Dear Gregg

Happy 29th Birthday!  Here is your birthday story for the 129th time:   You spent the last month before you were born laying vertical.  The Doctor figured you would naturally move.  But in those last weekly visits, you didn't budge.  A couple of weeks before your due date, the Doctor informed us that he would be out of town the same day.  By then, the likelihood of having a c section was a reality.  So, he told us when he would be in town and showed us a calendar, explaining that, because of the circumstances, we could pretty much pick a birthday.  Daddy and I considered the days.  I was born on April 26th, and Julianne was born on June 26th.  Here it was November, and the 26th seemed like a perfectly great birthday.  So we scheduled a c section when we knew the Doctor would be there.  You never decided to turn.  But we were thrilled to welcome you here to join your brother and sisters. 

Your life has been a blessing to me.  I can't begin to express my love for you, and Oh, the pride!  You are truly a treasured gift of perfection.  Happy Birthday, Gregg!  On this 26th day of November.  Have a wonderful real birthday and Thanksgiving all in one!

I love you dearly!!!

Mom

Daisy Mae Duck

My new favorite cartoon character . . .

She has a genealogy story that became personal to me today.  

But she was named after someone far greater.

October to November

"October is my favorite color".  I do love it, so.  And it's sad to pack up my friendly witches for another year . . . and the little orange lights around the front window and door . . . and the sweet recollection of laughter and imagination from beautiful grandchildren in Halloween costumes some let me sew in early September.  It's a calm season.  I do a lot of feeling the windows, because they turn cool and it makes me smile.  The doors and windows stay open most of the day.  October naturally turns into November, and as much as I long to keep it here, there is no turning back.  The good thing is, I'm really not afraid of November, it's just new.  And I also know that by the end of November, I will have thought and said at least a hundred times, "November is so overlooked,"  (especially when I think of Carianne, and those  little Crandell girls due soon).  So bring on the blessings! There is not a minute to spare. 

Madelyn

The prologue:

On September 5th, 2014, Randy and I were enjoying some down time in the basement when the telephone rang.  As he picked it up, I was tickled by the conversation.  It was Kate, our grand daughter

"Hi Kate!  How are you doing?  What are you doing today?  You're shopping??  Sure you can come over to Grandpa and Grandma's to sleep over night.  I always love it when you come to Grandpa's house!"

The connection with Kate was interrupted by our daughter, Carianne.  Their conversation was short and confusing, causing Randy to jump to his feet and swiftly run upstairs to retrieve his i phone.  I felt a breeze as he flew past, breathlessly asking if I had seen Carianne's latest post on face book.  I had not, but before I could reply, he was back downstairs with the i phone, showing me the screen.

What is this?"  we both questioned over and over in unbelief.  It was a photo taken in a long, unfamiliar hallway.  Rusty (son in law), Carianne, and Kate were shown smiling from ear to ear, as they pushed a cart that looked like it had a baby in it.  It took us minutes before we realized there was really a baby in the cart!  We were speechless.  We knew that "shopping" for babies didn't make sense, given that they were this close to being ready for fertility treatments.  But somehow, they had spent a mind boggling afternoon at the hospital, meeting and learning about this one day old baby girl.  

Of course we had hundreds of questions, which flew out all at once: the same questions they had had in their state of shock, earlier that afternoon.  And now, as their reality was setting in and they found themselves sitting on a cloud,  they were excited to tell us the wonderful details of this sweet baby, and cry again at our reactions.  The photo was one of two that were posted only to two different sets of Grandparents.  Their game began:  Which set would be the first to notice the photo?  Grandma Crandell won.

This story will be told with gratitude and excitement for the rest of all their lives:

The story: (Grandma's perspective)

Just after noon, on September 4, a security guard in the hospital parking lot noticed a slowly moving car, with a young girl behind the wheel. She hovered around the little drop-off drawer, especially  made available for "safe haven" babies.  (https://www.childwelfare.gov/pubPDFs/safehaven.pdf)  As the guard watched, he could see her hesitation.  Not wanting to scare her away, he sent a message to the doctor inside.  The doctor came out and approached the car.   She stopped and rolled down the window.  A tiny pink baby girl, wrapped in only a sheet, was handed out to him, as well as the placenta which had been placed in a separate bag.  Though the details are vague, it is understood that the doctor, who is the only one to see or speak to her, was concerned for her health; encouraging her to come in so he could make sure she was alright.  She quickly declined the help, saying, "No, I have to get home and clean up before my parents get home."   It is thought that she delivered the baby herself, maybe with a little help from the internet.  Born around midnight, mother and daughter were together until that next afternoon.. There was no one with her for support.  Maybe no one even knew her condition.  So young, so scared, so wanting a safer place for her new baby.  And yet, somehow, being so divinely led.

A miracle or two:

When a safe haven baby is born, the adoption agencies rotate the assignment to vote for the most deserving family in their profiles to adopt it.  Another miracle in the story, is that their agency, had not been functioning as an adoption agency for a couple of months.  But it was still considered in the rotation, and it also happened to be their turn. Carianne and Rusty's situation of trying to adopt before, with sad results, was still well known among most of the case workers.   Their vote was obvious. The chance for Carianne and Rusty to adopt this little girl would be given to them.  That's when her phone rang.

In the afternoon on Friday, September 5, Carianne answered her phone to hear the voice of a long lost case worker.  (Life was rolling along again at their house, despite left over broken hearts from an almost adoption in April.)  She was surprised to hear her voice, and even more surprised to hear the details of a baby girl, being held for them.  A meeting was quickly arranged, causing the three of them to drop everything and go.  They arrived at the hospital in record time, in a sort of frenzy.  Walking in, they tried to look like they knew what they were doing, as their hearts pounded faster.  Eventually they found their case worker.  Unbelievable details about the baby's little story were shared, and thoughtfully soaked in, as they pondered the miracle happening before their eyes! They felt as if they'd been pinched, when the case worker said, "Well, would you like to meet her?" 

In my heart, I know they recognized each other from the eternities.  That experience is for them to tell.

The name card on her little rolling cart would be a welcome change, from "baby" to Madelyn.  She was a small celebrity and  Carianne and Rusty were treated like royalty.  Even the doctor who took her in, bought her a little pink outfit. She stayed in the hospital for the weekend while every test imaginable was given.  Then on Monday, she was released, passing each test with flying colors of perfection.  They wrapped her up tight and have never let go.  Their little family grew in an instant.

Just when we think we know how our story should go, we are taken by the surprise of a much more beautiful plot.   It still humbles me to know that their morning, on September 5, started out as a normal day.  But by evening, there is no denying a miracle had taken place.  In a twinkling of an eye, sweet peace filled their hearts in validation of Heavenly Father's love for all four of them.  He knows our stories, and thankfully He is in charge.  Happy, Happy Birthday, sweet Madelyn.  
  

The results that never end . . .

Back in March I had an RA appt.  They do x rays about every year on most joints. This was the day.  A few days later the office called.  Everything was fine, . . . except for a small nodule on the lower part of my right lung.  I know.  Those words raced through my mind.  I explained that I had just had a chest x ray done a couple of months earlier by my primary care Dr. for their yearly exam.  Nothing was mentioned.  But I passed along the phone number to compare the two. I didn't ever hear back from the RA Dr.  No news is good news, right?

3 months later in June, at my next R.A. appt.  I was given instructions to get another x ray done, just to be safe.  As I gave her a worried look, she said quickly, "It's probably a cyst".  After the check up I walked down the hall to the imaging place.  I knew the routine, but as I was being led in, the technician said, "Did they explain the game plan after this?"  That comment did not add to my peace and tranquility.  I calmly and fearfully said, "No."  What game plan was he talking about?  Why did he even mention it?  Shouldn't that info come from the Dr?  I felt a little superior with my short reply.  He was not going to be my friend.  And besides, I did not want to play "the game!'

The days went by.  Then I got a call from the RA office.  The x ray still showed the flaw and they wanted me to see a pulmonologist.  They would call me with recommendations.  The truth is, the longer I went without hearing from anybody from a medical office, the better I felt.  But I did hear from them and I did make an appointment . . . with a PA.  The Dr. was so busy there was no room for me for weeks, so they offered to let me see the PA.  I figured a PA was just what I needed!  If they weren't in a hurry to see me, that was a plus.  I certainly was not in a hurry to see them.

But I was full of anxiety the day of the appointment.  Anxious to get it over with.  Anxious to know more.  Anxious.  I sat in a room with elderly on oxygen, younger smoker folks, etc.  I didn't have any of their symptoms.  I tried to distract myself with my phone.  When they called for me, I was very aware of how they treated me and how clean and orderly the staff and halls were.  They put me in a room with the normal People and Better Homes magazines on the corner table.  They ask me to sit on the chair.  Yes!  The chair.  I can handle the chair; not that awful bed thing they cover with new paper for every new patient.  The PA tapped to come in.  A 40 looking man with lots of questions.  Do you smoke?  Are you short of breath?  (listening to my lungs between deep breaths)  Is there a history of this in your family? 
Every answer was a definite No, No, No.  Then he looked into my mouth and told me that I had a small airway that could limit my breathing at night.  And that would bring on a nodule?  I began to feel like I was wasting their time.  I had no symptoms.  Then he prescribed a C scan.  C scan?  I had heard of those, but when I realized it was a CAT scan, I was surprised.  A CAT scan is a real test.  They want me to have a CAT scan?!

I knew the PA wanted to see me again after the scan.  So, after vacation I turned myself in for the imaging.  Another room full of people, waiting for their names to be called.  Then another room of people in gowns, waiting.  I lucked out; I wasn't wearing anything metal, so I didn't have to change.  (I wonder if they know how much calmer it makes people if they don't have to wear those awful gowns?)  I had done my share of googling and learned that my head would be outside the tube.  Whew!  They would have had to medicate me if it was inside!  They told me it would only last 2 or 3 minutes.  I was good with that; but I think it took 4!

The PA appt. was 2 weeks ago.  This would be the make or break appointment.  I had been playing out different diagnosis's  in my mind.  What if?  What if?  What if?  I paid my $50.00 copay and had a seat with fellow worriers.  When my name was called, I followed the nurse back with my head held high, passing the same exam rooms I had before.  I sat in the chair, before she even showed me to it. I held my purse tight and waited for the PA.  The knock.  And in he came.  He was calm and a bit apologetic.  He told me that CAT scans show a lot more detail than a regular x ray.  Mine showed that the flaw was a calcium deposit.  My hands loosened their grip.  He went on to explain that there was no reason to worry.  I sat back and exhaled. I was free of concern and I didn't have to come back there unless I have breathing problems  (or take up smoking or something).  I didn't move because of the relief. Then again, he went on about the reason for the CAT scan, my results, no reason to worry, and I didn't have to come back there again.  Then again. . . He probably said those same few things to me 50 times (once for every copay dollar I had just spent; but would gladly pay again!)  It was like the song that never ends, only these were the same results that went on and on . . . After a while I just stood up and brushed myself off right in the middle of the 51st time.  Because I could tell he thought I deserved a few more minutes of patient time, which would have been another round.  Or maybe he thought it would look bad if he stepped in and right back out again. (I'm lucky.  I didn't require question and answer time, like most, apparently.)  I smiled and thanked him as I headed towards the  door, which he rushed to open before I did.

Every time I think of these months I take a deep breath.  I have taken a lot of deep breaths since March.  They feel good!  Life is good!  I have a new found reason to celebrate.

Anniversary Cake (36 years)

MRS. DOWELL'S ITALIAN CREAM CAKE

5 lg. eggs 1/2 c. butter 1/2 c. vegetable shortening 2 c. granulated sugar 1 tsp. baking soda 1 c. buttermilk 2 c. all-purpose flour, sifted 2 times 1 c. coconut 1/2 tsp. salt 1 c. chopped walnuts 1 tsp. Watkins vanilla extract or white vanilla flavor 1 tsp. Watkins coconut flavor Cream Cheese Icing (recipe follows) Separate eggs and beat whites until stiff. Set aside. Cream butter, shortening and sugar. Add egg yolks, one at a time, beating well after each addition. Dissolve soda in buttermilk; add alternately with flour. Beat well. Add coconut, nuts and extracts. Fold in stiffly beaten egg whites.Pour into 3 greased and floured 9 inch cake pans, using 2 cups batter for each pan. Bake in 350 degree oven for 25 minutes. Cool cake completely, then frost. Makes one cake, 16 to 20 servings. CREAM CHEESE ICING: 1 pkg. (8 oz.) cream cheese, softened 1/2 c. butter 1 box (1 lb.) powdered sugar (3 1/2 c.) 1 tsp. Watkins almond extract Yep, today's the day.  I make this cake every year for our anniversary.  When Randy and I were engaged, we spent some fun times taste testing cake for our reception.  It had to be perfect. We ended up in the front room of a woman's house and she served us this cake.    There were no more questions.  I didn't even care what it looked like after that.  I just knew we needed the cake!  I can't say I've ever needed cake, but this was a winner.  Randy is a winner, too.  Talk to about needs; when you find it, you know it.  He's the one for me.  The outside isn't as important as the inside, though he cleans up extremely well    Like this cake, I just knew I needed him.  Always have.  Always will.  With Love!

Perfect

- GOOD HEAVENS !

  WHO ARE YOU ?

- I'M A LARGE WHITE.

- YES, THAT'S YOUR BREED, DEAR.

  WHAT'S YOUR NAME ?

- I DON'T KNOW.

WHAT DID YOUR MOTHER CALL YOU

TO TELL YOU APART FROM

YOUR BROTHERS AND SISTERS ?

OUR MOM CALLED US

ALL THE SAME.

AND WHAT WAS THAT,

DEAR ?

SHE CALLED US ALL BABE.

                                                                                                
I don't know why this passage from "Babe" has stuck with me all these years.  But it spoke to me then and it speaks to me now.

When our children were small, I tried to raise them equally.  They each had unique qualities that set them apart as a prize.  I tried to help them know that they were all prizes.  The question of which one was favorite was never spoken.  I was raised the oldest and only girl before 3 brothers.  Yes.  They tell me I was a favorite, especially in my Grandma's eyes.  I'll admit it, I was the stand out.  I was spoiled, as my brothers quickly point out.  Randy was 1 of 10 children.  In their household, if you didn't know how to stand out . . . well, let's just say it was, lively.  So, back to our own children, I really didn't want to short change anyone

Here it is, 2015.  Each one is married now and has their own littles, along with spouses that have also, fortunately come from backgrounds with parents who love them dearly.  I am here to say that "Babe" still plays in my heart.  For as long as I live, I will hold all my precious posterity as prizes.  Don't even ask, or talk about who might be a favorite.  There is no such thing.  I'll call you all, Perfect.

 

Grandma Neeley's crayon drawer

I don't know that my Grandma Neeley knew how much I loved being at her house when I was young.  We spent many summers traveling from Arizona to SLC to visit her.  She had a three story home that was purchased when my Grandpa was alive.  They raised most of their eight children there.  Then, as they each grew, cousins came along.  There was a happiness explosion each summer at Grandma's. 

Grandma Neeley had unlimited wonderful qualities.  But it's the big drawer in the kitchen, under the long bay window,  that overlooked her fruit tree filled back yard,  that I will never forget.  This drawer was packed to the brim with Crayola crayons.  It quenched my creative appetite to behold such mounds of delight.  If the hoped for color wasn't visible from the top, you could run your hands and fingers through to the bottom, like jewels in a treasure chest.  I colored fort hours there, subconsciously listening to the happiness in the next rooms.

I was privileged to watch Audrey and Henry today.  I think they could play all day, right through naps and eating.  They were content.  Audrey happily taste tested everything while she moved along the toy bins, standing against them for balance.  And Henry concentrated on potato head, magnetic shapes, and building a space center with plastic building pieces.  As I held sleeping Audrey, Henry whispered his play by play to me as he built and rebuilt.  I looked at their sweet concentrating faces and it took me right back to Grandma Neeley's.  That's how I felt at her crayon drawer.  Happy and content.  

I don't know if she knew it then, but I silently thanked her for it today.  I was filled with gratitude for the peaceful coloring memories., and the love I felt in her home.  Because of her, I could recognize the same peace in my little grand children's eyes.  I hope what I have to offer my grandchildren will always compare to the joy of Grandma Neeley's loaded crayon drawer.

Good Men

Happy Father's Day to a few GOOD men

GOOD

adjective, better, best.

1.

morally excellent; virtuous; righteous; pious:

noun

43.

excellence or merit; kindness:

to do good.

44.

moral righteousness; virtue:

to be a power for good.

Synonyms

1. pure, moral, conscientious, meritorious, worthy, exemplary, upright. 2. commendable, admirable. 5. obedient, heedful. 6. kindly, benevolent, humane, gracious, obliging. 23. full, adequate. 24. profitable, useful, serviceable, beneficial. 25. efficient, proficient, capable, able,

ready, suited, suitable, dexterous, expert, adroit, apt .Randy Clawson, Jeff Clawson, Gregg Clawson, Brenden Rensink, Rusty Crandell. 


.

Saturday is a special day

The day started with small alterations of a typical Saturday, but we still "made hay while the sun shined".  A trip to the grocery store was a priority.  We are on the linger longer committee after church and Sunday we would put out a root beer spread for 75 socially, hungry (maybe or maybe not in that order) single adults.  So, 4 giant vanilla ice cream tubs and 12 two liter root beers later, we were off to load them into the church refrigerator/freezer.  We're not dumb.  Cooling them there was the best plan for an easier Sunday morning.

We carted each bag inside, carefully placing them on the kitchen counter.  Randy opened the refrigerator door and bent down to retrieve each bottle as I handed it to him from on high . . . until that one bottle.

Slipping out of my hands, and with a terrified expression on my face, I knew its fate - and mine.  Hitting the floor, a spastic root beer bomb exploded from a crack in its 89 cent plastic!  Like a bad dream, I keep replaying the bottle spinning 80 miles an hour, spray painting root beer in every direction from the floor to the ceiling.  It would have been hopeless to try and stop it. I turned my back away and hid my eyes. The damage was already done. . . .

When Randy peeked out from behind the protection of the door,  it was like we could hear crickets chirping, against what seconds before had been a battle zone.  The cheap plastic bottle lay spent and lifeless on the floor and was done for, except for about 1/4 of its flat contents.  We were afraid to move.  Now what.

Without speaking, Randy slowly stood and reached for (luckily, not my neck) the paper towel machine.  I tiptoed to the maintenance closet and retrieved a mop.  The overhaul began.  The refrigerator was standing in a root beer puddle.  We rolled every splattered rack of trays out and began dissecting the remains, knowing it would be a miracle if we could clean every last splat.  Spots everywhere?  That's putting it mildly.  You don't understand.

The mop came in most handy.  Over every inch of the uneven floor (hence, the fridge puddle) 10 times . . . oh, and of course across the ceiling a few times, since those spots were literally in and before our eyes. Brown ones. After a while we weren't even surprised to see spots under our arm pits.  Lets just say that after an hour, that kitchen has never looked better.  It was in need of an overhaul anyway.  Urban Stewart would have been proud.  We both knew the halls would smell like root beer for weeks, but that was OK.  It could have smelled like something worse.  We walked out with a clear conscience and no sounds of sticky shoes.

We came home and took a nap; right in our now dry, but previously root beer soaked clothes.

We carried on a few more Saturday priorities around the house.  And at bed time, putting a comb through my hair was impossible. It had turned to hard sticky candy. I felt like Barbies' plastic haired Ken.

Saturday is a special day.  It's the day we get ready for Sunday . . .  If you only knew.

Ukulele Band

I have always favored the sweet sound of the ukulele since I was a baby, when my Dad would serenade every evening after work. Sitting in a chair, whistling, singing or strumming beautifully, he could go on for hours. Serving in New Zealand on a mission made his playing even more sweet.

A couple of years ago, Randy gave me a ukulele for Christmas.  I had learned, through a friend I admire, that she played in a ukulele band.  I couldn't get the idea out of my head; this group had my name all over it!  I invested in a chord chart, and began the journey.

We meet at the Scottsdale senior center once a week in a conference room.  Every other week we play folk songs and golden oldies.  The other weeks are spent playing Hawaiian songs and styles.  Every chair is filled as we surround tables pulled together in a horseshoe.  We each own two 300 page songbooks, which we play random favorite songs from for 2 hours (intermixed with stories in between).  Pat, our leader, does his best to inspire us amidst "peanut gallery" comments.  He is pushing 80 and plays on a different uke every week, since he collects them (over 60 ukes).  He can play beautifully and through his stories you know he has exposed his own children and grand children to enjoy playing together.  He's a man after my own heart.  Especially impressive is the fact that he is hard of hearing. . . and he doesn't read music.  But SO qualified!

I had been gone from the group for 9 months and it felt great to be back today.  As I played away, it dawned on me that this is a setting I might have to defend to others that don't have a clue.  To understand my part in this, I will attempt to describe the other members:

Warren - Hawaiian native.  Wears a Hawaiian shirt every week.  Mid 80's.  Had his share of medical setbacks.  Still plays like he lives under a palm tree in Honolulu.  Must strum in his sleep.   Plays in a harmonica band.   Widower.

Mildred - Classy and well kept.  Volunteers, except for Friday ukulele group.  Mid 70's.  Skin cancer recipient.  Plays bass ukulele flawlessly.  Taught in Scottsdale School district.  Widow.

Tiffany - Mid 40's.  Lives in Payson.  Travels to uke group every Friday.  Not afraid to play the Beachboys "Wouldn't It Be Nice" as if no one else was in the room.  Smiles, nods, and sways to the rhythm of every song.

Marie - Classy.  Quick wit.  Previously a Sweet Adalines alto.  Late 70's.  Rides a scooter chair.  Plays the heart out of her small ukulele, never missing a chord.  Widow.

Alona - my friend.  Mid  60's.  Married to executive secretary in another singles ward.  Tempe.  Teaches and plays piano beautifully.  Is a spearhead in putting this group together.  Frequents Hawaii.  Sets a peppy, obvious tempo for every song, knowing we can all keep up. 

Susan - Mid 60's.   Previously a Phoenix Symphony violist.  Tempe.  Proud owner of a couple of custom made beautiful ukes, one being electric.  Wonderful musical knowledge and uke theory.  Technology wizard, making her searches for song and info fast.  Plays all introductions.

Dan - Plays competitive tennis.  Mid 70's.  New member to me.  A ukulele like mine.  Has played for a while.

Butchi - late 70's.  Husband comes with to listen along from his wheel chair.  Plays extremely well.  Cares about musical details.  Heart history 

2 or 3 others were there today, off to spend the summer in their cooler climates, only to be back in the Fall.  It's common for the men in the group to have learned how to play, serving in their military days.

After belonging to the group, I have come to admire and learn from these good people.  They are an inspiration and I find myself appreciating their zeal for life as well as music.  They are giving me a gift!

I think about my 89 year old Dad.  He would bask in their skills, too.  I've got to take him with me, and his ukulele. Without him, I wouldn't know all this fun..

Jody - Daughter of ukulele lover.  Proud of callouses that come from practicing.  Played first solo today, "April Showers", thanks to Pat, who teaches also about sharing to make others happy.   . . a piano angle I've used a hundred times.



 

Happy

Is it just me, or do pistachios make you happy, too?

 

 

sweet grandchildren

How does your garden grow?

All That I Am or Hope to Be

I went out to Gilbert today with Francie.  That seems to be the day I can take Mom grocery shopping.  She makes her list and in between the ailes I put pieces together about life with her and Dad.  This week we looked for canned sweet potatoes because Dad likes them.  Last week we learned that the 5 lb bags of old bananas Dad loves (not sure if it's because they are $ .25 or because they're not completely brown yet) will no longer be sold at Safeway.  They'll now go to the food bank.  (We gently broke the news to him!)  We also carefully chose frozen entrees to try; Dad, not being a fan of rice.  It pleases me the way Mom loves the produce section.  I can imagine her little "spreads" at meal or snack times.  She still writes out a check for payment, or she'll pull out exactly the right amount of cash Dad has provided for her, with her slowing fingers.  She laughs with Francie and I get a glimpse of her upcoming week.

When we got home, there was Dad.  He has been down (physically and "in the dumps") because of a very painful shingles episode in his left eye.  He always gets up and dressed, but has been unable to drive (I know, he's 89!), or read, or garden, or go home teaching, or church.  This eye thing has taken a lot out of him.  So, he has been home, trying to stay busy; but miserable.  We sat down at the bar and as I fed Francie,  Dad and Mom sat across from me.  I got ready for his stories.  But instead, he began to explain his gratitude for things being done around him that, before the eye setback, had gone unnoticed.  How, reaching for a clean towel, it occurred to him that someone had washed and folded that towel.  Or someone had put a place mat down before the meal (Dad has a thing for place mats).  He was talking about Mom, and all the things in her 84 year old life that she still does for him.  Mom angelically smiled.  

Next Sunday is Mother's Day.  I'm thankful for her example of selflessness, among hundreds of other perfect qualities.  And I'm so thankful to call her mine.  Don't think I don't still take notes, like on our Thursday grocery shopping trips.  I love them and I love her!

"All that I am or hope to be, I owe to my angel Mother"  (Abraham Lincoln)

PS.  As we visited, we realized that today is her Mother's birthday (Maude Groberg Neeley - Grandma Neeley).  I'm pretty sure she was listening in with us, too.  

TBT

Today a piano lesson came.  Samantha.  I have taught her for years.  Now she's in high school.  Her mother usually comes in with her, or sits in the car parked in the shade.  But today, no mother.  I could see the car parked in front of the house. Still no mother.  My thoughts soon gave me to know she had driven herself; only having had her license since Tuesday (2 days ago).  I was happy for her.  Anybody that still takes piano lessons through high school automatically is a good driver (among other good things)!

Then it hit me.  On this Throw Back Thursday, I had a flash back to when I was 16.  Guess where I drove on my first solo drive?

Piano lessons.

8th Grade Home Ec

When I was in the 8th grade at Ingleside Elementary School, I had my first experience with a home ec class.  My teacher's name was Mrs. Welker.  She was a big woman (not overweight, just boxy).  She had light hair and glasses and was older than my mother.

We learned sewing from her, hence the little gingham waist apron with ties and a contrasting pocket.  She also told us a story that will haunt me forever, about her room mate in school that got down on her hands and knees to look for a fallen hat pin and ended up stabbing it right into her knee when she went down.  (Maybe it wasn't a hat pin, but the story was so graphic, I only imagined "big"!.)  I still think of that poor girl every time I'm tempted to get on my knees for a pin or needle hunt.

We learned how to entertain, using proper etiquette, the Mrs. Welker way.

 And at Christmas time, we learned how to make and preserve pyracantha jelly, using our own collected pyracantha berries.  My Grandma Ruth was especially impressed.  I think she made the little jar last for a long time.  She always had toast.

And I'll never forget the day Mrs. Welker taught us how to make eclairs.  It was a tedious project and we took great care.  After making and baking, we were ready for the rich cream filling.  I held up the fluffy long john so carefully to see the air in between.  Then, aiming just right I continued to carefully squeeze the cream inside.  My aim was pretty good, except for the little yellow blob that plopped right down my front.  I was wearing a navy blue wool-like jumper.  It had buttons going down the long waisted bodice on each side.  Then there was a belt.  That's where it landed; right on the silver buckle, against the fabric.  Goop into every nook and cranny of the buckle.  It couldn't be washed out easily.  So, I rubbed it the best I could and spent the rest of the day looking down at the yellow smudge that permanently marked my front. . .  Don't ask me where my apron was!

It's funny what I remember about life back then.  That was the year I also gained another little brother, who I knew would be a girl.  Such vivid memories.  Life was good.  Smeared cream filling and all! 

hAPpY BiRThDAy!

Happy Birthday to my beautiful Mother!!!

Whad'yaknow? Not Much. You?

Before Christmas, Randy expressed a wish to see the broadcast of "Whad'yaknow" weekly heard on NPR, with Michael Feldman.  The taping would be at the Chandler Center for the Arts on February 13.  So for Christmas I surprised him with tickets.  It's always fun to look forward to something for months ahead - kind of like your birthday.  As the day drew nearer, Randy was quick to decline conflicting events, explaining we would be going to the broadcast instead; so I knew he was excited.  The day before, he ask if I would be embarrassed if he tried to be a contestant on the show.  Knowing him, I wasn't surprised.  I could only encourage him.  So we talked about what he would wear to be unmissable.  His Disney shirt was the perfect attire.

The tickets were general admission, so we knew we had to be there early.  He got home from work, and we dashed to get something to eat, then we were on our way.  He had left that morning, wearing a red polo shirt, but since it was Valentines weekend, I didn't mention the Disney shirt.  The parking lot was full when we drove up, so we hustled faster.  Just as we approached the doors, they opened and we slid into the fastest moving line.  The seats were filling up fast, but that didn't hinder his "mission".  If you ever want a good seat, go with Randy.  He's not afraid to crawl over people to get to the middle, which is exactly where he was headed - the two empty seats in the middle of a filled row closest to the front  (OK, 13 rows back).  We promised people as we climbed over their knees that we would stay put, so they didn't have to worry about us being in and out.  So there we were, an hour early.  We watched people, observed the open stage lay out of life size fake ostriches and a bad tumbleweed Christmas tree (both representing Chandler!), watched the stage crew gp back and forth to set up, spotted Michael Feldman peeking from behind the curtain to see the audience. . .Finally his musicians took their spots, played a little, a n d, Michael Feldman!  We clapped like happy seals as we cheered at every joke/poke about our state.  It was fun to laugh with the rest of the country about the craziness going on in AZ.

During each broadcast, Michael Feldman schedules authorities to come in and share their expertise.  After the ASU cosmology professor, it was time for him to work the audience for a contestant to play the "whad'yaknow" game with him on stage.  Then he calls people in the state, puts them on the phone with you, making up a team to try and answer some of his questions, hopefully getting them right, for a prize and the pride of even being chosen as live contestants  This is what Randy had been dreaming about.  Being in the middle row, we watched as he came down into the audience, looking far beyond our seats and motioned for a young woman to come to the front to play.  We thought she was planted.  We also knew that he had just finished the first hour and he would play another game with another contestant in the second hour.

After the ASU fossil authority professor, the band started playing and the director announced there would be a break.  People stood up, but sat back down quickly as Michael Feldman came down the aisle on the other side of us.  He stopped and spoke to an odd elderly couple.  He was a bout 15 feet away.  It was fun to see him in person.  Then he left them and came up another step or two towards us, triggering hands waving in the air for his attention.  He looked right at Randy, but his hand wasn't as frantic as some.  So he looked beyond.  Seeing and reading into the situation, I lifted Randy's arm myself,  prodding him to wave bigger.  It was then that Michael looked back at him, and motioned for him to stand up and come to the aisle, all the while, acknowledging his good looking red shirt and pants, as the audience clapped and the spotlight shone  on him  It was like I was in a bubble of unbelief.  There was Randy, actually speaking to Michael Feldman!  I knew he was excited.  He did great.  I thought he was still at break, but when the director announced the taping to begin again, Michael led Randy back down to the stairs, and onto the stage.   And there he sat, sitting across from him, on air, in front of a sold out crowd, speaking into a microphone that delivered his voice throughout the country! It was like a dream, but I saw it myself!

One of the questions ask, was "What is a love sack?"  I had no idea, but since it was Valentines season, the conversation could have gone in a variety of directions.  That made me nervous.  However, having the seat next to me empty now, and seeing my husband on a stage far away, I knew, without a doubt, that no matter where the conversation went, Randy would not go "there".  The man is filled with integrity, and even being a fan of the show, he knew coming in,  it was a good environment.  It took two different callers and three different questions before the caller finally knew the answer.  Luckily Randy agreed with him.  He also knew the other answers, but had to concur with the caller for a final answer.  (By the way, a love sack is a big bean bag chair.)

Most of his life, Randy has been unafraid of public speaking.  I have watched in awe as he has smoothly and eloquently expressed his views and knowledge, from church, to work, to city events, to school boards. . . And I knew it meant a lot to him to pull this "Whad'yaknow" game off with class.  He did it with ease, even though his heart was pounding frantically.  (OK, mine, too.)

The kids were also proud.  That's why he chooses the integrity road.  The kids will always know his priorities.  Carianne, upon hearing about his being chosen, replied,  "Of course you were chosen! You know everything!"  Julianne replied on face book,  "My Dad Randy. . . . I am so proud!"  It didn't hurt to have strings of comments and likes from his fan clubs, eaither.  What a shot in the arm.  He'll be floating for weeks!  And in case you want to hear a recording, it's programmed to the exact second on his i phone!

It really was a fun time.  The red shirt won out over Disney.  And Randy added yet another fun adventure to his bucket list.  Whad'yathinkisnext?

http://www.notmuch.com/wyk/february-13-2015-chandler-center-arts-chandler-az