Category Archives: Family Notes

Ever crave a recipe from Mom?

For the past few weeks, I have craved Mom’s pimento cheese spread.  I had looked for the pimentos and could not find them so I would give up.  Then walking down the aisle I saw something new–Velveeta with sharp cheddar flavor!

Now I knew I had to make pimento cheese because that was a new flavor and I thought it could really top the taste chart for my family.  So, I searched again–and I found the pimentos hiding down low in an entirely different location, but sadly a store brand.  Still I was determined to make Mom’s pimento cheese spread.

I pulled out my recipe:

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Sorry about the appearance, but this is a little spiral I keep of some very important recipes and I just can’t seem to give it up.  The vintage look of the page shows how much I return to these recipes over the years.

But, there it is.  Create a custard, add the cheese, melt it, and then add the pimentos.

Yes, I make some notes, and you can see that I learned the hard way about adding real cheddar cheese.  The flavor would be good, but it just does not work.  That is the reason why I was so excited to find the new flavor of Velvet.  I am going to have to add the 2018 note about it now.

Making pimento cheese always seemed like a major challenge, but not this time.  I pulled out the ingredients, turned on the stove, and in no time it was done.  And the flavor–wow!

And yes, I did add a few slices of American cheese to keep the spread a bit more stiff.  Still the spread works great on bread, toast, crackers, and celery (don’t try potato chips unless kettle cooked or wavy because it is too stiff for that to work).

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The final product is so yummy and I know Mom would be proud.

 

I keep thinking how good this will be added to some sandwiches, too.  In Atlanta, I found a sandwich that included pimento cheese and never thought about adding it to a classic sandwich.

Maybe it is the time of year, but just the process of making this family treat certainly picked up my spirits.  Typically I move into November filled with dread, but making this treat brought a little special joy into my November 1 day.

As we enter into these last two months of the year, family connections color our moods.  Stopping once in a while to capture memories can be a positive, yet I am reminded how many in our world do not have the warm-fuzzy memories like mine.

Maybe sharing this recipe with others is one way I can help build new memories for others.  This is not too difficult, but one major warning–you must stir while it is thickening because it scorches very easily.  It also spits terribly if you have it too hot and it boils.

This time I was amazed how quickly it started thickening and when it started to spit, I turned it down to a low setting while I added the chunks of cheese and kept stirring while it melted.

And believe me, the aroma when you add in the chopped pimentos just lift one’s spirits!  I should have made a bowl of tomato soup, too.  That would have topped off my kitchen time.

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Going home . . .

 

Over the weekend, we made a trip back to my hometown, Montgomery City, where the annual Old Threshers was the drawing card.

 

Old Threshers is a trip back to the past.  The old steam engines were on display working like they did when they first joined farmers in the hard work that had to be done—harvesting, cutting logs into boards, and more.

 

And that is not all.  The tractors of my childhood and even before all line up for everybody to review and remember.  I always look for the Oliver 66, which is the tractor Dad taught me to drive and the one I like the best.

 

There are other displays and activities, but there is something about seeing that Oliver 66 and the others from my past.  There is a magic that occurs when the steam whistles sound, the steam puffs up toward the clouds, and not to mention the smell of the freshly cut cedar planks.

 

But Old Threshers, this year, was special.  I visited with old church members, cousins, and neighbors. Recognition had to be awakened. Stories had to be shared.  But most important was sharing the past with the future.

 

For the first time, my grandchildren walked the fair grounds with me.  They saw the equipment for the first time.  They heard some of the stories of my parents and my childhood.  And I felt my heart soar.

 

And the day expanded as we returned to the farm.  I got to share the house with my daughter-in-law for the first time.  I watched the awe as she and her son/my grandson looked at Mom’s piano.  It continues to sit there waiting even though the keys are in bad shape and tuning has not been done in decades.

 

And the grands met their cousins!  Yes, the next generation met for the first time.  My kids with their cousins.  My grandkids with their cousins.  My brother, too, along with me and our cousins.  Wow!

 

I know, the experience was everything to me and not so everything for everybody else. But I am reminded that family is family. I am reminded that when we expand our family by joining in new families, home never really changes.

 

For years, I have thought about why I was so eager to leave home after college.  I have wondered why home always stays with you.  I went home regularly.  I really did not divorce myself from home.

 

But life divorced me from home.  Life circumstances can distance us from the very foundation of our lives. True, I became distanced from home; but I never became distanced from the foundations taught me at home.

 

My parents came from different faith backgrounds.  True they were both Protestants, Mom a Presbyterian and Dad a Methodist.  But when they married, the decision was to be a Methodist family.

 

My faith journey began with their faith journey.  And my faith home remained Methodist, even with a brief visit with a Presbyterian congregation.

 

When I returned home over the weekend, the first face I recognized was a member of that Montgomery City Methodist church.  How warming it was to feel that sense of recognition and to glory in that relationship.

 

The recognition reminded me that we are all of one family.  We may have different parents, different genetics, but the common ground of faith makes us so close to one another regardless of location or distance defined by years.

I find myself thinking about Jesus’ parable of the Prodigal Son:

  • How many times do we walk away from the foundations of our lives thinking we could do better?
  • How many times do we avoid going home?
  • How many times do we ignore what we are taught, esp. about God?
  • How many times does our life decisions risk poisoning our lives?
  • How many times do we think we cannot go home?

 

The parable shared in Luke , speaks to all of us at so many different levels.

 

As a parent, we do our best to raise our children so they know they are loved and will always be loved.  We know we have to discipline them at times.  We know we have to let them grow up.  We know we have to accept their decisions even if we disagree. Yet, we pray they succeed and that they come home; not permanently but emotionally.

 

As a child, we all know that as we grow up, we look forward to living as independently.  We grow up and move on.  Maybe like me, I never wanted to be labeled a teacher, marry a farmer, and stay in my childhood community.  But, I also never expected to face some of the challenges I did.

 

Thank goodness my parents laid the foundation for me life that included God and church.  I fled that farm life, but I never left the church.  My life challenges certainly knocked me down, but with my faith in God, I kept going.

 

The story of the Prodigal Son is as much a story of me leaving and returning as it is as a parent who watches children leave.  God provides unconditional love to all always.  It is us who must find our way home.

 

Going home is tough, true.  But going home warms the heart and the benefits are immeasurable.

 

Going home this weekend was a delight.  My family that remains in Montgomery were there.  My family who live outside of Montgomery, were there. My heart was warmed by all the memories, all the relationships, and all the promises of the future.

 

My prayer is that all of my family and friends from my childhood, from today, and from the future know that they are loved.  There is enough unconditional love from God to accept all the mistakes we make, but we may not know it until we stray away.

 

Thank you, God, for all the love and all the grace and all the forgiveness that you provide.  I hope I model it for others, too.  –Amen.

 

Luke 15:11-32:  Parable of the Lost Son

11 To illustrate the point further, Jesus told them this story: “A man had two sons. 12 The younger son told his father, ‘I want my share of your estate now before you die.’ So his father agreed to divide his wealth between his sons.

 

13 “A few days later this younger son packed all his belongings and moved to a distant land, and there he wasted all his money in wild living. 14 About the time his money ran out, a great famine swept over the land, and he began to starve. 15 He persuaded a local farmer to hire him, and the man sent him into his fields to feed the pigs. 16 The young man became so hungry that even the pods he was feeding the pigs looked good to him. But no one gave him anything.

 

17 “When he finally came to his senses, he said to himself, ‘At home even the hired servants have food enough to spare, and here I am dying of hunger! 18 I will go home to my father and say, “Father, I have sinned against both heaven and you, 19 and I am no longer worthy of being called your son. Please take me on as a hired servant.”’

 

20 “So he returned home to his father. And while he was still a long way off, his father saw him coming. Filled with love and compassion, he ran to his son, embraced him, and kissed him.21 His son said to him, ‘Father, I have sinned against both heaven and you, and I am no longer worthy of being called your son.[a]

 

22 “But his father said to the servants, ‘Quick! Bring the finest robe in the house and put it on him. Get a ring for his finger and sandals for his feet. 23 And kill the calf we have been fattening. We must celebrate with a feast, 24 for this son of mine was dead and has now returned to life. He was lost, but now he is found.’ So the party began.

 

25 “Meanwhile, the older son was in the fields working. When he returned home, he heard music and dancing in the house, 26 and he asked one of the servants what was going on.27 ‘Your brother is back,’ he was told, ‘and your father has killed the fattened calf. We are celebrating because of his safe return.’

 

28 “The older brother was angry and wouldn’t go in. His father came out and begged him,29 but he replied, ‘All these years I’ve slaved for you and never once refused to do a single thing you told me to. And in all that time you never gave me even one young goat for a feast with my friends. 30 Yet when this son of yours comes back after squandering your money on prostitutes, you celebrate by killing the fattened calf!’

 

31 “His father said to him, ‘Look, dear son, you have always stayed by me, and everything I have is yours. 32 We had to celebrate this happy day. For your brother was dead and has come back to life! He was lost, but now he is found!’”

 

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Resting in confusion

Three weeks into a rest period, I find myself in confusion.  I am so used to operating on a schedule and knowing my goals, this pause in that life is very uncomfortable.

I am so fortunate to have family and friends–personal and professional, who know how confusing this time is for me and know that I want to race through rest to the next step.  This set of family and friends just keep telling me to rest.

This morning a second visit to Rev. Jim Downing’s church filled me again.  True it is a 30 mile drive, but going in and feeling comfortable among no one I know is evidence of how the Holy Spirit can make it feel like family.

For the past 10 years, I have organized my life around my work.  First I was a teacher, especially in an alternative setting; but then I added in part time pastoring.  The pressure to maintain all that I needed for both jobs just seemed natural.  Then I retired from the teaching profession.

Now retiring from one’s lifetime career is stressful enough.  I have now realized retirement really means being “really tired.”  I still had the church as a part time job, but I was used to full time work.  I probably used as much time now for the part time job, and worked hard to rest in the evenings.  Not easy

Speeding forward through the past three years, I am now trying to rest.  Not really retired, just working at resting.  And naturally, resting leads one to see all the daily household chores and postponed projects now have no reason to put off.  So, I am finding that rest can still be elusive.

In our Midwestern lifestyle, there seems to be a sense that one must work every day in order to achieve their goals.  I did not grow up knowing how to ‘play.’  Life on the family farm meant there were always chores.  We did stop on Sunday, though, and rest.  Even this concept is lost in our farming culture today–now farming is 24/7.

Rest.  I am learning that to rest, I have to give myself permission to rest.  I have to close off my ears to the internal yelling about all the work there is to do.  I also have to turn off the clock.  I have no reason to rush ahead, but my internal clock says I have such a limited time frame to use for rest even though I have NO time frame at all.

So here I am in week three of my rest, and I am confused.  Thank goodness my family and friends know me well enough to accept my confusion in this time of rest, but also know me well enough to reprimand me when I start tressing out over the timeframe.

One of my personal goals in this time of rest is to figure out how to listen to God.  I must quieten myself enough to recognize his voice.  This week I read a book by Adam Weber, Talking with God.   I started it and could not stop, finishing it in one day.  I separated myself so much from my typical day that I heard God.  I found energy.  I recognized Mom’s voice, too.

Thank you, Adam Weber, for such a clear discussion of talking with God.  I know what it is to be exhausted.  I know what it is to have unconditional love.  I know how hard it is to wait.  Your work spoke to me and speaks for me.  I know God speaks through your words, too.

One of the results of reading this is a driving desire to share this understanding from Adam Weber with others.  I wanted to buy a case of the books and start sending them off to others who I wanted them to know/experience this conversation.

Maybe this is what rest is.  Maybe I need to give myself permission to read–without a highlighter in my hand or note papers to record on.  Maybe I need to share what I read via the blog or Twitter.  This is all part of my process.  Rest in the moment also means being alert to how God can use me in those moments.

I may be assigned a period of rest, but my confusion still needs to be decluttered.  I guess I must remember that there is no timeline other than God’s.  Thank you to Rev. Downing, Rev. Weber, and my family and friends for helping me make my way to refreshment and renewal during this extended, uncertain time of rest.

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Decoration/Memorial Day Thought

As I prepared the sermon, I started remembering how our family handled Memorial Day, which we called Decoration Day.  The day was a process–beginning in the morning picking flowers from our own yard.  No purchased ones were ever used and I never remember not having fresh ones available.

The next step was wrapping old Folgers coffee can with aluminum foil, filling them with the flowers and then water–enough to get to the cemetery before we added more there.  The flowers filled the trunk of the car and then for the next step.

My memory includes picnics.  Mom would pack the picnic basket–now sitting in my dining room with one broken handle–with either fried chicken or ham.  No potato chips, instead there would be potato salad and/or deviled eggs.  At least that is what I remember.

Then off we would all go–all four of us.  No one stayed home as this was a family event.  We started in Middletown.  I remember it because that is where Ote West was buried, along with his wife.  Our farm had been his, but when he died, it became Dad’s.  And with each grave, came the stories. Little did I know the value of the stories then as I do now.

From Wellsville, we drove to Millersburg where Mom’s birth mother and an older brother are buried along with others from her family.  This is where we learned of the heartbreak Mom experienced having lost her mom when she was only 2 1/2 years old and growing up to know she had had an older brother, too.  What we did not know until 1980 was that her mother had been pregnant when she died.  But the stories continued.

As I remember, we often had our picnic at Dixie Lake which is only a few miles from the Millersburg Cemetery.  In terms of a lake, it is rather small by my adult standards, but as a young girl it was huge.

After lunch, we drove back to Montgomery City’s cemetery where Dad’s family was buried.  There were more graves to visit here, but Dad’s family was much larger.  One memory is of my cousin Sally’s family.  She was the only infant to survive due to RH factor.  The graves of the babies are not an accurate reflection of that heartbreak as some were turned over for scientific study.  But the story is laid out along the rows of graves in that cemetery along with aunts, uncles, great-grandparents, and now even our own parents.

Today I live on the other side of the state.  Trips to the cemetery are far and few between.  The cemetery is a location, but the spirits are always present.  I rather miss the traditions and being able to share the stories I learned from decorating the graves, but location determines many decisions.

I know that Memorial Day is really designed to honor the veterans, but for me it is honoring the history of my family.  We did not have many who were veterans as most were farmers and escaped being drafted.

One uncle did serve in World War II and suffered from malaria off and on during his life.  Plus my dad and his cousin Donald did enlist at the end of World War II when the draft called them.  (Enlisting rather being drafted reduced the months of service.)  Later his brother also served.  Yet they returned home to continue farming until their lives ended in a non-combat manner.

Today, the Tuesday after, I wonder if I should have made the drive across state to visit the cemeteries.  No.  My memory always honors those who have gone ahead.  The cemetery is just a place.  My decoration is the life I now live honoring them in who I am.  I am sure they know.

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A Mother’s Loss

The following Letter to the Editor was published today, April 27, 2018 in the Kansas City Star.  I wrote it after reading the tribute to Barbara Bush on April 21.  The essay/editorial struck a cord that is worthy of noting.  Please read.  Thank you to the KC Star for including it in today’s edition.

Mary Sanchez’s sympathetic and empathetic column concerning Barbara Bush is a testimony to the strength of character not only of Mrs. Bush, but her mom and all of us who experience the loss a child. (April 21, 11A, “Remembering Barbara Bush, grieving mother”)

My experience was a miscarriage of twins. But that was half a century after Robin Bush’s death and Sanchez’s mother’s first late-term loss. I was fortunate to have a community that understood it was a loss and allowed me to grieve.

Another generation later, our daughter-in-law lost a daughter, Faith, at 17 weeks. Fortunately, she was supported by a medical team that understood the need to allow her and her husband time with the daughter.

Loss is painful, but grieving is a process that one must experience, and a medical team that understands that need is exceptional.

Sanchez’s words and her insight concerning Mrs. Bush are evidence that our culture is learning to honor painful life experiences appropriately. Thank you for sharing such a personal and perceptive tribute to Mrs. Bush, but also to your own mom and all mothers who know the loss of a child all too soon.

Susan Annette Smith Warrensburg

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Back home

IMG_2003Over the weekend, we traveled through six states.  We followed what had been a rare southern winter storm, seeing as much as 10 inches of snow outside of Padukah, Kentucky and finding that Florida really can be cold, too.  What a treat it can be to step away from a daily routine, but coming back home is also a treat.

The hours and hours in the car can be exhausting, but also productive.  Getting home, the routine quickly kicks in and yet there is new energy to do those daily chores that seem so tedious.

The traffic can be overwhelming and leaves one a sense of claustrophobia, yet the traffic teaches us the power of patience and forgiveness, too.  And then, coming home the traffic seems to be no problem at all.

The speed of the trip did not allow for sightseeing, but seeing the many miles of road shows many interesting things.  For instance, we were very impressed by the fences that line the highways of Florida.  Very little roadkill was visible and the idea seems so logical, especially when crossing back into Missouri we can hardly travel a mile without roadkill.

The miles that we traveled were also tree-lined.  So much of the highway system along these states were literally lined with trees, especially pine trees.  I also was surprised how many miles of the interstate also had a barrier of trees between the two separate lanes–whether east and west or north and south.  The tree-lined highway makes the insanity of traffic less stressful–at least for me as a passenger this time.  Back home, the interstate system really is not tree-lined.  Of course that is environmentally natural, but I certainly appreciate the miles that are cedar-lined or Ozark oak-lined.

The hospitality of the South is also evident.  The clerks and the servers that greeted us as we made refueling and food stops is refreshing.  Only once did we run into a questionable situation and that was in our home state as we departed.  The host seated us, but we never were served.  We literally had to get up and leave.  Fortunately, we did not ever have to do that again.  In fact, the service we had at the stops after that were delightful.

The food.  Maybe there really is nothing more to say, other than one goal we make on our trips is to avoid the typical chain restaurants that exist around our home, and to really get a taste of the region.  We had two meal stops, on the way home, that were outstanding.  One in Tallahassee at Wahoo Seafood and a second in Marion, Illinois at 17th Street Barbecue.  There is no way to explain the exceptional taste of those stops except I would plan a trip back just to enjoy those flavors again.  Back home, for instance, I tied to make homemade mac and cheese to match the one in Tallahassee.  Close, but not quite.

The point of the trip was a graduation ceremony.  In today’s world of on-line education, all too often the students do not opt to join in a graduation ceremony.  But we made the decision to invest in the ceremony and I am glad we did–despite the long hours in the car.

Celebrating life events has a value that cannot be explained logically, but psychologically it is wise.  I was so impressed by the Walden University’s skill at putting on a ceremony that pulled together hundreds (I have no idea of the final count) of graduates–bachelors, masters, specialists and doctorates–to celebrate with family and friends.

The graduation speaker was Soledad O’Brien.  What a treat for me.  Soledad has been a journalist I enjoyed and had lost track of her.  Seeing her name as the speaker, I looked forward to listening to her.  She was real, honest, personable, and professional.  No boredom at all and great words to mull over in the days, weeks, months ahead.

Thank you, Walden.  You made the experience personal and impressive from the check-in to the following reception.  You have let us return home with memories.

But today, I am back home and have finished catching up the laundry.  Today the goal is to return to the ‘work’ routine that I need to re-establish.  The trip provided new experiences and a winter-time break, but now back to daily life–mac & cheese, puppy love, laundry and all.  What a treat the weekend road trip was, but back home looks pretty good, too.

 

 

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A New Year’s Surrender

I surrender!

Here it is New Year’s Eve, 2014, and I did not finish all my Christmas cards.  The intentions were good, but completion unsuccessful.

Now, granted, the year really had no major transitions, no major calamities, or no major successes; but that does not mean it was so nondescript that I should ignore it.

This creates a dilemma:  Do I go ahead and write an annual letter or do I simply skip it?

My head tells me I should write at least a year-end wrap up and send it out, but time is speeding past me and I just do not seem to have the drive to do it.

Therefore, I surrender.

Instead of the usual written, signed, sealed, addressed letter, here is my year-end report:

  • Winter began the year and ended the year.  Cold.  Who knows about the snow, why I can’t really remember how it went but we did have snow days that extended the school year a little too much.
  • Spring came in with Lent so hope revived with the first jonquils and the tiny little buds on the trees.  In fact, spring renews our lives mentally and physically.  Whew!  We survived winter.
  • The calendar says Summer comes in during June, but all teachers, students and their families know that it really begins as soon as the last class lets out in Spring.  The snow days lead us through the very end of May this year and with only one full day to close it out and then jump into the UMC Annual Conference mindset.
  • Summer, to be honest, was delightful.  The temperatures were mild, very little watering was needed for the flower beds, and some flowers bloomed that I had not anticipated after the last couple of dry years.  Why my brand new oak-leaf hydrangeas bloomed in their first year.  The blooms were almost as big as the plant!
  • Summer is such a respite.  I thrive with sunshine and warmer temperatures, the flower gardens, and even the pets outside with me while sitting in my swing.  Of course, structure is good for me and I am thankful we maintain a fairly solid routine with Bruce going to work and I continue with the weekly preparation for Sunday’s worship.
  • Summer brought about a bi-annual event–the Winter Cousin Reunion.  This year it was in Albuquerque, NM, and we made it!  Granted we did it in an extended weekend, but we added a few extra stops–Harley Davidson dealerships.  I think we only missed Amarillo because it was not open as we pulled out that morning.  And we did add in Santa Fe as we were making excellent time so took a northerly jaunt to Santa Fe.  We had a great meal in Old Town before we found the Harley dealer.
  • Now lets reflect on the reunion.  What a delight!  We are trying to maintain a 2-year pattern alternating between Missouri and new Mexico. I am so proud of my brother and sister(-in-law) for spearheading this, and Fred’s family commandeering it this year.  I loved it!  It meant so much to me and I thank God for the blessings of my family.
  • Vacationing is often wiped out by family responsibilities or financial challenges or work conflicts.  Yet, vacationing is educational, refreshing, exciting, and all too often ignored.  Our society has not done a very good job of encouraging workers to use their vacations and we succumb to a range of reasons why not to go on a vacation.  I suppose if I really did have a bucket list, I would have to add in one vacation of at least 4-nights a year.  (Really I would love two, but I do need to be real.)

Well, I had better get back to the year. It is so easy to begin reflecting on social issues.  Maybe a section of mine should be comments.

  • July is summer.  On the 3rd, we marked our 15 year anniversary.  On the 4th, Bruce’s grandma reached the grand age of 100, even with a recently broken hip.  There were other major birthdays and events, too, and the reunion.  Finally, though, the month ended with a decision:  we traded all the bikes and the trailer in for a HD Trike.  Wow!  What a difference that has made.  Vacations may not always be 4-nights, but the Trike may make a huge change in our mindset.  It is delightful!  Fresh air everywhere.
  • August ends educators’ summer.  This year the opening day of school moved up even more.  Students reported on August 16!  For me, returning to the school schedule and routine is healthy.  I cannot explain why, but I simply do much better when I know what time I have to get up, when to report to school (7:15 am), and when I get home (after 2:45 pm).  If I do better with the schedule, doesn’t it make sense that even kids do, too?
  • Autumn begins with school opening, not Sept. 20-21.  It brings about the Chilhowee Fair, which is a major event, and usually great weekend rides.  The weather this autumn made riding a bit more challenging but we did not have the multiple days of 100s in the summer and the fall rides were mild.  We did try a new restaurant off Hwy 13 S and took a ride through the Truman Lake back roads which was a highlight.  The last ride we took was in November with just jackets.  Pretty great.
  • Then Winter cycles back.  November was mild, but the insanity that begins during that month was heightened by the very short Advent season.  My head just spins as we go from Thanksgiving through Christmas, well really New Years.  I just learn that I must go day by day with just a peek at the calendar.  When it comes to a sudden stop, I real.  This time with a tummy ache and I did not even have any egg nog.

There are a couple of special notes to add in.  I trust our kids understand how proud we are of them and this is our way to tell the world.

  • Bruce’s son Jeremy has joined the civilian world moving from Oklahoma City just two weeks ago.  They are now living in Lincoln, Nebraska.  Of course, we must also announce that Haven and Jeremy had a third child in May–Hope was born May 27 and Bruce did get to be there (I was in school).  Their lives have been a whirlwind in the past six months, but all is good.
  • My son Jordan started 2014 off in fine family form.  He and Brandi had Andrew Cole on January 3.  I was fortunate that she had him right here in the Burg so got to go see him shortly after he was born.  So cute!  Red hair on that head.  To top all this off, Jordan bought a house in Trimble, MO and they have all moved in during the summer months and Aidan Mae started school in Plattsburg.  What a fun time!
  • Vada continues teaching kindergarten and running the before and after school program so her day begins about 7 am and ends anywhere from 4 to 6 pm–long hours and tough days (Teachers:  you know the rule of 7).  Chris also resumed a role he knows–school board member–in Chilhowee.  Add to their lives the grandkids–Aiden and Tegen (a third is on the way).  When they spend time with Papa and Vada, we get to be “great-grandparents.”

My one frustration is the lack of seeing family.  The face of our family changes so quickly with deaths and births.  I am thankful for the internet as we get to check in, but I fear sitting around a dinner table or on a porch is a lost art.  Please keep posting, keep journals, keep the calendars filled-in with firsts because it is important.  History will be thankful that you do, not to mention your own family’s generations.

You all know me, I can get wordy.  Unfortunately I am forced to SURRENDER.  I am posting this as a blog and publishing it so the family knows how much I love them, how proud I am of them, and I am sorry I did not get this out as a Christmas card.

For family and friends, I am going to try printing this out, too, and try to get a few in the mail.  If I fail, it is because I was forced into a full surrender. The calendar beat me.

 

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