On March 13, 1935 . . .

. . . a chubby little baby boy was born weighing in at 13 pounds.  We are so glad he is here today to celebrate his birthday -- it's been a struggle but he keeps on keeping on -- and we are forever grateful. 

You are THE MAN!  Happy Birthday!

Sister's Birthday

We celebrated on September 28 -- her actual birthday -- while we were visiting the Chesapeake Bay area.  Hubby and I planned as our gift to Wendy a high tea / luncheon at 3:30 in the afternoon.

We just downloaded the pictures from our camera -- because Hubby has simply been too worn out and sick from the Congestive Heart Failure to figure out the download process (he know how to download but I could never find the pictures once they had been put on the computer).  This afternoon, after we had a really nice morning of dog walking and health spa joining and some minimal Thanksgiving prep (ham baking and freezer clean-out), he was able to access the pictures and put them on my desktop.  So, here is one of the more fun things we did when we traveled to Virginia and Maryland this autumn.

Hubby and his little sister -- we are ready to set out for high tea

The tea was held at Reynold's Tavern in downtown Annapolis -- almost directly across from the naval school.  The tavern was built in 1747 -- 30 years before the Revolutionary War.  In 1935 the plan was to turn the space into a filling station, but instead the citizens of Annapolis decided to save the building and use it as a library.  In 1984, when the library needed bigger space, the tavern was leased to Historic Inns of Annapolis, a private company, who restored it to its original purpose.  The first floor tea rooms are very much like the original rooms of the tavern and upstairs are two suites and a bedroom for rent.  There is a cellar pub in the original kitchen and during the warm(er) weather, a courtyard for al fresco dining. 

Reynolds Tavern, Annapolis, Maryland

Tea Room on 1st floor

Each tea plate and cup was different

Tea has been served -- flowering tea for Wendy and a Hawaiian blend for me -- in the green pot. 

Quiche is the first course

Wendy, Hubby and Me -- we were having an "experience" and a really good time. 

Hubby did not partake of the tea goodies, but instead had a lovely chicken salad sandwich

Wendy after the tea back at the beach house

Big Brother and Little Sister -- we had had a lovely afternoon and now it was back to the beach house for a round of Heaerts. 

Hubby and me

We highly recommend the tea at Reynolds Tavern if you ever are in the area.  It was a lovely experience, cost less than I had imagined (not cheap but not budget busting either) and even Hubby had a nice time.  Plus, the location is right on the bay.  What more could you want? 

Wendy and me -- the beach house is on the right and yes! behind us is the view from the house -- the white pickets on the far right  frame the back porch where we sat every afternoon / evening.  Isn't this one of the loveliest spots on earth?

He Never Sang Me a Serenade

Someone wrote to me, saying they enjoyed my "39 year story" (see Sunday's entry) and believed that Hubby must have sung me some wonderful songs. Oh, contraire! Here's my response:

Hubby has never really sung for me. The only song he ever sang directly to me was on our 25th wedding anniversary -- and I didn't know in advance what he would choose, just that everyone at the concert expected him to dedicate a song to me.

I had to laugh though -- it was "If Ever I Would Leave You" -- from Camelot. It was the perfect choice, of course, even if NOT very romantic. Throughout our 39 years we both agreed, through hard times (and there were many) and good, we had made a commitment to this relationship and would not walk away. Sometimes that was hard for both of us -- but it was the promise we made when we finally decided (34 years ago) to get married.

For Hubby, a classically trained artist, singing was a job -- and just as I don't attempt to teach him at home, he has not sung to me. He did sing around the house but not songs dedicated to me. He would sing in the car -- but it was always something either religious, funny, or classical. He has, on occasion, sung for me -- at events I've requested where he perform. He has sung songs I've asked for and thought would fit his voice. . . but the love serenade is not part of our romance.

During the late 1980's and early 1990's however, he sang repeatedly and on my request, "You'll Never Walk Alone" for the kids we were helping sue the Kansas School District. This became their theme song (and it was NEVER, EVER a favorite of Hubby's -- partly because of the sappy message and partly because the range is so ridiculous). He once admitted early on in our relationship that this was the song he associated most with me, mostly I think because our agreement with the marriage was that neither of us would walk the hard path alone again -- no matter what it took, neither of us would just up and walk away. Consequently, in his mind, I'm "never going to walk alone" again.

The sad thing now is, that due to his multiple health complications, Hubby can no longer sing at all. We both miss his beautiful voice -- and I once thought when this day would come, he would also lose his identity. Instead, he has adjusted quite well to not being able to make music. He still has some voice students and he's always on the lookout for the next new talent, but his own music making days have been gone for the last two years now. This has brought a huge change in our lives and is one of the reasons why I'm so determined to retire this year. We're both having to face the fact that age is robbing us of some our abilities -- and if we want some time together when we are still able to participate actively in the things we enjoy, we had better do it now.

109 Years Ago

Confession: originally written in 2/28/2002


The picture to the left was taken in 1964 and is of Charlotte Hill Griffith (1924 - 2011), M.G. Wiggins (age 18), Warren Holmes Griffith (1903 - 1981). We were at our then summer home in Green Mountain Falls, Colorado. I loved this log-sided cabin and the summers spent there with my parents are full of fond memories.
_________________________________________

On February 28, 1903 Warren Holmes Griffith was born to Gertrude and William E. Griffith in Lawrence, Kansas. Gertrude Holmes was W.E.’s second wife, his first wife having died leaving him with two sons to raise, Richard and Alfred. Alfred had a deformity (hunchback), and because in those days little was done for such children, he was never able to move away from home and live a normal life. Shortly after the second marriage, the small family moved to Kansas City, KS. They had one more son after Warren, William E. Griffith, Jr.

In Warren’s 20’s the family moved across the state line to Kansas City, MO. Warren reported that the family lived a happy life though they never had much money. W.E. sold insurance and Gertrude took care of the boys. Warren put himself through journalism school and graduated from Kansas University in 1926. After working for several small town newspapers across the state of Kansas, he went to work for the Kansas City Times and Star newspapers.

Alfred died in young adulthood and Richard moved to Texas and the family lost touch with him. Bill Griffith, the youngest brother, also a KU graduate, worked in the television industry in Kansas City until his retirement in the 1970’s.

Warren married Charlotte Hill in 1946 at the age of 42. His bride was only 20. They produced a daughter six months after the wedding and no one has ever acknowledged the clear truth about the marriage or the conception of the child, claiming that the eight + pound baby girl was born prematurely.

Eventually with his wife and daughter Warren moved into his family home on the South Side of Kansas City. Warren retired in 1972 from the Kansas City Star, the only newspaper to survive in Kansas City. He loved the job he had held for 43 years and it nearly broke his heart to be forced to leave it.

He lived his last years in the mountains around Pikes Peak, in the same cabin where his family had summered since 1907. In 1981 he died at the age of 78 of colon cancer.

Warren was a smart, funny, satirical man. Moreover, he had a kind, gentle heart. He loved to write. He collected books on the Civil War and old time steam trains. The only instrument he could play was the harmonica, but he loved music, from classical to western (far different from country – think “Clear, Cool Water” as opposed to country twang). He enjoyed travel immensely but since his wife hated it, never really got to travel very much in his later years.

In 1948 he joined the United Methodist Church and was very active in both Kansas City and in the only church in his little mountain town of less than 500, the Church in the Wildwood. One of his proudest moments was being selected to ring the church bell for the bi-centennial celebration when the nations bells were tolled simultaneously on July 4, 1976. He was both a Republican and a staunch patriot. Flag Day never went by without his flying a 48 star flag from his porch (why buy a new flag when the old one was good enough?).

People liked being with Warren. They enjoyed his company and the stories he would tell. They often laughed in his presence. He especially enjoyed puns. He was an extremely patient man and people innately understood his overpowering sense of decency.

One child, a daughter, survives him.

Warren would have turned 109 in 2012. May his kind heart and sense of humor be conveyed to those now reading about him. And most especially, may those who knew and loved him, remember his good qualities and celebrate his essence.

Daddy, I still love you. I will always miss you. Happy Belated Birthday.

___________________

This picture was taken in 1979 at Thanksgiving in Green Mountain Falls, after my parents had moved there to live. It was the only holiday I ever was allowed to spend with my parents after their 1973 move from Kansas City. Hubby is taking the picture -- he was invited to attend since the dinner was being held at the Barber's cabin (where this photo was shot). Mother and I are at the far left (white sweater for Mom, brown blouse for me; Dad is in the red sweater at the far right).

The Final Irony

Last Friday a voice mail message was left on my home phone. I needed to call the local funeral home and make arrangement for Mother's ashes to be buried next to my father.

I left the task of making arrangements until Monday, assuming this would be a very simple procedure. Set up a time after school -- say 3:45 p.m. -- go to the burial site and watch the interment.

Of course, I was wrong. Dead wrong would be too much of pun, right?

Because the funeral home had received the instructions more than 30 days ago, they refused to proceed with the burial of the ashes without signature authority from the closest relative 24 hours in advance of any scheduled "service." I use the word service lightly -- no service was planned other than putting the ashes in a pre-dug hole. And they had to do it between 9 and 3 during a weekday, a time when normal people are working.

Now Hubby was not at all happy about the whole prospect of having to attend this "service" and was especially not happy about having to drive out twice (once to sign papers, once to inter the ashes) to do it. On Friday he was downright surly about it all, but by Saturday he had mellowed out and just shrugged and said, "Set it up how you want it."

The agreed interment was eventually planned for Wednesday afternoon at 1 p.m. -- the only time this week available. I would need to take half a day from school. And I had to show up 24 hours in advance and sign papers -- except I am a mentor to a first year teacher and I had a "mentoring" district meeting scheduled from 3:30 to 5:30 in Kansas City, Kansas -- meaning I could never make the funeral home in Missouri by 6 p.m. Monday night.

The funeral home was adamant but eventually I found my school teacher voice -- and though they wouldn't agree on my showing up 30 minutes before the interment to sign the papers, they did finally accept my showing up on 3:30 Tuesday afternoon for the 1:00 Wednesday event.

I notified my principal and the school secretary (the most important person in the school, of course) and Hubby picked me up at noon today. We made it to the burial plot with 15 minutes to spare.

The funeral home, attached to the cemetery, had gone all out: canopy, chairs, carpet, and the unctuous grief counselor (who actually looked a lot like Uriah Heep).

Now the lawyer who had contacted me to tell me Mother had died, had said repeatedly that the family that cared for her in the last months of her life would be bringing her ashes to Kansas City for burial.

Evidently, the money was not going to be provided by the estate for such a trip. No one came from Colorado.

The funeral home thought someone I had never heard of wanted to attend the interment. No one showed.

In the end, at the very last of Mother's time above ground, it was just me, the unctuous attendant, and Mother. Hubby sat in the car with the boys. All the people who claimed a piece of her during her life had drifted away. I'm sure she didn't foresee that it would end up being just me and her, alone at last. She refused in the last 10 years to see me. She claimed to friends that she didn't know where I was. She surrounded herself with varying assortments of "hanger-ons" while refusing to acknowledge the family that could have cared for and loved her. But for a brief time this afternoon, with a chill breeze blowing and the sun crisply shining, she and I were finally united in one last, ultimate goodbye.

Best Wishes and Happy Returns

She HATES having her picture shown -- so you only get the back of her head -- but Wednesday is the birthday of our favorite (okay, ONLY) true relative (which is funny since Hubby adopted her and she adopted him) and we needed to acknowledge the day.

Happy Birthday -- and Goodbye

I had actually planned that today I would show a picture of my mom -- and wish her a Happy Birthday. She turned 86 today. In the middle of August I sent her a velour robe from the Vermont Country Store -- in red, her favorite color. I think she liked getting presents from me, even though she didn't send any in return. In early August Hubby had chatted with her briefly on the phone. She mentioned that I sent her gifts four times a year.

We had our difficulties. Mother never approved of Hubby. I didn't like her drinking. Neither one of us could give on the big issues in our lives -- so we ended up going our separate ways.

She was an only child. All her relatives are now dead, save me. I am an only child.

Happy Birthday, Mother.


Today the phone call came. She died during the night -- of her 86th birthday. Now only I am left of generations of Hills and Griffiths. Everyone is gone.

We may not have been close during the last 38 years -- but the memories that I carry from our early years can be sweet and I'll try and put the ugliness behind me forever.

When I heard from her lawyer I felt an emptiness I had not expected. The call, though attempting to be gentle, was cold and clinical. She was gone and my last family ties were cut forever. Goodbye, Charlotte Hill Griffith. I wish it could have all been better for us . . .

Especially for my sister-in-law

Have I told anyone lately that I love my Kindle?

I LOVE my Kindle!

Amazon is having a sale on Kindle books this week (until July 27th actually) and none are priced over $5.00. The ones I bought were $0.99 and $1.99 -- okay, I splurged and got one (only one, I promise) for $2.99.

The assortment is amazing. So amazing that I had to coordinate my Kindle with the computer. I'd read about all the hundreds of books on the computer and then order them from the Kindle.

In all I bought (around) 18 new books for my Kindle. Among the assortment:

• Trader Joe's Cookbook -- I've already read 10% of it and I'm in love; KC just got its first Trader Joe's and the assortment of healthy, low sodium, no additive food is simply astonishing. And then there's the low, low prices! Now I can even cook creatively with their wares.
  
• Cafe Luke's -- assorted essays on the Gilmore Girls. I adored the Gilmore Girl series. I own five of the seven DVD seasons and I've re-watched them on the Hallmark Channel.
• 2 short books purporting to tell strange and odd facts about the Revolutionary War and WWI -- both of which topics I have collaborated on in my social studies classes
• the autobiography of Chuck Norris -- Hubby ADORES Chuck Norris; I might as well read up on him and the Amazon review sounded interesting
• a whole heap of cozy mysteries -- just the odd title here and there so I could sample new series
• some interesting novels claiming to be sweet and funny -- one always needs some uplifting literature in times of stress and disappointment
• four young adult books that I can read to my students during silent reading period

I could have chosen a heap of religious literature, a lot of books on running and exercise (sister-in-law would never expect me to purchase either type of these), more cookbooks (it seems strange to me to read recipes off the Kindle -- here's where I'd rather have an actual book on my kitchen counter; the Trader Joe's book I can take into the store with me, so ha!), and many business type books but I'm looking forward to retirement. There were also many romances, children's books, histories, non-fiction works, and even some great literature works.

If you have a Kindle this is the time to stock up.

And in a side note to my sister-in-law, I LOVE my Kindle. It was worth every single penny. Thank you! You've given me some great gifts in the past, but I think I'm getting more enjoyment out of this one than any I've received in the past 20+ years.

The voice in my head

That voice we all have in our heads (you know you have one -- if you don't you are either over-medicated or need to be medicated) has been speaking loudly and clearly to me this week and I've made a horrible discovery about it. It's my mother's voice and she isn't saying nice things, not that she ever really did but you'd think after 38 years away from her with essentially no real contact I'd have learned to shut her up -- or at least drown her out.

One of my spring grad course professors wrote me a lovely e-mail this week. She had graded the paper I'd written for scheduling and teaching basic life skills students and she was very pleased with it. This is the paper that I had struggled so much to complete and felt very inadequate about but the upshot was that the professor thought I'd gone above and beyond on the assignment and graded the work with a very satisfying A. She also suggested that I might like to publish in some educational journals and she and my adviser had agreed to help me get started if I was so inclined.

Instead of being really proud of myself, the voice in head suddenly chimed right in:

"You know she's just being kind because you whined about the course. You know you don't have the follow-through to really write. Look how long it took you to get just two papers finished. YOU had to take an extension in those courses. Nobody else did. Everybody else could do their job AND take the coursework AND write their papers. But NOT you! Nobody would be interested in anything you have to write about. And you don't have any original ideas anyway."

On and on the voice went, reminding me that I just wasn't "quite up to par, smart enough, organized enough, or hard working enough."

And then it hit me. The voice was my mother. It was her actual voice. I could picture the words coming right out of her mouth, just like they did all through my teen and young adult years.

For the last 38 years Hubby has tried his best to obliterate that voice. He's been supportive and my cheering squad and my champion. And every single time, he'd tell me that I COULD accomplish something, that voice was there telling me I really didn't have the "right stuff." I have effectively drowned out every single compliment I've ever received with that voice and reduced them to little piles of sh*t because the voice always told me that nobody really knew that I wasn't accomplished enough or smart enough or productive enough. It's gotten so bad that I'd actually prefer not get any compliments because I'm quite, quite sure I really don't deserve them. Hubby has pretty much given up trying to over-ride the voice, because I've always found ways to shoot him down.

Now my mother wasn't (isn't) all bad. She was very competitive though, and I have been able to see for some time that when she "knocked me down" she did it partly because she didn't want me to be "better" than her. But she also didn't want me to be too "proud" or believe that I could accomplish things beyond my grasp and thus get hurt. And she only had 27 years to work her wiles on me, while Hubby has been trying for 38 years to break down those early years of indoctrination. It was me that wouldn't let any other voice in my head.

This week I finally realized whose voice has continued disparaging me all these years. You'd think if I had any really sense of self, I'd have realized it way before this. I've always believed that one of my greatest talents is that I can cope -- whatever comes my way, I can figure out (eventually) how to deal with it. Yet I've never stilled that voice in my head -- and I'm not at all sure that recognizing now whose voice has been running me down all these years makes any difference at all. Because you know, I'm not strong enough to silence it. I'm not bright enough to figure ways to overcome. I'm just not good enough.

Dr. Bruce Rahtjen

Bruce's body was found today in the lake where he had been fishing. The news reports have made a ridiculous amount of noise over the fact he was fishing in the lake that belonged to a nudist camp. Bruce and his wife, liberal to the core, were NOT nudists but did not find fault with alternative life styles and the lake was a wonderful place to catch bass, I'm told. Bruce's body was found with his fishing pole still in his hands and two fish on the line. Even in death, he was still a fisherman of souls and refused to let the good ones get away.

One of the smartest men I'll even know, Bruce was a decent, caring, gentleman. He came to a dying church as the part-time pastor and gave his all to the project for seven years. He kept the church alive and he brought in new members. With his wonderful wife, JoAnn, he was the HEART and SOUL of the beautiful, historic church he agreed to help in the northeast corner of our city.

I heard some wonderful advice from Bruce during the time he served as my pastor. I found peace in his presence. Dr. Bruce added a great deal to my life. I'm grateful I got to know him. His presence in our city will be greatly missed. It's hard to say farewell to the very best people in your life.

Added on Wednesday, a clip from the local news:

WDAF Video

Dear Dr. Bruce --

Our prayers and hopes are with you.

May faith sustain your family.

All our love --as we keep the faith --

Milly & Hubby

AUTHORITIES SEARCH FOR MISSING MAN

A New Computer & New Software

Hubby decided, against my better judgment, to purchase a refurbished Dell computer with all the newest operating systems (Windows 7).

Last Sunday we went computer shopping together. I’m not the hardware nerd but I do have a pretty good idea of what software I need to be run and if we could find a good salesperson, they could steer us to the right machine. We found a PC we both liked with ultra high end graphics, but I just couldn’t see making a purchase this summer while we still haven’t optimized the Mac.

Yet like coveting a new car (which thankfully he never does), Hubby wanted the sweet computer we found at MicroCenter. He managed to get through Monday, but by Tuesday, the computer bug just couldn’t be overcome. That night he came lugging home the CPU, took a little nap, and then at midnight woke up thinking he wanted to access the new machine and see how it ran. He sat up all night, installing Office and virus protectors and registering the computer, while I slept blissfully unaware of the havoc he was causing. Without notice, he had unplugged my five year old Sony with all my files and email and he nearly caused a divorce in our once happy household.

Today we ran out and bought a 16 gig USB drive and he has promised to set Sony back up to a monitor so I can at least get all my documents off the machine (I have soooo many pictures and graphics that the files will be huge). I need to get this done before summer school starts. I HAVE to have all my Pittsburg State files intact just so I can feel productive and safe.

As an aside, two summers ago Hubby had all my files transferred to the MAC. But that still leaves two years of grad school files and updated contact lists and bookmarked web sites that need to be saved. Not to mention lesson plans and vocabulary lists and teaching strategies for the novels I’ve taught. And the passwords I’ve completely forgotten!

Today I was rooting around on the Dell when I found that the new Office / Windows has a Blog Writer called “Windows Live Writer” that automatically connects to blogspot. This is my test run to see if: 1) I like it; 2) it’s easy to use; and 3) it actually does work. If this looks weird, that’s why.

For the geeks, here are the specs on the new PC (purchased because of its graphic capabilities – otherwise we’d have never gone Dell): a Sudio XPS 7100 with a 6 core processor featuring vision ultimate technology perfect for movie/photo editing and advanced multitasking. I must say the gaming on this machine is really, really spectacular. Which is currently all I’ve done with it. I’m not as dumb-founded by the new office as I thought I’d be (except I have no real idea what to do with Access). I do love the full Outlook features.

The poor Mac, though, now sits unattended once again. And I had such good intentions this summer. And it’s such a pretty machine.

Farewell

Sister (Hubby's oldest sister) died last Saturday. He flew out this morning to Washington, DC for her funeral service, which is tomorrow. His whole family, those still living, are descending on DC to be in attendance.

We have been fielding calls all week from far-flung relatives inquiring if Hubby actually was going to attend. Interestingly, though Hubby is the most remote from the family and stayed away from them with no contact for nearly half a century, he is the one Sister's family has turned to, to provide Sister's side of the family information. Her husband, James, depended on Hubby to notify the entire East Coast clan, though we actually had no working phone numbers for them when we started out.

Then, of course, came the requests for music. Hubby has finally admitted that singing now is probably not on the agenda, but it did make us realize that Hubby needed to be in attendance. So we quickly acquired a round trip non-stop flight and rental cal for Hubby and I took a bereavement day from school to make sure that Hubby had wheelchair access on both ends of the flight.

We got Hubby off early this morning, though I dropped him at the wrong building in our three building airport and he missed the first flight. Still, it seems they got him out in a pretty timely manner and right now he's in DC coping with family business.

Sunday he returns, probably exhausted from the crush of family emotions but we are glad that he has had this chance to once again say goodbye to his sister who was so kind in the last several years -- and to see his entire family one more (and probably last) time. Jake is coming from Philly and he's 97. Hubby turned 75 in March. There is a two year difference between Hubs and Wiley (he's either 73 or 77 -- I can't remember). Those are the only siblings left of the once active 13 family members. Of course, cousins and nieces and nephews are all planning on coming. Sister had two sons, neither of whom married. And James' family will be there. I'm rather sorry not to get to see the whole clan gathered for one more reunion.

I'm glad, though, that I got to meet Sister last year and spend time with her. We laughed and told family stories and I enjoyed her immensely. She lived her life on her own terms, working right up to the day before she died at age 93. It has been an honor to know her.

The Ought Decade

After reading the year and decade windup in Time, Newsweek, Entertainment Weekly, and People I began to think about our own decade events.

• 2001 was a pretty good year but it was the beginning of the end of my tenure at the #3 Telephone Company. I had a good run there and I loved the people I worked with. I was only a contractor (my choice) for them but I was employed by the smartest group of women I've ever encountered. Not only were they smart, they were also ethical and people-oriented. It was a great combination. My boss was brilliant, had a great sense of humor, and really cared about the people she employed. I have never worked with a better group of people in my life. Hubby and I bumped along. Wolfie was still alive and Fritzy had entered our lives. We were becoming very active in our church.


• 2002 was a bonus year at the #3; one I didn't expect. But the great women I worked with saw to it that I had a little cushion of time to get my life in order before all contractors were dismissed from the company. I lasted there most of 2002 though I really didn't have a whole lot to occupy me. Hubby and I stepped up our church activities and the boys were still full of vim and vinegar. I think this is the year we formed a lasting friendship with two couples we had met while attending the UMKC Signature Series concerts (one of the best bargains in town).


• 2003 was a year of change. The big event was the celebration of our 25th wedding anniversary with a concert to benefit our church. Wendy came from Houston, Lou showed up from Louisiana, and Hubby sang his heart out. The video of the event shows how really wonderful it was. My beloved Seville finally bit the dust and Hubby replaced it with The Tank -- a huge Cadillac and that never ran properly and made my existence miserable. My career sputtered. I got three temp jobs but none of them were satisfying. The worst was a weekend taking credit card applications over the Thanksgiving holiday at Nebraska Furniture Mart. Finally at the start of December I landed a job in construction which kept us from going to Houston to celebrate Christmas with family. It was a sad time.


• 2004 saw me continuing my construction job. I had a great boss and I liked him so much that the drudgery of the work kept me entertained. We continued to step up our church activities and that helped. Hubby and the boys seemed to be doing fine. We resumed our Christmas holiday in Houston, vowing never again to spend our Christmases apart.


• 2005 was dreary. The construction job had moved from its original small location to the Legends in Wyandotte County. I was now traveling 35 miles a day to and from work. The boss I had loved resigned. I was forced to give up my temp status with the company and become a permanent employee. I was so afraid of being unemployed yet again, that I agreed and this was a huge mistake on my part. I went through five insane bosses in a very short time - each one more dysfunctional than the last. My old boss helped us find a newer Cadillac to replace the dreadful Tank and the car ran a lot more smoothly. In October Wolfie, my heart dog, died. My heart broke into pieces. Though Gus came into our lives with his sweet ways and huge amber eyes, my heart refused to heal. We began to realize that our beloved church was losing ground and was in danger of dying. It was a very hard year.


• 2006 really shook the ground on which we based our lives. First the Cadillac burned in Hubby's driveway. He replaced with a 1991 Lincoln that looked exactly like your grandfather's car -- really dreary. Except it ran like a top and never gave us a lick of trouble. Hubby nearly died from a cranial aneurysm the day after Easter. He took the rest of the year to recover. I was informed a month after his attack that my job at the construction site was ending. A dear friend at church took me in hand as I dithered about what I was going to do and insisted that I apply for a teaching position with the KCKS school district. I finally did and I was eventually hired -- at the perfect job for me in the perfect school with the perfect staff. So, though three quarters of the year had been horrible, suddenly, at the end, everything was wonderful. The only flaw in the ointment was that I needed to go to grad school to get SPED certification, but even that turned out fairly well when I enrolled in the local Pitt State campus for six hours. At Christmas Hubby performed his last big concert and it was bitter-sweet. Age and illness had taken away his power of singing, not his love of it, but his ability to sustain great music for more than a couple of songs. Still Hubby was alive, I was finally working at something I loved, and we spent Christmas with our beloved family in Houston.


• 2007 found me hitting beginning to hit my stride in teaching. I continued taking grad courses. Hubby continued to gather strength. We found less contentment at church but continued to doggedly try to hang on to a dying situation. The boys were healthy, our friends were supportive, my career was flourishing, grade school was okay, and at Thanksgiving all the family met in Branson, taking in two concerts a day for four days. We had a blast and found we loved the resort town. We've been spending Thanksgiving there ever since.
  
• 2008 was more of the same. Hubby reconnected with his biological sister in Washington, D.C. and went to visit her in the summer. Fritzy died of kidney failure and Hubby insisted we drive to Tulsa to rescue a little mite of a nearly blind Schnauzer only eight months old. Luie quickly became an integral part of our lives. Our church lives changed miserably with the retiring of our old minister and the hiring of a new one. I succumbed to every illness the children at school could pass on and lost 30 pounds in the process because I was literary too sick to eat most of the year.


• 2009 found us doing more traveling than ever. We went to Chesapeake Bay in July to visit Sister, Branson for Thanksgiving, and Houston for Christmas. We finally left our church home, though it was a very sad occasion for us as a family. I started my fourth year of teaching and completed 24 hours of grad credit towards my SPED certification -- earning an A in every course. I continued to love everything about my job. We acquired a 1995 Lincoln to replace the 1991 one damaged in December by a tow company. We all drove to Houston for Christmas -- and it was the best one yet. Family love simply cannot be overrated.
  

Hubby will be 75 in 2010. I will turn 64 but have no plans to retire. Gus is now five and Luie is probably around two. We are all aging fairly well except for the bad knees and arthritis. We have friends who care for us, family who love us, and we have each other. I have a job, Hubby has his health and life. We own our home and our 1995 car. It's all good.

Never Post When You're Tired -- and the Osmonds Get Me Readers

Yes! To every responder from the last post.

Yes. I do not recall the exact first name of the any of the Osmond Brothers from the Branson show -- and I didn't look them up. The only one I know is Donny. And Maria but she's not a brother. And they both were in Vegas. Not in Branson.

Yes. Rolls are NOT roles. Silly me. You eat rolls. The Osmond who came for the rolls did play a role in the show. I clearly do not know his name. He had white hair. A lot of it.

Interesting to have so many anonymous readers. I never knew . . . I don't keep stats, I have no idea how many times this poor little blog is accessed, and lately I haven't been posting. I write only for me and the "family" so if you happen along, please respond nicely. My feelings get hurt easily (NOT!). Actually, just finding responses is kind of cool. So write anything you want. I've been teaching for 26 years now -- my hide is so tough I can't even see the slings and arrows, much less feel 'em.

No posts lately because grad school is kicking my butt. Big time. It's awful the amount of work required in the last four weeks of this semester. Up to now things haven't been bad and so, of course, I should have been doing the work all along (writing massive papers) but I wasn't and I haven't and I didn't . . . and now I'm overwhelmed. I did the final, final paper for a final presentation over the weekend but I have a huge project due on Thursday. The final presentation is due a week from Thursday. I'm not so worried about the grade this time -- I've gotten 100% on everything so far.

Last Friday I got diagnosed with a mild case of MRSA. My doc says he's been seeing a whole lot of these skin infections lately. I've got a referral somewhere to a specialist to have the offending problem looked at . . . but I've got to get this grad stuff done first and I've misplaced the referral. The infected area is on my foot so I just can't wear pretty shoes -- which I don't do anyway anymore and it only hurts when something touches it.

The school kids are hyped for Christmas. We put up the classroom tree and strung the fairy lights everywhere and we plan a big party for the last week -- with the 20 boys. Should be interesting . . .

We've read over half of Huck Finn and boys are really into it. They can even identify irony now without a prompt. That's a real achievement!

The Houston presents are ready for Christmas travel if I can just remember where they all are stashed when we're packing the car. Thank goodness sister-in-law does all the decorating. That WOULD be the last straw.

So mea culpa on the previous post. I'm NOT fixing it. The comments about it were just too priceless . . .Happy Holidays everyone!

A Fabulous Vacation

Two weeks ago we were sitting on the deck of a private home in Annapolis, directly on the waterfront of Chesapeake Bay watching the sail boats waft homeward to the harbor and the commercial liners chug toward the Atlantic. We had spent the morning touring Washington DC and the afternoon meeting Sister and then driving into Maryland for a week's stay in the most beautiful of homes with it's own private Bay entrance and dock. We had the sole use of the home which has seven bedrooms and multiple baths, a huge kitchen, formal dinning room, formal living room, two sitting rooms, a huge glassed in porch, and an open deck. The setting and the house were simply, absolutely perfect.

Our two day drive to DC was uneventful, the countryside green and lush. Most of the way was along I70 but we hit a stretch of I68 through beautiful historic towns like Cumberland, PA where we snacked on homemade ice cream and enjoyed the historic architecture. The only problem we encountered was one I hadn't anticipated -- Hubby had not informed Sister we were coming so Friday night we needed a motel room in the DC area before we dropped in "unannounced" on his family. You would have to understand the hub's family unit to know why this shouldn't have surprised me . . .but it did.

The problem was NOT finding a room for two -- it was finding a room for two WITH two dogs. One motel wanted a non-refundable deposit of $150 per dog, per night. One thought $75 per dog was reasonable. It took us five hours of driving to finally find a Comfort Inn (in Alexandria -- if you ever need one) that would take the dogs for $10 each if we would stay in a smoking room. We had no problem with the smoking room or the deposit -- but finding all those DC suburbs (and by now it was dark) was NOT fun. Thank god for our little GPS.

The next morning, though, Sister was thrilled to find we were in DC and delighted to let has have the beach house for our stay. We picked up the key and headed to Annapolis where the house is located -- and our vacation continued on without a single hitch.

On Saturday Sister and her husband came to have lunch with us and we offered to go with her to church on Sunday. We learned that her church requires "formal" attire -- meaning long pants for Hubby and a skirt / dress for me -- but a stop at Penney's fixed us both up at fairly reasonable prices, thought I've never worn a Penney's dress in my life, I really like the skirt and matching tee I got there.

Sunday we spent with Sister and her husband, going to church, seeing their business and homes (they have three), and sharing family stories. It was a warm, caring day full of laughter and good memories. Sister, at 90, is still working full time in her own day care business (215 children five days a week) with 32 employees. She and Hubby only reconnected last year -- so lots of family stories were exchanged.

Monday and Tuesday we were on our own. We toured Annapolis and Baltimore on Monday and on Tuesday we headed south and did Mount Vernon and Fredericksburg, VA. Then on Wednesday, Sister and her husband came back to the beach and we sat and visited, had lunch, and visited some more before they departed and we packed the car for an early morning departure for home.

Friday evening we pulled in, tired but replete from a really spectacular ten days on the Eastern seaboard.

Going to Get Christmas

Christmas in our household is with the best family member of all, the one who respects our foibles and loves us in spite of them.

The one who says bring the dogs even when she really only likes cats.

The one who puts out the Schnauzer dog decoration dressed in traditional Santa costume among her much more classical nutcrackers and Christmas cats.

The one who gives up her own bed and sleeps on an inflated air mattress so the family is comfortable.

The one who puts up the Christmas tree and gets out the red place mats and the Christmas tableware and turns on the fireplace even when the weather is 60 degrees so we can FEEL Christmas.

Christmas in our household is shared with the one we love -- and who loves us in return.

We leave on Monday to celebrate Christmas. We can feel the love already!

Lessons from Daddy

I came late into my father's life (he was 42 when I was born) and he was forced into coping with a teenager during his middle fifties. He never really complained, though I wasn't always an easy girl to raise.

Daddy never lectured. He didn't moralize. He wasn't a preacher. He never said these things to me, but looking back and remembering, here are some of the things his life taught me:

1. Live an honorable life; don't lie, cheat or steal and most of all, no matter how hard it may be, honor the major life commitments you make.
2. Treat people the way you, yourself want to be treated; don't gossip, don't hold grudges, be friendly.
   
3. Take care of your family. You don't have to be rich but you do have work and support those you love in the best way you can.
4. Be kind to animals, even if you don't always like them. They depend on you and need you to make their lives tolerable.
5. Read: books, magazines, newspapers, fiction, non-fiction, short stories. Reading helps soothe you, as well as keep you informed.
6. Write. Daddy wrote reviews and small historical essays. He read train and civil war books and he wrote reviews of them. His writing was his artistic outlet.
7. It's okay not to be a physical person or to know how to do physical things. Reading and writing make up for not leading a very physical life and not being able to repair things around the house.
   
8. Enjoy travel and do as much as you can afford. See new sights and open yourself to the experience. Don't be afraid of new places and new things.
9. Attend church, honor God, but don't use religion to beat others up.
10. Make your bed every day; it will help you organize your life.
    

Daddy was good man, a man of his era. He loved the mountains. He loved his wife. He loved a good, dry martini. He loved KU football and basketball. He wanted his bed made every day and he expected his wife to make it. That, and the fact that he was to be the bread-winner of the house, were probably his two most annoying philosophies. He did not expect his only child to find a husband to support her; instead he made it clear he was fine with my working. He did expect me to make the bed -- something I've always had trouble doing, even when living in his house. He also wanted a cocktail every night before dinner and a nightcap suited him fine, too. I've been told he once loved fine clothes but when he had a family to support on a newspaper man's salary, he gave them up and bought cheap suits, ties, overcoats, and hats. He only wore jeans on a the rare Saturday or in the mountains. I always remember him wearing a tie to church.

I believe he loved me without exceptions and without qualifications. That love has sustained me all my life.

Birthday

Today is my birthday and it has been a very quiet day. Hubby, who disdains birthday celebrations, did remember to say Happy Birthday to me this morning. Of course, I had mentioned twice yesterday that my birthday was the very next day. At church the congregation sang Happy Birthday to me. A friend from long-long ago surprised me with an e-card. My sister-in-law put in a long-distance call to me. Hubby did take me to a nice restaurant for dinner but we had to go late after a very long meeting following church where a lunch had been served -- and he ATE it.

Somehow, even when I know it won't ever happen, I always hope for a special, wonderful, surprising day. A day with cake and ice cream and balloons and a pile of packages just for me to unwrap. A day with a party and people laughing and hugging and concentrating on just making ME feel special.

Instead it really was just another day. I'm glad to have these days. I'm glad Hubby is around to share it with me. I'm glad the fur children are there being cuddly and loving.

But a little surprise would have been very appreciated, too. And a card to read, a present to open, a cake to eat. I feel sad and unnoticed and unappreciated. I'll be glad when the day is over and my outlandish expectations are put to bed for another year.

Happy birthday to me . . .

Granny

A while back I had a conversation with someone who had spent years in therapy, partly because of an unhappy childhood centered around her father. She confessed to me that she had few memories of her childhood.

This weekend we went to a play, premiering here in the heartland, containing stories told by a man about his grandmother, stories he fondly remembered and turned into a sweet morality play. The play was a little slow-moving and the grandmother was a typical Southern belle but all during it, I kept remembering my own grandmother.

My father's mother died when I was young -- six, actually -- and I have only vague memories of her. She was quite old and somewhat stern, but the feelings that surround her in my memory are of a kind woman who liked me. It's my mother's mother who stands out most vividly. I don't seem to have detailed stories about her life or about our lives together, but I have very strong emotional recollections surrounding her.

Though I have a lot of emotions tangled up with my childhood, I seem to have very few actual concrete memories. The ones I have almost all center around my granny that adored me, made me the center of her life, and helped me to create the person that I am today.

I know exactly how she looked. She was an old-fashioned woman who never cut her hair and wore it entwined in two braids around her head. She didn't wear make-up, except maybe a little powder. She always had a chapstick handy but I never remember her in lipstick. She wore a dress every single day. I never saw her in pants. She wore a corset -- not a girdle. The corset had stays and laces that she pulled tightly, even under her house dresses. She wore hose attached to the corset and lace-up mid-level heeled shoes, almost always in black. These, too, were worn even with the house dresses. She was dressed by six every single morning. Until she got sick in her early 60's, she prepared breakfast every morning of her life, unless she and Grandfather were traveling.

She lived next door to us when I was in grade school and I walked to her house nearly every day for lunch. On Saturday she fixed pancakes for lunch and would let me drop the batter onto the griddle and flip the pancakes. On Sundays we had dinner at her house after church. These were formal affairs, eaten in the dining room, with Grandfather carving and the Haviland china place settings.

Nearly all holiday dinners were at her house. During Christmas week we ate every dinner there, in formal splendor. Christmas presents were opened in her living room. Easter dinner was at her table. On Valentine's Day she had a special box in which we deposited our cards to be opened after the family dinner. Every holiday and special occasion brought me tiny treasures, a new outfit, a bag of licorice drops, and a special piece of jewelry.

Granny didn't drive but those were the days of the milkman, the egg man, and the Manor bread man. They delivered, as did the grocery story Granny would call twice a week for her roasts and fruits and vegetables. As super markets became more prevalent, sometimes my family drove her to the store and once Grandfather retired, they went to the market often, dropping the expensive delivery stores.

I was her only grandchild and she invested all her love and ambition in me. She made me dresses and costumes. She bought me all the pretty clothes I owned as a child. When I failed in school, she tutored me. It was Granny who found that in the eight grade I had never learned to multiply and thus couldn't do long division either. She taught me, hour after hour, after school and on Saturdays and Sunday nights, until I could pass both Algebra and Geometry.

She was very religious. She didn't have more than a high school education. She came from a very poor family. She was older than most her age when she finally married into a working class family that had made money during early part of the 20th century and continued to make it during the Depression. She never lived in luxury but she was comfortably well off by the time I came along. She didn't like to travel, but because her husband and her son-in-law did, she saw to it that everyone had wonderful summer vacations.

Granny died during my 17th year from a brain tumor. My grandfather thought she was having a nervous breakdown and the doctors couldn't find out what was wrong. My family kept me away because Granny was having hallucination's and doing odd things. I remember, though, being in her hospital room at the end, being told to rub her hands because she was so cold. We couldn't warm them, though, and my clearest memory was of how frightened her death made me. I'm not sure, but I think I was standing there rubbing her hands when she died.

I wish now, that I had some of the knowledge of life that I have now. However, I think Granny had left me long before the rubbing. I hope so, anyway, because if not, I failed her at the end. I couldn't love her in that hospital room and I was totally selfish -- I was only deeply afraid of how empty life would be without her there to love and care for me.

My own childhood memories could never write the play I saw this weekend. I don't know the stories of my childhood but I do clearly remember the love of my grandmother. She was, and has been, the anchor of my life.