Washing Dishes

Today I am thankful for dirty dishes.

When I was a little I washed many dirty dishes. After every evening meal it was my job to wash the dishes. Above the kitchen sink my mother had taped several rhyming verses she had clipped from the newspaper or a magazine. One was about being thankful for the dirty dishes. 

Years later I saw the verse still taped above her sink along with several others. It had moved with her to a different house but was reinstalled in its proper place in her kitchen. 

The paper was brown and tattered, just barely being held together by two pieces of dried cracked cellophane tape. There were water marks where she, Mother, no doubt had straightened it out to read it as she washed dishes over the years. 

The words are engraved in my memory. 

Thank God for Dirty Dishes.
They have a tale to tell.
While others may go hungry,
We are eating well.
With home and health and happiness,
I no cause to fuss,
For by this stack of evidence,
God’s been very good to us.
                       ~ Mary Arlis Stuber

I don’t wash as many dishes these days. I mostly load and unload a dish washing machine.  But when I do wash dishes too delicate for the dishwasher, I find it very relaxing and peaceful as I gently swish soap over each piece and then rinse it clean in warm water. It does not seem so much a dreary task as it is a comforting memory.

My mind goes back to those days when washing dishes was a chore. I can still see that verse taped to the window frame above the sink. I pause, take a deep breath and say a prayer of thanks.

Support your local food bank ❤️

Thanks for the Memories

Thankful today for my Grandfather’s home movies and the memories of happy days.

Just by chance yesterday, I ran across a one of those videos. Before my grandfather died in 1999, he had taken all the old silent 16mm home movies he had taken of all his grandchildren in the 50’s and 60’s and recorded them onto VHS. You can hear the click, click, click of his huge reel-to-reel projector. Although there was no sound to the original video itself, he narrated the scenes as he recorded.

It warms my heart to hear his voice. In one place he says… “Ain’t she a cute little girl? That’s a sweet little ol’ girl, Patty-Watty (his pet name for me). You ought to see Patty-Watty now”

This video was likely taken at my uncles house on Thanksgiving… Houston, Texas. A warm November day in the south. My brother Howard and I were “fishing” in Uncle William’s pond. The interaction between me and my brother made me smile.

Hidden behind this happy day there are some sad memories. Thankfully there are no recordings of those, only the ones I relive in my mind. Sadly, over the years due to past abuse, alcohol and mental decline, we had very little contact after we left home and virtually none the last 15+ years.

But really, I needed to find this video yesterday. It healed my heart a little. Watching it reminded me that our relationship didn’t start out like things are today.

I got a call last week and this brother is in his last days…this comes just months after my oldest brother left this world.

It’s complicated, but seeing this video and some others has helped me sort out some of my feelings. For that I am very grateful.

A SuperMAN Story

Today is national Superman Day, but more importantly today is the birthday the Superman/SuperSON in my life.

At age 6, he was Superman everyday. He created the whole outfit from Underoos, pajamas and red socks which he wore under his clothes everyday. When he was not incognito, his cape consisted of a large red towel.

We lived in the Denver area and I worked in a secure building for Citibank. One day he was sent the door by his dad to let me know they were there to pick me up. He rang buzzer and security opened the door to let him in.

He was covered in a long sleeve shirt buttoned to the very top and long pants to cover his real identity. He told the lady who answered the door, “I’m really Superman! Do you want to see?”

Luckily, I showed up before he completely blew his cover.

He was fearless. This picture was taken in 1981 at barbecue at our house. Just moments before, a friend, Brad, had hoisted him onto the roof. Thankfully, I intervened before he decided he could fly.

These days he is more of a Batman fan. I even set a custom Batman ringtone on my phone for him.

Superman or Batman, he is a super hero in my heart. Not just for me but for countless others whose aid he came to over his many years of public service.

He has always brought joy to my heart, made me smile, made me proud, and let me know I was loved.

Happy Birthday Aaron Kelly!

Feature photo: DC Comics

Jacque: A Modern Woman of the 60’s Generation

My first job was at Pixie Preschool in Tampa, Florida. I was 16 years old. It was about 2 miles from where I lived. I rode my bike to work with my son Adam in a child seat on the handlebars. My boss was Jacque. She was a single mom with two children, the youngest Andi, a girl, had a disability. She suffered a lack of oxygen during birth, and although her speech was slow, she was very clever.

Jacque started her own daycare partially because it would enable her to spend more time with Andi and guide her development. It would also give her interaction with other children. She did not want Andi isolated, unable to attend school, the way children with disabilities were in the early 70’s. It was only in 1975 that a federal law was passed that provided every child with a disability to a free, appropriate public education.

Jacque was a very modern women for the time. The Helen Reddy song, “I Am Woman” was popular at that time, and it was the epitome of Jacque. She was independent, a business owner, smart, confident, liberated, empowered and funny.

Jacque was probably in her early to mid-30’s. She was part of the 60’s generation women’s rights movement that effected so many changes for women in the west. In 1960, women were given the right to use the pill as a contraceptive, obtain credit in their own name without having their husband co-sign, until 1969 women could not attend Yale or Princeton and could not attend Harvard until 1977, and it wasn’t until 1973 that women could serve on juries in all 50 states.

Growing up in the south Texas, the women of that age who were in my life weren’t quite as liberated as Jacque appeared to be. I was excited to be around her and learn from her.

I have a few pictures of my days there and the children. Strangely enough while clearing out some things recently, I found a Christmas card picture of Jacque’s kids, Greg and Andi. Greg would be in his 60’s now as I was 16 and he was 9.

Looking at the picture, I wonder where they might be today, and how life evolved for them.

Today is International Woman’s Day and although it has some controversial origins, it is a day to celebrate women. Jacque was one woman who helped shape my life and help me see the possibilities for the future. Today I honor her. She would be in her 80’s now. I would google her but I can remember everything about her, except her last name.

Celebrating Birthdays

Birthdays, to date, I have had 69. Strangely enough, I don’t remember, not even one from my childhood.

I don’t remember my 21st birthday. At the time I lived in Anchorage, AK, and I had two children. I know I didn’t go out and have the first “legal drink” because I rarely drank alcohol until I was in my fifties.

At 30, all I care to remember is that it was a very sad day. On this birthday, I had been living in Washington State for a little over a year. I had moved here with Chris just months after we married. I thought it would be a new and exciting change for me. I always dreamed of Seattle and thought it must be a magical place from watching the 60’s TV show, “Here Come the Brides.”

The alluring theme song just made me want to go there and see for myself.
“ The bluest skies you’ve ever seen in Seattle,
And the hills the greenest green in Seattle.
Like a beautiful child growing up free and wild
Full of hopes and full of fears
Full of laughter full of tears
Full of dreams to last the years in Seattle.”

I came here with lots of dreams for a full life but just like the song goes there were fears and tears as well.

On my 30th birthday I had a fifteen year old son who was going through his own trials. Hard to be fifteen but being uprooted and moved to a new state compounded those issues. It was hard on both of us.

I had a cake, but it was no celebration. Someone took a picture anyway.

Thirty

Fast forwarding through the next 20 years — I have no recollection at all of any celebrations. But, 50, that was a birthday to remember.

Chris and my friend, Sho, secretly conspired together to give me a wonderful birthday weekend. The day before my birthday, Sho and her partners in crime (Yohanna and Rita) took me out on a long day trip to the Olympic Peninsula. Naturally I became suspicious as the day went on and on. It soon became apparent that we were not headed home and I was not sure what the end game was.

Late in the afternoon we arrived at the Manresa Castle in Port Townsend. The castle was built in 1892 by a local businessman and first mayor of Port Townsend, Charles Eisenbeis. After his death the castle was remained empty for the next 25 years. Then in 1927, it was purchased by the Jesuit priests who used as a training college. In 1968 the building was sold again and converted to a hotel. The hotel is rumored to be haunted but it seems all old hotels have that status.

I was told were going to have a girls weekend not just an outing. When were in the lobby checking in, I looked up and saw Josh, my youngest son. That’s when the surprise unfolded.

Chris had invited many of my friends to a weekend birthday celebration. He reserved rooms for them all (of course with Sho’s help) and organized a catered buffet dinner in the dining room.

Along with Chris and Josh were my older sons, Aaron from Denver and Adam from California. Friends from my church family were there, Jennifer, Karen, Ann, Madeline and Mal, Phil and Carolyn, and Becky and Pat. In addition these social friends, co-workers and neighbors were there: Tony and Jen, George and Julie, Tom and Jean, Howard and Ruth and last but not least, my old friend Jim came up from California.

It was a wonderful evening filled with love from my family and these special people in my life. Several of these lovely people got up and said lots of really sweet and kind things about their relationship with me. It was a very humbling experience.

One thing I found very bizarre about the event was that my two worlds collided that day. My spiritual family/friends and my secular friends were there at the time and the same place. It was really an interesting coming together of people who knew me in very different ways.

Sho gave me a book to write about my day and thoughts on life with each passing birthday. I have to admit I kept it up for a few years, but fell behind. Below is an excerpt from that first entry…

So here I am today at sixty-nine. How did I get here? I feel like I am about 42, and the realization that I will be 70 next year I find hard to comprehend. The years have flipped by faster than pages in a book.

This morning I once again I woke up at 4:30 and thanks to social media my spirits were immediately boosted by dozens of well wishes from family and friends.

In the 19 years since my 50th celebration at Manresa Castle, some of the friends that attended have passed on, others moved on to different towns and states, and several others just moved on. Thankfully, the majority are still in my life. They are still loving me, supporting me and celebrating me.

I imagine next year at 70 there will be some kind of big to-do. Now I’m thinking if you make it to 70, one really should celebrate. After all life is short and we should really celebrate every year God has granted us.

Number One
Number Sixty-nine

Labor Day Reflection on Fifty-two Years as an American Worker

Per the US Department of Labor, “Labor Day is an annual celebration of the social and economic achievements of American workers.”

I have been an American worker since 1972. I started at 16 and have had 13 jobs over 52 years.

I started with Pixie Preschool in Tampa, Florida in 1972. It was about 2 miles from where I lived. I rode my bike to work with my son Adam in a child seat on the handlebars. My boss was Jacque. She was a single mom with two children. I admired her so much and I learned a lot from her. I learned how to create economical nutritious meals, housekeeping shortcuts, and many tips on childcare. That job, my first, ended a year later when I moved from Tampa, Florida to Alaska.

It was 1974. I was a stay at home mom with a new baby so I worked providing childcare in my home. Believe me it was a “real job.” It was a constant struggle to keep the house clean. For 9 hours a day I had five kids instead of two. Meals, games, changing diapers, and keeping the peace there was never a quiet moment.

The next year, my friend Mary recommended me for a job at the credit bureau in Anchorage. I had absolutely no office experience and I could not type, but I started by answering phones and filing. It was a busy place processing credit requests. All information was in card files (no computers). Stores and other credit extenders would send paper reports on customers. These reports were filed under each person’s name. We had huge racks of card files. I really enjoyed working here, I was out in the “world” with other women and I liked it. After a year, Mary left Alaska and a few months later I did too.

Next stop was Texas. There I got a job at the Montgomery Ward catalog store in a small town, Fairfield. The couple, who owned the franchise, Jay and Mary Helen, were very sweet older couple. Mary Helen taught me a lot about ordering, organizing and customer service.

It was a low-key family type of atmosphere. Every day she would bring tomatoes in from her garden and we’d make a big salad for lunch.  Those salads were so fabulous. No dressing, just the juice from the tomatoes. No tomato since then has ever matched their flavor.  I left there after about 6 months. I lived in Korea for another six months and then moved to Denver.

In Denver, I got a job at the Montgomery Ward catalog store there. It was not quite the same experience as the one in a small town. People complained about everything. After one awful Christmas season there, I quit.

My next “career” move was to a Citibank credit processing center. Most of the jobs I have had, I either stumbled into them or a friend referred me. Citibank was located in the new Denver Tech Center. Someone I knew worked for the company that had the security contract there. He heard Citibank was hiring, so I applied. I think my short stint at the Anchorage credit bureau helped land this job. Here I verified credit applications, processed payments and later, I punched credit cards.

As part of my job I operated an Address-o-graph 6400 Graphotype machine. It was this big clunky over-grown typewriter/punch machine that embossed credit cards. Yes, I in my life have made thousands of credit cards. One card at a time was placed in the machine, the number and name were typed to emboss it and then the card moved across gold foil ribbon to make those embossed numbers shine. That machine would break down daily; it was old machine in 1980. For such a big company, I was surprised they still used this old clunker. I was always clearing jams and straightening the ribbons. Due to this, over the years I became known as the person in the office that had a knack for “fixing things.”

While working there, I received a call from a man who was processing my application for a home loan. He called to go over my credit details and then offered me a job. He offered more money and an opportunity for growth. He was quite a salesman. He told me how he and his wife started this really successful credit agency. They processed mortgage applications. Lots of promises and hype… way over sold. He was the first of several charlatans I encountered and this was my first, worst job move! It was an extremely toxic environment. On top of that, it was so far from where I lived. I had to make an hour bus ride each way. I left after only a few months.

Shortly after, I found a job as a receptionist in a large dental office.  Just as with other jobs, I knew someone who knew someone there. I had some experience because I had previously volunteered with the Red Cross at the dental office on the Air Force base. I started as a receptionist and moved to processing insurance claims. It was a good job but man; there was a lot of hanky-panky going around.  I left there when another smooth talking charlatan sold me on coming to work at his dental lab.

I don’t even want to say this guy’s name. The company was Artisan Dental Arts, this place I would classify as the worst job I ever had. I was an administrative assistant here, placed orders, paid bills and other general office duties. I worked there almost 2 years. The owner was a crook in so many ways I cannot even list them all. He would falsify bank records and tax returns to defraud people. He would buy into businesses, and steal from unsuspecting owners. He never paid the employee withholding taxes and would constantly skim money out of the business. When the IRS caught up with him he blamed the staff. One day I reached my breaking point and just walked out.

Afterwards, I had ongoing anxiety about what he might do to harm me. I worried he might plant drugs in my car or leave a dead animal on my doorstep. It was that bad. It was long past time to go. I have so many wild tales about that place, but that is for another story. In the midst of all the craziness at the dental lab, I was also going through a divorce. This only amplified the issues.

In very short order, a friend told me of a job at an engineering company, International Ground Support Systems, IGSS.  I was hired as the secretary/receptionist. The best thing about this job is that this is where I met my husband Chris. When I started to work there he was working on a tunnel in Nova Scotia. We became telephone friends long before we ever met. We both left this job when the owner was having family issues that played over into the workplace.

A friend of a friend at IGSS, told me about a job working with a lobbyist at Sun Oil Company.  There I became a legislative assistant… not bad for a high school dropout. I worked for a lobbyist named Ed. He covered the Rocky Mountain region and was often on the road. He would call me with a list of state bills that affected the industry. I would order them, write a summary and send them to the DC office. This was done with the old fax machines that scanned back and forth on thermal paper via a phone line. No internet back then.

In 1983, Chris got a job in Seattle and we moved north. In Seattle, the first job I had (not counting the temp job where I lasted until lunch and left crying) was at Dateline Technology. I’ve written about Dateline as the best job I ever had. In short, it was a company that sold Prime and Wang computer storage systems. I was the secretary, receptionist, travel arranger and later the bookkeeper. When I started, there was me and seven guys. They affectionately called me the “den mother.” It has been over 40 years and I am still in contact with four of them. I worked there a little over four years but with success came growing pains. The owners were in negotiations to sell the company. Just before the sale, I received a call with a job offer.

The call was from Ed, the lobbyist who I worked for at Sun Oil Company. It was the mid-80’s and the oil business had taken a downturn. Sun Oil had closed the regional office in Denver. Ed had taken a job with the Tobacco Institute and was moving to Washington.  He contacted me and asked me to come back to work for him. In the 80’s many tobacco companies had acquired food companies. Among those were Kraft, General Food and Nabisco and Ed thought he would be lobbying in this industry. Sadly that was not the case. After only a few months, he found it very difficult to defend the tobacco industry and left.

I stayed on a couple years because of the great benefits they offered. These benefits included a very generous maternity benefit. I managed to go through in vitro fertilization because of health insurance, and became pregnant with Josh. Their policy was that if you notified them that you were not going to return to work after giving birth, they would provide six months severance pay. I took advantage of that early on as I really wasn’t feeling well, and I did not plan on returning.

After a few months I was feeling better and a friend told me her boss was looking for an administrative assistant. The company, RepSac, was a computer consulting firm and I took the job. I worked there until Josh was born and continued to work on projects from home afterwards until 1990.

Lastly, for the past 33 years I have worked for Chris at SubTerra. I do a little bit of everything, bookkeeping, receptionist, travel arranger, decorator, office machine repair person, events manager and janitor. There have been times I have walked out, but the boss has always talked me back. I imagine this is the last job I will ever have and hopefully can retirement is in the future. I am staying as long as Chris does and he has no plans for stopping anytime soon.

My social security account shows that I worked every year since 1972. The only two exception was the time in 1974 when I did childcare and the early years of SubTerra when I worked but did not get paid.

When I look back over the years I see every job brought its own lessons and rewards. Every change was a step up and an opportunity to learn and grow. Considering my humble and rough start, I am amazed at where I am today.

American Revolutionary Ancestors

My ancestors in this country go back approximately 400 years depending on which way I go. I will start with the two major ones; my mother’s maternal line Wright, and my father’s paternal line Andrews.

My mother had done a lot of initial research in the family history. My grandmother was Mary Elizabeth Wright and the Wrights can trace their history to very prominent families in Bedford County Virginia going back to the 1600’s. There have been several books written about the Wright’s of Bedford County.

The farthest back I have verified on record is Thomas Wright who was born in Virginia in 1695 and died in 1763. He is my 7th great-grandfather. His son, Joseph, born in 1742, furnished supplies to revolutionists in the American Revolutionary War.

Through this line, I and my children are all eligible to join the Sons or Daughters of the American Revolution.

The Andrews side also hails from Virginia, near Petersburg, just south of Richmond in Chesterfield County. My Aunt helped me fill in some missing links and through Ancestry I have traced them back also to the 1600s.

Benjamin Andrews, 5th great-grandfather, was born in 1699 in Henrico Virginia. He died in Chesterfield County in 1778.

Benjamin’s father Thomas was born in Wiltshire England, and he died in Henrico, Virginia in 1731. He had three other sons, and in his will which can been seen online, he left two of his sons one hundred acres of land each. The other son, John, received the plantation and all it’s livestock and goods, but poor Benjamin only got one cow and one calf. However, he fared better than his three sisters that only received one shilling each.

Benjamin’s son, Bullard (4th GGF), would have been of the right age in the American Revolutionary War, but I cannot find any record that he served. Although there is a record that he served in the war of 1812.

After poor Benjamin left with his cow and calf, he must have moved south to Chesterfield County, VA. There the line continues to my grandfather, Aubrey, ancestry records reveal they were all poor country farmers.

The Wright’s were well off middle-class families. During the Civil War, some of the Virginia Wrights, who were abolitionist moved to Ohio. Today, there are tens of thousands of descendants of Thomas Wright (6th GGF) living in the US.

The other two direct lines include my father’s maternal line and my mother’s paternal line.

My Grandmother Alease was a Cole. I trace them as far back as 1775 in Chesterfield County, Virginia. They also were a family of country farmers.

My mother’s paternal line is Van Houten, the farthest I can verify records is the 1850’s in New Jersey. There was a large Dutch settlement there and I can only verify the direct information that my mother had assembled. James Marcus Van Houten (2nd GGF) was born in 1828. He married Lydia Wolf(e), also born in 1828.

I cannot verify any details of Lydia’s family before her marriage to James Marcus. However, there is a short family history written in the late 50’s early 60’s by my grandfather’s sister that states her family tore their clothing and declared her dead when she married him. Many census records show her born in New Jersey or New York but in 1880 it states she was born in Portugal.

After the Civil War the Van Houten’s and their sons moved south to Georgia where my grandfather Wallace Van Houten was born. James and Lydia’s son, William, (b.1855) was once the Mayor of Sycamore, GA. In searching the GA Archives, I found a picture of a cotton gin he designed that won a first prize at the state fair in 1901.

I have found so many stories in researching family history. I have tried to piece together little bits of information I’ve found to see what can tell me about their lives.

Like the history of any place or family there are courageous stories, sad stories, stories that make you proud and stories that leave you feeling remorseful. All in all, it reveals an amazing journey that combines your life with the lives of thousands of others who share these histories as well.

John Peter and Mineta Wright parents of Mary Elizabeth Wright (maternal great-grandparents)

Wallace Van Houten and Mary Elizabeth Wright – my maternal grandparents

Molly Stratton Brown Wright 1858-1930. Mother of John Peter Wright (maternal 2nd GGM)

Robert Ruffin Andrews (1862-1926), father of Aubrey Andrews here with his youngest son, Linwood. (Paternal Great Grandfather)

Aubrey and Alease Andrews (paternal grandparents) with their children Eugene, Marie, and Thelma.

Albert Thomas Cole, and Etta Virginia Butler on their wedding day (abt 1907) – Alease’s parents. (Great Grandparents)

Eliza Jane Crews (1849-1923) – mother of Albert Thomas Cole, wife of William C Cole (Paternal 2nd GGM)

William C Cole (1849-1920) father of Albert Thomas Cole and husband of Eliza Jane Crews (Paternal 2nd GGF)

Ida Florence Fountain Van Houten (1878-1968) taken in Sycamore, GA around 1960, great-grandmother, mother of Wallace Van Houten

William Van Houten (1855-1917) great-grandfather husband to Ida Florence Fountain Van Houten and father of Wallace Van Houten. Former Mayor Sycamore, GA

Lydia Wolf(e) Van Houten (1828 – around 1900) 2nd Great-grandmother born in New York died in Georgia, mother of William Van Houten.

Photo credit: Georgia Virtual Vault

Sixty Years Ago ~ November 22, 1963

The assassination of President John F. Kennedy.

It was just a few months after my 8th birthday. I was in the second grade and we lived at 1111 So Fifth Street, Conroe, TX.

It was a Friday. I was on the school bus going home. My bus stop was at the corner of Silverdale and Fifth Street. As I was getting off the bus the driver told me.

It is one of those events that you never forget where you were when you heard. I remember stepping down the three short steps of the bus, the walk down the block to our house, my mother’s tears, the shock and the sadness.

President Kennedy was buried the following Monday. There was no school that day and I watched the funeral on a black and white TV with the rest of my family.

Hard to believe sixty years have passed. It was in the beginning of the sixties, it was the beginning of a decade of changes; civil rights movement, feminism, the sexual revolution, war protests, countercultural revolutions, and assassinations. .

Just five years later in the summer before my 13th birthday on April 4, 1968 and June 6, 1968, first Martin Luther King, Jr and then Robert F. Kennedy were assassinated. As I watched the news, I sadly realized that real evil exists in the world and hate destroys.

Now I have reached the age where I wonder if anything has really changed for the better in my lifetime.

As I remember those brave and inspiring men who stood for change I wonder if they died in vain because we as a nation are still divided, we still see our fellow citizens as enemies, we still hate and real evil still exists.

Board Games

There are so many board game choices today, but not so much when I was growing up. In our house we had Monopoly and Scrabble. My mother and step-father would have friends over for dinner and after would play cards or dominoes into the evening. I never really understood or learned the rules of dominoes but they seemed to have fun playing.

I played Scrabble maybe once. I was not so good but I was only about 8. I do, however, remember my brother and mother playing often. It was a game that required a lot of skill and word knowledge building a crossword puzzle from existing words in the board. My mother loved crossword puzzles so Scrabble fit right in and it continued up into her final years. Even though dementia had overtaken her memories, I would visit her and she would have the crossword book out studying the puzzle. I think there was not so much filling in the blanks as reading the clues, but it was a part of her routine in life and I think it brought her some normalcy.

I did participate in Monopoly games but was usually trounced by my rowdy older brothers. When I married for the first time, my husband was a chess enthusiast. He taught me how to play and we played often. It was a game of strategy, abstract reasoning and creative thinking. Before each move you also have to calculate or anticipate the consequences of that move and what possible moves or actions your opponent might take. I did not win many times at this game either, but I learned some processing skills that perhaps helped me later in life.

As my sons became older we had several games in our home, Monopoly of course, Sorry and Jenga. I can remember many nights we’d gather around the coffee table and play. In my late twenties, just before I met Chris I was introduced to the game Mastermind. I loved that game and at last I found a game in which I exhibited some skill.

Mastermind was a code breaking game that also used critical thinking, abstract reasoning and creative thinking much like chess. In short, the goal was to figure out the colors and placement of hidden pegs with clues as to the accuracy of your guess. The opposing player scores your guesses by placing a black pin for every peg that has a correct color in the correct spot. However, they do not indicate which spot is correct. They place a white pin for every color you have correct. The winner is the player that solves the code in as few guesses as possible.

Chris was not a big fan of Mastermind. Perhaps because I won more times than he did. Over the years it was stored away as with all the other board games we played when the boys were little. When Josh came along we played checkers, Chinese checkers and Battleship which was also a strategy type game. Chris likes to relay a story about when the Chinese checkers game was permanently put away. The game had a metal playing board that shut like a cracker can that held the marbles inside. Josh accidentally kicked the can that was sitting on the floor while running through the house and startled the cat sitting on my lap. The cat’s reaction left me with scratches on my legs… Chris called it a ten pronged inoculation!

The last game I bought was a game called Bananagram. It consisted of 144 plastic letter tiles. The object is to use all your tiles creating a crossword puzzle and before your opponents complete theirs. I bought this game in 2012 when my mom and Paulette traveled to Washington to celebrate Thanksgiving with us. I thought my mother would like it and I was correct. We were no match for her crossword skills as she defeated us soundly every time. I gave my mother that Bananagram game when she left. Years later, I found it in her house just before she passed and brought it home.

Many good memories revolve around games played with family and friends, win or lose

Girl Scout Cookie Time

My local Girl Scout, Katie, sent an e-mail back in January to pre-order Girl Scout cookies and I ordered 20 boxes. My favorite, Thin Mints. They only come around once a year and they freeze well, so I order many boxes and make them last as long as I can.

I was a Girl Scout and a Brownie before that. My mother was the leader of our troop and long after I was grown and gone my mother was still actively involved in Girl Scouts. In 1994 she won a Woman of Distinction award from the former Girl Scout Bluebonnet Council now Girl Scouts of Central Texas. She had a passion to guide young girls and love old ladies.

I remember selling cookies, all the girls received a cardboard box full of an assortment of cookies. Our mission was to sell the entire the box. It was a challenge especially when all you had left were the less popular variety. Completing the mission involved lugging that box (heavy box) around the neighborhood and knocking on doors to peddle cookies. Strange as it seems now, but people actually let their young daughters with a carton full of cookies go around knocking on stranger’s doors. I did not get driven around the neighborhood and we didn’t setup tables outside of grocery stores. It was all footwork and our unique marketing/selling skills of which, I had none.

This year I noticed that the cookie boxes have this acronym for G.I.R.L. (go-getter/innovator/risk taker/leader). When I first read that I thought, “Wait a minute now! Risk-taker?” I have written just recently about my aversion to taking risks and I am wondering just how much risk do we want to encourage girls to take? Recently, Ancestry DNA sent me an analysis that suggested that according to my DNA, I am an introverted person. No secret there. Other than here, I am certainly not what one would call outgoing. Could I be any those things in the current G.I.R.L. acronym?

Honestly, by today’s standards it would be very risky for a 9 or 10-year-old little girl to walk the streets carrying a heavy box of cookies, then walk up to strange houses and knock on the door. I did it and am still here to tell about it. There was this one old house we would pass on the school bus route, it had a long over grown drive way and a creaky metal gate. The older kids would always tease and say that an old woman lived there and the house was haunted. I went by that house on my cookie rounds and I stood a long time at the gate peering down the dark driveway but there was no way I was going to take the risk of making that long walk to knock on the door.

Yes, selling cookies today seems much safer and it guarantees I will get my freezer stocked for the coming year. You see, I live down a long over grown driveway with a creaky metal gate, maybe the kids on the school bus tell stories about the old lady that lives there and I would miss out on those wonderful chocolatey Thin Mints.

When my Girl Scout Katie dropped off the heavy load with 20 boxes of cookies, which by the way she had to lug up a flight of stairs to my office, she tells me that there is going to be a local Girl Scout birthday celebration on March 12th. The 110th anniversary of Girl Scouts formed March 12, 1912. Her dad says they have lots of memorabilia to display. I tell him I still have my Girl Scout uniform, 55 years old now. He asks me if they can borrow it and include it in the display. I am honored. So here it is looking better for the years than I am, and a very serious looking, 12-year-old self, with it on.

Happy Birthday Girl Scouts of America. May you continue to guide and mold young girls into go-getters, innovators, risk takers and leaders long into the future.

Girl Scout Promise and Laws in the mid 60’s

Girl Scout Promise
On my honor, I will try:
To do my duty to God and my country,
To help other people at all times,
To obey the Girl Scout Laws.

  1. A Girl Scout’s Honor Is to be Trusted
  2. A Girl Scout Is Loyal
  3. A Girl Scout’s Duty Is to be Useful and to Help Others
  4. A Girl Scout is a Friend to All, and a Sister to every other Girl Scout
  5. A Girl Scout Is Courteous
  6. A Girl Scout Is a Friend to Animals
  7. A Girl Scout Obeys Orders
  8. A Girl Scout is Cheerful
  9. A Girl Scout is Thrifty
  10. A Girl Scout is Clean in Thought, Word and Deed.

Cruising and a Swimming Tale

All my friends are into cruises. Cruises to Alaska, cruises to the Bahamas, to Mexico and around South America. They love cruises, the food, the scenery, and dinner at the captains table.

I, however, have no interest in cruising. I do not even want to take a boat out on a lake. If I cant see the the bottom, I don’t want to be in anything that floats on water.

I like the pool (no deeper than 5 feet) I like the hot tub, especially with a gin and tonic in my hand, but basically anything that would require me to swim to stay alive, is out of the question. I have a healthy fear of water and this fear started at a young age, around age six.

I lived in a small south Texas town that had one community pool located on the edge of the town center; it had a large courtyard in front of the entrance. My memory says there was a fountain and a statue in the courtyard and to a little girl in Texas it appeared so modern and romantic.

When you entered he building your nostrils were hit with a strong smell of chlorine as you ventured towards the changing rooms the girls to the right, boys to the left. I’d skip barefoot with excitement into the locker rooms tiled floor to ceiling.

I can still envision the yellow-beige tile walls, the wire belonging baskets slightly rusted from the wet atmosphere. The baskets had a lock, after you locked it you’d pin the key, with the basket number attached, to your swim suit then exit through continuously running showers that lead to the pool. I loved this place.

When I was young, I often thought my mother was over-protective in many ways. I was the baby, the only girl and I used to resent the things my brothers could do that I was not allowed to do. Why could they do it? — Because they were boys.

Sorting through my memories now, I realize maybe my mother wasn’t so protective after all because when I was six, the summer after Kindergarten, my mother let me go to the afternoon pool time with the teenage girls that lived next door.

I am thinking now I was probably allowed to go because it was a hot Texas day and a few hours in the pool was perfect for cooling off. I was excited to go with them as no adult was going but their mother drove us and dropped us off. I was feeling very grown up.

Once in the pool, I happily splashed as I crawled along hanging onto the edges when a boy from my class approached me. His name I don’t remember and it is really not important, what is important was that he could swim. He was diving off the diving board, and he informed me that his dad was the lifeguard. Blah, blah, blah blah blah…. then it happened, he made fun of me because as he rightly said, I could not swim.

Well, as the conversation and the insults continued, I insisted that I could swim. After all, I was sure I could do anything my brothers could do or any boy for that matter. I was tired of being relegated to the “not for girls” category.

So having insisted I could swim, he put forth the challenge. We would go together and he would dive off the high-dive board and I would follow.

The desire to prove myself was strong, I was not go to back down even though I knew, I could not swim! We climbed the ladder together; when he reached the top he hustled down the to end of the diving board and jumped. Just that fast. It looked pretty easy.

I followed, I walked out to the end of the blue board and looked down. As I peered at the water below, I had a moment of wisdom and walked back towards the ladder. I reached the ladder and thought of how he was going to make fun of me, so I walked out to end of the board again and looked down… still not enough courage to jump. I walked back to the ladder. I looked out into the pool and I could see him at the edge watching me, laughing. So I made a final trip down the catwalk and jumped.

I don’t even remember the trip down, but I remember plunging into the water and the bubbles floating over my head. I sank to the bottom, floated up and sank again. The second time I surfaced I could hear the lifeguard’s whistle and the next thing I knew I was scooped up like a wet rag and pulled out of the pool.

I’ll never forget what the lifeguard said to me. He said, “I wondered about you when I saw you walk back and forth on the board.”

Yeah, well I was trying to prove something. Of course, I felt humiliated, but I did not lose because after all, I did jump.

The girls that brought me came and scolded me, the boy laughed at me and I spent the rest of the pool time sitting on the edge of the pool with my feet in the water. When the teens’ mother picked us up, I was the first one to get in the car and they followed shortly eager to tell her what I had done.

Her remark was, “I wondered why you were so dry.”

I said nothing when I got home but within a few minutes the neighbor came over and told my mother. Oh, the tears and the crying. I really didn’t understand why the fuss, I was still quite alive.

There you have it, this was my earliest attempt at risk-taking and I have been adverse to taking risk ever since. I took a risk once and that was enough to teach me a lesson.

So you see, I will not be going on any retirement cruises as all my friends are and if you hear I went out on the lake, fell overboard and drowned, please go looking for my killer because I do not like boats, I do not like deep water, and I still cannot swim.

My Flag

I am, right or wrong, always looking for hidden meanings in occurrences of simple things I see everyday.

I have an American flag that is mounted to my garage. I can see it from my kitchen window and I often admire its red, white and navy blue colors against the sky blue of my house.

This particular flag has been waving there since 2017. I retired its predecessor by folding it and placing it in the flag box at the local American Legion Post. There it will be part of an annual disposal ceremony where unserviceable flags are respectfully and honorably retired from life.

https://www.legion.org/flag/ceremony

This flag, being an all weather flag, is on display all year and as it is illuminated by the light beside it; it stays up night and day.

As well as being able to view it from my kitchen window, I also see it via my security cameras from work. Some blustery days I get many notifications as my flag waves wildly in the the wind. It will spread out to full display and flip overhead to spread out again.

Yesterday, I received a notification from the camera but when I looked my flag was not there. How could that be? It was in a flag mount, mounted to the wall in a slot that holds the pole at a downward angle. Was it stolen?

I arrived home late last night with high wind and heavy rain still pounding around me and I wasn’t able to look for my flag. This morning before dawn, I go downstairs to make coffee and look out the window to see my flag lying on the ground. Somehow yesterday’s wind unseated it from its mount and threw it to the ground.

I looked at my flag laying there in the dark and that’s when my mind started exploring the symbolism of this scene. Was this sign of current events, was it a sign of defeat or even death of the values and freedoms for which it stands?

More than the particulars of stars, stripes, the red, the white and the blue but the values, freedoms, unity, and justice.

“I pledge (promise) allegiance (loyalty and commitment) to the flag (the symbol) of the United (joined together for a common purpose) States of America , and to the republic (state where sovereignty rests with the people) for which it stands (represents), one nation under God (a country formed under a creator and ruler of the universe and source of all moral authority), indivisible (unable to divide or be separated) with liberty (freedom) and justice (fairness) for all (each and every citizen).”

My hope and prayer is that we have not fallen so far that there is no more loyalty to the republic that the flag represents, that we are not becoming so divided that we can no longer reach common ground, that our flag indeed stands for freedom and fairness for each and every citizen… those born here and those who have chosen to make this great country their home. Brave men and women have fought and died for the ideals and principals this flag represents. It honors them.

As for my flag, I will loving retrieve it, clean it and proudly display it once again. May the nation and principals for which it stands endure forever.

Known Only to Him

Though the fig tree does not bud
and there are no grapes on the vines,
though the olive crop fails
and the fields produce no food,
though there are no sheep in the pen
and no cattle in the stalls,
yet I will rejoice in the Lord,
I will be joyful in God my Savior.
The Sovereign Lord is my strength;
he makes my feet like the feet of a deer,
he enables me to tread on the heights.
Hab 3:17-19

Election night, 2000, I was with Chris sitting at SeaTac airport with a group from our congregation headed to Israel to meet our pastors and begin a tour of the Holy Land.

People had their eyes on the TV’s throughout the airport waiting for election results. Just before we boarded the plane around midnight, all the news outlets announced that Al Gore had won the presidency. Fast forward eighteen hours later when we landed in Israel and everything had changed. Nothing was certain, Florida was undecided, hanging chad problems prompted microscopic evaluations of ballots and recounts began. Each morning when we boarded the tour bus there was an update, no final decision on US Presidential election.

We were sheltered from the daily bombardment of the drama going on at home. We spent our time in Israel praying for the people in the land and praying for God’s will to be done.

We returned twelve days later on November 20 and still no decision. Not until December 12, did the Supreme Court end the Florida recount and George W Bush was declared the winner.

I am taking a lesson from that period in time; listening to no news, no talking heads, no analyst and putting my faith in God and knowing He is the ultimate decision maker.

I often found myself cringing at Trump’s comments and brashness. However, I was somewhat reassured that at least I knew how he truly felt about an issue as opposed to a typical politician (any party) who speak out of both sides of their mouth. I had friends in 2016 that warned me Trump would destroy the country, that he would start WW3, that the LGBTQ community would be in fear for their lives. None of that came to pass. All the horrifying things people on the opposing side are saying about the current administration are likely to not be as tragic either.

God often uses our flaws for His good. Today, I have been thinking about the other half of the country and how we have such polar opposite views on so many things. I have been praying for wisdom to see more of what I have in common with the other side and to love and not hate.

I keeping singing the hymn “Known Only to Him” over in my head and this verse:
“I know not what the future holds but I know who holds the future.”

America’s Brotherhood

Today is day number 183 of the year with 183 days left; half way through this year 2020. I want to believe that everyday for the rest of the year will not be tragedy among tragedy but I do not have any real hope we will make it through the coming weekend without the world falling into an abyss.

It is as if we are in an altered universe. For the past few years there has been a pot of continuously simmering hot water. With Covid19, the noodles (us) were thrown in the pot and now the foam is bubbling over the top. The noodles in the pot are done but the heat will not turn down until we break apart.

Independence Day weekend is upon us, I will be praying for the first responders more fervently than ever as I fear many people will use the holiday to create further mayhem and destruction.

We are standing on the dividing line. It’s time for the rest of us to stop being noodles, remove the pot from the fire before it is too late, stand up and show our brotherhood and outshine the hate.

“ America, America God shed his grace on thee;
And crown thy good with brotherhood,
From sea to shining sea”

img_3963

 

ANEVER

I saw recently where someone wrote, “I am and always will be anever Trumper.”  When I first saw it I read “AN EVER” … I thought that’s an interesting way to support the president reversing the phrase. Then I realized they were really saying “A NEVER” unless it was an interesting parapraxis.

What a difference a space makes. A space that can turn something positive into a negative. I was intrigued by this little typo and wondered if i was “an ever” or “ a never”

F037A17D-F786-411C-98D8-651EAA0EE950

I want to be AN EVER faithful friend, an ever hopeful person with an ever positive outlook, someone an ever joyful heart, with an ever song on my heart and be an ever believer in the living God.

I pray I do not fall into the A NEVER side of life, a never happy spirit, a never loyal friend, a never helpful person, a never kind word to say, a never respecter of life, a never believer in a higher power.

The space before the “N” or after the “N” may determine your fate. Decide before “the end” because after will be too late.

 

Watercolor Image by Stephanie Ryan from 2019 Gratitude Calendar

I Found a Nickel

Recently the AC unit was replaced at our office; a very old unit it still chugged along but no longer efficient.  A80AD951-E1D4-407D-BBBA-06B6B34BAB26The new unit was relocated to the back of the building leaving a concrete pad on the side of the building. After the work was done and the unit hauled away, I walked by the pad and noticed a dark circle on the pad. I reached down to pick it up and found it was a nickel; an almost black discolored nickel.

I tried to rub away enough tarnish to see the date but it was not easy to read. Finally in the light I see it is stamped 1980.  I thought, not really so old for it looked like it had been there 100 years. Then I realized that although it did not seem that old it had been there forty years —- forty years just hiding under the AC unit as the world and time moved forward.

This nickel in it’s shiny new condition was cloaked from the light when Ronald Reagan was elected the 40th President of the United States, November 4,1980. There in 1981, when the AIDS virus was first identified. In 1982, when I met my husband of the past 37 years which was long before I ever set foot in this little town, it was there.

Unseen in 1985 when the nuclear reactor at Chernobyl exploded sending 8 tons of nuclear reactive material into the atmosphere.  It remained hidden in 1986 when the shuttle Challenger exploded shortly after launch.  There in 1988 when a PanAm 747 exploded from a terrorist bomb that sent it crashing  to the ground in Lockerbie, Scotland.

Concealed in 1989 when the Berlin Wall came down and in December when the Romanian uprising overthrew the Communist government just days before my youngest son was born at the University of WA Medical Center.

It had possibly lost some luster in 1991 but it made no movement as the Soviet Union broke up after President Gorbachev resigned.  In that same year my oldest son was nearly killed in a motorcycle accident.  In 1992 when Bill Clinton was elected president and when my middle son graduated high school just a few miles away it remained sheltered from sight. It was there one year later as the same son was wounded in Somalia during the Battle of Mogadishu, on October 3, 1993.

Fast forwarding through the rest of the 90’s – wars in Serbia, Croatia, and at home in Oklahoma City. OJ killed his wife and the president cheated on his.

When the world entered the new millennium this nickel was now 20 years old.  In 2000, I technically became the owner of this hidden coin as we purchased the building with it’s old AC and it’s hidden coin that remained safely beneath.

This nickel stayed in the dark through the darkest days of 9-11 in 2001. There as the younger Bush became president and we went to war in Iraq and Afghanistan.   It remained as as dictators were ousted from power or died… Saddam, Arafat, Milosevic and many other men who’s hearts were set on evil.

In 2009 Barack Obama was sworn in as the 44th president of the United States.  In the middle of Obama’s years my world was rocked by my own personal tragedies as my youngest son was diagnosed with IBD, underwent 5 surgeries and spent weeks and months in the hospital and ICU after several life threatening events. Through all this, a nickel now tarnished and black lay hidden.

There have been many changes in the world in those 40 years.  I didn’t think this nickel was so very old but in the time it lay undiscovered under the AC unit it had aged and tarnished just as much as we had as we found our way through the last forty years.  As much as things changed they have stayed the same. There is still war and unrest in the world, people no matter how much they talk about peace can’t even make peace with their neighbors and fellow citizens. It seems there is a greater desire to be right than to find common ground.

I found a nickel and it spoke to me

Thanksgiving

I love Thanksgiving!

A truly American Holiday that transcends all beliefs. A day we can all participate in regardless of our background or religious affiliations. Being thankful seems like such an easy task yet so often fall short.

This morning I am remembering many Thanksgiving days past. Ones from my childhood with my Grandfather, Wallace Van Houten. He was bigger than life and made sure our plates were never empty. He also ate dessert first! I think today pie will be my first choice. Those dinners also included my Uncle Wm always loud and boisterous, he made us laugh, and my Aunt Barbara who I admired so much. She was the Martha Stewart before Martha. They have all moved to heavenly realms but the memories and memories of those special Thanksgivings,  will always live in my heart.

The first Thanksgiving Chrissie and I had together, Chris got up from the table and made a plate for Lucy my little dog. A tradition that went on for the rest of her years.

Multiple Thanksgivings over the past 20 years included many sweet friends that have all moved on to new places and stages in life. At home in Snoqualmie, one year we filled the dining room and living room with a super extended table. I think there were 17 of is that years from 2 months old to ninety. Although we are miles apart these days, those days, and those Thanksgiving memories, welded us a family that God organized and knitted together.

The grand to the simple. For several years when Josh was young, we celebrated in Hawaii at the Old Sugar Factory, warm breezes and the fragrance of flower leis around our neck did make us feel like we were in paradise. In 2014 our Thanksgiving dinner was a turkey sandwich in that same son’s hospital room. To say we were thankful for the blessings and miracles that year doesn’t express the full extent of our gratitude.

Finally, this year is the third year I am able to return to Texas and celebrate Thanksgiving with my mom and Paulette at the American Legion in Corsicana, TX.  Back in the day my mom and her husband could put on a spread fit for royalty. They were both extremely good cooks. I remember all the favorites my mom would make and I have never been able to duplicate; southern cornbread stuffing, ambrosia, sweet potato pie and the best squash casserole anyone ever tasted. Once, I reminded my mom of that casserole and how she made the best fried chicken fried on the stove in a cast iron skillet. She said, “Those days are long gone.”

Yes, those days are long gone, but the memories will last forever.

One day, I will look back on these Thanksgiving dinners at the American Legion and be thankful I had these days with my mom and create a new set of memories. Life progresses forward and the foods, scenes and people may change but one thing remains the same: We have so much to be thankful for.

Intersections

Warning.  Old ladies must be careful and stop at all intersections. I got a call this morning… someone asking me to take them to the ER in Issaquah. We got there at 9 by 11:30 the doctors had decided to do a test and they asked me to step out of the room. 

I came out and started down one of those long hospital corridors when all of a sudden BAM… I felt like I was hit by a bus.  I went flying across that 10ft hallway, landed on my arse, and hit the wall with my head.  It was not a big yellow bus, but it was a young 6’ something Justin-bus of the human male species.  

60E01375-A8F8-460E-9C69-FA202524CE58A lady came running out if the ER and after a few minutes and accessing everything, I got up.  She asked me if I wanted to see a doctor but my thought process said no  – they were swamped and other than my wounded sense of dignity, and a sore wrist, hip and head everything still moved.  I didn’t want to waste time for someone to say, “Looks like you got knocked on your rear!” Therefore, I declined.

I could make some comparisons here, such as, the other intersections in life that catch you off guard.  The loss of a loved one, a tragic diagnosis,  dealing with aging parents, aging and retirement. These intersections should also be approach with caution.  Take the time to look both ways and reflect on all possibilities  and outcomes.  Should you get sidelined, stop, take a deep breath, pick yourself up and move forward.  Life is a highway with many crossroads. Proceed with caution but stay on the road to the final destination. And…

Always slow down at intersections!!

The Purple Heart

August 7, National Purple Heart Day. A day to honor those who sacrificed for our freedoms; those wounded or killed in combat. For the wounded, some wounds heal quicker than others.

Today I honor my son Aaron. Wounded in the Battle of Mogadishu, October 3-4, 1993.

Receiving a call from the Department of Defense is something that is burned into your mind. Mine came after days of watching live action on CNN watching as young men were being dragged through the streets of Mogadishu. I found myself trying to determine if it was my son in these scenes. The truth is they were all my sons, they all wore US uniforms, they were all oh so young. Mine, just a little over a year earlier, had a midnight curfew; now he was one of America’s finest defending the weak and fighting for the lives of the poor and starving in Somalia. They were there to prevent starving and assist in the distribution of food that was being hijacked by warlords in the area.

imageThe Purple Heart, “The Purple Heart medal represents courage, sacrifice, commitment and ‘heart.’

Thank you Aaron for your service then, and now, to defend the weak, uphold the law, for everyday putting others lives before your own.

Be safe out there 💜