¡Adiós 2010! ¡Bienvenido 2011!

New Year, new commitments! I have been out of touch in the blogging world for quite some time—since August! OUCH!! As one of my New Year’s resolutions, I am going to try to increase my blogging. I am pretty certain that daily is out of the question, so for now, I will attempt weekly, and I may even go for twice weekly, with more often being a bonus.

To get back on track, since I only blogged a few times last year, I will do a quick year in review. We ended 2009 with the loss of my father-in-law, so the year 2010 started on a sad note. Many changes have come about in the family since then. My mother-in-law sold the 40+ year family home in April, moved into a senior living apartment, which we sensed right away was not her cup of tea, then announced the purchase of a new home in December, which is being prepped for occupation this month. Of course her move from the old home meant my single-over-40 brother-in-law had to find new digs as well. He purchased his first home after ten months in an apartment, and is moving this week as well. More moves happened at our house and my employers’. All of my adult children have now left the nest and are learning first-hand the work and expenses involved to maintain an abode. The main office of one of my jobs relocated, which allowed me to score a new home office set-up, which is still in progress. I am hoping for increased organization and productivity. We also had to make several temporary moves at my other employer, which got old after awhile—hopefully they will have things figured out if I return in spring.


January started off with a health scare for my hubby, which resulted in numerous high tech tests and biopsies. One year later, we are cautiously optimistic, with a rescreen scheduled for April. I also spent a little more time with the doctor, chiropractor, and physical therapist this year. (I’m happy to report that six years after the retirement of my favorite family physician, I have found a doctor I trust once again.) Between all the people working on me, my bum shoulder returned to 95% healthier, my back about 90%, my depression & ADHD issues are almost under control, and less frequent migraines. With a few small dietary changes and slight bit more activity, I lost 20 pounds from May-October 2009, gained back 10 from October 2009-April 2010, and have now lost that 10 and another 12, for a grand total of 32 pounds since May 2009! Yippee—hope it never finds me again! Here’s a toast to great health in 2011.

I am thankful for the continuing health of my parents, which is brought to light when I see some of the struggles others their age face. I spent a great deal of time working with my Mother and my sister on some family legal issues, and other than the headaches of legal jargon, our time together was very rewarding. I hope to be able to spend an equal or greater amount of bonding time with family this year.

Work has been about the same. I split my time between two part time jobs. I love one more than the other, but until there is an opportunity to go full time at this one, I will hang onto the other a while longer. (I actually like the responsibilities at both jobs, but the management decisions at one can make it unbearable at times).

Probably the biggest event of my year was turning fifty, and I found it wasn’t so different from being 49, or 48, or 47, or……19.  The only thing different about 50 is it just seems like I have less time to accomplish everything I want, and I feel like I’ve barely touched the surface!

I am on a mission to become more organized in 2011. I got a little head start in 2010, but the bulk of the projects will hopefully be accomplished in 2011. I look forward to organizing my tubs of photos (and hopefully completing at least a few albums), continuing my efforts to pull the family history together and completing a written narrative, blog more often, de-clutter, do some remodeling, and once again attempt a garden (mine failed miserably last year). I think planning a family reunion is in order, as well, perhaps linked with my father’s upcoming 80th birthday this summer. It will be another busy year, and that is just the way I like it!

Happy New Year to You and Yours! ~Abra

JUMP START

This blog needs a jump start. Yes, the battery has died, after several incidences of poor attempts at restarting, it finally died. Perhaps a jump start won't help...maybe it needs a new battery altogether. Anyone know where to get one of those? It may even be possible the engine needs a total overhaul. Anyone know a good blog mechanic?

While I have had several trips I wanted to take down memory lane and country roads, favorite Minnesota destination points, and along the daily washboard avenue that is my life, I just couldn't get the engine started. It would whine a little, even cough and sputter, then nothing. Engines can be so maddening. Sometimes when your engine won't go, it's hard to be a passenger, as well, so I haven't been witness to the revving engines of many other blogs, either.

A couple days of respite from work due to a nasty pink eye infection has given the battery and engine just enough spark to make this feeble attempt to get on the road again. Let's see if that is enough to keep it rolling. Keep watching the road. Perhaps I will be driving along with you more often. Wishing you safe travels.

Random Acts of Kindness

A couple months ago, my niece posted on her Facebook wall that the person in front of her had paid for her lunch. It surprised her and of course lifted her mood.

I have made many kind gestures over the years, but I had never bought lunch for a total stranger. Shortly after my niece's experience, I had my opportunity. As I pulled up to the drive through window, I asked to pay for the lunch of the fellow behind me. That brought a big smile to the attendant. It brought a look of surprise to my husband's face (since we had just ordered from the value menu because we were cash weary). As we drove away, I explained my reasoning. I must say, the feeling I got stayed with me and was well worth the few extra dollars I spent.

I have been on a mission since then to find a way to display intentional kindness on a frequent basis. My hope is that someday, it will just be ingrained...second nature. Most of the time it is just taking the time to greet a stranger, hold a door, or offer a hand with a bag of groceries. Sometimes it is a compliment. A word of reassurance to a struggling parent (in place of the easier judmental behavior) is most often a welcome change for him or her. I recently bought a gift card to send anonymously to an elderly woman who mentioned in passing one day, that coming to the post office is not fun, because it only results in bills, nothing more. When I was out perusing garage sales in Wabasha on May Day, I presented a little boy running a Kool-Aid stand a treat filled May Basket. He was pretty pumped that I bought Kool-Aid AND gave him a treat. I will likely never see this boy again, but I will remember his joyful excitement and smile forever. Something as simple as cutting my hair for Locks of Love brings a euphoria, as well as an important gift to someone I'll never know.

Sometimes the gestures are for family or friends or neighbors, just something simple and unexpected, but the feeling for both the giver and reciever is far from simple! It amazes me how grateful people are when you take a few minutes to drop off an unexpected treat or "treasure perfectly suited to them," even when said treasure was purchased second hand or something you no longer have a use for. Other times it is just a bit of human compassion between two strangers, so that when we move along our daily path, we have brought the world a bit closer together.

I did not write this today to bring attention to what I've done, but rather, to invite my readers to also partake in this rewarding actvity. I attended a presentation once in which it was explained that the euphoria you get from giving without the expectation of a return gesture is comparable to a "runner's high." Since you won't find me running in a marathon any time soon, I'll just keep up with the random acts of kindness to capture my highs.

If you aren't already doing this (I know some of you are), I hope you'll join me. Perhaps our conjoined efforts will make our little corners of the world kinder & gentler. Please feel free to leave a comment on something you've done or any ideas you have or have heard of that are inexpensive ways to reach out and make a difference in someone else's day!

It truly is better to give than receive!

Wallowing In Self Pity---No More

I haven't written much lately. Sometimes even reading is hard to keep up with. Those who follow my blog regularly, probably realize my last 18 months have been somewhat of a rollercoaster ride. Unlike a rollercoaster, however, the downhill ride seems to be steeper than the uphill pull, and even though the ups have been a little more frequent lately, I sometimes let the downs take over. Hang on for this ride--the story is a little longer than usual, but hopefully you will find glimmers of hope in what I share today.

The ups, in no particular order: I have been working hard to manage my depression amidst the dizziness and bumps of this ride. I have restarted my ADD medicine to regain some sort of organization and focus in my daily tasks, as well as the larger tasks that have been hovering over me for a very long time. I am happy to report it is working. Additionally, I have pretty much recovered from my bum shoulder episode, and my back is holding together fairly well, though the headaches and neck are still troubling me. I have started to lose some of the weight that sneaked back on over the holidays and am gearing up for a healthier year ahead. I think I've finally completed grieving, for the most part, the inequities of my former job. I am thoroughly enjoying my new job (but need to find something additional to be fulltime, though I probably have a back-up plan through autumn). I have been able to spend more time with family. I have also spent time working on my family history and and I am starting a blog on that topic, as well as mentoring my nephew in his paternal family history. I am working on planting a small garden. In addition to the most typical root vegetables, plants, and leafy greens, I will be trying my hand at some berries (all sorts), plus a few plum trees. Wish me luck--I am not known for my green thumb, but I'll have help, and I have gardeners on both sides of me. My daughter has landed a 9 month position with benefits. Her boyfriend has another interview today; I'm crossing my fingers. All of my adult children are living at home right now, which can be a blessing or a curse, depending on the day and my state of mind, and the balance in my checkbook. :-) My mother-in-law was able to sell her house quickly, and while that wasn't all blessing, as I think it cut into the time of grieving, she is now moved and settling into her apartment. I have only one more week until our annual sisters and adult nieces get-together in Rochester: Woo-Hoo! Spring has been glorious, with perennial plants and flowers popping everywhere, pelicans, loons, and other waterfowl gracing the lake in large numbers, and fresh breezes and fresh perspectives floating through the house.

The downs: I thought I was almost through the wild ride, only to find out my husband's three month follow up after a recent health scare didn't come with the results we had hoped for. I am not going to panic, yet. Instead I am going to ask for prayers and kind thoughts as we face a biopsy next Friday. I am still working on paying off all the medical bills from our combined winter of tests and therapies, along with other large unexpected expenses, and now the first half real estate taxes are looming over our heads in three weeks. Having a drained savings account due to many large expenditures over the last two years, while a drastic cut in both of our incomes, I tend to feel a great weight on my shoulders as we face next week. Yet somehow, I also know all will be okay, it always is. We are still grieving the loss of my father-in-law, and selling the 4+ decade family home brought new emotional challenges to the entire family. We will be interring Richard's ashes two weeks from today in his final resting spot at the Minnesota Veterans Cemetery near Little Falls/Camp Ripley. It will be an emotional time, but also a necessary step in our grieving process. I've felt dragged down before, seemingly to the lowest of low depths, but somehow, I always manage to pull through, so I expect this time will be no different. Again, prayers, kind thoughts, and encouragement are extremely welcome.

I have come to realize over my life journey, often through others I've known up close and personal or through close contacts, many people face great challenges in life. While some people seemingly have greater challenges than most, either in quantity or scope, there are often common factors in their successful journeys. Humor, prayers, emotional, physical, and sometimes financial support from family, friends, and even complete strangers, carry sufferers through some of their toughest challenges. Every day I seem to hear of or know someone who is facing a similar challenge, and many that are facing challenges far beyond anything I've experienced. Some have survived and moved forward to help others, while others are just beginning the wild ride. It keeps my woes in perspective to know that no matter how tough the road gets, someone else has been down this same path, or a journey filled with even more and/or larger potholes. Some recent examples:

A local teenager, friend to my children, was in a car accident April 8th on her way to school. Her car rolled over and was submerged in a pond, with only the very back end still visible to passerby, but she was soon found and pulled from the pond by local heroes, her lifelessness restored by a man who had just learned CPR two weeks earlier. There were some very tense days these last two weeks, two steps forward, one back, but she's been "fighting like a girl" (her mom's words), and is scheduled to transfer out of the ICU today. She still has a long road ahead, with possible twists and turns, but she has had many thousands of visits to her Caring Bridge page, and the prayers and support from family, friends, and strangers alike, are lifting her spirits and holding her family up. A whole community and beyond (friends of friends of friends, etc.) have rallied together, organizing a Facebook prayer page, prayer chains, a fund at two banks, a "Fight Like A Girl" t-shirt sale, and a spaghetti supper. What is especially cool about all this support is that most of the efforts have been spearheaded by youth, a segment of our society more commonly frowned upon than respected. I'll leave that topic alone, for now, because that deserves its own special place of honor. It is amazing how the support grows in this small town, but after all, isn't that what community really means?

I just started following the journey of another local woman recently diagnosed with breast cancer. The twist to her story is that she is a quadripalegic, having been paralyzed in a sledding accident when she was a teen. It seems like some people get the challenges piled on, perservering throughout. There are lessons for all of us in the challenges of others, I think. Her Caring Bridge journal is a well articulated account of the daily struggles she faces, filled with humor, prayerfulness, hope, and humility as she forges ahead on this journey. Her words flow beautifully, allowing the reader to literally be there with her. Again, thousands are visiting her page, offering prayers, hope and encouragement, as she goes forward, and a community that has had several tragedies over the last month, is still raring and ready to march in support for this marvelous woman. Another twist to this story is that her cousin was the passerby that resucitated the teenager pulled from the pond. While each family suffers their own tragedies, they and those whom have been touched by them, are offering up prayers and support for each other.

I was recently emailed a video from my supervisor. I am not technically skilled enough to place this video here (I tried once without success, and am sure I've learned nothing new lately that would help in that skill), so I will share a link. The woman shown is a friend of my supervisor's daughter, and in my supervisor's words: "she is absolutely amazing and one of the kindest, most loving women I've ever met." This Missouri woman, faced with a condition at birth that limited the use of her arms and shoulders, recently had a baby, and is shown in her daily child care routine. I was absolutely amazed at the ingenuity and skills she has developed and the fortitude she displays. Diapering, feeding, and bathing a child with her feet puts any challenges I had as a parent into perspective.

I recently heard part of my my supervisor's own life story, surviving a childhood filled with abuse (all forms), taking what she learned from her experiences, using it to be a better parent and help others who have challenges along the way. I must say, she is one of the most kind, caring, and delightful individuals I have ever met, and I am so glad our paths have crossed. We recently heard her story will be shared in a national woman's magazine, and when it is, I will try to follow up here.

Another woman whom I have encountered in my work has recently been interviewed for an upcoming piece in the St. Paul Pioneer Press as part of the events surrounding the Healing Field, which strives to bring awareness to the plight of child abuse and the ongoing prevention efforts in Minnesota, as well as supporting and praying for healing for survivors. She is another woman filled with tremendous fortitude, and abundance of faith, and a seemingly endless supply of sunshine, overcoming a life filled wih tremendous child abuse, using what she has learned and continues to learn, to help others. Again, when that story comes out, I will try to link to it in my blog.

Somehow, when I learn about or meet people as those above, I am compelled to reach for the strength that I know still lies within, and march forward with purpose. I know the support from others will help that strength grow. None of the people above are looking for pity, just prayers and support, and thus I am reminded to stop wallowing in my own self pity when times are tough and start counting my blessings, of which there are many. As I go through this week, I will remember a favorite quote: "When you feel like you are at the end of your rope, tie a knot and hang on!"

Hello Old Friends...It's Been Awhile

Hello! Gosh it's been awhile. How have you been? I wish I could tell you that my absence from the blogosphere was because I had something very exciting going on in my life, like a trip to an exotic (and warm) destination, but sadly, I've been here all along, waiting out the winter with a gigantic stash of comfort foods. Yup, the only thing that has gone south is my derriere, bogged down with bread pudding, mashed potatoes with butter and gravy, oatmeal-butterscotch cookies, homemade cinnamon rolls...you get the picture.

Along with my butt, life in general has been on the south end for a while, as well. After three months filled with funerals (a young community member, a cousin, my father-in-law, and a family friend, plus a few not as close acquaintances), a few family issues I can't publicly discuss other than to say I was definitely blindsided by them, a health scare for my husband (thankfully, a mass discovered was benign), my own ongoing health issues (migraines, back & neck problems, and now treatment for a rotator cuff issue), a couple extra unemployed adults to feed and house (there are possible job offers pending--TG), and decreased income from job losses/cuts with increased debt from medical bills and major house malfunctions, is it any wonder that depression reared its ugly head in my life? I am now getting that under control and hopefully life will get back on a smooth road once again. The sun is peeking out....whew!!

I guess my resolve to be more consistent in my blogging didn't work out so well, either. Often times, writing is a stress buster for me. Believe me, there were more than a few times that I thought I had an idea worth writing about, only to fizzle out by the time I had a chance. Sometimes I felt the need to write, but much of the need would have been to get negativity off my chest, but who wants to read that? In a similar fashion to not saying anything if you have nothing nice to say, I felt if I had nothing good to write, I wouldn't write anything at all. I am truly wanting to go to blogging and thinking in a positive mind frame, dealing with the negative as it comes, but searching for the good in life.

Bright spots are coming through these days. I can tell spring is around the corner by the increased level of chirping in the trees outside my house. Rather than running to do their business and quickly scampering inside, my dogs have been lingering outside, noses to the ground, as if they can actually smell life under the waist high snow piles and still ice-covered walking paths. This old house (101 years) has been creaking more lately; I imagine it too is starting to thaw from this brutal winter. Believe me, with March knocking on the door, spring could not come soon enough for me. It would be nice if the melting doesn't happen too fast, though, so the flooding is minimized. I worry for all of those who live in areas that may once again be struggling with flooding issues. With my basement actually being inhabited by humans instead of spiders and the occasional mouse, I would hope to not have water problems there, either!

I have been drawn in by the Winter Olympics this year. I love to watch ice dancing and speed skating. The women's and men's half pipes competitions were also spectacular. I imagine the skiing is nerve racking--I wouldn't want to drive in a car as fast as some of those skiers are flying; I can't imagine being on a mountainside racing that fast! I think of all the bumps and falls and how these athletes carry on day after day, compared to my aging body, which can't seem to handle even the smallest falls or bumps. Quite the stamina these athletes have! I have been especially interested in hockey this year, particularly men's hockey. David Backes, a member of the USA men's team (and member of the NHL's St. Louis Blues team) is the son of my husband's cousin. It has been great to see someone from humble roots work tenaciously to achieve personal goals. He is truly an example of a blue collar working class family's hard work and sacrifices to reach for the gold! I was bummed when the first few games were not broadcast on network television (I don't have cable), but was able to catch the games Wednesday and Friday (what an amazing game on Friday). I look forward to Sunday's rematch with Canada. Go team USA!

Time to get up and at 'em. Once again, the weekend will be filled with a myriad of activities, sandwiched between the need to declutter and continue organizing. It's not the North wind you'll be hearing this weekend folks, it's the whirr of my engines as I race to complete the tasks on my never-ending list. It's been said that an idle mind is the devil's playground, so I imagine idle hands must be forced to shovel coals. Happily, I am nowhere near heat, so perhaps this winter is a sign of true paradise. It has been angelically white, if I must say so myself, and my hands would rather be flapping out snow angels than shoveling coals any day!

Have a beautiful weekend and look out for signs of spring--it shouldn't be long now!

Little Things

Sometimes it's the little things that make my day. Such was the case yesterday, and I woke this morning, blanketed in warm thoughts. It started with something as simple as reading one of my favorite blogs, Farside of Fifty's Forgotten Old Photos.

As some of my readers may already be aware, I love to immerse myself in family history. Sometimes it doesn't even have to be my own. For some people, genealogy is getting the most names in a family tree. For me, it is about finding the ways in which people are interconnected and learning about their lives. What are their stories? When I hit the jackpot, I can be giddy for days.

Such is the case with Della. Rather than relay the whole story, I invite you to check out the progress of events from photo publishing to reunification of photo with a family member. Farside and I have married our interests a couple times on her Forgotten Old Photos blog. She brings forth the photos, with as much information as the picture relays, and if there is enough information to do a search, I go digging through ancestry.com records to try to find a history on the subject and his/her family. We've had some successes in searching and she has made connection with some families(though this will be the first photo to be returned, I believe), which brings us both great excitement! Additionally, there are other regular visitors to her blog that supply their expertise on clothing styles, photo types, etc.

Soon, Della's photo will be on its way to her daughter, Virginia, a woman in her late 80s, whom has pretty much lived in the same location all her life, as did her mother. Della's photo, however, has traveled from Illinois to South Dakota to northern Minnesota. The final trip back to Illinois should be a sweet one!

2009: Out On A Sad Note

Our family didn't really ring in the new year as much as we sent out the old year on a sad note. In the bitter winds of December 31st, we stood at attention and listened to the song of the distant lone bugler. The finality of those solemn notes is felt ever more deeply when they are played in honor of one you love. As Taps hauntingly floated through the air, a volcano of emotions erupted: thankfulness and respect for a life well lived and services rendered to God, country, and family; honor for knowing and being part of that life; sadness in knowing his physical presence is gone, yet happiness in knowing a new life with God, absent of pain and suffering, was his eternal gift.

My father-in-law passed away peacefully Tuesday morning, after a valiant struggle with health issues. We were very fortunate to have a final family holiday celebration on Sunday, in which he was very alert and involved, refusing to rest for a single moment, while his wife, children, and grandchildren surrounded him with love. He enjoyed his favorite foods, he joked around a bit, and he shared his gratitude for the day. He rested all day Monday, drifting in and out of sleep, then slowly slipped into God's hands as Tuesday morning broke. We knew his health was failing, but most of us just didn't expect him to pass this week, and didn't quite expect Sunday to be the final goodbye. His final wish was the Sunday gathering, and with that fulfilled, he was ready to be called to Heaven. He was a gentle loving man--a wonderful husband, a dedicated father, a super father-in-law, a doting grandpa, and a supportive brother. We will miss him greatly, but are relieved that he is no longer suffering.

We offered our final goodbyes yesterday at the church, surrounded by a multitude of extended family members, friends, community members, and the Honor Guard of the Richmond American Legion Post, of which he was a past commander for two years. He was a Veteran of the Korean War, serving as a MP in the U.S. Army from 1949-1953. He never talked much of his service time, but his family always knew he was honored to serve. He loved this country deeply and the flag presented to my mother-in-law at services yesterday is already prominently displayed in their home.

As I finish this entry, I would like to share with you the words I wrote in his memory Wednesday morning. My father-in-law was an avid gardener, in soil and in life, and thoughts of him came together in this piece.



Richard The Gardener

The gardener’s tools are set aside,
His hands no longer toil,
Winter’s snow has mounded upon
The fertile garden soil.
Perhaps you’ve tasted produce
From his abundant yield,
But his greatest crop ever
Came not from earthen field.
No, t’was the living seeds he planted,
Starting at his birth,
The relationships he nurtured,
As he walked upon this earth.
Life’s garden rows aren’t always neat,
Weeds pop up all over the place,
But Richard, the gardener, tackled pesky weeds
With dignity and grace.
Whether you entered his garden plot,
As family or as friend,
His love for you was rooted there,
Until the very end.
He came here as a plant from God,
The finest of seeds from ’27,
Now his time of growth here is done,
He’s been harvested and back in Heaven.
As you survey plants in your own garden,
Think of Richard and wear a big smile,
For as sure as the sun rises and sets,
He’s with God and they’re here all the while.
In Loving Memory ♥ Richard Nicholas Thomes ♥ 3-27-1927 to 12-29-2009

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).