Gramma's comforter, in between

In between cleaning cupboards, chipping ice off the driveway (because I am determined that winter is on its way out and I am going to prove it by having an ice-free driveway) and caring for little Audri while her Mama worked today, I sewed on this old comforter some more.

When I started it, I had thought to do all the mending by hand. It was to be an exercise in darning and mending from the olden days. I wanted it to look as tho it has been mended and darned over a period of years.

Once I got started and found the fabric so fragile and worn, I gave up the idea of doing it by hand and I have sewn and patched and mended on the machine half the winter, it seems. Actually, I work on it, get discouraged and lay it aside, then work on it some more. Tomorrow, I will finish the binding. I might put on two more small patches and then, that is it!

I have two more old comforters to shore up -- and spring is a coming. Time is short.

The beautiful carving

is what makes the kitchen cabinets so hard to clean.

One Third Done, maybe

Even though my "to do" pile is still sitting there, admonishing me to get busy, I have left it this weekend in favor of cleaning the outside of my kitchen cupboards. It has probably been twice as long as I think it has -- that they have been cleaned and oiled. And I am ashamed to say how long I think it has been.

Johanna helped me scrub them down this week and today, I took the oil and rubbed and buffed and the lower cabinets are done! They look nice. And clean!

Now there are just the uppers to do . . . and the 24 little, high cupboards that make the circle at the top. They will be easier to clean (less grease and food to remove) but there are so many of them!

I have to get this Spring Cleaning done because, as you know, come Spring Missouri will be calling.

To Do

After meeting at Mary's house and going through Granny's personal items, I have expanded my already long over due and never ending "to do" list. We each went away from Mary's with our own photos and those of our children. There were also a billion papers, old letters, cards, records and anything else you might name. We were able to shred/dispose of a lot but we all took a good size box home.

However, what was left there (photos with more than one family, old sentimental family things) will take us another whole day to sort.

Meanwhile, this stack calls me one minute and irritates me the next. I will just have to take it one piece at a time.

Little Girl's Burden

Mama's Boy

It looks as though Craig had a full head of hair and I think I remember he did have more than the girls but I'm sure he rubbed it all off the back of his head and had to start all over again.

I think he had a hippy Mama!?!

New Born Son

Craig was so cute! He weighed 8 lb so he was a little chubby!
Doesn't his Dad look young in this photo?

Craig Dale's Birth Day

February 3, 1976. I was at work but had a doctor's appointment in the afternoon. Kristy Noel, age 4 yr and a couple of months, and Erica Jo, a month shy of 3 years, were at Pat's, the babysitter. I was due in about 8 days so I wasn't too anxious yet about the arrival of the baby. Although, I did remember Erica's quick arrival so if I stopped to think about it, I might have breathed a little harder for a bit. On the other hand, I thought, if I would wait long enough I might have this babe at home. If this baby came any quicker than Erica Jo, I might not have time to get to the hospital. Wishful thinking!

So I went to my doctor's appointment and the doctor (Wiedemier or Youngblade, don't remember which) said you are dilated. Go to the hospital now. (He must have had notes on Erica's quick arrival!) I said "can't". I have to go home and see my Girls and get my suitcase. I want you to go now. Sorry, have to see my Girls. After a bit of a discussion, he allowed I could do those things but be at the hospital by 5:00 p.m. So, I stopped back by work and told my co-workers and called Lanny and asked him to meet me at home. Then I went to Pat's and talked to my babies and reminded them of the new brother or sister they would soon be able to see and hold. After hugs and kisses, I went on home to get my suitcase.

It was a pretty mild day for February when Lanny and I made our third trip to St. Lukes. There was no trouble getting to the hospital. Once again, it was late afternoon as we made our way down 14th Street to the middle of town and checked in at the hospital. We were ushered into the labor room where all the preliminairy checks and measurements were gotten out of the way.

In those days, they put the expectant mother on a guerney and wheeled her down a story or to the cold, cold delivery room. Was the theory that germs won't grow in an ice cold room? or was it just for the convenience of the doctors and nurses, gowned to the teeth? No blanket, dressed only in hospital gown and laying on a slightly padded delivery table. Always, with me, the first rite of business was to break the water which almost always brought on the final stage of labor and in this babe's case, it was no different. Labor was hard and quick and after a short hard labor, there he was, beautiful, tow head baby boy, laying on my chest. His daddy was in the waiting room.

The nurses swaddled Baby up and took him across the room. I knew that they would circumcise him while we were still in the delivery room. Done, they again gave the babe to me to embrace but wait! the poor babe was bleeding from both ends! He had blood trickling out his mouth! What's wrong? Oh, the doctor said, I clipped his tongue. "Nothing serious." What a relief but . . . poor babe, this had been a rough day!

Daddy was in the hall and was to get a glimpse of his new son before they wheeled us off to the nursery and recovery room. Unfortunately, as he was admiring the 8 lb 3 oz bouncing boy, the nurse came by and, noticing my palor or other evidence, whipped the sheet off me and called for supplies to stauch some heavy blood flow. Himself, caught unawares, immediately turned more pale than his wife. His eyes rolled in his head and he swayed unsteadily on his feet. Fearing he was going to fall atop the gurney onto me and his new son, I interrupted the nurse tending me to tend my husband! They got him down, with his head low and maybe smelling salts, and soon he was revived and strong again.

Later, in our room, these new parents examined minutely their new son. He did sport one birth mark but it was small and faint and he'd probably outgrow it. Mama, of course, supposed he looked like this family member or that one and his father said "He looks just like Craig Dale".

So babe and Mama recovered nicely for a couple of days while mother and father debated names and wondered if we would ever decide on something other than Baby Boy Hofmeister. Finally, filling out the papers we proudly named our new son, Craig Dale Hofmeister. Craig, because it was a nicely masculine sound and Dale after his Grandpa, Lanny's dad. I hope Craig likes his name because he might have been Eric Vaughan Hofmeister!

Little sisters couldn't visit the hospital in those days and Gramps and Granny came to care for the little girls. Mama couldn't WAIT to get home to them and to introduce them to their new brother, Craig. At home, the girls fell in love with him and wanted to hold him, give him a bottle and kiss and hug him. As winter moved to spring, I would load three babies onto the stroller and walked each day for fresh air and exercise (my Dr. Spock baby care book, always near). We played in the park, went to children's hour at the neighborhood library and met and visited with neighbors. I was now, a stay at home Mom with three beautiful children and I enjoyed every minute of it!

Ground Hog Special

We really got this snow today, February 3, not yesterday
but I liked the sound of "Ground Hog Special". We were to
only get a bit of snow, maybe an inch. We got 4" at least.
It is pretty and it won't last long but what else might be served
up for Winter before Spring gets here?

There's an old saying, "Early Easter, Early Spring".
I like that saying. Easter is really early this year.

I'm Hungry!

This little fellow at Twin Lake, was singing for his dinner.

Redbuds @ Red Haw

Red Haw State Park in Lucas County, Iowa near Chariton, is beautiful when the Redbud Trees are blooming, which is usually in April. We have Redbud trees coming up in our little timber in Missouri but have not been there at the right time to see them bloom. Eventually, the little Redbuds may escape into our timber as these have done, and run rampant!

One Man's trash

turned into one Man's art.

In Galena, IL, if you ever find yourself there, this man has a large yard full of BIG home-style art.

My kind of recycling!

Home Made

I'm sorting photos this weekend.
I'm just adding favorites.
This was from our harvest in 2006.
Aren't they pretty?

Foresight and Faith

About 1963, Gramps and Granny built a new house in Afton. They had sold Austin Auto Parts and were going into the house construction business. So, first, Gramps built the "Green House", sort of a show case for what he could do. Advertisement. And of course, he needed a home for his wife and last four children!

Meanwhile, my nature loving Mama, ordered her a bunch of lilacs and the folks planted them all along the north edge of the yard, lining the alley. Soon, the neighbor to the west lined his yard and the neighbor, east, across the street, planted a row. This small street in Afton, IA is glorious during lilac time!

Every spring, I drive Mama by the Greenhouse while the lilacs bloom and remind her that she and Gramps planted them. We did? she says. And each spring I am thankful my Mama had the faith and the foresight to plant the lilacs.

A Rambling Town

This is downtown Champaign, I think. Champaign or Urbana. They run into each other. Last Fall, Himself and I had just breakfasted with Kristy and Tony. They got in their car and headed to work. Himself and I got in our car to head home but I said "WAIT!" I want to take a picture.

I have this photo where I periodically come across it and I like it each time I see it. I like it a lot! The pretty tree against the industrial looking wall. The iron railing. The leaves the same color as the boarded up windows. I think this photo might win a contest!

Winter bright spots

This is our yard. Two bright red cardinals in a black and white world. We had had ice the day before, the trees and plants shrouded in thick ice. This day, there were 3 pair of cardinals and 50 other birds at the backyard feeder to brighten our day. Himself keeps the feeders stocked which is the key to keeping the birds in our yard and not the neighbor's!

this photo borrowed from the internet. My hotbed is more narrow and longer and set right up against a concrete wall -- for thermal gain, I thought.

Next year, I will know I need something to heat the soil. Maybe I'll use it in the fall for one more radish crop or start in March to get a head start on peas. Forget January and February. I think organic is the way to garden and eat so I will be doing a lot more experimenting with food crops and production methods.

Pulled the Plug

My latest experiment was a hotbed against the south concrete wall of the house. Fall lingered on and winter came late so I sowed some seeds in the 30"X 48" little greenhouse, improvised with an old window and cast off lumber. With only solar heat during the day and a rug thrown over the glass at night, I babied the lettuce and radishes into January. They grew slowly but they stayed green and I kept telling myself that I learned just a bit more every day I kept them alive. Then in January it began to snow. The temperatures dropped. Artic air swooped in and sat. The January deep freeze was too much. One day this week, I went out and pulled the plug.

Comfort

It isn't even pretty but long ago when times were hard and winters long and cold, someone cut worn, heavy winter coats into strips and pieced them together into this "iron" comforter and lined it with a worn Navajo blanket. No blanket in the world is as warm as this one. With creativity and determination, our Lady of the Quilt cut and sewed dark strips into rhythm and symmetry.

The comforter warmed me as a child. As an adult, the work that went in to the quilt warms my heart and fires my imagination.

When I saved it from Mama's diminished household, the ties were breaking and the comforter thread-bare in places. Fragile. For six months it has moved around my house, room to different room, calling for the mending. Finally, tonight it is the sewing machine. Another step or two and it will be done, reinforced for another 50 years of warmth and comfort.

Video Clips

Yes! I like the video clips that I have finally learned how to put in. I will use that option more often, now, on my camera. If the clips below, look black or blank, just go ahead and double click on the start arrow. That should start the video clip. Have fun!

MORE! Rock n Roll

and one "behind the scenes" guy . . .

Rock n Roll Babies

Rock n Roll Children1

The first clip I took turned into a brawl with Morghan and Jack going all out. Seriously. On this one, they are just playing!

Maternal Instincts

At almost 88 years, Mama's memory is gone. Short term memory is almost non-existent. Long ago childhood memories are fading now too but sometimes long engrained habits come through. Saturday was one such day.

I plopped Audrianna on her lap and Great Granny relished holding, smelling and touching baby Audri. She checked her hands to see if baby was warm enough. She took the bottle to feed the little one but realized Audri was too interested in what was going on around her to eat. Mama reminded herself, Morghan Grace and me that you have to hold tight to a babe this size, they wiggle.

Mama knows these things after nine children, 24 grandchildren and 34 "greats" -- and baby Audri sensed it. She leaned back, relaxed and kicked one little leg.

Putting this segment behind

I am now clean for 4 months and I won't write about it anymore. Other people do bigger, better things. Give up bigger addictions. Climb higher mountains. Inspire more people. I will just, each month, focus on the next month's anniversary. Then, as the years go by, I will look towards the next year's anniverary.

1 hour

I have passed a milestone this past week. Three mornings of the past 5-day work week, I have not had a "cigarette" thought pass through my brain until I had been up out of bed for at least an hour. This is a break through as usually it is about 5 minutes from the time I get up until I think "cigarette".

To even go one hour first thing in the morning without thinking about the damn little critters is unthinkable!

News Flash

Great; just heard that the Chantix might be linked to a suicide or two. And I thought my black mood this past weekend was due to withdrawal from the Chantix and my week off my "Miracle Cream".


I said when I got the Chantix that it hadn't been on the market long enough -- I (or the scientists) really didn't know what side effects there might be but I had debated it and with sound mind, decided to take the chance. I was practically weaned off the Chantix and then this past weekend I struggled so on Saturday that finally I took a pill and another on Sunday, 1/2 on Monday. I set out 1/4 for today but haven't taken it.


As I have no intention of suicide, guess I will just quit those darn pills and be mean and rotten. Perhaps you remember in an earlier post (or maybe it was just in a letter to someone) I said, maybe I really am just mean and whiney, as a non-smoker. Guess we are going to have to find out.

For a non-smoker, you will be thinking, geesh, she's been quit for 3 months. Get over it. You'll think that bad habit should be all behind me. Wish it was . . .

if you don't smoke, never start, Love, Ma


PS: Uncle Dick told me if the day ever comes when they tell him "you have 2 years, or 6 mo. or whatever", he'll be smoking. And he's been quit for 10 or 15 years now.

Old Habits Die Hard

Here I am, on November 24, coming up on the three month anniversary of quitting smoking. For the past week I have been struggling a bit more than I had been, just at different, odd times. And I've been grumpier, or quicker to "flare", anyway. Just ask Lanny.

I think this is because I gave up the medicine a week to ten days ago. I believe the last vestiges of both the nicotine and the "quit smoking" drug have now been dredged from every last fat cell, nerve ending and brain receptor. With that huge ol' addiction gone, I just have to work on getting past all the old, long engrained habits. I just have to keep plugging away, one day at a time.

But I still carry the last of the quit smoking pills in my purse. Just in case . . .

My Watch

I babysat today, for Miss Audri Lu. I sang to her "Audri Lu" . . . to the tune of Mary Lou, way back when by Ricky Nelson. "Hello, Audri Lu, Goodbye heart" . . . well, it was cuter when it was just her and me. I remember Morghan Grace's song was, and still is, "Morghan Grace, you have the cutest little baby face" and if I work at it, I'll come up with the personal little songs for the other grandbabes.

I take the "watch" seriously, even enjoying every minute of the grandbaby time.

It is not just Audri, but started with Morghan Grace and continues down the line. I still sleep on the davenport when the Small Frey are here camped out on the livingroom floor. When the Little Hofs are at the cabin or when I'm in charge with Audri. I check them all when they are sleeping. Make them stir. I uncover Audri's little nose when she drags the blanket up over her head as she is want to do, and as I did for the other six before her.

When I take little ones to the Beach at Too, I sit with my back to the beach and count heads in the water. (I "feel" my mother in me, watching 9 of us at the beach -- no wonder we didn't get to swim very often!)

Mom's wayward words -- or way with words

My Mother always had a good vocabulary and was a good speller and ever since I can remember, she and Gramps always did crosswords puzzles. I was never sure why Granny got the morning crossword puzzle and Gramps the afternoon but that was the way it seemed to work. My mother's childhood was spent, of course, in a simpler time with draft horses and such and no cars much until she was half grown.

As a child, if one of us children would ask Mom how to spell a word, she would tell us "look it up". She thought we would remember it better next time, if we looked it up this time. Mom always read, had taken Latin for Pete's sake in high school (ancient? I thought so!)knew her geography and math.

Now, Mom, in a regular conversation struggles to find the word she wants or to put them together in the right order. This evening, tho, using a list of old fashioned words, Mom was able to define and explain. She told me what a sickle is and what is is used for, she described a horse's trace and not quite so sure of herself, the brace. She knows quite well what a furrow is and described something to me called a gang saw and a gang plow -- then corrected my pronunciation. Scythe, she said, is pronounced "sigthhh".

Thank God. Some things never change!

Things to be thankful for . . .

It has been two months, 60 days, since I last had a cigarette. I won't fib; there's been a few times I WOULD have had one if there was a cigarette laying around. Weekends at home are hard, sometimes, but I get a piece of gum and chew the daylights out of it for awhile. Don't know why weekends in Mo would be easier? I am taking 1/2 pill, or a quarter of the dosage so ain't doing too bad but know I need to start skipping a day here and there, with the meds.

I absolutely ate too much this weekend, what with birthday company (and cake) around. This afternoon, finally, I was feeling so . . . full . . . and guilty for eating too much and her Mama sick with fever and cold, I took little Miss out for a 30 minute run. (Not literally, but I walk fast.) That felt good but it will take a few days to get back to normal after all I have eaten.

It was GREAT, having daughters around and we shopped and galivanted and talked. Missed my son and family, of course, but will look forward to seeing them soon.

Testing, 1, 2, 3

Went out for a walk today and saw the co-worker out in her car having a cigarette so I went to talk to her. Told her I was testing myself. At first, I couldn't even smell the smoke but after visiting with her a bit (she is thinking about trying this "quit smoke" medicine I'm on) I did smell the smoke and it didn't smell good.

I mentally leaned back on my medicine for support -- but was relieved to know that the smell of the cigarette didn't make me want to go out and buy some.

37 days

I have not smoked for 37 days according to my "Get Quit" website and it told me that I have saved $74. Reckon if I hadn't had to pay for this "quit smoke" medicine I would have saved that much but as I did pay for it instead of my insurance company, I have at least saved $37 . . . and will save more, as time marches on.

There might have been a day or two on vacation that I would have smoked if I had had a cigarette but I didn't -- so I didn't! I am still clean!

Work related

Guess what! After pushing hard for two weeks and working overtime, I am CAUGHT UP at work! I even got my filing done and everything else -- except one last piece of mail that came in at quitting time.

Boy, that is a good feeling. It does not happen often at DHS and it will only last a week because while I am gone, the applications will still come in, the mail will arrive and the clients will call.

For one week though, I will put it all out of mind, enjoy my vacation and believe that I am "caught up"!

Reformed smoker

oh no! it is happening! when my sister quit smoking, she became almost obnoxious about smokers -- tried to tell me this and that and you'll be this and that, and blah, blah, blah! I wouldn't listen.

Now, although I have not said one word to a smoker (can hardly find one of those species anymore!) I see cigarette butts on the ground and think -- "what are you thinking, you smoker!" (mainly, honestly, I am thinking about the littering -- not the smoking.)

I smelled cigarette smoke today on my walk at break and it didn't really smell good. Didn't smell bad either. It didn't entice me.

3 weeks done

I'm only posting so as to keep track. Maybe I should just plan on tracking by the month now. I will always remember I quit on Linda's birthday and smoked my last one on Mary's so maybe the less said about it the better.

Anyway, still just taking 1/2 pill morning and evening and imagine it will be soon that I forget an evening dose. So, onward! One day at a time.

Week Three

September 6, 2007: 1 week, 6 days and 23 hours . . . but who's counting? Worrying (already!) about quitting the prescription in 9 weeks, I have started cutting my second, evening, pill in half just to see if I am okay with that. I have only taken half the second dose for three days now and have noticed no difference. Now I need to get my courage up to cut the morning pill in half.

It is fixing to storm here (I hope). The thunder rumbles closer and I see flashes of lightening off to the west. I am hoping for a good thunderstorm. Ah yes, here comes the rain.

September 10, 2007: have cut my morning pill in half the last two mornings so I am down to one pill, just divided into morning and evening. Last night, had a family thing come up and had to drive an hour and a half and, while driving, kept reminding myself that just a month ago, in the same situation, I would have been smoking every 30 minutes. So, I just sort of mourned the passing of the cigarette. Wasn't tempted to stop and buy any. Nothing like that.

Week Two

Friday, Day 8: one week and one day. It is going fine. Will spend the next four days in Missouri with family. I think I'll do okay. Did smell someone smoking a cigarette yesterday and the old trained brain starts to go there -- but I keep walking and yank it back.

Can't see beyond the end of my nose . . .

as my mother would tell me. I have been plenty self-absorbed this past week and it is time I came up for air. Quitting smoking isn't the end of the world and it certainly isn't the worst thing that could happen so it is time to let some of it go. For gosh sakes, I bought Dana's 35th year birthday card clear back in July and then let it sit on my counter while his birthday blew by! Dana's a hero tho, because when I send his card, I send Traci's -- so I get Traci's to her in time!

To cut myself a little slack, it was my weekend with Granny and I took her out for a ride both Saturday and Sunday and again tonight, as Tuesday is "my night". She is doing pretty good. She had "some behaviors" (the newest term for tantrums", I guess) right after the sisters came home from Alaska but I guess I have to say I expected that. Tonight when I picked Granny up, she no longer has the wheelchair. She is now using a walker! I check with an aide, and yes, that is right. Granny walked well to the Jeep, got in pretty gracefully and after the ride, out again. The walk back to the nursing home is up a slight incline so by the time she got back inside, she found the nearest chair and plopped down. Told me a couple of times she was out of breath . . . but let me go easier than the last few times. Told me to be careful going home . . . and goodnight.

Saturday as we took our ride, a little deer darted out in the road and even setting my brakes hard (and throwing my arm out in front of Granny -- old habits, you know!), I couldn't avoid the little thing. I moaned and groaned a bit and Granny sort of patted me and said, "you couldn't help it, Honey. you tried to stop". I guess in all my moments spent with my mother, I am just waiting for one of these, where her old self (soul) comes through.

Cigarette Free

Monday, Day4. We will be getting tired of "took pills, didn't smoke, blah blah" so I'll record things significant to me or habits I want to break. For instance, I have decided I'll continue taking my morning and afternoon breaks at work. I need to get up and "stir" especially if I want to keep my metabolism high -- and I do. So, I'll walk 8 -12 blocks each break. That should be about 10 minutes worth and that's all I need. And! I'll check out houses, yards and gardens while I exercise.

Getting ready to go outside tonight, I headed to the laundry room to put on my work clothes and as I walked down the hall, I patted my hip pocket. Old Habit! Got to quit that. I always checked my hip pocket for my lighter before I threw the jeans in the laundry. Not always, I guess, as I washed a few lighters in my time!

Tuesday, Day 5. Walked at morning break and found that I can walk a block a minute so I'll try to walk 8 blocks in the morning. For some reason, at afternoon break, I think I need to get back quicker (my day is running out and the work isn't done?) so I'll walk 5 or 6. A good day. A few deep breaths a time or two and more complicated, long, drawn out dreams that take forever and then I can't remember but bits and pieces! Let's hope my dreams are mourning my previous life with cigarettes (a long term relationship) and that I'll be done with all that when I come off the meds.

And this, from my On-Line Support "Plan", this is kind of exciting (the 2nd part): "It's also important to remember you're doing 2 huge things. First, you're ending a long-term relationship. Second, you're creating your new identity. That also won't happen in a day – though you're well on your way. So, cut yourself (some slack) . . . "

Wednesday, Day 6: no news is good news!

Thursday, Day 7: At 10 pm it will be 7 days without a cigarette. An uneventful day -- a few thoughts, a few relaxing breaths. And when I went out to walk, I left my purse at the office. I realized I don't need to carry my purse. Don't need the car keys to go sit in the car. Don't need a lighter and there are no cigarettes in there. Don't need the purse. Break one more habit.

A Blog within a Blog: Dialogue with an addict

Quitting cigarettes: I went for a physical and mammogram and had blood sugar and cholesterol blood work done. I am in great shape for a tough ol' broad (not quite the way the doctor phrased it, but close) so I ask for a prescription of Chantix, the new miracle pill that will block my nictotine receptors from enjoying the nictotine. In addition to the phsyiological addiction, I will have to change all my long engrained habits -- throw out all my routines and start over. I can smoke for 7 days and must quit on the 8th. Some folks have reported quitting before the 8th day. I have set my schedule so that the 8th day is Linda's birthday. I thought a day of signifance might be helpful.

Friday, Day 1: took one little pill. Directions say to take with a full glass of water. As I am not much into water, I use about 4 oz. A little later, I have a small burning in my belly. Maybe a full glass of water is 8 oz? or maybe the burning is just my imagination.

Day 2: took another little pill, along with the five vitamins I take but used a bigger glass of water. I think maybe I should eat before I take the little pill. I'll try that tomorrow. Meanwhile, I am trying to wait longer between cigarettes. I am trying to THINK about them and not just grab one up and smoke it. I am thinking about the habits I will need to change.

Day 3: still just taking one little pill but tomorrow, I work up to two, morning and evening. I think today that maybe the cigarettes aren't giving me such a "hit". A time or two I think I am just going through the motions of smoking -- or it is like smoking a really "ultralight" cigarette when you have to really inhale to get a good hit. I am making myself wait longer and I have made one new rule. I will not smoke at this computer anymore. I will have to get up and go to another room. Already, I have waited 30 minutes longer because I am at the computer and I am waiting to finish before I go have another cigarette.

Worries of a middle-aged, 40 year veteran who is going to give up cigarettes: 1) what will I do when I am worried, scared, sad. This old cigarette has always been there for me, like a good friend. 2) What if I put on weight? I am slender and healthy, my cholesterol is very good as well as my blood sugar. If I put on 10 or 20 pounds, will I be less healthy? I want to avoid diabetes . . . and I don't want to have to buy new clothes! 3) Now don't laugh -- but when will I rest? Somedays I go "at it" like a mad woman and have to make myself go sit down, take a break and smoke a cigarette (usually while at III in the midst of some project and sometimes while cleaning house). During the work week, the breaks are built in and automatic but without the call of the cigarette, will I work on through my break? Perhaps I'll have to turn to meditation or relaxation techniques. These worries seem rather silly but I want to try to think about every emotion and situation before I come face to face with it.

Monday, Day 4: today is the first day I take two of the little pills. Will take two, here on out for the rest of the 12 weeks, if I need them. I have found that if I take them directly after eating, with a nice glass of water, they don't bother me at all.

I did well, all day. From 6 a.m. until 6 p.m. I had just six cigarettes. I have had just two since, but it has been more of a struggle this evening. I make myself wait. I "do" just one more thing. Tomorrow, I think I may smoke the same number, but just smoke half of the cigarette. Then on Wednesday or Thursday, reduce the number of cigarettes again, by half.

Well, they didn't promise me it would be a piece of cake! And even tho my brain receptors are being blocked, I reckon I am still going to be withdrawing from nicotine so I might be in for some very creative dreams! And may I find the stamina and grit, to get this done.

Tuesday, Day 5: 2 pills, one morning and one evening. My day goes very well but I am all ready disciplined at work, one break every two hours. Now last evening, that was another matter. I struggled. And this evening, I am feeling the nicotine withdrawal. I feel mean. I told the better half, as he tried to help me with something, that he might just want to leave it to me. He understood -- and did.

I am finding that my deep breathing, relaxation techniques helps some and also, just get busy. (This morning, supposedly getting ready for work, I am cleaning out the drawers in the bathroom vanity!) Do one more thing before having that cigarette! And now I am not smoking the whole cigarette -- trying anyway, just to smoke half. This evening I took a giant step when I drove to Afton and didn't take the cigarettes along. A major breakthrough! Tomorrow I am going to have to make another and skip one of my breaks at work or give up the one before work. I have got to do it and it may as well be tomorrow as Friday. "Bear down, Nancy", as my highschool coach used to say!

Wednesday, Day 6: Two more pills and one day left to smoke. At 7:45 p.m., I have had only 4 cigarettes. The big step today was giving up the noon smoke. And I did it without too much ado. In its place (actually, I used to have a cigarette on the way to lunch and another one after lunch and often times half of another on my way back to work. (I call these cigarettes "maintenance" -- to stock up on the nicotine until break time). So, to have ZERO at lunch was really a big step. To do something positive in place of the negative, I will eat a banana on the way back to work. I have been having leg or foot cramps every night and I need the potassium but have not been good at eating the bananas.

Tomorrow tho, will be the telltale day. I think I am going to give up the FIRST cigarette of the day. I will not get one until the 10:00 AM break. Perhaps I should remind myself that my body can go all night with nicotine (I do not get up in the night to smoke) so it can all day without.

Tomorrow, I should be down to three, at the most -- because Friday, I won't have any. I am going to make those Grandbabes happy!

Thursday, Day 7: my guardian angel stepped in today to help me over a hurdle, I guess. All day, I had just had about a half of cigarette. I had a few puffs before work then 3 or 4 puffs at 10:30 break. At noon I didn't light up, just had my half banana on the way back to work. Back at work, I looked forward to 2:30 or 3:00 pm so I could take a break and go enjoy 3 or 4 more puffs on that short, untidy, little bit of a cigarette that I had saved in the car. But when I went out, it wasn't there! Looked everywhere -- all the time knowing I wouldn't find it. But looking got the floors cleaned up a bit, under my car seats, so I did accomplish something positive in place of those negative puffs I would have had. And sure enough, after a frantic few minutes and some deep, relaxation breaths, I was able to go back to work and finish out the day without a cigarette. Thanks, G.F!

Food is tasting really, really good in some cases and I reacted to the "stench" in my car when I got in it this afternoon. Of course, the windows had been rolled up and it was 90 degrees outside and humid, but I do think I am beginning to smell again.

I have made some plans for tomorrow, "D-Day". I'll go to work early, if I have to. I'll walk around the block at morning and afternoon break, opposite the direction I usually walk to my car. I will have my banana after lunch, on the way back to work. I need some plans for tomorrow evening, as the evenings are the hardest. I wonder if I should take the second pill a little earlier, so it kicks in quicker. Then I can always go to bed early, if it wears off! Oh, the trials and tribulations of a smoker!

After I quit smoking, will I still be a smoker -- just as a recovered alcoholic is always an alcoholic -- just not drinking?

With Himself encouraging (and staying out of my way when I'm feeling mean), my guardian angel on duty and my children and grandchildren all pulling for me, I am going to do this. I am going to quit and stay quit -- at least until I'm 80. I have promised myself that I can have a cigarette on my 80th birthday . . . oh, we smokers are a sorry lot . . .
Friday, Day 8. D Day. Quit Day. As of 10:00 p.m. last night and it now being 8:45 PM Friday, I have almost made it 24 hours without a cigarette. This has has not happened since about 7 or 8 years ago when I quit for 2 or 3 months after being hypnotised.
It would have been easy to sit down and smoke a cigarette at certain points in the day but I have to say that for most of the entire working day, it wasn't too hard. I walked at morning break. At lunch I don't have any trouble and at second break I ran to the Post Office to mail a package so that distracted me.
The first thought, of course, at 4:30 as I leave work, is of a cigarette but I get home and get busy helping with supper or as this evening, lay down and have a nap waiting for chicken to be delivered for supper, and I don't have much trouble. But from 6:30 until 9:30 or 10:00. That is trouble. Himself came up a little while ago and wanted to sympathize with me but I was not having it! Didn't want to talk about it. Didn't want touched! Didn't want looked at. Period.
I went outside, pulled weeds, chewed gum and came back in feeling a little better. If last evening and the evening before are indicators, I'll have another spell before my meds kick in or I somehow pass through the worst of the craving.
But as I told Lanny, I want to get through this day without even a puff as I DO NOT want to have to start over counting the hours I have been smokeless. I do not, will not, start over. I'm toughing it out.
Himself and my on-line "Get Quit" support plan both assure me it will get easier; each day will be easier. Okay. I hope they are telling me the truth.
Miss Morghan and Jack are going to be so proud of their Nana! (And Madeline, Gabrielle and Joey too, if they were a just a bit older.)
Saturday, Day 9. In a few minutes, I will not have had a cigarette for 48 hours. I had worried about today, the weekend. I am disciplined at work so to be home with no pressing case files to demand my attention nor need to give a full day's work for a day's pay, I had feared I might struggle more than on a week day. But I did okay. There were a few times I chewed a toothpick to smithereens but on the whole, it has been a good day. I met a friend at Afton for breakfast (a Smoker friend) then checked on Granny. I came back home and worked out in the cottage garden, redoing the whole thing and getting ready to lay pavers.
I went back to Afton after supper and took Granny out for a ride. We ended up in Greenfield. I'm not sure how that happened but we got ice cream at the Tiger Drive-in and then headed back home. When I got Granny back to the nursing home, she climbed out of the Jeep, took her sweater and thought she had put something under the front seat. I knew she didn't, but playing along, I checked and found a lone cigarette. I threw it in the cupholder and went on. On the way home, that cigarette made me a little nervous but I took a few deep breaths and knew that I wouldn't mess up my two-day nonsmoking record. It is still there but I will throw it away tomorrow. It doesn't really matter tho if I throw it away or not as there is almost a full pack of cigarettes on my china cabinet. And I want them there. It is like a challenge to me. Geez, I can't find the words to describe why I want them except to say that I am a very competitive person. It is like a contest now between me and them.
I have talked to Erica this evening, reinforcing my desire to hit 10 p.m. and be two days clean and if I keep babbling on, it will be 10 p.m. before I finish this. Anyway, I am very optimistic. Now that I have two days behind me, I am looking ahead to three days. For some reason, 3 seems to be a magic number to me. Will it be easier after Day 3? Have I read that somewhere? My computer says 10:01!!
Sunday, Day 10: In 10 minutes, it will have been three days since I quit smoking. I am crusing right along, usually, with not much difficulty. I have been chewing a toothpick a lot this weekend but I think it is because I anticipate a craving (after a meal, especially). Tomorrow, I will be back to work and no toothpick so I will test my theory.
Here is a weird thing. As I was working outside today, chewing a toothpick, I accidently touched my arm with the toothpick and I jumped! I jumped as tho it was a cigarette and it would burn. I did that more than once. So, the medicine is working to block the nicotine but the brain still remembers old habits. Geesh, that is so interesting to me! My brain remembers the pain of a cigarette burn . . . well, that is really more sad than interesting, isn't it?
I have been having very long (seemingly) convoluted dreams but I have not dreamed the old standard "quitting smoking" dream of smoking a cigarette. In the past, quitting, I would often wake myself up because I thought I was a lighting a cigarette in bed! Perhaps I am not having that dream because the medicine is blocking my brain.
So, not much change, nothing new; just continue to get through one day at a time. And may my brain soon forgot ALL the old smoking habits.
Monday, Day 11. I am going to move to a new entry. This one is too long and I think I want to count down from the Quit Day and not the start the medicine day. So, see you soon!

Youngsters . . .

Summer of 1976


All of us . . . youngsters! I think in this photo, we had had fun, we had played and laughed and enjoyed. But in the photo, it looks as tho we were all worn out, tired and hot. Poor tired babies. They had ran the park north of Afton on a hot July day, playing with cousins at an Austin reunion and were ready to go home.

Wedding Anniversary

Well, Himself and I celebrated our 37th wedding anniversary this week. I, as a 19-year-old, one month short of 20 years, never, for a moment, wondered about the years between our wedding and our 37th anniversary. At 19, one just thinks of the present. A young woman can’t imagine 37 years. I thought only of today, being “in love”, being held and taken care of. When you actually do it -- be married for 37 years -- there are a lot of other milestones in between the being held and being loved. There is the alarm clock going off to get you up for work. There is the grocery shopping, the meals to prepare, the dishes to be washed, and the laundry. The babes to be conceived and born. There are the differences in child rearing theories. There are arguments, fights, sulks and pouting. Negotiating and compromise. The sleepless nights and the sleep-deprived days. There are plenty of tears for a woman, and plenty of anger and frustration if you are a man. But somehow, somewhere within us, different degrees at different times, the ol’ man and I found a determination to keep on trying.

Looking back, we both could have been more accommodating. There could have been more patience, more forgiveness and more compassion. But when you are living it, it seems so much more compelling, more important, to be right, to be the “winner”. Now I know that is not so. Looking back, who is right and who is wrong is not that important. It is the doing, the being, the loving, the rearing, the time together, the laughs and the adventure.

Listen to me, children. Living, loving and laughing is what is really important. If I could pass on one thing to my dear children and precious grandchildren, it would be to live in the moment. Enjoy! Appreciate each day and cherish your spouse, your child, your friends.

Play! Enjoy! Sing! Have fun! Love, Mama/Nana

Audrianna

On June 26, I attended my 4th delivery of a grandbabe. I am so glad that my daughters let me be with them during the birth of their babes. It is a miracleous experience one never forgets. Two deliveries were fairly swift, with no unexpected turns along the way. Two deliveries took longer and did have surprises and some difficulties.

Jack Gibson decided to come into this world with his arm extended which slowed things down and caused his mother extra trouble and discomfort but of course, one look at the new babe and it was all worth the effort (I think! but I wasn't the one delivering him!)

Audrianna was a big baby and not quite room enough to make her entrance and had to be coaxed (aided with the vacumm). Her Mama pushed for four hours, nigh on to exhaustion. I was anxious and was afraid she wouldn't be able to have her. When the room filled up with extra delivery and nursery personnel, I climbed up on the davenport out of the way, closed my eyes and prayed for resolution. And at the first sounds of success, mentally joined the group again and watched as grandbabe #6 was born. Praise the Lord.  I even got to cut her cord.

You must have been a beautiful baby . . .

Probably Kristy's first time to hold her Sister, newborn, Erica Jo.

Kristy wasn't jealous of Erica although she would demand a little attention from me at times or more likely, go off to explore something while I was feeding the baby. Erica, thank goodness, was good and calm and just pretty much went with the flow.

Erica Jo's Happy Birth Day

Another perfect daugher! A matched set, I always thought. Erica Jo was welcomed home with open arms -- 3 pair!

Erica Jo's Birth Day

We loved having a first baby and decided we didn’t want to wait very long for the second. Lanny was looking for a boy, of course, but I thought two little girls would be perfect, especially if they were a year or so apart. Kristy was only about 6-months old when I suspected that Lanny and I were soon to have our wish. We was delighted and excited! . The second babe was due March 14, 1973. I continued to work at Postal Finance. That December and January was horribly cold and snowy, while I was pregnant with Erica. I fell once, in the icy parking lot at Walgreens shortly before Christmas. My feet went out from under me and I smacked hard on my bottom. It worried me but after a day or so, everything seemed to be okay and I quit worrying and other than the usual queesiness of the early months and a little heartburn, I had a nice, easy pregnancy and relished the thought of another babe.

While anxiously awaiting this babe's arrival, we talked with Kristy about getting a baby brother or a baby sister, trying to prepare her for the big event. Looking back, Kristy was just a babe herself and at 15 months, probably didn’t have much concept of what we were even talking about but she was interested in babies and hugged, kissed and rocked her baby dolls.

I had quit work, been off a week or so, and was enjoying time with Kristy and getting a few new clothes for the new babe and things done around the house. The three of us were still living in the upstairs apartment. On Friday, March 2, I marched up and down the long flight of outside steps and then, again down the basement stairs, lugging Kristy and a 9-month belly, and got the laundry all done.

Later, Kristy and I went and got groceries for the week. I felt that I had accomplished a lot on this Friday but while coming home and carrying the groceries in I realized that I had a back ache. A bad backache -- and it felt mighty familiar. I can’t remember that I called Lanny home from work. I think it was late enough in the day that I just waited for him to get there. I’m sure I was packing suitcases and getting things ready to go. Once I was convinced this was the real thing, I tried to call Kristy’s babysitter who was going to keep Kristy while the new babe came. But, the babysitter wasn’t home so we took Kristy across the street to the neighbor’s Weir and off we went to St. Luke’s Hospital.

The nurses took immediate charge of me and I was examined and put to bed, flat on my back again. The nurses were in a hurry and I noticed weren't doing the same prep job as when Kristy was born -- there was no razor involved -- and a bit of urgency. After finding that I was well dilated, the doctor broke my water and the next thing I knew they were wheeling me off to the same cold delivery room where the procedure was much the same as when Kristy was born --feet in the stirrups, arms strapped, probably. This time, however, we just got to the delivery room and the next thing I knew, without too much ado and much less trauma, I had my second perfect baby daughter.

The nurses told me afterward that they were discussing who might deliver the babe but Dr. Youngblade arrived in time to catch Erica Jo at 8:30 p.m. Our bonny babe weighed in at 7 # 3-1/2 oz and was 20 inches long. Her baby book reports that her hair seemed dark when she was born but soon turned blonde. Her father and I counted her toes, wrapped and unwrapped her and we (I) commented on who she looked like and her Dad, of course, said "she looks just like Erica Jo".

Erica never curled up in a ball like some babies. Her two little legs were always thrust out; she did things "her way". After she was born and I saw the position of her legs, I recognized the position of her in the womb.

Lanny and I oohed and aahed over the beautiful babe and counted fingers and toes. We wrapped and unwrapped her and marveled again at the miracle of birth. Again, I remember the time when Lanny went home, the nurses awayand I sat and cuddled my new babe. I held her on my chest and we looked into each other's eyes the longest time and I felt again the engulfing love of a mother for her new babe.

I recovered so nicely that the hospital released us on March 4th and I was ready to get home! Couldn't wait to introduce my "Girls" and to see Kristy's reaction to her new beautiful sister. Now, we were a family of four.

Erica was an easier babe or I was a more relaxed mother. Erica didn't have to be held at all times and learned to sit in her infant seat on the counter or table while I worked or cooked. Kristy loved her so much that when left on the davenport one afternoon, Kristy tried to scoop her out of the infant seat and they both ended up the floor. This was just the beginning of the many adventures of the "Sugar Babes".

Anticipation

December 1972: I was expecting another babe in March and full of sweet anticipation!

Expectancy: Sweet anticipation

Today, you don't "expect" you are just plain pregnant. When I was a child, I didn't even know what pregnant meant -- until I learned to read books beyond my years. It was whispered about by the women but even then, they probably said "expecting" or "in the family way". I was probably half grown before I ever heard the word said aloud.

Expectancy. I think that is such a descriptive word for being pregnant. After all, a lot of times you are expecting a baby. You are expecting a son or daughter. You are expecting (hoping/praying) the baby to be healthy and whole. Expectancy just plain describes the condition you are in for 9 months. Expecting nausea, heartburn, expecting to grow large with babe. Anticipating a little foot running up and down your ribs or stretching your tummy all lop sided as she stretches.

I suggest that we drop the word pregnant from our vocabulary and go back to a more gentle way of describing a miracle.

The Planets, (mis)aligned

It has been a sad day for this family. I think the Planets are all aligned in some sorrowful fashion for us today. We grieve for Kristy and Tony's loss even knowing that there will be another time, another babe.

For Johanna who is practically living out of a car in Des Moines. Her friend had to turn her away from the "manger" this evening, fearing the loss of her subsidized housing. I wanted to kidnap her and bring her home with me but knew I couldn't; shouldn't.

My Mama had a a very bad day at the nursing home (thank you Lord, for Mary, who was there to hold her). We remember our strong, logical, supportive Mother.

Himself, who never dreams, had vivid, complicated dreams last night. My day at work was disheartening; I took giant steps backward instead of forward. I had obstacles in my way all day and started calling it my Obstacle Day. Hannah and I thumbed our noses and laughed at them but they still occurred. I had a giant spider at a Wal-Mart in Des Moines, large obstructive machinery on the highways, a long wait in the check out lane and obstacles in the aisles.


I know that it will be better tomorrow and the day after that, and the next -- but for now, thank you, Lord, for the order of your days. I know the planets that will move to a more favorable position for this family,

Lord, behold our family here assembled

Give us peace, gaiety and the quiet mind

Soften us to our friends,

Strengthen us in our enemies,

That we may be brave in peril,

Constant in all changes of fortune,

And that down to the gates of death,

We may be loyal and love one another.

Love, Nance

Jackie's lament

Death seems such a waste to this woman, especially when it comes too soon. A young mother, with three children that need her, a husband. Her mother, brother and sister. A father. Gone in a split second in a horrific car accident. And all the good wishes and positive thoughts and promises to God, won't undo it. One is so helpless in the face of death.

However, a woman's reaction to death, I think, is different than that of a man. A woman, wanting to counteract the negative action, goes to work. She thinks about food for the family. Bake something, make something, do something, offer something, create something. Hug someone, console someone.

This evening, in reaction to the grim news, I picked up the sewing I started two months ago and hadn't got done. I whipped out a blanket and finished 4 bibs that had just been waiting for finishing touches, and christened them with tears.

Brand New Daddy, December 18, 1971

Lanny, gowned in hospital blue, and his brand-new, first-born daughter: Kristy Noel.

Fathers could see and hold their babes in the hospital in 1971. It wasn't too much earlier that if Dad was in the hospital room, the babe had to go back to the nursery.

We three were lucky!

Kristy's Happy Birth Day

I was 21, barely, when my first babe was born.

Lanny and I were quite excited to learn that I was “expecting” – ecstatic! We both wanted to start our family as soon as we could. In those days you didn’t go to the doctor until you were three months pregnant. They wouldn’t even see you if you weren’t that far along. So, meanwhile, waiting for those first three months to be up, I bought a paperback Pregnancy Book and studied all the signs and symptoms so I knew I was “expecting” before I went to the doctor and even had the due date figured. The first time I went to the doctor was my first ever exam. I had a lot to learn and experience in the next six months.

I enjoyed being pregnant (all 4 times!) and looked forward to having a babe of my own. The first time I felt the baby move, and knew for sure, was while I was at Woolco with Grandma. What a surprise! What a wonder! I don’t think Grandma was very comfortable talking about it in Woolco but it was so exciting, I had to mention it. Of course, had it been Granny instead of Grandma, I probably wouldn’t have said a word.

The baby was due December 7, 1971. I quit work two weeks early. Mama had told me, on a first baby, just add two weeks to the delivery date but I was hoping that the babe would arrive as scheduled. Lanny and I didn’t do any Christmas shopping because we thought the baby would arrive and then we could go shopping. I think we had one little squeeze toy bought for baby, receiving blankets, a few baby t-shirts and a couple of dozen cloth diapers. I had made some flannel kimonos and shirts and a crocheted blanket. We had splurged on a crib/stroller that converted to a high chair. It was a set, bought from a salesman, and was well made. On Friday, December 17, I had a surge of energy and totally cleaned the house and the bathroom. The hard Sioux City water had dripped a track down the old-fashioned pedestal sink. I scoured and scraped it clean. I remember that in the evening, I filled the claw foot tub with hot water and soaked to my heart’s content.

At one of my earlier doctor appointments, I had asked my male doctor if I would know when I was in labor. Sure, if it’s your first pregnancy, you’ll know, he said. Ha! On Saturday, I awoke in the predawn hours suffering with what I thought was "gas". I was bloated and miserable and took some Phillips Milk of Magnesia and went back to bed. Arising later, I had a backache, discovered other signs discussed in my books and told my young husband that we probably would be having a baby later today.I checked my previously packed suitcase. He watched football. I looked at the few baby things we had. He watched football. I tried to time my contractions. He watched football. I reread the section in my book on Labor and the one on Delivery and when the backache got so bad that I wasn't sure I could manage, I said let's go. He said, could you wait 'til half time? He watched football and I waited.

I didn't wait for him and half time but I had heard all the horror stories about how long first labors are and figured we had plenty of time. Also, I was some scared at what was to come so I found some intestinal fortitude and waited. Thought I’d rather be anxious at home than at the hospital! Finally, about 5:00 pm, we put the suitcase in the car and drove the half-mile to St. Lukes hospital.

The nurses checked me in, took me to the labor room and put me on a hard gurney. And left me there. We had had no Lamaze, no child birth classes, so we were docile parents-to-be and did what the nurses said. Even though I wanted to get up and walk, I lay on that gurney suffering "back labor" – the worst backache ever! We couldn't really time the abdominal contractions and the nurses were only interested in how I was dilating. Finally, when I had dilated enough for the nurses, Dr. Youngblade broke the water and it wasn’t long until I was taken to a very cold delivery room with metal lights hanging above. My impression now, looking back, was of a very institutional-like basement room. My arms were strapped down and my feet up in stirrups. They tried to give me some gas but I fought that and, as much as I wanted that baby, I wondered how on earth did I end up here in this cold room and how can I get out?

Very soon though, here was a beautiful babe lying on my chest! Kristy Noel was delivered at 7:42 p.m. without more trauma and shock then I could stand. However it was a shock, and a bit traumatic. I don’t know if I ever tried to explain the process to Lanny. I’m sure he would have thought I was exaggerating. He waited out in the hall, alone, or in the father’s waiting room I suppose, as fathers weren’t allowed in the delivery room and we didn’t call our folks until it was all over.

It was wonderful. A miracle, one I had waited for from my earliest memory. A baby. My baby.

I think, that "Daddy" got see to see this new babe as they were moving me from the delivery room to the recovery room but I am not sure. Later, in my own room, the new father got to come in to see and hold his new beautiful daughter. We examined every inch of this babe, marveled that she weighed 8 # 8 oz and was 22 inches long. In the baby book, I recorded her hair as being “long, dark”. It’s odd, that until I went to write this, I remembered all four babes as being born blonde headed but all the baby books except Johanna’s, says that three of you were born with “dark” hair.

Alone in my room, Lanny and I held the baby, counted toes and fingers, admired the fine, round head, the lips, ears, hair and lusty cry. It felt unreal, a dream, and yet there she was in our arms and hearts. I said she has her daddy’s eyes, she has my dimples in her back, she looks like . . . and her daddy said, as he did about all our children, she looks like “Kristy Noel”!

We were lucky to have a Polaroid camera and we took photos of Miss Kristy there in the hospital room. Something new that hospitals were doing was bringing the baby's bed into the room and allowing the new parents time to get to know the babe. Prior to this, the baby was kept in the nursery and only taken to Mom to eat and maybe the new father even had to leave the room. I felt very lucky that this hospital was progressive!

It was all "firsts" with this babe. I learned how to suckle her, to swaddle her and to hold her close so that I could smell my baby's fresh, sweet breath. I learned to burp, to clean a tiny belly button, to clean lint between toes and wipe bottoms. And I learned how big a mother’s heart can swell with love and tenderness and pride. Later, as I found all my babes did in the hours after birth, she lay on by chest and we looked into each other's eyes for the longest time, as though we had both been waiting to see what the other looked like, or as of a recognition . . . oh! So this is you! This is what you look like!

I stayed in the hospital three days after Kristy was born, as that was the rule then. Granmma Hof came to stay when it was time to go home and we dressed Kristy up in a pretty little dress and took her home to 1503 Rebecca Street, Sioux City, Iowa where, after Gramma went home, we played with our dolly to our hearts’ content.

Kristy Noel was and still is a bundle of joy!

Happy 35th, Kristy Noel.

Oh, what a beautiful baby! December 18, 1971

Mama and her bundle of joy!

Mother and Daughter (#5 of 6)

Mama

I spent time with my dear mother today. They are bittersweet, our visits, these days. Mama is in the throes of Alzheimer's. Her more vivid memories now, are of her childhood, her mother and father, her siblings and Grandmother and Granddad Vaughan. In the last few years, she seemed not always to recognize photos of my father, her husband of 59 years. Today, however, she talked of "your dad", and looked and looked at a photo taken 12 years ago. They were sitting with Dad's arm around her under the arbor in the back yard. She wasn't sure that was her husband because "your dad wasn't that heavy". She embraces older memories of when they were young farmers, when Dad ate like a horse but worked it all off. He was slight of frame and slender then.

She has been a widow almost nine years. And we have come full circle.

Her daughters are her mother now. Daughters divvie out her medicine from a locked box. We buy the groceries. We make sure her hair is combed and that she bathes. We check to see if she is eating and ask nosey questions about her bowels. We clean up after her. We boss her, encourage her and tell her what to do, when to do it and why. I find myself talking to her as tho she is a toddler, explaining, reminding and preparing her for the event ahead.

Mom had a bad day yesterday. She couldn't get her front door open to get her afternoon newspaper. She was scared, shaking and trembling when my brother and his wife came by. They couldn't calm her. She needed to call someone! My brother helped her call, Mary, her youngest daughter, two blocks away. Mary came and helped soothe her. Now the talk is of nursing home. Our aim had been to keep her at home just as long as possible.
What is the best for our dear mother? The noise and commotion of a nursing home where strangers will tell her when to dress, when to eat, when to use the lavatory instead of her daughters? What if she tries to leave the nursing home to find her "real" home -- the home that she sometimes looks around now and says "how did I get here?" because in her mind, she is living in a rural farm house with a slightly built, handsome , young farmer? Or would it be best to leave her be , leave her to mostly quiet days at home until she forgets the next thing or can't get the door open and is scared and shaking and out of control? But forgets later about the terror, the panic. I pray for the answer -- but my siblings may make the decision for me. I sense the tide going out. I sense the swing. I dread the nursing home where strangers will judge my Mama.

Tonight, I give Mama a bedtime snack. I pull her bedspread back, fluff her pillow and lay out her nightgown. I wait for her to do her nightly hygiene, ingrained for 86-1/2 years. I kiss her goodnight.

Good night, Mama. I love you.

Dale and Leurine Hofmeister

Leurine Sychra married Dale Hofmeister on May 11, 1942.

This photo is dated July 4, 1942 so they were newlyweds. This might have been taken at one of their parents houses because there are yard chickens in the background. Leurene never told me the the details about this photo but weren't they a handsome couple!

They first met at a dance out to Williamson. I think they watched each other awhile and finally managed an introduction and danced together the rest of the time. Before the night was over, Dale asked, and got permission to take Leurine home. The rest, they say, is history.

They fell in love and married during the Second World War. Dale first worked in an aircraft plant in Kansas City. Leurine joined him there in a small apartment and from the little Leurine told me, it was a very happy time. They had a motor scooter and zipped around the city. They socialized with friends, laughed and enjoyed their marriage and each other.


Dale entered the US Army on April 15, 1945. Leurine and their 18-month old son, Larry, went back to stay with Gramma Sychra while Dale attended flight school. Dale wrote some letters while he was there -- to his folks, his sister and his brothers but the love letters he wrote to Leurine were seen only by her.
I first met my new inlaws on my wedding day. I had dragged their son out to my folks a few times but he had never "taken me home" to meet his parents although Lanny's Mother caught us on the street once in Creston and I was introduced to her there! I'm sure they must have been surprised when Lanny brought me into their home and said "this is my wife". Maybe, he said "this is my wife, Nancy" !! There were congratulations all around and I'm sure a few questions, but not many. I was bashful and a little uncomfortable and we didn't stay long and we were soon back in the car and driving towards my new home in Sioux City.

But the introduction, the welcome and the unflappablity of this wonderful couple set the tone for our relationship in the years following. They were always warm and hospitable, calm and caring, responding with help and advice when asked but never critical or complaining. They admired and loved our babies, took us in without hesitation when we showed up on the doorstep unannounced for the weekend. Leurine washed baby faces, gave baby baths and powdered their little behinds. Dale walked little ones around the yard and sat them on tractors, lawn mowers and boats.

The folks helped us move many a time and Leurine always made sure the beds were made up that first night in a new home, with clean sheets. Dale helped shingle, made a coat rack for the preschool, threatened to spank the older girls when they wouldn't leave "Tanks" and would meet us at Williamson at 10 p.m. when Johanna wanted to stay with Gramma and Grampa but couldn't quite do it.

Now, this October, Dale has been gone 5 years and Leurine almost 10 years. Those years have flown by -- it seems as though it was just yesterday that lovely, smiling Leurine reached out her hands for a baby . . . and proud Dale held Morghan Grace on his lap and saw newborn Jack in the hospital.

Leurine set a high standard -- but if I can do one thing, I hope that I can be the same kind of parent-in-law that Leurine and Dale were for me.

October fun . . .

The family gathered round this weekend to celebrate Lanny's birthday. We will be off for vacation on his actual birthday so we celebrated it up good this weekend.

This hour of fun in the driveway with a huge pile of dry leaves was a side benefit.

All five grandchildren joined in and there were no tears, no harsh words, no hesitation. They all jumped in and raked and pushed and worked hard. They threw leaves into the evening sky and had a fall romp. We lost shoes and socks and entire children in that leaf pile -- then had fun finding them all.

May we enjoy many more such hours. I was, again, entertained.

borrowed from: http://www.cafepress.com/zoooglebunny8

and I am entertained

I love children and their imaginations and I've heard or read that children sometimes can't tell the difference between reality and those other thoughts that swirl around in their dear little heads until they are 6 or 7 years old (depending on the child, of course). So I always tried to be gentle when one of my children or now, my grandchildren, told me a whopper.

First of all it can be highly entertaining for me and it is good for little ones to use and stretch their imaginations. They could grow up to be writers or artists or storytellers and then it is good practice for the teenage years too! So, I listen to their story and then remind them that it was a story -- and a good one! Sometimes you can tell the child must have dreamed the sequence of events and you can remind them that the wonderful story was a dream and happened in their sleep. Of course, if it a frightening dream, they need a hug and reassurance.

Morghan Grace, a few months back told me an especially charming story of how she kept a bunny rabbit in the house all one winter without her Mama knowing. The mama rabbit naturally had babies and Morghan got to witness that and then she had the chore of hiding a mama rabbit and a bunch of babies. We were both giggling by the time she got done; we both knew she was telling a story. And we both enjoyed every minute of it!

Jack Gibson, 5 years old

Jack, all boy

Jack Gibson turned 5 years old the other day. He had a party with his Mom, Dad, big sister, little sister and two sets of grandparents. He was the star of the party and enjoyed every minute of it.

Jack attends daycare and preschool. Jack likes dinosaurs, cars, trains and all things "boy". Jack also likes girls but that is another story for another day. Jack usually has a twinkle in his eye and loves to joke and tease. He is at that stage where he likes to pick on his big sister and even likes to tease his little sister but after scaring Maddie Mae one day by wearing a frightful monster mask, he patted her and tried to comfort her. "Its okay, Maddie. Its okay." Jack has a mind of his own and a bit of an ornery streak but is also kind and loving.

Jack can be very determined. If he makes up his mind to something, he does it. He learned to ride the 2-wheeler when he was only 3-1/2 years old. If he decides he doesn't like a food, forget trying to coax him into eating it. At the cabin this summer, he asked me if he could put the wooden truck in the swimming pool. I said, Jack, if you do, the wood will swell up and it might warp. (Try explaining "warped" to a 4-1/2 year old.) After several conversations, Jack did indeed put the truck in the pool. So later, after swimming at the beach, Jack was upset to find that the wheels wouldn't turn on the truck. "Well, Jack, you put the wooden truck in the water and the wood swelled." Jack was VERY unhappy and wanted it fixed right Now! I told him only time might fix it. That did not make him one bit happy but he put the truck in the air-conditioned cabin and was delighted the next morning when the wood had dried out and the wheels turned once again.

Jack is athletic and tall, kind and caring. Ornery boy. Jack Gibson, Nana loves you!

Mt. Zion

Morghan Grace, age 7, helps her PaPa with the flags at the stone of her great grandparents, Dale and LaRene Hofmeister, Memorial Day 2006

Decoration Day

Decoration Day

Originally, it was called Decoration Day and it was observed on May 30, not the last Monday of May.

Each Memorial Day or the Sunday before, Mom would cut what flowers were in bloom. She usually had iris and bridal wreath and Gramma Austin would provide peonies. Then, with whatever kids would fit in the car and Gramma and Grampa Austin, Dad would head out to several cemeteries. There was the Lorimor cemetery where Uncle Bob was buried. This was always sad as Uncle Bob died from being struck by lightening when he was just 34, leaving a widow and two young children. Everyone would stand around the grave, solemnly, and Gramma would wipe her eyes with her pretty lace handkerchief.

Oak Hill cemetery, in southeast Union County, held the graves of Dad’s grandparents and great grandparents. This cemetery sat high on a hill with evergreen trees standing guard and we children could always find pine cones or run over and look around the Church. This cemetery wasn’t so sad as the grandparents were old when they died and the great grandparents, although a source of pride as they were some of the earliest settlers in Union County, had not been known, not even by my father. Cornwall was just a couple of miles away, and again, the great-grandparents there had died before my dad was born but the cemetery was old and interesting and we kids had plenty to look at and take in while here.

Shannon City Cemetery was another sad place as Dad’s sister, Betty Jane, was buried there. She died as a baby. It was during a bad time with Gramma and Grampa Austin. They were living at Arispe, out at Gramma Austin’s parent house, I think. Grampa had diabetes and doctors were just beginning to use insulin to treat it but you had to have money to buy it. Times were hard.

Gramma had been sick, as well as several of the children, and it was too much for baby Betty Jane when she came down with the flu. Uncle Bob, the oldest child, had been directed to go after the doctor. “Take the car and get the doctor, Bob.” In those days, the car had to be hand-cranked at the front of the car. If you weren’t careful, not thinking about what you were doing, scared for your baby sister or just unlucky, the crank would come back and break your arm. So, along with the sickness inside, there was Uncle Bob outside with a broken arm. Things were very bleak that winter and when wee Betty Jane died, she was buried at Shannon City, probably driven over in a little casket in the trunk of the car that broke Uncle Robert’s arm. It was very sad to think of a baby being in that cemetery and sad to hear the details of that long winter.

There were other family members in the Shannon City cemetery too. One, more distant, relative’s family had not had enough money for a grave stone so the survivor, a daughter, I think, had marked the grave with colored, broken glass. Originally, the grave had looked gay and bright with the bits of glass outlining the plot and catching the sun on a beautiful spring day but when I was a child, one had to get down and look closely to see some of the bits. A few years ago, Granny and I stopped out there and I could not find the grave. Could not see a loved ones grave decorated, for lack of something more substantial, with many – thousands -- of multi-colored pieces of glass so that their loved one would be remembered.

In early May I will take a basket of pretty flowers to my father's grave and will put out an American flag that Lanny asks me to display for his patriotic, conservative father-in-law. I will stop every two or three days and talk to my daddy and water the basket until the cemetery’s deadline for decorations, shortly after Memorial Day. I do this because I want to; I do it gladly.

Lanny and I will drive out to Mt. Zion Cemetery. We will carry artificial flowers and two flags to decorate his parents’ grave, LaRene and Dale. After honoring and remembering his good parents, we will stroll up and pay homage to his grandparents, Shorty and Mary. Then we’ll go to the west end and visit the stone of his Great Grandmother Eva Hofmeister. She died when her twin boys were 1-1/2 or 2 years old. She must have been RH negative, a dangerous situation in those days and while pregnant, or after delivering her third child, her own antibodies attacked her and she died too young along with her babe. Her parents are there too, Norman and Mary Keesler Walker. They came to Iowa from Ohio to live near their daughter. In their photos they look like good, caring folks – hardy stock. Norman lived to be 85 years and Great-great Grandmother Mary Walker died at 92 years.

There are other family members there. There are several Maxedon stones but I would need my family history charts to make the family connection; however, this year I tell Morghan Grace, age 7, that the Maxedon’s were family. It is my duty to plant some seeds, to make some memories with young ones so that in future years, Morghan Grace can take little ones around and show them the old folks, the old stones and tell them about the five generations of family here, at Mt. Zion.

In 2006, I do not keep the tradition, as I should. Granny and I wander the country at odd times, stopping at cemeteries in Union County. We don’t carry in the peonies, bridal wreath and iris of yore but just drive through and remember the old ones with some conversation and thoughts. We might stop and get out of the car and look at a stone here or there -- and reminisce of lost family or trips in years past. In our own way, we remember and celebrate Decoration Day.