HALLOWEEN 2009

    Being such a grinch, hate to admit I rather enjoyed Halloween this year.  Hung basket of peanuts-in-shell on front door (cynics: porch light on) with help yourself sign.  Headed off to the symphony Halloween concert that promised symphony and audience in costume.  I'd managed to find (minor miracle) the mask I got while living in Seattle.  And the feathers hadn't disintegrated-- 20 years later.  With black cape and pants, I was off to sit in the balcony on a beautiful crisp full moon evening, after weeks of soggy rain.
    The first thing I noticed was a policewoman at the tympani!  So convincing, decided she was the real thing.  (Not so.)  Concert started with The Bach's classic organ piece.  Then the conductor stepped out of a casket, swishing an attractive black and red cape, which he abandoned shortly explaining it cramped his movement.  (He needz to werk on hes transylvanian accent!)  Although I couldn't keep my eyes off the policewoman, slowly I recognized the slip of congregational woman violinist wearing desert storm camouflage, complete with pants tucked in boots.  Probably one of those peaceniks--perfect!  Who would have thunk it.  After a while, recognized the mormon cellist in surgery gear--from spacey gaiter booties to head cover; by second half the white coat was off (too hot I'm sure).  The small fellow playing first violin (presumably a guest professional) sported a tidy set of wings.
    From Witchcraft to Night on Bare Mountain, Dans Macabre, Berlioz' part 4 March to the Scaffold in Symphony Fantastique, Batman theme...  I couldn't hold still during Phathom of the Opera medley!
    Another highpoint.  At half time when I walked to the main floor, what to my wondering eyes did appear but the insufferably pompous retired teacher who can't lower himself to attend local productions donned out as a near perfect Rumpole, in barrister's wig and gown.  Personally I'd rather have ale with real Rumpole than our own ill tempered clone, however, it was an excellent show (he took home first).  (Later I learned the secret to the unexpected gift of his presence was a free ticket; though I'm inclined to believe the opportunity to dress up was the real thing.  Now we've got his number!)  
    Turns out wearing a mask suited me; too bad it tickled so!  I usually sit alone; everyone busy with friends, why not be incognito? and let folks try to bait me to talk.  Since I'm in the midst of the sniffs, all the more reason not to open my mouth and start coughing.
    My opinion--the symphony never looked or sounded better (like Rumpole-for-the-night, I've been known to wince repeatedly).  Alas came home without my dark Italian shawl.  Retraced steps from balcony to car, no sign of it.  Trick or Treat!  Maybe I'll run an add in the college paper...

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OCTOBER 2009

    What happened to fall!?  Moved off the porch and almost immediately brought out the down comforter.  (Now I can't find the seamseal for the new tent.)  Spent our 2-1/2 days of Indian summer, waiting for tax phone calls, much like the kettle that never boils.  So tonight on the way home, just as it turned dark, parked at the laundromat and walked a loop in the old neighborhood.  Looked in vain for the new moon.  How can one lose a moon!  Lost in trees and scattered clouds I guess.
     With sudden warm days, gobs of "Lady Bugs" appeared.  (We're told they're beetles disguised as lady bugs.)  Whatever they are, they're everywhere. Somehow I hoped we weren't going to have them this year!  Don't recall them as a child--ahh, an import!  Pick them off the white bedspread I added to the front window to darken the bedroom another notch.  Tidy people are probably going nuts.  Being a camper pays off.  I flick them off without much drama, though I winced to find beetle wing under the covers this morning.  Wish they weren't inside but they beat raccoons, now that I think of it, and ticks hands down.  (Recent police report: raccoon fell through roof into occupied room.)
    Jag brought home a church pie and offered to share (he knew I hadn't been invited to the gourmet party the other night.)  Decided to bring zucchini linguini along as a pre-pie offering.  Picked up Jag at school where he mentioned he'd invited cat consultant girlfriend.  Whatever.  Ended up recommending they start a 12 step cat dependent program in the neighborhood.  Though dinner was appreciated ("great broccoli and onions" --hadn't used either), the true focus of the evening was the successful relief of the constipated cat, achieved in moments by switching to designer litter.  Why me--must I be surrounded by the pet crazed!  Yup.  This was no Garrison Keillor skit, but my life.
    It was foolish of me to fish for interest in an orphan thanksgiving in front of these family folks.  For his amusement, Jag suggested I invite notoriously unpleasant married couples.  Shudda forgone apricot pie and dropped the rascal at his door and gone straight home!  Oh that I weren't such a sucker for homemade pie.  Food!--the root of all evil!  As Jag and friend practiced making fun of their new target, she/target, gathered up pans and left over farmers market tomatoes and savoy cabbage, and headed out, reminding herself how much she loves small town life.  She does?  (As one of my buddies moans--time to get a life!!  Indeed.)
     Hate to see the farmers market finish.  It's been glorious and now it's pumpkin, squash and apple time.  One of my favorite sellers is resourceful fellow willing to sell anything that can't out run him.  He offered the first purple grapes I've had since childhood, or so it seems.  Juiced 'em and went to heaven.  Still haven't had a hard frost.
    This afternoon we seniors sang at coach Mary's mom's nursing home.  I was pleased to see a couple of water exercise class gals, one now also living at the home.  Several of the tough singers in the back row, enjoyed watching me sit and jump up from a very wet chair.  Moved over with the men.  Coach was in good form, walking well again--yeah!  Between songs, she presented grand stories.
    Evidently we do what it takes to get through tough times, others be hanged.  I oughta know.  I snap, crackle and pop regularly.  Why oh why didn't I run away to the convent (and find the same lessons waiting).  Ha!  I'm impressed by current stories of iron willed folks exploding at each other.  It's tempting to use the cliché "mild mannered elders", but it's rarely the case; most are fierce.  How often these days I/we get to make the decision whether to take three breaths, or snap and let it rip.  Touchy times.
    Speaking of elders/nonogenarians, been making calls to learn if I can be helpful to mom's old birdwatching friend Barb.  Seems I can't.  If she doesn't want a power of attorney, so be it, it'll all work out.  This newcomer will learn yet.
    I love reading local columns by the regional Mark Twain.  Freida has a way of putting things in perspective, just in the nick of time, that I appreciate no end.  They're my idea of a insightful ramblings with humor.  Look forward to the upcoming indigenous play by said story teller.  (Why am I so surprised that the center of recidivist religious and social life here, who specializes in sharing contentious news, scorns the bard he won't read?)
    Something tells me, despite predictions, almanacs and caterpillars, it's gonna be a long winter.  After all, it started way early.  Just received a query about sharing yoga with a support group come April.  April?  As in next year, 2010??  Who knows who'll still be around?  We may have done each other in, like overcrowded rats!  More likely, upended like overstuffed turkeys from so many church dinners!  They're well underway!

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SEPTEMBER 2009

    Whata mild summer.  Boy did those whose remaining brain cells melt in the heat luck out!  Of course, others "froze".  (I always shuddered at the sign in Boise saying something like "Never Fear, Heat is Near".)
    Need I mention it's a heck of a wild world these days?  (Of course, not all agree.)  One of the inmates here (I refer to the entire town as the state hospital) is oblivious--"What do you mean by crazy world", she says.
    Didn't start sitting on the back porch until well into the summer, but when I did, I fully relocated, blissfully enjoying the glider, hours at a time.  Initially started going through boxes from the garage but that didn't last long.  Loved listening to unprecedented rainfall.
    More or less stayed home 'til the end of August, save jaunts to surrounding counties, plus one to IN to meet cousin Ann for the first time since toddler hood.  (Noted a dandy lake to put the kayak in some year.)  Genealogy prowls are still my main excuse for visiting central Illinois courthouses.  Love those midwest oaks, rivers and valleys, as one goes east.
    I know it's a crazy world, because after years of safe driving I've been clobbered twice on the main drag.  Once from behind, last time T boned on the right side.  Although I felt kinda lousy, laughed when I thought I recognized the officer.  When I asked if we hadn't just met, he said he files hundreds of reports.  I WILL no longer drive on Morton.  Real jumpy now.  Though the body shop fellow I'm getting to know thought the toyota might be totaled, heard yesterday the check is in the mail.  Doors and leaks to be fixed.  Again.  Starting to look for a prius--the RAV's a few miles from 200,000-- and staying off Morton..
    Whenever I can, I put the tent up in eastern IL to listen to night sounds.  Don't remember the occasion, but there must have been a chance of rain 'cause I pulled on the gooey rainfly, stuck to the tent, to spread it, when the tent began splitting in rows and I knew it was the end of an era.  Deeply offended--absolutely love "Cloudy Hands" as I named the tent!  Only used about 20 years!  No replacing, I learned; apparently dome tents are "out" of fashion.  Ended up with a biker tent, as in motorcycle, that may do the trick.
    Since I purchased the new tent from an unfamiliar store, figured I'd better try it out on the back deck.  Ended up moving in for the rest of the summer, putting rainfly on and taking off daily (for both bird and rain protection), drying bedding often, since it continues to rain.  Sleep so much better outdoors.  Alas the tent is red and can be seen from the street, not to mention neighbors....
    Summer got better when I moved outside.
    Also a wonderful summer for ants.  I've "fed" them all summer on the kitchen windowsill.  Only a few weeks when they weren't parading.  Perhaps the rain?  Hate to have the whole house sprayed.
    Off traveling some this month.  Thought I'd missed Cruise Night, but no, it was tonight, so I stayed in--still recall blundering into it on Morton, of course, another Sept.  Earlier today I'd gone to the Steam Show to see coal and gas fed engines saw lumber; to eat beans and wander in the mud.  Allegedly between the Steam Show and Cruise Night, Jax population doubles.  I'll dash back tomorrow to see if I can get more sorghum for those who don't like mud.  Good exercise?  Ran into Steve who it turns out is an antique hawk; slogged slowly around the giant flea market.  He snapped up an intriguing WW2 watercolor, saying You Wouldn't Understand, one of his favorite dismissals--maybe true, maybe not.  Grrr.  While he caught his breath, we chatted with the trader.  I admired her remarkably easily crossed legs--no back problems, she affirmed.  She and S. swapped smoker and COPD stories, meds and treatments.  Steve advised her re: medicare.  Coal smoke drove him home.
    Fall means Met broadcasts start soon!  Yeah.  Today I was disgusted that the breakfast group heavies somehow managed to snigger about sex nearly the entire time.  Why me!  Happens more often than I like to admit.  The ring leaders never tire of their same claims and jokes.  Mind you, we're all social security drawing seniors (except for a young twosome who keep mum at such times).  Eventually someone managed to derail the dirty minded seniors going on like grade schoolers who think they're shocking rather than b-o-r-i-n-g) by bringing up the upcoming scandalous new Tosca production.  Thank you!  Possibly we were ripe for anything!
    Time to turn in!  'night!

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JUNE 2009

Dear Ina,
...    Essentially everything is pretty much the same here--I'm fat, moody, busy, genealogizing, happy, depressed, lonely, crowded and overwhelmed, same same.  (Never bored.)  Life is good enough.  I have shelter (G. added attic fan); more food than I can eat in a lifetime; more clothes than I could wear in 10 lifetimes. Restless about church.  Write a lot; read a bit.  Visit a couple of folks who aren't well.  Otherwise it's all about me, something I'm not terribly comfortable with.  Write 2 prisoners (try as I do, keep getting them confused).  Miss the West terribly; enjoy people and history here enormously.  Like coach Mary announces at the end of singing: "We're done singing".   I'm done writing.

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MAY 2009

    Have I mentioned becoming a regular "at the opera"!  Right here in no river city (more or less).  Bumped into a woman in TX this winter who waxed eloquent about The Met's live broadcasts and thought, ha--check that out when I get back.  There's been a click ...urrh group going over to Springfield for months now.  Why wait forever to be included?  Seeing "Turnandot" at Santa Fe Opera years ago (recall only losing the coral bracelet I finally dared wear, and taking along a light wool shawl from mom), and a regional production of Madame Butterfly in Durango CO (with an Auduboner in the chorus), are the sum total of my exposure to live opera.  Fondly remember dear Bellingham friend Barbara listening religiously to The Met Saturday afternoons.  Try as I have, time and again I turn off the radio when it's opera.  However, loving music, esp vocal, as I do, why not crash the party?
    Knocked cold by Lucia di Lammermoor.  Beside myself to "discover" Bel Canto.  Where have I been!  Thank you, passing stranger in TX.
    Been a "regular" at the opera ever since.  What a winter bonus!  Everyone insists these shows are live, however they look like movies to me.  That's how unsophisticated I am.  (Ever since I saw The Emperor's New Clothes at Mac as a kid, no one's slipped anything over on me.  Movie to me.)  (No Idea what HD is.)
    Not that I'm invited to carpool.  I'm usually already in Springfield for meditation, just head west down Wabash to the theater.
    As the weather warms, the theater's less crowded.  The Jacksonville contingent is still strong.  It's heavily episcopalian, save (ha ha) one Muslim and one undecided/uncertain (me).  When the theater was crowded, we sat in clumps according to differently able.  Now that the crowd's thinned, we scatter all over the theater almost as though we've never seen each other before.  Jon who doesn't see well, always sits in a first row.  Sometimes with Stephan, depending on his (S's) physical stamina.  Jane hobbles up the aisle on bad knees.  Kathy who doesn't see at all, sits happily in the top back row or where Chas escorts the heavy (church) benefactors on either side of him.  It's an seriously elderly, peculiar crowd.
    Today was the most entertaining layout yet.  (I) scampered (I wish) up the stairs, ahead of the crowd, choosing the middle of the 3rd row from the top row, which included a sour local character I'm beginning to recognize to my left.  He was joined by friends of my parents.  I beckoned to Dave, particularly, to join me, without response.  Just below me sat Carrie; below her, Dave.  John2 sat alone yet another row down.  Never did notice where the recent chemo returnee sat.  Sometimes folks attempt to talk across the rows, though most are among the hearing or torso twisting challenged.  I attempted to talk up to Kath, but she, as always, was deep in conversation.  Impossible to snag that woman.
    In my enthusiasm for the final opera of the season, forgot I was v. short of sleep.  La Cenerentola was just beginning, when I heard my esteemed neighbor's (several seats left) hearing aid squeal and considered moving.  The next thing I knew, I awoke, breathing uhh heavily, as in snoring.  Wince--my poor neighbors below!  Deep seats and lights off was irresistible.  Before falling asleep a second time, heard snoring a few rows down.  Can't expect anyone to believe I've literally been sitting on the edge of my sleep--darn--SEAT--with enthusiasm during the other performances (except when I closed my eyes in order to adjust to a 50 year old woman playing 15 year old Madame Butterfly... just a brief snooze.)  Later, as I apologized to Carrie just below; she confessed she too had lost consciousness-- only momentarily she explained.  I knew better.  Others flatly denied sleeping, which makes the snores all the funnier.
    At half time, as I call it, a clearly annoyed woman quickly moved out of the dorm.  Don't blame her; I was sincerely embarrassed by my zzzzs.  Hadn't chosen my seat with sleep in mind.
    Ok, ok, another opera just came to mind-- slept through Mozart's entire Magic Flute in Seattle.  Walked into the auditorium, saw the gray scenery and costumes and was out for the evening.  Hence, not on resume of operas seen.
    To add to the surreal experience of watching The Met in central IL, in a theater lightly scattered with folks, I was sure I was seeing a red dot glowing on a head.  Finally determined-- not a reflection.  Some kind of headphone gear or hearing implant??
    By the second act I was rested, fully engaged.  The audience children didn't go off until the final amazing group sings (whatever they're properly called).  Their crying was mostly drowned out by sopranos, tenors and baritones.  Whoever would inflict a 3 hour opera on little kids????  We are indeed a crazy people.
    I was moved by the short black tenor prince winning beautiful blond Cinderella (not that I approve of blondes).  I'd fallen in love with both voice and personality of the black tenor in "The Audition".  Still haven't fully recovered from learning young Brian only lived another year after his stunning success.  No!
    Afterwards I walked in the woods at Washington Park before heading back to the barn, as it were, to hear Prairie Home Companion, my Saturday 5pm date for years now.  Tried out the swing on the back porch.  Yup, the next thing I knew I was waking up, but without disturbing others this time.  Really missed that night of sleep.
    Look forward to next winter--Tosca, Aida, Der Rosenkavalier, Les Contes de Hoffmann...
    Time to sleep in the right place!!  'Night now...

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MARCH 2009

    Can so easily wile away hours writing that I have to hold myself back each winter!  Small towns are veritable gold mines of stories if one's easily entertained like I am.  Two weeks ago the big news was a septuagenarian running into Dairy Queen (drove forward instead of back).  Verified this.  One of the hazards of my rare health kicks (walking 'round community park) is passing DQ.  Waited a whole year for the annual March special-- mint oreo blizzard-- to return.  Detoured across the street--saw the bashed in wall--picked up an oreo blizzard and put on 1000 calories as I walked around the park.  Not fair.
    Been angry and cranky 'bout this weight biz.  Seems one has to give up everything, the rest of one's life, in order to battle hulkdom.  I'm haunted by the memory of the slight elder I met last fall who eats nothing whatsoever the day she has strawberry shortcake at September's Chatauqua.  Clear evidence life isn't fair.  I'm furious at the idea of giving up food.  How American can one get!  Got the winter crankies pretty bad this month.
    I like it cold and nasty, the way I feel!  Everyone else is whining about the weather.  Suits me to a T.
    The other evening I noticed a vegetable soup benefit for the prairie museum.  My spirits lifted at the thought of a healthy soup social.  (Couldn't interest the Friday night fish fry regulars.)  Although I sat with "strangers", before I'd fully squeezed in, several of us recognized each other.  My elderly neighbor on the right--a classic ageless farm woman--stunned me with easy friendliness and perfect hearing!
    Passed up the dinner sandwich and had soup....  Was half way through (soup), when my young neighbor on the left pointed to the (obvious) hamburger.  We smiled-- midwest vegetable soup--soup with vegetables v. soup without vegetables.  Heartland this may be, but menu wise, the area is not all that vegetable friendly outside french fries and green beans.  Before I left, I fished lemon filling out of a large piece of (commercial) lemon pie.
    One needs a will of iron to lose weight in this region of fried foods and mega desserts!
    Surely I can find news not linked to food!  Wait, wait, maybe this.
    The usual history buffs headed to the college one evening when a historical sociologist came to town.  I wrote a classmate:
    Since everyone sits on the ends of rows, blocking others from getting in, I waddled across the entire row to sit by a familiar but ferocious, bright eyed, fellow recidivist (as I call those of us who moved back to town).  She returned to town 'bout the same time I did-- after being away even longer than me--60 years!  Looking down her aristocratic nose at the rest of us who haven't (lived), she likes to say, "I've REALLY lived."  I'm sure she has.  Enjoy her 'cause she's wild about history.
     Because Mrs. Mayflower (who cares!) has Indiana roots, I mentioned I was looking for the IN marriage of a preacher gggfather.  "Go down to the church here, and push, push, push.  You've got to push people to find things!" she reminded me.  Right.  Heard the lecture before.  Imagined myself throwing a tantrum down at The Church, folks paying no attention at all.  Why should they.  Perhaps for a Mayflower descendant they'd ask how high to jump?
     A local prof (short and bearded) introduced the speaker.  Referring to Prof. Beard, the aristocrat turned and hissed, "Sure wouldn't wanna meet him in a dark alley".  (I rather like Prof. Beard.)
     Clamped my jaw tight.  My mind was practically shouting, "Wouldn't want to meet YOU (meaning Mrs. Mayflower) in a dark alley!!!"  Give me a bearded prof anytime over a fierce elder.
    If I'd thought aloud, Mrs. MF wouldn't have heard.  Like ever so many of us here, my fellow recidivist is fairly hard of hearing.  (Not me, I come from a line of CIA quality listeners.)  The evening got funnier.  The speaker was so far from the microphone, I knew half the gray heads couldn't hear a word.  Early on, on behalf of the elders I announced loudly, "Can't hear!" (not being a pusher, I didn't yell), cupped hand by ear, etc.  No dice.  The students behind suggested we move forward (pretty sharp, eh?)  If I hadn't been blocked in, I might have fearlessly gone up and spoken to Prof. Beard.
    Unable to hear, Mrs MF began reading the speaker's book.  After 20 minutes I realized the speaker wasn't going to get to the subject so I sashshayed back across the row and headed home.  Students were happily text messaging.  Everyone happy, I guess.  No one listening.
    Life in Jax.  Watch out for old ladies in dark alleys.
    A few weeks later I seized another opportunity to hear Burlingame speak on his Lincoln research.  He knew how to use a microphone and how to say a lot in a short time.  Stunning.  A faculty friend clarified that our expensive "luncheon" tickets were for the speaker (not the meal).  Luncheon turned out to mean lunch meat, soup and potato chips).  Having kept myself away from potato chips for several weeks, I couldn't hold back.

Yours truly,
    dreaming of asparagus, baked vegetables, fresh spinach, beets, and of course new peas.  Must be time for spring!!

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FEBRUARY 2009

    Mid January:  Digging out of winter hibernation to drive south, get to know new country.  Is it really warmer where everyone's heading?  Last winter I swore I'd take a break--here it is.  Really cold, yet I drag my feet.  How can I pack up to leave, when one thing leads to another!  Not only does the threat of travel inspire me to do what I shudda-- laundry, cmas cards, dishes, endless unfinished projects--there's stuff I absolutely gotta do to leave--organize plants for absentee watering; stock up on engine oil; chose music, books, magazines, books on "tape"/CDs; find extra cigarette lighter adapter.  Assemble food box; print maps.
    Keen to sew together the wool sweater I quit knitting in the early '80s.  Found crazed knitter willing to finish my unfinished project.  How much did it cost?  Our lips are sealed.  Finishing will have to wait 'til the return.
     Veni, vidi, vici.  Back from The South.  Two weeks later, can barely remember I was warm for a week, swam outside (Austin), wore t-shirt, camped comfortably under the stars, read by candle light.  Loved visiting Austin's designer grocery store--mint malt balls--yum yum--and other delicacies (most of which probably looked better than they were).  Still dream of the case of gelato.  Possibly I'm in a lighter mood, able to tell days are longer.  Rested deeply.  However, as soon as I opened the overdraft I was more or less back to same old, same old.
    Back home, falling into habit up picking up supper in take out styrofoam from the tiny catering biz across from the grocery store we had our first popsicles as kids.  Last week I looked at the set of savory dollops of beiges--smothered pork chop, corn, cheesy potatoes, plus cool whipped fruit cocktail and thought: home--love it or leave it.  Not a green leaf in sight.  Don't let my Seattle friends see this!  (Hold on, belly!!)  Fall progress with TOPS vanished over the holidays.
    Over the years, eating out has become the main way to socialize winters.  Last week, locker room chums met for lunch one noon, another noon, high school class mates.  The highlight of the classmates get together was the fight in the parking lot, right by my car.  Cops had arrived by the time I took my camera to the window, and handcuffs were on.  (Later, I was chagrined that I didn't pray first.)  The scuffle in the parking lot says a lot about how challenging both winter and the economy is right now.  Lotta us on edge.
    One January genealogy Saturday turned into a long one.  At the local library met another crazed long time researcher I'd heard about.  She tells stories of her Portuguese family, but, of course, doesn't write 'em up like I think she oughta.  Time rolled as I listened.  Vowed to get back with her to write up her fine stories.  Imagine a mom holding Saturday etiquette classes for the kids!!  Yet another unrecorded  living treasure, right here in No River City.  Ahh, the past; I'm in the right place.
    Slowly, slowly I get to know "neighbors".  The other morning at the Y, a social dam broke, for a moment, and several of us talked openly in the weight room.  K struggled to show this highly disconnected body/mind (me) shoulder strengtheners--how uncoordinated I am!  Hear, but can't follow.  When I saw K at the wall, I was soon demo-ing alignment.  Fun to swap expertise.  No speeding up Getting To Know You.
    I sense a lot of us were affected, directly and indirectly, by the January suicide of a treadmill buddy.  I will always seeing him listening to books in the machine room.  And miss his warm, devilish smile and wave.  Always.  A lot of us feel cheated that he's not growing old with us.
    Last Sunday night I had what I refer to (though not to faces) as the widows and orphans group over for supper, about 18 of us.  All week I hauled stuff out of the main rooms to the back porch or back room.  Put leaves in table; borrowed others.  Set places with all the silverware I had, then moved to plastic.  Emptied much of hall closet for coats.  One thing led to another of course, as I dug out bowls and pots.  End of week began soaking beans, cooking soups, grumbling to myself about how picky we all are.  Maybe seniors have earned the right to demand this and that, and leave food on their plates!??  Recalled gloomingly all the prime food left on plates to throw out, when I did something similar 2 years ago--precious home canned tomatoes!!  Not appreciated.  It's all "just food".  Home cooking appreciators these folks are not.  Nor are they clean plate clubbers.  Just because I slaved over the stove and sink, who am I to tell elders to try something before they take a lot and I end up throwing it out!  We sure live in the land of too much.
    With everyone's help, the evening went well.  To my surprise, several women brought side dishes that fit well; one Lutheran, a hostess valentine's gift!!  One never ever knows about folks, that's for sure.  Folks didn't hurry off.  What's to do in February?  Two long tables socialized.  Nan scooped my gingerbread by bringing cake, which folks always prefer.  However, that was a blessing; the gingerbread turned out to be pudding, in the oven long after the cake was served, delicious to the couple of us who tried it.
    I was assertive this time about everyone staying away from the dishes and dishwasher.  Appreciated that Jan folded up her borrowed tables while I was escorting elders out to cars.  After everyone left, leisurely loaded and ran dishwasher twice, as I listened to Christmas carols.  Then collapsed into bed early, unable to stand up another moment.  How people host big dinners effortlessly is utterly beyond me.

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DECEMBER, Christmas 2008

    I've used music therapy to get through the holidays this year.  Keep calming meditation music on the car CD, and the Christmas Meditation series Chan turned me onto in Boise, playing at home.  (Or silence.)  Once I dared to put on Leonard Cohen to drive to Springfield in icy rain--how satisfying!  It starts: "Its four in the morning, the end of december,  I' m writing you now just to see if you're better.  New york is cold, but I like where Im living.  There's music on clinton street all through the evening."  Ahhhh.
    Taking this opportunity to attempt to gather up holiday lose ends I don't wanna forget, “wayward items” per one holiday stress book.  (Like that.!  Things I don't wanna forget, about this second Christmas back on the prairie, one of the first ever I've stayed put.
    Don't wanna forget the four mature man quartet at the Baptist service the other morning-- no slick crooners, these.  (Ever in search of music, returned to baptists after having not visited for many months.)  So fine I swung around to the older couple keeping tightly to themselves to my left, "Aren't they wonderful", I exclaimed enthusiastically to the tight faced woman who nodded, as to a mental patient.  Hope the gent with the barn door wide open didn't end up mortified when he got off stage.  It's a wise church, I believe, that doesn't turn it's services entirely over to attitude clad pre-teens, who keeps elders at the helm.
    Lutherans too, tend to be robust and enduring here.  Didn't much enjoy seeing some of their barely clad youth read the Christmas story last night.  I know, it's what they all wear.  Can't help wondering what parents are thinking, or where they are.
    Still feeling as though I was missing the magic of the season, dashed off to Christmas morning mass.  Ahhh.  Light filled huge sanctuary; the modern stained glass glowed; a bank of red poinsettias greeted me.  Plenty of room this morning.  The lone leader was the only singer, plus, the older oriental fellow a row in front of me, who threw himself passionately into the entire service.  We essentially sang a duo.  He sang very well, not loud; I sang harmony to him.  Guest singers, I guess we were.  A notorious non singing congregation, I  wondered why they bother.  Come on folks, we know these Christmas carols!  Whatever would Catholics do without Filipinos, Chicanos, et al!
    I was tempted to take communion when I saw good buddy Bonnie holding the chalice, but thought better of it.  Like faithful Catholics who practically live at their church, they were gone before I could reach them at the end of the service.  I lingered, remembering the first time I'd stopped by the Catholic church after moving back.  I appreciate the life and endurance of the local parish, how the Catholics are all under one roof in spite of it all.  Speaks well for them.  At the lovely crèche I met a classmate and family, adoring their new grandchild.  Afterwards I spoke with the saint gathering up luminarias.  "Too windy to keep lit last night", she explained with a heart smile.  It was a pretty cold, sunny day.  I emptied sand from a few hand painted milk jugs before heading home, mission accomplished.
    Eek.  I've forgotten about the lovely, lovely Dominican taize service I went to again this year, several Sundays back, truly the highlight of the season, followed by incomparable hospitality.  Again this year I was blessed to connect with the Methodist overseer's family.  He loves silence as much as I.
    Today, at Christmas dinner, as the hostess showed us her studio I inquired, are there more artists here than the average town?  Maybe.  I've been surrounded by art this holiday.  Is it because homes are more affordable?
    Earlier in December I was delighted to be invited to tea "in the country".  Ali's big old brick home in the country is essentially a gallery.  We drank lapsang souchong (It'd been years!  What a treat) and munched (among other things, scones made with cream), feasting our eyes as well.  As our hostess toured the active artists from room to room I snapped photo after photo of her lovely groupings of books, photos, plants, candles, etc.  Beautiful, amazing.
    That evening Karen and I continued onward, as guests at what turned out to be, our own central Illinois Babette's Feast.  Only it was better, because I was there, and I knew the dance of strong personalities around the table and in the kitchen.  The opening blessing was scooped from the priest by the cook.  I was glad I hadn't had to assign seating.  Never figured why I was where I was, though I did know, I was not there to talk, not with this chatty church group to which I was an outsider.  The priest, by me, spoke straight across.  Karen on my right turned to the grouping at the other end of the long table.  I listened across and to the left.
    Lynn's big old family home was exquisitely decorated; we used the family china.  The menu was too small for most to see, it looked grand, and turned out to be no holds barred.  Our buddy Jane, who told me, when I offered to help, no way would she ever serve, met me in apron with a beautiful pink drink in a frosted glass on a silver tray.  It smelled good, though I ended up passing on.  (Perhaps I was included because I wouldn't cut into the alcohol, a different one per course.)  Yes, alcohol flowed, even a 3 figure bottle.  My vote went for the scalloped oysters, peas and onions, or the double gorgonzola (or something like it) and stilton.  Aiyiyi.  Yum.  Considering the church politics around the table, the evening was amazing.  Remarkably, all was set aside or numbness moved in.  (Until much later.)  I particularly enjoyed the story of the symphony promoter's family scattering their mother's ashes in TX.  I'd known the family well.  The evening turned out to have a strong Texas theme, another reason I said nothing (knew nothing).  At the end, while others drank coffee with the pie, I drank remarkably strong Fortnum & Mason tea.
    Hours after we gathered, we staggered very carefully on the thin layer of ice back to our respective vehicles and homes.  I was full of awe for the food, generosity, conversation and the good fortune that brought me to this dinner to remember forever, at the opposite end of the 2 block street on which I'd grown up.  Thanks to lapsang souchong and Fortnum & Mason Royal Blend all the caffeine of the day, I had all night to wonder over the amazing day.
    Today we were back at it again, the small c church as the deacon calls it, back around the table of yet another artist or two.  This time, even the cat matched the decor.  Stunning home.  I was pleased to have been allowed to contribute pies this time.  Spent the much of the morning making pumpkin pie again (per request) and trying a new recipe for a walnut cranberry pie.  I enjoyed hearing how the hostess (of Jewish heritage) was adamantly not Jewish, not religious.  She was so Jewish I could hardly keep a straight face, especially when she tried to load me up when I went to leave.  I'd know a Jewish mother anywhere!  Tonya's home too is filled with spectacular, colorful art, beautifully arranged.  After all my years of dancing with and without religion, it's fun to sit with a group of cynics and enjoy their mixed messages, therapy, and "shocking" stories.  Been there.  Makes me want to run home and pick up Tippett's articulate Speaking of Faith journey.  I can't express why I don't buy into cynicism like I used to, so I more or less keep my mouth shut, except for the occasional mention of attending church, to keep folks wondering and myself upfront.
    After a week of oyster stew, scalloped potatoes, green beans and fried onions, well, you name it, I've crossed paths with it this week, I was practically ecstatic when our fat club leader canceled weigh in last week due to ice.  It's been quite a holiday.  Socially satisfying, theologically challenging.  (Musta been out west too long!)
    Better keep on writing "Christmas" cards as inspired.  I'll tape up those boxes to the brothers one of these days.  So good to hear from folks.  Most early birds (sending cards) sent no news.  "Slowly" folks I've not heard from for a year, email or write.  Yeah.  How good to reconnect in the bleak mid winter.  This year I've been inspired to send thoughts from the Tao Te Ching to some folks (ever so relevant re: government) and make cards from photos.  Some evenings I'm amused and content, as the year comes to a close.

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NOVEMBER 2008

    What's new in the land of fried chicken-greenbeans-mashed potatoes&gravy-cream pies besides growing waistlines?  Having trouble pulling together fall news from No River City.  Same, same, change, change.
    Speaking of regional dinner classics...  It's a good evening to ramble.  Just home from Wesley Methodist's annual turkey dinner, groggy with tryptophanes.  Remember going to turkey dinners at Ebenezer (church) with family in the '50s when we kids were small.  (This memory wisp from a church basement is a particularly favorite.)  When I moved back, learned Ebenezer had burned and the tradition was picked up by Wesley.  Helpers dressed in black with white dress shirts.  This solid rural congregation is a class act (though the insider beside me said Ebenezer potatoes were always instant). Afterwards my companions introduced me to another congregant.  She radiated an irresistible warm, grounded spirit.  Once again I marveled at the turn of events that brought me full circle, back to such familiar people.

    It's been the mother of all falls, simply lovely for weeks.  Oh, trees aren't so spectacular, but the weather has been mild and agreeable for nearly 3 months.  Not only that, but mosquitos, flies and ticks are finally fewer.  I'm about to surrender spring to them.  Poison ivy's dying back.  Downright agreeable right now!
    I think of fall as the Moon of Thudding Oranges.  Out camping, all night long (chartreuse) osage oranges dropped, crashing through branches, thudding to the ground, sounding like wild animals stomping through the woods.  Then came the Moon of...hmm...  I forget, perhaps it will come back.
    I'm thrilled at this break in difficult Illinois weather.  We look at each other drop-jawed—exclaiming over each beautiful day, evening, morning.  Like Prairie Home Companion characters, some of us are suspicious of good.  I try not to be but it's hard not to wonder what's next....  Not that summer was a piece of cake.  One stretch so humid--mold stains behind pictures on walls; bottom wool blanket stuck/grew onto shelf.  Mildew on cupboard doors, well, probably everywhere.  Still finding surprises.

    Took off camping one more time this Halloween weekend (if I recall right, my first fall here I camped in November in Missouri). Shirt sleeve weather!  Headed  to eastern IL.  Found McLean County's Historical Society and fished for McCluns and Palletts.  Short lived great great grandmother Rachel's folks elude me.  I'm hopeful; since her 1851 marriage was announced in the Pantagraph (in addition to being listed in records) one of the McClun obituaries listed in the old card catalog will link to a parent.  McCluns are buried in Evergreen Memorial cemetery (along with Adlai Stevenson).  Where lies young Rachel, wife of itinerant ME minister Wm Pallett?
    I'm terribly inefficient at genealogy, more or less following all lines both simultaneously and backwards, genealogical no no's.  Spend a half day here, or there.  Learn a little something, but realize I'll need to return to check this or that.  County records need to be searched week days.  Tend to work furthest from home, rather than near by where clerks are uhh.... less helpful than other places.  Local Taylors have been researched better than the McClun/Pallett branch, so off I go on nice weekends.
    Can't seem to stay away from Gilman IL.  Yearn to see original German Zion Evangelical records.  Since the pastor reported no one wants to go into the attic where they may have been stored, I put a mask in the car and thought I'd offer.  Introduced myself before the Sunday service (after an interesting night.  Perhaps I'll get to that, it's the kind of story others enjoy more than I do.)  Straight way the pastor shared that the board can't have a stranger in their attic.  How strange is a descendant of Charles Layer, one of three original German born church founders?  (Fortunately some time back an old roommate warned me about the role of pastors keeping control.)  Again and again, fear in the body of Christ keeps others from the small c church family.  Not my job to harangue people--but I'm 1/4 German, so I smile and say, I'll be in touch.  After all, I only live on the other side of the state!
    Headed upstairs to Sunday service.  Indeed, per 2nd cousin genealogist Ann's notes, there's a stained class window dedicated to founder Charles Layer and wife Katherine Ringeisen (Mr and Mrs Charles Layer).  I was riveted on The Good Shepherd window, the service lost on me as I gazed above the minister.  It's lovely (though I've probably never met stained glass I didn't enjoy); had no idea such a thing was connected to mom's family.  I'm stunned, humbled and delighted  that great grand uncle Frank Layer had the vision to dedicate a window to his folks.  German genealogist David would approve.  Lovely small church.  Whenever the sun came out I wanted to jump up and take pictures.  By the time the service was over, it was overcast and damp outside.
    During social hour following the service, I met a descendant of fellow co-founder Otto Meyer.  Asked for his help finding the German records.  A truly holy woman (new to the church I learned) did her best to connect me to the keepers of the town's old photos.  The family wasn't open to visitors that day.
    Maybe this lifetime I'll see the records, maybe not.  Who knows.  God's hands.
    That first night out, thought I'd car camp in old Wenger cemetery, by the Layer family plot, near the railroad.  (Noted there were more cars downtown tiny Gilman Saturday night than downtown Jacksonville!  Hmm.)  Why not, I thought, rearranging the car.  I was beat.  I was just getting used to the trains and drifting off when a bright light and voice woke me.  Not again.  "What are you doing?", the local cop said.. "Sleeping", I says in my nightgown, adding, "by granny and grandpa."  Perhaps he thought I was kidding.  "Can't sleep in graveyards in IL", he crowed.  Rats, I thought but said, "Poo", and began packing up.  He waited with the floodlight on me (senior dressed only in nightgown schlepping plastic tubs back into the car).  Otherwise, beautiful evening.
    Drove on, to the next family cemetery where I'd noticed a narrow road into the woods. Worked fine, if not perfect.  I was jumpy from a head full of eerie Halloween radio stories, somewhat uncomfortable having to sleep on side since putting one back seat in; always slightly uneasy about  trespassing.  Quiet, gorgeous morning in the woods.  I'm wild about the subtle colors this time of year--sage greens into yellows and browns.

    Tonight's campground feels very déjà vu.  I was here, a month or 2 or 3 ago, at this woodsy campground near the Vermilion River.  Clearly remember watching a new moon drop through the trees--maybe August?  Another visit I searched the west, failing to find the brand new moon that shudda been there!  This time the parking lot was filled with horses, trailers and horsey people when I arrived Sunday afternoon.  (Quiet now.)  Hunters or trail riders?  Nervously took a short evening walk; flushing deer made me nervous!  No shots; must not be hunting season.  The continuous drone that comes and goes must be from the nearby power plant.  Silence, an endangered species.
    Global warming?  So it seems, as I sit comfortably in the tent the second night of November, in the Illini sweatshirt I pulled on only at dusk.  Mild evening feels just like the ones months ago under these same oaks.  Ah, but less bugs.  Cold in Idaho I tell myself.  Moon drops low, into clouds.  Sky's dotted with little puffs of clouds and stars.  If I hear rain drops I'll scramble for the rain fly.  Same occasional slow zzzzzuh of cicadas, and crickets; however, fair breeze tonight.  Good night for listening and 14 hours of dark to enjoy!  Stars come and go. So mild!
    I'm moving carefully this weekend, listening to back and shoulders.  Spent Halloween eve being hauled around by a young rock climber turned PT.  What an understanding of muscles!. Surely have never had neck and shoulders worked on like that.  (The biggest surprise was the next morning when I discovered how much better the my overly sensitivity teeth felt!)  Afterwards headed to the UCC church for the last half of their Halloween eve concert, arguably their best event of the year.  If only they'd turn the lights down and back off the gaudy Halloween decorations.  The simplicity of the church speaks for itself Halloween eve!

    Missed all sorts of events being away this weekend--another symphony concert,  Sunday night supper.  Ever so much happens in a small town.
    However, I was in town for a recent Friday night trivial pursuits fund raiser.  No diversity in Waspy IL?  You gotta be kidding.  Check out the tables of folks that night.  Ours was too weird for words, too good to be true, trust me.  (About all we had in common was the 1/2 century mark.)  We stuffed our faces with licorice, popcorn and booze, issues and addictions spread before us.  No secrets in a small town.  No wonder I spent the last 40 years, as Jeeves would put it, “...study[ing] the psychology of the individual”.  Wouldn't wanna miss a drop of this adventure.  (I wouldn't?)  Heavy with education, bizarre as our interests and minds (or lack of) were, we came in next to the bottom.  So grateful to be back on the prairie, as the world shifts and realigns.  As Jaguar says, no place he'd rather be--"dying right here".  Me too.  Sometimes things are so good, I roll my eyes heavenward.  Other times, of course, I wanna pull my hair out, or snuff someone out Chicago style.
    Good to feel closer to both life and death here, to feel settled for the long haul.  It's all hospice, I find myself thinking .
    Speaking of dying... Studs Terkel died assuming Obama would win.  Terkel was right, no thanks to our county.  Early on I knew, try as we might, we couldn't turn our backs on hope.  We're all awfully careful what we say here.  The election felt like a sports extravaganza to me, with folks cheering and hissing for teams, cursing and flailing, following every move.  How we love a big game.  Dreadful, dreadful, my cherished opinion.

    Recent local "news" has been above average, reminding me of storyteller Garrison Keillor cajoling folks to tell him family stories. The buzz about a lawyer's fight with a long time lover heads the list of hot news.  Apparently the elder is quite beat up.  My neighbor assures me noseyness is because we care.  Regardless, I suspect interest in that particular domestic fight fell into the gossip column.  Recent shootings on the north side are sobering--bad scene, the lines in this town.  While I was Out West, apparently there was a sheriff who used to take care of things the old fashioned way; as in, no more problem.  Where's Henry when we need him?  Sometimes it seems like what's happening needs a no nonsense, old fashioned lawman who doesn't ask questions.  The loud motorcycle disappears, or the troublemaker.  Deferring to everyone's "rights" seems to short everyone.  Whatever we're doing these days, isn't working real well.  We whine no matter what.
    A letter to the ed appeared a few weeks back that cudda had my name on it.  The fellow pointed out how the newspaper's choice to print mean spirited letters and comments influences the whole attitude of the town.  Why not use the paper to promote the high ground of thinking and news, rather than low?  Tracked down the writer and wrote a fan letter.  Not long afterwards learned he was lunching nearby and introduced self.  Right on, Roy, I said.  He's a bit fragile.

    More Than Enough from the Prairie.  'Night!

PS.   After 2 months of murdering ants, they ceased traversing the kitchen window sill.  Whether it was frost or extermination that halted them, I don't know.

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SEPTEMBER 2008

    New routine this month.  Morning and evening the first and last things I do are check on The Ants, the latest of the ongoing series of contractors in my home (on the list of those I'm  uneasy about.)  They began business the weekend of our class reunion, the weekend hurricane Ike hit the coast.  It rained a lot, fine, warm coastal rain.  Classmates from NY and WI fanned wildly, with wide, panicked eyes, in 100% humidity.  They oughta been here for the wall of heat that hit us last August when we stepped outside; still a classic show for Illinois.
    Woke one morning to ants all over the kitchen window sill, dropping into the sink, prowling onto counters right and left.  Why me.  Perhaps because earlier this summer I'd "taroed" the ones coming up the front drainpipe thinking they could be the cause of plaster sifting onto the kitchen window sill.  More recently I'd cleaned up some leaves behind the air conditioner when I covered it last week, and found a million ants and larva.  Oh no.  Soon ants came down from wherever.  Must be a connection I thought.
    Set out a string of taro stops and began murdering again.  By then my squooshing finger was sore, and I was using both hands, all fingers. Vietnam of the kitchen; killed thousands (ants).  Not without huge buddhist style guilt.  As uninvited (or did I?) guests go they're truly above average.  They're quiet, clean up grease and crumbs, unobjectionable in so many ways.  Could be so much worse as in raccoons.  BUT, noooo, they damage house.
    When someone said ants need to take poison back to their nest--where?--possibly I disturbed--I began letting them run more freely around the sink.  Like to think the kitchen's pretty ant proof since I had a few visit last summer.  Those they headed straight for the honey and sugar jars.  Now I keep honey in the microwave.  Everything's sealed.  I think.
    Every morning I study ant world.  Make sure they're not bee lining into cupboards.  Ha ha.  Kill a few strays and let the rest eat taro.  I swear I can tell the ones weak from taro.  Guilt, guilt.  Directions say it could take several weeks.  Ok.
    So while the class of 63 was reunioning, so also ants.
    We 2 leggeds had a terrific weekend.  My first class reunion, a ritual I thought I'd never be a part of but lo, I moved home and…  have been eating crow regularly, generally enjoying  it, when I can watch my own mind melt down.  (Thank you, teachers of letting go.)
    Friday evening's gathering at Patty's favorite bar turned out grand; she'd decorated and set up food just right.  Since we started planning, miracle of miracles, no smoking legislation went into effect.  There went that misgiving.  I took it upon myself to bring a package of $1.88 name tags, though the committee didn't think they were necessary.  Folks came right over to request them.  I was grateful to have the change to meet folks that way.  To understate, I needed name tags.  We all snapped photos wildly.  Either I didn't know how to use my camera, or it was just too dark.  Didn't stop me from taking a bunch of blurry, surrealistic shots with neon beer signs and laughing, ducking folks.  Inexpressibly good to see folks not seen in decades.
    Saturday night's dinner was equally convivial.  My only whine was that either night, I could only hear people right beside me.  Acoustics both places were harsh.  There were enough empty chairs that we could play musical chairs around the room.  Right amount of announcements, the rest was conversation.  When one fellow got ahold of the mike and started telling off color jokes, someone dealt with that.  I'm in awe of who we've become and how each of us contributed uniquely to a really fun, heart warming gathering.  We done good.  Apologizes, English teachers.
    I now have a couple more folks on the Illinois map to be in touch with, and perhaps a few out of state; plus, hope to get a local group together when classmates come back for family.  Absolutely, let us know, we said.
    Heck of a summer--starting in spring, and continuing into August, storm after storm after storm came through, record rainfall.  Not a scorcher like last summer, so I survived better. This 2nd full summer felt more like home.  Got around to seeing and doing some things on the wanna do sometime list, though I can't name a one at this moment.  My broken (from the ice storm) sprinkler system never got tested (not that I didn't put in calls....).  Didn't have to water a thing.  Grand 2nd season for the new little dogwood in front and the newest redbud on the side.  Still want major front yard tree.  Front of house gets full on sun.  New flowers I stuck in along walk delighted me.  Someday I'll have peonies, and rhubarb.  Not yet.
    August and September have been so lovely we just look at each other and nod in agreement--lovely days and weeks.  Not too hot to sit on back porch these evenings.  Though I've only dropped into the hammock 2 nights all summer.  Didn't sleep on the back porch this summer, more than a couple nights.  Don't have the right mattress this season.  Apparently my back and I are spoiled by the memory foam bed.  Except for a couple nights, I'd turn on the fan and spend the hot nights in the upstairs real bed.  After pictures mildewed on walls, stuck to the refrigerator, and mildew grew on cupboards, turned on air conditioning for several weeks.  Never lived in a jungle before, have I?  Slow learner.
    Here's to a Gorgeous Fall Everywhere!!

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4th of JULY 2008

    Half hour to start downloading thoughts of the last few days before going out for dinner and fireworks.
    Last weekend I took myself off to New Salem's outdoor theater like I've wanted to do since returning.  Although on the drive over it rained, we just wiped off the seats.  LOVED being outside on a splendid cool evening.  As it turned out, the play (John Brown's Body) was utterly lost on me--no English major am I--but not the gorgeous starry night with lightning bugs darting.  Gave up and gazed overhead, remembering fondly camping out with girl scouts, watching for meteors.  So gorgeous was the evening--Jupiter in the east so bright moons were clear in the binocs--I car camped under big oaks.  About the time I came to in the morning, light rain started, and I realized that was gorgeous too.  Trotted around with the umbrella, snapping one handed, blurry pictures.
    Two nights later, another magical evening on Di's magic porch with magical food and The Yoga Girls, one of which is moving closer to kids.  The very loveliest of evenings--I was transfixed by the hostess' elegant details.  An impossible act to follow, my mind still whirred, planning my version of dinner with gals!  By the end of the week I was slurping "the world's best--or is it oldest-- burgoo" in Franklin.  For 100 years men have stirred huge lard rendering kettles of meat and vegetables all night.  Use your imagination.  Although most folks are above burgoo, having been gone 40 years, I thoroughly enjoyed 2 bowls at senior singer Marilyn's home in corn fields down the road.  Like many things, burgoo's a dying tradition, recruiting all night stirrers, a thing of the past.  ("Electric stirring ain't the same.")  The younger generation seems to have better things to do.  Takes an old army cook to pull off this mighty tradition--1200 gallons I think!
    How can I not love these neighbors, like the bee keeper who refuses to put his bees near the interstate: "Can't do that to my girls!"
    Only saw the tail end of 80 entries in the local 4th of July parade.  Our FIVE (5) outstanding mayoral candidates were highly visible, let's say.  Wish I could vote for all 5!  How can it be--such fine candidates!!  Feast or famine.   I'd puzzled over the Kliban July calendar picture of cats with red neck scarves in rows.  Not after the parade--it's clear cats are marching for 4th of July!
    Tuesday afternoon I picked the last of John's little pie cherries with him.  He'd thrown a net over the tree, like I used to do in Boise.  When a huge car pulled into his dear neighbors and I made my usual what-is-it-with-this-town-with its-beheamoth cars, J explained the car had belonged to Leplie, one of Jax's legends I remember from childhood because of his unforgettable name.  (It's filed deep with other fantastic, mysterious childhood names, for their sounds or notoriety: art teacher Miss (Marguarite--but I didn't know that) Shodesack; Mahalia McGehee (college piano teacher who sponsored recitals like the one that scared me forever); (Otto!) Schutte, band teacher; foreigner Rinda Stohl, from very early Sunday school days; Eric Sheets' infamous parents; arsonist Danny Shutt, Mabel Gregory (down the hill, with gardener consort); Pearl Crabtree; Pearl and Rolland Pearl Nutt; Charlotte Cleeland; Lokke, Alana; Jack Ricks.  Names sturdily planted on the ground floor.  I see them when I go through newspaper microfilms at the public library.  (Wonder if Virginia and Chandlerville have newspaper files I can find photos of Taylors in?)
    Now I realize these low miles, behemoth vehicles are passed down, willed from generation to generation, by those who can't part with them, widows or widowers.  Elders tell me their kids want them in big, safe cars and that they themselves (elders) wanna "look good" in their golden years.  (Greek to me!)  Preferably tan/gold/ silver Buick Le Sabres and similar models (or of course Lincolns and Cadillacs).  Parking lots (can't even see my small car between 'em) are full of 'em.  I wave at all.  Could be David or Liz or Lois ...    Now I understand these old guzzlers in mint condition live in garages, and are passed through families, neighborhoods and church grapevines, long surviving original owners.  Ah ha! Perhaps some day I'll join 'em!  Their owners, stop at invisible stop signs, left turn wherever they please.  Recently one of our 90 year old singers raced past me on the right shoulder (2 lane highway) as I was returning from Springfield, heading to singing practice).  Had an inkling it might be someone I knew.  Was delighted when we both turned into the senior center and I could see it it was!
    Wednesday I finally remembered to visit Doll Club, organized by Elizabeth, who's been so helpful finding Hemphill lore for me, and others.  She worked with grandfather Hemphill at the bank.  Fran (whom I met), turned out to have known Laura Hatfield, who worked for dad for years.  Ah--that's why I know the name!  I've got Lauras Hatfield and Roegge mixed up in that deep gulch of memory.
    Took the childhood doll I unboxed and put a new outfit on recently, but forgot the Jacksonville wedding photo that was under black and white snapshots mom had arranged.  Who?  Something very helpful thing happened chatting with these old timers.  When they asked what I'd done with my life, they gave me the line I've been needing, after I quipped that I'd simply "Been Out".  They chimed in with the old line from Pussy Cat, Pussy Cat... "I've been to London to visit the Queen!"  Of course!  I've been visiting the Queen!  Yes!  Now I know where I've been all these prodigal years!
    After visiting Doll Club I worked up nerve to go to a funeral of a relative of childhood friend Pam.  Don't quite recall how she's related, but she sure looks like family.  (Fellow funeral fan Charley reconnected Pam (now Ann) and I after nearly 50 years!)  Sat in the balcony alone, snapping photos of stained glass.  Heck of a funeral.  Small towns do that right.  Camaraderie was wonderful.  Seemingly no one but the minister and staff batted at eye at this stranger/me in their midst.  Quickly found the family's cousins.  The deceased hailed from Pine Bluff,Arkansas, where great grandfather William J Hemphill's wife sister Ophelia, lived with immigrant spouse Robert Galbraith, who went from RR man to banker in his short life.  Had a glorious time chatting with another black sheep, a Katrina displacee.  Two black sheep having the time of their lives swapping family tails, I mean tales.  If I got it right, her mom had a 10 day marriage to a WW2 pilot, much like dad's fellow pilot whose son Gary found, married 22 days before leaving pregnant wife, never to return.  On and on we chatted.
    Month before I'd crashed my first (funeral) visitation alone, a Taylor, from nearby Virginia.  A little weird going some place only knowing names, but as we say in TOPS, "You'll do better".  Hope so.  The funeral director is getting to know me, as he does everyone.  I was delighted and humbled to be able to meet some other descendants of the Taylor brothers from Scotland.
    Is this what I'm supposed to be doing with my life?  Uhhh.
    A few days ago Barb called and asked if I could help write checks.  She was mom's friend.  I drove her VW Bus for years.  It's my parents karma.  I'm grateful to be trusted as Bob's daughter.  May I be her trusted, patient servant, on this circle back around.
    One further note about these past few weeks-- it's the Moon of Turtles Crossing.  Several times I've stopped to hustle turtles across the highway.  Dreadful idea, wandering slowly onto an Illinois road.  Awful to see them smashed.  Some folks smash 'em; others of us move 'em 'long.

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JUNE 2008

    Having just listened to Garrison (Keillor) talk about Lake Wobegon--always a twist I wish I'd remember but immed. forget--here's the news from my new/old hometown, which is smelling wonderfully of peonies and iris these days.
    Farmers Mkt opened a couple weeks ago with just a couple of hardies (sellers and produce).  Grabbed rhubarb, asparagus, lettuce.  Later in the week chose a hosta from a fellow who'd driven miles to set up a beautiful display, only to lose gas money, I suspect.  Last Saturday My Favorite Baker was back, a fierce old lady who can't stop baking.  Perhaps I shouldn't have said something lightly like "Good to see you you made it through the winter".  "Had another stroke", she said calmly, unsmiling as usual.  "Oughta know what they're like by now", she explained.  "I was baking when blacked out.  Grandson found me.  Each one's different."  (She meant strokes I think, not grand kids).  "Month in the hospital", she continued.  Recalled old mentor Barb saying she never felt a thing, had a great time in the Canadian hospital where she woke up vacationing.  "Don't know what I'd do if I didn't bake", The Baker went on.  Don't know what I'd do without her baking either.  Didn't lose weight last winter without her so...
    Went home with a buttermilk coffee cake (half eaten by now) and mini blackberry Pie (gone).  Also rhubarb, asparagus, lettuce, spinach and new potatoes.  Straight to the kitchen to steam potatoes and asparagus.  Dab of butter, and sea salt.  Zowee!  Whata long winter.  Asparagus' been up awhile.  D brought us lbs from her connection weeks back.  Flew asparagus to Seattle (like they don't have produce!).  Shared with hosts for breakfast.  Fine with oatmeal or buckwheat.
    Stories of grease and flames continue on the home front.  The last restaurant fire didn't close down the place long--forget whose deep fat fryer it was this time--hmm east side  drive in maybe (quite fond of it).  Long John Silver's finally back in biz.  Vic's closed, reopened at the VWF.  Couple folks refuse to go to the south side silver diner, so we switched back to Perkins, but they haven't been showing up.
    This move, as I knew well, is all about getting along with the people (at the state hospital as one of my new acquaintances and I refer fondly to town).  The opinionated people, like me, change their minds willy nilly!  One evening not long ago, for the first time since fall, I had company on the screen porch. (Waiting to be repaired by me from the ice storm which resulted in a modest hole I can use needle and thread on.)  Chatting the evening away I thought, yes, this is why I'm here.
    Hoped to go to the local play Friday night.  (Especially if kids are involved, shows sell out.)   But a tornado warning said stay in the basement.  So I enjoyed thunder and lightning, listened for hail, as skies got darker and darker, keeping in mind that the roof across the street had been lost just before I moved back.  Set out candles and oil lamp; unplugged computer and stereos.  Tried out Dikka's windup radio just in from Seattle.  Worst of storms went south.  Reset clocks.  Heck of a year for the Midwest, crowned by the Mississippi (that lawless stream per Mark Twin) breaking levees.  Who can argue?
    The next evening I Went to "Harvey"--no kids, no crowd.  Laughed so loud I moved myself to the side.  The perfect show for a crazy community like this one.  (So perfect I returned for a second round!  This woman needs a life!)
    Uhhhh.  I'm a little bitter about morel season.  The fact that I was unable to acquire--beg, borrow or steal--even one morel mushrooms proves I'm a newcomer.  Apparently it was a fabulous season, what with all the rain.  People ate themselves silly and gloated smugly.  Not one of the many people I begged shamelessly for phone numbers or a serving got back to me.  ha ha ha.  Three ticks, no mushrooms, and ants.
    With the rains, we all got ants, all at once.  Tiny ones in the kitchen.  Honey, apple pie, opened jello box, are in the microwave or oven.
    Off to sweep off the back porch.  Furniture still covered until I can find someone to reseal the porch.  I do believe it leaks.  Causing a chain of events that keep me tossing some hot sticky nights.  Contractor's all busy.

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SPRING 2008

    Sure enjoy the challenging of trying to describe this new life in the Midwest (after wandering 40 years in the proverbial desert Out West.  Can't seem to quite total those very nearly 40 years—always thought there were 13 in Colorado, in the middle of which  7 in Seattle; the rest in Washington and Idaho.  Doesn't quite add up to 40 but oughta be close.  Maybe all those summers in national parks and forests threw things off a bit.
    Because Easter was about as early as it gets, it fell the same week as St. Patrick's Day.  One Sunday I was eating corned beef-cabbage-potatoes with D's Irish Catholic mom, the next Sunday was lamb.  Hold on, belly!  Changed window lights from green to Easter colors the following day.  (It's how I amuse myself?  My neighbors are mostly shut-ins.)
     The draft Hemphill family tree is enough to make me be sure to wear green around St Patrick's Day.  (Mercifully TOPS is in a slump so I didn't have to be a part of a candy littering parade this year.)  It's not clear if and for how long the Hemphills hailed from Ireland.  Next steps: contact Irish genealogy group; and, learn if Hemphill descendant Pierce's papers in the Museum of Natural History in L.A. include any of the research in grandfather Hemphill 1944 letter from Pierce!
   Easter brunch was one to remember, as it was visited by something like 9 paramedics and a doc when a fragile elder was overcome by wine and appetizers.  I was alone with Rosalie when I sensed something amiss and caught a family eye.  Heavy with medical expertise, we lowered her to the floor onto pillows.  I slipped from the epicenter and joined the diners in the next room, ever so glad the household dog was contained when the paramedic teams began assembling (the host kept offering brunch--remember, small town; everyone knows everyone).  All was well, I learned later.  A few hours later I joined an episcopal dominated gathering for lamb.  Not a few of us are recovering from Easter!

    Feel like Garrison Keillor when I begin: Quite a week in Morgan County, truly the west central Illinois version of Lake Wobegon.  How often I think of Keillor's stories!  A zillion things remind me I'm no longer Out West.  Like hearing a waitress consider a request for jello.  She studied the daily specials seriously, before replying, no, not today.  JELLO?  No one ever asked for jello out west, did they?
    The big news this week is the café reopening on the north side of town.  I was going to say "a café", but it really is, The café on the north side of town.  The Let's-all-go-to- breakfast-tomorrow organizer of the recidivist group (why didn't I, sometime prison volunteer, think of this name sooner--most of us have returned to town!) has been calling the owner regularly, rescheduling our first outing.  Jon too inputs reports from fellow Kiwanian/owner. I drove by with the camera recently, cynically snapping photos of a place that no way could be opening in the near future.  Lo, by Saturday morning the place was full.  We like a grand opening.  (We do?  I defer to the group.  I'd rather not!)
    Did I mention Super Walmart's February grand opening photo on the front page of the paper, Salvation Army captain praying over the event?  (I was beside myself with delight.  I'm pretty much used to starting events with the pledge of allegiance, opening prayer, and singing God Bless America regularly, still I was taken by surprise.  But of course, blessing the center of the community.)
    On the subject of community/food (what else is there), have I mentioned lately that the impressive display of community organization signs--about 30 per now historic photo I risked my life to take--busiest intersection--that greeted me BEFORE I moved back, are still not back at that major intersection with the ferris wheel to greet visitors.  I've never seen anything quite like it and can't believe they're gone.  Before I packed and returned--granted, it took a year--Rotary, Kiwanis, etc—all had been removed!  I commented loudly to a high profile high school classmate whose rental I looked at, what a strong statement the missing signs were.  To understate, things move slowly here.  It's been two years.  Much as I hate to even consider it, perhaps I should throw a line to the dreadful open line column of the newspaper.  One doesn't have to use sarcasm, does one?  On the other hand, my gratefulness submission wasn't picked up.
    Returning briefly to the north side opening.  We joined the crowd Saturday morning, but not being old timers, were seated in the hall.  I left for Springfield, before getting waited on.  Sometime I'll take a photo of the long, heavy “farmers” table the paper mentioned.  I heartily approve the idea of a huge long table for regulars and perhaps wanna be's....
    Thought of Garrison Keillor last week when I slunk into the grocery store (after going to a half doz other markets) to BUY rhubarb.  As a life time scrounger, oh, the humiliation of purchasing rhubarb, even good looking Oregon stalks.  Folks no longer grow it; it's a bit early here.  (The reason was rhubarb coffee cake for easter brunch.  2 sticks of real butter later, I over cooked it.)  Last fall I moved my new backyard rhubarb starter around to the side.  Leaves are peaking!  We've had great spring rains.  Hopefully I won't be buying rhubarb forever.  Earlier this winter, just to test their reactions, I threatened several of my ever so tidy neighbors with tomato cages in the front yard.  What a look I got!  Cutting through the backyard recently I noticed my backyard neighbor has peas and lettuce!  Hmm.  Maybe there's enough sun in my side yard for spinach and lettuce.  Wonder if it'd be possible to use the backyard before trees open.  I lost a lot of branches in the ice storm, but there'll still be backyard shade, while the front yard is still bare with full sun.
    Yup, I'm still adjusting.  When I broke out my rock collection for the crock pot for a home yoga class the other night, realized I can't go out in the backyard or to the church garden for more rocks.  Buy them at Home Depot someone suggested!!!  As a gardener to rhubarb, a westerner doesn't buy rocks!  Not yet.
    Saturday evening, as I drove back roads to and from the alley Baptist church turkey dinner, I shook my head at the flat, farmed land, private woods with tiny muddy cricks I can't visit anyhow, I was thinking no one would ever live here unless it was home.  Illinois just ain't cool--nearly all fenced, private land; no ski slopes, clear lakes.  Saw a couple off roaders tearing through a field of corn stubble.  No opera company (not that I care), no Wild Oats ( care), just boring rural America, old persons country.  Kids must absolutely hate it.  Sometimes at night I miss foghorns.  I really miss hearing spring frogs from the old backyard.  I miss mountains, elk bugling, sage grouse drumming-- I'd go on and on, but it's suicide!
    Illinois sure has a lot of hawks, mostly confined to precariously roadside hunting between field and highway, or between interstate lanes.  Careful, careful, I think; they do get hit.  Wild turkeys crossed the road on my way to the turkey supper.  Deer are plentiful, hit on the highway regularly.
    As I drove by grave stones out in fields, began to remember why I'm here, not "there".  My roots are all around this farm land.  When I stop at cemeteries, family names are often familiar; occasionally I see stones of people I've known.  One recent Sunday I drove up to Pekin to their historical society and to find Hollands Grove where the earliest family of mom's great grandmother Ringeisen line was buried.  Found cemetery but not their stones.  New immigrants, I suspect their markers (whatever they were) haven't survived.  Recently read there's supposed to be a marker for the Bethel Methodist church near Pleasant Plains, grandmother Taylor's Pallett roots.  It's "fun" sleuthing the family past, in a totally different way than walking the Boise river of course.  I have to conclude, Illinois is good enough for this recidivist.
    Last Friday, the very moment I was wondering about checking out the antique Road Show in town, mother's old, old friend Barb phoned.  Cut her fingernails in the hospital about a year ago.  Straining to hear and communicate--we've never spoken by phone--I agreed to pick her up the next afternoon--it's why she called.  Ok, God, you're on, I prayed quickly.  (Not quite true, when I phoned her to introduce myself after I moved back, she was kind but said she didn't remember mom.)  Surprising because I learned later she's sharp as a tack.  Fortunately, we agreed we weren't going to wait hours at the Road Show for her little box of coins.  On the way back I took her to the antique shop where I'd bought the dining room table and chairs.  When she was hungry, we drove a few more car lengths to the (south side) cafe in the same parking lot.  Into her 90s, there's not much to her; fetched a pillow from the car, so she could see her beef sandwich, which she ate fiber by fiber, while I breathed.  Where else could I have such intimate adventures!  I drove Barb's 1968 VW bus out west for years, still miss it to this day!  Under 100,000 miles when sold!
    Wandering back from Springfield the other week, swung by Jones Brothers grocery.  Grandmother Taylor was born near Ashland, records say.  I love this unchanged grocery store that "lets go to breakfast" organizer's family told me of.  The stone front step in is worn several inches deep. The smell of barbecue immediately had my attention.  Couldn't resist taking home ribs from butcher Jones; and curried bratwurst for Donna's spicy family.  The owner remembers me as though it was yesterday though it's been months and months.  Feels like he has all the time in the world.  It's an enormous gift to stop in.
    Still recalling our cloudless, endless hot dry summer, I'm loving gentle spring rains (while southern Missouri got flooded).  Although gray days dim my already gray mood, hanging on from winter, I try to get out when the sun peaks.  Several weeks ago I stopped to see Dorothy's yard plum full of purple crocus in bloom.  Spring isn't in my heart, but it must be here.  More recently I walked to the IC library on a Wednesday afternoon past the blue yard, full of glory in the snow and scylla in full bloom.  Stunning!  Wednesday afternoon club must have just been out--several women came out, with cameras, as I had.  Could have been History Club, mom's old club, one of whose hostesses told me in no uncertain terms I might not visit--the program was listed in the newspaper!  (Just wanted to hear that one; hate giving talks, thought they might be short on listeners--ha ha!)  Having seen the spiffy women, I was content to crouch in pants, near the wet ground, trying to capture those impossible blues on the digital.  Have I mentioned all the beige buicks in town?  It's The Car!  Haven't known anyone with a buick since I moved away!
    So many teachers/talkers here!  Being, as I mentioned, a sometime prison volunteer, I'd kinda wanted to talk personal about prison at book club the other evening--Wally Lambs book of women prisoner's' stories.  But a professor held forth.  Can't tell you what she said, but it didn't touch my heart.  Reminded me of school-- teacher dispensing information I was s'posed to remember.  Blech.
    Whine as I do, mainly to myself, how can I not like these people, like the book bindery matron who talks about going to the great book bindery in the sky!  Every waitress treating you like family "Crackers, honey?"
    Several weeks after St Pat's, Mary called to say she'd made corned beef.  I was pleased to be included with 3 other women friends, and pleased that I could walk around the corner to her house!  Jacksonville is pretty much widows plus the odd single.  Works for me.  Betty and Jan said they'd be going to the chamber music concert that evening, but when it came time to go, they did.  I went to the second half--absolutely beautiful music by a Chicago group, played on old style instruments.  Swung back by Mary's by on the way home--it was 10pm-- and was startled to find cars still there.  Rejoined the group--one gal never showed up.  Imagine, spending all evening eating and jawing.  It was absolutely delightful.  Jacksonville is all about getting together.  A lot.  I'd like to have those same gals over some evening.

    Although the news of the week was the cafe re-opening, my favorite recent headline was the lard spill.  Yes, here in grossly overweight Morgan County, 500 lbs of lard spilled on the main road in town one day.  I was totally missed the event.  Apparently every city worker was involved soaking up fat, stores donating clean up supplies.  I wince to think how many lbs of paper and plastic were disposed of.  eek.
    Speaking of lard, got a hot tip, perhaps a hot, greasy tip while waiting at the toyota dealer in Quincy.  (I've been a regular visitor since the "engine light" came on.  So much so that I've become attached to a highly agreeable thai lunch spot that has Phad See Ew.)  Anyhow, a fellow waitee entertained me with favorite restaurants all over the area while I took notes.  I'm especially keen to visit the real donut shop.  Haven't seen deep fat fried donuts since the place on the way to Paradox, Colorado-- I can still taste and see 'em!  Yum.
    Just follow the lard and Wonder Bread trucks to Morgan County!  And, don't forget to weigh in at TOPS this week!

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Late WINTER 2008
    On the backroad to Quincy this week a police car sitting on the side of the highway hit it's brake lights to warn me to slow.  I was floored.  Where in the world am I!  Home!  Not only have I seen relatively few cops since returning to the depressed midwest, I've only been pulled over a couple of times by idle officers on frightful cold nights when I rolled through lonely stop signs, looking suspicious in the old fur coat.
    Practically choked when yesterday's paper said crime had been down last year.  Not my impression, though I can't prove it.  Never been so close to so many murders and arsons in my life.  Don't kid yourself, this is one happening place in terms of crime.
    Another viewpoint we argue fiercely this winter is The Weather.  Everyone swears this is the worst winter on earth.  I don't think so.  "Much worse than last year", folks wax.  Huh?  Last winter the Illinois and Mississippi Rivers were piled with ice--an awesome sight.  Not so this year.  A year ago January on another prison volunteer mis-trial, drove over to Mt Sterling on a dreadfully cold day, reminiscent of Gunnison, Colorado.  Wore the raccoon coat of course.  Alas, the drug tester wasn't in. Noticed bald eagles along the Illinois river.  I've got a photo of a large pile of mall parking lot ice from March last year.  We'll never equal that this year at the rate winter's going.  I do agree, this has been a super unstable winter, warm, cold, up, down.  Last winter we had the same snow for weeks.  Stable.
    On to more interesting news like???  One afternoon this week, it happened again.  Noticed a sleazy looking fellow (usual venue--grocery parking lot) and thought now there's a guy I wouldn't trust further than I could throw.  Then I noticed the woman in the car was a classmate.  When I looked closer, realized both were classmates.  Good grief.  What a stew.
    Waiting to get hair cut, sensed the man next to me wanted to talk.  Folded up my magazine and soon learned he and wife are more folks who've moved back to care for parents.  Our chat continued as he sat in the operator's chair.  Happens all the time.  Time--we're terribly busy, but we still have time to connect.  Busy-ness here doesn't hold a candle to my former life.  They say I'm on a honeymoon, as if one can honeymoon in a depressed town that can't hide it's troubles.
    Sorta enjoy watching us loose it during winter.  Some get grouchy, some defensive; it's my cherished opinion that we all get a little weirder over winter. "Why are you hiding", a woman snapped at me recently. I was proud of myself for not singing Takes one to know one.  I was stunned when in early January folks started whining about spring!  What!  This is Winter, people!  After the extreme heat of late summer, I rather like the fog, cold, skiffs of snow; love driving in snow, wearing the super heavy coats I've had no where to wear.  I've got heavy wool socks, hats, mitts, boots; I'm ready.  My loosing it's more like-- accusing this person or that of fuzzy thinking, blaming them for repeating stories, etc.  Pretty much every single time it turns out I was the one mixed up.  Not infrequently I confuse people, cross wires; think I'm talking to someone I'm not.  People listen patiently, like to a ... patient.  How much will it take to humble me into shape, stop selling others short?
    Most everyone's winter philosophy: keep busy.  However I love staying inside guilt free at last, when it's cold and gray.  When weather's good, I oughta be out there.  Illinois--no slopes to ski, not much reason to go out.  Shamelessly I hole up with the computer.  Then it got tired.  Gulp.  And was in various shops for nearly a week, during which time I had to face my extreme co-dependence.  Almost said "Our" co-dependence!  Calendar, phone, addresses nearly 100% on computer.  Strong wake up call.  How grateful I was for one of the colorful participants in our odds and ends group loaning an book!  How he was lured out of his den is a credit to an extraordinarily compelling personality.  The descendant of original laptop Amateratsu's back, a little worse for the wear, still going, minus screen brightness and volume function.
    Today was a classic central Illinois February "Lake Wobegon".   Headed out to water class at the Y--first time all week--about 8:30am (late of course), light snow falling.  Didn't toodle back to the ranch 'til early afternoon.  "Full" day.  Following water class/a bit of stepper and machine time at the Y; stops at Sharyl's for Avon (don't ask); contract post office: Szechuan House; Walmart & Goodwill.  Fleshing this in a bit--overheard helpful discussion on lowland Scots between faculty women peddling along vertically in the deep end at swim class.  Last night I puzzled over how I'd ever find which Irish ancestor dad's Hemphills hale from.  (Over a hundred Hemphill women and a hundred Hemphill men are listed in Illinois State marriages before 1915.  No wonder I despair of finding the right set of dates and siblings for the Robert, James and William Hemphills listed in Grandfather Hemphill's 1944 letter from researcher Pierce.  Wherever did he get his data?!)  The discussion was helpful.
    Ever since crossing paths with a Walmart greeter in Boise who moved from Jacksonville, I've felt right at home at the local Walmart.  Long timers remember Millie.  They post her notes (to me) in the employee break room.  With the new Super Walmart about to open (the whole region is atwitter), went in for another phone card and 3 ring notebooks, thinking I'd snap photos of the empty aisles to show Millie.  Unlike the competition who might discretely use a cell phone camera I was so unsubtle that I soon had the manager after me--who'd imagine photos are verboten at WM!!  Luckily by then I was checking out with one of Millie's friends, who explained I was sending them to Millie.  The police weren't called.
    Now that I have everything I need for the house, for the rest of my life and several more lifetimes, the excuse I use to stop in Goodwill is that the wonderful clerks get bored these snowy days when few come in.  Soon I was rooting through the hat and scarf bin with the woman who brings a handicapped child to yoga, learning she's a job coach.  Meanwhile L& J were shopping for crockery for the new garage.  Before I left, I'd bought the checkout clerk's flowered bag (just like the one I have from mom) to use as a Y gym bag and a leaf print lantern.  Luckily I got out without the garfield cat phone with eyes that open when the phone's lifted, close when it's hung up.  (Very cool don't ya think!)
    Needless to say I can scarcely endure the paradoxes of values!  Nearly split open days like this.
    L &  J reminded me it was fish night at catholic daughters.  By now we had maybe 2 inches of snow and it was my civic duty to show up, though I was full from late Chinese lunch, because I knew a whole lot of folks would bail because of snow.  They did.  Early in the day the high school basketball game had been postponed.  Almost ran off because the server kept putting more and more fish on the styrofoam plate--knew they had too much fish for the small turn out.  A half dozen of us enjoyed fish, baked potato, baked beans, slaw, and OF COURSE homemade dessert.  Said hello to one of the rectory angels who'd watched over me when I was new to town.  And yes, I was pleased to recognize the above mentioned fellow haircuttee and wife.  Introduced them to a few folks.
    Waddled home to sit by the fire, drink hot chocolate--starting to believe in serotonin-- and write about another winter Friday on the old stomping ground.
    Sometimes--certainly not always--I just love being where I am.  I'm also grateful I like talking to myself.  And I'm grateful for the folks who've kept me company this winter, came over for soup, included me at birthday parties.  Thank you!

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THE NEW YEAR 2008

    I'd say our New Year is pretty much about the new Super Walmart opening soon (just down the hill from me--arg); and the new, larger Steak 'n' Shake moving across the street from it's present location--even closer to me.  Over Christmas Long John Silver's had a fire, so it's out of commission.  Sign says something like closed for re-imaging!  I miss the crab bits I just discovered.  The worst news of the New Year is that McDonald's stopped carrying McRib sands.  A moment of silence.
    We're 8 days into the new year and the town's still be here.  The brouhaha over the new Illinois law banning smoking in public areas (you'da thought it demanded first borns) is giant, and a bit puzzling considering Ireland and France both pulled it off.  Jacksonville folks have been ranting and raving about their rights and Big Brother for pretty much a whole year now, opinions getting uglier and nastier all the while.  Folks say it's just Jacksonville.  Maybe so.  We're still here, and I was able to eat smoke free at the new Steak 'n' Shake twice last week.  Until 2008 you probably smelled the Saturday night smoke wherever you live!  We'll see how many bars fold.  Open Line says people are smoking anyway.
    As a prison volunteer, I'm curious and concerned what's happening at the local state prison.
    The big news in December, without a doubt, was the horrific ice storm Dec. 9.  Early Sunday morning in the dark, I began to hear the cracks and booms and knew it was snapping trees, some thudding to the ground, or onto roofs.  Big old oaks behind me, losing limbs, trunks splitting.  It was all around, in the silence of the morning. Eerie.  Earlier in the fall I'd had a logger come out and look at the ash hanging over the main part of the house.  He didn't recommend topping the tree; I agreed and put God in charge.  I hadn't bought a house, I'd bought the backyard because of its trees.  There they went.  Crack, rip, boom.  Finally I understood why people took trees down and didn't plant 'em.  Ice.
    Turned out to be extremely localized, Jacksonville's version of Springfield's tornado.  Because this neighborhood has older people, our power lines got extra attention.  Neighbors on either side of me don't have trees.  Mitchell's lost their old front yard birch that I'd noticed was diseased.  My few side and backyard trees were young and healthy--part of the reason the yard interested me.  Snap, hang, clunk, limb by limb, the hard wood ash shattered, eventually leaving just a couple unbroken main branches.  Moved things away from the outside wall in case the roof got punctured.  For the next ~48 hours this went on--heavy pruning by ice.  I was able to drive in and out the garage, but most everything was canceled.  Couple dozen of us rattled 'round church.  Ironically I never lost power, internet.  Frequently the neighborhood power goes off--but not this week!  For a week, nearly everything in the area was called off--concerts, schools, meetings.  Here I was needing to make myself pack for Elderhostel and suddenly I had no distractions and excuses.  Wrote my Christmas letter and mailed Christmas cards and packages ahead of time.  Weird.
    Eek!  Where to start?  It wasn't too long before a crew of 4 pulled into the cul du sac.  Newt met them and I seconded their offer to start pruning and cleaning up--while the ice was still on the trees!  I was beside myself with gratefulness.  For 2 days I tried to offer them coffee, cocoa and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.  Farm kids, they worked like dogs.  Turned out they'd done disaster work before.  I couldn't say enough good about them.  My older neighbors were unhappy their bills, but I eagerly wrote a check for more than they charged.  At the risk of being a disaster gawker, drove around taking photos of lines down, trees split.  Fellow tree lovers Diane and Mark's porch was hit bad by the neighbors whole tree.  Some folks, often the older generation, got right on clean up, mounding limbs everywhere, reminding me of clear cut slash.  The next couple weeks were an amazing resurrection from a natural holocaust.  Husbands were delighted to buy new chain saws.  Branches were stacked everywhere.  (I suspect people who hate trees congratulated themselves on their good sense.)
    Then I escaped and returned in January, to find huge slash piles lining the streets.   I'm still waiting for an estimate to have the pruning the first crew couldn't reach done.  Hope to save as much of the ash, river birch and white birch as possible.
   As soon as my holiday sniffs subsided, I was back to Y water classes.  Instructor's south for the month, a lot of women don't come out in the winter, but class continues with Shirley.  Since there's not a water class I like on the weekend and I go to Bible study Monday mornings, I've started going Monday afternoon class to get back in the swing of it.  Last week, as usual, I was late.  The women were walking in a big circle; I went to the deeper end to get in--usually someone blocks the stairs into the shallow end.  I smiled at Mickey and jumped.  I know most of the women hate getting wet, especially their hair--they refuse to shower before going into the pool.  Splashed Mickey a bit.  To my surprise, she came over and slugged me.  Since she was so furious, so I offered to let her hit me again.  These women hate water, but they like getting a little exercise this way I guess.  Mickey and I'll be keeping at opposite ends of the pool from each other for a good long while.  Don't mess with seniors, especially catholic.  The women hate water so much I safely took my camera in several mornings and got wonderful photos.  I think they're cute as bugs in their colorful suits--mostly shades of blue--often wearing crystal earrings and necklaces that pick up the light.  It's a beautiful scene in my photographer's eye.  I expected them to have a fit about the camera, but no.  Few see or hear well.  I was able to walk right along side them and take great closeups that are now on the bulletin board upstairs.  They're darling (if a tad dangerous).  One woman brought me a big bag of popcorn in exchange for the photos I snapped.  (Others wouldn't even look.)
    Maybe because we've got an official reunion coming up this year, I've been getting reacquainted with high school classmates fairly quickly.  At the last planning meeting, one of the men updated us on who was not well.  Last Friday night Barb picked me up to go to Ronnie's viewing at the funeral home by Diamond Grove Cemetery.  She didn't want to go alone (Lord knows, she knows everyone!), and I don't have anything to do Fri/Sat nights so off we went.  Left a message for the classmate whose husband died in December, figuring she could make the decision whether she wanted to come (didn't.)  Although, I went a classmate funeral when I first got to town, I have a better sense of how they work.  Couldn't get over all the people standing in line for hours to talk to family, standing by the casket.  Never seen anything like it.  Sat listening, watching, learning who was who, with classmates while others stood in line.  Every time I saw the wife throw her arms around someone, particularly teary men, I got teary.  Ronnie was much loved (I don't remember him).  Life in the empty midwest--what a change from life Out West (which I'm hoping to visit end of February, if I can talk myself into traveling).
    I'm often reminded of something I read about Gloria Steinham going back to her home town after many years, discovering how strong those she left behind were.  In their own she realized they were making changes.

Happy New Year!

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THANKSGIVING 2007

    Thanks for staying in touch!
    Feel submerged by emails, projects.  I was delusional to think after a year, I'd be ready to "do something", "get involved."  Instead, want less going on--no more meetings-- friends of library, DAR home, art museum, symphony, theater, kids at risk, diversity, immigrants; no, no, no.  Jacksonville operates without much of a tax base.  Groups fund raise to make the town a home, as it were.  Easier to write a check now and then than to go to more meetings and dinners.  Frequently whine--can't keep the pace of this small town!  Yehudit says there's as much happening here as the Bay Area!
    She bought cheap in a rough area, got wood floors, vintage class and style.  Neighbors and neighborhood were so important to me.  Under realtor's guidance, gave up search for wood floors and chose somewhat practical 1960s home with neighbors that care.  A lot.  Recently one mentioned my front yard was looking rather... forget how she put it.  Couldn't agree more.  However, I'm more obsessed with making the inside home.  Another year, I'll start reclaiming the barren front yard.  Vowed not to embarrass neighbors unduly when I moved into a proper neighborhood.  Late this fall started digging up a strip of grass along the front walk, planting the first of 100 bulbs.  Abundant squirrels found the few bulbs I put in last season; noticed them dug up and dried out around the yard last summer.
    I've got window candles in the 4 bedroom and 3 living room windows, orange and clear this fall (red & green next).  Every project seems an ordeal--finding, fixing, replacing--though ultimately satisfying, getting around to things undone for a year, or 2, or more.  Still lots of boxes in the garage; however, it's almost functional (meaning room for the car for the winter).  Classmate Bob was delighted to take the sheet rock I couldn't lift.  The potential to organize is there--frustrated since the unfinished spring remodel left it in chaos.  Bruoght home concrete blocks for shelves.  What happened to those great lighter ones we've used for decades?  How I moved all that stuff, those boxes, I dunno.  Even after a year, I stare in wonder, never wanting to pack or lift another box.
    Been telling everyone how much I like having a real bed now.  No big deal for normal people.  But I haven't slept off the floor since the beloved Seattle waterbed in late '80s!  Just figured out how to sister the ledge so the platform boards won't fall out again.  Not perfect, but good enough!  Just in time for winter, yum, yum.
    Finally plugged in the teevee and played a DVD!  Hear this area has poor reception without cable, so my no teevee free life continues.  During Ken Burn's War, Invited myself over to various homes to watch in dad's honor, the amazing WW2 footage Burns compiled, a heavy experience that clouded several weeks of the fall.  Immediately called library and volunteered to interview veterans in this area.  Feels urgent; recording WW2 stories interests me passionately.
    Continue digging mom's Layer family roots with retired history prof/German records researcher David Koss' help.  We're back to the 1600s!  Nothing I ever thought about doing but the opportunity was there....  Springfield Family Research Center orders microfilms.  Seminary graduate David's something of a mentor on small town survival and of course religion; he (as do others) shares his tv and has put me on to an excellent cafeteria in Springfield.
    Recently I realized after all these years, I've more or less replicated my Grand Jct Toastmasters support group experience with TOPS.  Minus those terrifying speeches!  Met something every bit as Challenging as public speaking--losing weight!  There's a reason you're not getting a report.
    Still go to the Y 2-3 times a week for water class (followed by some "stepping" (to the new MP3 player) and micro weight work.  My favorite thing in the weight room is to use a bench as a slant board and hang somewhat upside down.  Makes my day.  I've got the prison rec coord tryiung that too.  We met one morning; occasional we talk prison.)
    Delighted to come (late of course) to water class one morning and find a large black man doing leg circles and grapevines, chatting with pale senior women.  Sometimes we're one big happy family.  Took some dandy photos of the gals another sunny morning with the old digital camera (that's starting to jam).  Took it right in the water with me.  I'm safe; splashing is a no no!  They're posted on the Y bulletin board!
    Although I taught a weekly evening series of yoga at the hospital this fall, I still miss teaching an ongoing yoga class and scout for places to share.  On suggestion from classmate, I'm venturing over to her health club in Springfield to visit qigong and yoga classes.  Maybe sub?  Every couple months I do a class for anger management in prison, which is amazing, considering I never became even faintly comfortable with Toastmasters.  The men wait patiently until I get it together and start making sense; my gratefulness knows no bounds.
    First real rain since June the week before Thanksgiving.  Leaves just dried up, faded away this fall; not much color.  West central and southern Illinois are dry, dry, d, inches below normal rainfall.
    Eek!  Can it really be time to write the Holiday Letter!  And wrestle with whether I can get boxes off to the brothers EARLY before joining Elderhostel for Christmas!  After years of threatening to do so, I'm escaping the holidays by running off to ITALY!  Ever in a snit about travel and packing, I'm undergoing my usual packing/travel trauma, trying to be a practical but not an ugly American, especially at Christmas time in stylish Italy.

Goodnight and love from Illinois,
 Jeannie

---

September 1, 2007
    Corn sheaves are starting to break up and waft over highways and fields like small UFOs.  They're showing up in yards, "far" from fields (though no place is all that far from corn 'round here).  Hopefully I won't be watching again soon the bank temperature read out go from 101 to 102 to 103 to 104 all in the time I stopped to take photos (last week!).  Heck of a hot August.  (To survive, all summer I've averted my eyes from those temperature marquees, reasoning best not to know.)  Think it's fair to say August was really hot.  I had the mistaken understanding that when it got really oppressively hot, a thunderstorm would conveniently build and relieve us.  Wrong.  Last good rains in June.  Hot and hotter.  Somehow I've continued to sleep out on the porch, more accurately, pass out, no matter what.  The only night I thought I simply couldn't stand the heat, I pulled mat and sheet into cooler living room right under ceiling fan.  Hadn't been there long when a micro rain came by, easing the temperature enough that I moved right back outside.  As I lay there I pondered why anyone would need to got to the South American jungle when Illinois has heat, humidity and... our version of monkeys.  What's the dif!  My slightly curly hair is having a field day.  (Don't really understand how it can be so humid when rainfall's 8" behind!  Cornfields are brown now, soybean fields are tinged yellow; still it's humid.)
    Then there were ants like the jungle.  Sudden, in the sink, scouting.  Learning not to leave anything sweet anywhere, ever.  Yearn for more peanut butter jars to store food in; wish there were a good recycling center here, like even Boise had, but recycling's not much here yet, noooo.  Getting back to ants, evidently people regularly ring their houses with pesticides. I'll keep that in mind.  I may be soft on buddhism but like most critters, I'm territorial about the home front.  Spiders have slowly returned since the fumigation at the time of sale/purchase.  There's a cobweb between any two points, any corner, everywhere, overnight.  Jungle-like.
    Love listening to night sounds though admittedly I'm uneasy about raccoons.  Neighbors all have stories of evicting furry families from fire places.  No thank you.  Had another layer wrapped around the chimney, but it's only chicken wire.  The large holes in the tight woven under wire are snagged with clumps of fur evidence.  One night I heard lapping in the small lily bowl.  Although I easily have a half dozen flashlights, couldn't come up with one, but was sure by ear silhouettes in backyard light, 2 raccoon kits were drinking.  (Earlier "someone" pulled the lily off it's roots and tossed it onto the bricks, along with the 2 fake floating flowers; hence the micro pond is now covered with the end of the chicken wire.)  The visitors purred almost like kittens, chattered and called.  When I clapped my hands ferociously, they fearlessly purred louder and rubbed seductively against the screen and each other, exactly like large kittens.  Oh, the charmers!  They need water in this drought, one of my animals-uber-humans buddies reminded me, "poor things."  He then turned gloomy recalling demise by parent of his beloved childhood raccoon.  In sympathy, I winced with the pain of betrayal and memories of enormously appealing rascals.  Several times I've heard two or more raccoons swiftly climb down--nose first--the paper birch-- wonder if they might not reside there.  Raccoons streak up the nearby river birch like lightning.  Accomplished climbers is an understatement.  They're nervous now, and well they should be.  I've heard terribly cries in the night, and I'm certain, gun shot (coming from Idaho, I know late night gun shot).  In Boise from time to time I heard distant coyote and owl.  Mornings I listened to the neighbor's cat murder birds.  Different players,different wildlife dramas.  Only once I've heard owls, though twice I've found feathers.  Too many street lights and cats?
    Have to admit leaves have helped shade the neighbor's backyard light, still, every night's a "full moon" at the Melrose ashram.  Wanted a shaded backyard and got one; there's only a small hole to the sky which I watch on the rare evenings I use the hammock on the deck.  All spring until only well into August, every hour of the night, birds peaked at "the light", thought it was morning and started in singing for the day, only to realize at some point, it wasn't really time.  Must have been exhausting.  I love having a backyard with cheery red cardinals flitting and singing, bright blue, noisy jays, busy robins, super singer house wrens; sapsuckers drilling, downy's calling.  Quite a racket, really.  Birds let me know when hawks stop by, or cats are around.  Late one day I chased a young blue jay, cute as a button, up the hill.  Couldn't catch "him", but he couldn't really fly either.  Worried he'd make it through the night, knowing the backyard cat lurks in the junipers.  The other backyard neighbor lets out fido to do his thing elsewhere early mornings.  I seethe and scheme.  Though there are less pets per capital here--or so I think--than out west, their defenders make up in ferocity.  Janet won't even sing "The Cat Came Back" with the seniors, she's so offended by even yarns about doing in a cat.  She sent a nasty email reminding me those who don't love animals are going to the hot spot.  Never estimate the venom of a pet prefurrer.  Or maybe it's just how crazy we all are here. Read on.
    Hmm.  Midwest happenings.  One August morning I hosted a class reunion planning meeting.  A dozen of us sat around the table and came up with a date for 2008 and brainstormed the weekend.  I was knocked out by how respectfully we worked with each other, and how folks offered to help--what a pleasant surprise--who we've become.  Each so different, so interesting, uniquely contributing.  Served ice tea; set up coffee; was left with a ton of food--no takers.
    The next week I semi-hosted a micro reunion of dad's fighter squadron--3 families with members in the Air Corps 66th Fighter Squadron--who just happen to end up living within a few blocks of each other.   We met with researcher Gary from Tucson who found and connected all of us.  Interesting, but stressful.
    Didn't wanna do much for my birthday the following week.  Anyone I mentioned going to the State Fair to pretended like they didn't hear me.  So I headed over one super hot night, to find the french fries written up in the Illinois Times, and of course, eat pork, the State Everything, watch the tractor pull, wander and sweat, listen to cicadas and night hawks, and a watch huge orange sun set (thanks, Idaho fires).  Interestingly the Gov keeps talking about cutting the pork.  Just talk.  As far as I can tell one's person's pork is another's meat and potatoes.  Ha ha.  These days I leave politics to others.  However last week John interested several of us in attending a democrat party meeting at the old courthouse.  I'd love to see him get involved since he's forever telling others THEY oughta get involved.  The way I understand it, it's him who oughta.  We doubled attendance.
    This summer I finally got my prison id, connected with the new chaplain, and am hopeful of sharing meditation and yoga with the chaplain's first anger management class!  Who knows.  I'm game.  Mentioning JHS class of '63 seems to open a lot of doors previously closed. If the Y doesn't want to relax and release tension, maybe prisoners do!!  Huh?
    I'm enjoying getting to know the Y this summer.  Started visiting in July; joined in August.  If it hadn't been so darn hot, I might not have been such a push over for senior water aerobics.  We do have fun in Connie's (my grade school P.E. teacher who's 100x tougher than any of us) water class.  I love seeing Betty and Vergene, Mary and Buelah, et al; some of these women knew mom and dad, Aunt Mary or dad's folks.  Once I started looking around the Y, found a working stepper in a not too noisy corner and a couple of machines in the rusty old weight room are good enough.  (Although if I turn up missing, I'm probably pinned under some slipped gear.) Rather decrepit old Y, compared to all the money that goes into "fitness" out West.  New and slick is not the Midwest.  Especially miss the wonderful inner- outer thigh, and fly machines, of the club in Eagle where I spent 8 years.  I'm getting to know the downstairs maintenance staff and to leave the politics to upstairs.  Then there are The Monthly Senior Potlucks with Harvey Walbanger cake and ... can't seem to resist getting to know other seniors better.
    Shouldn't even mention food and resistance in the same sentence.  Haven't found that balance.  However, I love T.O.P.S. meetings and folks.  Last week we adjourned to eat outside at the Sonic Drive In on the highway, perhaps the first evening in months cool enough to be outside.  Imagine a bunch of retirees nearly as rowdy as kids, chowing burgers and salads (but not throwing food or trash).  I howled when Janet went to the trash can to retrieve the mint she learned had been in each sack.
    Summer confession: can hardly believe I'm FULL of vegetables, something I never thought I'd say after the long winter here.  I've gone from being ready to eat dirt after the long winter, to being relieved that corn season is winding down.  Finally have my fill of incomparable Illinois tomatoes.  Originally thought I might can tomatoes this year.  Maybe not. Every few days I still bring home pink tomatoes from the farmers market.  It's a rare day without a tomato or 2.  Now and then I wonder if there's a dead animal in the kitchen and find a tomato melted from the bottom.  Whew--like a rotten potato!
    I love the way small towns, some really very small, close off main highways, detouring traffic through old neighborhoods, during celebrations like the mighty Bluffs burgoo; Waverly town picnic; Meredosia 175th Anniversary, etc.-- so they can celebrate right in the old town square.  Thus far the only fight that calls me in my old home town is to reclaim the old square so that we too can have gatherings downtown, like just about every other small town in the region does.  Bring back the town square!  Remove the new buildings that block where we once parked and drove!
    Meanwhile, however, I'm enjoying Jacksonville's 9th Labor Day weekend Chautauqua (revived) on the "new" community park grounds, of the old State Hospital.  Four evenings of music and re-enactments under a big tent, plus outdoor dinners, have been expertly organized by a retired German history professor and wife.  Writing this makes me realize  Jacksonville now has an agreeable park it didn't have when I was growing up, away from downtown, which makes the old square reclamation more problematic.  Ha so!
    I'm amused that the former State Hospital feels so deeply woven into the community in ways perhaps only a returnee notices.  It's my current sense that my old hometown is one thoroughly crazy place, where who's "in" and who's "out" is unclear.  "Inmates" and families connected with all the institutions that define Jacksonville have been mainstreamed in more ways than we might realize.  Progressive Seattle has nothing on J'ville in terms of services to disabled.  We think nothing of deaf sign language, blind students training, companions to and with any number of disabilities; commonly coming onto groups of variously differently baled folks and chaperons; folks wearing or carrying all sorts of gear and notable clothing, grunting or calling out.  Handicapped, diversity and human rights have entire different sets of definitions here--it's quite a scene.  One colorful village idiot?  Dream on--it's a town full.  In addition, we're a diabetes epicenter, cancer's on everyone's lips; walkers and wheelchairs are everywhere for all ages; canes rattle and get knocked over; oxygen tanks pulse; hearing aides squeal; handicapped parking's extensive.  Definitions of health and personal rights continue to change.  There are loud cries for "gov'mint" support of each new diagnosis; and "the gov'mint's broke!
    About the only thing we don't bring up is the relationship of over-eating and health and operations such as joint replacement.  Obesity appears to have become another right.  Kids waddle, adults waddle; a great many of us waddle (and die early!).  If it sounds like this writer's excepted--I WADDLE!, 50 lbs overweight.  BUT I DON'T BLAME the feds, restaurants, not even the devil (well maybe churches a little, which I hold to a higher standard of truth).  Yours Truly simply OVEREATS.  Duh.  It's a good week when I manage to get past the donut table at church without licking icing off my fingers.  Believe in Satan?  Couldn't have been anyone we know who decided donuts at church would bring in the lost; musta been the Big One.  Snort!
    When I left Jacksonville we were eating scrambled eggs and white toast.  Now it's "horseshoes", defined as "heart attack on a plate".  "On a steak plate (the anvil), place two pieces of toast in a U/V shape, cover with meat (turkey, ham, hamburger) in a horseshoe shape, cover with cheese sauce, never cheez-whiz, but a slightly spicy sauce (butter, flour, pepper, cream or half & half, cayenne, shredded sharp cheddar, maybe a little beer or worcestershire. Pile on the nails, freshly fried real potatoes. A smaller sandwich is a Ponyshoe." (Originated in nearby Springfield).  Who underwrites these bypasses and stints!  Ach--I'm really on the soapbox this morning!  Likely to be late for water aerobics and end up grabbing something I shouldn't to eat in the car!
    Find myself studying and staring at slender people, like model T's of the past.  Health appears out of our own hands and overeating a sacred cow addressed with money and programs.  Single level homes are in demand; it's why my tri-level was sold.  I wanted a home with stairs to keep me moving!  Now, after 40 years, folks suggest railings for the walk.  The house used to be good enough!.  (More challenging would be a main floor bathroom!)
    It's wild out there and that's just the tip of the iceberg!

Hang On!
Jeannie

---

June 27, 2007
     Three months!.  No wonder so many Illinois tales have piled up I'm about to sink!  Now I remember--this spring turned out to be yet another black hole--The Remodel.  Sometime in February, began stuffing furniture, books--most everything that had been unpacked--into the purple bedroom (the rest went downstairs) so carpets, walls, paneling etc. could come out--my idea of opening and lightening up the house.  For the rest of winter into spring, continued holing up in the yellow & orange bedroom.  When action finally started after several delays, felt like a hostage from plaster dust, saws, men... in my own home.  Learned a bit late if I left anything out, it'd be broken.  Hard to use kitchen in the middle of it all (waited impatiently for the gas range to replace the glass top).  For weeks I didn't have anything profound or pleasant to say to anyone.  Strong spiritual practice--patience and breathing--with each delay, gouge or hurried mistake.
    One of the first thing the guys did was screen the pack porch, then THEY moved onto MY new porch and their stuff STAYED for months and I couldn't use it.  Living with strangers, parking down the street for months wore on me!!  Felt myself crumpling inside and out.  My good nature about camping in one room like I had for months last year, ran out.  Became desperate to fully unpack, find favorite toys.  When half the world carries water miles in buckets and would give their eye teeth to have the luxury of choosing faucets for a vanity, my idea of hell was staring at plumbing fixtures Friday nights 'til my eyes burned, finding nothing plain and simple.
    Perhaps because I began packing up winter 2006, more than a year ago now, at times what felt like going backwards was more than I could deal with.  (Tried leaving town several times, but little happened while I was gone.  Works for others--voila!  New home!  Not me.)  Have a sense of urgency about this phase of life.
    Something like 10 weeks later the crew moved gear off the porch--the house looked like a battlefield--and I moved onto the porch.  Dragged futon, then wicker couch there.  Here I now sit, chasing tiny buglets that slip through the new screen when I use a light after dark.  One just fell into the keyboard.  Great.  I'm trying not to itch poison ivy acquired cleaning out spirea bushes in the front yard!  Carry calamine, hydrocortisone cream, liquid bandage and tea tree oil wherever I go, "Gonna need an ocean" floating through my head.  I know why--it's like water! this calamine lotion.  Some sort of Illinois reentry initiation, poison ivy?  From time to time I've noticed folks with nasty looking yellow junk on 'em.  Now I iz one.  One web article suggested those with strong immunity are the ones who react most.  Huh?
    Googled poison ivy and swimming pools; seemed like it'd be ok to go to water aerobics today.  When yoga class at the hospital wrapped up, figured I'd better investigate alternative ways to keep moving.  Started visiting my grade school gym teacher's class at the Y.  She's a hundred times more fit than any of us, an aggressive athlete.  She urges us slugs clinging to the side, circle legs this way and that, faster and faster.  Her enthusiasm is contagious; easy to see why there's a big group yakking throughout.  Occasionally I get myself out to Walk about the time lightning bugs come out, sweat running down face and torso.  Shades of sweat lodge, this Illinois heat.  Something of an adjustment, The Midwest.
    I'm praying one of the elder construction pros can install a whole house fan, per realtor forever Dian.  No more of out-here, youthful, construction for this senior!  About to look for someone to do the screens promised last February--still no screens!  Duh.
    One of my first spring Illinois adventures, after weather warmed, was Buffalo Gnats.  Lucky folks wore head nets.  Bicyclists and walkers waved furiously at what was supposed to be a couple of days of gnats, but easily lasted over 2 weeks.  The paper mentioned chickens suffocating (from gnats).  Felt for those who worked outside.  Buffalo Gnats I noted recently are mentioned in Mari Sandoz' Crazy Horse.  Same old, same old.
    Then sensational night thunder and lightning storms rolled across the prairie.  First class.  I was in Springfield for a late afternoon storm--Impressive!  Waterfalls off buildings. (By the way, no tornadoes like hit this area spring 2006!)  Could swear humidity is 99% on the porch.  My hair curls like I never remember.  Think ferns--at last I'm where they oughta thrive!  Decided my favorite down pillow was going to rot if I used it in this humidity--it's all blotched, needs recovering!  I don't drool THAT much.  Dashed out to the town epicenter (walmart) to get a synthetic one last night.
    Corn is unbelievable to my new comers eyes--new varieties and techniques they say.  Knee high by 4th of July?  Naw, way over my head, weeks before!

    Those of us who still cook are ecstatic to have the farmers market back.  Seems like an eternity since fresh produce!  Kept threatening to eat dirt.  First-- asparagus, lettuce and radishes.  Then peas, onions and potatoes.  Yeah!  Now corn, beans, summer squash.  Endeavor to avert eyes from tables of Amish and others' baked goods.  Ain't no pies like Donnas.  (I'm fond of one elder's corn flakes cookies.)  Thought I'd treat the Saturday breakfast group to sugar peas and raspberries last week.  They stared, uninterested--not for everyone, local harvest! Heard--"...don't like raspberries!"  Stunned!  Grateful for Thurs evening TOPS meetings to help watch eating!  Awfully fond of the TOPS folks (and adjourning to Grandma Rudi's or Steak'n'Shake).
     Love the sign in myotherapist Mary's office: "How poor are they who have not patience! What wound did ever heal but by degrees. -- Shakespeare"  Pleased to have met her.  Sense I'm quite depleted from the relocation and years of below average eating and exercise.  She's helping shoulders.  Moving was tough, tough, tough, but the remodel could be the most stressful thing I've lived through yet in terms of letting go of control.  Am I in some kind of a stress out contest?  Dr A was a little alarmed when he saw me in June--shudda recovered by now!  Not yet.  Still deep circles under eyes.
    Still enjoy singing with seniors; Thurs afternoon covenant group mercifully adjourned freeing up one commitment.  Still enjoy erratic Bible study with prof Willets; and Living in the Psalms Sun am's with Alan.  (Still wrestling with the evangelic v. intellectual church worlds.)
    Finally started an Illinois rolodex.  Slow, slow, slow to resettle.
    Recently checked one important item off the to do list--invited friends of the rectory (where I stayed all fall) over for brunch this week.  Several of the delightful fiery elders who clean and keep up the historic catholic rectory came for brunch live just a few houses away.  Taught me to make coffee for them.  We all enjoyed the NY Times rhubarb coffee cake (that took 10 times as long as a bisquick one.)  Yum.  So much fun, I'd like to do it again.  I've waited years to live somewhere where folks take time to know neighbors (and write thank you notes--'bout fell over when I got personal thank yous from spring symphony fund raiser candidates.)
    Couple more stories from the last few months?  Yup, back in March went to the Museum of Funeral Custom's poetry reading (Charley begged off due to above mentioned campaign).  Gotta return midweek to stop in Oak Lawn cemetery office across the street to learn where the Smiths/dad's twin are buried.  End of March--awesome underground railroad tour day.  Lovely Easter dinner at John's; he led fine outings around the area, like to Pere Marquette State Park and Elsah.  Sometimes I'm included, sometimes not.  I tend to want to stop and look at things and not follow orders as well as the catholics and episcopalians do.  Tisk.  In April I drove to Cleveland for Sacred Art of Living and Dying workshop (Sunday nighters rolled their eyes when I announced I was going), followed by sleuthing ancestors.  I'm finally doing family research; just figured out who grandmother Mann's father was.  End of May major 3 week return to the west (travels page).  Ongoing Saturday am and Sunday night suppers at VFW and potlucks.  We buried the youngest of the Sunday night diners, Jane, a premier underground railroad tour guide, a few days after our mother's day potluck.   Everyone reads obits first.  Small town life feels closer to the bone.
    Tonight I'm in from a country church ice cream social.  The clear glass arched windows framed the evening light over fields and barns with such beauty my head swam.  It's a different kind of beauty, of course, from the West.  Artist Carol says in Illinois the show's above the horizon.  So it seems.  The ice cream wasn't homemade, but the music and entertainment, like the sky, were absolutely stunning, and the company was good.  I'm especially grateful to be here tonight.

Shalom, Jeannie

---

March 23, 2007

Dear Friends,
    We've gone from extreme cold to summer this month.  (Interestingly my local Christmas cactus is just starting to bloom.  The Idaho one began blooming in October!!) March came in like a lion, then a pussy cat, then a kitten.  Love the thunder and lighting storms that come through; part of my DNA, one might say.  I'm a bit leery of this sudden change, after endless winter.  I venture out cautiously!  Lo! it is so-- buds are bursting ahead of time!  Seems the new yard doesn't have much coming up--no crocus; a few tulip and daffodil leaves. This week, found a nursery, and per Bob R ordered yellow wood tree for front yard.  Nursery folk we're annoyed by this early bird, telling me I was a month ahead.  I don't think so!  Began digging and planting in the bare Boise yard in February while it was still diggable.  Why would planting lilac, forsythia be any different here?
    The other morning I listened to several hours of chain sawing; yet another big spruce gone from our cul de sac.  Gotta do my part to counterbalance desertification of Melrose Court!  I promise not to embarrass the neighbors with the front yard (though I'll be replace the trees that I can tell were cut down recently.)  But the back yard is mine to make my own secret garden.  Bob says he can give me ginger starts.  I'm keen to have the back grow over as best it can to dim the adjacent backyard street light that makes every night a full moon, and confuses the spring birds all night long.  Love to have this side of the light painted black, or put on a motion detector.
    I'm a bit bummed, starting over in yet another rather plain yard, after getting the Boise one rolling (my point of view only, of course).  I've got crocus, tulip, dwarf iris and daffodil bulbs on the front porch.  Azalea, bleeding heart, columbine wait for inspiration for location in back. As usual, it's survival of the fittest.  Just realized what looks like the logical place to plant is right in front of where the new windows will go during imminent major remodel #1.  Better not plant there yet.
    One hot recent day, in tank top and 3/4 length pants, learned I can get up on the back porch easily with my trusty Idaho ladder I insisted on moving.  Walked onto the roof, cleaned gutters, and filled bags with leaves, that include raccoon scat.  Around the hole in the wire wrapped chimney are unmistakable clumps of raccoon fur.  Listen up, Jeannie.  I was alerted to the trespassers when I came home one evening and saw a raccoon on the roof.
    Funny--sat down to write about the cloud cover on the way home from the nursery in Springfield that looked like a Tom Robbins Skagit Valley oyster sky... . It skunked  the new crescent moon that evening....  Earlier in the month, clouds hid the tail end of the full moon eclipse earlier.  Otherwise, in my Idaho opinion, we've had lots of sun and stars this winter, though not always when I want 'em!
    But this other stuff came out.  One never knows what's waiting in the wings!
    The night of the eclipse--Mar 3--was seriously cold.  Hefted up the heavy raccoon coat (tricky karma, I know), fake fur hat and boots, long skirt and headed to Rammelkamp Chapel to hear friends sing in Rutter's Gloria (turned out to be in the 2nd half of the program).  On the way inside, the full moon peaked momentarily through clouds, well past the eclipse.  Charley, shuttling seniors to the front door in the golf cart, introduced me to former congressman Findley, whom I remember from 40 years ago.
    I was looking forward to meeting up with our senior singers coach MaryAnn, who was given a ticket for the evening when she said she'd never been to the chapel.  (Turned out there was a good reason she'd never been!)  Good crowd for the symphony with chorale evening.  I winced as MA thrummed her program in time to the symphony--she's a heck of a jitterbugger.  Bless our tolerant nearby neighbors.  At "half time" MA explained the obvious--not much for that "long hair" stuff, she put it.  Indeed she wasn't.  As a world class fidgeter myself , I can relate--although I thought the pieces exceptionally beautiful.  MA's a farm girl and retired jr high coach, whose idea of a good time is wallowing in the mud to raise a barn.  I only recall one of her many colorful remarks that evening.  As the symphony tuned up, again and again, she cracked "Horn works, try your lights".  That's our delightful MA.  She may be unimpressed by long haired stuff, but she's an amazing store house of poems and lyrics from the time she was knee high to a grasshopper.
    One of the songs Mary Ann has us singing to seniors in nursing homes (as opposed those of us, who by and large are still living on our own) is "Alice Blue Gown."  MA remembered it from grade school; one of the singers tracked down the music for accompanist Irene!  When we "sing out", fellow senior singer Pauline walks around in a long blue gown.  Looked up "Blue Gown" on the web and found it's from the 1919 show "Irene"!  Never a dull moment with MA.  Since she's a coach at heart that may explain why the group includes 7 or 8 enthusiastic, strong male singers.
    I struggle with the warning that my new/old home town is nothing but hicks and professors; it's probably more true than I can know.  Good thing I enjoy both.

    Perhaps the next major event of the month--another musical one--was hearing the Soweto Gospel Choir.  Noticed on the web the choir would be coming to Milliken (University).  Since I miss black gospel music a lot, called for ticket.  Felt a bit silly paying big bucks to drive 70 miles to take a chance on a choir, but oh, I was so very glad I did.  Best $30 and tank of gas I'd spent in awhile.  Enjoyed every moment.  What beautiful faces and voices; how integrated bodies and voices!  Of course I couldn't sit still--I wasn't the only one.  Floated home, a bit bummed that this sort of musical passion and freedom are missing from my new life.  For now.
    The following Saturday, I was walking (or waddling--can't even wear last summer's clothes!) in my first parade in memory--St Patrick's--with T.O.P.S..  Any chance to walk this time of year, I'm up for.  Being an experienced winter person, I showed up with hat, mittens, long underwear and was not sorry.  Loaned shivering (skinny) Howard my long scarf.  People think it's spring.  Not me.  Not yet.  I'm too close to the Show Me State to believe it!  The group turned a deaf eare to my protests against folks watching weight throwing candy to chunky children. Put my bag of peanuts in shells in the candy wagon to be thrown out and marched off.  One of us is out of line; could only be me--the relationship autistic!  Imagine me holding a TOPS banner with a young union woman, preceded by 2 skinny TOPS losers holding another banner--Janet with rhinestone crown and Howe in green hat and coat.  Behind us straggled the still overweight dog, that has lost 10 lbs--10 t0 g0--in a little green hat and scarf, led by our group leader's daughter.  Right down my alley, really.
    After grabbing a corned beef sandwich at the bar where the parade ended, buddy H and I went on up to Virginia to see one of his favorite white gospel bands.  The $8 concert held in a parish hall with a dozen people, emceed by a ferverent older woman, opened with the Pleasant Plains AMVETS color guard parading in, complete with rifles.  The main feature of the concert, unbeknownst to H or me, turned out to be a MN Bible College puppet show--large puppets singing along to recorded patriotic songs, such as a medley of Marine-Air Force- Army-Navy songs (puppets in uniforms of each branch of the service).  At the end of the show, I was one of the few who stood for God Bless America.  Maybe 'cause I've gotten used to singing and standing for it it at most of our senior singers practices and nursing home sings!  (Needless to say I've never sung God Bless America as much in my whole life as the last couple of months in Illinois.)
    As for H's favorite gospel band--I was horrified by the perfect smiles, teeth, hair, clothes and harmonies of the perfect family that sang along to their own CDs between puppet acts.  After the wide open singing, moving and drumming of black choir 2 before, I was chilled by the contrast with what seemed highly contained "white gospel".  (There had to have been another agenda going on!)  I was completely out of my comfort zone.  A St Pat's parade is one thing--after all, Hemphills hail from County Antrim--but white gospel?  It appeared to be neither hicks nor professors but a world of its own.
    The most amazing thing about the concert--if that's what it was--was the 3 sturdy, elder women with huge piles of hair, sitting together in the next row.  One head was covered with long rolls of gray hair that almost looked stuffed like cabbage rolls, somewhat reminiscent of the wigs I'd just seen in British parliament in the new film "Amazing Grace".  [See Travels page for report on yet another March musical adventure.]  "Who are those women", I whispered to H, who was raised Jehovah Witness in MO.  To my surprise he replied, "I think they're holy rollers."  Maybe so!  If I'd ever seen anything like it, I couldn't remember.  Could the "rollers" of holy rollers refer to womens hair?
    Between the rifles and uniforms, recorded music, perfect smiles, and zeal of the emcee, brothers and sisters, I was a fish tossed upon dry land.  Give me a bunny hop around the sanctuary with Assembly of God folks any day, over the mystery of "white gospel".  But stay tuned, I may groak the mystery yet!  I just got back.
    Rat's--it's almost midnight again!  Not only that but I'm hungry!

Shalom,
Jeannie

 T.O.P.S. heavy-weight mascot                                     Early March gear                                         Sunshine fellows (plus one gal)

---

February 6, 2007

Subject: Plus and Minus

Dear Friends,
    We're doin' old fashioned, single digit, Midwest cold.  Mississippi and Illinois Rivers are filled with giant ice "cubes".  It took an "Alberta Clipper" to get me to make room for the car in the garage.  Had to take the car top off (where I kept chains, jumper cables, snow boots, tow rope, hammock, etc) to get under the low garage door.
    Hearing from y'all, just knowing you're there, in the bleak mid-winter is grand; life without connections would be much tougher.
    Joined TOPS/weight loss group last night--meets just a few blocks away.  (Buddy Howard's gone for years; joined his group.)  Planned to do something to help pay attention to eating when I landed in Illinois.  If I'm gonna live in deep fried catfish and hot roast beef and gravy sandwich land, gonna need help.  We're still eating like farm hands, though it's been generations for most of us.  We eat out a lot in funky restaurants; it's how we socialize.  Great treat to know people who have time for long lunches.  In self defense, in lieu of eating seasonally (stews and roots), I fill up on lettuce salads (always recalling that Paul says desert tortoises can't survive on iceberg lettuce).  A few weekends ago I balked at watching an overfed kid portray Tom Sawyer.  No matter how good his lines, no way was he Tom.  Huck was good'n'rangy
    The TOPS gals are real, accepting, inspiring; leader Mary is sincere, partially deaf mom who brings daughter Brittany (remember--state school for the deaf is here).  Today H. talked me into walking around the inside of Shopko 10 times--something I never thought I'd do.  Back and feet hurt; never been tough walker.  Had to lie on the miracle balls awhile this afternoon.  But I wanna write, so I'm upright already.  Will she stick with TOPS?  Stay tuned.  (She since switched back to sandals walking is better.)
    Great experience yesterday morning.  Drove to Petersburg to meet the New Salem Historic Park dressmaker, Carlene, who made me up a pattern for an Abe Lincoln era “day” dress on the spot.  Says she's done this for 45 years.  V. cool woman who found out what she did well in high school home ec.  When I asked how to thank her she said to write her supervisor!  (Done.)  Illinois (like everywhere) is full of surprises.
    H. and I adjourned to Walmart after walking; never one to get 1 of anything, ended up with 2- 7 yard lengths of $1/yd cotton--dark purple (not authentic color) print (winter?); and a light blue flowered one (summer?).  Will she sew even 1 dress?  Stay tuned.

     I'm grateful to have a yoga slot at the hospital.  Good to start connecting with people the way one does in classes, get feedback, feel useful.  Though it seems to snow every Monday evening, at least a few troopers have regularly braved the elements!  Even in backwater Illinois, I think there's a place for gentle classes.  Even without traffic and commutes, we're over stimulated (cell phones, tv, civic and church activities, clubs, families).  There's 6am aerobics; full time work, volunteer and social schedules; benefits, arts and music; plus a lotta food, alcohol, and medications.  Many people mention they can't sleep; I've run into bi-polar, severe ADD, and a host of diseases.  I sense sometimes it's all just too much for us; stress and tension magnify most anything.  I try to watch what I say, hardly being a sterling example of sound sleep, though I'm better this side of the move.
    Realtor Dianne (who's in FL w spouse this week--lucky dogs) brought Becky to class.  While Dianne was away Becky and I got to know each other other lunch.  A devout catholic, she was a hospital chaplain!!!  Suddenly I remembered-- when I relocated, I intended to pursue Sacred Living and Dying classes with Richard Groves center in Bend OR!  Dashed to web to check schedule.  Lo, there's now an east of the Mississippi coordinator in Cleveland OH.  Think I'll go to Unit 1 in Cleveland in April.

    Can't tell y'all how different life is here (but have fun trying).
    My very first impression of Illinois was vivid:  not a good place to be a small furry critter--say, squirrel, 'possum, fox, or coyote.  Even deer.  You will be run over and killed on the highways.  I was, to use the old phrase, "grossed out" by slaughter along roads this fall.
    Blood and guts aside, it's true, in many ways we're the same everywhere.  People drive and walk around with cell phones slapped to ears and all the related disassociations; cell phones go off during funerals.  We flock to Walmart.  But what's amazing to me is: people still answer phones!  Not only that-- they call back!  Can't get over it after the busy west.  Furthermore, names, addresses and numbers are in the phone book.  Recently I dialed a wrong number and had yet another pleasant exchange.  Store clerks, so much less hassled, more pleasant.  Small town life-- more about relationship, slower pace of life.  And of course, about church communities.
    An unpleasant surprise is that drugs and crime seem closer, more common and real than out west.  Out West, it was "them"; here it's "us".  I'm still working on becoming a prison volunteer, doing my small part in this arena that calls me.
    Utilities are much higher.  On the other hand, I'm grateful for the modest prices of entertainment/concerts and meals.  $5 Kiwanis breakfast coming up soon, the same one dad took part in, at the same venue, 40 years later!  My stomach still knots at the thought of syrup and sausage together!  (We were skinny kids.)
    Things changed.  As I suggested earlier, food and eating are an all around challenge.  Without a real grocery store in town, I/we enjoy stopping in small towns that still have 'em. (Won't hurt me to learn to cook turnip and mustard greens (no chard).  After getting my old fashioned dress pattern from Carlene, stopped at the local IGA for batteries and a delicious, inexpensive lunch.  On the square, found a corning ware lid to replace the one I broke during the blue cheese meat loaf bake.  All within a couple blocks.  Ah, the simplicity of small towns!
    Possibly the most unanticipated change in my life is to suddenly be around so many teachers.  Nearly everyone I meet teaches or taught school!  Quite different being with people whose lives are dedicated to educating (young) minds (and perhaps playing some golf and bridge) after being with folks who seemed to live primarily to 4 wheel, ski, fish and hunt!
    As I remember, I didn't much like school.  Being overly fearful, sensitive, critical and willful, for years I had a bad attitude towards most everything, including school and (most) teachers.  Unlike many kids, books were not my friends!  I was pushed through the system despite failing reading comprehension.  I looked at pictures but read with difficulty.
    So now, I occasionally horrify a teacher (retired or active) who's waxing eloquent about the importance of reading, by mentioning I was a nonreader until years after college.  Another Heffalump conversation stopper.  (Briefly.)  As I mentioned, talkers aren't in short supply here.  Nor did I enjoy writing until long out of school.  I took the 1 required English class in college then headed to no speeches required science (until it went over my head).  My true major was avoiding public speaking.
    Felt no call to go on for a higher degree (or do much of anything for that matter) though I seem to enjoy those who get advanced degrees.  Oh, I'm a piece of work.  However did I survive growing up and school; however did those around me survive me!  It can't have been fun.
     My attitude towards education worsened when I discovered so many educated people were "clue less"!  I don't worship education as The Answer to the world's problems (though it may be!) because some of my favorite people didn't go far in school, and my least did!
    Now suddenly I've touched back down in an education epicenter, quite familiar, of course, having started out across from a college campus.
    Whenever too many professors hold forth here, I find myself rolling my eyes and thinking "too many paid talkers, not enough listeners".  Jax could have the most talkers I've encountered yet!  If you want, imagine me (with my weak B.A.) totally indifferent to being among PhDs and educators and folks who Need To Know and Need To Tell.  Eek!
    Ironically, but perhaps not surprising, having struggled with education, I now find myself wishing I could teach something in addition to yoga (which took decades to work up to)!  As mixed as my feelings about teachers have been over the years, I now exceedingly admire what I consider good teachers (what works for me, right).  I know 'em when I experience 'em.  I can't imagine having the skill to "lead" students onward in an academic subject, but sometimes wish I could.  I've learned a few things in spite of myself.
    With so many teachers, classes are everywhere!  I'm in 2 fine Bible studies--childhood down-the-street neighbor Alan's psalms class--great teacher; and John's, Mon. mornings at 1st Pres, with the "regular breakfast group".  John's an evangelist for diversity the way I am for meditation and yoga.  He'd like more of his definition of diversity in the group (but who'd want to join such an odd group!)  I can't imagine five less likely folks trying to study the Bible (we're up to 5 now).  Or a better teacher.   J's a true educator, and a theologian; teaching clearly brings out the best in him, as well as us--must be the real thing.  (Smile.)
    Perhaps the quintessential indicator that I'm back where I started has been meeting fellow candied grapefruit peel makers.  Since leaving the Midwest in the late '60s, I've only met one peel candy-er.  The last couple of months I've met several-- men as it happens.
    Past time to turn in. Been wanting to write for so long.  Or, I've had to much to write for so long.  That's the news from the Illinois Prairie.

Love,
Jeannie

Dressmaker Carlene - Sunday Night dinner ends with chocolate cigars - Bible Study

PS.  A word about geography from a recent letter.  "There are a lot of small woody patches around, mostly within farms, private property.   Deer and turkey hunting are big.  Some public land along the Mississippi River.  A few state parks.  There's a state recreation area out in the farmland 30 miles north, with a reservoir; campground out in the open is used by the trailer crowd.  I've got exploring to do.  Probably not hard to find walnuts, persimmons, other harvestables I've heard mentioned; haven't seen abandoned apple trees.  More apple varieties at Farmers Market than out west.  Lots of small, old farm towns; I see camping signs, usually pointing to bare fields or treeless parking lots.  Glad I'll have an agreeable backyard."

---

January 15, 2007

Still here-- the New Year!

Dear Friends,
November 20th, the house closed at the attorney-for-all-parties' office across from the courthouse.  Took maybe 15 min, including my request for a photo assistant to memorialize the event.  Weather was still mild.  By 2pm, 2 guys with a flatbed had schlepped everything from the storage units into the double garage and I was staring at the pile in a daze!  Why had the move taken me so long!  Spent another night in my cozy rectory bedroom before re-nesting in the yellow room in the new house.  The first night was a little eerie, not like my first night in the Boise house, which immediately felt like home, unforgettable full moon shining in.  Still, beginning anew to a sliver of new moon seemed right.
    When I realized the house smelled of pesticides and mothballs and went to crack a window, I discovered practically none of the windows open (no screens, nat).  So much for pretending to be in a log cabin in the woods with fresh air!  After the painted shut windows of the rectory--now I had my very own!  A few nights later, Robert and Howe came by on their way back from Missouri and expertly cracked the paint on as many bedroom windows as they could.  Another day, a neighbor (met when I investigated the two (2) streetlights in the backyard) expertly removed a main floor window lock; headed to Jarvis L&K to have key made. (Unfinished project #? since those windows are both locked and painted shut!)  Along the same lines (opening and lightening up house) is adding front screen door.  (Seems to me I did the same thing for the Boise house--put on front and back screen doors.)
    The good news was that the move overrode The Holidays, something of  blessing.  I stood 'round the new house like a deer in headlights.  All I got was a common cold, like everyone else, sometime over the holidays, rather than something stronger, as I'm prone to that stressful time of year.  A couple days after landing, for the first time in decades I got together with blood family. Drove south to Edwardsville to meet brother Jamie at his wife's family in their semi rural orchard, for a lovely Thanksgiving dinner.  St Louis has expanded hugely.  I rather enjoyed the late night, empty (except for deer) drive home along harvested fields, patches of woodlands and small farm towns.  I like the open, unchanged area I've returned to.  (Have I mentioned lately how big hunting is in Illinois?  Thought I'd left camouflage in Idaho.  Hardly.  The difference is that signs and "yard deer" statues aren't full of holes.  Don't think anyone would dare have a fake deer in their yard in Idaho!)
    The following week realtor Dianne fetched me to harvest late vegetables (still good without a hard frost), before the Dec 1st ice and snowstorm hit.   Dug Kodiak Xtra Tuffs (boots) out of the garage.  At the edge of town we slogged out to the garden of one of the market farmers, into famous Illinois mud, filling sacks with muddy carrots, squash, onions, turnips, and gorgeous cauliflower.  The 3 of us can't bear to leave fine vegetables unharvested.  We did our best.  My kind of connections!
    Once bedroom, bath and kitchen were semi functional, I stopped unpacking and took Judith Lasater's recommendation to relax between Christmas and New Year's seriously, extending it week after week until my high energy neighbor asked when I'm going to "do something" (as in contribute to this new/old community I'm getting reacquainted with!)  Hmm.
    Evidently I'm settling into one of the old lady areas of town-- Jax is retirement town.  Perfect!  I've got "shut in" widows on either side, a shut in couple across, with the above mentioned live wire in-between.  at the neighborhood ladies luncheon she organized last week, I nodded yes, to my "no moss" neighbor's query "Do you cook?".  Six well dressed ladies and the woman who moved back wearing her one acceptable top (scarf covering stains); pants, clogs and red wool coat.  "And what do you cook?"  I went blank--been eating out a lot (as well as eating a lot).  When I'm home or have an old classmate over, it's coleslaw and spaghetti, or (prepared) pork BBQ..  Nothin' gourmet like I heard in the question.  "Coleslaw!", I finally remembered.  [Laughter.]  "With pears", I added defensively, still picking olives off the seafood salad.  One woman tried to save me, saying she likes coleslaw.  I turned to the inquisitor and added that I'd made blue cheese meat loaf the other week".  "My husband eats that."  (I was shocked--I'm yet to meet anyone who's heard of it!  Surely she just heard "meat loaf".)
    Every time I go to cook, I can't find something (the right spice, pan, dish, ingredient, you name it), not to mention I'm not doing well with the glass top stove or digital oven--hate 'em).  I like the kitchen a lot, but it's hardly home yet.  I want  to cook, but I'm out of practice; it's been years.  (First there was the fantastic ethnic take out food of Seattle; then Chan in Boise.)  Sorry, gals, no oysters romanoff (just made that up) or haute cuisine.  Not yet.  I am my mother's daughter--rather cook beans on a camp stove than shrimp on a glass top nightmare.
    "Not yet" fast became my solution to unwelcome questions (thank you, author of Eat, Love and Pray).  To queries as to whether I've met/ found/ seen/ got involved/ visited (fill in the blank), I'm learning to chirp back, "Not yet!"
    The next challenging moment occurred when the conversation swung back my way to the earlier inference: "When are you going to start doing something for your community?"  I breathed and said it: "the first yearning of my heart is to volunteer in prison; I just got fingerprinted".  Silence.  Took care of that.  (I'm probably not a great candidate for the arts.  Meals on wheels, yah sure.)  [Heard a recent deliverer was bit by a beloved dog!]
    Every time someone diplomatically referred to someone's spouse or family member as uh... strange", I nodded and said I was glad to be in a community where it's ok to be uh... strange, no doubt alarming those who heard.  It's why I moved here--what a lot of... uh... characters!  I'm weary of long being called weird out west.  Good to be among strangers.
    I'm wondering if this has to do with the early trade off Jax made for the capitol, receiving instead institutions for deaf, blind and insane.  (And later, a prison.)  Having grown up here, I think little of people talking in sign language, or trying to speak aloud, practicing with dogs and canes, or other uh... strange behavior.  Lots of differently abled people here and the families, teachers and staff that come with those folks and institutions and stay.  (Since I moved away and returned, the "What is" of the area, now includes a much higher incidence of gun shots and crime.)
    The biggest "faux pas" of the luncheon was immediate--not ordering a(n alcoholic) drink.  "You do drink, don't you?" I heard with alarm.  uh.  I am also my father's daughter (meaning not much of a boozer--aside from my annual margarita and inch of wine, I look like a nondrinker to drinkers--not even coffee!).
    The other evening I visited old friends of mom and dad.  Doc mentioned how "conservative" dad was.  I knew from his view--an empty glass with melted ice cubes, his words slurring-- conservative meant that my eagle-eyed, WW II pilot father, Plenty Good Hemphill was not a drinker, like the definer of the term.  Uh huh, I said, standing safely on the shoreline of his reasoning, looking off into the murky waters of good and evil, lies and truth, liberal and conservative.  No way was I going in.  Every area has it's own definitions.  After Idaho, I'm intrigued by Jax's meanings for diversity and liberal/conservative.
    Although like mom I'd rather camp cook, there's are (of course) differences.  I learned a huge lesson from her- I can say No, the "N" word, clearly, usually without getting too defensive.  I believe she was both frustrated and admiring of her willful daughter's ability to say No, rather directly.  I wouldn't have moved back if I couldn't say No (generally adding either Not yet, or a Midwest Thank You).  Hope it's gonna save me and others a lot of grief.  On the other hand, my job is to find the place in this community to say Yes, with grace.
    I've met a few tea drinkers willing to use my beloved collection of unmatched, flowery, chipped tea cups and saucers!  (The ones that survived the express storage unload.)  They gamely sit around my small, 1969 auction acquired, much painted kitchen table, warped sides propped open, telling stories about old Jacksonville, while I brew herb tea concoctions in one of the Bodun tea pots I've unpacked.  Look forward to putting my minor collection of tea pots above the kitchen cabinets once the shingles are converted to shelves.  Until the right dining table appears, I appreciate these good sports no end!  I love having  folks in for tea!  The other evening, though, I tried a tasty lemon Italian liquor...  First things first--shelves, beds, table...

Greetings from sunny, cold Illinois to all!