Welcome Miss March...

Thanks to EarthSky.org

One day last winter a large book appeared on my front porch. It was a huge book for star gazers featuring planets, constellations, and guides to the night sky. It even came with a small infrared flashlight to use during those lovely evenings. It did not take me long to find out who I should thank. Mark Wilson brought it over to me knowing how much I loved all of the above, and I do. I also adore the book and keep it handy in my studio for those clear nights when I meander out under the stars.

To be honest (yes, perfectly honest) it is sometimes difficult to meander out under the stars when temps hover at the zero mark. And those of you wondering about those campfires of mine? Wonder no longer. There have been only a couple this winter. The pathway to the campfire has been covered in ice and snow along with the woodpile. (Reminder for next winter: put some wood in the barn/garage!).

March has whistled in with a bit of a snarl. Cold winds will still blow. Snow will fall. March is so fickle…she never decides which dress she will wear to the ball. “Shall it be deep purple velvet with amethyst jewels?” she asks. “Or will it be a gown of aquamarine?” Perhaps she doesn’t even know.

What do we know of March? In ancient times March was the first month of the year according to the Roman calendar. Ahhh, the first month of the year brings on hope, new lambs, new resolutions, and spring. It was also named after Mars, the Roman god of war.  However, all of that changed with the assassination of Julius Caesar on the 15^th of March. He was stabbed at least 23 times (some sources say over 50!)t in 44 B.C. on that date in history. According to history a seer warned Caesar to watch out for the Ides of March. Too bad for Caesar as he ignored that warning! It was Shakespeare who made us all pay attention to that date in his play, “Julius Caesar,” written in 1599 with his famous words, “Beware the Ides of March.” (On a side note, this site has received the go ahead in Rome and will begin its restoration. This site, Largo di Torre Argentina, will be opened to the public in 2021…the first time ever! Mark your calendars now!)

When the Gregorian calendar came into play, March became the third month of the year instead of the first. March also has a flower which is the daffodil.

Besides all of the above history, March will find me at my campfire leaning back towards the early morning sky or the night sky. Come sit with me.

In the early morning, before the sun of March shines or even gives a glimmer of hope upon our land, our town, our own backyard, Jupiter will make her first appearance shining so brightly you won’t miss her. Set the alarm, take out the early morning coffee, wait for the newspaper to be delivered and make a toast to Jupiter. Soon after Saturn will join her and last of all Venus will make her grand entrance. (She has always been the show off!)

Maybe evenings are your favorites then come on out to the garden with me. Bring your cocoa or tea or the last of the red wine and let’s have a look. Mars is the only evening planet except for a glimpse of Mercury this week. But you must look quickly as she is fleeting!

The full moon will join us on Wednesday, March 20^th, the first day of spring. Her once-upon-a-time name of Worm Moon is apt as the rains begin to fall and creatures large and small come out of hiding back into our world.

March is here. And I, a lover of winter, am happy to see her. I can practically smell the sheets hanging on the clothesline. I know the birds will begin their morning serenade. I, too, will watch these skies from my garden. I will beware on the 15^th, stand in awe on the 20^th, and share my evening with anyone who saunters over to my garden.

This week’s poet is Walter De la Mare.

Look thy last on all things lovely,

Every hour. Let no night

Seal thy sense in deathly slumber.

Hello March, month of great beauty, great change, and great stories.

So my dear March, won’t you have this dance with me?

 

*First published in KPC.

On The Road to the Oscars!!

Carolyn and I celebrating at Chapman's last night!

It all started with The Brokaw Movie House. In fact, I think I will blame The Brokaw Movie House! I mean, wow, two great movies in one week luring me to the theatre. Now don’t get me wrong, I love The Brokaw. Hey, I even have a t-shirt and a mug from winning the St. Patrick’s Day dress-up night. (By the way, are we doing that this year?) And I probably have had more punched movie cards than anyone in our town! (Am I right, Dave?) But two great movies in one week is still too much for me. I called Carolyn Powers right away…she is always my partner in crime. “We have to go,” I said, “double feature!?” Not only did she go, but we rounded up a few others and made a night of it.

We arrived early, bought our popcorn and beer, and settled in for our first movie, A Star is Born. We loved it. Yes, we thought, Oscar possibilities. Out in the lobby the four of us gathered around one of the tables eating pizza and watching the clock so we would not miss Bohemian Rhapsody. “Oh, wait,” I said, “this is the winner!” At midnight we all said farewell, and I biked home.

Little did I know this night would become the game of choice (not chance) for Carolyn and myself. We didn’t mean to get hooked on the movies. No, not really. And we certainly didn’t mean to race to the Oscars! Neither of us ever did that before. (Really, I never have.) But something clicked inside our brains and we were off on a movie fantastical journey.

We began to follow movie stories and movie notes and when the Oscar nominations came out, we printed the list, taped it to our refrigerators, and kept the race going.

Each morning found us texting one another with movie stories or highlights and with information on where the movies would be playing. It was innocent, at first, just on Sunday afternoons, but then we became serious. There were movies in Auburn, at Dupont, Jefferson Center. I was reluctant to give away my loyalty to The Brokaw. (Sorry, Dave, you know I love you first and foremost!) We took turns driving, and sometimes after the movies we just sat in our cars with nothing to say. The movies were deep and profound. Green Book. The Favourite. If Beale Street Could Talk.

We found Roma and Black Panther on Netflix. We ordered BlackkKlansman and The Wife on Amazon Prime. We debated, made popcorn, wrote notes, even argued a bit.

There were a few difficulties. Where would we find the animated or the short action films? As if the Universe heard us calling, Tibbits Theatre in Coldwater announced a special four-hour evening showing exactly those. We filled the car and with our Lyft driver, Elten, we went to Coldwater for the shows. I tucked my grannie hankie in my purse ahead of time, and that was a good thing as I needed it for most of the evening. After the show, Carolyn announced, “I can’t do that ever again.” It was intense. (I am sure she will be back next year!)

One week left to the Oscars and still two films to see. Vice and Can You Ever Forgive Me. We checked papers, and on-line with no luck. “We just have to find these movies,” I said in an authoritative voice. I decided to check Family Video, and there it was. The gal at the desk took me right to the Melissa McCarthy movie. $2.99. I called Carolyn. We had a party that night. Now there is just one left, Vice. I am happy to announce; our Lyft driver is taking us to see it tonight in Fort Wayne.

We did it. Not only are we on our way to celebrate, but Family Video is having a contest with full ballots. If you want to participate, get those ballots in today! Mine is almost filled out! There are cash prizes. I know for certain I am going to win! I am keeping my votes a secret, even from Carolyn.

Cheers!!

Tomorrow night we are having an Oscar party. I am wearing a fancy black dress and a necklace of fake diamonds. I might even swoop up my hair. With our ballots (another sheet) filled out, Carolyn and I (party of two, thank you!) will be cheering and jeering as we watch.

And, oh yes, we invited our Lyft driver.

P.S. This story was first published in KPC. Also, on a side note, Carolyn and I saw 30 movies this winter! Cheers!

The Ice Man Cometh...

The storm started in the night. I could hear the droplets of ice pelting on my roof and on my windows.

Upon waking, I realized the world was encased in such beauty...but beauty always comes with a bit of danger, does it not?

Frozen sidewalks, cars, trees. Limbs and branches tumbling to earth. Walkers tumbling to earth.

This is my best photo from this day of quiet. Day of ice. Day of dreaming.

I took this photo of my crabapple tree in my front yard.

Grandma's Winter Garden (and Nannie's)

Jonah's Photo of my Winter Garden
 

It was a cold winter’s day in February. The drive to my grandparent’s house in Dunfee was a short drive, but nothing is short when you are six and four. Scraping the frost off the backseat windows was our only occupation unless we wanted to sing a dozen more verses to “She’ll be coming round the mountain…”

Arriving at the farm house on that day, the first thing we saw was the snowman on the front porch. With much laughter and glee, we climbed out of the backseat knowing full well (even at our young ages) that the snowman was our grandpa standing at attention with an old hat on his head and a broom in his gloved hand. We brushed off the snow and followed him into the house. Our grandma was waiting attired in her apron and hair held back in a small hairnet…the two signs of a good cook. She had to “tsk, tsk” our grandpa as we took off our winter coats and old rubber boots and set them on the heater.

Dinner was soon served in the dining room. The dining room was adorned with heavy long curtains to keep out the cold. Jessie sat on the huge phone book so she could reach the table…I was good on my knees. My grandmother was the best cook. There were always pot roasts and mashed potatoes and the typical meat, bread, and potatoes dinners that we were all accustomed to at the time. Sometimes meatloaf would show up full of green and red peppers which we picked out piece by piece.

Desserts were our favorites, especially on those cold winter nights. Everything was homemade…no mixes for our grandma. Brownies. Apple Pie. Oatmeal Cake. I can’t remember my favorite. Maybe there wasn’t one?

After dinner I put on my own apron to help wash and the dry the dishes. There was a small wooden stool in the corner of the kitchen on which to stand so I could reach the sink. Jessie was too little and played around at the back windowsill rearranging the African violets which my grandma called her Winter Garden. I didn’t mind helping with the dishes. The water was warm and full of bubbles and grandma kept my mind busy with stories. When the dishes were dried and put back into the cupboard until morning, I always admired the blue ribbons strung across the garden window. Each ribbon represented her win at the Airstream rally for her baked goods. I knew each ribbon, and I definitely knew each dessert!

After dinner we were allowed to build tents out of blankets in the living room, eat apples in the parlor, read our little white Bibles, or just climb up on the horsehair couch to watch it snow out the window.

Passing on these memories and stories is what is most important to me. Aaron brings his family over for dinner on this cold winter’s night. I make chicken and dumplings, which is one of their favorites. I light candles. I play music. I bring out my own Winter Garden which consists of flowering narcissus paper whites. These I started the first week of January and now they bloom and fill the house with the scent of spring. Jonah takes photos, and they are as beautiful as the blooms itself. The evening is filled with homemade apple pie (my signature dessert), games and a farewell as they all wrap back up in the clothes of winter for a quick walk home.

As I turn back to my kitchen, I see my grandma smiling at me holding out my worn apron. I tidy up, blow out the candles, and go upstairs. Before sleep I pull back the curtains to watch it snow upon my own world.

Grandma Luella’s Prize Winning Oatmeal Cake

(Exactly as she wrote it to me!)

Pour 1 ¼ boiling water over 1 c. quick Quaker rolled oats

Let stand covered for two minutes.

Cream together 1 stick oleo with 1 c.  sugar and 1 c. Br. Sugar

Add 2 whole eggs, 1 t. cinn. And 1 t. vanilla.

Add oat mixture.

Then add 1 1/3 c. flour and 1 t. soda.

Bake for 30 minutes at 350.

When nearly done top with the following:

2/3 c. Br. Sugar, 3 t. oleo, 5 T. cream and 2 egg yolks.

Bring this to a boil first and add chopped pecans and cocoanut.

Spread evening and bake another 15 minutes.

“Prize Winning” (she wrote that!)

 

Note: This was first published in KPC.

Snow Days make the best memories...

 

 

It was quite the week for those of us in northern Indiana. How will we remember it? Cars didn’t start, kids didn’t go to school, and hardships were aplenty! I was one of the lucky ones. I shopped early for the necessities…coffee, milk, good wine. (I did forget the chocolate though!) And I prepared for frozen pipes and drains. When this old house was built, there was, of course, no running water. With all of that added later, it is a bit fragile to the environment and often I lose water or even drains. This year I added a small heater, dripped all the faucets and got up in the dark and dead of night to check everything.

With the house holding up, and everything canceled, what was there to do? I baked bread. I cleaned closets. I wrote stories. I played the ukulele. I did play around with science experiments by tossing boiling water into the air to make clouds and blowing bubbles outside to watch them freeze. I tried to film it, but that was impossible to film and blow bubbles. (I am sure Larry and Cheri wondered about my sanity in the cold as I tried these experiments every few hours!)  But I needed a big project to prove I didn’t sit around and let the cold win.

Come take a journey with me. Come on in. Let’s take a walk down the hallway in the kitchen. This wall became a litany of stories and cards beginning with the day I moved in which was 17 years ago. But the wall was full. The cards were dusty, and it was time for a face lift. I bought a quart of gold paint from Sherman Williams to motivate me. (Okay I bought the paint two months ago, but stay with me now!) With the temperature way below zero and no one to talk to, I decided it was time to take down the cards.

The truth is, I didn’t expect it to take all day, and I didn’t expect to let memories and stories flood my soul, but that is exactly what happened. I pulled down card after card, letter by letter. All were attached by thumb tacks or staples so I had to tug quite hard for some of them! I held each card in my hand, dusted it off and remembered the person, the story, or the event. There were letters from friends and family who have passed on. Letters and funny stories from my dad in his handwriting. My friends, Fred and Midge Munds in Indianapolis who encouraged my work and always laughed at my stories, left me stories and letters.

There were love letters from long ago boyfriends. There were letters from friends who wished me happy birthday, or a welcome card to my new house. Aaron had the most letters to me. Mother’s day cards. Birthday cards and even a postcard from his single days in Alaska. There were notes from my other sons too and their girlfriends and wives. Underneath all of the cards was a card from Randy and Shannon Wallace welcoming me to my new house. I remember coming into this house the day I got the keys. Shannon left this card along with scented soap and a bottle of wine.

As I held each card, I had to decide which ones I should keep and the ones I should toss away. It was an easy choice. Each card which included a note or a letter was put into a large empty box. Those cards with just signatures had to find their way out. By the end of the day, the box was full.

In the afternoon Lee came over to begin the painting. There was a lovely letter from his daughter, Mackenzie. She must have been six or seven. We could not read her words and laughed trying to decipher what she was saying! This year Mackenzie will graduate with her PhD. Time moves on for all of us.

The best part of that day was to remember folks, even though it was only 17 years in the making.

I put a note in the box for my children to find some day. “Please read every card. You will know me a little better when you are finished.” And I put the box away.

Hand-written letters. Let’s not forget how important they are in a world of technology!

Yes, it was quite the week for folks in northern Indiana.

Don't forget to look up tonight!

Tonight's sky is featuring the constellation Cassiopeia. Cassiopeia was an Ethiopian queen in ancient Greek mythology. She boasted of her beauty! (Ha! That will get you every time!) Poseidon became angry so he tied up her daughter, Andromeda, to a rock by the sea, of course! (Play hero music in the background here.) Perseus rescued her and they became stars and lived happily ever after. Tonight. Free. Out your back door. See you there!

Let's Be Known for our Generosity!

I know what it is like to have $1.16 to my name. It was often due to choice (I don’t need money as I am living off the land), but not always. I can remember nights on the farm, after tucking in those three little boys of mine, and heading out to the cornfield and having a good cry. Yet, even on those nights, we had the house and wood to keep us warm, wool from the sheep for mittens and sweaters, milk from the cow, eggs from the chickens, and well, the list goes on.

One time in Pennsylvania, before children, before jobs, we searched our car to find a few coins to make a phone call to Indiana. The coin was found. The call was made. That was a long time ago.

What I want to say is that even if I think I only had $1.16, there was always family, there were always possibilities, even then.

The other night Kathy and I were talking about the government shut down. We are all talking about it. The feeling of helplessness fell over us. We are pretty isolated here in this small bubble of utopia in northern Indiana. But while my refrigerator is full, and my bed is warm, the guilt spreads over me. Have I really ever gone without in a hopeless kind of way? Except for those few nights crying in the cornfield, I have not had that experience.

So how about you? If you are reading this column, then I would guess life is pretty good to you. You either get the paper delivered to your doorstep, as I do, or you are on-line reading this. Either way, you probably have coffee and heat. At least I am assuming that is true.

I made several calls this week seeking out ways to help in our county just because it is January and it is cold outside.  I had a long chat with Josh Hawkins who is the case manager at Turning Point and the pastor of the Fremont Community Church. My question was simple, “How can we help?” I am, of course, interested in helping families who are in need because of the government shutdown, but it appears we do not have a great need here, but let’s talk about giving in January.

As Josh and I discussed, during November and December we are all givers. We give freely to Project Help or Turning Point or food banks or families with names on Christmas trees, but what about now in mid-January? Donations are down, but needs are not.

So, how can we help? I have actually put a short list together for us. None of this is complicated or expensive, and every little bit will help. My list is just a beginning. You can make your own list and give where you see the need.

At this time Turning Point needs donations of consumables such as laundry detergent, diapers, feminine products, toilet paper, soap, etc. I suggest we each buy something extra at the grocery this week, maybe just one or two items and then drop them off anytime Monday-Friday from 9-5. Think what we could do if we all bring a couple of items. Add your own to the list…toothpaste, toothbrushes???

Don’t forget food donations to Project Help. Send your clothes off too! Josh also said his church in Fremont has a food bank which helps over 200 families a month.

I asked Josh how we could help in this cold weather. He sadly told me about folks trying to stay warm in cars at night. I am naïve and saddened, but there are places to call. If you, or someone you know needs help, please call 211 or even on-line at 211.org. They will direct you to help in your own town with a list of programs and shelters. Let me just say the phone wait is long, so please be patient.

I am so proud of all of us in the ways we take care of one another. We just need to know there are great needs out there and that Christmas is not the only time to give.

The moments of giving are still upon us. Donations of cash are always welcome too.

We are known for our beauty of lakes and parks. We are known for our university and hospital. We are known for the sweetness of this town. Let’s also be known for our generous hearts.

I thank you all.

Note: First published in KPC newspapers, January 26, 2019.

Wolf Moon, Super Moon, Total Eclipse and Mary Oliver

When I was a little girl, my grandmother would always say, “When the days begin to lengthen, the cold begins to strengthen.” I am sure there is a scientific reason behind this, but I like thinking my grandmother just knew those kinds of things. It was her main reason for gifting us with woolen underwear and long stockings, both of which we hated to wear.

January. I told my students this week how much I love January, and I truly am in love with January. “And,” I say, “without January, how can we love June?”

This January is full of music and poetry for me. Add that to the whistling tea kettle, winter nights at the campfire, and a house full of folks for dinner, and there is January.

This weekend promises more than the above, however. On Sunday night, January 20th^t, we will have the first full moon of 2019. This full moon is a super moon, and if that isn’t enough, there will be a total lunar eclipse visible in North America.

Let’s start with the full moon. January’s full moon is also known as the Wolf Moon. In days past, with snow covering the ground, the wolves would surround the villages as they howled for food. In my imagination, I can hear the wolves on these cold nights. I tell this to my little grandchildren. Last summer, Brianna (age 8) closed her window on a beautiful evening. I asked her why she was closing her window. She looked right at me, “Wolves, Nannie. Remember?” Oops, I should be careful of the stories I tell. “Only in January,” I say to her. She opened her window back up.

There was controversy on which name to give the January moon. Some old-timers thought the Snow Moon was better, but that is now the moon for February.

It is also a Supermoon. This occurs when the moon is both full and reaches the point where it is closest to the Earth. Because of this it appears larger and fuller! Won’t it be stunning?

And yet there is more! There will be a partial eclipse of the moon on Sunday evening. This will begin at 10:33 P.M. our time resulting in a full eclipse beginning at 11:41 P.M. Yes, I have checked the weather forecast. It is to be eleven degrees below zero during the eclipse, but doesn’t that make it a bit more exciting? I would love to have a campfire during that time, but don’t hold me to it. If you want to come to this event and share in my garden space with a campfire, please send me a note. Bring chairs and blankets. I will furnish the tea!

For your information, this is the last lunar eclipse until May 26, 2021. For myself, I don’t want to take any chances of missing it, so I will be out there looking. Maybe you want to share this event with your family and your children. With a little coaxing, you will succeed, and think about the memories you will be making with them.

As you well know, not only do I love poetry, but I live in the middle of it swirling around my brain and spilling into my life.

This week one of my favorite poets died, Mary Oliver. Her poems are taped all over my kitchen cupboards. I read her work daily. She has been compared to Emily Dickinson, William Blake and Gerard Manley Hopkins.

Oliver left home as a teenager and went to New York where she lived helping Edna St. Vincent Millay’s sister help sort out the poems and work of Millay. Perhaps there was the seed of poetry planted. She stayed a dozen years or so and began writing.

Seeing her poetry taped to my cupboards this morning, my guests and I had lengthy conversations on her work. “I always read her poem, Peonies, when mine bloom in the early summer. And just this week send one of her poems to my students.” One of my guests recited, When Death Comes, as we stood in the kitchen drinking coffee looking out at my snow-covered garden.

I want to leave you with this lovely quote from Mary Oliver, “Someone I loved once game me a box full of darkness. It took me years to understand that this too, was a gift.”

Perhaps this cold weekend in January is our own box full of darkness. Take off the lid, my friend, and go find the beauty.

(First published in the Herald-Republican)

Winter Solstice

Dear Friends,

Today is the Winter Solstice. I love this day. In fact, I might say, it is my favorite day of the year. Of course, my friend, Mary, says I say that about every day!

Indeed, it is magical. Enjoy the day, the darkness, the peace of this winter's night before we begin heading back towards the long days of summer.

As always,
Lou Ann

Christmas in the Trenches...

Perhaps I am like everyone else waiting and watching for the one Christmas miracle. There is always the story of the reporter out on the streets of New York looking for the miracle (or maybe that was a TV movie?)

With Christmas 2018 just days away I knew it was time to review two of my favorite miracle stories that happened many years ago.

In some ways it is hard to imagine that just a few are still alive who can tell us the stories. Luckily for us we rely on writers and storytellers and musicians who continue to bring the stories to life for us.

I met John McCutcheon years ago at the National Storytelling Festival in Tennessee. I bought my ticket weeks ahead of time so I would not miss his performance. On the evening of his show I found myself, as well as several hundred storytellers, under the tent on that October night. The stage was full of instruments from banjo to piano to guitar to mandolin, and all were to be played by McCutcheon. For a full hour he played and sang and wowed us. Towards the end of the show he grew quiet as he began singing his signature piece, “Christmas in the Trenches.” It would be easy to say there was not a dry eye under the big tent. It is the story of the Christmas truce on Christmas Eve, 1914. The story within the song tells us how the British and the German soldiers put down their weapons and crossed into No Man’s Land briefly to hold this truce. It is said they traded cigarettes, songs and played soccer together. There are historical letters and photographs in the archives in Britain to piece this story together. The stories say that the Germans sang “Stille Nacht” and the Britons sang back. We also need to keep in mind that these were just young boys away from home for the first time deep in the trenches of war.

In another wonderful story we find the people of North Platte, Nebraska the center of a story beginning on Christmas of 1941. This story was documented fully in the book, “Once Upon a Town,” by Bob Greene. The folks in North Platte heard their sons were coming through town on the train on Christmas. They wanted to greet their sons and send them off to war properly so they organized a welcoming committee to meet the train with food and gifts for their boys. 

They were quite surprised when the train arrived with other young men and not their own. It didn’t take long for the folks of North Platte to make a commitment to meet every train passing through with service men. The word spread, and as a result, by the time the war ended over 6 million young men were served by this community. We have to remember this was a time of war and rationing, yet for those war years the folks of North Platte made coffee and cakes, gave out magazines, and entertained the troops with the piano in the station. It is impossible to imagine the magnitude of the food except to say the minimal sandwich distribution for each train was 20 bushel baskets. They began making birthday cakes too. They made at least twenty a day and gave them out to the young men and women celebrating a birthday. Popcorn balls were made as well with some of the young women writing their name and address on them. After the war some of those women became brides of the recipients!

It is almost unimaginable that a small community could conceive of such a project and continue it until the North Platte Canteen closed on April 1, 1946.

These two Christmas miracles are now long ago and years old. The stories exist in yellowed letters and fragile newspaper accounts. I don’t know about you, but just thinking about these stories gives me great hope for mankind. Perhaps it rests on our shoulders as a bit of a challenge as well.

If you are in need of a Christmas miracle, listen to McCutcheon sing his song or read the story by Greene. Or, just maybe, you need to look into the face of a child…that ought to be enough.

So, for this 2018 Christmas, I wish you the warmest of holidays with your family and friends. Pull down the barriers and let the truce take hold, if only for a day.

Merry Christmas.


https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t_nYQzY9Ans

All I want for Christmas...

Their front two teeth were missing. They always wore red flannel shirts, but on this day, they had new red flannel shirts with suspenders. I left Hamilton early so I would be able to attend, and sat in the front row. I didn’t sit in the front row because I could take good pictures. No, we had no camera because of the cost of film. No, I sat in the front row so I would be there for them and cheer and clap loudly, as mothers do. They weren’t exceptional singers, but it was Christmas, and with their teeth out, who better to sing, “All I Want for Christmas Is My Two Front Teeth.” I am sure Mrs. Frymier, their music teacher, had a lot of convincing to do to even get them to participate, but then again, they were in the first grade.

Following the program, Art Ryan dimmed the lights in the gym for the annual Christmas sing before the vacation. Parents and friends streamed in from every corner to participate in this activity. In all the years at Hendry Park Elementary School, this was my absolute favorite activity. With the lights dimmed and Mrs. Frymier at the piano, we all sang our hearts out before collecting our little folks to take them home for the holidays.

The truth, is after all my boys had graduated from Hendry Park, I began the tradition at Hamilton Elementary School. Maybe it still lives, I don’t know, but I do know it was my favorite day of the year.

Matthew and Jonah both graduated from Hendry Park, and now it is Graham’s turn to fill all of those shoes. The production is bigger than during my children’s years. It is an evening event so many more can attend. I am invited to not only attend, but to come over for Graham’s birthday dinner before the event.

I ride my bike over on this rainy night with all the bells and whistles lit up. I even wear my Dollar World necklace of lit up Christmas lights…”the better to see you with, my dear!” As I round the corner I smell the burgers on the grill and pull up to the lit up house of Aaron and Rachel. Graham’s cousins from Ft. Wayne have already arrived, and I walk in with my birthday present wrapped up in Christmas paper! Presents are opened before dinner because, well, because Graham is now ten! He loves all the presents, but I must confess, I think mine is the favorite. His gift is an Angola sweatshirt, designed and lettered by Connie at the Angola Sports Center. (Please buy local!) He puts it on right away. Homemade cake follows the cheeseburgers and the lighting of the birthday candles. We chat and laugh and talk, but soon it is time to get Graham off to the program. We encourage him to change into a dress shirt. I vote for the flannel shirt and suspenders, but realize, of course, he owns no such clothes. But no matter how we encourage and plead, he will not take off the Angola sweatshirt. Rachel and I both laugh, “No one will see him anyway. There are so many kids!”

We all split up as Aaron takes Jonah to hockey practice, Cindy and Rachel take Graham, and I take the bike in the dark and the rain.

I thought we would be early, but not at all. We were lucky to get seats in the back row. With our cell phones handy (for the photos) we wait for the children to come in, and, of course, Graham is proudly in the front row wearing his purple sweatshirt! We all smile. This is definitely a Christmas program…or Holiday program…to remember.

Some songs are new, but others are the old favorites, and I hum along. The gym is filled with families including parents and grandparents and lots of babies and toddlers. As I glance around I know many folks who had children here once, but now come to cheer on the grandchildren. When it is over e chat with Graham and other folks, before I head outside into the holy darkness with large raindrops falling everywhere.

My bike is waiting, and I turn on all the bells and whistles before I head out into the glistening streets. I take a look at my beloved Miss Columbia all decked out and bike on home with new memories mingling with toothless little boys in flannel shirts.

Noel. Noel.

Really behind in posting...

Hi folks,

So, life has been a bit hectic this Autumn and into the Christmas season. I will try to catch you up and stay that way. As always, thank you for reading and sharing my blog.

Lou Ann

October features eulogies...

Taking the long way home.

My speech classes have moved on to Storytelling 101, my personal favorite. They are ready, prepared, and having a great time. I love watching them on the stage emerge as lovely butterflies from the chrysalis on the first day with total stage fright. Now they calmly take the stage, look the audience over and begin. In just a few weeks, they will be ready to take on the world, or at least give elegant speeches in their other classes!

The students wind their way through this course slowly, cautiously with one speech at a time. The value of rhetoric, persuasion, and good old-fashioned power point conclusive speeches are also on the perimeter.

A week ago, we finished acceptance speeches and eulogies. One is easy. One is hard. “You will give eulogies one day,” I say to them. My Arabic students are baffled by this concept, as they do not give these types of talks. “But,” I say, “you tell stories of your loved ones after they die, don’t you?” They nod in the affirmative. 

I let them be clever, should they choose, on their eulogies. Some take me up on it by eulogizing their alarm clocks or their first-purchased fair goldfish. One student, a few years ago, gave my eulogy. When he started out, I began to think to myself, “Well, I would like to know her.” And then, in another moment I knew who she was. It was alarming and lovely all at the same time. Eulogies never point out the faults of the deceased, as you well know. They always accentuate the positive!

When giving these eulogies, I keep a box of Kleenexes next to my chair. We have used them often. Once a student gave a eulogy for his newly deceased father…not a dry eye in the house. Sometimes we are stunned and just sit and let it sink in before we move on. Sometimes everyone gets up to hug the student. I guess I could sum this all up in one word, compassion. A eulogy for a lost childhood once sent me over the edge. 

Many tell stories of their grandparents. I love those the most probably because that is who I am. Their memories are strong and clear depicting the senses in strong ways for me…baking cookies, raking leaves, celebrating birthdays, sitting in church. My own imagination quickly goes back to my grandmother Luella. She left us many years ago, but I think of her daily. I write about her often, as you well know, using her red plates, sleeping under her hand-stitched quilts, listening to her daily Bible readings. She was the best blue-ribboned  cook, too!

 I want these children of mine to remember me in that way also. I want them to remember the early morning poetry reads, and the nights we watched the moon slide across the sky.

I want my eulogy to say she was a mother, a grandmother, a neighbor, a friend, a community member, a teacher, a writer, a storyteller, a thinker and she was funny. I also want it to say she was concerned about the world, and she loved deeply.  The poet, Mary Oliver, once wrote, “I don't want to end up having simply visited this world.” No, let’s not just visit.

This week I, along with hundreds of others, sat through an hour of eulogies for our colleague. It was elegant. We wept. We laughed. We hugged each other. We remembered. We loved her.

For a month, I have been watching “Charlotte” out my kitchen window. She really was the biggest spider that has ever took up residence on my windowpane. Day after day, she worked although I am not exactly sure of her occupation. I truthfully do not know what she did every day, but she was there to greet me in the morning and wish me happiness. Then one day she disappeared, and when I went to look for her, I found her egg sack attached to my windowsill waiting for spring. She left us her own legacy. I actually cried watching out my kitchen window.

My students learned about themselves more than they realized in giving eulogies last week. Now they have moved on to stories. Do they also realize how stories shape and teach us? They tell Poe and the Grimm brothers, and scary stories for the campfire. One young student said, “This is how my grandma told the story to me.”

And that, my friends, is all there is to that.

This column was first published in KPC Publishing Company.