cubs and do the daily crossword puzzle.
He stayed late in the afternoon on Labor Day, sitting on our screened-in porch, eating, visiting with and being waited on by family and friends who stopped by. About six, it had begun to get chilly and he was ready to go home. My brothers, all big men, helped him off the porch and as he walked along the sidewalk to the car in the driveway, everyone came on both sides to say good-bye. Hugs, kisses, a last word or two to all of us as he plodded slowly along. I was walking just behind him and I glanced up and those behind him had tears in their eyes and as the car pulled out of the drive, several of the younger people were openly crying. All of us had a sense that this was the last time we would be a complete family gathering. And for many, it was the last time they saw him alive.
My sister-in-law, Joanne, who is a nurse and lives in Florida, sent husband and kids home and stayed a few more days to help Mom and Dad get into a routine. Our parents were so pleased that she would do this for them. She talked with the hospice nurses and all of us and it was decided that when she left on Sunday we would take turns staying the night so that Mom could get some rest. My brother, Russ, had brought Dad one of the lift recliner chairs and Dad, the person who sat with the remote control and cordless phone always within reach, loved it. Not only another toy to play with but the chair gave him much more mobility. He was able to almost stand in the chair and then to his walker. My sister, Judy, stayed Sunday night, my husband, Vern stayed Monday night, I stayed Tuesday night and Vern stayed again on Wednesday night.
When I was growing up, there was never a Church activity that my parents were not involved in, usually doing the dirty work, sorting clothes for a rummage sale, painting at the school or rectory or running the kitchen for the Spaghetti Dinner. When they had moved to small town, Morton, they still remained active in the Knights of Columbus and Mother organized the funeral dinners for the church. When they moved back to Peoria four years ago, they moved into a duplex in the area of an upscale parish. They were now in their seventies, and just didn't feel like getting involved again. No one from the parish welcomed them and when they went to Mass no one took time to say hello. The past month or two, Mother had mailed the Church a check each week, as Dad's incontinence problems made him feel uncomfortable in places where he wasn't familiar with the plumbing, and they stopped going to Mass, watching it instead each Sunday on local TV.
I called just before Labor Day and asked if someone could bring Dad and Mom Communion on Sunday and Father Greg, the Assistant Pastor, said no one had told him about Dad although Hospice had assured us that they did. I told Father that my Dad was concerned where he was going when he died and Father came out and heard Dad's confession and brought him Communion. This was about the first of September.
Thursday morning, September 16, I was getting ready for school, when the phone rang about 7:00 a.m. It was Mom, she was crying and said that Dad had had a really bad night and would I come over. I suggested she call Denise, the hospice nurse, and told her I was on my way.
When I arrived Dad was taking oxygen and was having difficulty breathing. He smiled, squeezed my hand and we talked briefly. Before I left home, I had called my brother Dick's office and they had located him in a business meeting and he was at the folk's house when I arrived. Vern suggested that maybe the two of us should call the other brothers and sisters and let them know what was happening. Dick got in touch with Suzanne in St. Louis. I got Judy at work in Champaign and she said she'd be home in a couple of hours. We held off calling the other three until we had talked to Denise.
When Denise came, she examined Dad and called all of us into the dining room. "Russ has one to four days to live" she told us about 11:00, "He'll need two people here at all times." We discussed getting Alterna Care - a program that provides nurses and nurses aides - Dad weighed about 215 pounds and was heavy for some of us to lift by ourselves - and we decided that one of us, his family, would be with him around the clock for the next few days.
Dick called Russ in Kansas City and suggested that he put a few clothes in a bag and come up for a few days. Dave in Sarasota said he'd make reservations to fly home right away. Carol in Pittsburgh has been ill and we suggested she stay home and take care of herself so she would be strong enough for the wake and funeral. We assured her that it was much more important that she conserve her strength and we would keep her posted on Dad's progress.
Vern was very tired after his all night vigil with Dad and Judy and Dick said they'd be there the rest of the day and Sue and her husband were on the way up so Vern and I came home. As I was leaving, I asked Judy if she would call the Church and see if they had a hall where we could have a family dinner after the funeral and I added, "Do you think you could bawl out a priest?" "Sure," she said, 'He's just a man". I spoke of how upset I was that although Father had assured us that someone would be out to bring Communion, no one had come and although Mom and Dad didn't give a large stipend each week, it was what they felt they could afford and for all the work they'd done over the years, they certainly were not getting their money's worth.
Judy did make that call, she made the arrangements for the hall for the dinner and then told Father Greg what she and I had discussed. He apologized profusely, agreed with her that they had been treated shabbily and said he'd be over as soon as he could. About three o'clock, he called and said he'd be right over. When he arrived he had another priest with him. A friend of his had come for a visit and he brought him along
By this time Suzanne and her husband and son had arrived and so when Father gave Dad the Last Rites, Mom, Judy, Dick, Jim and nine year old Sean, were all there with Father Greg and his friend. My brother, Dick was kneeling in front of Dad holding him upright - Dad's body that day had a tendency to sink in the middle. At one point he looked down at his son, saying those old prayers and smiled and winked. After Dad received Communion he motioned he'd like to sit in his chair. Father Greg had just asked how many grandchildren the parents had. Mother answered 'twenty seven' and Dad asked, "Where are my grandchildren?"
Dick put his arms around Dad and lifted him from the bed to his chair and as he sat Dad down, Dad said, "Where am I going now?", put his head down and died in my brother's arms. Was he confused for a moment or did he see something that no one else could see? It was 4:28 p.m.
On Labor Day of this year, we had a big family gathering. All of our six daughters and some of the nieces and nephews and all of my brothers and sisters were here. We had one of our family's specialties. A Garbage Can Dinner - vegetables and smoked sausages cooked over a roaring fire in a clean galvanized garbage can. There were about fifty-five people here and we have found this is a great way to feed a large crowd. Our daughter, Lora, had organized games for the young children, sons-in-laws, Tom and Randy, organized a clay pigeon shoot on the back of our property - we live on three acres in a rural area, and my husband, Vern, had put up the volleyball net and the croquet set. Just a typical family get together.
What made this one different was that our dad had gotten permission from the Hospice nurse to come out and stay as long as he felt like it. In the past few weeks, the cancer in Dad's system had daily begun to take it's toll. He was now using a walker to get around and a hospital bed had been put up in their family room. With the help of the walker he was able to get from bed to chair and watch his beloved Cubs and do the daily crossword puzzle.
He stayed late in the afternoon on Labor Day, sitting on our screened-in porch, eating, visiting with and being waited on by family and friends who stopped by. About six, it had begun to get chilly and he was ready to go home. My brothers, all big men, helped him off the porch and as he walked along the sidewalk to the car in the driveway, everyone came on both sides to say good-bye. Hugs, kisses, a last word or two to all of us as he plodded slowly along. I was walking just behind him and I glanced up and those behind him had tears in their eyes and as the car pulled out of the drive, several of the younger people were openly crying. All of us had a sense that this was the last time we would be a complete family gathering. And for many, it was the last time they saw him alive.
My sister-in-law, Joanne, who is a nurse and lives in Florida, sent husband and kids home and stayed a few more days to help Mom and Dad get into a routine. Our parents were so pleased that she would do this for them. She talked with the hospice nurses and all of us and it was decided that when she left on Sunday we would take turns staying the night so that Mom could get some rest. My brother, Russ, had brought Dad one of the lift recliner chairs and Dad, the person who sat with the remote control and cordless phone always within reach, loved it. Not only another toy to play with but the chair gave him much more mobility. He was able to almost stand in the chair and then to his walker. My sister, Judy, stayed Sunday night, my husband, Vern stayed Monday night, I stayed Tuesday night and Vern stayed again on Wednesday night.
When I was growing up, there was never a Church activity that my parents were not involved in, usually doing the dirty work, sorting clothes for a rummage sale, painting at the school or rectory or running the kitchen for the Spaghetti Dinner. When they had moved to small town, Morton, they still remained active in the Knights of Columbus and Mother organized the funeral dinners for the church. When they moved back to Peoria four years ago, they moved into a duplex in the area of an upscale parish. They were now in their seventies, and just didn't feel like getting involved again. No one from the parish welcomed them and when they went to Mass no one took time to say hello. The past month or two, Mother had mailed the Church a check each week, as Dad's incontinence problems made him feel uncomfortable in places where he wasn't familiar with the plumbing, and they stopped going to Mass, watching it instead each Sunday on local TV.
I called just before Labor Day and asked if someone could bring Dad and Mom Communion on Sunday and Father Greg, the Assistant Pastor, said no one had told him about Dad although Hospice had assured us that they did. I told Father that my Dad was concerned where he was going when he died and Father came out and heard Dad's confession and brought him Communion. This was about the first of September.
Thursday morning, September 16, I was getting ready for school, when the phone rang about 7:00 a.m. It was Mom, she was crying and said that Dad had had a really bad night and would I come over. I suggested she call Denise, the hospice nurse, and told her I was on my way.
When I arrived Dad was taking oxygen and was having difficulty breathing. He smiled, squeezed my hand and we talked briefly. Before I left home, I had called my brother Dick's office and they had located him in a business meeting and he was at the folk's house when I arrived. Vern suggested that maybe the two of us should call the other brothers and sisters and let them know what was happening. Dick got in touch with Suzanne in St. Louis. I got Judy at work in Champaign and she said she'd be home in a couple of hours. We held off calling the other three until we had talked to Denise.
When Denise came, she examined Dad and called all of us into the dining room. "Russ has one to four days to live" she told us about 11:00, "He'll need two people here at all times." We discussed getting Alterna Care - a program that provides nurses and nurses aides - Dad weighed about 215 pounds and was heavy for some of us to lift by ourselves - and we decided that one of us, his family, would be with him around the clock for the next few days.
Dick called Russ in Kansas City and suggested that he put a few clothes in a bag and come up for a few days. Dave in Sarasota said he'd make reservations to fly home right away. Carol in Pittsburgh has been ill and we suggested she stay home and take care of herself so she would be strong enough for the wake and funeral. We assured her that it was much more important that she conserve her strength and we would keep her posted on Dad's progress.
Vern was very tired after his all night vigil with Dad and Judy and Dick said they'd be there the rest of the day and Sue and her husband were on the way up so Vern and I came home. As I was leaving, I asked Judy if she would call the Church and see if they had a hall where we could have a family dinner after the funeral and I added, "Do you think you could bawl out a priest?" "Sure," she said, 'He's just a man". I spoke of how upset I was that although Father had assured us that someone would be out to bring Communion, no one had come and although Mom and Dad didn't give a large stipend each week, it was what they felt they could afford and for all the work they'd done over the years, they certainly were not getting their money's worth.
Judy did make that call, she made the arrangements for the hall for the dinner and then told Father Greg what she and I had discussed. He apologized profusely, agreed with her that they had been treated shabbily and said he'd be over as soon as he could. About three o'clock, he called and said he'd be right over. When he arrived he had another priest with him. A friend of his had come for a visit and he brought him along
By this time Suzanne and her husband and son had arrived and so when Father gave Dad the Last Rites, Mom, Judy, Dick, Jim and nine year old Sean, were all there with Father Greg and his friend. My brother, Dick was kneeling in front of Dad holding him upright - Dad's body that day had a tendency to sink in the middle. At one point he looked down at his son, saying those old prayers and smiled and winked. After Dad received Communion he motioned he'd like to sit in his chair. Father Greg had just asked how many grandchildren the parents had. Mother answered 'twenty seven' and Dad asked, "Where are my grandchildren?"
Dick put his arms around Dad and lifted him from the bed to his chair and as he sat Dad down, Dad said, "Where am I going now?", put his head down and died in my brother's arms. Was he confused for a moment or did he see something that no one else could see? It was 4:28 p.m.
Sunday, November 4, 2012
Mission Sunday
Last Sunday was Missions Sunday in the Roman Catholic Church. I was reminded of that this morning because the Priest who said Mass was one of the Chaplains at St. Francis Hospital. There are several there from various parts of Africa.
When the first Spanish and French explorers to America came to look into this 'passage' to India or China - depending on what group was arriving - they brought with them Catholic Priests, who looked after the souls of the seaman on the journey but who also planned to bring Christianity to any Native people they found here. A lot of those early Missionaries lost their lives. They were telling the indigenous tribes that the rites they had practiced for centuries were wrong and that they were bringing a better Way to them. I don't feel that there are any bad guys in this scenario, both groups felt they were right in their beliefs.
When the Peoria Diocese was settled, most of the early Priests were Irish. Archbishop Myers told me one time that the first two Catholic Bishops for our Diocese were Irish - Spalding and Dunne - and when the Pope named Archbishop Schlarman, a German from Southern Illinois as the third Bishop, all of those sons of Erin were very unhappy until Schlarman honored them by making them Monsignors, and they came to accept him.
For a lot of years, Priests from America traveled to Africa, China and other countries to convert those peoples. But now because we hardly have enough Priests to cover the Parishes here in the U.S., we have become a Mission destination. Priests from the Phillipines, Africa and Viet Nam have come here to fill in as needed. Some of these Missionaries are even going to Ireland. What goes around comes around!!
When we were growing up and attending St. Patricks on the Southside, we did several things to help the Missions. Every year about this time, we all received Holy Childhood Stickers to sell door to door. There were some really great prizes to those who sold the most. By the time my parents - they discouraged us going door to door - bought a dollars worth from all of us, about all we received as a prize was a glow in the dark Jesus statue. Vern, however, one year sold enough to earn a little plaster of paris Altar. For several years after we married, it was part of our Christmas decorations.
All throughout the year, we contributed our pennies and nickels to a Pagan Baby Fund. When five dollars was collected, our class got to give a name to some little child overseas and the class got a certificate of recognition. It was a really big deal.
Before Mary and Gregg were married, his parents, Herb and Pat and Vern and I met with Father Hughes at the rectory to sign papers saying we knew of no reason why they shouldn't marry. When Father asked if Gregg was baptized, Pat stated that shortly after he was born, they had moved and just never had him Baptized - although older brother, Gary, had been. Vern couldn't let the comment go by, he said: "When I was a kid, I used to buy pagan babies but I never thought one of my daughters would marry one!!"
The Catholic Church has led the way in starting hospitals and schools here in America and around the world. It is a rich heritage that we are proud of. Nowadays when there arn't as many Priests and Religious to be Missionaries it is up to us to evangelize wherever we go. There's an old quote: "Preach the Gospel always, whenever necessary, use words"
When the first Spanish and French explorers to America came to look into this 'passage' to India or China - depending on what group was arriving - they brought with them Catholic Priests, who looked after the souls of the seaman on the journey but who also planned to bring Christianity to any Native people they found here. A lot of those early Missionaries lost their lives. They were telling the indigenous tribes that the rites they had practiced for centuries were wrong and that they were bringing a better Way to them. I don't feel that there are any bad guys in this scenario, both groups felt they were right in their beliefs.
When the Peoria Diocese was settled, most of the early Priests were Irish. Archbishop Myers told me one time that the first two Catholic Bishops for our Diocese were Irish - Spalding and Dunne - and when the Pope named Archbishop Schlarman, a German from Southern Illinois as the third Bishop, all of those sons of Erin were very unhappy until Schlarman honored them by making them Monsignors, and they came to accept him.
For a lot of years, Priests from America traveled to Africa, China and other countries to convert those peoples. But now because we hardly have enough Priests to cover the Parishes here in the U.S., we have become a Mission destination. Priests from the Phillipines, Africa and Viet Nam have come here to fill in as needed. Some of these Missionaries are even going to Ireland. What goes around comes around!!
When we were growing up and attending St. Patricks on the Southside, we did several things to help the Missions. Every year about this time, we all received Holy Childhood Stickers to sell door to door. There were some really great prizes to those who sold the most. By the time my parents - they discouraged us going door to door - bought a dollars worth from all of us, about all we received as a prize was a glow in the dark Jesus statue. Vern, however, one year sold enough to earn a little plaster of paris Altar. For several years after we married, it was part of our Christmas decorations.
All throughout the year, we contributed our pennies and nickels to a Pagan Baby Fund. When five dollars was collected, our class got to give a name to some little child overseas and the class got a certificate of recognition. It was a really big deal.
Before Mary and Gregg were married, his parents, Herb and Pat and Vern and I met with Father Hughes at the rectory to sign papers saying we knew of no reason why they shouldn't marry. When Father asked if Gregg was baptized, Pat stated that shortly after he was born, they had moved and just never had him Baptized - although older brother, Gary, had been. Vern couldn't let the comment go by, he said: "When I was a kid, I used to buy pagan babies but I never thought one of my daughters would marry one!!"
The Catholic Church has led the way in starting hospitals and schools here in America and around the world. It is a rich heritage that we are proud of. Nowadays when there arn't as many Priests and Religious to be Missionaries it is up to us to evangelize wherever we go. There's an old quote: "Preach the Gospel always, whenever necessary, use words"
Monday, October 29, 2012
The Big Storm
The Weather Channel and Channel 2, NYC are programming non stop about the "Frankenstorm" coming in on the East Coast. Everyone, I'm sure, is praying that people are careful and few lives are lost. But it reminds me of a big storm in the summer before I started First Grade, 1942.
Dad was at work, Mother had gone downtown to a 'Dollar Day' sale and our cousin, Verna Mae Johnson, who lived next door to us - we were living on Smith Street - was babysitting us. "Us" is the oldest four, Me, Russ, Judy and four month old Richard. It was a calm July day when my mother left. It was the day after her birthday and Dad had sent her a dozen roses, The vase of flowers was on top of the piano. The piano was on the inside wall across from the windows. The storm just seemed to come out of nowhere and the basement was really a cellar and the door to it was on the back porch. Verna elected to take us to one of the upstairs bedrooms. I can remember being so afraid and she asked all of us to pray.
The cyclone was so strong that it pulled the siding off the west side of the house and broke the windows in the living room. Unbelievably, the vase of flowers across the room stayed in place.
Mother said later that the storm broke out the windows at Bergners and they were advertising fur coats for winter and the coats were blown out of the displays and on the street from the wind. As soon as she could, she got on the streetcar and headed home. We were really thrilled to see her.
I was afraid of storms for years, panicky even, in fact, I stayed afraid until Leah was born. I didn't want my children to be as scared as I was and so calmed myself to be able to keep them calm. Amazing how we cure our fears.
The rest of the story........Mother felt so bad that she was not at home when the storm was happening that she took the three oldest of her children to the movies - our first time in a theater. Richard stayed home with Dad. The movie was "The Wizard of Oz" and when the storm in the beginning happened, Russ, Judy and I dived under our seats and started crying. Mother tried to sooth us and she had a difficult time convincing us to sit on top of the seats instead of cowering under them. And, of course, in a little while the movie changed to color and we slowly calmed down. I know the movie is a classic but it has never been one of my favorites. It may be psychological!!
Dad was at work, Mother had gone downtown to a 'Dollar Day' sale and our cousin, Verna Mae Johnson, who lived next door to us - we were living on Smith Street - was babysitting us. "Us" is the oldest four, Me, Russ, Judy and four month old Richard. It was a calm July day when my mother left. It was the day after her birthday and Dad had sent her a dozen roses, The vase of flowers was on top of the piano. The piano was on the inside wall across from the windows. The storm just seemed to come out of nowhere and the basement was really a cellar and the door to it was on the back porch. Verna elected to take us to one of the upstairs bedrooms. I can remember being so afraid and she asked all of us to pray.
The cyclone was so strong that it pulled the siding off the west side of the house and broke the windows in the living room. Unbelievably, the vase of flowers across the room stayed in place.
Mother said later that the storm broke out the windows at Bergners and they were advertising fur coats for winter and the coats were blown out of the displays and on the street from the wind. As soon as she could, she got on the streetcar and headed home. We were really thrilled to see her.
I was afraid of storms for years, panicky even, in fact, I stayed afraid until Leah was born. I didn't want my children to be as scared as I was and so calmed myself to be able to keep them calm. Amazing how we cure our fears.
The rest of the story........Mother felt so bad that she was not at home when the storm was happening that she took the three oldest of her children to the movies - our first time in a theater. Richard stayed home with Dad. The movie was "The Wizard of Oz" and when the storm in the beginning happened, Russ, Judy and I dived under our seats and started crying. Mother tried to sooth us and she had a difficult time convincing us to sit on top of the seats instead of cowering under them. And, of course, in a little while the movie changed to color and we slowly calmed down. I know the movie is a classic but it has never been one of my favorites. It may be psychological!!
Friday, October 26, 2012
Door to Door Salesman
While waiting for the light to change at the corner of War Memorial and Sheridan Road, I noticed the big flag at Great American Insurance and glanced to my right and noticed an insurance agency and my mind went hopscotching down memory lane. It reminded me of when the Prudential Insurance Agent would come to the house each month and collect on Vern's Family Policy. That made me think of other people who would come to the house as part of 'their route'.
My parents had Prudential Insurance and they sent around their Insurance Man to sell us a policy when we were married just a couple of months. He would come in the evening, as we both worked during the day. I vaguely remember the Agent coming to the house on Maxwell Road, adding a new name to the family plan each year!
We had two house and car insurance agents in all the years of our marriage. Al somebody, who was an agent who lived in Farmington, he was a friend of Harold Heimbaugh, who built our house on Maxwell Road and then for many years Ed Murray, our friend in Washington. Kind of an interesting story. We had moved to Washington, Al was still our agent and we would see him once a year. The year I was forty, I was listed in three auto accidents. No. 1, was that I had cut the corner too close coming away from Church, and scratched someones car's fender, No. 2, I crossed Route 24 at Spring Creek Road and did not see an oncoming car. I really don't know where that car came from but I felt really bad because it was a brand new car and they were leaving the next day on vacation. and No. 3, Mary was just learning to drive and went to back the car out of the barn - that's where we parked then - and hit the barn door and knocked it down. There was damage to the taillight and bumper. I took the blame as she didn't have her license. Al came out. I remember him sitting at the picnic table in the back yard, smoking a cigarette and painfully telling me that the company was cancelling our insurance because statistics showed that women in their forties were more prone to accidents because that is when they started drinking heavily. Honestly, that is what he said. Ed Murray and his companies didn't care if I was an alcoholic or not!!! When I moved to Peoria and Ed retired, I switched to someone here in town.
The milkman. When we were kids on the South side, our milkman was Chuck Florey who worked for Schierers Dairy. I remember how while he was delivering milk, we siblings would reach in the back of the truck for small chunks of ice to suck on or throw at each other. When Leah was born and we lived West of Peoria, just past Bellevue, Harold Stafford was the route person for his family dairy. What a dear man he was. The front door was always unlocked and he would bring the milk in and put it in the fridge. I was usually bathing a baby when he came. He thought those little girls were something. He had a son with a blood disorder, his wife had died from the same disease. Years later, when Vern and one of the daughters was buying a car, Harold was working at a dealership. Milk delivery stopped when Milk Stores became popular. Staffords and Schierers both had stores locally. I noticed a metal milk carrier in the basement the other day.
When we lived on the Southside, we had people come to sell portraits in your home, meat - never bought any of that, vegetables - we grew our own and, of course, the neighbor kids selling candy, Holy Childhood Stamps, etc. - I'm still open to neighbor kids selling magazines or Cub Scout popcorn.
One time a man - very Arab looking - came to the door selling bed spreads. Ugly, light weight, cheap looking, blue and gold ones with gold fringe. He knocked on the door and one of the daughters opened it and invited him in. The bed spreads weren't exactly my taste and I slowly tried to walk him back out the door. The spreads were ten dollars a piece and I thanked him but said: "No, not interested". By this time, all six of the daughters were gathered around the dining room table, they thought the spreads were beautiful - and said so. He started in telling me he was from the Middle East and he sent the money he earned back to his family. I thanked him, but told him: "Not interested"! Then he began to tell me that the money went to buy milk for his family and he missed his family so much - really laying it on thick. Well, by this time our little girls were in tears and started telling me that I should buy from him to buy milk for his family. I told him, I didn't have any cash in the house and he said he would take a check. "Give him a check, Mama, so he can buy milk for his children", the daughters were hiccuping sadly. So I did! For some God awful reason, I bought two of them. $20.00. The children were delighted, Vern was not. He told all our friends, and I was the butt of a lot of jokes for being made a fool of. I got my revenge - of a sort. We had a New Years Eve party that year and after every one had arrived, I went upstairs and put on my new caftan that I had made from part of one of the bedspreads and wore it at the party. As I remember it started to unravel before the night was over. Lots of laughter.
Door to door salesman, times have changed.
My parents had Prudential Insurance and they sent around their Insurance Man to sell us a policy when we were married just a couple of months. He would come in the evening, as we both worked during the day. I vaguely remember the Agent coming to the house on Maxwell Road, adding a new name to the family plan each year!
We had two house and car insurance agents in all the years of our marriage. Al somebody, who was an agent who lived in Farmington, he was a friend of Harold Heimbaugh, who built our house on Maxwell Road and then for many years Ed Murray, our friend in Washington. Kind of an interesting story. We had moved to Washington, Al was still our agent and we would see him once a year. The year I was forty, I was listed in three auto accidents. No. 1, was that I had cut the corner too close coming away from Church, and scratched someones car's fender, No. 2, I crossed Route 24 at Spring Creek Road and did not see an oncoming car. I really don't know where that car came from but I felt really bad because it was a brand new car and they were leaving the next day on vacation. and No. 3, Mary was just learning to drive and went to back the car out of the barn - that's where we parked then - and hit the barn door and knocked it down. There was damage to the taillight and bumper. I took the blame as she didn't have her license. Al came out. I remember him sitting at the picnic table in the back yard, smoking a cigarette and painfully telling me that the company was cancelling our insurance because statistics showed that women in their forties were more prone to accidents because that is when they started drinking heavily. Honestly, that is what he said. Ed Murray and his companies didn't care if I was an alcoholic or not!!! When I moved to Peoria and Ed retired, I switched to someone here in town.
The milkman. When we were kids on the South side, our milkman was Chuck Florey who worked for Schierers Dairy. I remember how while he was delivering milk, we siblings would reach in the back of the truck for small chunks of ice to suck on or throw at each other. When Leah was born and we lived West of Peoria, just past Bellevue, Harold Stafford was the route person for his family dairy. What a dear man he was. The front door was always unlocked and he would bring the milk in and put it in the fridge. I was usually bathing a baby when he came. He thought those little girls were something. He had a son with a blood disorder, his wife had died from the same disease. Years later, when Vern and one of the daughters was buying a car, Harold was working at a dealership. Milk delivery stopped when Milk Stores became popular. Staffords and Schierers both had stores locally. I noticed a metal milk carrier in the basement the other day.
When we lived on the Southside, we had people come to sell portraits in your home, meat - never bought any of that, vegetables - we grew our own and, of course, the neighbor kids selling candy, Holy Childhood Stamps, etc. - I'm still open to neighbor kids selling magazines or Cub Scout popcorn.
One time a man - very Arab looking - came to the door selling bed spreads. Ugly, light weight, cheap looking, blue and gold ones with gold fringe. He knocked on the door and one of the daughters opened it and invited him in. The bed spreads weren't exactly my taste and I slowly tried to walk him back out the door. The spreads were ten dollars a piece and I thanked him but said: "No, not interested". By this time, all six of the daughters were gathered around the dining room table, they thought the spreads were beautiful - and said so. He started in telling me he was from the Middle East and he sent the money he earned back to his family. I thanked him, but told him: "Not interested"! Then he began to tell me that the money went to buy milk for his family and he missed his family so much - really laying it on thick. Well, by this time our little girls were in tears and started telling me that I should buy from him to buy milk for his family. I told him, I didn't have any cash in the house and he said he would take a check. "Give him a check, Mama, so he can buy milk for his children", the daughters were hiccuping sadly. So I did! For some God awful reason, I bought two of them. $20.00. The children were delighted, Vern was not. He told all our friends, and I was the butt of a lot of jokes for being made a fool of. I got my revenge - of a sort. We had a New Years Eve party that year and after every one had arrived, I went upstairs and put on my new caftan that I had made from part of one of the bedspreads and wore it at the party. As I remember it started to unravel before the night was over. Lots of laughter.
Door to door salesman, times have changed.
Monday, October 22, 2012
The SINGING NUNS
In St. Patricks Parish in Washington, Il, we had CEW weekends. CEW stands for Christian Experience Weekend. It was very similar to Cursillo but on a local parish scale. We slept on cots in the basement of the school, ate, prayed and laughed and prayed some more. A wonderful experience. Here in St. Thomas Parish, they do a similar weekend called WATCH.
Every year we had a Christmas party at the Knights of Columbus Hall that started with a prayer service and then a meal and after the meal, everyone got up and left. The group above was in charge of the dinner one year and we felt we should have some entertainment to encourage people to stay around and socialize. My friend, Sharon Durkee, had told me that a group of women at St. Bernard's in Peoria had dressed like religious sisters and sang along with the songs to the movie "Sister Act". When I suggested this to the group, they were on board immediately. In one of the Church's 'Cry Room' closets were some old gray choir robes and about every five years, the Washington High School Theater Department does "The Sound of Music", so we asked to borrow the scapulars, wimples and veils and they gave them to us to use. We originally called ourselves "The Moron Nab An Apple Choir" and instead of a cross on a chain as many religious orders wear, we hung a red apple on a brown cord. Someone felt that the name was not politically correct, so we just became "The Singing Nuns"
After the meal and some lovely other entertainment, the room darkened, the tape player began to play a Gregorian Chant from the soundtrack of "Sister Act" and in we walked, heads down lip syncing along. At first, people were quiet and respectful, and then they began to realize who we were. We started our set with "My Guy", and then "I will Follow Him" - appropriate chorography included - and by the time we exited with "Shout", the crowd was with us. Lots of fun!
Now here's the rest of the story......Florence Linsley was in the KC bar that evening and when she heard the laughter, peeked in and saw us. She asked us to perform at the store's annual Christmas party and we said for $100. She said: "You got it!" That was the start. Someone else would see us perform and want us for an event. We performed for Archbishop Myers several times and an event at OSF. The $100.00 fees went into a 'kitty' and when we heard someone was going through a particularly hard time or there was a fund raiser for something special, the money was contributed. After about a year, I dropped out of the group but new people joined and the 'nuns' continued to perform around the area for several years and contribute their fee to good causes. The choir robes remained, but they made their own veils, etc. instead of borrowing the High School's. We had a lot of fun, 'pee-run' laughter, and met some interesting people along the way. When we get together, we still laugh at some of our performances. I love women, especially those with adventure in their souls.
Friday, October 19, 2012
PEORIA FIRSTS
When we started the History Trolley Tours - Gloria LaHood, Steve Tartar and myself - I was given a lot of information. Some from the writings of Ernest East, Millie Bryant and Gloria plus research I did at the downtown Library. Gloria laid out the route and I took the information and wrote the script following her direction. One of the pages compiled and written by Millie and Syd Eslinger was of Peoria's Firsts. It follows.
BURIAL: Soldier from Fort Clark - 1812
MALE SETTLER: Josiah Fulton, Abner Eads and five companions - 1819
FEMALE SETTLER: Rebecca Eads, wife of Abner - 1819
SCHOOL: Cabin on riverbank below Water Street - 1821
LAWYER: John Bogardus - 1822
FACTORY: Chairs - 1823
BLACKSMITH: William Holland (later founded Washington, Il) - 1823
BOOTLEGGER FINED: Samuel Dougherty (fined for selling whiskey to Native Americans) - 1823
MARRIAGE: William Blanchard and Elizabeth Donahue - 1825
ELECTION: 1825
POST OFFICE: 1825
COURT HELD: (In a log building on the bank of the river with Judge Yourk presiding) - 1825
FLOUR MILL: Erected by John Hamlin on Kickapoo Creek - 1830
REGULAR STEAMBOAT RUN - 1832
PHYSICIAN: Dr. Augustus Langworthy - 1833
NEWSPAPER: Illinois Champion Peoria Herald (located on Water St. between Hamilton and Main) - 1834
JAIL: 1834
VILLAGE PRESIDENT: Dr. Rudolphus Rouse - 1835
PROTESTANT CHURCH ERECTED - Presbyterian - 1835
MEAT PACKING PLANT: Along the river in south part of town - 1837
BREWERY: Located corner of Water & Bridge St. run by Frederick Muller - 1838
DISTILLERY: Located on Water St. between Main and Fulton run by A.S. Cole - 1845
ELECTED MAYOR: William Hale - 1845
ORGANIZED FIRE COMPANY: Two fire engines with a hose bought by city at a cost of $1200 - 1846
BANK: Started by Phelps and Bourland - 1847
TELEGRAPH MESSAGE: Between Peoria and St. Louis - 1848
FIRST BRIDGE: A foot bridge over Peoria Lake - 1849
LEGAL EXECUTION: Thomas Brown and George Williams hanged for robbing and killing a cattle buyer - 1851
STREET LIGHTS: Fifty erected by Peoria Gas, Light and Coke Co. - 1853
RAILROAD: From Chicago via Peoria, Bureau Valley RR - 1854
PUBLIC LIBRARY: 1858
FREE MAIL DELIVERY: 1873
ELECTRIC LIGHT: Hamilton and Adams - 1879
TELEPHONE COMPANY STARTED: Allair Rayburn Co.. 1879
TELEPHONE DIRECTORY - 1880
BRICK PAVEMENT: Hamilton St. between Adams and Monroe - 1885
AVIATOR TO VISIT PEORIA: Walter Brookings - 1910
FIRST PEORIAN AIRPLANE PASSENGER: Miss Myrtle Grunert - 1911
BURIAL: Soldier from Fort Clark - 1812
MALE SETTLER: Josiah Fulton, Abner Eads and five companions - 1819
FEMALE SETTLER: Rebecca Eads, wife of Abner - 1819
SCHOOL: Cabin on riverbank below Water Street - 1821
LAWYER: John Bogardus - 1822
FACTORY: Chairs - 1823
BLACKSMITH: William Holland (later founded Washington, Il) - 1823
BOOTLEGGER FINED: Samuel Dougherty (fined for selling whiskey to Native Americans) - 1823
MARRIAGE: William Blanchard and Elizabeth Donahue - 1825
ELECTION: 1825
POST OFFICE: 1825
COURT HELD: (In a log building on the bank of the river with Judge Yourk presiding) - 1825
FLOUR MILL: Erected by John Hamlin on Kickapoo Creek - 1830
REGULAR STEAMBOAT RUN - 1832
PHYSICIAN: Dr. Augustus Langworthy - 1833
NEWSPAPER: Illinois Champion Peoria Herald (located on Water St. between Hamilton and Main) - 1834
JAIL: 1834
VILLAGE PRESIDENT: Dr. Rudolphus Rouse - 1835
PROTESTANT CHURCH ERECTED - Presbyterian - 1835
MEAT PACKING PLANT: Along the river in south part of town - 1837
BREWERY: Located corner of Water & Bridge St. run by Frederick Muller - 1838
DISTILLERY: Located on Water St. between Main and Fulton run by A.S. Cole - 1845
ELECTED MAYOR: William Hale - 1845
ORGANIZED FIRE COMPANY: Two fire engines with a hose bought by city at a cost of $1200 - 1846
BANK: Started by Phelps and Bourland - 1847
TELEGRAPH MESSAGE: Between Peoria and St. Louis - 1848
FIRST BRIDGE: A foot bridge over Peoria Lake - 1849
LEGAL EXECUTION: Thomas Brown and George Williams hanged for robbing and killing a cattle buyer - 1851
STREET LIGHTS: Fifty erected by Peoria Gas, Light and Coke Co. - 1853
RAILROAD: From Chicago via Peoria, Bureau Valley RR - 1854
PUBLIC LIBRARY: 1858
FREE MAIL DELIVERY: 1873
ELECTRIC LIGHT: Hamilton and Adams - 1879
TELEPHONE COMPANY STARTED: Allair Rayburn Co.. 1879
TELEPHONE DIRECTORY - 1880
BRICK PAVEMENT: Hamilton St. between Adams and Monroe - 1885
AVIATOR TO VISIT PEORIA: Walter Brookings - 1910
FIRST PEORIAN AIRPLANE PASSENGER: Miss Myrtle Grunert - 1911
Tuesday, October 16, 2012
Stories From Vern
The last of the stories Vern wrote about growing up on a farm in Missouri in the late 1940's.
Hog Butchering
Butchering 1 hog required about 3 days of labor. The first day was preparatory. Getting the 55 gallon steel barrel out, setting it on raised beams, filling it with water and securing enough wood to get the water scalding hot. The second day a fire was made under the barrel and when the water was steaming hot, the hog was shot with a .22 rifle. Then a block and tackle was used to hoist the carcass up from a tree branch. Dad opened up the carcass and removed the insides. Then the block and tackle was relocated over the barrel, the carcass raised and lowered into the steaming hot water. After the carcass was scalded good, the fire was put out and the barrel moved out of the way. Then the carcass was scraped to remove all the hair. Its about lunch time now and we always had pork liver and onions plus vegetables, home made bread and homemade butter for lunch on butchering day. After lunch, Dad split the pork carcass in two and it was left hanging from the tree to cool till the next morning. On the third day, Dad cut the carcass up. Shoulders, hams, bacon sides, pork chops, neck bones, ham hocks, and fat. This was a hard day for Mom. The fat she cut into 1 inch cubes and put them in a kettle on the cook stove to render out for the lard. The lard was put into mason jars and sealed. All of the scraps of meat and some of the pork loin was ground up for sausage. Us kids turned the sausage grinder and Dad weighed each batch, added the proper amount of seasoning which consisted of red pepper, black pepper, sage and salt. He blended this together and then Mom made them into patties, fried them and put them in mason jars, filled the jar with boiling lard and sealed. The hams, bacon slabs, shoulders, ham hocks and some of the pork loin was taken to the smoke house were Dad rubbed them with a mixture of salt and brown sugar, and built a hickory wood chip fire under the meat. Not to hot so as to cook but more for the smoke. The smoldering fire was kept going 24 hours a day and each day Dad would rub down the meat with more of the salt and brown sugar mixture. If I remember correctly this curing process took about 7 days. The head and various other parts were de-boned and Mom made a gelatin meat loaf that was sour and was called 'Souse'. Very little of the pig was not used by the Mall family. What was not usable was taken to the back side of the farm where in a few days that was gone, eaten by the scavengers. This rendering (pun intended) of how processing meat was done makes us more appreciative that we can go to a refrigerated cooler at the local grocer and buy a wrapped round of sausage, or a prepackaged pound of bacon. Life is good!
This was the church that we went to. It was located in the city of Marshfield, Missouri. Mom and Dad were as active in this church as they were at Sacred Heart in Kansas City, Kansas. Dad helped Maintain this church. The hope of the Parishioners, to build a new church, was supported by the Mall family. The church had a building fund called 'God's Little Acre'. Each year Mom and Dad donated a 2 year old calf to this fund. Every Sunday after Mass all of the Parishioners lingered outside the church to visit. Uncle Paul and Aunt Mamie Beeker Bader, their daughter, Frances Bader Goeden and her husband Joe, Joe Goeden's parents, Mr and Mrs Goeden were the relatives that mostly only got to see each other once a week. In the year that we did not have automobile transportation because of the tire shortage, we did not go to church. If we did, it was for a special occasion and by horse and wagon. Catholic education was held in the Pastor's house on Sundays after church, and for one week during the summer. When I married Vern, across the street from the Church lived the parents of their son-in-law, Claude Young. So I remember walking across the street to visit with them as well. Mr. Young was very outgoing and gregarious, Mrs Young was quiet and one of the sweetest women I ever met. Their son, Claude, was a mixture of both. When Mary Lorene first moved to Marshfield, one of the local boys told her that it was okay to date about anyone but to stay away from Claude Young. Claude Young was one of my favorite people.
There is a newer Church in town now. Built in the 1970s.
Sunday, October 14, 2012
Growing Up in Greertown
More of Vern's stories of growing up in Southern Missouri in the late 1940s. He wrote these for his grandchildren and I add them for his nieces and nephews as well. Also it's a good history of a way of life few know these days.
Greer Canning Family
Down the road, CR632, at the bottom of the hill, was Greer Creek. Next to this creek was Greer Canning Factory. During the tomato canning season, all the neighbor ladies worked at the factory. The farmers who grew tomatoes as a sideline, would bring the tomatoes to the factory by a team of horses and wagons. Doug Greer ran the factory, he scalded the tomatoes, the ladies peeled and quartered them, and put them in wooden buckets. They got paid 5 cents a bucket. Dad used to put the tomatoes into cans, put a lid on top, and put them into the sealing machine. He also maintained the one and only sealing machine in the factory. The tomato cans were then put in big wire baskets and the baskets were raised and lowered by chain fall into the cooking vats which were set over a wood fire. A boiler and steam engine supplied power to the sealer machine. Dad also maintained the steam engine. The factory had a steam whistle, and when tomatoes were needed, Doug Greer would blow the whistle. This was a signal to the farmers that more tomatoes were needed. On the way home from school us kids all stopped by the factory for a tomato or two. A salt shaker was kept just inside the door for anyone wanting to eat a tomato.
When I came into the family in 1955, the canning factory was a tangle of corrugated metal and weeds just past the bridge over the creek. Greertown was the name of the area where the family farm was located. The matriarch was Aunt Ella Greer who lived in a wonderful old house at the top of a hill on the left before getting to 'Linger Longer' Farm - the name on the mail box at Tony and Clara's.
The Dairy Operation
We started with 7 or so milk cows and 1 bull. In a few years the herd was up to 15. Dad, Elmer and I milked the cows by hand, twice a day, 7 days a week and 365 days a year. Except leap year, when we milked 366 days! My 3 cows to milk was Rosie, Buttercup and Dixie. I think this is what soured me on dairy farming, never have a day off. Each year, Mom and Dad would give us a calf for helping out around the farm. Mary Lorene got hers the first year after we moved down to the farm, Elmer got his the second year and I got mine the third year. Mary Lorene sold hers and used the money to go to college. Elmer and I kept ours, and started growing our own herds. I had trouble with my heifer. She would carry a calf for about six months and then miss-carry. On the 3rd try, Dad said that if she miss-carried that calf we would sell her and he would give me another cow. She carried it full term and produced a healthy calf. We needed a new bull so I bought a Shorthorn calf from a neighbor. Paid $12.00 for him and named him
snowball. Dad thought that was too much for a calf, but we wanted to get some beef cattle strains in our herd so it was acceptable. We used him as the herd sire for several years and then I sold him for $130.00
The Picture of me and Snowball was taken about 1947 or 48. Of course we had chickens and pigs. The chickens were used for meat and eggs and the pigs we sold except for the two we butchered each year. We also had a team of horses, Barney and Bess. All of our equipment was horse drawn. We had a 4 wheel wagon, a two wheel cart, a sickle bar mower, dump rake and a 1 row corn planter.
Greer Canning Family
Down the road, CR632, at the bottom of the hill, was Greer Creek. Next to this creek was Greer Canning Factory. During the tomato canning season, all the neighbor ladies worked at the factory. The farmers who grew tomatoes as a sideline, would bring the tomatoes to the factory by a team of horses and wagons. Doug Greer ran the factory, he scalded the tomatoes, the ladies peeled and quartered them, and put them in wooden buckets. They got paid 5 cents a bucket. Dad used to put the tomatoes into cans, put a lid on top, and put them into the sealing machine. He also maintained the one and only sealing machine in the factory. The tomato cans were then put in big wire baskets and the baskets were raised and lowered by chain fall into the cooking vats which were set over a wood fire. A boiler and steam engine supplied power to the sealer machine. Dad also maintained the steam engine. The factory had a steam whistle, and when tomatoes were needed, Doug Greer would blow the whistle. This was a signal to the farmers that more tomatoes were needed. On the way home from school us kids all stopped by the factory for a tomato or two. A salt shaker was kept just inside the door for anyone wanting to eat a tomato.
When I came into the family in 1955, the canning factory was a tangle of corrugated metal and weeds just past the bridge over the creek. Greertown was the name of the area where the family farm was located. The matriarch was Aunt Ella Greer who lived in a wonderful old house at the top of a hill on the left before getting to 'Linger Longer' Farm - the name on the mail box at Tony and Clara's.
The Dairy Operation
We started with 7 or so milk cows and 1 bull. In a few years the herd was up to 15. Dad, Elmer and I milked the cows by hand, twice a day, 7 days a week and 365 days a year. Except leap year, when we milked 366 days! My 3 cows to milk was Rosie, Buttercup and Dixie. I think this is what soured me on dairy farming, never have a day off. Each year, Mom and Dad would give us a calf for helping out around the farm. Mary Lorene got hers the first year after we moved down to the farm, Elmer got his the second year and I got mine the third year. Mary Lorene sold hers and used the money to go to college. Elmer and I kept ours, and started growing our own herds. I had trouble with my heifer. She would carry a calf for about six months and then miss-carry. On the 3rd try, Dad said that if she miss-carried that calf we would sell her and he would give me another cow. She carried it full term and produced a healthy calf. We needed a new bull so I bought a Shorthorn calf from a neighbor. Paid $12.00 for him and named him
snowball. Dad thought that was too much for a calf, but we wanted to get some beef cattle strains in our herd so it was acceptable. We used him as the herd sire for several years and then I sold him for $130.00
The Picture of me and Snowball was taken about 1947 or 48. Of course we had chickens and pigs. The chickens were used for meat and eggs and the pigs we sold except for the two we butchered each year. We also had a team of horses, Barney and Bess. All of our equipment was horse drawn. We had a 4 wheel wagon, a two wheel cart, a sickle bar mower, dump rake and a 1 row corn planter.
Thursday, October 11, 2012
Vern's Story
More of Vern's life story written in 2007. I wasn't going to add anything today but I want to use today's date, 10/11/12.
The Bader's
A few years before we moved, Aunt Mamie and Uncle Paul Bader had the opportunity to sell their property on 34th Street in Kansas City, Kansas and they bought a farm about 2 miles northwest of Marshfield. So the Bader's were well established when we moved down. Again the Bader's and Mall's lived close to each other. I remember that when Dad got his one week of vacation, we would go to their farm and stay with them. Mary Lorene and Elmer also stayed with them so they could start high school in September on schedule.
Jameason Grade School
Two miles south east of our farm was Jameason School. This was a 2 room country school. There was a cook shed behind the school and a large wood pile. Parents and neighbors donated the wood used for cooking and heating the school. Parents took turns cooking. We did have good meals as everything came from somebody's house. No store bought stuff. 7th and 8th grade boys, split and carried the wood into the cook shed and the school house. The boys also kept the heating stove in the school stoked with wood. I think that is called 'child labor' now a days. It was called practical and physical education then. Mrs. Mathews was my teacher for 6th, 7th and 8th grades. Ruth Greer, Talton Greer and Helen Greer, (all cousins), and me all walked to and from school each day. Oh did I mention the school house had electricity! Used for lighting only! We had a 'path' across the road to the 'out house'. It was a two roomer also. One for the girls and one for the boys. The water supply was a well with a hand pump on it. This was located just outside the front door of the school. Graduation from grade school was a Webster County affair. All of the small grade school (Mostly 1 or 2 room schools) kids got an invitation from the County Superintendent of Schools to come to the court house in Marshfield for the ceremony. This next picture is from left to right, Elmer Mall, Mary Lorene Mall and Vernon Mall. We were sitting on the railing of the steps leading up to the court house main entrance, which is on the West side of the building. Take a good look because this is one of the few times you will see me in a suit!
The Bader's
A few years before we moved, Aunt Mamie and Uncle Paul Bader had the opportunity to sell their property on 34th Street in Kansas City, Kansas and they bought a farm about 2 miles northwest of Marshfield. So the Bader's were well established when we moved down. Again the Bader's and Mall's lived close to each other. I remember that when Dad got his one week of vacation, we would go to their farm and stay with them. Mary Lorene and Elmer also stayed with them so they could start high school in September on schedule.
Jameason Grade School
Two miles south east of our farm was Jameason School. This was a 2 room country school. There was a cook shed behind the school and a large wood pile. Parents and neighbors donated the wood used for cooking and heating the school. Parents took turns cooking. We did have good meals as everything came from somebody's house. No store bought stuff. 7th and 8th grade boys, split and carried the wood into the cook shed and the school house. The boys also kept the heating stove in the school stoked with wood. I think that is called 'child labor' now a days. It was called practical and physical education then. Mrs. Mathews was my teacher for 6th, 7th and 8th grades. Ruth Greer, Talton Greer and Helen Greer, (all cousins), and me all walked to and from school each day. Oh did I mention the school house had electricity! Used for lighting only! We had a 'path' across the road to the 'out house'. It was a two roomer also. One for the girls and one for the boys. The water supply was a well with a hand pump on it. This was located just outside the front door of the school. Graduation from grade school was a Webster County affair. All of the small grade school (Mostly 1 or 2 room schools) kids got an invitation from the County Superintendent of Schools to come to the court house in Marshfield for the ceremony. This next picture is from left to right, Elmer Mall, Mary Lorene Mall and Vernon Mall. We were sitting on the railing of the steps leading up to the court house main entrance, which is on the West side of the building. Take a good look because this is one of the few times you will see me in a suit!
Wednesday, October 10, 2012
My Life by Vernon Mall
School Years In Marshfield, Missouri
A narrative of my life from age 10 to 17
by
Vernon Mall
7-10-2007
Forward
I write this narrative so that present and future generations will have some insight into the past, their heritage and their ancestry. The dates and places are correct and when exact dates are not known, approximate times have been recorded. Many of the photographs, artifacts and documents were destroyed when Mary Lorene Mall Young's house in Springfield Mo. burned to the ground. The few that I have will be shared in this document and in documents yet to be made. Where hyperlinks are used, it is probably a good idea to use them as you see them.
When I was 10 years old, in the fall of 1944, and I was in 6th grade, we sold our house at 3705 Lust Drive in Kansas City Kansas and moved to a farm about 6 miles Northwest of Marshfield, Missouri. Mom and Dad had purchased this farm of 107 acres a few years earlier.
If you go to Google Maps, search for Marshfield, Missouri, follow 'W' northwest to 'CR632' follow this road west and then northwest, then just before you get to the 2 quick turns in the road, the Mall farm will be on your right or east side of CR632.
These were hard times for Mom. She moved from a 5 room 'modern' house to a 7 room, 2 story, old farm house. No running water, no septic system, no electricity, no phone, it did have a wood cook stove and a wood heating stove and of course the 'path' to the outhouse. On top of that, when the tires wore out on the 1932 Chevrolet, we used the team of horses and the wagon to travel to town. Tires were not available at any price because of World War II. We were without auto transportation for about a year.
When we moved to the farm, Dad was 54 years old, Mom was 45 years old, my sister Mary Lorene was a senior in high school, and Elmer was a sophomore in high school. If I remember correctly, Mary Lorene and Elmer moved down early so they could start school in September. I think Mom, Dad and I came in October.
Cardinal Martini's Interview
This week the Roman Catholic Church commemorates fifty years since the beginning of Vatican II. Last evening, in our parish we had a speaker who talked on the subject. Vatican II was to bring change to the Church - and some has changed, but enough? Someone asked the question: "What is a Cafeteria Catholic?" and the moderator answered: "We are all Cafeteria Catholics. There are things the Church teaches that I would die for and others I doubt." He ended the talk with this interview of Cardinal Carlo Marie Martini, Cardinal of Milan, given shortly before his death in August of this year. It was supposed that he would be Pope after John Paul II but he developed Parkinson's and stepped down from the Hierarchy. This is a little long but worth reading.
How do you see the situation of the Church? The Church is tired, in prosperous Europe and in America. Our culture is out of date; our Churches are big; our religious houses are empty, and the Church's bureaucratic apparatus is growing, and our rites and our vestments are pompous. Do such things really express what we are today? Prosperity weighs us down. We find ourselves like the rich young man who went away sad when Jesus called him to become his disciple. I know that it's not easy to leave everything behind. At least could we seek people who are free and closer to their neighbors, as Bishop Romero was and the Jesuit martyrs of El Salvador? Where among us are heroes to inspire us? We must never limit them by institutional bonds.
Who can help the Church today? Father Karl Rahner liked to use the image of embers hidden under ashes. I see in the Church today so many ashes above the embers that I'm often assailed by a sense of powerlessness. How can the embers be freed from the ashes in order to rekindle the flame of love? First of all, we have to look for those embers. Where are the individuals full of generosity, like the Good Samaritan? Who have faith like that of the Roman centurion? Who are enthusiastic as John the Baptist? Who dare new things, as Paul did? Who are faithful as Mary Magdalene was? I advise the Pope and the bishops to look for twelve people outside the lines for administrative posts - people who are close to the poorest and who are surrounded by young people and are trying out new things. We need that comparison with people who are on fire so that the spirit can spread everywhere.
What means do you advise against the Church's weariness? I have three important ones to mention. The first is conversion: the Church has to recognize its own errors and has to travel a radical journey of change, beginning with the Pope and the bishops. The scandals of pedophilia are driving us to undertake a journey of conversion. Questions about sexuality and all the themes involving the body are an example of this. They are important for everyone, at times they're even too important. In this area is the Church still a point of reference or only a caricature in the media?
The second is the Word of God. Vatican II restored the Bible to Catholics. Only someone who receives this Word in his heart can be among those who will help the renewal of the Church and will know how to respond to personal questions wisely. The Word of God is simple and seeks as its companion a heart that is listening. Neither the clergy nor Church law can substitute for a person's inwardness. All the external rules, the laws, the dogmas were given to us in order to clarify the inner voice and to discern spirits.
For whom are the sacraments? They are the third means of healing. The sacraments are not a disciplinary instrument, but a help for people at moments on their journey and when life makes them weak. Are we bringing the sacraments to the people who need a new strength? I'm thinking of all the divorced people and couples who have remarried and have extended families. They need a special protection. The Church maintains the indissolubility of marriage. It is a grace when a marriage and a family succeed. The attitude we take toward extended families will determine whether their children come near to the Church. A woman is abandoned by her husband and finds a new companion who is concerned for her and her three children. The second love succeeds. If this family is discriminated against, not only the woman, but her children, too, will be cut off. If the parents feel external to the Church and do not experience its support, the Church will lose the future generation. Before Communion we pray: "Lord, I am not worthy." We know we are unworthy. Love is grace. Love is a gift. The question whether the divorced can receive Communion would have to be turned upside down. How can the Church come to the aid of complex family situations with the power of the sacraments?
What do you do personally? The Church is two hundred years behind. Why is it not being stirred? Are we afraid? Afraid instead of courageous? Faith is the Church's foundation - faith, confidence, courage. I'm old and ill and depend on the help of others. The good people around me enable me to experience love. This love is stronger than the feeling of discouragement that I sometimes feel in looking at the Church in Europe. Only love conquers weariness. God is love. Now I have a question for you: "What can you do for the Church?"
How do you see the situation of the Church? The Church is tired, in prosperous Europe and in America. Our culture is out of date; our Churches are big; our religious houses are empty, and the Church's bureaucratic apparatus is growing, and our rites and our vestments are pompous. Do such things really express what we are today? Prosperity weighs us down. We find ourselves like the rich young man who went away sad when Jesus called him to become his disciple. I know that it's not easy to leave everything behind. At least could we seek people who are free and closer to their neighbors, as Bishop Romero was and the Jesuit martyrs of El Salvador? Where among us are heroes to inspire us? We must never limit them by institutional bonds.
Who can help the Church today? Father Karl Rahner liked to use the image of embers hidden under ashes. I see in the Church today so many ashes above the embers that I'm often assailed by a sense of powerlessness. How can the embers be freed from the ashes in order to rekindle the flame of love? First of all, we have to look for those embers. Where are the individuals full of generosity, like the Good Samaritan? Who have faith like that of the Roman centurion? Who are enthusiastic as John the Baptist? Who dare new things, as Paul did? Who are faithful as Mary Magdalene was? I advise the Pope and the bishops to look for twelve people outside the lines for administrative posts - people who are close to the poorest and who are surrounded by young people and are trying out new things. We need that comparison with people who are on fire so that the spirit can spread everywhere.
What means do you advise against the Church's weariness? I have three important ones to mention. The first is conversion: the Church has to recognize its own errors and has to travel a radical journey of change, beginning with the Pope and the bishops. The scandals of pedophilia are driving us to undertake a journey of conversion. Questions about sexuality and all the themes involving the body are an example of this. They are important for everyone, at times they're even too important. In this area is the Church still a point of reference or only a caricature in the media?
The second is the Word of God. Vatican II restored the Bible to Catholics. Only someone who receives this Word in his heart can be among those who will help the renewal of the Church and will know how to respond to personal questions wisely. The Word of God is simple and seeks as its companion a heart that is listening. Neither the clergy nor Church law can substitute for a person's inwardness. All the external rules, the laws, the dogmas were given to us in order to clarify the inner voice and to discern spirits.
For whom are the sacraments? They are the third means of healing. The sacraments are not a disciplinary instrument, but a help for people at moments on their journey and when life makes them weak. Are we bringing the sacraments to the people who need a new strength? I'm thinking of all the divorced people and couples who have remarried and have extended families. They need a special protection. The Church maintains the indissolubility of marriage. It is a grace when a marriage and a family succeed. The attitude we take toward extended families will determine whether their children come near to the Church. A woman is abandoned by her husband and finds a new companion who is concerned for her and her three children. The second love succeeds. If this family is discriminated against, not only the woman, but her children, too, will be cut off. If the parents feel external to the Church and do not experience its support, the Church will lose the future generation. Before Communion we pray: "Lord, I am not worthy." We know we are unworthy. Love is grace. Love is a gift. The question whether the divorced can receive Communion would have to be turned upside down. How can the Church come to the aid of complex family situations with the power of the sacraments?
What do you do personally? The Church is two hundred years behind. Why is it not being stirred? Are we afraid? Afraid instead of courageous? Faith is the Church's foundation - faith, confidence, courage. I'm old and ill and depend on the help of others. The good people around me enable me to experience love. This love is stronger than the feeling of discouragement that I sometimes feel in looking at the Church in Europe. Only love conquers weariness. God is love. Now I have a question for you: "What can you do for the Church?"
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