If there’s one item I do detest, it would have to be the bi-annual time changes that slightly disrupt our systems.
The fall-back change kicks my butt for several weeks. The spring-forward, not as much, barely. However, I am far more eager and energized for the approaching spring weather.
Today, I woke at 8:00 AM with no prompting, keeping in mind it was still 7:00 AM for my body. I tended to things without tripping the wire to alert the dogs. I’d actually begun upping their feeding times by 30 minutes this past week to get them slipped into their meals and will continue it for this week.
I woke with far more energy than yesterday which was post day one of the first vaccine. However, I’m resting for another few hours before it’s time to prep and start teaching.
The eastern sky began with a bright golden frame lining the roofs across Shroyer Road. The sky is a bit dull but, it’s a day and I’m a participant.
This delightful movie, based on Upton Sinclair’s book, came out in 1967 and I believe we watched it the summer of 1968 at the Elwood Drive-In Theatre.
I was confused because the young siblings from this movie actually lived on Cherry Tree Lane as Jane and Michael Banks! A few years later, I was even more perplexed that BRIAN’S SONG’s Gale Sayers and his family lived in the Stevens’ home from BEWITCHED.
Tonight I was remembering the delightful song but when I checked the credits I was surprised to see the score was composed by Buddy Baker. The theme song, however, had the unmistakable thumbprint of already legendary Sherman Brothers. Later down the list, it was noted that Robert Sherman and Richard Sherman offered their talents with writing the theme song.
THE GNOME MOBILE had so many memorable faces from television and the movies: Walter Brennan (one of my favorites who plays multiple roles), Matthew Garber & Karen Dotrice (the Banks children), Ed Wynn, Richard Deacon, Tom Lowell.
THE GNOME-MOBILE is a delightful romp that did not receive the public attention the critics believed it should.
Leaving The Haasienda was a bit of a chore! Chief saw me wearing jeans and tennis shoes and refused to come in from the deck! LOL! It was really kind of cute.
I’m finishing up at Grace United Methodist Church with the nicest volunteers and healthcare workers. I’m so impressed.
My appointment was at 11:30 AM, arrived a few minutes early to people who should be manning front lines at Disney World! They were so excited to see me and appeared determined I’d have a great experience.
At 11:37 AM, the needle entered the arm.
I’m in the 15-minute waiting area with a few minutes remaining before checking out.
My second vaccine is Tuesday, April 6th… Mother’s birthday!
I’m always motivated to make it a great day, but this easy experience led by such kind folks has boosted an already great day to an even better one.
It’s 9:45 PM and I’ve been sitting on the deck since finishing my last lesson that ended at 9:30 PM.
I do find it funny that folks will countdown the number of days until the spring equinox, practically demanding the elements of Spring be in place the following day.
I don’t think Spring works that way by flipping a switch. March 21st is just a date, nothing more. It doesn’t summon Spring report for duty.
One year, toward the end of March we received a good deal of snow and folks went bonkers.
“It’s Spring! It shouldn’t be snowing.”
Ummm, those kinds of comments or theories ignite tons of eye rolls.
My mother was born April 6, 1945. Then, mothers and their babies had to stay in the hospital for two weeks! Grandpa loved telling the story how they brought Mother home during a snow storm.
The weather is comfortable. The wind chimes’ tubular strips meet up now and then due to the slight breeze. Chief is sprawled out next to me while the three girls investigate the surrounding deck area.
It’s a start. It’s not a commitment, however, that Spring is officially moved in.
“Some folks dream of the wonders they’ll do Before their time on this planet is through. Some just don’t have anything planned, They hide their hopes and their heads in the sand. Now, I don’t say who is wrong, who is right, But if by chance you are here for the night, Then, all I need is an hour or two To tell the tale of a dreamer like you. We all dream a lot — some are lucky, some are not, But if you think it, want it, dream it, then it’s real. You are what you feel. But all that I say can be told another way, In the story of a boy whose dreams came true, And he could be you.”
Lyrics by Timothy Rice, JOSEPH & THE AMAZING TECHNICOLOR DREAMCOAT
You are what you feel. Yes, yes, yes… you ARE what you feel.
I emerged from my year-long cocoon into public to see Alter High School’s Tuesday evening dress rehearsal production, JOSEPH & THE AMAZING TEACHNICOLOR DREAMCOAT. It was a Megan Wean Sears’ Technicolor production, through and through, but as to be expected, so much more.
It will be 40 years, Thanksgiving 2022, that I first became acquainted with this musical while watching the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade and seeing Bill Hutton leading the cast as Joseph. Little did I know, three years later I would take my own Joseph journey that continues to this day.
Bill Hutton, the original Joseph.
You are what you feel.
Capturing dreams has been my life, my world, even my own personal ministry since childhood. Mother never threw cold water on my dreams or ideas; instead, it was “well, don’t just stand there; get busy.” I even established my own process of thinking about my dreams or goals, making an outline, imagining myself in the end result, focusing on the path leading directly to the dream.
Many thought I was applying New Age techniques. Perhaps, but what I was practicing is even outlined in The Bible! It’s right there in Mark 11:23-24 “Truly I tell you that if anyone says to this mountain, ‘Be lifted up and thrown into the sea,’ and has no doubt in his heart but believes that it will happen, it will be done for him. 24Therefore, I tell you, whatever you ask for in prayer, believe that you have received it and it will be yours.”
Think! Want! Dream! It’s real! You ARE what you feel!
In the story of Joseph, Israelite patriarch Jacob lifts one of the sons of his favorite wife above the others, forcing upon the favored son the fierce jealousy and hatred of his eleven brothers (or at least the ten sons born by Leah).
Now, my take on this is that a father doesn’t just love one son of twelve because of his maternal connection; Jacob (aka Israel) knew this son had special gifts. I am a dad; I get this! Parents know these things.
Everyone in this story has needs, dreams, and the power or ingenuity to make things come to be.
Take a look at Pharaoh! Big needs a comin’ down the sandy pike and he makes the boldest, strikingly unbelievable move by selecting a foreigner to run this huge economic program to secure the wealth and power of Egypt.
That’s ballsy, Pharaoh! It also displays unique, bold, brave leadership. But, P-daddy took his directive based on dreams. Dreams were a big thing in the ancient world. They were trusted.
Even The Brothers display unusual courage when they head to Egypt to acquire food for survival, knowing the potential dangers in travel and being alien visitors on foreign soil. Indeed, they met a challenge with Pharaoh’s economic governor who would later reveal himself as their brother sold into slavery years before.
If you think it, want it, dream it, then it’s real.
Some folks dismiss dreams as being silly or unimportant; that’s fine. They can stick their heads in the sand, but I shall always believe in and claim my own dreams while encouraging, supporting, and even pushing others toward their own dreams.
JOSEPH is an inspiring show. If you want to hook up with this inspiration, check out the information below that will direct your path to amazing young people investing in their own dreams and passions. I am so proud of my students, the entire cast and crew, the adults who guided these exuberant young performers, the school, and Alter High School Principal Lourdes Lambert for making the performing arts a priority!
You can think it, want it, dream it, and it all works best if you make it a great day!
ALTER HIGH SCHOOL: Tickets for Alter Castle Players’ spring musical JOSEPH AND THE AMAZING TECHNICOLOR DREAMCOAT will be available for purchase beginning Monday, March 1.
You have two ticketing options: 1. Visit alterhs.booktix.com to join us LIVE in the theatre March 10-14! We will again be welcoming small audiences into the space. Patrons will be required to wear a mask, have their temperature taken, use hand sanitizer, and practice social distancing- both inside and outside of the theatre. 2. Visit showtix4u.com and choose “Alter High School” to purchase tickets for our encore week of on-demand streaming, March 18-21! We will be taping a live production of the show and will be releasing it for viewing in the comfort of your own home! Each ticket purchased allows you to view the show in the 48-hour window that is most convenient for you.
Thank you for your continued support of the arts at Alter High School, and we look forward to sharing our talents (and our AMAZING show) with you!
The older I get the less tolerant I seem to be with the “I can’ters” of the world who spend far more time bitching about what they think they cannot do rather than investing time to accomplish what they can do.
In the studio, students quickly learn two valuable lessons: 1) tell the story with your music, and 2) we don’t use phrases like “I can’t” or “it’s too hard/difficult” or anything that chips away at their confidence. It’s the same as dropping the F-bomb. I love watching students scramble to revise their “I can’ts” to “I’ve got this.”
Growing up, an “I can’t” comment was quickly met with Mother’s glare and set jaw. If one bravely, or stupidly, proceeded to argue their “I can’t” this was about the only time we ever saw a true bitchy side of Mother. It was usually punctuated with, “fine; do whatever you want” and she’d leave the room.
Until the errant “I can’ter” came around, we lived with a real-life Elsa from FROZEN! No bad ass football coach could compete with Mother’s icy silence when dealing with a child’s reluctance. “I know it’s the first time you’ve tried it but dive into the water, anyway. You’ll figure out how to swim.”
“Do your best,” Mother’s only mantra, request, or stricture, included being an “I can’er” because that attitude involved doing one’s best. We didn’t have financial wealth but we certainly maintained a healthy life-account of inner confidence that would become a foundation for everything we did and continue to do.
I will allow my students to bemoan certain circumstances so they can temporarily wallow in a very shallow puddle of pity, but even they soon figure out it’s time to quit wallowing, shake off the pity-puddle, and get on with it.
Don’t be an “I can’ter.”
We have iPhones, iPads, iPods, iThis & iThats. Be an iCan. (LOL) For my non-iProduct friends, just figure this out and stop bitching about which is better!
iCan make it a great day. uCan make it a great day, too.
When I began this morning at around 5:00 AM, after a nature break, I feared I’d feel sluggish by mid-afternoon but I’m still running on some energy at midnight.
I finished teaching my online classes at 12:40 PM and threw a bunch of curtains from my bedroom and ones I had used in my upstairs bedroom into the wash. I decided to make a change in my study by replacing the heavy burgundy and taupe draperies with the more cheerful blue stripes I’d used upstairs. When finished in the wash, they went on the line over the deck.
I completed a ton of odds and ends prior to starting teaching at 3:00 PM. The private lesson schedule was fairly open due to Alter HS students in dress rehearsal for JOSEPH & THE AMAZING TECHNICOLOR DREAMCOAT so I accomplished more items around the house.
Lessons compete and the curtains went up. The study looks brighter and less heavy with the traded curtains.
The big news is being scheduled for my Covid vaccine this Friday at 11:30 AM.
Tuesday is a big day. I get to make my first public outing since February 2020. I did go to lunch with my sister in August 2020, but I’ve not seen students, parents, and colleagues for over a year.
Earlier this morning I could not locate any of the cardinals but at the close of one online class, I was summoned to the deck with my camera to find the crimson melodic belcher about 20 yards away.
He gave me a good 4-6 minutes of snapping away before diving down toward my yard, looping around the shed and coming within just a few feet of where I was standing at the deck’s rail before soaring over toward the high school.
The flight path gave me much excitement and energy. There were countless options but he elected a slight obstacle path, one clearly out of his way, too.
Warm milk was a common staple in Carmichael Dining Hall in the Honors College Complex on the 1980s campus of Ball State University.
The machines pumped out less than cold milk, every day, breakfast through supper.
I was never a milk drinker but took milk with my cereal. Warm or hot milk never satisfied me. I recall, only once my grandmother giving me hot milk at night when I was about 4 years old. Apparently, my straight on response was, “this tastes like shit.”
I’ve not had hot milk in about 52 years other than mixed with a packet of hot chocolate.
However, the Carmichael dining service milk machines oft reminded me of the hot cup of milk that I began getting a glass of ice to add to my cereal milk.
Nearly 40 years later, I still must have ice in my cereal’s milk. It’s the only time I actually drink my milk; it’s quite cold!
If your milk is not cold enough, don’t complain; just add ice and be grateful you have milk.
And, ice.
Stop complaining about warm milk and make it a great day!
I’m usually quick to pick up on humor but every now and then, something will escape my comprehension.
Sometimes, it has been yeas for me to figure out a punchline or reference. SATURDAY NIGHT LIVE’s “Weekend Update” always seemed to slice comments right above my grasp.
One year for Christmas, my grandmother made long, flannel Victorian nightgowns for my sister and our two cousins, Kim and Debbie, the daughters of Grandma Donna’s sister, Joyce.
My maternal grandparents followed a long line of pranksters, people of great humor and sharp wit. Grandma Donna was a masterpiece of all these and her pranks are still notorious in our family lore.
The three girls went into the bedroom to change into their nightgowns, returning to the living room to model their lovely gifts.
When it came time for my newly married cousin, Kim, to do her full turn, Grandma said, “I was going to fix fur around the bottom of your gown to keep your neck warm.”
The room roared to full height with uproarious laughter.
I had no idea, not a morsel of a clue as to why everyone thought Grandma’s comment so funny.
It was just a few years ago that I recalled the event on that Christmas afternoon, my first year of college, and fully understood the hook of Grandma’s line.
I was walking through Costco and began roaring with laughter, leaning on my cart for steadiness.
I’m sure there are still many unsolved punchlines or comedic comments floating around; I will hopefully catch them.
My Grandma Donna and I left the Tway (Tradeway) store and walked across the covered opening into Carter’s Supermarket, two heavyweight shopping stores in Elwood, Indiana’s southern most shopping strip.
Just inside Carter’s and against the large windows was a huge spread of African violets on display. At age five, I had not seen such an array of beautiful plants. Some colors were deeper and more velvety than others, while some shimmered with a glistening silkiness.
Grandma Donna leaned over, “Mommy’s birthday is coming up. Would you like to give her one as your gift?”
After I selected the ideal flower, Grandma carefully placed it in the upper rack of the cart. I always helped Grandma Donna push the cart and this was an ideal spot to watch over my gift to Mother.
Mother was delighted with the plant and gave it a place of honor on the white wrought iron plant case that stood in our dining room in front of the sliding glass door that opened to the back porch.
In the mornings, the sun’s light altered the seeming solid leaves to a shimmering sea of purple. I can remember eating my breakfast or lunch and watching the plant glow.
Over the years, I added a few more African violets to Mother’s collection but she always made certain my original plant was prominently displayed.
Five years. Ten years. Fifteen years…
Fifty years.
The plant had survived and traveled with Mother from 825 Main Street to 927 South A Street (around the corner), to a later Elwood address, and then on to Fowler, Indiana after she retired from the Elwood Police Department.
After a major surgery, a rapid illness, and a move to the Fowler nursing home, Mother lost track of the African violet.
I bought one for Mother’s nursing home room but it mysteriously disappeared.
August 5, 2019, after my sister and I hastily packed Mother’s McCordsville nursing home room after she passed, I began my return home. It was 3:15 AM and my head felt numb. I stopped at one of the large fuel and convenience stores to solidly caffeinate myself. As I replaced my wallet in my back hip pocket and grabbed my coffee and bag of snacks, I caught sight of a display of African violets.
I selected two: one, a shimmering purple, just like the one I’d purchased 50 years earlier, and a deep pink plant, pink being Mother’s favorite color.
Every time I water or attend to the plants, I’m always reminded of the little, much younger me, mesmerized by the sea of fuzziness at the display window inside Carter’s grocery store.
Memories can also encourage us to make it a great day.
Since the moment THE WEST WING pilot appeared on television on September 22, 1999, I was hooked.
Twenty-two years later, I am still hooked. And, thanks to Cheryl Dowd for recommending THE WEST WING WEEKLY podcast, my deep interest has been fiercely reignited. I love the characters Aaron Sorkin created and molded with his fine team of directors and actors. They seem so real.
It also doesn’t hurt that three of the key actors, Allison Janney, Rob Lowe, and Martin Sheen are all from about a three mile radius of where I currently live. It’s like watching my Oakwood (Janney and Lowe) and Kettering (Sheen) neighbors in action.
On the current podcast interview, former TWW actor, Josh Malina, and fellow podcaster, Hrishikesh Hirway, are interviewing Martin Sheen. Mr. Sheen stated his favorite episode was “Two Cathedrals” where he prepares for the funeral of his formidable secretary and life-long friend, Delores Landingham. It’s powerful. It’s somewhat chilling.
In this scene, Mrs. Landingham reappears to “talk some sense into Jeb.” She had been President Bartlet’s (played by Sheen) father’s dean of students secretary at a prestigious boys’ academy, and had moved on to work with, and for Josiah “Jeb” Bartlet in The White House.
I am posting the portion of the scene, as well as the video.
THE WEST WING
"TWO CATHEDRALS"
WRITTEN BY AARON SORKIN
DIRECTED BY THOMAS SCHLAMME
CUT TO: INT. THE OVAL OFFICE - NIGHT President Bartlet closes the door behind C.J. in THE OVAL OFFICE. Thunder roars. Bartlet walks to lean on his desk and places his hands among the many pictures on it. Suddenly, the wind blows the portico door wide open and rain pours in.
BARTLET Ah... Damn it! Mrs. Landingham!
[He turns away, realizing she won't come to his call, and then the door opens...]
MRS. LANDINGHAM [walks in, small and resolute] I really wish you wouldn't shout, Mr. President.
BARTLET [beat, as he looks at her in disbelief] The door keeps blowing open.
MRS. LANDINGHAM Yes, but there's an intercom and you could use it to call me at my desk.
BARTLET I was...
MRS. LANDINGHAM You don't know how to use the intercom.
BARTLET It's not that I don't know how to use it, it's just that I haven't learned yet.
[She looks at him and he smiles shyly, as if he's been caught lying.]
BARTLET I have M.S., and I didn't tell anybody.
MRS. LANDINGHAM Yeah. So, you're having a little bit of a day. BARTLET You're gonna make jokes?
MRS. LANDINGHAM God doesn't make cars crash, and you know it. Stop using me as an excuse.
BARTLET [motions her to sit and sits down] The party's not going to want me to run.
MRS. LANDINGHAM The party'll come back. You'll get them back.
BARTLET I've got a secret for you, Mrs. Landingham. I've never been the most popular guy in the Democratic Party.
MRS. LANDINGHAM [sits opposite from him] I've got a secret for you, Mr. President, your father was a prick who could never get over the fact that he wasn't as smart as his brothers. Are you in a tough spot? Yes. Do I feel sorry for you? I do not. Why? Because there are people way worse off than you.
BARTLET Give me numbers.
MRS. LANDINGHAM I don't know numbers. You give them to me.
BARTLET How about a child born this minute has a one in five chance of being born into poverty?
MRS. LANDINGHAM How many Americans don't have health insurance?
BARTLET 44 million.
MRS. LANDINGHAM What's the number one cause of death for black men under 35?
BARTLET Homicide.
MRS. LANDINGHAM How many Americans are behind bars?
BARTLET Three million.
MRS. LANDINGHAM How many Americans are drug addicts?
BARTLET Five million.
MRS. LANDINGHAM And one of five kids in poverty?
BARTLET That's 13 million American children. From a shot up top, we see President Bartlet is talking, and the opposite chair is empty. BARTLET Three and a half million kids go to schools that are literally falling apart. We need 127 billion in school construction, and we need it today!
MRS. LANDINGHAM To say nothing of 53 people trapped in an embassy.
BARTLET Yes.
MRS. LANDINGHAM You know, if you don't want to run again, I respect that. [stands up] But if you don't run 'cause you think it's gonna be too hard or you think you're gonna lose... well, God, Jed, I don't even want to know you.
[Mrs. Landingham walks out and gently closes the Oval Office door behind her. President Bartlet stands, walks into the open door onto the portico and lets the wind blow on him and the rain wash over his face. He looks up into the sky. Music starts.]
The most powerful dialogue that truly resonates with me is:
BARTLET I have M.S., and I didn't tell anybody.
MRS. LANDINGHAM Yeah. So, you're having a little bit of a day.
...
MRS. LANDINGHAM [sits opposite from him] ... Are you in a tough spot? Yes. Do I feel sorry for you? I do not. Why? Because there are people way worse off than you.
“Because there are people way worse off than you.” (Mrs. Landingham to President Bartlet)
I remember sitting next to my great-aunt, Bonnie Barmes, at a family gathering in the late 1980s. At that time, Aunt Bonnie had battled cancer for approximately 3-5 years; what is more, she is still bravely looking the beast in the eyes and always moving it to the side. She is so doggone tough.
We sat in the large gathering room and listened to groupings of family members who seemed to play this conversational game of “who has it worse?”
Mother had always stressed to any complainers, “you don’t have it that bad; there are too many others suffering far worse than you.” It always seemed like an appropriate moment for her to finish her stricture with “so, suck it up, Buttercup.” She did not.
One relative began discussing how frustrated they were with their lawn care company. As they vented the room with exhausting complaints, Aunt Bonnie leaned toward me and softly said that these gripes we’d witnessed seemed so dwarfed in the whole scheme of things thrown in our paths by life.
In these past 35+ years of her never ceasing battles with cancer, several of which recaptured the powerful, yet doubtful David and Goliath scene, I have never heard Aunt Bonnie mention her cancer, nor seem gruff at the hand life has dealt. She is always fastidious with hard work, serving others, and defining the ministry of Christ with her actions.
Aunt Bonnie is a damned great role model.
“Because there are people way worse off than you.”
I feel as though I hear a continuous echo of “how hard life is.” However, it’s not really coming from those who, on the surface, seem to have it hard. It’s more about interruptions. I know there are countless individuals and families who are struggling in so many ways, and on so many levels, yet, they are the ones who remain positive and silent.
“Because there are people way worse off than you.”
Every time I re-listen to this particular scene from THE WEST WING, Mrs. Landingham’s line sternly cautions me to look past anything tugging at me, coaxing me to bathe in misery. My mother, and her parents, raised me better.
“Because there are people way worse off than you.”
I’ve a 30-minute break in lessons, the first long break since 1:30 PM, and it feels like the residual dragging from the recent full moon is having an affect on everyone.
Fatigue is robbing students of their energy and singing has been a challenge. Not uncommon.
I had a ten minute break at 4:50 PM and wandered into the front yard. I saw the neighbor’s huge white fluffy dog jump the fence to run across Shroyer Road to greet a passing walker and her pooch.
Fortunately and quite oddly, there were no approaching cars from either direction on this commonly busy four lane road.
I hurried back inside to retrieve a leash, moving as quickly as my legs would permit to the other block to grab hold of the big white pooch. The passing lady hurried on with her dog, not too concerned about the friendly pooch in a dangerous situation.
The pooch happily accepted me leashing it up and making the journey across the street to the neighbors who were napping (the mom has several little ones).
Mission accomplished.
My body, under the stress of the moment and exertion of managing the large playful pooch seemed to take a hit. Some ibuprofen should manage the aftershocks.
The dogs have been an annoying blessing, off and on; sweet and affectionate, yet on a larger than usual barking mission.
Three more lessons and it shall be my thee-day break of writing, communing with fellow writers and historians, and resting the body.
Bailey saw I was taking photos of Chief and Erma and bombed the set. The last photo, three dogs strung out alongside me while I teach.
So much has been written about the devotion and love of dogs that I don’t think much more can be written; yet, their love is so incredibly deep I don’t think enough can ever be written.
I could write an entirely new book at the end of each day about my pooches.
If a dog can have the great capacity to love I can only imagine what each of us could do as humans.
It’s a beautiful morning and the sky is as blue as blue can be.
I grew up around the corner from my maternal grandparents, Leroy and Donna Barmes, who lived on the southwest corner of South A and 8th Streets in Elwood, Indiana, and at a very young age I began devouring every nugget of our family’s history, those beloved stories that seemed to make my own life a bit more 3-dimensional.
One of my favorite memories is standing on a wooden step stool in my grandparents’ kitchen serving as my grandmother’s sous chef and baker, listening to all the stories of our family from the late 1800s to the early 1960s. I learned about my pioneer ancestors of Boone Township in Northern Madison County of Indiana and committed to my memory all the names and surnames of Clary, Jones, Vinson, Greenlee, Ball, and Noble.
On Grandpa Leroy’s days off from the police department, we’d often drive up to Dewart Lake to visit his dad, Grandpa Virgil. While driving the 90 minutes to the Syracuse and North Webster area of North Central Indiana, I heard the stories of my Barmes and Daugherty families. When Grandpa Virgil and Grandpa Leroy were building the house near Lapel, Indiana, I was a sponge for even more stories from each of the two generations, my grandfather and his father.
For 53 of my current 56 years, I was dedicated to asking questions, absorbing as much as I could, writing down notes, giving out questionnaires to family members to collect their stories, and always preparing myself to prepare something for the succeeding family generations so the stories of our family would always be preserved.
Mother and her aunt, Joyce, my Grandma Donna’s younger sister, my two remaining resources. I continued to ask questions about our family history, especially about those who died before my birth: “What were they like?” “What do you remember most about them?”
Now, both Mother and Aunt Joyce are gone.
I am proud that I’ve been a beneficiary to all these stories and I thought I had asked all the questions to everything I could hope to know. However, as I sit here scratching down notes and outlines, more questions, NEW questions flood my brain. It’s frustrating. In some ways, a bit painful.
I do seem to know more about my family history than so many of my friends. I’ve completed my genealogy down a number of lines, clearing lines to Europe as far back as 1400s. That’s pretty damned good if I do say so, myself.
Still, the questions of “how did so and so meet?” or “when did they move?” or… or…
As a young boy, I had a front row seat to family history and US History, hearing first hand stories of meeting President Theodore Roosevelt, the 1904 St. Louis World’s Fair, the 1913 flood in Central Indiana, WWI, The 1918 Pandemic, The Great Depression and the many connections our family had to each of these major events throughout the early part of The Twentieth Century.
Some answers I might find through in-depth research but most of the questions I have won’t be found in libraries, on line, or in dusty files. These questions are now out of my reach.
I am beyond blessed to have the trove of stories with which I’ve grown up. Still…
The windy 35- degrees doesn’t feel chilly but the dull grey sky gives the atmosphere a slight edge.
It was such a nice relaxing weekend, four days of restructuring, online book discussion, a great walk with Mama Kay and Laura, lots of research and writing, and tons of time with the pooches.
For me, that was perfection and the warmer temperatures made it all the more pleasant; doors and windows were opened, welcoming the fresh air.
It’s time to shower and get ready for a long day of classroom teaching and private breaching.
3:30 AM nature break. Does anyone still say, “nature break?” Ive not heard the phrase in years. So, I woke, rose, walked the few steps to the bathroom to relieve my bladder.
There.
Grateful I didn’t relieve the bladder in bed, I was especially grateful to see Bailey snuggled next to Chief as they slept.
When I rise each night for my nature break ritual, The Sisters generally respond and stir around. Chief at least opens his eye(s) to acknowledge me and probably hope I leave him alone. I generally pet him.
Then, Erma.
Erma loves her naps and sleep time. She physically sets up her own “do not disturb” sign, readjusting her posture to ward off any communication. Sometimes she will even cover her face with her paws when she sees me coming toward her.
But, this very early Saturday morning, Bailey snuggling with Chief is just sweet as can be.
The past several mornings have greeted the day with dazzling sunrises but this morning there’s a strong effort by the clouds to shield the sun from appearing.
At least the cardinals are not holding back: two sang to me around 5:00 AM while it was still dark outside; I stood in the kitchen listening. When I let the dogs out at 7:50 AM after their breakfast, there were several cardinals around the yard.
It’s a full morning of researching. The dogs are already spread out across my study, returned to the slumber that their stomachs interrupted just a few minutes earlier.
Whatever your day holds, make it a great day!
Some of Thursday’s rearranging results in the study.
The Haasienda on Shroyer... 