Blog or Bathroom?

Labor Day weekend 2025 was the first weekend (holiday or otherwise) in several years where someone didn't have an emergency and/or I wasn't feeling well.

So I planned to rest and relax, catch up on BryonySeries copyediting, increase my walk time, finish Tuesday's blog that I drafted a while back, clean my bathroom, celebrate Bertrand's Back-to-School Birthday Bash on Saturday (followed by a marketing dinner), take Tiny to class on Sunday afternoon, and hang out with the kids, cats, and corgi.

First of all, I had a wonderful weekend and am looking forward to work today.

Second of all, the weekend veered a bit from those plans. 

* I did rest and relax.

* I did not catch up on BryonySeries copyediting (although I made a nice dent).

* I did increase my walk time (not as much as I'd hoped).

* The cats and corgi got plenty of additional snuggles and cuddles (although they always want more).

* Bertrand's Back-To-School Birthday Bash was the best yet (more about this on Thursday).

* The marketing dinner was pushed back to tonight because the venue we wished to support closed for the holiday weekend.

* Tiny was a solid B+ in class (he needs to work on distractions and "walking nicely" when walking with others).

* And I hung out with family (human and otherwise).

Here are the really lovely reasons why I didn't walk and copyedit as much as I'd hoped:

* On Saturday evening, Rebekah and I spontaneously dived into some deepish cleaning (the first time since before my surgery on July 17).

* On Sunday evening, Rebekah and I finished a K-drama we started earlier this year (we highly recommend this drama!) and then abandoned for time reasons a few months ago (I should also add that, except for binge-watching Bob's Burger's in those early post-recovery days when I faded in and out of a pain/pain killer haze, I haven't watched any television or movies).

* On Monday, Timothy and I (and then Rebekah and and then back to Timothy) finished setting up and trying out the new phone he bought me.

So by early Sunday evening, that left two items on the list: today's blog or cleaning my bathroom.

Now, I 'd cleaned the bathroom on July 16 (the day before surgery), assuming it would be a couple of weeks before I could tackle it again. How could I have known then that those two weeks would become six?

I couldn't put it off one more night (because the marketing dinner was rescheduled for tonight). Wednesday evening, maybe?

Except I had absolutely, no exceptions, promised myself this weekend was the weekend. I did not promise the same about the blog.

So I cleaned the bathroom, the first really major piece of housework since the surgery. It felt great to do "normal" things.

And I paired the cleaning with a call to my uncle, who lives in New York and whose call I'd misssed the previous night. And what a fun call it was! (as it always is). Although he is in his mid-80s and recently widowed (very unexpectedly) for the second time, he is full of proejcts and plans.

While I cleaned ansd scrubbed and swept, we discussed:

 * His upcoming solar installation and what he needs to get done of the roof to prpare for it (yes, he still gets up on the roof).

* The tree branches he still needs to cut before the weather changes (for himself and his son-in-law).

* The work bench he got back in order over the weekend.

* The health care and food industry

* What he likes to cook for himself (and how he's only gone out to eat twice this year).

* The honor of meeting his new neighbor's elderly mother - and how his ninety-pound dog has won over his dog-disliking neighbors.

* His model planes and how he's looking for a place to fly them. He had to leave some of those plans in Montana when he moved back East. That led to a discussion about this World War II veteran, including the replica of his plane, the museum that displayed my uncle's plane for a time, and how my uncle met (and was photographed with) this veteran. I also learned that when the veteran died, his co-pilot attencded the funeral at age one hundred, making him the only Doolittle Raider still alive.

* I learned how my father had done his thesis on maximum security prisons, which made sense to me since his own father worked as a prison guard (and we briefly revisted that portion of familiy history). I'm assuming that led to my father's work with the Illinois Department of Corrections - and I recalled hearing "Stateville" for the first time as a child over a dinner conversation, simply because my father had gone there that day.

* I heard about my uncle talk about meeting an old friend for lunch at the halfway point (in my uncle and father's childhood town) and then wandering around this museum, which is housed in the building my uncle and father had attended school ("Of course, it looked much smaller I than I remembered it," my uncle said with  a laugh). While there, he found a photo of the Class of 1941, which had my father in it (along with other students whose names my uncle also recalled). Yes, he took a photo of it, No, he doesn't have a smartphone, so he's unable to share it anytime soon.

* We discussed the antique model trains my uncle is rebuilding and how he plans to devote some long, focused time on them when the weather is too cold for outdoor projects.

So as you can see, cleaning the bathroom was the right choice.

And I wound up with a nice blog for today, too.

Happy Tuesday!

Another Option for Helping Out

On June 5, I posted this blog: "Help Us Promote Reading in Will County this Summer."

The blog explained how WriteOn Joliet will be giving away approximately 300 books for adults and children (all written by WriteOn Joliet authors) on August 2 at Kidz Fest in downtown Joliet

This blog also provided links to the books we will distribute, along with a link to all the BryonySeries books, for anyone interested in making our gift a larger gift.

Here is another way to help, one that also supports a small business.

BryonySeries has a display of its books near the front door at The Book Market in Crest Hill.

Simply purchase one or more books and leave the book(s) at the counter.

The Book Market receives a portion of the sale and families at Kidz Fest receive the books.

To be clear, we have already ordered our 300 books.

But with your help, we can give away 301 books.

And if you'd like to leave a note of encouragment with the book, we can make sure the recipient receives that, too.

Questions?

Email me at bryonyseries@gmail.com.

You Cannot Make This Up

So the "fun" for Lucas' graduation weekend probably started when we decided I should apply for an expeditated passport since I couild not get an appointment for a Real ID.

Naturally I could not find any copies of my birth certificate. So my mother, who also lives in North Carolina, found a copy from 1967 and overnighted it to me in package so sealed for safety we had trouble opening it ourselves.

We spent the money for the expeditation and breathed a sigh of relief. 

In the meantime, here's what this past week has looked like across the family, the Illiniois family and the North Carolina family: COVID, two ER trips for two different family members (including me; the barium in the photo is mine), an ER plumbing issue, power outage in ninety-three degrees, a romantic breakup, missing carryon bag with medication that had to be checked (found later destroyed), another illness overnight that prevented a grandparent from attending graduation, and one person in North Carolina that overslept and missed the graduation altogether.

Then we had trouble loading the virtual link and missed Lucas walking in (but we were jubilantly present when he received his diploma and watched him walk out as new graduate of the Class of 2025.

So this afternoon, we will have a Zoom celebration, and I will read Lucas my "Message to the Class of 2020," which I read to my two nieces at our Zoom celebration of their high school and college graduations in May 2020, because these same sentiments apply.

The one thing that did work out for us this week is that we all commiserated together.

This above list of "experiences" doesn't even make believable fiction. But it's all true, and it all happened to us over these past few days.

But those are the key words: "we" and "us."

Whenever we go through these trials, we remind each other that some people don't have "we" and "us." 

In fact, WE see it all the time in the ER: people who are there alone, without "we" and "us."

Which is worse? Being alone and having everything go right and according to plan? Or having everything go wrong but having it all go wrong with togetherness?

While you're mulling on that question, you've probably missed Chekhov's gun.

Well, that's because I'm missing it, too.

I'm referring to the "expedited" passport.

I received an email an hour ago. It should be here on Wednesday.

Happy Monday!

Mother's Day Brunch on a Working Weekend

My standing Mother's Day mantra to my kids is "No brunch."

Meaning, I don't want anyone losing any hard-earned time and money earned taking me out to brunch.

No one disagrees, especially since anyone in my family who's worked in food service feels the sheer volume of food being rapidly prepared on Mother's Day increases the risk for food poisoning.

But as the work gods would have it, my spot in the weekend rotation came up on Mother's Day weekend for at least the third year in a row.

And the "family" part of it started when the initial checking of email and social media for breaking news ended, and I responded to a text Timothy had sent in the middle of the night (we're poor sleepers here), and he sent me a weird response.

Timothy: "Why are you up?"

Me: "Why wouldn't I be up? It's 7:35 and I'm working."

As the compassionate gods would have it, Faith wanted a snuggle a few minutes later. That's what prevented me for heading downstairs to start dispensing cat and dog treats (long story) and start my own breakfast.

Because I heard voices as I was about to descend the stairs. When I reached the kitchen, Timothy, Daniel, and Cindy were laying out "brunch."

Had Faith not wanted a bit of cuddling, I would have made and been eating breakfast.

Anyway, scroll through the photos and feast your eyes on the 2025 Mother's Day brunch.

Rebekah also prepared homemade cinnamon rolls later that morning - but I was working and they forgot to take photos of those.

Sausage (not homemade)

Blueberry waffles (homemade, including the mix)

Corn muffins (because Timothy had two small boxes of mix he wanted to use up).

Fresh fruit salad

Trifle (a double batch, half of which should have gone home with Cindy and didn't)

And did I mention I will be enjoying leftovers today?

Happy Monday!

Hospital Rewards Card?

So as I've previously written, our family has spent a very challenging couple of years, which have come with unexpected blessings and (perhaps) the opportunity to grow stronger.

Humor is one of our family's coping mechanisms - and Rebekah used that card on Thursday night as we walked into the hospital emergency department, prepared for another all-nighter, for the second time in one month, for a second and separate reason.

Rebekah said, "They should offer a punch card," and I laughed.

So at the check-in desk, I asked if they offered a rewards card for frequent customers. The woman at the desk laughed, too.

None of that changed the situation, of course. But why not momentarily lighten the mood for all?

After I was triaged, I thanked everyone for their time and help and then headed out to the waiting room to find Rebekah and our backpacks of "stuff."

As I left, I heard one of the providers say to the other, "I wish they were all like her."

They don't really (just ask my family).

But I do like the idea of a hospital rewards card.

In the day of rising health care costs, offering a free visit could result in misuse by patients.

Still - why not a free coffee while you wait after, say, ten visits?

Or hospital swag (Rebekah loves swag): T-shirts, hoodies, coolers, mugs? Or (better yet) blankets and travel pillows (yes, Rebekah brings travel pillows and blankets. But extras never hurt).

Could this idea catch on?

Thoughts?

Illustration by Matt Coundiff for "Visage"

My First Christmas Address

In terms of money spent for Christmas this year, 2024/2025 was an extremely lean year for my family and me.

And in terms of some of the really expensive technology items I've seen my grandchildren want and receive for birthdays and holidays, well - I will never be able to meet those wants and expectations no matter what kind of year it is.

But the last way I want to present a gift is with an apology that it isn't more - or see crestfallen faces when something at receiving something insignificant.

So I put some very hard thought and time into Christmas this year, despite being sick.

On Sunday, I spent an entire day, wrapping and decorating some really modest gifts for all the grandchildren, which went into small Christmas bags.

But several days before that, I wrote this Christmas speech. If you can believe, the speech held everyone's attention. Two of my kids actually recorded it. 

And the excitement that followed when the paper started flying really surprised me. Not only did the mood remain elevated the rest of the day, I believe the speech set expectations (in a good way) for birthdays and holidays going forward, recementing the element of surprise and delight in giving, receiving, and sharing.

So if you need a dose of inspiration today, I'm including the speech in this post.

Happy Wednesday!

As a grandma with lots of grandkids and little money, it sometimes breaks my heart that I can’t afford all the expensive technology things my grandkids love and really want.

But then I read this article last month called, “Why the Best Gift You Can Give Your Grandchild This Christmas is a Book.” And this paragraph really stood out to me.

If there’s one thing grandparents understand, it’s the fragility, the brevity of life. We need to keep giving books as if we missed the memo that ‘technology rules.’ We know that big, sullen teenage lump really wants something techie, or cash — mostly cash, and that you are just a means to providing the latest gadget. But teenagers are sullen and oafish because they’ve learned a thing about life, so you can play them at their own game. Keep handing over books.

And this got me thinking. Yes, I know reading is often presented as a chore, something we “should” do that really isn’t very fun, like eating raw broccoli instead of chocolate chip cookies. We all know kids need to read to become successful students and successful adults in the business world.

Well, that reasoning would turn me off reading, too.

And the more I thought about it, the more I felt bad for kids who prefer technology over books and reading. And I feel especially bad for kids who can’t read, struggle with reading, or hate to read.

Because the non-reading kids are missing out on so much.

I really feel bad for kids (and adults who used to be kids) who haven’t spent hours of their childhood reading.

I spent hours of my childhood reading because I had a mother who’d bought a subscription to the Weekly Readers Children’s Book Club, where we got a book in the mail each month.

And I had a father who used to read those books to my sister and me until we were old enough to read books ourselves.

I feel bad for kids who didn’t grow up having a father who made up tunes to sing along with the ditties in the books, “I’m the gift bear for the king. I won’t stop for anything!” or the snake’s song in the “Crows of Pearblossom” (for those who didn’t know Aldous Huxley wrote a children’s book):  I cannot fly; I have no wings; I cannot run; I have no legs. But I can creep where the black bird sings And eat her speckled eggs, ha, ha! And eat her speckled eggs.”

I feel bad for kids who never felt the rejection the Witch of Hissing Hill felt from her witchy customers (who came from miles around to buy one of Gizelle’s cats)

Far back in the hill country is Hissing Hill.

It's a bare lonely spot, with one twisted house

and a tall fir behind it.

Once upon a time the hill was aswarm

with black witch cats.

Cats arching their backs on the rooftop,

cats chasing up the fir tree,

cats yowling on crooked fence posts,

cats hissing in every corner of the shackly house.

And all of them black, black, black.

Her cats were the witchiest, the wickedest, the very worst, wonderful witch cats in the world…until the day one of those cats birthed a yellow cat named Gold.

“Now Gold was yellow and Gold was nice, but she had a bit of mustard in her yellow for spice.”

I feel bad for kids who never met Little Devil when he got sick or tasted the hot spider soup his mother made him (“Wait for the gloom to come, my son!”) or took the advice of his best friend Fritz, who said Little Devil was sick because he wasn’t doing enough good deeds (Ollie ollie zonka choo!).

I feel bad for kids who’ve never met Stevie and his Seven Orphans or played impossible hide and seek or tasted “salty” beet greens or had to obey dinner rules that included no more than one elbow and one knee on the kitchen table in “Good Ole Archbald.”

I feel bad for kids who never saw golden windows from afar, longed to be part of the Knights of the Silver Shield, met Marty from Mars, or felt the longing Danny Drake had for a dog named Bozo – and since their house was too small for a dog, Danny instead brought home mice, frogs, and ants – all named Bozo. Spoiler: Danny eventually gets the dog.

I feel bad for kids who never experienced “earning a playground” or accomplishing a “five-dollar yard,” who never cheered for Bunnyboy when he saved the columbine, mourned with King Charlemagne at the death of Roland the Noble Knight in battle, felt the fear of meeting Grendel the giant in the celebration hall for a fight only one would win, or saw the miraculous pitcher with their very own eyes.

I feel bad for kids who never saw Curious George make a fishing pole from a mop handle and  wall hook and then bait the hook with a slice of cake and who never left Old Bohemia with Nanka and to learn – in America – that a pancake is sometimes also a hat.

I feel bad for kids who don’t know that one is the engine, two is the boxcar, three is the covered hopper car. I feel bad for kids who never survived nearly drowning because the terrible Miss Dove wouldn’t let them get a drink of water in class.

I feel bad for kids who never experienced the world from the vantage point of the Poky Little Puppy and his four siblings after they dug a hole under the fence and went for a walk in the wide, wide world through the meadow, down the road, across the green grass and up the hill, one after the other.

I feel bad for kids who never felt the discontent of Scuffy the toy Tugboat (Scuffy was sad. Scuffy was cross. Scuffy sniffed his blue smokestack. “I won’t sail in a bathtub. I was meant for bigger things”). I feel bad for kids who never learned about boundaries on their behavior with Tootle the Train and “red flags waving,” or felt the loyalty of Mike toward his steam shovel Mary Anne, a steam shovel that could “dig as much in a day as one hundred men can dig in a week.”

I feel bad for kids who didn’t know that Mr. Willowby’s Christmas tree came by special delivery, full and fresh and glistening green, the biggest tree he’d ever seen.

I feel bad for kids who do not even know that where they walked to school each day, Indian children used to play, all about their native land, where the shops and houses stand. and the trees were very tall, and there were no streets at all, not a church, not a steeple —only woods and Indian people.”

I feel bad for kids who never slept beneath a sidewalk with Booker T. Washington or watch him sweep a floor so well that its lack of even one speck of dust earned him a college education. I feel bad for kids who never hung out with George Washington Carver as he invented face powder, shampoo, shaving cream, hand lotion, insecticides, glue, charcoal, rubber, nitroglycerine, plastics, and axle grease all from peanuts.

I feel bad for kids who were never “snowbound” with John Greenleaf Whittier or who never slept in the house with James Thurber the night the bed fell, or who never got deathly ill in the drenching rain the night the last leaf fell.

I feel bad for kids who’ve never felt the heart-stopping terror of Pew the blind pirate tap-tap-tapping his way down the sidewalk, who’ve never stolen a hot air balloon with other escaped prisoners only to be blown off course and land on a mysterious island having to fend for yourself with these strangers, or felt sorry for the frog who was in love with the jailor’s daughter, who knew in his little frog heart his love for her couldn’t not work because he was a frog and she was a woman.

If you haven’t guessed by now, I love reading books. And I like writing books, too.

Uncle Tim helps write some of my books. And Aunt Rebekah takes all the writings and turns them into books.

You’re probably not too curious about what we write or why we do it. You’re probably more curious about what’s in the little bags – and maybe disappointed that we don’t have many gifts to give this year.

But circling back to the beginning of my Christmas speech, “if there’s one thing grandparents understand, it’s the fragility, the brevity of life. We need to keep giving books as if we missed the memo that ‘technology rules.’”

Last year we had lots of gifts for you under the tree. This year, a lot of money went to pay medical bills.

So this year, we have some smaller gifts for you that we hope you’ll like.

And I am giving you the option (and you don’t have to do it) of picking out one book that I wrote (note: most picked out two, actually...surprised we even wrote and published books) to take home with you.

           You can read it or give it away or throw it away.

If you can’t read it by yourself (or if you don’t want to read it yourself), I can read it to you, a chapter at a time, over a video call. This way, we can enjoy the story together.

And if that sounds like a boring gift, I don’t care.

It’s not only what I have to give this Christmas; it’s what I WANT to give this Christmas.

I’m giving the gift of self, of imagination, and the opportunity for us to experience something together you can’t get anywhere else.

Merry Christmas!

P.S.: Copies of this speech are available to take home upon request.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Midnight Crossed the Rainbow Bridge Yesterday

After receiving a "stay of euthanasia" twice, Midnight declined Saturday afternoon and kept going.

I contacted Dr. Beechler on Monday morning, and she only had one open time - and that was in thirty minutes.

In a very surreal, quick pivoting hour, the four of us jumped off work to send Midnight onto her final journey and then jumped back onto work an hour later.

The passage was slightly less smooth than we'd hoped, but in exchange Midnight received nearly three more weeks of life, where she saw the Christmas tree one more time (Timothy put it up early because she loves the lights), frolicked outside in the unseasonably warm weather (maybe God arranged that just for her), frolicked outside in the snow (maybe God arranged that, too, because Midnight also loved snow), ate a huge variety of wet cat food to tempt a capricious appetite (a wider variety in her last three weeks than her other eighteen years total), and reveled in many snuggles and pettings.

Midnight started her life in a horrible way with being dumped with her siblings in a carrier. But my oldest son Christopher just happened to stumbled upon that carrier and brought the kittens to his home.

Christopher found homes for all the kittens except Midnight, who was little and scared and skittish and full of ear mites and tapeworms (yes, tapeworms). So when she was sixteen weeks, he asked us to take her.

When we arrived at his Elwood home, she bolted, much the same way she bolted yesterday when she saw Dr. Beechler. But Christopher pulled her out from hiding and gave her to me. To help Midnight feel secure, I curled up in his recliner and just tightly held her. The sun was warm, and I was overtired from the route (I was always overtired in those days; we had so many short nights and long days) that we both nodded off.

I told the kids not to get attached, that we were proving hospice care. It took months to to get rid of the tapeworms, just long enough for Midnight to dash outside at one o'clock in the morning at nine months of age when the mercury registered eighteen below zero and get pregnant with the kittens Ron would later name Faith, Hope, and Charity.

But none of the kittens had worms, and by the time of their birth, neither did Midnight. And in due time, we sent all four for a mass spaying and neutering.

So Midnight had a rough start to her life, but that's not how she lived the rest of it. Sure, times got a little rocky during our homeless period after Ron got the dementia and lost his job (which led to the eventual loss of our home and years of juggling and scrambling).

But somehow we all managed to survive, and we met some wonderful people along the way that we'd never have met otherwise. And that includes Dr. Beechler yesterday.

For, again, Midnight had a rough start to her life, but she didn't go out that way.

Instead, she went out on soft blankets, held with reassuring hands, and surrounded by four people who loved her.

Letter From Camp

So when I was eleven, my parents sent me to Camp Pokanoka in Ottawa, one of my last Girl Scout events.

I learned to swim at Camp Pokanoka and (apparently) how to sum up one day at camp on a greeting card.

My mother texted me this photo the other day and asked if I remembered it - and then offered to mail all the cards to me. 

Of course, my first thought as a home-schooled mom was, "Where's the cursive?"

But maybe I was writing for posterity. The printing is probably easier to read.

Enjoy!

Baby Shower Pictionary

Yesterday Christopher's girl friend Sabrina was supposed to be induced.

But the hospital got backed up with inducements, so the arrival of David Patrick is not scheduled to begin until this afternoon. Needless to say, we are all very excited to meet him!

Now last month, in the midst of the chaos that's been our lives for the past six weeks, we hosted a small baby shower for Sabrina.

The baby shower was small because we didn't have the time or space to plan something larger with an actual guest list of extended family and friends. 

But we had four of the immediate women in the family and two of the little nieces/granddaughters for lunch, games, and gifts, and we had lots of fun. 

One of those games was Baby Shower Pictionary.

We love Pictionary in our family. But no one in the gaming world (as far as w could see) had ever invented a Baby Shower Pictionary. So we created our own.

Here are the topics we used. Each of the related clues related to babies somehow: Baby Animals, People in a baby's life, Places a baby might go, Actions a baby might make, and Objects associated with babies.

So we drew and guessed things like piglet, doctor, zoo, peek-a-boo, and car seat.

Fun, huh?

My Grandmother's Dresser

If you live in the Will County, Illinois, area, you should know about Gilded Age Furniture Restoration at 473 Ruby Street in Joliet. Phone number is 815-726-8493.

That company just refinished two pieces of antique furniture for us. One is my maternal grandmother's dresser, which we're using as a coffee bar in our townhome. The other piece (for a separate post, much longer post), is way off to the far right in the photo below, past the kitchen table.

By the way, all those boxes to the left of the coffee bar are nearly thirty years of photos that were never put into photo albums (because I became a single mom and worked two jobs through 2012, when Ron's dementia was becoming apparent). 

We did buy a scanner in 2019. Now we just need to make/find some really dedicated time to process all those photos (including the ones in the photo albums, dating back to 1981), so all six kids can have digital copies.

My maternal grandmother died shortly after my seventh birthday in July 1968, and rather suddenly, it seemed to us. But apparently she had been ill a very long time and never told anyone.

This dresser and a double bed were the only furniture I recall in her small bedroom of the two-family bungalow on Chicago's South side where she lived. I slept in that bed with her whenever I stayed with her. When my uncle moved out of the home in the early 1990s, he offered the family anything we wanted in that house. I wanted the dresser.

When I moved into our current townhome in August 2021, I set the dresser right under this window and turned it into a coffee bar. But our old Keurig developed a leak and ruined it. So Rebekah went looking for someone to restore it and founded Gilded Age.

Now, not everything sitting on it belongs to the coffee bar. The dishes and the baskets are for my son. The goblets are gifts for co-workers. The rest actually belongs there: coffee, tea, cups, and little "coffee" gifts from friends, who are virtually present with us for each cup.

Gilded Age did an amazing job, right?

Happy Monday!

The Opportunity in Presidents' Day (Part 2)

Can you name half a dozen facts about James K. Polk? 

Millard Fillmore?

Warren G. Harding?

Today, Presidents' Day, is a great day to do a quick internet search on one president that's obscure to you. 

While presidents from the past seem like irrelevant, ancient history, each president had a role in shaping the United States into the shape it is today. Knowing how we got here is a good start to understanding where we're heading.

Last year on this day, I wrote a post called "The Opportunity in Presidents' Day."

This post gave an overview and rationale for each core branch of education (and we had more than the three Rs) that my children studied in our home-school.

The U.S. government was one, with a separate focus on all of the U. S. presidents. 

I handpicked the curriculum and added to it every year. Do you see the workbook below? This belongs to Timothy, who kept it all these years.

But it's blank, you may wonder.

Of course, it's blank. The workbooks were resources we used every year. The kids did their work on separate sheets of paper.

Now, this was just one of several books on U.S. presidents we used, depending on the age of the child.

Some of the early memorization work the kids did (first, second, third grades) was to name all U.S. presidents in order. If they can't still do that (although Christopher probably can), they will come rather close.

I shared a few pages from the book, so please scroll through and test your own knowledge today.

Or purchase your own copy of "The Complete Book of Presidents and States." The blurb on Thriftbooks said it's geared toward grades four to six, so you should be able to breeze right through it.

Happy Presidents' Day!

For the Love of Addy

My granddaughter Addy was recently selling Girl Scout cookies, as I did as a child and as my daughter Sarah did as a child.

Now, I don't recall any actual experiences of selling Girl Scout cookies as a child. I just vaguely remember that I did.

Sarah sold Girl Scout cookies for three years in a row. Her last selling experience was quite adventurous and the type of story for another post. 

But Sarah's goal during that final year was to earn the money to attend Girl Scout camp, which she did.

She spent a week at a week at the former Camp Pokanoka in Ottawa, Illinois, where I also spent a week the year I turned eleven and where I learned to swim. She later spent a second week with just her Girl Scout troop.

Now Addy's goal was to sell one hundred boxes. To help her out, Rebekah and I bought five. Yes, in a family rife with diabetes, fatty livers, and weight issues, we bought five boxes of Girl Scout cookies. 

But Addy made her goal. That is what's most important to us. I think all people, including and maybe especially, children, should have plenty of people in their lives who love and support their efforts and help them reach their goals.

Besides, I have lots of grandchildren. And Grandmas should always have cookies on hand, correct?

Happy Tuesday!

From Wales, With Love

I about nine years read "A Candle in her Room," by Ruth M. Arthur, which left me with a fondness for Wales and to visit the country one day.

I've never gone - but now I have family there, family that will move to the U.S. in a month or so.

My son Joshua's engaged to a woman who lives in Wales, and he's visited her several times. She has a daughter; they have a son together; and all three spent a month and a half at Joshua's house in November and early December.

I met them shortly after they arrived, the day after we were scheduled to humanely euthanize Faith (which we never did at all - Faith turned the corner an hour before the veterinarian arrived and is still here).

We had already chatted for months on social media, so I felt like we already knew each other. And they brought some sweet gifts for me. She based them on what she knew of me, making them all the sweeter.

But :family" is really the best gift of all. Joshua hosted Thanksgiving at his house the day after Thanksgiving. Around the table (last photo), were his three children, his bay (in his arms) her daughter, and the son of Daniel's ex-girlfriend Cindy, who is still family.

I may never visit Wales. But Wales has touched my life in more wonderful ways than a vacation across the ocean ever could.

Happy Tuesday!

Reflections on the Morning After

As I'm transitioning from a busy weekend to a busy workweek, I'd like to share five photos and a few quick thoughts with you on the morning after our family's Old Calendar Christmas/Rebekah's thirtieth birthday party celebration from yesterday.

Eighteen people (seven of them children ages twelve and younger and several the ex-spouses and ex-girlfriends with their children) crowded into our townhome for a loud celebratory day where outbursts of temper were extremely minimal and gifts were truly given and wrapped from the heart.

For instance, three of the children gave gifts of homemade slime they wrapped themselves.

Some gifts were wrapped in paper with the recipient's interests/favorite colors/personalities in mind. Others were wrapped in a single theme.

Sarah sent framed pieces of the coordinates where her siblings and I were born.

Nine of the gifts were original framed poems from a WriteOn Joliet member.

Jasmine put together a day filled with games and prizes for the children she set up in the garage. I had games ready for the adults (such as name thirty birthday gifts you'd give Rebekah if money were no object. The winner received thirty dollars).

The food was very traditional to use, and food everyone looks forward to enjoying together year after year after year.

I was on my feet all day and never sat to unwrap any of my gifts until after the cake was cut.

But mostly, if you think of the reason why we celebrate Christmas at all, watching three cousins from my perch in the the kitchen where I was preparing food. All three were around age twelve, and they sat on the couch together playing video games (along with their aunt) before the other guests arrived, summed up the specialness of the day.

Not one of the three boys (nor the aunt) are related by blood.

They are related by love.

Happy Monday!

Morning Coffee and Blue Mugs

A couple weeks ago, I wrote about the loss of my favorite blue coffee mug - and how morning coffee had lost some of its luster because of it.

Maybe it's because 2023 has been a year of loss that I missed the joy of drinking the first dark roast coffee of the day in that mug. (In fact, another family member passed just a couple of weeks ago).

Or maybe it's because Jasmine gifted it to me a few years ago, and I hated losing such a thoughtful gift. It was a limited edition Starbucks mug. Its name, as a learned by "googling" its description is "blue swirl."

I googled it because a sudden thought popped into my mind one day: there's probably people out there who bought these mugs new to sell them later to people like me.

Lo and behold, I found one and sent the link to Rebekah. So she ordered it for me. Hurray!

But that is not the end of the story.

Timothy decided that, for his birthday a couple of weeks ago, he would not just receive gifts. He would also bestow some thoughtful gifts to people with whom he's especially close.

He told me in advance that I'd really love the gift he got me, that it was something I really wanted. "trademark" and "angel investor" all flew through my mind, but the box was the wrong shape for those items.

The box was, in fact, just the right size for two Starbucks blue swirl mugs, completely new, with the sticker still affixed to their bottoms.

Rebekah immediately said, "I'll cancel your order."

But it was too late.

And so another Starbucks blue swirl mug arrived on Friday morning.

And this mug also had its sticker on the bottom.

I am most thankful to the people that decided to buy these mugs new and sell them for a higher price than listed.

And I am more thankful to Timothy and Rebekah, who understand the importance of life's simple little pleasures - and can appreciate them, too.

Morning coffees taste extra special now.

Because a whole lot of love went into my choice of three blue mugs.

Happy Monday!

Another Goodbye

My oldest step-grandson passed away yesterday morning. He was only twenty-three.

Please keep his family and ours in your thoughts and prayers.

Not just because we've had a lot of loss this year (and this month).

But also because another young life is gone too soon.

Of Higher Value Than Coffee

Daniel and I both love Dunkin' Midnight coffee.

So recently, when only one pod remained, I set it aside near the Keurig for Daniel to make and enjoy.

That pod sat there for more than a week. 

Because Daniel, you see, also left it for me.

Now one day when I headed downstairs to make another cup of coffee, the pod was missing. Good, I thought. Daniel drank it.

A few hours later, it was back. 

Daniel had moved the pod to clean a spill on the counter and forgot to put the pod back. But then he did, later, when he remembered.

I saw that pod and literally laughed aloud.

Now on Saturday, the pod once again disappeared (yes, keep scrolling)

Because Daniel had bought two boxes of Dunkin' Midnight (scroll one last time).

So he used the old pod and opened the box to encourage me to take a new one.

Isn't he a fine young man?

New Shoes

Buying shoes is a real chore for me because it's hard to find shoes that fit.

My feet roll to the side. I have a high instep. And I have a wide foot, but only at the middle top of my feet. So if I have enough width near the top, I tend to slip out at the heel.

For all these reasons (and the problems they cause), my podiatrist told me years ago to stop wearing heels and any shoe that did not tie or firmly buckle near the ankle. So I did.

So shoe-shopping is usually a two-person process. Rebekah looks for shoes that might fit, and I sit on a bench and try on all the shoes she's picked as possibilities while she looks for more, usually an armful more.

But I am happy to report we found three cute pairs of shoes on Sunday: one pair to wear inside only and two to swap out with outfits.

These do not include my walking shoes, which are special walking shoes and which I wear out fairly quickly (I walk an average of ten miles a day, eight on extremely busy days).

Rebekah did a great job, didn't she?

And they should take me to good places, right?

Off-site and in the Background

So this is a photo from last year's "Shakespeare and Art in the Park" at the Billie Limacher Bicentennial Park Theatre in Joliet.

That's because it's been an intense week with Ron's passing and no one remembered to take one. They also forgot to bring the tent and got sunburned on Sunday.

But the photo doesn't really matter. It's the fact that three of my adult kids - and Jasmine - picked up my slack.

BryonySeries had two tables among the other artists this year, and I didn't work not even one of the four days of this annual event.

I did make a brief appearance on Saturday night, but only because I was working for The Herald-News this past weekend and was covering the event.

We marketed the event less than I had planned, and we sold less than I had hoped (six books to four customers who were really excited to have them, I'm told).

But that doesn't really matter either.

What matters is that I have some really awesome people in my life who picked up my slack so I could meet all my deadlines at work, my commitment to the event at Bicentennial Park, and (most importantly), be present for my family at the time they most needed me.

I'm very thankful.

Gone Home

I was a huge fan of the novel "Little Women" by Louisa May Alcott and owned many versions of the story as a child, all with different illustrations.

These next four paragraphs are among my four favorite paragraphs in the entire book because they say so much in beautiful, simple language.

So the spring days came and went, the sky grew clearer, the earth greener, the flowers were up fairly early, and the birds came back in time to say goodbye to Beth, who, like a tired but trustful child, clung to the hands that had led her all her life, as Father and Mother guided her tenderly through the Valley of the Shadow, and gave her up to God.

Seldom except in books do the dying utter memorable words, see visions, or depart with beatified countenances, and those who have sped many parting souls know that to most the end comes as naturally and simply as sleep. As Beth had hoped, the 'tide went out easily', and in the dark hour before dawn, on the bosom where she had drawn her first breath, she quietly drew her last, with no farewell but one loving look, one little sigh.

With tears and prayers and tender hands, Mother and sisters made her ready for the long sleep that pain would never mar again, seeing with grateful eyes the beautiful serenity that soon replaced the pathetic patience that had wrung their hearts so long, and feeling with reverent joy that to their darling death was a benignant angel, not a phantom full of dread.

When morning came, for the first time in many months the fire was out, Jo's place was empty, and the room was very still. But a bird sang blithely on a budding bough, close by, the snowdrops blossomed freshly at the window, and the spring sunshine streamed in like a benediction over the placid face upon the pillow, a face so full of painless peace that those who loved it best smiled through their tears, and thanked God that Beth was well at last.

My second husband Ron battled many challenges in his life and not all of them successfully.

But the most valuable of his accomplishments was bringing his three children and my six together as a single family.

And Ron's success was most apparent in this last week.

He had early onset dementia among other health issues over at least the last fifteen years of his life, and we have painfully witness the effects.

So all of us are rejoicing this morning that Ron is well at last.