Happy September

I've declared this Happy September Week, and this week I'll be sharing all the things that are making me happy lately. (Because isn't that a lot better than listening to all the things I want to whine about?)

Co-op Break! We're five weeks in, and our homeschool co-op has gotten off to a great start this year. The co-op is quite a bit smaller than it's been in several years, but that has turned out to be a blessing: we're all enjoying the low-key, stress-free schedule that we keep now. Even so, there has been so much craziness with all the other stuff on our calendar that I'm glad to have a week to catch up and maybe feel a little more together when we begin again next week.

Running-- who woulda thunk?? But it's true: for the first time in my life, I have a cardio activity that I actually enjoy. A couple of years ago, it occurred to me that I ought to be able to run around the block; it seemed like one of those life skills that might come in handy at some point. Alas, I could barely run to the stop sign at the end of the street! Besides, I was miserable every time I attempted to run, so I figured I was just one of those people that was not meant to run. But back in June, I received this book from my paperbackswap wishlist, and it was exactly what I needed. A book for real beginners, a book that assumed you could not run to the stop sign at the end of the street. I read it... and began to run. I run three days a week and cross-train or rest on the in-between days. I do run-walk-run intervals, and that's probably why I enjoy it so much. It makes the time go really fast, and I don't get worn out. When I first began, I had already been exercising on the elliptical machine and walking for several months, so I was ready to begin running two minutes and walking three (at that point, I actually could have run to the stop sign at the end of the street- but not a lot farther!) Now I'm up to running eight minutes and walking one, and I'm training to run a local 5K at the end of September. I know! And I'm totally sold on run-walk intervals. If you want to know more, you can read about them at Jeff Galloway's site.

Homemade bread! This cookbook has revolutionized (and added many calories) to my life. I now make homemade bread at least 3 times a week, and you know how much I hate to cook! But 5-minute bread? Even I can handle that-- and boy, is it good! You can see a demonstration of just how easy it is here:

And I just discovered that they have a new cookbook coming out in October: Healthy Bread in Five Minutes a Day: 100 New Recipes Featuring Whole Grains, Fruits, Vegetables, and Gluten-Free Ingredients. It will definitely be on my Christmas list!

So what are you happy about this week?

Kentucky Summer Part II

In June of 1978, the year my parents divorced, I had my first Kentucky Summer. I suppose no one knew quite what to do with me since school was out and my mom had gone to work, so Mama Adams, my father's grandmother, took me in for a few weeks. My mom bought me new white pants, a pink blouse, and Charlotte's Web to read on the plane, because not only was I going on a big plane, I was going all by myself! It was a grand adventure for an almost-9-year-old.

Mama Adams lived in a large white Victorian-style home on the corner of Highland Street and Lexington Avenue. The wide front porch boasted a swing and an ancient glider, from which we watched the traffic go by every evening after The Dating Game (Mama Adams' favorite show) was over. Mama Adams kept an immaculate yard, with roses, snapdragons and all sorts of flowers in the front, and a vegetable garden in the back. The yard had a wire fence with a gate that was perfect for swinging on- even though I wasn't supposed to do that. I had to settle for swinging around and around on the street sign pole instead. Mrs. Allington, who was even older than Mama Adams, lived across the street, and I often visited her in the afternoons. Mama Adams would send her a frozen Swanson's pot pie, and after we had chatted and watched traffic for a half hour or so, Mrs. Allington always sent me home with a bright new quarter.

Mama Adams' home was a fabulous old house, full of nooks and crannies filled with fascinating treasures: antique wash bowls and pitchers on beautifully carved antique dressers; Tiffany-style lamps; a glass Christmas tree filled with orange and pink coral; necklaces made of buttons and intriguing beads; drawers full of old photos; silk flowers from the dime store; wooden souvenir boxes with scenes from the Natural Bridge or Shaker Village; shimmering carnival glass bowls... there was always something to investigate. In the old bookcase, I found the Little House on the Prairie series and Baby Island, and in the kitchen, Mama Adams always kept a stash of root beer, ice cream sandwiches, Vitamin C and Juicy Fruit gum.

My favorite room was the big middle bedroom, with its high bed, polished floors, chenille bedspread, and beautiful Victorian dresser with the round mirror. I never spent much time there though, because in the corner there hung a picture of The Yellow Lady- a large oval portrait of a somber Victorian lady wearing a yellow dress. I could feel her eyes following me every time I crossed the room, so I scurried through as fast as possible whenever I needed to use the adjoining bathroom.

I loved staying in the front bedroom the best, with its high ceilings, pink-patterned wallpaper, floor-to-ceiling windows, two double beds, and beautiful fireplace (even though the fireplaces had been boarded up years earlier and made into gas heaters). It made me feel like Scarlett O'Hara. At night, Mama Adams and I sometimes shared one of those beds, and if she wasn't too tired, she would tell me stories as we listened to the cars on the road or the crickets in the garden.

We had a routine down: Mama Adams got up at daybreak to garden, and when I finally rolled out of bed, she cooked me eggs and bacon in her sunny kitchen. Next, we wrote letters before the mailman arrived at 9:00, and then it was time for the laundry: Mama Adams washed real clothes, and I washed all my Barbie doll clothes in the bathroom sink and hung them out to dry on the wooden clothes rack on the front porch. Every day. No Barbie dolls have ever had cleaner clothes than mine. When the stores finally opened, we walked downtown-- all of maybe three blocks away. Sometimes we went to the Bethany Bookstore where Aunt Helen had a kids' craft area in the back; sometimes we went to the dime store (a real dime store, with everything you could imagine, from goldfish to ladies' girdles- the small town precursor to Walmart); or sometimes we went to Kroger or to Belk's (the only real department store in town). Trips to Kroger were especially exciting because we took a taxi (!) back home with all the groceries. Once Mama Adams let me go all by myself to Kroger, do the shopping, and take the taxi back home! It was an exciting day.

Even more exciting were the days when one of the aunts would come: Aunt Ruby, who refinished antiques and lived on a farm with Uncle Vernon in Lexington; Aunt Stanley and Uncle Gene, who built a cabin on the foundation of the old family farm up in the holler during their summers off from teaching; Aunt Marie and Uncle Doc, who owned a Woolworth's store in Ohio and built a beautiful home in the country which smelled like sulfur; Aunt Mattie, who owned an enormous house in Kentucky coal country and another vacation house on the lake in Tennessee (if we were lucky, Uncle Frank would fly in on his helicopter!); or even Uncle Johnny, who kept beautiful vegetable gardens out at the holler, delivered mail in Lexington and was always glad to see me even if he seemed a little gruff. Best of all were the days when Granny and Grandad would drive down all the way from Maryland. There was no shortage of family, and Mama Adams' house was Grand Central Station.

That was the first of many Kentucky Summers to come. The aunts graciously passed me around from house to house, and Mama Adams was always glad when I returned. Best of all was the sense of belonging that I felt when I was in Kentucky. My immediate family back home in Alabama was often full of tension and turmoil, but my summers in Kentucky gave me roots. Mama Adams and the aunts loved me, fed me, bought me books, clothes, tennis shoes, Barbie dolls, and dime store trinkets... they made me part of the family.

But nothing stays the same. When Granny and Grandaddy eventually moved back to Kentucky to retire, Aunt Mattie and Uncle Frank built Mama Adams a beautiful brand new home in the lot across the street, and the wonderful old house was sold. Mama Adams died in the spring of 1988, during my freshman year of college. Aunt Marie and Uncle Doc passed away too, as has my grandfather, and Aunt Ruby has Alzheimer's. John and I drive our family up to see everyone for a brief weekend each July, and sometimes my children get to swim in Aunt Mattie's pool, ride through the cow pastures in the back of Uncle Vernon's pickup truck, or pick pawpaws and cuddle Aunt Stanley's kittens out at the holler. I still love Kentucky Summers.

Kentucky Summer

Mama Adam's Journal:

Friday, June 1, 1979

Well, another June 1st and Ruby called me this morning and said little Sandy is coming to KY tomorrow evening and she will meet her at Lexington airport.

Saturday, June 2

Little Sandy came up from Ala. to-day on the plane to Lex. I went with Ruby to the airport to get her. She seemed glad to get to Winchester.

Dear Daddy,

I am having fun. Somtimes I get Bored, But I still have fun.

The airplane was cold, But I still liked it.

I like Mama Adams house. Her cookie jar is always full.

Tell Bobbie Hi. I would like to see her.

Please write or call soon.

Love
Sandy

Mama Adams Journal:

Monday, June 4

Sandy and I went to town to-day, she shopped around and enjoyed it.

We fished us a mess of new peas out of the garden and they sure were good.

Meta and Pam took us up to put the flowers on the childrens and Papa's grave, we never stayed but a few minutes.

Tuesday, June 5

Johney went to the farm to-day and Sandy and I went to the bank and to Krogers.

Pam came by from work and got her some lettuce and onions.

July 6, 1979

Dear Bobbie and Daddy,
I have been having fun. We came back from Aunt Marie's Monday. We went there after Kim and Scot's wedding.

I hope to be home soon. I liked the cards you and Bobbie sent me. I got a bunch of birthday cards yesterday and one package. 5 cards. Only 2 for Mama Adams. I sure wish you would call again. I have to close the letter now. I have more to write before the mailman comes.
Love
Sandy

P.S. Mama Adams won a new T.V. If you call I will tell you about it. Bye!

To be continued...

Thursday Thirteen: Things That Make Me Happy Today

Thirteen things that are making me happy today:

1) Sunshine- I am loving this spring weather!

2) Feeling *good* again. Becca brought home a nasty bug from Winterfest back in February, and it went through the family, taking us all out, one by one. YUCK!! Only John Mark has seemed to escape unscathed... what's up with that? I occasionally heard him around the house muttering, "I don't want to get sick... don't want to get sick..." and one morning, he even made breakfast for all the younger brothers so they wouldn't spread germs in the kitchen. I guess his diligence paid off.

3) April will soon be here, and that means June will soon be here, and that means no more algebra and geometry (for a few short months, anyway):

4) Consignment Sale Season! I managed to get some stuff together to sell, but when I went to the Consignor's Sale, I didn't buy one. single. thing. (!) I figured the kids can't keep what they have clean; why do I want to buy more? Laundry has finally done me in, and besides, you really can't fault that logic, can you? I'll have to take the big kids to buy shorts eventually, but I guess I'd just as soon shop at Walmart.

5) Look- my clean oven!! I went on a cleaning binge during the co-op break in February and cleaned the carpets, the pantry, my closet, the oven... Amazingly, the oven has stayed clean, and it makes me happy.
6) A Clean Pantry! You might not think this pantry looks all that great, so you're going to have to trust me on this one. I threw out all kinds of stuff that's been taking up space (really, if it's been in there for more than a year, are we ever going to eat it? Do we really want to??) My pantry makes me smile.7) My pink mug. I made this at Becca's birthday party, and in hindsight, I think I would have done a better job with it if I could have *seen* what I was doing. The party room at the ceramics place had white twinkle lights that didn't provide enough light and we ended up working in semi-darkness... but the ambiance was oh-so-cool. I decided I would learn to overlook the faults of my mug and just enjoy the things I like about it. If I could only do that with the rest of my life as well...8) My girl! I have four excellent boys as well, but my girl... well, today I'm just particularly crazy about her (and happily, this picture was not taken today!)
9) But these pictures were taken today: Spring is coming! Our poor broken trees are beginning to bud:

10) The Forsythia are blooming too (I love Forsythia!)
11) The Pink Bush is blooming: (anyone know what this is? I don't think it's an Azalea. Rhododendron, maybe?)
12) Even Ugly Bush is getting in on the fun. He gets two weeks of glory each year, and this is it: 13) And our Hyacinths are blooming (they smell heavenly!)

A Time to Mourn and a Time to Dance

It's been a busy, bittersweet week: we helped one of our friends bury her 21-month-old son, and another friend marry off her 21-year-old daughter. Ups and downs, tears and joy, meals to share in the mourning and meals to share in the festivities. More than ever, I realize what a privilege it is to hug, to cry, to laugh and to share life with our friends.

Two are better than one, because they
have a good return for their work:
If one falls down, his friend can help him up.
But pity the man who falls and has no one to help him up!

Ecclesiastes 4:9-10

Recital Day and the Pit of Dread

May 22. Recital Day is finally here. I woke up yesterday feeling the Pit of Dread in my middle parts, along with the accompanying stomach problems. Last summer, I began working on Debussy's Clair de lune, and even after my lessons stopped when school started again, I kept working on it. Although I had lessons off and on (more off than on) during my childhood and college years, I had never tackled a piece of this caliber. Hands-down, it's the hardest thing I've ever played, and Kim, our piano teacher, never tried to dissuade me from attempting it, though I can only imagine what she must have been thinking. I managed to work up the entire piece over the winter, and even though my accuracy with the left-hand runs isn't quite at 100%, I know it is recital-ready. Problem is, over the past 15 years or so, I've developed a debilitating case of stage fright.

It's perplexing because I performed for so many years throughout high school and college without blinking an eye. There were times I should have died of embarrassment, but I just grinned and kept on going. But now, 17 years later, sometimes I can't even make it through my piano lessons without my hands shaking badly enough to make playing impossible. Add a few new faces to the audience, and my legs start shaking too. Very, very frustrating!

After I played Clair de lune for Kim again this spring, she began talking about me playing it at the spring recital. I told her I just didn't know if I'd be able to do it. But the more I thought about it, the more I became determined that this would not be one more time in my life when I sit on the sidelines, watching everyone else and wishing I could do it too. And so I'm doing it. Who knows what the audience will be thinking: We didn't come to see a MOM play... who is this crazy woman? It's some comfort that my buddy Marcia will also be playing, even though she's doing a duet, because otherwise I might not have the courage to make a fool of myself. Misery and fools love company.

In a sick twist of scheduling, I found out that the entire family's dentist appointments, which are scheduled many months in advance, are this afternoon. The dentist is not something to be rescheduled when you have as many teeth as we have in our family. I discovered that my hair color appointment- also scheduled months in advance- was also this morning. I called my hairstylist and explained that I could not handle the stress of new hair, the dentist and a recital all on the same day, but she was not very sympathetic. She couldn't work me in again until after John and I get back from our vacation in June. Oh, the sacrifices. So... Tonight. 6:30. Me and Clair de lune. Wish me luck!

Two Things I've Learned This Week

1. Do not hold a tube of toothpaste when engaged in a heated "discussion" with your spouse.

2. If a brand new bottle of Tide should fall off the washer and empty onto your laundry room floor, it's gonna take a really, really long time to clean it up.

Just in case you ever wondered.

Nostalgia Meme

Here's the question which I picked up from Katherine:

What were you doing 10, 20, 30 years ago?

Finding photos for this project was hard! Even as a teen, I was the only one in our family who bothered to take photos, and all my pictures were taken with my little Vivitar 110 camera. Let's just say that they're nowhere near professional quality and leave it at that. When John and I began our family, the first thing I asked for was a "real" camera, but I'm still the primary photographer, which means there are relatively very few photos of me. But, from the bottom of the family albums (which are at the end of a long line of scrapbooking projects) here's a blast from the past:

Ten Years Ago:

1997: John and I celebrated 6 years of marriage. I was still into high-maintenance hair. John Mark was 4, Becca was 2, and Philip was born in February. In January of 1998, we would discover that we were expecting Baby #4! I was a Creative Memories Consultant, and it was definitely a case of being in the right place at the right time. As one of the first consultants in our little town and since there were no local craft stores at that time, my business took off in a big way. 1997 was an exciting but very stressful year. I'm not a consultant any longer, but it was a great experience for me and I developed some skills in running a business that have served me well in many other ways over the past several years.

Twenty Years Ago:

1987: I graduated from high school in the spring of '87 and began college at LSU that fall. I have to show this picture because these are the only academic awards I've won in my entire life: 5th Place in the state in the Virginia Junior Classical League competition, and Magna Cum Laude on the National Latin Exam. In high school, I was a mediocre student at best- I was all about music. But I had a fabulous Latin teacher named Maureen O'Donnell. Mrs. O'Donnell had a way of squeezing knowledge into even the most reluctant of her students, and these awards prove it. We were all her "Soo-pah Scho-lahs," as she called us in her thick Boston accent.

This is another photo from 1987: me and my BFF Christy. I met Christy on the marching band field when we moved to Fairfax at the beginning of my Junior year. We were kindred spirits and inseparable. When my family moved back to Alabama midway through my Senior year, her family took me in for 6 months. In this photo, we are probably laughing at her older brother Steven, who was a college student at George Mason and a computer whiz. He lived in the basement and was constantly teasing us. Christy's family adopted me as one of their own, and I adored them all.

Thirty Years Ago:

You thought I was kidding when I talked about our Halloween costume reincarnations and told you that my little brother had to be a pink clown too! Here's the proof:

In 1977, I was 8 and my little brother Matt was 3. My youngest brother, Will, was still a baby. See those awful Buster Brown shoes I'm wearing? Along with huge plastic-framed glasses, Garanimal outfits, a penchant for reading, and those hated shoes, my parents could have hung a huge sign on me that said "DORK" and I couldn't have received any more teasing than what I already got at school. Kids can be so mean. My parents would divorce in the spring of 1978 and it was the beginning of some very difficult years. Although I was a star student in Mrs. Lau's Language Arts class, 3rd grade quickly became a misery for me in Mrs. Ehl's math class as we got into topics like multiplication. My parents had their own problems and when I did receive help- usually long after it was needed- my assignments were accompanied by dread and tears. My multiplication turtle was bare long after almost everyone else's was completed. It was a tough year. But you'll be happy to know that I can say my multiplication tables with the best of them now, and I have ample evidence of God's faithfulness to me during some very tough times.

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I'd love to hear your stories too- please play along!

The Purse

*If you are a man, you'll just want to move on from here, because I promise, you will not understand this post. Trust me.

I have been shopping for a purse. That fact is astonishing in itself, because I don't spend time shopping for makeup, shoes, or purses. That list used to include jewelry, but now that my baby is six and no one tries to yank the earrings out of my ears or teethe on my necklaces, I've reached the point where I can again accessorize. But as I was saying, I have been shopping for a purse. My old one was purchased for $3 at a consignment sale: practical black canvas with straps just long enough to fit over my shoulder and large enough to hold all manner of items from water bottles to books to Halloween candy PLUS all my normal junk. It went with everything. It has been a good purse, but not perfect. It was a bit too large and with no organizational features, I found myself literally digging for the items I needed. And, to be honest, it is a bit boring. Time to move on, boring black purse.

I had it in my mind that I would simply walk into the Handbag Warehouse and pick out a nice new number and be done with the whole business, but... out of all the bags in Handbag Warehouse, there were none that called my name. Because if I'm going to actually pay real money for a purse, it has to call my name. And ideally, have a zipper closure, a nice long strap, a pocket for my cell phone, and some great organizational features. And be red, because I'm tired of boring black even though it goes with everything. But no purses called my name, so I ventured inside the mall.

First stop, Elder-Beerman, where I roamed around the purse department and I saw it: the purse that was calling my name. It was (gasp!) a designer purse, but it was also on sale. I stood for long minutes in front of the shelf, staring at this purse that was calling my name. And I circled the purse department again and then I stared for more long minutes. Surely this could not be the purse. It was just barely big enough for my essentials, much less water bottles and books. It had no great organizational features besides a few paltry pockets and a place for my cell phone. It was $5 more than my cut-off price and I did not even have a coupon. But it was red. And shiny! And it was calling me.

This purse offended every practical bone in my body and I left the store. I went to Dillard's, Sears, the purse kiosk in the center of the mall, JC Penney, Kohl's, and even to New York and Co, where my practical black purse had been purchased before it was relegated to the consignment sale. Nada. Nothing. There was a wonderful, almost-perfect purse at Sears (of all places) with all the correct features and a touch of whimsy to boot. Its color was called vino. "No," I told the purse. "I do not carry purple purses." I traipsed back through the mall, spent a few more long minutes staring at the red designer purse that was calling my name and did the proper thing: I went home. This purse was too flashy to be calling my name. It belonged on someone much more fashionable, someone who has cute hair and does not wear overalls out in public.

I thought that after I gave it some time, the lure of this purse would diminish, but it did not. I had to go back to the mall. As I rounded the aisle, I mentally prepared myself for the inevitable: the purse would be gone and it was the last of its kind. It was still waiting for me. I stared at the purse again. I circled the purse department again, desperately searching for an alternative. I picked up the purse, pulled out all the stuffing, thoroughly examined every pocket. I tried it out on my shoulder to be sure it was the correct length. I am certain the store security was watching me closely by now. And I left again, determined to give Sears another chance, but the purses there seemed so maw-maw by comparison. Back to Elder-Beerman. More long minutes staring at the purse. It was time to go home. I bought the purse.

When I got home, I pulled out the paper stuffing and managed to fit all the essentials inside. Becca walked into the room and spied this new shiny thing. "Ooh, pretty!" she exclaimed. I don't know if her admiration of the purse is a good thing or not, considering some of her pre-teen fashion choices. I decided I would give this purse a trial run and leave the tag on until I was committed. As we headed out the door later, John Mark said, "Hey, new purse! You left the tag on." "I know!" I hissed. And off to church we went, me in my overalls and shiny new red purse with the tag still attached. If that isn't Minnie Pearl, I don't know what is.

But at church, I looked over at my shiny, red purse and smiled. "I like you," I thought. I came home and took the tag off. I am committed to this relationship. Meet my new purse:

Over the River and Through the Woods...

to Grandma's house we have come. Most years, we spend Thanksgiving with John's family in Indianapolis, and here we are again. Due to some unusual circumstances within the family, the kids are scattered from relative to relative, and John and I are at his parents' house, where Thanksgiving dinner was also held this afternoon. Thanksgiving dinner is a big, happy, crowded gathering with feasting, football-watching and game-playing until one by one, relatives reluctantly begin heading back home, leaving John, his dad, and his brother Mike to enjoy chess and perhaps a cigar together. It's tradition.

I always enjoy coming to Indiana for Thanksgiving; it has lots of happy memories for me. John brought me here the first Thanksgiving after we met so that I could meet his family. They were all highly intrigued to meet the crazy person who had fallen in love with him, and I was highly excited. He bought plane tickets for the two of us to fly in from Baton Rouge, and his parents met us at the airport to take us back to the home on Carol Drive where he had lived since he was four years old. I was enthralled with every aspect of his life, from the neighborhood where he had delivered papers since middle school, to his old room, which still held a good bit of his boyhood junk, to the huge drawer full of family photos. We stayed up late into the night while he dutifully showed me the photos which chronicled the story of his life. I was finally meeting the people who had made him into the man I had fallen in love with, and I was enchanted.

In the days before kids, Thanksgiving was a low-key affair, but the prep work was always an event. I padded into the kitchen that first Thanksgiving morning to find every fan in the house going at full speed and John's dad standing over dozens of slices of bread with a hair dryer because he had forgotten to dry the bread for the stuffing. John comes by his personality quirks quite honestly. We had dinner at his Aunt Gayle's that year, and everyone was on their very best behavior, lest they scare this poor girl away. But they shouldn't have worried- John already had me reeled in.

The day after Thanksgiving, we joined the Black Friday crowds at the mall, where he took me to all the jewelry stores! We had discussed marriage, but this was my first real sign that this was all "for real." I was beyond excited at this unexpected turn of events, and I'm sure my fiancee-to-be was relieved that my tastes in jewelry are simple. I floated throughout the day, and then that evening, we drove downtown for dinner at Union Station, an old train station which had been converted into shops and restaurants. We ate fabulous seafood, listened to the brass quintet playing Christmas carols, enjoyed the shops all decorated for the season, and took a carriage ride together while we watched the lighting of the giant Christmas tree in the Circle. Our first Thanksgiving together was wonderful, magical, romantic, perfect. We flew back home on Sunday with an armful of bridal magazines, totally in love and full of anticipation for the visit to my family at Christmas.

That was five children and seventeen years ago. Trips to Indiana are now more likely to focus on activities for the kids, get-togethers with the aunts and uncles, and perhaps a Colts or a Pacers game rather than romantic adventures for just the two of us, but the memories are still magical. I love coming "home" to Indiana.

The Maple Tree

This is "my" maple tree. I can see its leaves through my bedroom window. I love to watch it every morning as I wake up (I am not a morning person, and waking up is a rather long process). Over the past week, I've watched its leaves go from a cheery golden color to... this. The kids have been raking its leaves, and now they sit in a huge pile under the bare boughs. Fall came and went in a hurry.

November

by John Updike

The stripped and shapely
Maple grieves
The ghosts of her
Departed leaves.

The ground is hard,
As hard as stone.
The year is old,
The birds are flown.

And yet the world,
In its distress,
Displays a certain
Loveliness-

The beauty of
The bone. Tall God
Must see our souls
This way, and nod.

Give thanks: we do,
Each in his place
Around the table
During grace.

A Tribute: Part II

December 7, 1941: "a date which will live in infamy." Japan had bombed Pearl Harbor, decimating most of the Pacific fleet, and America was finally at war. Draft notices began arriving at the homes of young men across the nation, and William, R.B., and James were among the first to ship out. Their mother, Verlie, had some small comfort in the fact that Ernie was still too young to enlist, and besides, with club feet, would the army really even want him? She watched her boys go and spent the next four years on her knees.

William joined the Army Air Force, the precursor to the U.S. Air Force, and received specialized training in Radio Operator and Mechanics School. He would become the radar operator in the big B-24 Bombers that flew over Rommel's tanks in North Africa and over the U-Boats in the Atlantic. R.B. joined the Army as an infantryman, and James joined the Navy as a pharmacist's mate. He would serve in the Pacific Islands, once getting stranded with a wounded sailor for 15 days as they watched their ship leave without them. It would be four years before the brothers saw each other again.

William left his sweetheart, Opal, behind in Kentucky, but their relationship took on a new intensity. Letters flew back and forth across the Atlantic as they professed their affection and attempted to sort out their differences against the backdrop of uncertainty created by world war. Opal began teaching school in Powell County and taking correspondence courses at Kentucky Wesleyan, earning her BA degree in the spring of 1945. After a bout with malaria, William's health began to decline, and eventually he was sent home for stateside duty, which was just fine with Opal. He was able to come home for a short leave during March of 1945, and they were married.

The spring of 1945 was eventful in other ways as well. President Roosevelt died at his home in Warm Springs, Georgia, leaving his successor, Harry Truman, to continue leading the war effort. On April 25, Russian and American troops, who had been making steady progress through German lines from the east and the west, linked up and cut Germany in half. Mussolini was executed and his body hung for display in Milan. Hitler, realizing the war was lost, committed suicide in his underground bunker in Berlin. The war in Europe had come to an end, but the war in the Pacific raged on. Ernie finally graduated from high school and by then, the Army had become much less picky about its new recruits. He was able to join the Army Transportation Corps, stationed aboard the USS Silverado in the Pacific. All of Verlie's boys were at war.

A few long months later, on September 2, 1945, Japan surrendered. The war was over, and the entire world breathed a sigh of relief. The boys who had shipped out four years earlier, full of fire and optimism, were returning as men: tired, victorious and ready to move on with their lives. These soldiers came home, married their sweethearts, had babies, and built their lives around the American Dream. Some of the boys never returned home at all, and many of the ones that did would refuse to discuss their experiences for decades, choosing to honor their fallen comrades with respectful silence.

My grandfather and the millions of men and women like him were heroes, not because of the medals pinned to their uniforms, but because when duty called, they answered. They did what they had to do, and they did it with perseverance, courage and honor. Then they came home, worked hard, raised their families, and lived God-fearing lives of quiet dignity. They represent the best of our national character. They are our veterans.

Ernie, R.B. and James at the WWII Memorial in Washington D.C, Sept 2, 2005. You can read the article here. (Photo by Sgt. Sara Wood)

A Tribute: Part I

Amid the deep gorges and sandstone cliffs of the Cumberland Plateau in Eastern Kentucky lies the town of Booneville, population 159. Named for frontiersman Daniel Boone, it sits along the south fork of the meandering brown waters of the Kentucky River and adjacent to the dense green timberland of the Daniel Boone National Forest. This rugged area was settled by gritty pioneers who had crossed the Cumberland Gap with land grants from Virgina. In Booneville and the other tiny communities that would eventually comprise Owsley County, these determined men and women built their cabins, raised their children, and slowly scraped out a living. This is where my grandfather, William Lee Venable, was born.

William was the eldest son of Matt and Verlie, salt-of-the-earth country folk who raised their six children to love God, Country, Family and Bluegrass music. He was a sickly child, perhaps because of the inexperience of his 17-year-old mother, perhaps because of the difficult conditions of living in Depression-era poverty in a drafty mountain cabin, but he was smart, he was hardworking, and he intended to make something of himself. William's serious nature made him the oddball among his fun-loving brothers, R.B, James and Ernie, but he also had a sharp wit which served him well when dealing with their pranks and good-natured jibes. He spent his time reading every book he could get his hands on and helping his mother manage the boys and his two younger sisters, Mavis and Vivian. In spite of their differences, the brothers were close. Life was hard, and in the backwoods of Kentucky, sometimes family was all you had.

William graduated with honors from his tiny one-room high school and with the encouragement of his teachers, headed off to Berea College and later, Lees College in the nearby city of Jackson. College was an unusual opportunity for a farmer's son with no money and no connections. He had nothing but a nickel in his pocket, faith in God and a desire to succeed. It was at Lees that William met shy, pretty Opal Adams. The valedictorian of her high school senior class, Opal was also the eldest of six siblings and had grown up in the hills of nearby Powell County. The two had a lot in common and eventually, they became sweethearts.

In the spring of 1941, America was just coming out of the Depression. FDR was President, Ginger Rogers and Jimmy Stewart were box office stars, McDonald's began selling its first million burgers, and Germany invaded Russia. With the looming threat of war and few job prospects, William accepted a position as a school teacher back home in Owsley County. Teaching was a common occupation for educated young men and women at that time- all you needed was two years of college- but it was a job which did not particularly suit his temperament or his ambition. It was going to be a very long year. Meanwhile, America watched in fascinated horror as Hitler's troops marched unimpeded across Europe on two fronts. The question on everyone's mind was, "Will America enter the war?" The families of young men like William, R.B., James and Ernest anxiously held their breath.

To be continued...

Halloween Past

I loved Halloween as a kid. I loved making construction-paper Jack-o-lanterns to hang on the bulletin board at school, working the Halloween themed worksheets in math class, and listening to Miss Pennington, the school librarian, read scary stories during our class library visits. (She probably shouldn't have done that- these were real scary stories that haunted me well into adulthood!) My Gran lived just down the street from us, and on October 1st, she let me dig out the plain Jack-o-lantern that hung on her front door- her one concession to the season. My mom was never much into holiday decorating, but we had a scarecrow Jack-o-lantern that hung on our front door every year too.

My mom was never much for costumes either. If I had to be in any school play during the previous year, there was next year's Halloween costume. This meant that for several years, I was a Pilgrim, an angel, and an elf for Halloween. My mom can be very creative, however, and when I was in first grade, she made me a clown costume out of pink bedsheets with a yarn wig and yarn pom-poms down the front. It was the first and only year I've won a costume contest. I loved the pink clown costume, but I'm sure my brothers did not, since they later had to be pink clowns too. They should just count themselves lucky that even my mom drew the line at angels and Pilgrim girls.

We lived in a huge neighborhood full of friends (and enemies) from school, and my siblings and I roamed freely during afternoons and weekends. There were simply too many houses to cover in one evening of Trick-or-Treating though, so we had to plot our course carefully to make sure we hit the most promising targets. Our first Trick-or-Treat stop was always my Gran's house. Every year, she bought a huge bag of Smarties to give out, and she never once ventured any further down the candy aisle. I'm not positive why she chose Smarties, but they did make good purse candy during long church services. But the most likely reason is that Smarties are cheap and... well, my whole family is cheap. Anyway, Gran oohed and aahed over our costume reincarnations, gave us Smarties- and sometimes even a special Halloween desert- and then we were off in search of the good stuff. We were supposed to be home by 8:00, which seemed terribly early, but by then, our bags were too heavy to carry anyhow.

I was a candy-sorter. I sorted all candy into brands and then into colors. I took full advantage of my little brothers, who were easy marks for my candy scams. It was a good set-up. I didn't realize then that my parents had their own scam going as well. I remember the terrible pang of disappointment upon waking the next morning to find out it was a school morning. What was up with that? Didn't the school understand that we needed a day to recover and eat our candy? We always made resolutions to ration our candy in a futile attempt to make it last until we could get restocked at Christmas, but the only one who was disciplined enough to do it was my stepbrother, Casey. He gloated over the rest of us when we were all down to the weird peanut butter candies while he still had good stuff like Snickers and orange-and-black Red Hots.

I loved Halloween as a kid, but I believe I'm turning into the Grinch of Halloween as an adult. I am my mother, and I don't need a costume. By the time October 31 actually gets here, I'm more than ready to move on. Now please excuse me... there's candy in the kitchen!

A Concert Date

I've had a fun couple of days taking my kids a little deeper into the world of music, a world that I loved during high school and college- and one which I rarely get to experience as an adult. Oh, I have praise team rehearsals and take my kids to chorus and all that, but it's not the same as spending hours upon hours in the music school with the cacophony of practicing musicians surrounding me and living on a campus in which world class performance was easy enough to find.

This Friday, I took John Mark to his first master class, a piano class with Melvin Chen, who performed with our symphony tonight. Master classes are generally a couple of hours long and are taught by performing musicians, conductors, or composers. The first one I ever attended was given by Christopher Hogwood at the Kennedy Center when I was in high school. I lived in Northern Virginia during the last two years of high school, and the proximity to Washington DC gave me some unique opportunities. During my senior year, I was accepted into... well, I can't remember what is was called, but it was a special program by the Kennedy Center which offered music students the opportunity to come on Thursdays prior to the Saturday night concerts and watch conductors rehearse the National Symphony Orchestra. I got to leave school early on those days, drive to the nearest Metro station, ride into DC, get off at the Foggy Bottom stop, and then walk the rest of the way to the Kennedy Center. It was a pretty good adventure, especially considering that I had a valid excuse to miss Algebra II for 6 weeks. I suppose that area of Washington must have been pretty safe, and it never occurred to me to be scared, but I cannot imagine letting Becca do what I did- especially the couple of times when I attended an evening event! Anyhow, the two events that really stand out in my memory were the Master class with Christopher Hogwood and later, watching Leonard Bernstein rehearse the symphony. I had enough sense to know that I was watching history.

John Mark seemed sufficiently impressed with this Master Class, especially since there were young men performing who looked his age. He really enjoys piano, and I hope this experience encourages him even more. The symphony offers free tickets to students for the regular concert season, so tonight I took John Mark and Becca to see Mr. Chen perform. It was an added bonus that one of my favorite pieces, Dvorak's New World Symphony was also on the program, along with Ravel's Bolero. Afterward, I asked the kids if they enjoyed it, and they were enthusiastic about it. "Like it enough to go again?" I asked. "Yep!"

Some days I look at my big kids and I wish they could be small again... but not today. Now I have concert dates! It's a real thrill for me to see my kids enjoy music too.

The Two-Week Recap

I've been derelict in my blogging, so I'm forced to resort to bullet points. I think my problem could be described as "Help! My life has been overtaken by algebra!" But here's what else we've been up to:

**Have minivan, will travel: week before last, John was exploring potential hunting spots for the upcoming youth hunt with JM and took his minivan onto some tertiary roads that simply aren't meant to be traveled upon. He got stuck in a mudhole at dusk in the middle of nowhere and was rescued by a redneck angel who later had to give him a lift back to civilization after the minivan gave up all together and quit on the way back home. He had to rent a trailer from U-Haul to tow the van home later in the week, since he decided that this job was beyond even my excellent towing abilities. I was very thankful for this. He only partially learned his lesson though, since the kids reported that this weekend, he attempted to travel yet another rutted tertiary road, but common sense prevailed and he turned back. I can tell that the Siren of the Untraveled Road still beckons, but the poor minivan won't be going anywhere for a while-it's dead in the driveway.

**Other than that fiasco, we've had two great weekends in a row. Last weekend, a friend gave us tickets to the Symphony Pops concert, so John and I got to have a "dress-up" date- dinner and a concert. The guest artist, Dee Daniels, was great, and her presentation of Ray Charles music was really enjoyable.

**This weekend, the scheduled Boy Scout campout fell apart, so John went ahead and took the kids camping anyway. I will not camp with them, since he insists on primitive camping and I like the little luxuries of life like, say, a toilet. The little boys couldn't go the first night because they had Upward Football on Saturday morning, so it was just John, JM and Becca. They went to John's favorite spot and found it jam-packed with people! It was already dark so they didn't have time to find another spot, but upon closer inspection, they found that the campground was full of friends from church- what a happy surprise! They brought over lanterns while John and the kids set up in the dark, and they already had supper going too.

**John happily related this story when they were on their way back home the next morning... the same morning which I had spent frantically picking up and delivering doughnuts from the Children's Chorus Krispy Kreme fundraiser, trying to get back to Philip's Football game before it ended, and get the little boys delivered to their coach in time for their game. I was not a happy mama. Our hot and sweaty football crowd came dragging in the front door to find the happy campers showered and waiting for us so we could leave for John's company picnic. Grrrr. I grabbed my second bath of the morning and we took off again. The weather was beautiful but a little too warm to be perfect. We ate hamburgers and grilled chicken, chatted with friends, and played Bingo while the kids ran all over the park doing the various activities: Bungee Jump Trampoline, putt-putt, carnival games, and large inflatable slides and obstacle courses. Afterward, John and the four boys took off for camping again, but Becca decided to hang out with me, which meant a trip to the mall, a movie, and Books-A-Million. To each his own, right?

**John has begun physical therapy for torn rotator cuffs on both shoulders. He's been working through the pain for years, but it's gotten progressively worse. The PT will meet with him twice a week to help strengthen the other muscles in his shoulders in an attempt to avoid surgery.

**We are really enjoying our home Bible Study group. We laugh and laugh together, and after spending the summer in anxiety over leading a group again, we are delighted to be a part of this wonderful group.

**During our co-op break earlier this month, I managed to get some stuff listed on ebay, and I was thrilled to have good sales and refill my paypal account. I had tried to sell the outgrown Simba costume, which at least one child has worn every year since John Mark was five years old, for $5 at the Children's Consignment sale, but no takers. It sold on ebay for $26. Very satisfying, I must say! I love ebay.

**School is going well this year, but I've had to pretty much give up all of "my" things to ensure that all five kids are on top of their studies. So, no more piano lessons, no visits to the gym or yoga class, no ladies Bible study, no "fun reading" or even blogging! I'm going to have to figure out a way to fit some of this back in, especially some physical activity, but for now, I have a real sense of satisfaction in knowing that my kids are, for the most part, getting it all done- even the math and spelling, which have traditionally been difficult things for us to stay up on. I am pleased to find that I actually retained some of the algebra from those agonizing math classes in high school and college, but I know I will soon reach the point when I am learning it all over again. Fortunately for all of us, John loves algebra. :-)

Whew... I think those are the highlights. Somewhere in the mix of all of that, Autumn officially arrived, AWANAs began again, we took the pool down, John managed to make the downstairs toilet flush again but we are still waiting on the inoperable dishwasher... but this is life, and a tragedy within our church family this weekend reminded us that life comes with no guarantees. I am reminded to be grateful for all of the blessings I've been given, broken cars and appliances included. O Lord, you have been good to me.

Back Home Again

I went back to Alabama this weekend for my cousin's wedding. It was a quick trip, down on Saturday and back on Sunday, and I wish I had another week there. I love driving the streets of my home town and seeing the sights that were so familiar when I was growing up: the rockets at the Space Center, just across from my neighborhood; Big Spring Park, downtown and across the street from the civic center where I performed in the Huntsville Youth Symphony; the big water tower which we watched them build one summer during long, hot hours on the marching band field; First Baptist Church with the bizarre painting of Jesus on the front, where I took piano lessons when I was 9; the pond at UAH (University of Alabama, Huntsville) where my grandparents took me to feed the ducks; the mall where my Gran worked at Castner-Knott's and where the two of us shopped to our heart's content with her employee discount; the church of Christ on Jordan Lane which I attended with Gran and Grandad on many Sundays. My favorite place may be Monte Sano mountain, which was always part of the background of my childhood scenery and on which my husband asked me to marry him on Christmas Eve, 1990. I love my home town.

Sarah's wedding was up on the mountain too, and it was gorgeous. My crazy family was a bunch of dancin' fools... this must be where Becca and Ben got the dancing gene. It was a wonderful time.

Three Generations: my mom, me and my daughter

August 31

So where were you 10 years ago today? It's amazing how certain moments become ingrained in your memory, I guess because they are just so shocking. I remember where I was when I heard President Reagan had been shot (my mom told me the news as she picked me up from middle school); when I heard about the Challenger disaster (we lived in Fairfax and school was out that day. My brother had been watching TV: "Hey, the space shuttle exploded!") and where I was when the Berlin Wall fell (home from college on Christmas break). I remember where I was when I found out about the school shootings in Paducah (at Mr. Gatti's Pizza Parlor with my kids) and where I was when the Twin Towers fell (coming down the stairs in our previous house). And, unfortunately, I remember where I was when I learned that Di had died. My mom's house in Florida. In the restroom. Yes, my husband simply could not wait another minute to tell me the news and there I was. It was A Very Memorable Moment. Sigh.

I had followed Diana's story since I was 12- the perfect age to become enraptured with a real, live fairy tale princess. Of course, we all learned that fairy tales just don't exist, in spite of castles, carriages, gowns, jewels and a prince. She never knew that the Prince of Peace was the one she was really searching for. Her death still makes me sad.

On a happier note, we enjoyed the gorgeous and much-cooler weather this evening by grilling Ribeye steak with vegetable kabobs basted in garlic butter. Add broccoli in cheese sauce, baked sweet potatoes with butter and cinnamon, and a peach cobbler and... well, it was REALLY good! Tonight John and I are having movie night on the couch downstairs; John Mark is at Kevin's having Movie Night with his Literature class (Clash of the Titans with Harry Hamlin, anyone?) and the other kiddos are watching High School Musical for about the millionth time. It's a pretty nice start to this long holiday weekend.

Good News- Bad News: August 07 Edition

Good News: John is home again
Bad News: Football season is beginning

Bad News: Dishwasher has broken glass stuck somewhere in the motor
Good News: John is home again

Good News: Laundry is half done
Bad News: Laundry is half undone

Bad News: Everything in our yard is either dead or dead-looking, thanks to drought
Good News: Do not need to mow or weed

Good News: I have great pictures of the pool party and cookout we held for John's outgoing class of middle schoolers
Bad News: Still have not reinstalled all my software since The Black Screen of Death appeared and cannot download (upload? whatever...) them

Bad News: I have a huge basket full of clothes waiting to be ironed
Good News: I haven't seen some of them in so long that it's like going shopping in my own basement!

Good news: I have lots and lots of wonderful new books waiting to be read
Bad News: School has begun again and I have no time to read them

Good News: I can plow my way through Clair de Lune
Bad News: It doesn't quite sound like this. Well, maybe, if we pretend pages 3-4 don't exist...

Good News: I can listen to the videos on You Tube again
Bad News: It only took me about 6 months of wondering why I couldn't hear anything to figure out that You Tube has a volume button on each video!

Bad News: 32 weeks of school left
Good News: The first four weeks have gone pretty well, all things considered

Bad News: Having a hard time keeping up with my blogging
Good News: Other bloggers are doing just fine, thank you, making for some great reading. Antique Mommy's family story, The Box, is a must-read, and these vintage advertisements from Chilihead's blog are good for a few laughs, because We've Come A Long Way, Baby!

A Brief Interruption...

Pardon this brief interruption from Back to Homeschool Week while I correct my personal memoirs. This is all about Senior Prom otherwise known as The Night My Date Looked Better Than I Did. These are great memories, folks... that must be why I completely blocked it from my mind.

The discrepancy at hand is #22 on my Highschool Meme. I did not, in fact, go to Senior Prom with Ray Yeh Fun-to-Seh as previously touted, which is a shame because I actually looked a lot better for Junior Prom. I looked better than Ray too, and you know that way back in the *cough* 1980's, it was all about The Look. On this particular night, I did not have The Look. Not that this is all about me. Wait, this is my blog... it is all about me! Anyhoo, I went to Senior Prom with a Saxophone player named Kevin... Kevin Something. He would probably be grateful that I cannot remember his last name, thereby saving him the embarrassment of admitting in front of the entire internet that He Was There.

Kevin Something was a very nice guy and my BFF Christy and I used to have a lot of fun at his expense by making up aftershave commercials that involved Kevin, his saxophone and a sultry night. I'm pretty sure the two of us cajoled him into going to prom with me. And this is the result. Serves me right, doesn't it?

See, this was back when prom still was some semblance of normal, which meant that it did not involve expensive salon visits, limousines, or hotel rooms. For better or for worse (in this case worse), I did my hair myself and Kevin drove his dad's car. I had my hair in a bob at the time and I desperately wanted it to be pulled back. Desperate is the right word. I'm not quite sure what possessed me to purchase the yellow Scarlett O'Hara gown, other than the fact that it was kind of shiny and I really like shiny. But back to the story.

We double dated with my friend David (clarinet)- I told you, in band, these things matter- and his date, Bass Clarinet. We were just a big ol' Woodwind Gang. Our prom was held in a fancy hotel in Crystal City and I got irritated with my date for rummaging through my purse (did his mother never tell him NOT to do that??) Other than that, I can't remember a blessed thing about the whole evening. But apparently something other than my hair was pretty funny.

And now, back to our regularly scheduled programming.