Notes Left Behind: I Love You drawings and notes by a six year old little girl, dying from cancer— to her mom, dad and little sister, Grace. She wasn’t supposed to know she was dying, but… Her parents have been finding the notes here and there: in books, drawers, on shelves between her books. So far they have three boxes of these notes. Little Elena lost her ability to speak, but could still write and draw. What a legacy of love to the family she left behind: A heartbreaking and heartwarming story at the same time.
The family has combined a journal and some of the notes and drawings, which are now being published; the proceeds going to a foundation created in memory of this marvelous little girl: The Cure Starts Now Cancer Research Foundation
I saw this story on the Today Show where you can read more about it on their web site. For more on the foundation go to
http://thecurestartsnow.org/
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Saturday, October 24, 2009
The Beauty of Autumn
One of the good things about living in Missouri is the colorful display we are treated to in the fall season. Something that the Florida branch of my family says they really miss are the changing seasons. They even miss snow. Snow I could get along without very well. But autumn, that is another story all together. It has always been my favorite season.
This is a new community where I now live, and there are no older, large trees; though plenty of smaller new ones. These smaller trees have had their share of color this year, and the leaves are now beginning to fall on the ground and blow about.
Among the shrubs that were planted were a number of fire bushes around the back side of the apartment building. They are starting to lose their leaves, but they have been absolutely beautiful, and they still have a lot of red left.
When we moved to the country after retirement, I planted some forsythia and fire bushes along the front of the property, by the road. The deer decided the fire bushes made a good meal and nibbled them almost to extinction until my husband put wire cages around the bushes. Then they were able to grow to a size that the deer left alone. They never attained the beauty of the ones we have here. Perhaps the forsythia bushes didn’t have as tender branches because the deer didn’t chew on them, just the fire bushes.
Earlier this morning when I went over to drop some mail in the outgoing letter box, it was quite cool and windy when I crossed the street to the apartment building. Sometimes the street seems like a wind tunnel the way the wind blows through it. However, this afternoon I walked over to pick up the mail, then went for a walk around the area and the weather had changed since morning. It was much warmer, the wind was ‘softer’ and my eyes feasted on the available colors, especially the red fire bushes. All in all, a beautiful fall day.
In years past, one of the things I enjoyed doing was taking drives around various parts of the state to see the beautiful fall colors; lunching somewhere along the way, then returning home tired, but satisfied with what we had once again glimpsed of God’s beautiful world. I can’t make those trips anymore, but I’m grateful for what is still available to me.
This is a new community where I now live, and there are no older, large trees; though plenty of smaller new ones. These smaller trees have had their share of color this year, and the leaves are now beginning to fall on the ground and blow about.
Among the shrubs that were planted were a number of fire bushes around the back side of the apartment building. They are starting to lose their leaves, but they have been absolutely beautiful, and they still have a lot of red left.
When we moved to the country after retirement, I planted some forsythia and fire bushes along the front of the property, by the road. The deer decided the fire bushes made a good meal and nibbled them almost to extinction until my husband put wire cages around the bushes. Then they were able to grow to a size that the deer left alone. They never attained the beauty of the ones we have here. Perhaps the forsythia bushes didn’t have as tender branches because the deer didn’t chew on them, just the fire bushes.
Earlier this morning when I went over to drop some mail in the outgoing letter box, it was quite cool and windy when I crossed the street to the apartment building. Sometimes the street seems like a wind tunnel the way the wind blows through it. However, this afternoon I walked over to pick up the mail, then went for a walk around the area and the weather had changed since morning. It was much warmer, the wind was ‘softer’ and my eyes feasted on the available colors, especially the red fire bushes. All in all, a beautiful fall day.
In years past, one of the things I enjoyed doing was taking drives around various parts of the state to see the beautiful fall colors; lunching somewhere along the way, then returning home tired, but satisfied with what we had once again glimpsed of God’s beautiful world. I can’t make those trips anymore, but I’m grateful for what is still available to me.
Sunday, October 18, 2009
On Becoming a Parent
Two people made a significant impact on the raising of my children. One was their pediatrician. The other was a child guidance columnist.
When my life as a parent was just beginning, my confidence in being able to raise a child was pretty low on the scale, after the death of our first little girl at the age of just two months. On the plus side of actual physical care, I was fortunate to have as a pediatrician, Dr. Peter G. Danis [I was told the pronunciation sounded like donny]. I felt I knew next to nothing about child care, and I needed to know so many things.
When I asked my mother about any particular concern, she brusquely said, “Use your own common sense.” My reply was, “But, Mother, where children are concerned I have no common sense.” I had no way to relate child care to anything I had yet experienced in my young life.
But, Dr. Danis to the rescue: He had a pre-printed list, taking up an 8-1/2” x 14” page, with explicit directions as to what to do in specific situations. Then at the bottom of the page, he added, “If you still don’t know what to do; do nothing at all. Call the Doctor.” [The beginning of that sentence may have been worded a bit differently, but the rest of it sticks with me.] That page of detailed instructions to a young parent, and knowing I could reach out for more help if I needed to was a God send to me. I did develop some common sense after I learned enough to have something to base it on.
During my young adult years while raising my family, and for as long as the columns were available, there were a few columnists which I read regularly. One that I found enormously helpful in child guidance was written by Dr. Angelo Patri, educator and author. His column on advice to parents, which I no longer remember any specifically, except for one particular bit of advice. “Don’t tell a child no unless you really mean it. And once having said it, stick to it.”
Perhaps present day child guidance counselors would agree with some of Dr. Patri’s teachings and perhaps disagree with others. I have not read any of his works for many years, but it seems the basics he recommended were to deal with children with love, kindness, firmness and guidance. Think about what you wanted to teach them, or what you wanted them to do, and once having taken a stand, be consistent.
Dr. Danis saved my life in a manner of speaking when I was an apprehensive young mother, frightened that I might lose another child. I was determined to do everything I could to prevent that happening. Not that I neglected my first child, but I think every parent might feel there must have been something I could have done differently, or better, in such a situation. Learning what I could about child care was like leaving no stone unturned to have the best chance at survival.
When my life as a parent was just beginning, my confidence in being able to raise a child was pretty low on the scale, after the death of our first little girl at the age of just two months. On the plus side of actual physical care, I was fortunate to have as a pediatrician, Dr. Peter G. Danis [I was told the pronunciation sounded like donny]. I felt I knew next to nothing about child care, and I needed to know so many things.
When I asked my mother about any particular concern, she brusquely said, “Use your own common sense.” My reply was, “But, Mother, where children are concerned I have no common sense.” I had no way to relate child care to anything I had yet experienced in my young life.
But, Dr. Danis to the rescue: He had a pre-printed list, taking up an 8-1/2” x 14” page, with explicit directions as to what to do in specific situations. Then at the bottom of the page, he added, “If you still don’t know what to do; do nothing at all. Call the Doctor.” [The beginning of that sentence may have been worded a bit differently, but the rest of it sticks with me.] That page of detailed instructions to a young parent, and knowing I could reach out for more help if I needed to was a God send to me. I did develop some common sense after I learned enough to have something to base it on.
During my young adult years while raising my family, and for as long as the columns were available, there were a few columnists which I read regularly. One that I found enormously helpful in child guidance was written by Dr. Angelo Patri, educator and author. His column on advice to parents, which I no longer remember any specifically, except for one particular bit of advice. “Don’t tell a child no unless you really mean it. And once having said it, stick to it.”
Perhaps present day child guidance counselors would agree with some of Dr. Patri’s teachings and perhaps disagree with others. I have not read any of his works for many years, but it seems the basics he recommended were to deal with children with love, kindness, firmness and guidance. Think about what you wanted to teach them, or what you wanted them to do, and once having taken a stand, be consistent.
Dr. Danis saved my life in a manner of speaking when I was an apprehensive young mother, frightened that I might lose another child. I was determined to do everything I could to prevent that happening. Not that I neglected my first child, but I think every parent might feel there must have been something I could have done differently, or better, in such a situation. Learning what I could about child care was like leaving no stone unturned to have the best chance at survival.
Friday, October 16, 2009
Chicken Booyah
Chicken Booyah: I don’t know if there is a correct spelling, so I am spelling booyah as it sounds to me. It seems likely that it might come from the word bullion. Right or wrong, I don’t know.
When I began writing this, I did an internet search to see what I could find on the subject of chicken booyah. On one web site I found the following “…northeastern Wisconsin is the only place in the world where Chicken Booyah is found.” I wonder if the residents of St Francois and Ste Genevieve Counties in Missouri know that.
I don’t know how often we had this, only occasionally most likely. I do remember it being made on the river banks of the Dry Fork, when on camping trips, but have no specific memories of those times. The booyah memory that stands out for me was on a Fourth of July in the early thirties. A thick soup, ingredients were cut up: chickens, various vegetables and water/broth. No pot being big enough for the crowd, it was cooked in a large lard can over an open fire in the back yard and simmered for several hours until ready to eat.
Other items on the menu that day that I remember were cases of Nehi soda, cooled in tubs of ice, and five gallon containers of ice cream, cooled with dry ice. I’m sure there must have been other items also, but the booyah, ice cream and Nehi are what stick in my memory.
Friends, family and neighbors gathered, and kids ran around doing what kids do. The ice cream and soda disagreed with my digestion, interfering a bit with my enjoyment of the day, but I thought the booyah was great. I remember getting sick one other time years later, when I had an ice cream soda. Since then soda, or pop, has only been a very small part of my life. I like ice cream and it doesn’t make me ill, but it is something I don’t eat often.
As I recall there was usually a carnival in the town park on the Fourth, with various rides and shows, and a baseball game for at least some of those years. [Dad was manager of the Leadbelt Cubs for several years.] A while after the dinner we all walked over to the park to participate in the various activities there, as much as our pocket money would allow.
As for rides, I only remember the merry-go-round and the ferris wheel. Rides cost just a nickel, but then you didn’t have many nickels. There were a number of booths to take your money, trying to win something by throwing a ball at an object, or trying to pick up coins with a claw attached to a chain. Rarely did anyone successfully pick up any of the coins. If a person could keep the coin in the claw almost to the point where you could drop it into the place that made it yours, somehow it seemed to drop off just before you reached that point. And, of course there was cotton candy and popcorn if you still had room for it.
When I began writing this, I did an internet search to see what I could find on the subject of chicken booyah. On one web site I found the following “…northeastern Wisconsin is the only place in the world where Chicken Booyah is found.” I wonder if the residents of St Francois and Ste Genevieve Counties in Missouri know that.
I don’t know how often we had this, only occasionally most likely. I do remember it being made on the river banks of the Dry Fork, when on camping trips, but have no specific memories of those times. The booyah memory that stands out for me was on a Fourth of July in the early thirties. A thick soup, ingredients were cut up: chickens, various vegetables and water/broth. No pot being big enough for the crowd, it was cooked in a large lard can over an open fire in the back yard and simmered for several hours until ready to eat.
Other items on the menu that day that I remember were cases of Nehi soda, cooled in tubs of ice, and five gallon containers of ice cream, cooled with dry ice. I’m sure there must have been other items also, but the booyah, ice cream and Nehi are what stick in my memory.
Friends, family and neighbors gathered, and kids ran around doing what kids do. The ice cream and soda disagreed with my digestion, interfering a bit with my enjoyment of the day, but I thought the booyah was great. I remember getting sick one other time years later, when I had an ice cream soda. Since then soda, or pop, has only been a very small part of my life. I like ice cream and it doesn’t make me ill, but it is something I don’t eat often.
As I recall there was usually a carnival in the town park on the Fourth, with various rides and shows, and a baseball game for at least some of those years. [Dad was manager of the Leadbelt Cubs for several years.] A while after the dinner we all walked over to the park to participate in the various activities there, as much as our pocket money would allow.
As for rides, I only remember the merry-go-round and the ferris wheel. Rides cost just a nickel, but then you didn’t have many nickels. There were a number of booths to take your money, trying to win something by throwing a ball at an object, or trying to pick up coins with a claw attached to a chain. Rarely did anyone successfully pick up any of the coins. If a person could keep the coin in the claw almost to the point where you could drop it into the place that made it yours, somehow it seemed to drop off just before you reached that point. And, of course there was cotton candy and popcorn if you still had room for it.
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
Sharing: That's A Good Thing
I found out about this making a difference story through my grandson’s Facebook page. A senior at Francis Howell Central, he was chosen as rep to promote the drive there.
The TOMS Shoes Story: TOMS Shoes was founded in 2006 when American traveler, Blake Mycoskie, befriended children in Argentina and found they had no shoes to protect their feet. Wanting to help, he created a company that would match every pair of shoes sold, with a pair given to a child in need. One for One. With a group of family, friends and staff, Blake returned to the same area later that year with 10,000 pairs of shoes made possible by caring TOMS customers. Since that first Shoe Drop, TOMS Shoes has given over 140,000 pairs of shoes to children in need around the world.
See Matt's facebook page for more info. Or email him. matt.mason20@gmail.com
The TOMS Shoes Story: TOMS Shoes was founded in 2006 when American traveler, Blake Mycoskie, befriended children in Argentina and found they had no shoes to protect their feet. Wanting to help, he created a company that would match every pair of shoes sold, with a pair given to a child in need. One for One. With a group of family, friends and staff, Blake returned to the same area later that year with 10,000 pairs of shoes made possible by caring TOMS customers. Since that first Shoe Drop, TOMS Shoes has given over 140,000 pairs of shoes to children in need around the world.
See Matt's facebook page for more info. Or email him. matt.mason20@gmail.com
Friday, October 2, 2009
WWII - My First Job
In a previous post, I said that I spent about six months with my husband, during his stateside training, before he left for Europe. This was in the small Texas town of Gainesville, while Melvin was stationed in Camp Howze. As in many other areas, a lot of the young men, and some young women, were serving in the armed forces. Many of those who were not in the service, but able to work, had gone to larger cities for war work and other better paying jobs, leaving a gap in available workers to do whatever local jobs there were. We had a tiny apartment in a group of small apartments, along with several other service men and their wives. I became good friends with one of the wives. She wanted to earn a little money [we all had barely enough to scrape by] and found a job as a kitchen helper in a hospital across town that someone had told her about. When she accepted the job, she found out about another job that she thought would work for me, and recommended me. This was in another smaller, private hospital, a short distance from where we lived. The person she talked to called the manager at the second hospital, and she called, asking me if I would come in for an interview. This was to be a temporary fill-in job: Though if you were a service wife, all jobs were temporary in a sense, once the service man was re-assigned. What the hospital manager wanted me to do was fill in for her for the two weeks the cook was on vacation. Otherwise the manager would have to do the cooking herself until the cook returned from vacation. You really have to be desperate to pull in a very young woman, with almost no cooking experience to fill in for you. We had only been married two months when my husband left for the army. Before marriage, my cooking at home had been practically nil. I was allowed to set the table and do clean up afterward, but my older sister was my mother’s preferred and only kitchen aid. My duties would be: arrive at five a.m., prepare breakfast, set up the trays for the nurses to deliver, unload the trays when returned, put the dishes and silverware in the sterilizer, and clean up the kitchen afterward. By then, it was time to start getting lunch ready. The same procedure as earlier, just different food. Once the clean-up from lunch was finished, I got a couple of hours off, when I went home and collapsed until time to go back again and repeat everything for the evening meal. I felt this job was way beyond my capabilities, besides being a heck of a lot of work, and tried to make the manager see that. But she apparently was h___ bent on getting this job off her hands for the next two weeks. She was too much for me. I told her I didn’t know all that much about cooking. Her answer was, “Neither do I,” as she picked up a cook book, handed it to me and said, “Well, you can read, can’t you.” What came next scared me even more when I found out I not only had to cook, but had to plan the menus and order the food each morning! Those two weeks were the longest two weeks of my life. When it was over, the manager thanked me and said I had done well. Then I found out the manager also had to cook every Thursday on the cook’s one weekday off. the manager called and wanted me to do the Thursday stint too. Yeah! Sure! I lost the first round, but I learned a whole lot about not letting someone convince me to do something I really, really did not want to do. I didn’t want to repeat that performance even one day a week. I steadfastly refused to go to the hospital and talk to her, though she called several times before finally giving up. I got a really big, “dig in your heels” lesson fairly early in life. A cook book saved my life so to speak. That’s how I learned to cook, the same way I have learned many other things since – from a book.
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