HEY! WHO ARE YOU CALLING ELDERLY?

The definition of elderly, according to the online Merriam Webster dictionary, is rather old, especially past middle age, or old fashioned; it is defined further as relating to, or characteristic of later life or elderly persons.

So, how do you define someone who may fit that description if you numbered their years, yet you have a hard time defining as elderly, due to the negative connotations the word often holds? I am not sure where the negative spin comes from, but many people get beyond a certain age (it is different for everyone) and they dread hearing the word 'old' in reference to themselves. Perhaps it is because the word old is often linked to things that have served their useful purpose or gone bad (old car, old shoes, old food, old house, etc.).

People of any age never outgrow their usefulnesses, while in fact, their years of living often add to their value. If the wisdom that comes with aging could be converted to money, we'd never long for anything. Even without the conversion factor, the rich blessings granted to those surrounded by the wisdom of elders is irreplaceable. Yet, the negativity factor of the word 'old' or 'elderly' sometimes sticks, especially to those of us approaching or past middle age. To make matters worse, the youthfulness of one's mind and soul are often overlooked when trapped in an aging body.

It seems all people of certain eras are lumped together, as people that will all enjoy the same activities, be in the same state of health, or have the same thoughts on matters of the mind. In my experience, this is generally not the case. In conversations with my sisters this week, I was reminded of the word elderly being used in a way that offended my dear Mother.

One of my sisters took my mother Christmas shopping this past week--Tuesday, to be exact. The weather in their area, while a little messy, was nothing like the southern part of the state. At the mention of the shopping trip in our Facebook banter, the following conversation ensues:

Sister # 1:Just got home from St. Cloud--out Christmas Shopping with Mom :) The wind is really blowin'! Not too much snow yet, but expecting more...

Sister#2:Well, glad you made it home without injury this year :)

Sister #3:Did you learn last year's lesson and get home a little earlier this year? LOL!

Sister #4:Mom's OK, they didn't stop at my house for a beer before going home, so no slippsy down my front stoop "while out late night holiday shopping" this holiday season! ;)

Sister #1: Rest assured, I held onto Mom even tighter this year! And we giggled as we walked arm in arm in the blowing snow--recalling last year's episode. Who says my Mom is elderly? She certainly doesn't believe it and neither do I!! I love her youthful spirit!Got her home by news time--no bumps or bruises and lots of shopping accomplished!

Sister #3:Our mom is a trooper--you would think all those kids, she'd be worn down, but instead, it seems to have kept her young. We are so lucky to have her!!!

Obviously, by the above conversation, there is more to this story. Here's what happended last year:

My mom and my sister (#1) went out Christmas shopping in St. Cloud. (There may have been another sister there as well, but I can't recall that detail, as I wasn't there.) They stopped off at a another sister's (#4) house for refreshments. I truly don't know if it was beer they had (as sister #4 suggests in the conversation above), but it is highly possible, as my brother-in-law is a brewer, and would rarely be without a growler on hand. On the way out of my sister's house, my mom slipped on the ice and injured her leg. I think the time was somewhere right between 'news time' and midnight.

Once home, there were some concerns as to the seriousness of the injury. Fearing complications due to my mom's diabetes, my sister called the insurance company's 24 hour help line for advice. The first thing out of the nurse's mouth: "Why in the world would you have an elderly woman out at this time of night?"

I'm fairly certain my mom's jaw dropped. I'm guessing she was too polite to say it to the nurse, but she likely said it loud and clear, later: "Hey! Who are you calling elderly?" I know she was offended by the remark, or at least flabbergasted. I assume the thought of being elderly has rarely crossed her mind. She often stays up quite late at night, so being out and about is not a stretch in the least. We did joke about it a bit at Christmas, as my Mom spent the evening with her leg up in the air, unable to participate in the meal preparation, etc. I think she about went stir crazy. Oh, she tried to get up and participate, but she had 50+ other people in the house holding her down, figuratively speaking, of course! I think being injured is about the only way to keep my mom down.

It is hard for me to think of Mom as elderly or old, even though at 77, she is past middle age. She just doesn't act her age! During all those times we tell our children to "Please act your age," I am sure we never stop to think about whether someday we will stop acting ours! I hope, like my mother, that I will always be young at heart.

QUOTES ON AGING

"Old age is 15 years older than I am." Oliver Wendell Holmes

"Age is strictly a case of mind over matter. If you don't mind, it doesn't matter." Jack Benny

"Old age isn't so bad when you consider the alternative." Maurice Chevalier" It is not the years in your life, but the life in your years that counts." Adlai Stevenson

"Growing old is mandatory; growing up is optional." Unknown

"You don't stop laughing when you grow old; you grow old when you stop laughing." Unknown
"Age is something that doesn't matter, unless you are a cheese. " Billie Burke

UP BEFORE THE BIRDS

I was up before the birds this morning--3:55 a.m. to be exact. I did not awake by choice. I awoke to the smell of smoke and a migraine. No, the house was not on fire...it was my daughter's boyfriend puffing away on his cancer sticks down in the basement, and I was smoking mad. Smoke is one of my common migraine triggers, and I am becoming more sensitive to it as I age, it seems. The smoking boyfriend is a problem I have yet to figure out! Instead of storming downstairs and handling it, I did the following:

3:55 Looked at the clock and groaned---no, more like a low, deep growl.

3:56 Dragged my bum to the kitchen for water, then dug through my purse for pain reliever and migraine prescription. Muttered the whole time about the unfairness. No desire to be assertive before 4 a.m.

4:00 Not one to fall back asleep after I have ambulated more than the minute it takes for routine middle-of-the night bathroom visits, I logged into Facebook. Played the every-four-hour bonus round of Farkle, one round of Word Drop, checked updated status/live news feed of friends and family, left a couple comments, and on to the next thing.

4:15 Played one game of Mahjong Titans on the computer, then wandered back to the internet.

4:30 Read several blogs on Area Voices, and thought about writing my own. Wandered away to my email. Distracted by some news article, I never got to the part where you actually open the emails. Started googling some family history names and places.

5:30 After several interesting reads about topics not even related to my family history, I returned to Area voices, hoping to start a blog topic. Read a few others, left some comments. Remembered that I wanted to check my email.

6:00 Returned to my email, but computer was acting crappy, so I fiddled with a few operations to try to speed it up. Sometime later, after a restart and other fiddling, I ended back up on Area Voices.

7:00 Back to Area Voices, catching up on some blog reading, I link over to one of Farside of Fifty's other blogs, Forgotten Photos. This is one of my favorite blogs, and I see she has left me a challenge, which I get right to work on. I spend about an hour and a half researching someone else's family (I wish it would be this easy to research my own family tree). I have hopefully given her some clues she can use.

9:00 Finish up with the other family's history search and leave my comments. Just as I was about to head to something else, I returned to the other family's search, as I thought of an avenue I had not yet traveled. I spent another 1/2 hour working on that.

9:30 Remember I can sign into Facebook & Farkle another bonus round. Read the scattered updates, which are limited.

9:45 Return to Area Voices to write this blog, with a few distractions in between. And, no I still haven't checked my email!

Aahh, just another day in the life of a middle aged wanderer! Wait, it's only a little after 10 AM. Oh, the day is still young...lots more paths to travel.

*disclaimer* all times approximate & all wanderings may not be listed--remember, I forget where I go sometimes (see previous blog topic).

Keep Your Hands Off My Food!!

No, this is not about food sharing! It is about germ sharing!

CDC (Center for Disease Control) data shows poor personal hygiene of food workers is one of the leading causes of food borne illness, with the most common being Norwalk-like viruses. One very common means of spreading these viruses is when ill food workers have direct hand contact with ready to eat foods (any food that does not go through an additional cooking process, such as baked goods,fresh fruits and vegetables, salads, and sandwiches). It is estimated that about 76 million people are sickened annually, with 325,000 hospitalized and 5,000 dying from foodborne related illnesses.

A requirement of a former job a couple years ago, was to become a certified food manager. As a supervisor to people who handled food for public consumption, as well as preparing the food on occasion, I understood the importance of clean hands, sanitized food preparation areas, no bare hand contact with prepared food, and changing gloves whenever contaminated, which generally means moving from one preparation activity to another, or touching a non-food item during the time ready-to-eat food items are being prepared. As a supervisor, I had no problem correcting or reinstructing staff when they didn't follow safe food handling practices. Some employees seemed to think they only needed to follow protocol when a food inspector was on sight. Wrong!

I never became good at objecting, in person, when I see my food mishandled in public or if it is not my direct report. I have a former co-worker that would absolutely ask that her meal be remade if she witnessed any food preparation indiscretions. For instance, people preparing sandwiches at a sub shop (this applies to any food prep operation) should not be handling ingredients in a sub, then touching handles to appliances, then ringing up the order and handling the germ infested money, then moving on to the next sandwich, without changing gloves. On several occasions, in various establishments, I've witnessed servers doing just that.

I once watched as a fast food employee layered lettuce, onions, and tomatoes on a sandwich (not mine) with her bare hands. Another time, I watched the cook/server (small restaurant) place her ungloved hands on my sandwich to cut it. I recently stopped by a highly recommended hamburger joint. The food preparation area was open to customer view, and yes, there again was the cook, handling the buns and add-ons (onions, pickles, cheese, etc.) with bare hands. Unlike my co-worker, I didn't object, but quietly ate the food. I was robbed of some of the pleasure of enjoying the burger, and while it was good and I didn't get sick, I probably won't visit the restaurant again.

Another pet peeve of mine is when I order an ice cream cone. There is a reason the little paper strip covers the bottom half of the cone. A server never need to touch the cone with their bare hand, yet I am willing to bet minimally 50% of the time, at least one of the server's fingers ends up on the exposed part of the cone. I have had that happen numerous times, but I am too much of a chicken to call them out on it! Generally, the same server that hands you that cone, has handled your money, as well as that of others, and had their fingers all over the grimy cash register. Yuk!

At another place of employment, where I was not the supervsior, I witnessed kitchen staff use bare hand contact while preparing such items as sandwiches. Sometimes I reminded, other times I reported, but it seemed to continue to happen repeatedly. It drove me nuts, and even though I didn't have to eat the food, my charges did, and it was my job to make sure they stayed healthy.

Basically, the food service rule states: Bare hand contact with RTE food is not permitted unless there is no reasonable or practical alternative. If that is the case, a written plan of action must be approved.

When eating out, I always wash my hands after I order, but before I eat. If I am in a drive though situation, I keep a bottle of Purell handy to killl germs before I eat. I am far from a cleanliness fanatic, but food borne illnesses are no joking matter.

At home, I occasionally use food service gloves, especially if prepping something for a potluck, but more often than not, settle for tongs. I tend to be a little less regimented about bare food contact under my own roof, although I do wash my hands frequently during meal prep. Of course, I am not handling dirty money and other contaminated items, either.

What kinds of improper food preparations have you witnessed? Do you speak up? If you do, do you have some pointers to help this wimp out? Mainly, I just eat out less and less.

Let The Wild Goose Chase Begin

I am off and running! It's my fingers and mind doing the running, however. Why? Let me explain.

For a number of years, I have been researching my family history. I operate in the manner of the classic person with ADHD: work a little on this, then a little on that, changing direction on a whim. Every piece of historic evidence can lead me in a new direction, and while being distracted in most tasks can be disastrous, in genealogy it usually isn't, at least for me. I almost always learn something new. My goal in my latest chase is to stay on task as much as possible, however, because I just found a puzzle piece for which I've been searching for years. This one piece has allowed me to uncover a few more pieces. If I can stay on task, I might resolve some major pieces of my maternal grandfather's family history puzzle.

It all started innocently enough. Over the last few years, when I hit dead ends in searching, I have sent correspondence to parishes where I knew my ancestors were members. I have yet to get a response from any. I've been thinking a lot recently about how I have let this particular project lapse for too long. The guilt has been harboring for a while, so I wandered online in search of contact information for some of the parishes in Wisconsin and Illinois, ready to renew my search. Well, I found a gold nugget yesterday. I came across online historic records for the diocese of Belleville, Illinois.

According to most of my previous records and family lore, my great grandfather, John, was born in Wisconsin (Oct 1857), while his younger sister, Theresia, was born in Illinois (Bellville, Nov 1859). One family story states my great grandfather was born there, as well, but I have yet to find any documentation of that, plus, I have some reliable information from a Wisconsin historian that states great grandpa's oldest sister, Maria, died in Watertown, Wisconsin in February of 1859. Since I couldn't find any census records for 1860 for this family (I have searched hundreds thousands of 1860s census pages), I could never confirm the move in 1859 from Wisconsin to Illinois, although I knew they eventually moved there, as that is where my great-great grandfather enlisted in the Civil War.

After years of dead ends, I finally found the baptism record of his younger sister yesterday, proving the move, so I am pumped. I also found names of baptismal sponsors, with another possible familial connection I didn't know existed. This clue is starting to help me make sense of why this young family, in mourning, and expecting another child, may have moved from Wisconsin and the rest of their extended family to a place where there didn't previously appear to be a family connection.

It took me numerous reviews of that baptismal record to start pulling up clues. First, the priest's handwriting is not very legible, and there are some words written in German or Latin, so I had to look at the pattern of other baptism records. I think I will eventually take this over to my 3rd cousin, Bob, who is skilled in deciphering old handwriting, to be certain of the meaning of some words. Second, the priest hyphenated the baptismal sponsor's last name, and I didn't catch that until several reviews later, so I had been chasing down the wrong path for many, many hours yesterday and into today. After hitting dead end after dead end, I once again reviewed the clues, as well as other baptisms on a couple pages. I found that my ancestor’s baptismal sponsor also had a baby a few weeks later (possibly the day after the baptism of my great-great aunt), and here is where I found the possible connection, as this entry lists the sponsor’s maiden name, which appears to be the same as my great-great grandmother’s. There may be a letter that is different (nn vs hn), but this priest does not appear to have strengths in spelling or handwriting, so I am thinking that is the same name. If this is indeed a relation, it now makes sense why the baby (my great-great aunt) was named after her baptismal sponsor, although perhaps babies were named after unrelated sponsors, as well. What I don’t know is the nature of the relationship: sister, or perhaps cousin to my great-great grandmother? I will dig more.

I have now been able to come up with the list of passengers for the ship the sponsors sailed on, which arrived almost five months after my 2nd great & 3rd great grandparents (1855). Just a little off topic, if you pull up the ship record, you will note that a number of passengers died on the journey, with most of them being infants and young children. That must have been an extremely tough burden to bear. In addition to ship records, I also came across some census records for the sponsors, and death record for one. It looks as if I have plenty of material to dig through for awhile, though I am certain I will continue to chase the elusive clues (still looking for a match in the 1860s census) for some time. I have a few more family history sites to explore for continued clues and records. If there is one thing I have learned about genealogy, the clues can be few and far in between, but if you have the itch, you just can’t quit scratching. I hope to find enough information to confirm the connections between the parents and godparents of my great-great aunt. Perhaps I’ll find enough tidbits about their lives to write another chapter in the family history.

And so the chase continues! Gosh, I hope I don’t run into a dead end again.

Never Forgotten

I arrived at work Friday, only to find that one of my little charges would be moving. His last day was upon me. There was no advance warning. I had no time to properly mourn. Yes, mourn. You see, when we have a big change in our lives, it is always a loss. I work with very young children, under age five, but mostly infants. So, they are always moving on, up to the next age level, on to a new location, away from the geographic location. Many times, I know, the likelihood is that I will never see them again in my lifetime. For me, it is a period of joy for knowing them, then a period of grief for 'losing' them.

It is a sobering truth of the work that I do and it is a reality I dread facing. These are children I have nurtured, fed, diapered, comforted, played with, nursed to health on sick days, cheered on the first milestones, loved unconditionally. It is important to build a strong connection, as it helps them to thrive. Still, I don't like to let go, but alas, they must move on. Most will grow up to be productive citizens. Some will have challenges along the way, while others will have an easier time. I may never know of either the challenges or ease they face.

This most recent child is one I will likely never see again. I cuddled him before he left, told him I would always love and miss him, wished him the best in life. The look in his eyes was as if he understood. He is only nine months old, yet it was as if he sensed the sentiment and understood. I may never know the ways I affected his life, but I always offer a piece of my heart to those I work with, so he left with his share. It seems if you take a piece of a heart, the love would shrink, but it doesn't. It appears to generate another piece, double in size, with plenty of love for the next child(ren) entering my life.

It was hard to let go, once again. I know that this little child is too young to remember me. In this type of work, you must trust that you have played an important role, but unlike a teacher of older children, whom can often see the direct results of their teaching and guiding, with the youngest children, you don't often see the direct results. The early years, however, are much like a foundation for a building, that which upon everything else is constructed. If the foundation isn't constructed with great care and intentionality, the building may crumble in later years. I know this. I trust this. I just wish I could see all the buildings once again in my life.

On Thursday, just before the departure of this latest child, I attended a conference where the following wisdom was shared:

"When we are new and when we are fresh and young,

Our hearts are very open in a way they may never be again for the rest of our lives.

So that impressions that are made on us and the good that is done for us,

The kindness and generosity by which a child lives, are never forgotten. Never forgotten.

Nothing you do for a child is ever wasted. Ever. You may never know exactly what the child saw, or how the child received it, but any gift you give a young person is permanent.

Because it is then given to others, and that is as permanent as we know."

~Garrison Keillor

Having this on my mind during those departing moments made the goodbyes a little sweeter. I know I have given as freely as I could. Have a good life, oh precious child.

Flashback Friday

I love everything and anything old: people, places, things.

I enjoy visiting with those older than myself, as they can share stories of the way life was before I was alive. The longer one lives, the more they have learned through experience, and the more we can learn from them. I also love strolling through historic towns, being swept back to a time I've never known. There is a certain romantic feeling that overcomes me, perhaps because of the respect I have for those whose daily lives were far more difficult than our own, or maybe because I long to float back to a simpler, less chaotic time, despite the hardships. Then there are the old things, items handed down that have special meaning, or antique shops filled with thousands of pieces from the past. History oozes from each nook and cranny, as people's past lives are on display, if only by imagining the tasks carried out with the various kitchen or farm implements, or wondering about the lifestyles of those who graced the fine pieces of furniture, read the rich poetry between the tattered pages of old books, or donned the exquisite or plain clothing and jewelry.

It is because of this love of all things old that I find myself immersed in searching my family's history and why I have collected a large number of old books. Today, I would like to share a photo from my family archives, accompanied by a poem from a very old book, The Little Speaker and Juvenile Reader, published 1863. The purpose of the Speaker was to give primary age students an opportunity to practice speaking out loud. Many of the selections are opportunities for several students to engage in an exchange of dialogue.

GENEROSITY

Brother.
Dear sister, only look, and see
This nice red apple I have here;
'T is large enough for you and me,
So come and help me eat it, dear!

Sister.
No, brother, no! I should be glad,
If you had more, to share with you,
But only one--'t would be too bad!
Eat it alone, dear brother, do.

Brother.
No, no! there's quite enough for two,
And it would taste so much more sweet,
If I should eat it, dear with you--
Do take a part now, I entreat!

Sister.
Well, so I will! and when I get
An apple sweet and nice like this,
I'm sure that I shall not forget
To give you, dear, a fine large piece.
(For a previous selection, look to my 6-29-09 blog, Wisdom For The Ages.)

Pictured above is my paternal grandfather, Nicholas, and his sister Ludwina. My grandfather was born December 10, 1901, while his sister arrived on January 30th, 1905. In between these two was another brother, John, who died at six weeks of age in August 1903 (I am unable to decipher the cause on the death record). Another sister, Hildegard, came along in 1913, dying from an umbilical hemorrhage at 10 days of age. In 1914, the final sister, Madeline arrived. Just months shy of Madeline's 3rd birthday, my great grandmother passed away. My great grandfather later married my great grandmother's cousin. They did not have more children.

The children look somewhat sad in this photo, perhaps because they had to sit still so long, but more likely due to the formality of the photo session and the need to sit still so as to not blur the photo during the long exposure time necessary in early photography. I do not know the exact year this was taken, but my estimate is somewhere between fall of 1908 to spring of1909 which would make the subjects around the age of four and seven. This picture also displays the fashion sense of my great grandmother--stories I have heard is that she was quite particular, wanting her children always dressed their best. Somewhere, I have a digital copy of a photo of her. I will include it in a later blog. Did you notice the bouquet of flowers each child is holding? Farside recently posted a baby photo, with the baby also holding a bouquet. My grandfather is also holding a hat--I wonder if it is his, or just a photo prop. Although I don't know the reason behind the bouquets, most photographers of young children still employ some sort of prop in their photos. I think it probably gets a child to sit still long enough to get a few quality photos.

I never got to really know my grandpa, as he passed away just after my third birthday. I see his face in my dad and my brother (my youngest brother looked very similar to my grandpa at the age shown here). From the stories I've heard, apparently they also have his personality (short tempered and critical) and his genious streak. I love to look back at these pictures and see the resemblances that have carried on through the generations.

Thanks for taking this trip back in time with me.

A Patchwork of Ramblings

When I started this blog, close to two years ago, I stated that I would be offering a patchwork of ramblings on life, family, work, politics, hobbies and more. An astute reader once pointed out that the letters of my alias can be rearranged to state: ‘A Neat Ramble.’ While it was not the origin of the name Abra La Mente, I do like it! I envision my blog as a crazy quilt of my life. There is no theme, per se. No rhyme, no reason. Topics are the fabric of my life, mismatched pieces loosely stitched together, placed on display at the quilt show extraordinaire, Area Voices. Most often you see the outside covering, the side of the quilt which is fit for display when company is coming. Occasionally, I turn back the edges of the quilt, and you get a glimpse of the underside, a little more ragged around the edges. Other times, I don’t really care what company thinks, I bare it all, and you get to see the rips and tears that comprise the well worn quilt that is my life. My ramblings are usually limited to one topic per blog, but on occasion, I will string several thoughts into a blog topic. Today will be one of those days—many random thoughts about the last couple days, loosely woven together, with links to many other great blogs and random sites.

Another Halloween has come and gone, but not without some controversy and varying perspectives on it’s meaning and purpose. I see controversy as mostly good. It means we don’t all think alike, and for that I am grateful. Where is the fun in having the same views? How boring!! I am highlighting a few AV blogs that have discussed Halloween perspectives this week. Read up and see what you think. Peace Garden Mama had two blog topics covering Halloween. I enjoyed her view, and I agree with her children’s school’s perspective. Perhaps that view should be forwarded to the Vatican, as I disagree with its most recent stance regarding Halloween. Far Side of Fifty shared the highlights of her Halloween evening, and her views fully mesh with my own. Prairie Woman shared a wonderful history of Halloween—gosh, I always learn so much from her. The (formerly) Fat Girl, shared the damaging statistics on sweets consumptions—I’ll start to back away from the candy bag, albeit very slowly!! Of course, I can’t forget Buffalo Gal’s ‘candy corn purist’ discussion, of which I have some similar views.

My hubby and I traded the hosting of trick-or-treaters for a busy afternoon and evening of varied activities, a patchwork sort of day. First, we headed up to the Stearns History Museum, hoping to take in the Keith Laumb photo exhibit. Keith is the deceased father of my brother-in-law, and a former social studies/history teacher in St. Cloud (Technical High School and Apollo High School). He was a hobby photographer, concentrating on the social fabric of not only central Minnesota, but some European pursuits as well. His work is true artistry. Usually, members visit the exhibits for free, but since the museum is currently hosting the worldwide traveling exhibit “A T-Rex Named Sue,” and there is no way to separate the exhibits, members must also pay a fee. I had already viewed Keith’s exhibit, but my hubby had not. Since we are planning to see the T-Rex exhibit with some of my nieces and nephews later, we opted not to go in yesterday. Of course that moves our planned T-Rex visit to next week, since Keith’s exhibit is ending November 8th. Instead of visiting exhibits, we went archive digging in the research room. My hubby does not have the same fascination with history as I do, so the visit was limited. We did have an interesting visit with Bob, my third cousin, a former museum employee, but now full time volunteer (and I do mean FULL TIME—as in 7 days a week). Bob is a walking encyclopedia of not only central Minnesota history, but the European roots of the area, as well as a reader of German script. I think I’ll devote a blog to him in the future—amazing man. While Bob shared that he is not interested in the dinosaur exhibit, because he is one (his words, not mine), he did share in my fascination with tidbits of local history and old photographs. If you also enjoy old photographs, you should definitely stop by AV Blogger Far Side of Fifty’s other blog, Forgotten Photos. It is quite interesting.

Next, we were off to purchase some candy corn and dry roasted peanuts for an easy treat for our parents. There was still one aisle of Halloween treats,at the big box store, which was filled with last minute shoppers, but no regular flavored candy corn, or even evidence that there had ever been any. There were many other flavors to choose from—candy apple, caramel candy, chocolate, Indian corn, etc.—but not the traditional. See the problem with this at Buffalo Gal’s page. I opted for the caramel candy flavor, and while it didn’t totally destroy the mix, it wasn’t as good as traditional. If you haven’t experienced it, a scoopful of candy corn and peanut mixture is a little bit like eating a salted nut roll. Now, the problem of tainted candy corn is one thing, but far more disturbing to me was the next aisle, which was filled with Christmas candy. While I can somewhat see the convenience of one-stop shopping, I WILL NOT buy Christmas candy on Halloween. Perhaps today? Just kidding. :-) Perhaps after Thanksgiving.

Our next stop was my husband’s parents’ home, where we checked in on the health of my father-in-law. He seems frailer each time I see him. He now has oxygen continually attached, and spends most of his time in the recliner. Unable to climb stairs, and with no bedroom on the main floor, he has a hospital bed in the living room. I was his Saturday night entertainment when I sat in the swivel rocker next to him and it flipped backward. I landed with a thud, feet straight up in the air. He was shocked. I told him he needed a little excitement in his day. I wasn’t even rocking that chair—I swear it was the resting place of a Halloween spirit and I must have really upset it, placing my arse uninvited on its throne. I was also able to pass out candy to some very cute little goblins and such, got caught up on family news, and it was all too soon time to be on our merry way.

On our drive over to my parents, we were able to enjoy the setting sun through many scenic hills and bared tree branches. The scene, mixed with the rising moon and the eerily scattered clouds, created a haunting portrait of Halloween night. It was an absolutely gorgeous sight, captured only in my mind, as I was the driver, thus unable to even attempt capturing a photo. Arriving at my parents’ home, I was greeted by a myriad of costumed characters, on a pit stop for Grandma treats, before heading out for more adventure on the town. A short visit with my mom (my dad was out bow hunting), a taste of some baked candied squash (off-the-cuff creation of my single brother and oh-so-tasty), and on it was to the next destination.

How fitting that in this blog topic about patchwork ramblings, I discuss our concert attendance at Aunt Annie’s Quilts & Silks shop. Yes, that is right. Aunt Annie’s is a quilter’s dream by day and a venue for local and sometimes national artists by night and weekends. Located in the lovely community of Avon (a hop, skip, and jump from the town of my origin), the quilt shop was a lovely backdrop for the bluesy, jazzy, Americana genres of musical variety that are found in small spaces throughout central Minnesota. A very enjoyable evening, and I was able to hear a few of my brother-in-law's newest songs, one of them a very touching tribute written to honor the life of another brother-in-law’s father. Ralph passed away this spring, but the essence of his family farmer life has been caught up in a beautiful musical piece, of which I am sure he would approve.

After a few sets at the quilt shop, we headed back to my parents’, where we were able to observe the Halloween loot of the children. Holey Moley—their pillowcases were full beyond my wildest childhood dreams, and I used to be quite the avid candy collector myself! One of their stops contributed entire packages of fun size candy bars. There were also bags of chips, juice boxes, cans of pop, etc. These were definitely not the treats of my youth! My main reason for the return trip, though, was to retrieve a dresser, a family heirloom, one which I will treasure until it is one day passed on to one of my own children, sometime in the future, when they can truly appreciate the connection to their past family history and their great-grandmother.

Arriving back home, I was well worn, much like I am now, after all this rambling, despite all the thoughts still rolling around up above. I think I will use my extra hour of this weekend to sit and pause awhile, resting these weary bones, and mending some of my fabric tears.

(Note: I first started blogging at Area Voices, thus the references to AV & such. )

Sandwich Suggestions?

I don't eat out often, but I have had the opportunity to enjoy a panini grilled sandwich on occasion at a few different coffee shops. A Panini is just a fancy spin on the grilled cheese of my youth, but with a wide variety of breads and fillings I didn't taste in my youth.

I recently discovered that a rarely used Foreman grill could double as a Panini grill. Who knew? Probably many of you. Regardless if I am the last to know, I am happy with the discovery. It takes only a few minutes of prep, a few more minutes to grill, the addition of a side salad and some fresh fruit, and supper is ready. Easy and relatively healthy, depending on the sandwich ingredients and the spread you use on the bread (butter, olive oil, etc.).

My first attempt last week was French bread slices with a filling of shaved ham & turkey, along with cheddar cheese shreds and slices of Swiss cheese. MMMM. Tasty. Last night, I picked up some white & rye swirl bread from a small town bakery. The filling I used was simply pastrami and swiss cheese. Simple, yet again, tasty. Today, for lunch, I whipped up a version of a sandwich I ate at a coffee shop a few years back. I spread raspberry jam on the insides of the white & rye swirl bread, and layered ham & swiss cheese. A couple minutes on the grill and lunch was done. Divine! (Sorry--no pictures--computer issues are not allowing me to transfer from camera to computer.)

I am not sure what I will try next, or when, but this grill is finally being put to use. (It was a gift I gave my hubby several years ago, but it wasn't used by us before my duaghter scooped it up and took it to her apartment; she is back and so is the grill.) Now that I have figured out how easily I can finish preparing an evening meal after work, the grill will take a prominent storage position, right next to my often used crockpot. What can I say? I LOVE EASY!!

Now, I look for suggestions. Do you enjoy paninis? What fillings do you like? Is there anything I just must try--you know, something 'to die for.'

I Lied

I lied. Sort of. Just a little. In my last post, a very serious subject, I talked a little of Halloween and I told how I am not a fan of goriness, especially in movies. I make an exception on gore for haunted houses. For many years, our civic organizations put on a haunted house, and I was invited to take part, first by borrowing out some of my decor and helping out, and eventually, given my own room to decorate as I saw fit. It was fun to be part of the terror (I always went easy on the kids) and a good deal of money was raised for the police department's children's activities fund. It has been a number of years since a haunted house was operated in our little community, and I have not been to one since.

I was invited to partake in a haunted excursion yesterday, and until last night, I forgot how much I enjoyed haunted houses. While others may scream, and clutch their companions ( I think I still have claw marks from where my nephew dug in), I generally laugh all the way through. I was often propelled to the front of the group to lessen the fear factor for my "followers." The scary dudes jumping out are really usually only frightening to the lead person--unless, of course, they wait and jump put behind the last person! BOO! Perhaps, after working in haunted houses for a number of years, I know most of what to expect around each corner, so I don't get too jumpy.

We went to Valley Scare (Valley Fair dressed up for Halloween).

I attended this event with my sister and her two sons, age 10 and almost 13, as well as my two daughters and my oldest daughter's boyfriend. This plan was hatched earlier by my daughters and my nephews, probably at the Labor Day campout that I missed. I only learned of it a few days ago, but who am I to disappoint my nephews? It was the first time my sister and her boys had gone to Valley Fair, so the excitement factor was ratcheted up a bit to begin with. The boys were pumped!

There are a number of indoor and outdoor haunted mazes. We partook in all of them, some two or three times. There was the Carnage at Crimson Isle, Hellside Farm, Blood Creek Cemetery, CarnEvil(fun only if you buy the $1 3-D glasses), Mr. Cleaver's Bloodshed, Chateau du Damne, and the Mangler's Asylum. Some were scarier than others, and there was one very innappropriate comment made in the asylum to one of our group, but all in all, it was very theatrical and a good time if you like that sort of stuff. This is probably not a great activity idea for very young children or those who are really squeamish. To add to the haunted feel, there are smoke machines blowing and haunted music selections playing throughout the park, which is decked out in its finest Halloween decor. Valley Scare really goes all out in this venture. The whole setup was aided by mother nature--a cloudy, damp night with just enough breeze to add a little drama.

While not all rides were open, several of the roller coasters, tilt-a-whirl, scrambler, trapeze swings, and a couple others were available. Unlike the usual summer craziness that is Valley Fair, the lines were not long. I am not sure how or why, but my daughter led us straight to the Wild Thing Roller Coaster. I recall riding this sanity defying coaster once when it was first opened and swore I wouldn't do it again. Somehow, with the cajoling of the kids, I found myself up there....what was I thinking? All I could think as we made that first ascent toward the heavens was that I couldn't back out now and I sure hoped I wouldn't become a victim of incontinence, projectile vomiting, or heart failure. I survived...but, seriously, what was I thinking? Is this really what it takes to be the "Cool Auntie?"

Shortly after gaining composure from the Wild Thing, the Tilt-a-Whirl presented itself. My sister didn't think she could handle it after the Wild Thing, but I kept at her and convinced her, pointing out how tame it was after the Wild Thing. Silly me. I swear, ours was the only car spinning madly, and as my sister held her mouth to heep from vomiting, the car swung even faster. She made it just through the ride, but didn't make it to the restroom before vomiting. Poor thing! She wasn't quite right for the rest of the night. After that experience, there were no no rides for either of us for a while, but once we traipsed through all the haunted areas, my nephew convinced me to ride the old wooden roller coaster...the one I hate almost as much as Wild Thing. We went on again and again and again. Despite my dislike for roller coasters, and my continuing objections to the "Just one more time" pleas, I figured I owed it to my sister to keep her son entertained. Plus, my nephew kept me reminding me how I am the coolest of all his aunties...they'll say anything to get you to cave, won't they?

Well, I can tell you one thing: I will take the haunted houses any time over the roller coasters, but I wear my "Coolest Aunt Badge" proudly!

A final thought to any of my sisters who may read my blog. If you want to be the world's coolest aunt, you'll have to ride the roller coasters and hit the haunted houses with a few of your nephews. Until then, I've paid my dues and am the solitary owner of this badge. :-)
Originally posted on my Area Voices Blog on 10/26/2009 at 11:06 PM

An October Nightmare

October is a time often filled with haunting activities: Halloween parties, haunted houses, scary movies, and ghoulish costumes. All these activities are carried out for thrills and entertainment purposes (although I can say I've never watched one of the numerous terrifying movies in its entirety ; I personally don't get thrills from goriness).

Twenty years ago, there was a different kind of October nightmare. It had nothing to do with entertainment and thrills, except perhaps, for the perpetrator of this atrocity, which continues to haunt central Minnesota and beyond. Straight out of an ordinary October night, a monster lurked, then preyed upon the most innocent of victims. Three young boys, just hanging out, enjoying their time together, living in a place where bad things weren't supposed to happen.

Just a few days ago a very sad anniversary came and went, with a renewed interest and a few leads, but still no answers. 20 years and we seem to be no closer to having any answers. Mass media is often frowned upon as using sensationalistic journalism, trying to get their ratings up by falling all over stories that will garner the most public interest. In the case of this story, however, keeping it in the public eye will hopefully one day bring answers to the hope that is still held in the hearts of family, friends, and countless others. It is Jacob's Hope!

I know exactly where I was when I heard of the kidnapping of Jacob Wetterling. It is one of those few moments frozen in time. It was the early afternoon of October 23rd, a Monday, the day after the night of horror. I had just arrived home from work and my neighbor stopped me to tell me of the event. I remember thinking this was "unbelievable." How could such a thing happen in St. Joe? I know my mind also flashed back to the still unsolved Reker sisters' murders, wondering about any possible connection.

I quickly went inside to look for media coverage. I called my parents to find out what they had been hearing. You see, although I never knew Jacob or the Wetterling family personally, I did grow up in that area of the state. At the time, his father had at least two chiropractic clinics, one being in my hometown. I felt drawn to this case, mostly because of my connection to the area, but also because I was a parent of small children at the time. Many people living in or connected to central Minnesota will remember this horror story for the rest of their lives. This is not the only unsolved mystery of Stearns County (murders, missing persons, kidnappings), but it is the one that that seems to have received the most attention. Some of it is due to the age of the victim, but mostly, I think, it is due to the family's fight for answers and their willingness to keep reminding us that until the mystery is solved, there will always be hope, and we will never stop looking.

Halloween of 1989 arrived just 9 days after the abduction of Jacob. The usual array of ghosts and goblins were still out, but as I recall, their tiny hands were being held a little tighter. There were more parents on the pathways of tricksters that night, keeping their little ones in sight. Children once considered old enough to go out alone on this night, had parents hot on their trail. As a parent of two youngsters at the time, and expecting my third, I recall mourning the loss of innocence. It was just an eery time as I thought about where Jacob might be at that moment and what types of monsters now lurk in the shadows of our children's lives.

In all reality, the monsters have always been there, but this hammered it home. More often than not, perpetrators are someone known to the children they violate. The stranger danger is a less likely scenario than the neighbor, relative, or trusted adult when it comes to exploitation of children. Still, in this case, it was an unknown person, at least in the darkness of that October evening. Although investigators still work the case and have some possible suspects, there has never been that one clear break to crack the case wide open. It does seem odd, that in a small town in rural Minnesota, this monster's secret is still being held. Perhaps the perpetrator is cold and cruel enough to keep the secret, but he must have friends, family members, or neighbors that know or suspect something. Just one person that comes forth could be what it takes. If you are that person and you are reading this, now is the time.

As I close this piece, I will provide some links to the coverage of this story. Watching the old clips, and then seeing the newest coverage, it is hard not to see the pain of waiting and wondering that is etched on the faces of the Wetterling family or Jacob's best friend, Aaron. I continue to keep my outside light on as a symbol of hope for Jacob and all of missing children. Jaycee Dugard's family recently got their answers and a happy reunion. It is time for answers, and hopefully a reunion, for the Wetterling family and all others as well!

From the Jacob Wetterling Resource Center: Every kid should be a kid. They should be able to ride a bike, have a lemonade stand or walk home from school confident in their own safety. As adults, we all must play a part in ensuring the safety of kids...to keep them free from sexual exploitation online or in-person.

St. Cloud Times Coverage

Jacob Wetterling Forum This includes some You-Tube recordings that I found a bit disturbing. Not sure what to make of them.

Star Tribune Coverage

Kare 11 Coverage

WCCO: Wetterling Siblings Reach Out
Will you keep your porch light burning, as a symbol for Jacob and all missing children, that they may return home soon?
Originally posted on Area Voices Blog 10/25/2009 at 12:55 PM

Cat Haters' Club: Part II

If you read my post yesterday, I am sure you have surmised that I am a cat hater. But I am here to proclaim that I have officially canceled my membership, the one in my heart, as I would have never joined a real cat haters' club. While I had a strong dislike for cats, I wasn't alone. There are many others, I am sure, that don't care for cats, given the number of members in the so-called clubs I linked to yesterday. There are even some famous people that had a great aversion to cats:

Dwight Eisenhower's loathing for cats was so great that he gave his staff orders to shoot any cat seen wandering on the grounds of his residence. One of Johannes Brahm's favorite forms of relaxation was to sit at an open window and attempt to kill neighbourhood cats with a bow and arrow. Napoleon Bonaparte was once found sweating with fear and lunging wildly with his sword at the tapestry-covered walls, all in fear of a small kitten. Noah Webster described the cat as a "deceitful animal and when enraged, extremely spiteful."

While I would have never sunk to the outrageous activities of the above mentioned haters, the dislike of cats was present for close to half a century, with varying degrees of intensity. Although I may not be quite ready to claim intense love at this time, I have moved closer to the realm of the cat lovers below.

St. Francis of Assisi, one of my personal favorites, according to an Italian legend, was saved from a plague of mice by a cat which sprang miraculously out of his sleeve. Sir Winston Churchill's cat, Jock, shared his master's bed and table, and he refused to start eating until his cat was present at the table. Ernest Hemingway shared his Key West home with more than thirty cats. Florence Nightingale owned more than sixty cats in her lifetime and often complained of mysterious "stains" on her paperwork. Mark Twain kept eleven cats at his farm in Connecticut. His daughter, Susy once remarked, "The difference between Papa and Mamma is, that Mamma loves morals and Papa loves cats."

The information on famous cat lovers and haters, including many more examples, is found here. By the way, it seems there are more lovers than haters.

How did this change of heart come about? Let's just say he slinked his way in! He is was a stray cat that had been hanging out in the neighborhood. I'd first heard of his existence from my husband, who shared tales of the pursuit of said cat by one of my dachshunds. Another stray cat in the neighborhood. No big deal, and his existence was quickly filed in the recesses of my brain. It was my daughter and her boyfriend who first befriended the cat. Yes, this is the same daughter who was attacked by the neighbor's cat years ago and has spent her lifetime in loathing of cats. Her boyfriend, however, has always been a cat lover. Oh, the things we do for love.

It played out something like this:

Cat comes slinking to the front yard where boyfriend and daughter are sitting on a bench. He rubs by their legs and "Meows." They notice he is very thin. My daughter sneaks a can of tuna from the cupboard, as well as a dish of water. She does this a couple times.

"You know the cat isn't going to leave if you keep doing that," I say when I first catch her in the act.

"He's hungry. Look how thin he is. You know he isn't going anwhere, anyway. He just lives in the sheds out back, " says she.

I respond: "I know. There are always cats out there. It's probably the same one LuLu was chasing." After a short discussion about the merits of helping the cat, my response was something like: " Well, fine, I don't want him to starve, but don't even think about bringing him in the house. I don't like cats and I certainly don't want one in the house. Besides, the dogs would rip it apart."

"Don't tell dad. He told us not to feed him. He doesn't want a cat around," she replies.

"Well, we can't let it starve. That would be inhumane, and I will tell him so," I reply.

Over the next couple days, the cat takes over the bench, and makes himself at home. He is lying on the steps when I return from work, and purring at every entrance to our home. "Please bring me in," he seems to say. A few times, he is almost able to slither by me as I open the door, but I kindly shoo him out just in the nick of time. I watch daily as he attaches to my daughter and her boyfriend, and they to him. When he rubs up against my legs one day, this stodgy old cat miser softens a little more.

We have determined he was once a pet, even though he has no identification. He is declawed and we think neutered, that is if he is really a boy. It's kind of hard to tell with this cat when it won't sit still when you try to check its genitals.

I can't believe my heart has melted toward a cat. He is a handsome creature, and mostly gentle, though he doesn't like to be fussed over too much. Only a couple days after he came around, I went out and bought him cat food, as the tuna stockpile was withering. My daughter tried to "hide" said food from her dad, afraid of his reaction to their sneaky feedings. I told her not to bother hiding it and I told him, in no uncertain terms, I would not take part in allowing a cat to starve. It seemed a cat, once used to being indoors and taken care of, I assume, with no claws, would be unable to procure enough food to stay healthy. My husband knows me well enough to know I couldn't ignore a creature in need. He did protest any future plans of allowing him to move in. I had still not let him move in when I bought the food. I reasoned with my daughter about all the things I didn't like about cats (shedding hair, litter boxes, etc.). I told her we also needed to make sure someone isn't missing it.

We have not found an owner. We've checked local lost and found ads and asked around the neighborhood. Did his previous owners know he was gone? Are they missing him or was he abandoned? There is no identification to go by. Were they tired of him and just let it go? Could they not afford to feed and care for him any longer? My husband suggested taking him to the shelter, but it is so overloaded with cats, I fear surrendering him to a shelter might be assigning death to him. So, unless an owner is found, my daughter has "adopted" him, agreeing to pay all further costs of ownership, including a visit to the vet to make sure he is healthy and he is really a he.

Recently, it started to get chilly at night. A decision had to be made. The cat moved in and now lives in the basement. My husband has warmed to him, just as I have. The dogs have not warmed to him, and we have to careful that they don't slip downstairs to get after him. The plan is to introduce them in very small increments, so as not to overwhelm the dogs or the cat.

The cat has not been given an official name. They were toying arond with the name Warren, after some rock band singer, which led me to suggest a middle name of Peace. They rolled their eyes and groaned when I explained my reasoning, but I like it. Warren Peace. It has a nice ring to it and it relates quite handily to my half century of dealing with cats:

War 'n' Peace.

Cat Hater's Club: Part I



Did you know there are internet groups for cat haters? There is the Cat Haters Club, Cat Haters Club of the World (C.H.O.W.), Cat Haters Club on Facebook, and probably a few more. WARNING: If you are a cat lover, you may want to avoid these sights, as just cruising through, I found myself, a self proclaimed non-lover of cats, saddened by some of the comments. While I have never belonged to any official group, in my heart, I have never really cared for cats. Hate is such a strong word, so I prefer something on the lines of intense dislike, but I know I have occasionally muttered, or forcefully blathered, "I HATE cats!!

I am not sure the roots of this loathing. We had many cats freely roaming the neighborhood when I was growing up. Perhaps that is where it began. Pesky things scratching at you and teasing the penned dogs. I vaguely remember a kitten, maybe even two, cared for by my sister(s). I never paid much attention to the creatures and have few details, though I clearly recall a kitten that ate a dead bird and then proceeded to throw up and get very ill. Perhaps that is another scene that aided in my dislike, because as a child, there was nothing I disliked more than vomit...it ranked right up there next to liver. Cats like liver though, and dead diseased birds, so that must prove they are evil, right?

There were other run-ins with cats that I didn't care for. One of my good high school friends, a huge cat lover, had cat hair everywhere at her house, and the smell of litterboxes permeated the air. Strike another vote against cats. I did find it sort of funny when the cat tumbled her Christmas tree, though. I laughed. Their family did not.

A couple of my sisters owned cats. They loved them. I just shook my head and tolerated them. I couldn't fathom this devotion to animals that would jump up on the counter when you weren't looking and snatch your food. One of my sister's cats once dipped its presence into 4 pies we had baked on the eve of Christmas Eve and left to cool on the counter overnight. I would have banished the cat, at least temporarily, I think. She did not. Her animals were rated right up there as family. When we visited her in Germany, the cat was so overwhelmed and agitated by a constant stream of visitors, that she was losing hair and constantly hissing and snarling at us. I felt bad for Kitty, but I still didn't like cats. I must say, though, Kitty had determination, and not only survived that intrusive spring, but survived a few near death experiences. One shout out for persistence and nine lives.

I did smile when another sister and brother-in-law signed their cats' names to greeting cards, complete with paw-prints. They were childless for the first several years of their marriage, so Bob & Greta were their objects/creatures of affection for a long time. Unfortunately, not good around children and getting old, the cats had to depart when the first baby arrived 11 years ago. Since that time, two new cats have made their way into these cat lovers' lives.

Probably the one event that is most responsible for my dislike of cats, though, was the neighbors' tom cat, also named Kitty. One day, some 24 years or so ago, the neighbor lady gave my two-year-old daughter a brush and told her to brush the cat's hair. Apparently, the cat did not like its hair brushed, the lady's son later told me. I returned from work that night, after midnight, to a story relayed by my husband. He had tried to clean the huge bite mark on my daughter's arm, but it still looked sore to me. I cleaned it again. The next morning, my daughter's forearm had swelled to twice its size, and we quickly ushered her to the clinic, where she received a shot and some oral antibiotics, while we were sternly told to inform the neighbor that unless she kept her cat in the house for the next 7-10 days, it would have to be removed and placed under observation. She was not happy and it made for some dicey neighbor-to-neighbor interactions for awhile, especially since she was not inclined to follow that directive. My daughter's arm healed, but my distaste for cats grew, right along with my daughter's distaste for and fear of cats.

In searching, I found this cartoon that perfectly describes some of the reasons for my aversion to cats.




Fast forward to 2009. Over the last two and a half years, we have become owners to two adopted dogs. While I have always liked (most) dogs, we never kept them as pets before, as my husband and I could not come to agreement on rules of pet ownership during our first 25 years of marriage. I really love my dogs (and hubby does too), partaking in some of the same activities as my cat loving siblings: allowing them in my bed, not banishing dogs that steal food off your plate when you aren't looking, signing their names greeting to cards on occasion, etc. Loving dogs is all the more reason to dislike cats, right? Wrong!

Pet ownership must have awakened a new softness in me. (Stay tuned for Part II).

A Visit With the Franciscans

Despite the exhaustion of September, one big highlight of the month for me came Sunday, September 20th. I had made a commitment to my Mom a month or so earlier, and I always try to keep those, even when tired or rundown. I enjoy spending time with my Mom, and since I shared her with a dozen siblings growing up, and these days with dozens of her grandchildren, time spent alone with her is always at a premium. Our mother-daughter adventure took us to donor's appreciation day at the beautiful Franciscan Convent in Little Falls. It was an exhilarating day for both of us.

Our day began with a special Mass with musical accompaniment by staff and students of the St. Francis Music Center. It was an experience that is hard to put into words, but which extracted memories from my younger years and the roots of my faith. As I participated, a feeling resonated in me that my current life, although on a somewhat different spiritual path than that of my childhood, is still filled with the issues of peace and justice I've always held dear. The day awakened in me a new curiosity to explore further some of the roots of my past spiritual journey, continue to assess my current spiritual path, and set sites on where my future faith journey may be heading. I could not do justice to the topic in this blog at this time, so I will leave it at that for the time being.

After Mass, we gathered in the convent dining area for a wonderful meal prepared in the new kitchen made possible by donors like my Mom. On the menu: Baked Chicken, REAL mashed potatoes slathered in butter (with just the right texture to prove they were real), gravy, mixed vegetables, freshly baked featherlight pillow buns that melted in your mouth with each bite, and slabs of homemade apple pie. There was plenty of coffee to wash it down, or for a non-coffee drinker like myself, milk & water. We enjoyed wonderful conversations with our fellow diners, none of whom were known to us previously, but nevertheless, warm connections were made. The table decorations were interesting, each table sporting a different kitchen utensil. This was ours:

A multi-wheel adjustable pasta cutter: that brought forth a few memories and discussions of home baking. How convenient this tool would have been for my mom when she was baking cinnamon pie crust strips or homemade crackers. My dad's cousin would have loved it too, as she lovingly rolled thin-as-paper dough for homemade stroganoff noodles and cut the strips manually.

After lunch, we enjoyed a presentation on the Franciscan Music Center and some very touching stories were shared. We later got a tour of the amazing new kitchen, which I did not have the presence of mind to photograph. Then it was off to the gift store for a couple purchases.

Finally, I was able to refresh some memories of long ago visits to the convent when my great-aunt, Sister Emerita, a Franciscan nun, was still alive. We went to visit her grave for the first time since she was buried there in 1968. Along the stroll to the cemetery, there were a couple areas to rest, the photo below showing my favorite area to repose.


We also met up with some other relatives that belong to the Order of St. Francis. One nun, Sister Mary Ellen, is my dad's first cousin. The other nun, whom I'd never met before, Sister Celine, is my deceased grandpa's first cousin. Between the two of them, one from my paternal Grandpa's side, and one from my paternal Grandma's side, we were able to reminisce about long passed away relatives and I learned much more about my grandparents and great aunt than I ever knew (both of my grandparents passed away in the early sixties, Grandma when I was 2 1/2, and Grandpa when I was 3, and my great aunt just before I turned 8). Both Sisters were thrilled that they each learned more about each side of the family, as well.

Part of my highlight of meeting Sister Celine, who is now 91, was to talk with her about her literary adventure. She, along with her niece, recently (2007) published a book about her life and family, titled: Conversations With Celine. The book talks about living in a large family & farm life in central Minnesota during the first half of the twentieth century, as well as losing the farm during the depression. It also chronicles her life and continuing work and missions she was involved in during her Franciscan journey. Reading the book, I was able to add more dimension to my understanding of that side of my ancestral heritage, which any genealogy lover knows is a huge gift. I learned more about the immigration of my great-great grandfather's family and their early years here (1870s). It was enlightening to learn little tidbits of my grandfather's and great-grandfather's relationships with this part of the family.

Visiting with Sister Celine, I also learned a little about the long writing process for the book, and how much material needed to be cut to make the publishing price manageable. Sister Celine is one of only two relatives still living from that generation. Her older sister is 96, but is suffering from dementia, so Sister Celine is really the only one able to pass on these stories. What a gift she has given to her relatives in writing this book! What hope she gave to me about my own family history projects! If I can complete those, perhaps I can extend my writing to those projects in my dreams.

One of the neatest things about meeting Sister Celine was how young she seemed. At 91, I expected frailness, but what I was greeted with was a small-framed powerhouse. Her energy level was amazing and her mind appeared as clear as a bell. On our long walk to the cemetery, she kept a brisk pace, turning to ask my mom if she was okay. I think my mom was a bit embarrassed, even though she keeps a pretty good pace, herself, for 77. Another highlight is her family resemblance to her cousins, my beloved great aunt (who was somewhat of a surrogate grandmother after my grandparents died) and my grandpa (whom I really only know through photos and stories). I am so thrilled at having this new family connection. As we hugged goodbye, she invited us to please return and once again shared in her delight of meeting once unknown relatives. The delight is definitely reciprocal!


Sister Celine and my Mom

Seven Sisters

I am very lucky to be blessed with seven sisters. (I have 5 brothers, as well, but this post will be mostly about the sisters). We all spent the weekend together in Rochester (MN), to celebrate the fortieth birthday of my second youngest sister. We were also blessed to be joined by my ever youthful mother, 2 sisters-in-law, and 3 of the nieces (of which one was my youngest daughter, but niece to the rest;-}). The youngest niece in attendance spent much of her time at a friend's house or watching movies in her room, as this was an 18 and over ladies' event.

The age difference between the youngest sister and oldest sister is just over 19 years. The age group of those in attendance was 19 to 77, with occasional appearances by the nine year old niece. Currently, all but one sister live in Minnesota, though another will be packing her bags soon in pursuit of furthering her love for music in Austin, Texas. But no matter the age and distance, we can all come together and have a good time when a perfect occasion arises. We share lots of interests, whether it be delighting in the adventures of our children and grandchildren, our love of the various arts, a taste for kitchen delights, or our desire to scout out a bargain. Our world view may be somewhat varied and strongly held for some, so we glide away from some of those subjects during celebratory times. There are plenty of other times to get into heated discussions.

We spent part of our weekend taking in the 100 mile garage sale (Red Wing to Winona), though we only perused a smattering of them. Some of us were doing more looking than buying, but we were all having a good time, as evidenced by the many comments by sellers or other participants along the way. One of our missions, for those who chose to accept it, was the purchase of a "perfect" gift for the birthday girl. Those gifts were opened during the evening celebration and consisted of everything from a vintage 70's print of Jesus with His lambs, a collander/meat grinder lamp, a Mork & Mindy thermos, some 45 records of the seventies, a George Carlin book, a vintage felt Santa's Mail Christmas card holder, some coffee mugs, plus other items I've surely forgotten. Also, a few of us decided we would buy lemonade from all the budding child entepreneurs along the way--I quickly figured that I needed to limit my liquid intake, but luckily, some were selling cookies and bars, as well, so my old bladder could have a reprieve from the lemonade overload.

We spent another chunk of time this weekend in a favored activity: eating...from the awesome home cooked food (best hand-battered onion rings ever and I don't normally care for onion rings) at a tiny restaurant in Wabasha to the Chinese ordered in, to the variety of platters contributed by the sisters: fruit, cheese, and crackers; homemade cheesecakes baked by my sister's friend (Cinna-bun & a caffe-mocha flavor); chocolate fountain with pretzels, chips, strawberries, bananas, sugar cookies, marshmallows, brownie chunks, and even bacon; our family favorite: puffed wheat candy; tortilla chips and dipping sauces; and finally, my dad's contribution to the event and his latest "fad:" homemade peanut brittle and caramel corn. (I probably forgot a few things.) It should be fairly obvious from the above mentioned menagerie of food that most of us possess a sweet tooth.

Most spent some of their energies and calories on sipping wine, margaritas, and other spirits, though I stuck to my diet Pepsi. It seems somewhat unfair, then, that I was the one throwing up Sunday morning (I ended up with a severe migraine and did not remember to pack my Imitrex). Perhaps I consumed a bit too much chocolate and cheese, or maybe I just got too little sleep--all known migraine triggers.

Most of the weekend revolved around sharing stories and reviving and reliving family memories, watching a fun photo DVD organized by a couple of sisters, listening to great tunes, including five new songs written and sung by one of my very talented sisters, giving and/or getting foot/neck/back massages plus parrafin hand dips, and just generally chilling and laughing.

I feel so blessed to have taken part in this great weekend and know that I am luckier than many when it comes to spending time with my family. We truly do enjoy being together, and any differences of opinions and lifestyles are quietly ushered to the background while we focus on the love and commonalities that join us together. Given the great time we had, we hope to turn this into an annual event. I hope we will be making these types of memories for a long time!

Yes, Mary, you can be forty again next year, if you wish!

Life in the Rearview Mirror

I have been racing toward a finish line lately! I am on a path to getting things done as my time quickly slips away. I am at a point where the rubber meets the road. I am two weeks from dropping the checkered flag on this race between two careers: Do I keep my part time job or return to my seasonal employment? I've been running pros and cons through my head for awhile now. The jobs are in a dead heat right now, which is scary.

My supervisors from each of the jobs want to be declared the winner in this race. On the homefront, my husband and I are not in total agreement about what my career future should hold. My husband prefers I not turn away from the higher income (the seasonal job). I'm not sure the income is worth the loss of my sanity, which proved to be the case last fall. I'm fairly certain I want to stay with the part-time job and hold out hope for some added way to supplement that income. If I don't return to the seasonal work, I do have some vacation time I could cash out to help extend my income to "full-time status" for another month. Also, when I weigh out the cost savings of working from home (no travel costs, no "drive-through" meals, less new clothing, etc.), the difference between the two salaries shrinks a little bit. I know I can't work part time forever, but a little longer would be nice. With a little luck, this new job should yield a few more hours by fall. One plus, my friends tell me I look good (as compared to what, I wonder) and seem more relaxed now that I have been away from my seasonal job for a couple months. I will be in a different position if I return to the seasonal job, but I don't believe it will be less stressful. I know that if the economy hadn't tanked last fall, the part-time job would definitely win, hands down, because I'd have a better chance of finding supplemental income. There is a possibiIity that I can work in a lesser capacity at my seasonal job, with those discussions currently underway. In that scenario, my current part-time job would be my primary employment, while I would work 10-20 hours a week at the seasonal employer. I know my supervisor there would be okay with that, but I'm not certain her supervisors would. I hope to have an answer on my proposal soon.

Meanwhile, I have been looking back through the rearview mirror at what I've accomplished over the last two months, and it has definitely not been enough! Then I peer even further back, and realize what a crazy road I've been traveling. I'm trying to catch up from dozens of years of working too much overtime and not keeping up on daily life. I can't possibly catch up this quickly when I've gotten so far behind. I've banished too many things to the overflowing storage room, attic, basement, and garage, as well as some of it not landing in storage at all, and the time has come to make decisions. Most of the difficult decisions come as I am sorting through mounds of career "materials" I've acquired. Depending on my career decision, and if it is for the long haul, will help decide what I keep. Right now, it's sort & ponder. If I am to continue to work on the tuning up and overhauling of this engine (me), and tackle the repairs and organizing of my parking area (home), I feel I should "race" less.

Is it wrong of me to want to regain some semblance of tranquility in my life? I've been in overdrive for a long time! Heck, I live on a lake I have not been able to fully enjoy for the past dozen or so summers. I haven't planted flowers in my flower boxes for quite a few years. I have turned down more "summer fun" invitations than I care to acknowledge. My trip to to the northwest last summer really started this process for me, I believe. It had been the first summer trip I'd taken in a dozen years, and I realized how much I've missed while putting my nose to the grindstone. Of course, with less income, I may not be able to travel anyway, but I could relax and enjoy what is under my nose.

As I look at all of this in the rear view mirror, knowing what I've already passed by, I ponder what is ahead of me on the road. Is the map I'm using outdated? Are there hairpin curves that will catch me off guard and make me wish I'd stayed on the safer, but less scenic route? Am I going to choose to stop and visit the scenery along the way, or am I going to continue barreling forward, full speed ahead to an unknown destination, missing the highlights along the way? I just realized this blog is starting to sound like the lyrics of one of my favorite Bon Jovi cruising songs. I better make sure I have my plastic dashboard Jesus along for the ride on this Lost Highway!

The Music Highlights Of My Life

I received this in an email, but thought it might be a fun blog topic, as well. What was the #1 Song on the Day you were born? I expanded this a bit and looked up the songs that correlated with some of the other important milestones in my life.

Go to http://www.joshhosler.biz and look up the number one song on your birth date or other special days. If you are inclined to play along, leave the answer(s) in my comments.

On the day of my birth, the #1 song was Alley-Oop by The Hollywood Argyles.

On the day of my hubby's birth: Young Love by Tab Hunter.

My entry into the teen years: Will It Go Round In Circles by Billy Preston

On my graduation from high school: With a Little Luck by Paul McCartney and the Wings

On our engagement day: Bette Davis Eyes by Kim Carnes

On our wedding day: Abracadabra by The Steve Miller Band

Child # 1's Birth: Total Eclipse of the Heart by Bonnie Tyler

Child # 2's Birth: Walk Like An Egyptian by The Bangles

Child # 3's Birth: Black Velvet by Alannah Myles

This was a great trip back in time! What amazed me most was that I was paying attention to the music through the years, because I remembered all of the songs. I hope to hear a few of yours.

This is me during a technological frustration.

If asked whether I love or hate technology, I'd have to answer: "It depends on the day and the project I'm trying to accomplish."

I use the computer on a fairly regular basis, both for work and personal endeavors. I can set up most basic hardware and software, although when it comes to glitches, I have very little patience. I am far from a techie, although I could be coached through fixing most problems when they spring up.

When I first started my home office job in November, I was given a laptop & printer. It was the start of over two months of struggles getting it to cooperate. I could get the internet, but not get on the company network. I spent many hours with tech assistance on the phone, trying this and trying that. Finally, after many attempts, I was able to access the network, but not synchronize files, etc. I was happy to be able to get into the network, only to find I now couldn't access the internet and my email. While I could get at email through my personal computer, I didn't really want to be saving all my work to my personal laptop. I spent a fair amount of time transferring work from one computer to another - UGHH! About then, I'd say I couldn't stand technology. It took 2 1/2 months before all the problems were finally solved (it would have been sooner if a few people would have listened to me). Now that the computer is mostly cooperating, I'll have to try to get all the features of my printer/fax/scanner working. I'm still trying to save up my patience.;-)

Our newest feature for work is participating in conference calls with Skype, a service which allows us to talk/conference for free. Downloading Skype was piece of cake. The plan was to have a webcam, even though it can be done with just voice. I picked up the webcam, which should have also been a piece of cake, but for some reason, it just won't work with my work laptop. I keep getting a USB error message claiming no driver was installed. I tried it on my own laptop, and got the same message. I let it sit a couple days, and was going to return it today, but thought I'd give it another try. Well today, it works on my personal computer, but still not my work computer. UGGHHH! Again, not good scores for technology.

In the midst of all of this, however, I looked down at the front of my computer and noticed my wireless light was blue, meaning it was on & working. I'll be darned! I have been without that function for a couple months--it just quit working one day, along with my speakers. I downloaded new drivers for both functions but was only able to get my speakers back. Several times I tried to reload the driver over the months, to no avail. The error message was always the same: no driver installed. Today, after several months of getting internet via the ethernet cable, with no rhyme or reason, it just began to work again. I have no idea how or why! HMMM...I wonder how long it will last?

On the bright side of technology, we have access to so much more information and more ways to stay connected to others than we did even a few years ago. For instance, now that I'll be Skyping for work, I plan to expand that practice and send my daughter in Texas a webcam so we can keep in touch a little easier and cheaper. I will also probably start suggesting the practice to other family members. Another way to stay in contact is with Facebook, although sometimes I am a little shocked at what I read...so maybe there is some drawback to that. Instant Messaging also is popular, though I rarely partake. I have so many family members, that it would be hard to keep up with them all by old fashioned means, but through computer contact, I can keep in touch at any hour of the day.

Another great technological advancement has been the wide array of public information available online. As a family historian, it is amazing how much can be tracked online, without having to make dozens of trips to the history museums. It still requires a lot of sleuthing, but that's the fun of it. I have saved thousands of miles on my car, plus, I can search the web at any hour, not just museum hours. Of course, technology can't replace the feel of the ancestral stomping grounds beneath ones feet. That requires a hands on visit. :-) I have crossed paths with numerous relatives online over the years, as I piece together the patchwork quilt that is my family. In fact, a few years back, I was able to contact numerous relatives I'd never met and plan a sesquicentennial of one of my ancestral family's arrival, mostly by tracking via the internet. It was so cool!

Google, or any search engine, for that matter, are lifesavers. The other day, I needed a Hawaiian themed dish for a going away party at work. I typed in a couple words, and I immediately had a recipe for Aloha bread. (It was delicious!) I could have spent an entire afternoon trying to find a suitable recipe in my cookbook collection. On another day, I might want to know an author or a songwriter, so I type in a phrase, and just about everything I ever needed to know is at my fingertips. I may be researching for work or I may want to read about news in locations around the country, or around the world, and its all at my fingertips. Perhaps I have a home improvement question or need to buy a certain item. A quick search, and an answer is at hand. I love the internet.

The availability of classes online are also a technological plus. Whether just for fun, or for academic credit, participating in online classes, webinars, and conferences can save lots of time and money over attendance at brick and mortar institutions. I especially like the abiility to participate on my timeline. It may not be for everyone, but it is nice for some learning.

Finally, the ability to pay bills, complete banking, look for a job, order library books, or complete virtual shopping expeditions, are all technological conveniences I've become accustomed to and those activities raise my love for technology.

So, for most of my activities, I love technology. When it's not working, I have a hard time being patient while trying to find a solution. On a scale of 1-10, I give technology an 8.