Tag: story telling

Book review “Thank Heaven”

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About listening to Leslie Caron’s memoir

So far I have avoided doing any book reviews because of all the copyright issues. But this actress so intrigued me that I spent hours on YouTube watching her film clips and listening to her many interviews. While most people get pepper books, mine come on a little floppy disc and I plug it in to my player. I am thankful for the technology today and the chance to still “read.”

The Title

Perhaps it might be fitting for her own thinking. But she gives no glory or credit to the the Creator. Rather it is to the “Stars” that helped build her career. She was discover by Gene Kelly and first performed in “An American in Paris.” Through the book she does five credit to the many film makers, directors, and actors and actresses whom she had the pleasure to work with. , be married to, or otherwise be engaged with during her life.

So the title is to her own belief that the “Stars of Hollywood ” are the Heaven that she is thanking. Perhaps her gracious mannerisms could be learned by a few people. We all have others who help to shape us and build our lives into the castles that we become. Perhaps we all could learn a few things about the thankful, grateful heart of Leslie Caron.

The Memoir

Writing a memoir has always been a dream of mine. So as listen to my talking book library it is the memoirs that I spend the most time on. Often to the point of going past due on my book returns! Sorry. Study yang the memoirs of others will be my next constant background work to writing my own.

Leslie Caron grew up in France and was old enough to understand the World War II traumatic effect on her family. Her references to both the past and the present and the lessons that she learned are refreshing. She gained wisdom through all of life’s events and writing the memoir late in life lends a grandmother’s knowledge to her many stories.

Being a teacher at heart (homeschool mom, said Bible school teacher, etc.) my listening catches the learning curve that people allow themselves. How did Leslie learn from her mistakes and her successes? If you get a chance to pick up the book, be assured she shares her expertise in light of her hands on experiences. Her drive to learn language, acting, and the other endeavors that she took on shows determination and grit.

The Writing

Her style as a writer was developed over the years that waited for an acting job. She has a present-tense style that lends to watching a film in action. Very fitting for both her life story. This too tempted me to to look up many of her her scenes and stop the book just to check out the movie. I enjoyed each one that I viewed.

The Language

The book was a good read. Recommended for those who can handle the lifestyles of the entertainment world. While I have no desire to learn their secrets and the way that people follow their”fashion,” Leslie Caron kept the book on the street in it’s language. There were a few bedroom and closet discussions that were not detailed to the point of listening ears embarrassment. Because my books are read to me, I prefer not to have bare floor bathroom talk in my books. This is just not my kind of reading material. So for a nod to the title thank heaven she kept it clean for the most part. Would I suggest this book for my mother? Probably not. Do I want to share it with my daughter? Well, as a learning tool perhaps. Would I listen while my husband was in the room? Yes. In fact I did a few times and then shared movie clips from YouTube with him also.

Final Notes

“Thank Heaven” by Leslie Caron was a good read. Worth the time if you enjoy films and movies with music, dancing, and depth of character. Her inner beauty as an actress did shine through the book as she gave credit to the many stars that invested in her life.

Adopt-a-Grandma

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“Faith which first lived in your grandmother Eunice”

The Bible doesn’t talk about grandmother’s. Except for the mention of Timothy’s grandmother by Paul in his letter to the young pastor, the word isn’t even used in the Old Testament. Generations are listed and Matthew gives credence to several outstanding women in his lineage of the Savior. This verse then has become quite a thematic focus. Praise God it is about the two women’s faith!

Generational socialization was so normal during the times of Bible writings that it has only been a recent issue. In years past the ability to move or travel wasn’t as simple. Therefore many cultures still hold to generational homes. Homes in which the grandparents do much of the child care.

Growing children that understand respect is quite simple when grandfather takes charge of an errant boy. The story of John Quincy Adams is told frequently of his schooling days. The stubborn child refused to go to school. The elder Henry Adams quietly left his office and grabbed the young boy’s hand. He then led his defiant grandchild for a one and half mile walk never releasing his hand until the child was safely seated in his chair in the schoolroom. The embarrassed Johnny never defied his grandfather again. This respect of elders took the young man into a career as the most successful statesman in United Sates history.

My favorite story from my children’s youth is when an elderly woman in a wheelchair wanted to hold Yolanda’s little 1/16 violin. The lady’s shaking fingers left may little five year olds eyes wide in fear. I know she was thinking “She is going to drop my violin, I’ve never dropped my violin!” I softly told the wide eyed daughter, “I won’t let her drop it.” The woman’s face lit up like a Christmas tree as she plucked out “Twinkle, twinkle” for Yolanda. It was a lesson in respect and honor we have all never forgotten.

The many stories of grandmother’s almost always talk about gardens. Many of them give like they have the bank of a queen. The tulips, lilies, dahlias, and irises that we all enjoy are surely because someone’s grandma shared the bulbs with a dear one.

My first adopted grandma was Lillian. She was nearly at the end of my paper route and the funniest, skinniest 80 year old I had ever known. She taught me more than I can recall in one writing. The next adopted Grandma was when we lived in Minnesota. Grandma Dorothy was my baby “burpee” grandma in the church nursery. I planned my little babies feeding times to be during the sermon so that I could play piano for the worship service. grandma Dorothy then was baton passed. There were many times she changed diapers before I picked up baby again so that our visiting time after church was enjoyable.

While I learned to cook for my growing family, I called my own grandmother frequently to ask about what spices to use. She taught me so much about flavors and meats. But my adopted kitchen cook was Idell. If I missed my mother’s cooking, I could count on Idell to make me something that made me feel better. Her chicken noodle soup and summertime lemonade was amazing.

Children aren’t cookies. And shouldn’t be molded like dough to be sliced with cutters and popped out of the oven 12 or 13 minutes (years) later all wearing the same frosting. Why we opted out of cookie cutter education and decided to homeschool was a long year by year process. Each year we made the choice, weighing all the options. But Grandma Eleanor in Iowa was the most positive adopted Grandma we had. Though for such a short time, she prompted me to write a song when we knew her. “Always Wanted a Grandma” is about the power of the aged to bless young lives. The covenant all blessings of years ago can return in the audible blessings of these special people. The power of their words is often greater than those of our own parents.

We wanted to give our children lots of opportunities with many different age groups. I  think it worked. The most important aspect of their training up was probably the church. How the church today has bought into generation gap appeal. It breaks my heart to imagine the inner “rebellious” of our youth insisting on church experience that does not involve the respect of the elderly. From the music, to the locations, to the atmosphere, the new church movement is so entertainment focused and lacks the loving touch of adopted grandmother’s. If only those youth understood how much grandma labors in prayer for her dear loved ones.

Building bridges with a community of various ages gives a child the ability to relate to all ages. The dear adopted grandmother that I love so now is Ella. She is so special. So loving. I can’t imagine our lives without her prayers. She and her husband adopted “our girls” early on in the musical career. Their hugs have always been a sought out affair.

Having these people who love-no-matter-what are the foundation of beautiful young people. Their mentor ship and guidance should be treasured like the silver that their crowns are adorned with.

My friend Lillian was the one who taught me resourcefulness. She used old socks and sweaters to make hundreds of balls of yarn. Then she filled a popcorn tin and began making a rug. Maybe that’s why I love homemade rugs.

Today as I think of the legacy of grandmothers and the song by Twila Paris, “Same Girl” my heart is burdened by the ailing body of another one of my adopted grandmother’s. Accepting failure and yet blessing our Lord is one of the life lessons’s best learned by the aged. Their body might grieve them, but their sweet demeanor and loving words echo in our hearts forever.

–In loving memory of Eileen. Though she seemed more like my piano teacher than my grandmother (I always got nervous if I knew she was listening), may her memory be a treasure to all those who knew her.

Counting to Ten

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What’s the point with list making anyhow?

Every where I look there is some list. Ten best of this, 20 worst of that, five things that boost something, eight reasons to do this. What’s with the list making and who really enjoys the statistics game?

Basketball season is here and my mind returned to the squeaks and squeals of the court. During high school they never let me take stats during the games. I missed too many things because of my eyesight. And constantly asking the person next to me for “my” stat answer just didn’t cut it. They fired me on the spot. The rest of my high school career was spent in the pep band. I have always enjoyed the role encourager. Leading in nosie making has always been a key crowd control pattern for me.

Today, I am on my church’s prais team as the pianist. Not the keyboardist. I hated keyboarding. The idea that one can play piano, add other instruments, and play the rhythm section all at once is pretty close to playing organ for me. Using all four limbs in contrasting motion to fill an orchestra of sound is completely impossible to me. Most of the time I fill in the bass and add rhythmic jazzy chording. At times my classical training jumps in and I get bored of the quitter keyboarding rhythms. Okay, so now that I have given a horrible review of my abilities as a pianist, back to this list idea.

Last night I had a nightmare that caused me to cry out in the night. I decided that I’ve been drinking entirely too much coffee. So I should keep track of how many cups I drink in one day. Today I have a migraine from the caffeine craving.

Meanwhile, my insomnia has returned and while the MP3 IBible does keep my brain occupied for some of the night, I came up with a list of my favorite cats throughout my life. Other people count sheep in the night. Other people count backwards from some fancy number by threes. Other people get up and watch train documentaries on PBS. Other people make cleaning lists. Other people read dumb lists on facebook that helps them decided what kind of dog not to get. I made a count down or up of all the little fur balls that have purred in my lap. There’s probably more than ten, but these will do as my favorite through the years.

The first cat that I called my own was named Mittens. While my mother had always had a good mouser, Mittens was mine. The love of my middle school years, I defied my boy cousins by giving him a “girly” name. They thought his name should be socks. Mittens was a gorgeous gray colored saddle with white markings. I think he had blue grey eyes, but my memory might fail me., Saying goodbye to cats is not fun. In life, however, it is this lesson that teaches us people have more value than pets. Mittens was the pet of my paper route years. Delivering paper route in an older community gave me several “death’s door” deliveries. The first customer that died, was when I noticed a two day pile up and the television still on. I notified the neighbor and learned the following day that she had passed on. Saying goodbye to Mittens seemed minimal compared to when a favorite friend’s husband died on my paper route. Hearing her laugh about how he died, was a new experience for sure.

Tigger was the second pur-buddy to leave me. Tigger was true to his striped name and very fast. But this was more traumatic, because my children were little ones and witnessed the event. The postman ran over the cat when the dog chased it under the pickup. Lady never did like cats much. But we had hoped to remove our mouse problem by having a cat in the basement. Poor Tigger. Poor wee children.

Socks was number three. My cousins favorite cat name ever returned. A beautiful calico cat that rode over in the wheel well of the pickup from the neighbor lady, This one actually survived the dogs chasing game. But her fight to save her kittens, gave a deadly infection from the battle. She was our sheep-cat. She use to sleep on the backs of the warmest ewes and lambs. Lucy the lamb and Socks were quite the pair! Her kittens became my ten year old daughter’s mission. She fed them with a dropper for two weeks until I decided some kitten food slurry would maybe help her out. Needless to say, I wasn’t a very kind mother when that summer blew through. I just didn’t have the patience.

Saying goodbye to the fourth purring friend was rough. Patches was Socks survivor. This cat was amazing at how high she would jump into the air. Patches was the summer of trying to teach my children some sports rules. So we acquired a bad-mitten net and some little plastic birdies. I tried to teach my girls the abilities only to find that Patches kept jumping into the air to catch the birdies. Soon it became the girl’s complete joy to watch me attempt to hit the little plastic bouncer and then wonder where in the world the cat would be after the retrieve. This mostly white calico made us fall in love with a cat’s athletic ability. It was far better than mine, or the kids, or my husbands. Saying goodbye to Patches was rough because a rabies skunk took her into the garage and the tangle ended with two pops of the rifle. I had managed to bring the dog inside, but forgot about the cat. The encounter has ruined my taste for shredded wheat cereal. Amazing the weird things that one remembers. Like what I had for breakfast should not be a big memory, but it is.

The fifth kitty adios was a pair. Susan and Sunny were the answer to Patches’ departure. We picked them up from another home school family. Named after flowers, “Black Eyed Susan” and “Sunny SunFlower” were also the pair that joined us at the same time as our collie Dolly. These two are the beginning of the genes for our barn cats that we have today. Because the Tom that came around was pretty wild, so are their offspring.

The sixth goodbye that was sorrowful was the cat with the longest life. Daisy was the best of them all. She was Yolanda’s girl. We even had pictures of the tow of them together. Daisy really did love her best I believe. They had a good bond. Daisy lived the longest of all the cats we have ever had. I think we got her to the vet nearly ten years. She disappeared a year before we lost Dolly. I think she missed the college girl too much.

Not sure if he is number seven or not, Fresca was the year of kittens that were named after off-brand soda pops. There was Shasta, Pibbs, RC, Jolt, and others. Fresca was the long haired one of the bunch. He lived three or four years as my purring pet. He also became good friends with our new puppy at the time, It was hilarious to see him lead us on our walk to the corner and back. He walked the line on road the best of any cat we have ever had. Some of the neighbor farmer’s took to calling me the neighborhood cat walker. Fresca got owl-ly or catty in his later years and refused to be friendly with our zuchon puppy. The dog’s feeling were pretty hurt the day the cat hissed him out of the bush.

Mooch and Garfield were the year of comic strep cats. Pictured above, Mooch was a college friend save. The friend moved and needed to re-home the two. While we could not say their Korean given names the new one for Mooch became her personality completely. We took them booth to the vest but Garfield was no match for Fresca or the other township Tom. He disappeared pretty quickly. Mooch however stuck around about five years. So that makes eight and nine. Glad that they were a few years apart. Sometimes my husband says cats are a dime-a-dozen. But taking care of them is far more than a dime from the paycheck.

Suga then would be number ten. She was offspring of Mooch. The only kitten and sister that the mother cat ever took care of. She just didn’t have the mothering “hood.”The tenth goodbye of the favorite cats. So saying goodbye to cats seems like a list better made in the sleepless hours of the night. Writing the list out covers four decades, three houses, eight different vehicles (or is it ten), nine dogs, and countless brands of pet food. There are so many more things to count when one cant sleep in the night then just sheep. Oh, yeah, we had those too.

Now that I have a friend that does cat fostering and rehoming for her life work, it seemed appropriate to count these four legged creatures in print. Everyone has their list. Cars, baseballs caps, tractors, horses, or what’re the collection is, we all have something that makes our motor hum.

For me it is writing.

Okay so here is another blog written in the year eighteen that proves no matter what the topic, I can write something about it. I could get even more detailed and five the cat breed and color for each, their gender, model and make. One time my brother asked me what kind of tractor my husband was driving to snowblow the driveway (in Iowa). I had no clue. Had he asked me something significant, perhaps I might have had an answer. I teasingly answered the year and make of my piano- 1974 Everett. Now there’s something I know that is not significant to him!

Whether it’s a short list, or a detailed drama, I enjoy writing. List making is great for those sleepless hours. Writing is my new daily to do! It makes my motor pur, So I guess it’s my new passion. Just have to listen to the Spotify sound waves instead of my little Suga. She lives with a new family now. She’s very happy to inside “all the time.”

Thus ends at this time in my life any cat that puts whilst I pet it’s soft fur.

The same thing

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Six to one and half dozen to the other

Children say the darn-dest things! And sometimes those silly jokes from the elderly to the little child are pretty funny too.

Once upon a time immigrants could only come into our country from Ellis Island. The lady of liberty was their first greeting to a land of hopes and dreamers. And today no one can seem to agree if the “dreamers” should be allowed to stay or forced to go. Yet we have an aging population that will desperately need care in the next ten to forty years. Alhzeimer’s and brain degenerate dies eases just may need this flood of immigrant healthcare workers to take care of our aging population. That’s my own opinion.

Telling silly stories and ridiculous jokes is one of the elderly past times that I enjoy listening to but haven’t quite the knack for proper repetition. The older one gets the more common it becomes to have frequent repeating pun lines. Remembering them is the key to long life I think. One story thus repeated in my family is about Ole Olson.

In a small Norwegian settlement in the Dakota’s there lies a little cafe named Ole Olson’s Fine Cuisine. In it you’ll find everything from white sauce Norwegian dishes, to German dumplings, to Fine Chinese cuisine. Upon the visit to the restaurant an out of towner was overheard asking the owner how he came upon the establishment. Here is Ole’s reply. “Well, when I got to Ellis Island with my wife and child, we happened to fall in line with some very fine brothers from Norway heading to the Dakota territory. When we got up to the name taker, she asked my name. I could tell by the process, that though I spoke no English and neither did the brothers, Name giving was the proper answer. The gentlemen ahead of me replied- ‘Sven Olson’ and ‘Ole Olson.’ So I stepped up to the window and said ‘Siam Ting.’ I could not read or write English but was given a pice of paper for identification. I gestured to the brothers and Sven figured out what I wanted. He laughed heartily and slapped me on the back . ‘Ole we have another brother!” They insisted I come with them to Dakota, My wife Lyi and child Kyi became LeeAnn, and Kiya Olson. And we’ve been here ever since!”

I really do a better job of writing this joke than telling it. My dad and those out in western South Dakota can tell the joke in about two minutes. It took me nearly twenty to write it.

Here’s a much shorter joke I heard recently.

Q: Why didn’t the skeleton go to the movies? A: He couldn’t find anybody to go with.

As a child, sharing things with my sisters became a daily mealtime, snacktime and playtime reality. They being older than I, soon found that I was a very bad tattle teller and learned to exclude me from their schemes. I remember as a pre-teen my sisters getting jammed fingers in their fighting days. I found my six years younger brother to be an ample playmate. I could boss him around as long as I wished or until I compromised and played his way occasionally. Before he arrived on the scene while the tattle teller was still ruling within, my mother had to learn how not to referee the sibling rivalries. On one such occasion, she responded to my telling with “It’s just six to the one and half a dozen to the other.” I couldn’t believe that she didn’t see the same unfairness that I had. I stomped off angrily with “that’s the same thing!”

Indeed, the same thing.

While it may be difficult to understand that it rains on the just and the unjust alike, that the Lord gives wisdom to all those who seek it. That there are really smart people who are atheist and really smart people who give all the glory to God. While I am human and unable to fathom the deepest secrets of the Almighty God, perhaps it is the simplest things that get the mind stumped more often.

How did Siam Ting live his whole life as Ole Olson’s other brother? How do children have the same parents end up so totally different even when they grow up in the same house? How can six Cookie’s and a half-dozen Cookie’s be identical? How does the garden grow even when there’s so little sunshine and the rain never stops? How?

Why was it so hard to give up my helper Seymour eight months ago and I didn’t even shed a tear to give away the little want to be house cat that just can’t live in the same house as my husband? While I miss my helper from time to time, a needy cat is not on my to do daily list. Suga just really wasn’t letting me get anything done. She will make a nice house cat for someone else. In this case the feelings were not six for one and half a dozen for the other. I was definitely playing favorites with that adorable loving kitty. And it’s not fair to expect her to live at the threshold of “wanting” in the house in a world so cold, when someone else not allergic to cats will really enjoy her soft furry body.

And yet asking questions like these never made me any smarter. There are still people who think my opinion is invaluable. There are still times I fail to ask a question and guess very wrongly. There are still others who think life can be “qualified.” While the quality of my life isn’t the same as it used to be, my life still qualifies to be fed. Mentally, spiritually, physically, emotionally I still have the same needs that I have always had. Being blind might be a physical challenge for me that leads me to tears, yet I will continue to have much of the same needs I have always had. May God spare me the thoughts and the pungent people who think about life in terms of quality. The struggle to win life’s battles will continue to make me want to fight for fairness.

Dream on.

Do over

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The third time’s the charm

Recycling yarn is probably my favorite past time. If you ask anyone in my family they will tell you that I have ripped out more projects than I have actually crocheted. So here’s the latest story.

A long time ago, my sister gave me some Aran colored yarn to make an Afghan. this long time ago happened to be before I was even married. While my husband is very distracting today, he hasn’t changed much. The Afghan did not get made until I was pregnant with my first child and had more sit time. Thus is the store of the first time use of this yarn.

Then after a few years of marriage and two girls later, we bought this antique sofa from some friends and had it covered in a deep burgundy claret color. I thought the color deserved it’s own afghan and so that’s where the claret came from. While the two twin afghans did not hold up very well in their ever;day use, I also learned my crochet did improve over the years. When we moved to this “green” room living space, the decision was made to take the two apart and add the frosty green and make an everyday use afghan that covered the sofa to keep the doggy paws from catching on the cushions. This worked for nearly sixteen years. There you have the story of the second use of my sister’s gift.

From this tri-colored sofa comfort came an idea to redo. Oh bother. However, with the nest empty of children, and that first time memory of pregnancy and the Aran yarn, it seemed to be a charming moment. Especially since my daughter is now expecting her first we one, this third time recycling has been a very memory making time.

To this basket of yarn balls, made from the once well used sofa protector, same the use of a tri-colored shell stitch that I found las fall. While recovering from the broken rib, I sat staring across the room at the 27 year old thread, and discovered after a washing that the ties had finally lost their grip. This third time would be so charming!

And that. So from this, to this, and that, an afghan has a story also. Though this beginner shell pattern is quite simple, it’s large hook simplicity came in quite a blessing. The pattern that I discovered while studying pictures during the rib-healing, came in as the savior to my passing time during my broken nose-healing time. While I couldn’t wear my glasses on the bridge of my nose, the large hook pattern didn’t.need my concentrated vision. So I past the time healing my nose, with a crochet pattern that kept me quite warm during the frigid temperatures of early January.

Finally, I recycled the yarn that had held up through all the washings and even had a bit left over. The living room is no longer green. Now it’s brown. And though the new neutral color these days is gray, the frosty green, Aran, clarets crocheted blanket will probably last another 27 years if the dog doesn’t decide to use it too often.

The long mile

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Road trip memoir

While walking the section today with our overly energetic golden doodle Honey, my thoughts fell into rhythm with my steps.  We are the only residence on our section.  There are two neighbors that live next to us, one to the west and one to the north.  So excepting the harvest activity it is rather a quiet walk.  Two grain trucks, one pickup and one combine greeted us.  Okay their drivers did.  Because our house lies in the middle of the section mile, the first corner is an easy jaunt.  The trek to the next corner southeast of us is also easy, because of the creek bed that breaks the walk up with its rolling terrain.  The long mile is the one in the middle.  Heading north on the east gravel road always gets me a little down.  It seems so long because there is really nothing to break up the distance in topography.  Looking off to the west the view of our acreage never seems to change.  It is a long mile away as the bird flies for the whole corner to corner march.  I find that my mind tends to be plagued with thoughts of “have I missed the turn” and “where is that hayfield anyways?” and “just put one foot in front of the other.”

The long mile is the one in the middle.

With the first suggestion of a road trip to Ohio and Pennsylvania to see my niece and nephew (my two elder sister’s first children) my anxiety over the trip nearly caused me to say no thanks.  I am not the best traveler for various reasons and sitting prolonged periods of time is not usually my favorite thing.  Crochet helps the sitting seem less endless.  

Then when my rib healed in it’s allotted timeframe, I decided I had no excuses.  Besides it would give me a captive audience for my entertaining mindset.  As a child I clearly remember mealtime as the opportune moment to crack jokes and tell stories.. I was always the final person to leave the table.  I took my role back immediately upon the first meal break from the vehicle.  While it was mentioned that perhaps the best suit for a birthday party was a birthday suit, I quipped in response “One must live life with no regrets, and that might be regretful.” Whereupon the eldest of daughters at the table nearly choked on her sandwich in laughter.  We had decided that what was spoken or confessed in the vehicle ought to stay in the vehicle.  The accountant in the family quickly proclaimed that the “birthday suit” conversation had not happened in the vehicle.  Bummer.  The whole scenario of four women traveling together soon became family “trip-tweets” (group messages) that divulged the whole secrets of women in the same family taking a road trip together.

The tattle tale was the child in the middle.

Collecting things has always been our mother’s joy on journeys.  Whether if its rocks, leaves, acorns or maps, she can always find something to collect.  Because the trip was an ‘on-a-mission’ trip to see the first and second grandchildren, and the first great-granddaughter, there was no time for the number outs antique malls, state parks, river views, or shopping establishments that we sped past.  However, because a driver so loves backseat navigators, my mother had to collect a map from each state that we entered.  At one point on the road when the rest stop did not have a map, there was a half purposed visit to the rest area on the return trip, “Because maybe they’ll have a map of this state here.”

Geography was fun for me once.  But these days the maps are mostly in my head.l My eyesight doesn’t make it very easy to view the map, so the visual just remains in the modem..And because I never drive anywhere I refuse to learn my google map app on my phone.  It saves me the trouble of having to watch for things that I can’t see anyways.  Like street signs and road signs that aren’t boldface type!  At one city during the ride, my eldest sister, who did all the driving, asked sister number two in the front passenger seat to pull up her phone navigation so that she would have a second set of directions.  My mother thought that it was quite vascinating that though there had previously been four women in the car, now there were six women.  And add to that the fact tat these last two entrants, Ms. Garmin, and Miss Google couldn’t seem to agree.  Later in in the drive through Pittsburg, she declared them to be fighting and our trip had been so peaceful until that moment of disagreement.  Well, we thought it was all pretty funny except for the downtown slum passageway out of the city.  


The best part of the trip was the middle.

Visiting the niece, nephew, his wife, and the grand-niece proved to be quite worthy of the effort.  The stories of our adventures will be told and retold through the years to come.  The joy of the nieces lives and the zest for busy-ness with a two year old will keep the tales going.  When you have four generations in one room it is always the youngest that gets the most attention.  And her busy little mind can make all the adults suddenly speak “toddler!”

The long hours of visiting and the baby of the family joining by face-time will not be forgotten.  And though the long miles of the the middle days were hard on the body, the comrade rice of family togetherness was worth the sore backs.  Having common bonds makes the togetherness even more vi….  Our family has been blessed to all be of the same mind in Christ also.  The daily devotions, prayers for meals, and safety, and the conversation that kept our minds on things above were special moments.  Though we took all interstates, highways and avoided toll-roads, this poem that I wrote to music a number of years ago seems to fit this memoir of our trip.

The Road Less Traveled

There;s a road less traveled, And yet it leads to more.

A journey full of blessings, and the end so much more.

Jesus, Lord, and Master, Savior, King and Friend,

I will follow when you call me Knowing eternity has no end.

Oh, the road less traveled  Is narrow and unsure

Difficult the passage. Of those who’ve gone before

Jesus, Lord and master, Savior, King and Friend

I will follow where you lead me. Knowing eternity has no end.

The journey has a Shepherd. Counselor and Lord

My Shiled and My Comfort. Deliverer and more

Jesus, Lord and Master, Savior, King and Friend,

A know that You are with me on this journey that has no end.

There’s a road less traveled And yet it leads to more

The journey full of blessings And the end so much more

—Yvonne Clark, October 29, 2993


Turn around

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When all else fails… 

With the recent addition of a new puppy to our home I thought i puppy-proofed the house quite well. Until she slipped through a tiny hole and found herself trapped in the living room. Well with no where else to go, surely finding some new toys in a basket was the right thing to do! Not so much. I spent two hours untangling yarn, and my husband three. Insert grumpy face.   Sure wish that I could–

—read the manual!

When raising young toddlers I particularly remember shortly after my second daughter was born. The first one seemed to climb on everything. She was always on the counter or table when the time came to nurse the baby.  Later my mother told me the story of her sister putting the chairs upside down on the table so her third child could not climb on anything.  She did this so frequently apparently the neighbor thought she was always mopping the floor.  I remember thinking gravely, sure wish I would have–

—Asked my mother!

  • While the children were preschoolers we owned a fixer up house. One of the fixer-up projects was the roof. My husband thought that he could do the sweat equity himself.  Until after a few hours up on the two and a half story building! The tune changed when his stomach couldn’t handle the height anymore. Doesn’t help matters when cleaning the old shingles, one has to watch them slide and fall so far.  Needless to say we are glad that when it came to replacing the shingles we had the “cents” to —

–Hire it done!

In all the years of our house owning and the years of visits to relatives, my husband performed many repairs to the waterways in those houses.  From his daughters about  snaking toilets, to replacing washers on the kitchen faucet, it’s pretty great to have such a handyman husband. And the good part is that I think he’s handsome besides being handy.  However the Christmas morning we were at my mother’s and the sewage pipes decided to flood the sleeping quarters in the basement, we were very blessed to have the “presents” of mind to–

–Call the plumber!

What to do when you need a cup of sugar?  In the old days you would run next door and then have to take over a plate of cookies within a week to repay the favor. Today everyone just runs to the store. I think the borrowing idea was better.  Perhaps our lives would be richer if there were less convenient stores and when we needed another egg we would just–

—Find a neighbor 

I live with a family that won’t even take a pain pill for a headache.  Not sure why they are so stubborn, but then I’m kind of a whimp at pain. They all have such a high pain tolerance. There are so many stories I could tell of pushing through the health issues without medical help.  My husband was one of those guys that wouldn’t go out for sports because he wasn’t  going in for the physical. I am glad to say that after years when I had to go to the doctor all the time for either my ITP or having children, he has finally gotten over his fears. Insurance requires the physical thing and after having had West Nile Virus twelve years ago he isn’t so afraid to–

–Go to the doctor!

Not many of us have this next luxury.  The children’s book about not getting out of bed is one of my favorites. Anyone who suffers from migraines can tell you that usually the only remedy for this one is to simply —

–Go back to bed!

Here’s another one that has lost its potency. Today’s world is full of GPS navigators. Everyone has developed so much fear of strangers, it’s like they might be an alligator or something. But we still tell people when they turn south onto Greenfield at the cemetery to look for the tall tree hanging over the road on the east side and that’s our place. I once had a relative drive right on by commenting to a co pilot about the tall tree before remembering my directions. I saw the tail lights turn red just past the acreage. They turned around and were pretty glad they had–

-asked for directions!

Last night I checked the weather before going to sleep. I do this so that I know how early to get up.  The outdoor chores are much too taxing if it is really hot. The alarm got set and rudely chirped it’s greeting at six something.  It was followed by a more pleasant good morning from my hubby-honey as he told me the radar readings and what he had already done with my puppy-Honey.  At approximately an hour later with a break in the rain, my puppy-in-training and I headed outdoors to do her thing. The sky seemed light enough for that under-eighty-degrees walk I had anticipated, so off we trotted.  However by the time we reached the mile marker south of the place the thunder begun to rumble again. Needless to say Honey was much stronger than I imagined as soon as a lightening cracked, she bolted for home.  We ran the rest of the “walk” and we were sure glad as we dashed into protection from the next downpour we felt the good sense to–

–Turn around!

In my life I  experienced friendship failures, body organ failures, memory lapses, mineral deficiency, my parents divorce, church splits, eyesight loss, and other trauma and tragedy. Life is full of last straw moments. People are human and they err often breaking our hearts.  Throughout these experiences I found one perfect love that never changes. Scripture says no one can know the height or depth or breadth or width of God’s true love for us. I am so glad that even in my human frustration at what failures God has gifted me with, His love through Christ Jesus remains pure and faultless. This is the string of hope God sews into my thread  of rope life experiences and reminds me  when all else fails–

— Jesus never does!

Ripe for the Pickin’

Published on by yvonneannetteLeave a comment

“When the strawberries are ready-

It use to be –

When I was a young on’ –

Back in the good ol’ days –

Back when the strawberries were ripe for the pickin’ –

In the spring of my life-“


Sometimes it’s hard not to let the mind wander into the past. Those days often seem more vivid that the current ones. Especially if days are filled with so much activity it’s hard to remember if you are coming or going!  The past has its way of creeping up on us in ways that sometimes smack us right on the forehead. 

Being springtime and the graduation, wedding, moving to new places, going to new things time of year makes those of us with less new-mess in our lives tend to the nostalgia. It’s not our fault that changes are much slower coming.

Strawberries have always been a June kind of thing. With an ever beating variety, we will pretend it is June every six to eight weeks in Greenfield Greenhouse.  Once when the girls were junior high age we had the opportunity to go pick someone’s strawberry patch while they vacationed. It was sweet memory time for me as I told them about my mother’s large patch in the sandy soil of one of the places my family lived.  My brother was often found stuffing his mouth full of every color of berry. He was too young to wait for their ripening.  


Thus visual image of his little five year old blonde sitting in the patch was a great object lesson on self-control.  Strawberry cheesecake, shortcake, or ham is his favorite to this day. 

Changes in life happen suddenly sometimes. Like a recent fall by our neighbor lady that landed her in the hospital for hip surgery recovery.  We worry and wonder about these ones whether they will stay in their homes for much longer.  This kind of change is never easy. 

Change that happens over the years occurs like erosion to the landscape. For some people this erosion effects the heart as well as the body. My prayer has always been that as this tent of my body fades away, my heart will be renewed day by day. 

So for old times sake, I decided to listen to some Michael Card while I worked in Lennea’s denim quilt.   Micheal Card was introduced to us when Yolanda was born as a gift from the pastors wife at her baby shower. I used it for their nap time all during those toddler years. We were blessed to see him in person once while the girls were little. It may have been this first viewing of a cello for Lennea that helped her chose the instrument. 

History is meant to be learned from.  Perhaps thus is the wisdom that silver hair affords. The memories of yesteryear , the traditions of forefathers, the nostalgia of the elders all bring about stories and memories that the young ones enjoy hearing. 

While visiting the cemetery with our favorite snow capped people on Memorial Day, we were blessed by tales from my husband Gavin’s dad.  So many people with stories to tell never get the chance to share.  


Wnjen the strawberries are ripe for the pickin’, be sure that you take some time to tell a few history lessons to the loved ones in your life. Before you know it the season S will change. 

Though I can’t eat the beautiful berries in my greenhouse, I am glad to invite others to eat them. And especially glad to hear their stories as we check out the goodies to eat in the greenhouse.