"30"

 Rebekah's on a roll with good ideas lately.

It was she who thought participating in "Men Who Cook" was a good idea.

And she had this fantastic idea for Daniel's birthday.

You see, Daniel had a lot of health issues when he was younger. And Daniel always says he doesn't remember much of his childhood.

So Rebekah thought we could give him thirty gifts, with each gift representing something he liked or owned or experienced from that year in his life.

So we made a list of years with noteworthy details and gift suggestions.

We bought said gifts.

And then I wrote clues to all thirty gifts on scrolls that we rolled up and tied with yarn.

On Thursday, Rebekah asked for a packing box at Walmart.

On Friday night, we wrapped all the gifts, assembly-line style, and numbered each gift and scroll.

One items (four different flavors of rice Krispies) couldn't be done until Timothy and Daniel left for Men Who Cook on Saturday.

Although Daniel's birthday was Saturday, we saved the presentation and unwrapping until Sunday, so we could take out time.

It took two hours for Daniel to open them all - and the clues spurred lots of guessing, remembrances and the telling of fun stories. 

Three were movies that represented three different "likes" in three different years of his life.

So after we opened gifts, we settled down to watch three movies in one of the most eclectic family movie aftenroon/nights ever. 

We watched "Stayed Tuned" (the year Daniel wanted this cake and we gave away this cookbook in a hilarious Facebook contest). 

And then we watched "Straight Outta Nowhere: Scooby-Doo! Meets Courage the Cowardly Dog" a birthdnd finally "Mighty Morphin Power Rangers: The Movie."

There you have it: thirty years of memories packed into a box - with many more made yesterday afternoo and last night.

Now go forth and building some beautiful memories today.

Happy Monday! :)

Too Poor To Buy a Kid a Hot Dog

Yesterday I posted the details about the kids games and more BryonySeries will be running out of three to four tents on July 3 at the annual Independence Celebration at the Billie Limacher Bicentennial Park Theatre in Joliet.

Of all the events we run, this one has the most meaning to me.

On July 3, 1998, I'd been a single mom for five months.

My house was falling apart.

My six kids ages 2 through 15 were undisciplined and unruly.

I had no steady income (but was working four different jobs around the clock, literally around the clock).

And I had reached a level of exhaustion I'd never thought possible.

My neighbor, a lovely woman (Sarah still calls her a second mom), also a single mom who was working three jobs (one was a longterm daycare from her home), mentioned Bicentennial Park was having fireworks and would I go with her?

She also wanted to walk and pick up a friend who lived on Jefferson Street, because she said parking would be terrible and it would take a long time to leave the park.

The kids thought that would be a great adventure. 

I don't remember if I'd brought the wagon to pull the youngest two, although I must have brought it.

I vaguely recall the walk down to the park and none of the walk back.

Did we pack snacks? Were water bottles a thing? I have don't remember that either. Wait, I have a murky recollection of my single mom friend with little baggies of snacks she packed. Probably little juice boxes, to. I think.

But I do remember sitting at the top of the hill near Bluff Street around twilight, when it was still too early for fireworks, too tired to move and too tired to even buy the kids the $1 hot dogs the park was selling at the event.

And yet, armed with the willingness to work hard and a strong desire to make a better life for the kids, somehow, somehow, I carved out anew life for us.

Volunteers came out to help my dad put that house back together. That included two single dads with their two sons each - and one of those dads eventually became my children's stepfather.

And Ron and I worked together to install discipline and order - and we remodeled his house while finishing mine, to prepare for seven people moving into it. So at one point, he and I were working two jobs each and remodeling two homes.

I developed two of the four jobs enough to let the two babysitting jobs and running the crew of kids selling newspaper subscriptions go. But Ron and I delivered newspapers in the middle of the night until the end of 2012 - and my fifteen-year freelance career turned into a staff position at The Herald-News in Joliet in January 2014.

The exhaustion remained for more than a dozen years until the five hours of sleep a night crept until four. I washing the mudroom floor on my hands and knees at two in the morning when the entire room spun. And I threw that rag down and said to myself, "Something has to give. And it's not going to be me." 

I meant it.

Today, I rarely get less than six hours of sleep a night and many times it's more than that.

Our neighbor passed from lung cancer about a decade ago, reuniting her with the infant son who passed shortly after his birth.

My kids - the six of my own and my three stepchildren - are loving, hardworking people of fine character and integrity, and successful in their own ways. I am proud of every one of them.

I wish future me could have sat next to dejected me on that hill at Bicentennial Park on July 3, 1998, and pointed out the spot my kids and I would be set up with tents, running free children's games and BryonySeries giveaways. I wouldn't have believed it, of course. But I'm sure it would have given me hope and encouragment.

So we are not just handing out free stuff and selling books at our tent on July 3. There's a huge infrastructure behind what we're doing and why we're doing it - and how we deliver the experience for those few hours.

Finally, while this last blessing might not be the most important one, it's still worth noting.

We can now buy all the hot dogs we want.

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.

Birthday Girl at the Mall

During the twenty-two years I wrote the "An Extraordinary Life" feature, I heard hundreds of inspirational stories about the extraordinary way ordinary people lived their lives before they died.

And because I was listening to people who, in many cases, were still grieving, I allotted plenty of time for them to talk.

I remember once such instance when a very young man had died of cancer. His family sat around the conference room table with me, sharing photos and one story after another about the brave was he faced and tackled his cancer.

As the family prepared to leave, one member said, "This was better than the therapy we're paying for."

And yet, all I did was listen and take notes.

Even more years ago - when I was in college - I became a Big Sister to an eight-year-old, the youngest in a family of five children. 

This little girl had a habit of eating very slowly, not a bad habit, right? But if the family were eating at a fast food restaurant, they often either packed up the rest of her meal or divided it among her siblings so the food could get eaten and they could get going.

So for our first "sister" date," we had dinner at a sit-down, family-style restaurant, her first experience t such a venue. I let her order what she wanted and let her take all the time she needed to finish. She ate A LOT of food, which surprised her mother.

I share a July 15 birthday with my granddaughter Riley. Rebekah and I had made plans to take her to Fox Valley Mall for the day. I wasn't feeling very well. But that turned out to be a good thing.

If I had been feeling well, we would have spent the day honoring a triple set of interests: Riley's, Rebekah's, and mine. 

Instead, we let Riley follow hers for the, and I captured her experiences with my camera phone.

So what's the moral of this story today?

Many children can't enjoy an experience at their own pace.

Many adults never get a captive audience for their words.

Giving another person your undivided time and attention might really be the best gift of all.

A Gift of Earth and Water

Look at the beautiful set of coasters Rebekah made for my birthday!

Yes, they came in a kit.

But you will see the level of detail when you scroll through the individual photos.

Rebekah spent many, many, many, many tedious hours after work at her desk assembling these for me.

She did it because I eat and drink at my desk for most meals and use plenty of coasters.

And also because...

I like water and fish-themed decor.

Rebekah knew they'd make me smile.

Rebekah is cognizant of what people already like - and what they could like based on their interests.

Rebekah is one of the most loving and giving people that I know.

Because of her internal struggles, she sometimes struggles with her own goals.

But when the project is for someone else, she goes all out in terms of her time and attention.

And all of that is packed into each coaster. 

Please scroll through the photos to see how lovely they are.

Happy Tuesday!

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?

A Simple Solution

Good morning!

A long month crammed with work, events, and not feeling well for one reason or another is ebbing (I hope) with waking up this morning feeling more discomfort than pain.

The details are for another blog post (quite a few half-started over the last couple of weeks). But last Monday's episode left me with some mild head pain that became significant head and neck pain by Thursday.

Tests from the first ER trip were normal - and so were tests from the second. Either way, I still need follow-up tests. But it's easier to think and get things done when one is not in pain.

Last Monday night was an al-nighter in the ER (and then I went to work). Last Saturday was an a---nighter in the ER - and then the pain didn't let me sleep on Sunday night.

So, three all-nighters in the last week.

During Monday night's violent storm, I found relief leaning against the wall in the basement and fell asleep.

So Rebekah suggested a heating pad. 

She brought hers downstairs for me to use while we watched a bit of "Sanditon" to distract me. The heat really felt good.

I woke up yesterday after a decent rest with much of the head pain gone and feeling very tight in my neck and shoulders. That was a very hopeful sign. 

I used the heating pad after work last night and the pain was much reduced over the evening. So I used it again before bedtime.

I expect the pain to flare up as I use my head and neck today. But I'm hopeful that the intensity will be reduced.

Who'd have thought the solution could be so simple?

July 3, 1998 Versus July 3, 2024

On July 3, 1998, I was a a single mother of six children, ages two through fifteen.

My neighbor, a single mom of two little girls, wanted to walk from our houses in Marycrest subdivision down Jefferson Street to meet one of her friends, and then over to the Billie Limacher Bicentennial Park Theatre, approximately two and a half miles.

It was one of the first, if not THE first, Independence Day celebrations at the park. But all I remember was feeling exhausted through and through.

I was getting up seven days a week at two o'clock in the morning to deliver newspapers. Six months into the job, my body and and my life still hadn't adjusted to those hours. I was tired; I was poor, and I remember sitting at the top of the hill at Bicentennial Park with the kids, unable to buy them anything to eat or drink and feeling utterly defeated.

We still had to walk back after the fireworks. And I, who'd been on my feet since two a.m., still had to get back up at two a.m.

I wish future me could have shown up and reassured me these dark days were temporary, that the efforts would translate into a brighter future for the kids, actual life for me, and how the family, some extended family, and local artists would come together to create a literary world called the BryonySeries.

I wish future me could know that standing on Cass Street Bridge and watching the fireworks each year would become a cherished family tradition for us.

Last year, our family asked if we could vend at the event. The park said yes and we turned our tent into a miniature carnival-type experience.

This year, BryonySeries is a sponsor of Bicentennial Park's Independence Day celebration. 

And we are back with an expanded tent, more games, more giveaways, gifts with purchases, and books, Ribbit-Ribbits, and other items for purchase.

The writing critique group I helped found and co-lead - WriteOn Joliet - is developing  really nice relationship with Bicentennial Park. Several WriteOn members will also be present tomorrow night with their own table/booth/tent, ready to share their writing wares with a reading world.

And we will be giving away twenty copies of "Cheetah Stories" to the first twenty people at our booth, compliments of New Lenox Dental.

Most of all, we will be celebrating freedom.

Won't you please come join us?

We Returned To Tower Hall

Working on a college degrees while working a full-time job is really challenging.

But two of my sons - Timothy and Daniel - supported each other in the process by taking classes together and adjusting schedules to work on homework together as much as possible.

They earned their bachelor's degrees together from the University of St. Francis on May 4 and are currently working on their master's degrees, which they started before graduation day.

I actually attended USF when it was CSF (College of St. Francis) in the school's former three-year program, which I didn't finish in favor of getting married and starting a family.

I lived on campus: Marion Hall the first year and Tower Hall the second. Most of my classes both years were at Tower Hall, so I spent many, many, many hours in that building.

By contract, Timothy and Daniel hardly stepped foot on campus since all their classes are remote.

They also didn't want any graduation photos and had their caps and gowns removed by the time they caught up to us outside after the graduation ceremony.

But on May 6, they changed their minds. They didn't care about the photos. But they thought maybe I cared about the photos, that I would want photos of them in their caps and gowns.

And they were right.

So after work on that May 8, we returned to USF for photos. The boys, who wore their gowns over their T-shirts and jeans, asked me to choose the location. That was easy: Tower Hall.

Now, it's not like I've never been to USF since 1981. Of course I have, mostly for Herald-News assignments. And "Bryony" was also recorded as an audio book at USF in 2012 before audio books became a thing. It's still not released, which is another story and post altogether.

So after the post-graduation photos, we walked around campus. I pointed out what was the same, what had changed, and shared amusing anecdotes from my time there. The boys enjoyed looking around and seeing parts of the campus.

It was a nice full circle moment.

I left USF to start my real mission in life, which included bringing them into the world.

They came to USF to launch their mission, which is still being written.

And I couldn't be more proud.

Photos of 2024 Mother's Day Feast

We have a standing joke in our family that I don't need to go out to "brunch" on Mother's Day.

That joke arose from a mixture of sources: the enormous popularity of Mother's Day brunches at local restaurants, an unwillingness to stretch an already stretched-thin budget, the fact my three youngest children worked in restaurants, and the fact that all of us work very hard and don't need another obligation for the day.

Now, for Mother's Day 2012, Timothy planted our one and only real vegetable garden (a wish of mine since 1981) and that garden thrived, partially because he had the help of two neighbors that were outstanding gardeners. But he WANTED to do that, and it didn't feel like work to him.

The next year, Timothy was super busy with college and work. He planted a garden and the weeds overtook it.

So when May 1 rolls around, I remind the kids that my Mother's Day wish is for everyone to rest on Mother's Day. I underscored that message this year because the previous week was exceptionally busy.

Timothy and Daniel had earned their bachelor's degrees the previous weekend (which was also our Easter weekend, complete with lots of cooking and a huge family picnic and egg hunt at a local park), and they were already steeped in homework for their master degree classes.

And Rebekah, along with her regular job, produces books for clients, and does a lot of unpaid work for the BryonySeries. 

So my message on Mother's Day, is, "Please rest."

Besides, this year I was scheduled to work that weekend. And this year, Mother's Day turned out to be a huge weekend for breaking news. I started work at six a.m. on Mother's Day and never signed off until eight p.m. I scarcely noticed the hours since the time just flew past me.

In the meantime, Rebekah decided "brunch" for dinner would be something different for us. So she went shopping and then she and Timothy whipped up this feast. When the "dinner is ready" message was sent to me along with the question, "Did I want a plate brought to me?" I decided to come downstairs and see for myself.

What a feast it was!

The menu was sausage, hash browns, three kinds of pancakes (plain, blueberry, chocolate chip), fruit salad, a Sangria-type drink (which I forgot to try), and cinnamon rolls.

Timothy and Rebekah cooked/baked everything from scratch except the sausage. Daniel handled the cleanup.

We even had flowers, for Timothy surprised me with a lovely bouquet in a lovely vase the previous night (also a working day).

They cooked so much food, we had it for dinner through Tuesday, a gift of rest indeed.

Feast your eyes on these photos. Yum, right?

It's So Pretty!

My two oldest sons called back-to-back late on Mother's Day evening to wish me a Happy Mother's Day. 

That worked out wonderfully as I'd had a very long, very intense working Sunday (I only sent my own mother a Happy Mother's Day text).

I let Joshua know that Leila had a gift coming but it would not arrive until Tuesday (it actually arrived on Wednesday).

Then he said I had one coming, too (also on Tuesday), from Canada of all places.

Well, it did show up in the mail on Tuesday and it was from New York.

But it's not important if the gift came from Canada or New York when it comes from the heart, right?

Anyway, I opened it and cried out, "It's so pretty!" 

As Joshua said, the necklace has the blue as well as the vintage look I like so much.

Scroll through the photos and see.

Especially since the box had a message of its own.

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!

Snack Bags From Jasmine

I think "comfort food" is important to most of us from time to time, although what comfort is to us might be different from what comfort food is to another.

Many people often give gifts of food or drink to express affection or love, like chocolate on Valentine's Day or pot of chicken soup to someone who is ill.

So on Saturday, Jasmine brought "snack bags" for herself, Rebekah, and me before we set off to celebrate Lunar New Year with Cindy and her family, so we could have a cozy ride there and back.

Inside each snack bag are comfort foods tailored to each individual person. So no two begs are the same. She also brought coffee as well as tea (for Rebekah). But Jasmine is thoughtful that way.

Just twenty-four hours earlier, I had another flare-up of whatever abdominal thing is going on (my gastroenterologist isn't completely convinced it's diverticulitis; colonoscopy is still two weeks away).

So a bagful of comfort treats from someone who cares really cheers the soul, too. 

I did give the graham crackers to Rebekah (they had sulfiting agents, a no-no for me). 

But she brought my favorite Saltines (brand-name, whole grain), whale cheese crackers (which don't have sunflower oil as regular goldfish do. I never heard of whale!), and two bags of "chippers" (miniature chocolate chip cookies).

As I was getting ready for a shower, Rebekah said I looked nice that night. I had worn leggings for abdominal comfort, with a long black sweater and a red shirt (red was required if we had it).

So I asked her to take a photo, and she did.

I wanted to remember her comforting words...and also that I somehow managed to look nice on the outside when the inside was not feeling as nice.

Happy Thursday!