Halloween 2007

I love my kids, Pink Floyd and the Little Ghoul. I love that they stop to admire the decorations adorning the front porches--before even ringing the bell. I love that they make polite conversation with the person who answers the door.

After the standard "Trick or Treat," I heard my kids, again and again, say things like:

"How are you doing this evening?"

and

"Ok, well, thank-you. Have a good evening! Good-bye!"

And get this--once their bags began to fill up and feel heavy, they were done. They were ready to go back home. My son actually said, "I think we're ready to go now. This is enough." ENOUGH? What kid thinks there is ever enough?

Like I said, I love these kids.



Overheard as we walked along:

------------

Elli: Wow, I just got a huge bag of Whoopers at that last place!

Tano: That's Whoppers, Elli.

Daddy: Come here; I'll give you a whoopin'.

Elli: DAD!!

------------

Tano: Oh! My bag is getting sooo heavy!

Mama: Don't worry, buddy. After we collect our parental fees, it won't be nearly so heavy.

Tano: Parental fees? What fees? Are you guys going to take our candy?

Daddy: Of course we will take some. There are always fees to pay. Our time is not free, you know. Or did you think that we take you guys trick-or-treating every year in the cold out of love?

Mama: Out of love! That's a good one!

(loud, phony parental laughter reverberates in the crisp, night air)
------------

Tano: So about those fees...are you guys seriously going to take some of our candy?

Mama: Yes, son, we seriously are. It's like paying taxes, buddy.

Tano: But taxes are only like five cents.

Mama: Oh, no, sweetheart. When adults pay taxes, it's more like twenty-eight percent of your paycheck.

Tano: Twenty-eight percent! That's crazy! That's way too much! I don't believe you for a minute!

------------

Mama: The fees are assessed on a sliding scale based on need.

Daddy: Actually they are simple supply and demand. The bigger your supply, the more we will demand.

------------

Elli: Daddy, can you carry my bag? It's getting heavy!

Tano: Mine, too?

Daddy: Sure, no problem. Oh, look! Is that the Milky Way?

(kids look up to the stars while Daddy peers and reaches into the candy bags)

Daddy: (reaching again) Oh, and there's the Big Dipper!

Mama: All I see, kids, is Daddy's big hand dipping into your bags.

Kids: DAD!!!

Political Discourse

For those of you who wonder why I harp so much on Christians being respectful of the president and Christ-like in their character, and wonder why I would be so condescending as to point out that we should be respectful when that should be a given, I would like to present to you the following Facebook conversation.  It was held today (November 8) between a bunch of local professing Christians I do know, most of whom I have gone to church with for years, and one bright and brave young non-Christian man, referred to here as Ryan, who has learned at a young age how to have civil discourse--even when there is serious disagreement.  Note:  All names have been changed to no longer resemble the originals.  First names have been used to represent teenagers and Mr./Mrs. names have been used to represent adults.  I have refrained from correcting spelling, grammar and punctuation except in extreme cases where it was absolutely necessary for clarity.  Extraneous bits of the conversation which have no bearing whatsoever on the flow of ideas have been removed for the sake of fluency.  

 

ORIGINAL POST:

Matilda:  Oh joy Obama won...yay now we shall suffer for 4 more years.... yeah this country will probably die.... and be more in debt... And we shall have a monkey as the temporary ruler of our country... And other bad things will surely happen that we arent even aware of at the moment... BUT!! In the words of my very smart youth pastor, "God is in control and has a reason for this and he wasnt surprised that Obama won." Who knows maybe some serial killer will assassinate him and then the killer will get thrown in prison and we rid our country of two repulsive human beings :D But anywho at least next time we get to vote for a new president i will be old enough to vote :)WHOOHOO!!!

COMMENTS:

Mrs. Andersen: good way of thinking Matilda!! you never know what will happen....

Ryan: This is just offensive. Every point on here has been disregarded by people multiple times. If the republicans in the house suck it up, and play ball, the country will get better. As long as they just don't sit down and VETO everything. Also, Obama is liked by more people in this country than Romney. Live with that fact. It's over, and this post is incredibly uncouth and offensive.

Mrs. Andersen: lol i wasnt offended:)

Ryan: You may not have been offended, but hoping that someone assassinates ANYONE is wrong. It's morally unacceptable. Maybe you should ask your youth pastor about hoping someone gets killed...pretty sure that's a sin.

Lily: I think that God is in control and I think you were very right about that Matilda but assassinating was funny you weren't series (sic-serious) were you buddy? lol, and Ryan, if you don't like it don't read it ..:)

 Lily: It made me laugh ..lol but in a kidding way

Mrs. Baker: Mr. Ryan we deal daily with people wanting certain people to be politically correct so as not to offend someone. Well I am offended that that man was re-elected. I am offended that many people in this country can say ANYTHING they want to and we have to accept that, but if we say something they do not like then we are offensive and uncouth. Hmmmm....go figure...okay for one, but not the other. Free country still....freedom of speeh still.

Ryan: I wasn't disregarding anyone's rights for free speech at all! I was simply pointing out the flawed correlation between the two point that she had in this post. Hoping that any person dies is inherently wrong, as people have a right to "Life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness." And, he is our new Commander-in-Chief. We should respect him, for if the people don't rally behind him, compromise can never occur. The closeness of the election has made it clear that compromise is what the people want.

Mrs. Andersen: oh my gosh Ryan, Matilda is a 14 year old girl. do you really think she actually wishes death on anyone?!!! you should try to learn sarcasm, it can get you pretty far in life.

Ryan: I'm a 14 year old boy, and you shouldn't be using sarcasm on the internet. Sarcasm is an inflection of tone in the voice, and inflection is near impossible to interpret through text.

Ryan: Also, I know Matilda and I'm just letting her know that people take things different ways on the internet, and some people won't be as passive as I am being.

Lily: k

Matilda: oh my gosh Ryan i dont give a frick what you think about me or this post. and dont bring my youth pastor into this hes a far cooler person then you because he can actually take a joke and understand sarcasm without having to hear a tone of voice. and if you are offended by this well too bad because i didn't write this trying to please you. i stated my opinion and if you disagree go write it in your diary and not on my post.

Mrs. Calhoun: Ryan are you saying that republicans should "suck it up" when it comes to things like murdering unborn children or marriage between the same sex? if so i am praying for your soul....

Mrs. Dexter: Ryan, what do you mean when you say everything in her post has been disregarded? To disregard something is not to disprove it. It is a fact that our country will be in more debt. Obama has increased our government spending by more than every past president combined and he will continue at a more severe rate now. He has nothing to lose this is his last term. secondly the house doesn't VETO anything. Thirdly, of course more people like Obama. He is wise to the fact that if you put the majority of the people in a situation where they depend on you for their mere survival they will vote for you. Now that more than half of our population have an entitlement mentality instead of a producer and contributor mentality we are on our way to a full blown socialist society.

Mrs. Dexter: Matilda, your post could have been a little more tactful. Just sayin

Ryan: First, Matilda I didn't say you wrote the post for me, and you can't say he would take a joke, as he has had no input on this post.  Mrs. Calhoun, I have no feelings towards the issue of marriage. If they want to get married, it's not hurting me or you.

Ryan: Mrs. Dexter, First, Obama hasn't increased spending, he simply hasn't slowed it down. Second, Your right, I was incorrect in the "VETO" part of it, but they can stop bills from reaching the president in the first place. Third, They don't "Depend on him for mere survival" He has actually tried to implement stricter welfare laws and want's to make it so that people who live in a house with an income of $50,000 or more per year (I think that's the number) can not receive welfare. I don't agree with his promoting of the entitlement mentality, but I agree more with Obama than I did with Romney.

Lily: Hm how old are you ?

Ryan: 14

Ryan: I've stated this before

Tia: Matilda... you crack me up.

Lily: First of all little man : Mrs. Andersen and Mrs. Calhoun are adults and you shouldn't be talking to them like that ....second your a kid you don't know anything and you don't know what is good for our country honestly nobody does except God ..Im not saying Obama is a horrible person, but he supports murder and that not something I support in a president ..and ya just let it go... We obviously are gonna think what we think so

Mrs. Emerson: Mrs. Baker, wishing I could like your response multiple times.

Ryan: Lily, I'm just as informed as many of the voters in this election, and I am not talking to them disrespectfully. I am in LD Debate, and proper procedure is everything. A basic statement of facts is nothing inappropriate. We can have a regular discussion like mature people, or you can continue to refer to me as "little man" as it makes no difference when I present said facts. Obama won the election, and he has 4 years. That can not be changed. 

Lily: You are little ..lol half the things you just said I didn't understand honestly no one cares

Mr. Fenton: Ryan are you using the argument that BHO doesn't write the laws, just signs them into law and implements them so he isn't responsible for the spending? Am I tracking so far?

Mrs. Dexter: I appreciate Ryan's ability to voice his opinion and admit when he's mistaken. He was offended by Matilda saying she hoped the president would be shot. He also said more people in our country liked Obama than Romney. That appears to be true. unfortunately for Ryan the fact that more people agree doesn't make it right. Matt 7:13 "Enter through the narrow gate. For wide is the gate and broad is the road that leads to destruction, and many enter through it.

Ryan: Lily, I'll break it down for you.
1. I'm just as informed as the majority of voters (basic statement)
2. I'm not talking to anyone on this post disrespectfully, I'm simply stating facts
3. I am in LD Debate (A speech event) and know how to talk to people respectfully
4. You can call me "little man" but my facts won't change
5. Obama won the election. That's not going to change

Ryan: We shouldn't be using religion in an argument of facts.

Ryan: Mrs. Emerson, laws have to go through Congress before he can sign them. He may draft the laws, but that doesn't mean they will pass.

Mrs. Dexter: Who are you to decide this is an argument of facts? As I recall this began as a post of Matilda's opinions

Mrs. Emerson: Ryan, I surmise that you are not completely ignorant. Please support your "facts", otherwise they are only statements.

Lily: UHM .... I never said the election was gonna change

Ryan: Mrs. Dexter, I have done nothing but post facts.  Mrs. Emerson, I have a list of sources if you would like them, but it will be long. Perhaps I could message them to you?  Lily, This was more reinforcing the point of joining behind the president to help give him the public voice instead of demeaning him as our leader.

Mrs. Dexter: So, because you decide to treat Matilda's post like a high school debate I am required to do so also?

Mr. Fenton: so BHO requests a healthcare law, gets it, and signs it and increases our debt by a cool trillion $ but doesn't increase spending? how does that work?

Mrs. Andersen: i wonder how many notifications Matilda has gotten? lol

Mrs. Dexter: I have a feeling Matilda couldn't care less about this post anymore

Ryan: Mrs. Dexter, I'm not treating it as a High School debate. I stated that I am in debate, so I know how to talk to people who are older than me in a respectable manner. Also, facts are facts, that's just what they are. Arguing opinions is like trying to state that ducks and cows are the same things. People have their opinions, and that's what makes our country great. This whole debate started because supporting a post about hoping someone dies is uncouth, and I was simply stating that I did not find it appropriate on the public stage. That's my opinion, and I have every right to it

Mrs. Dexter: I would argue that my use of scripture was not being used to prove that the majority of the USA are wrong but the inverse

Ryan: Yes, but people have different ideas of what proper scripture is, so for some people it is as foreign as speaking French.

Mrs. Emerson: I do believe you are the first liberal thinking person I have ever seen conduct himself with civility and manners, and so I applaud that, and encourage you to continue to endeavor to pursue civility in arguing your position. I think this conversation is better served if you are able to string your support into your argument rather than simply posting like a footnote. I can say the sky is green.... that doesn't make it a fact. You see what I mean? It is imperative that a person support statements with fact, rather than simply making a statement and declaring it to be fact (though it appears colleges don't teach logic anymore, if you're lucky you'll have instructors that require you to recognize the differences).

Mrs. Dexter: and I believe the bible is truth, that is my opinion and I'm entitled to it. The fact that I used a scripture in my comment does not change my point. The fact that a large number of people believe something does not make it true

Mrs. Emerson: large numbers believed the world was flat....

Mrs. Dexter: I agree Mrs. Emerson, it is refreshing to be able to hold a conversation with someone who feels differently but can stay respectful and speak his mind. It is so common for people to get frustrated and lash out in anger. I have not seen that from Ryan yet. Kudos Ryan

Mrs. Emerson: (in response to a deleted comment) no, she should not remove her post. It is her wall. It is her opinion and she has a right to it. Others around this country post or tweet far more horrendous sounding comments with impunity because they are free to. It is their right. No, what she said doesn't sound very pleasant but the 1st Amendment is not a conditional statement. It does not require that we be "nice" in what we say.

Ryan: Thank you both for your comments, and I do want to thank you for a civilized argument. I do not believe in anger, as it only adds more negativity to the points that I support. Mrs. Emerson, Large numbers did believe the earth was flat, until the were proven wrong by facts.

Ryan: I hope that maybe after this argument, you do not change your views, but you look upon people with different views as people who can be civilized.

Mrs. Emerson: Ryan, you leave me with a shred of hope.

Ryan: Now, I feel as though this post has run it's course.

Mrs. Dexter: Well then, so be it

Ryan: Thank you all for such an intriguing debate. I enjoyed it thoroughly! Even though we may disagree on certain points, this shows that compromise can be made, and I can only hope the our current politicians see that.

A Timely Disappointment

I just got today's mail.  On top was a letter addressed to me in my own handwriting, a self-addressed, stamped envelope being returned to me.  My heart skipped a beat.  It was a reply from the literary agent who had been recommended to me at the writer's conference I attended in September.  I had sent her a manuscript that I have been working on and shopping around for years.  Slowly and methodically, I opened the envelope and scanned the letterhead stationery.  I stopped when my eyes found the word 'unfortunately.'  It was another 'no thank-you' letter.

I have received so many of them at this point that I don't react very strongly anymore, but I had held out higher hope for this one, since it came on a recommendation from someone within the industry.  I sighed.

As I mused on the matter, I realized that it was very timely to receive that letter today.  Regarding this query to the literary agent, I did what I could.  I worked hard on making sure my manuscript was as good as I could possibly make it.  I wrote an excellent cover letter.  I had a personal recommendation of an agent who might be able to market it to publishing houses.  I put it in the mail with the proper postage and a self-addressed, stamped envelope.  I jumped through all the hoops.  I did everything I could possibly do to make sure this one was a success.

But it didn't turn out the way I had hoped.

How do I respond?  Do I become despondent?  Bitter?  Angry?  Do I give up all hope of ever seeing any of my work published?  Do I allow myself to believe that this is it--the end of all my hopes and dreams?  Is everything ruined and my future in jeopardy?

Of course not.  That would be silly, you say.  You did what you could do and it didn't turn out the way you had hoped, you say.

If you are a Christian, you may even say things like, "Sorry it didn't work out the way you had hoped, but don't despair--God has a bigger plan than this one thing.  He knows the plans he has for you, and His purposes cannot be thwarted.  Perhaps God is doing a greater work in you through this disappointment.  He is still on the throne and is so much bigger than our circumstances."  You might say those things, right?

No matter how this election turns out, and no matter who you voted for, remember these things.  Whichever side wins, it is likely not the end of the world for those who are disappointed in the outcome.  Conversely, it is likely not the great hope of the future for those who celebrate the results.

God uses all sorts of bizarre circumstances to further His kingdom.  Trust Him.

Do what you can, yes.  By all means, educate yourself, be an informed citizen and VOTE!  We have this freedom and privilege and it should not be squandered.  But if things don't turn out like you had hoped, don't despair.  Trust.  And pray for our leader, for the 'king' that God has allowed to be appointed to this position of leadership.  There is a bigger plan at work.  God is still on the throne and His purposes cannot be thwarted.

Sigh a little, yes, but then move on.

It Could Happen

When I was a young woman my uncle died suddenly.  He and my aunt were all set to move across the country.  The U-Haul trailer was packed and they were making the final arrangements to drive away.   He went out to check on the trailer hitch or the tire pressure or something entirely ordinary and never came back.  My aunt went to see what was taking him so long and found him on the ground, dead.  He had suffered a massive heart attack.

I wasn't close to my uncle.  I didn't see him often as a child, and when I did, he was quiet and mysterious to me, not overly interested in the antics of children.  I never thought of him as stern and disapproving, mind you, just not interested in us kids.  His voice, when heard, emerged in a slow southern drawl.  We lived in Michigan.  He smoked a pipe.  No one in our family smoked except him, my Uncle Vance.  Even writing Uncle Vance feels forced and awkward to me.  I doubt I ever called him that.  I can't remember ever addressing him by any name, actually.  I thought of him only as Vance, my strange, quiet uncle who spends portions of every family gathering out on the porch smoking his pipe.

I liked the smell of his pipe smoke, but I didn't admit it.  We weren't supposed to approve of smoking.

I wondered if he knew my name.

When Vance died, I honestly didn't feel any great loss for myself.  It was shocking to my parents and I felt terrible for his wife, my Aunt Mary Jane, for whom I had always felt some fondness.  She must have loved him, after all, to have been married to him for so very many years.  I was a newly married woman myself, so my heart went out to her, but there was no personal grief.  I honestly had no idea if his own children were close to him or not.

Vance's death has stayed with me, though.  All these years later, probably going on twenty now, I am haunted by it.  When my own husband is working late out in the shop I think of Aunt Mary Jane walking out to the U-Haul with not a care in the world other than to get on the road and instead finding her husband's body.  I wonder, as the hour grows later, will tonight be the night that I walk out to the shop and find him in a pile of sawdust, dead?

I suppose that sounds terribly morbid, but it could happen.

A few years later, terrorists hijacked passenger jets and flew them into the Twin Towers in Lower Manhattan.  In horror and stunned disbelief, I watched the second tower collapse on live television while my toddler clambered around my legs, oblivious, and my preschooler stood quietly by, staring at the screen and asking what was happening.  I didn't even know what to tell him.

Since that terrible morning in 2001, the morning that changed the world in many ways, the morning that my husband called me from work and said, "You'd better turn on the TV," I have been haunted by checking the news.  I open up the online news service and wait the split second for the page to load.  I wonder if my heart is actually beating faster, like it seems, as I wait to scan the first few headlines for the next tragedy.  American political rivalry, another bombing in the Middle East, a movie star arrested for drunk driving; I breathe easier.  Nothing there shakes my world--even if, perhaps, it should.

But the next time I look at the news, I repeat the same scene.  Today could be the day that things fall apart.  It could happen.

Even opening Facebook can be startling.  Two years ago, it was a quick check of Facebook on the way out the door to church that told me that my dear friend's house had burned to the ground, her family escaping only with their pajamas and their lives only hours before.

My cell phone, with its cheery and cute ringtone, has rung just prior to the words, "Your dad has had a heart attack," "The test results came back and it's cancer," "My husband has left me for another woman," "There's been an accident," "She's gone," "Your mom may be having a heart attack."

Like Pavlov's dog at the sound of the bell, my heart now skips a beat nearly every time the phone rings.  Could this be the call that changes everything?

When I was a kid, nothing frightened me, not really.  I jumped out of trees and rode my bike no-handed and faced down pitchers' fast balls.  I picked up snakes and swam in the rip tide and crossed raging streams.  Other people got hurt.  Not me.  I was invincible, then.  I don't feel so invincible anymore.

Now don't get me wrong; I really don't live in fear all the time.  But the older I get, the more the reality sinks in:  It could happen.  Sure, those things only happen to other people, but we are someone else's 'other people.'

It is a discipline, choosing to not live in fear.  It requires prayer.  It requires trust.  Sometimes it requires more than I am willing to give and I fall into a pattern of worrying.  Some people just live there, worrying.  I choose not to.  God will provide what I need, even if it is my turn to face terrible personal tragedy.

Paul, a first century C.E. Christian, wrote in his second letter to the church at Corinth, "...we take captive every thought to make it obedient to Christ."

Yes.

That is what we must do.

That is what I must do.

Today.

  

No Little Rowboat to China, but Last Night I Had the Strangest Dream

Last night I had the strangest dream.  I dreamed that I got up at o'dark-thirty in the morning and started cooking eggs to make a breakfast burrito while my son took a shower.  Then, oddly enough, I drove him to his friend's house to get his xBox which he had left there--yes, at 5:20 AM.  Why would he need to get his xBox at 5:20 AM?  Why, to take with him on a school field trip, of course.  

Dreams are odd that way.

He informed me that he needed his xBox because the field trip was located at Yellowstone National Park and the class would be staying at a hotel so the science teacher had encouraged all the boys to bring their xBoxes to do a link-up from room to room so they could all play against each other in the hotel.

Crazy, huh?

So we went to his buddy's house and he found an unlocked door, petted the dog to keep him quiet, tiptoed around the house to collect all the cords and controllers and got back in the car so I could get him to school to catch the school bus--at 5:45 on a Sunday morning.

Right.

From there, I dreamed that I went to the grocery store because, in my dream, my tiny little town of 1800 people had a big 24-hour grocery store.  Sure.  I dreamed that I wandered around the store to collect my few purchases.  The checkstands and aisles were eerily empty, but the lights were bright and the cheesy muzak was playing over the sound system.  I decided to treat myself to a donut as my prize for having accomplished so much before six o'clock, but the donut display in the bakery department was empty and clean.  It was even too early for donuts.   

When I was ready to check out, there was no one in sight and I had to flag down a man pushing a noisy floor waxing machine down the chips and cookies aisle.  He called for a checker over the loudspeaker, a call that seemed to echo through the empty store.  A grimy warehouse worker in need of a shave came trotting from the back and rang up my purchases with a surprising amount of cheerfulness.

I dreamed that I drove home as the sun came up and the sky was so pretty.  Arriving home, I let the dogs out of the shop where they sleep, fed them breakfast, put away the groceries, and went back to bed at a quarter past six.  

When I awoke to get ready for church, the boy was nowhere to be found.  Apparently, it wasn't actually a dream.  

Sometimes the truth is stranger than fiction.      

The Origins of European Surnames

Some great information here for anyone interested in names, as I am.  Some of this I knew already and some is new information for me.  This stuff fascinates me.  Thanks to Bob White, who originally published the following as part of his report on his own genealogical search, entitled, "Eight Great Names," written in July, 2005:

Up until about the 10th century, most people in Europe did not have surnames, they were just “Mary” or “Greta” or “Arthur”.  For a while thereafter, only those of high social status used surnames, but as populations increased and the peasants’ knowledge of other communities increased, surnames began to take hold as a way to verbally distinguish one specific “William” from another.

Most surnames were originally based on one of four schemes:

1)      Patronymic: O’Connor (son of Connor), McBride, Johnson, Petrovic, Hanssen, FitzHenry, Stanislavski, Larsdotter, Rothschild, deMaupassant, or the shortened possessives: Jones, Williams, Hanks, Roberts, Michaels, Daniels, Rogers, Peters, etc.

2)      Occupational: Archer, Baker, Barber, Bishop, Boardman, Bowman, Brewer, Butler, Cantor, Cardinal, Carpenter, Carter, Chandler, Clark, Collier, Cook, Cooper, Courier, Farmer, Fisher, Gardiner, Goldsmith, Hunter, King, Knight, Lord, Major, Mason, Mayor, Merchant, Messenger, Miller, Miner, Painter, Parson, Pope, Porter, Potter, Sawyer, Shearer, Shepard, Shoemaker, Singer, Skinner, Slater, Smith, Tanner, Taylor, Thatcher, Tinker, Wagoner, Weaver, Wheeler, Wright

3)      Characteristic: Armstrong, Best, Brightman, Brown, Elder, Fairchild, Goodman, Grace, Gray, Hardy, Keen, Loud, Rich, Schwartz, Sharp, Short, Strong, Swift, Walker, Wise, Young

4)      Locational: Atwood, Atwater, Bridges, Brooker, Church, Countryman, Dupont (at the bridge), Eastwood, Fields, Ford, Forest, Green, Hall, Heath, Hill, Kirk (church), Lake, Lane, London, Meadows, North, Pond, Rivers, Sands, Spring, Stone, Valley, West, Wood (and maybe Summers and Winter for the 11^th century snowbirds?)

Looking for a Good Baby Name?

With all the genealogical research that my daughter and I have been doing over the last month, we have come upon some very interesting first names.  Being a collector of names myself, I have begun to compile a list of given names that I like, some of which could be poised to make a comeback.

When the Social Security Administration released their list today of the statistically most popular baby names for 2011, I decided to check my list against theirs.  I wrote down my favorite but less common twenty or so girls' names and twenty or so boys' names and then I checked their list of the top 1000 names over the past 12 years.  Here is what I found:

1. Girls' names from my own family history that I like and which are currently trending upward:

• Adeline (#288)
• Marina (#618)
• Stella (#73)

2. Girls' names from my own family history that I like, but which are currently trending downward:

• Carolina (#429)
• Daisy (#166)
• Eliza (#255) 

3. Boys' names from my own family history that I like and which are currently trending upward:

• Anderson (#294)
• Archer (#447)
• Bennett (#239)
• Gibson (#909)
• Grady (#302)
• Grant (#151)
• Knox (#434)
• Lawson (#582)
• Marshall (#340)
• Owen (#44)
• Royce (#530)
• Zane (#220)

4. Boys' names from my own family history that I like, but which are currently trending downward:

• Clayton (#258)
• Dalton (#276)
• Dawson (#316)
• Wilson (#603) 

5. Girls' names from my own family history which haven't ranked anywhere in the top 1000 for the past dozen years, but which I like and think ought to be given consideration:

• Avelina
• Emmaline/Emmeline
• Etta
• Flora
• Geneva
• Lenora
• Magnolia
• Minerva
• Isadore
• Rosetta
• Sonora
• Viola

6. Boys' names from my own family history which haven't ranked anywhere in the top 1000 for the past dozen years, but which I like and think ought to be given consideration:

• Caswell
• Creed
• Garland
• Hale
• Weldon

Note:  These names have only come from one side of my family, my dad's paternal line, so there may be more to come as my research goes further.

Four Months in a Starcraft--A Brief Detour

To start at the beginning of this story, click here.

Leaving Boston Tuesday night, we only got hopelessly lost twice before finding our way onto I-90 to follow another winter storm east.  That's pretty good for Boston, as anyone who has ever attempted to drive in that crazy mixed-up town would know.

Our next show was in Indianapolis the following weekend and, as always, we were scheduled to be there for set-up on Thursday afternoon.  Rather than taking the logical route back down through Connecticut and all the way across Pennsylvania and Ohio, we had to make things difficult.  Actually it was I who had to make things difficult.  I wanted to take the family to see Niagara Falls.

I hadn't been to see the falls since I was a toddler and, as such, only remembered it through repeated showings of scratchy and silent Super 8 home movies.  But we were so close--only eight hours away!  Ok, so with the crazy weather, maybe it would be almost twice that, but who's counting, right?  Our show circuit route would not be taking us anywhere near it again.  This was the chance!  Seize the day!  My husband is a good sport.  Off we went, through ice, snow and sleet, to see Niagara Falls.

I am actually surprised that my scientist-son didn't call it even before we arrived and save us all that time, gas and stressful driving.  The main portion of the falls is too big and powerful to freeze over completely, so there is always flowing water.  Water which is warmer than the air temperature produces steam.  A significant amount of flowing water that is significantly warmer than the air produces a significant amount of steam.

It only follows, logically, that when four million cubic feet per minute of water flowing at 33 degrees Fahrenheit tumbles over rocky cliffs, through air that is approximately 15 degrees Fahrenheit, the amount of steam produced would obscure any potential view--even if the viewer were on the Canadian side of the falls, the side which is far more scenic than the American side.

Added to that, anyone with half a brain should know that the moisture in the air from that much steam would make the air temperature feel far more miserably cold than it even is.  You know that damp cold that seeps into the bones and makes a person shiver uncontrollably?  Yes, that one.

And as if all that weren't enough to make the January jaunt to Niagara Falls a miserable waste of time, we had to hit such bad weather on the way there that we didn't actually arrive until well after nightfall Wednesday.

Can you picture our little family, the only tourists foolish enough to be wandering around the walking paths surrounding the inferior American side of the falls, in freezing cold temperatures, in the dark of  night, in the midst of an impenetrable cloud of steam, hiking around at top speed in a vain attempt to get warm as we looked for the best possible vantage point from which to take one lousy family photo to prove that we had been there before running back to the warmth of the Starcraft and driving away again?

We essentially put in an entire extra day of driving for a fifteen minute quest for a family photo...that didn't even turn out well.  Then, because of our goal of Indianapolis by Thursday afternoon, we had to drive late into that night along the shore of Lake Erie, a route that was socked in by, you guessed it, a terrible winter storm.  The roads were so icy that we weren't sure if we were even going to make it in one piece.  It wasn't the first or the last time that we drove treacherous roads and saw cars strewn in the ditch all along the way on that trip, but it was one of the very worst times.

As I said, my husband is a good sport.  I didn't try to pull any stunts like that again.


(to be continued)

Four Months in a Starcraft--An Old Friend in a New Place

To start at the beginning of this story, click here.

From my journal:

I got to visit an old friend today, in a most unlikely location.  Angela Moore and I have known each other since our kids were babies.  We both attended and helped lead a large support group for young moms and their little ones for many years.

Eventually, she even convinced me to join her on one of her many soccer teams (she's a bit of a soccer fanatic).  Against my own better judgement, I joined her newest indoor team, a bunch of moms of little ones, calling ourselves Post-Partum Aggression.

Angela had a difficult task ahead of her, uniting this rag-tag group of out of shape moms, many of whom, like me, had never even played soccer before, into a competitive team.  I suppose 'competitive' is stretching the truth a bit, as we were regularly trounced by every other team in the league for the first two seasons.  Granted, the other teams consisted of primarily young twenty-somethings with no child bearing experience, but still--our poor coach.  Angela was patient with us and continued to mold us into a team.

By the third season, we were all getting into better shape and enjoying the strenuous exercise instead of wheezing and panting so violently as we had we first began.  We had noticed that those first two seasons, there was often a paramedic on hand, watching our games.  None of us was related to a paramedic and the rest of our fans were under seven years old, so I'm fairly convinced that the manager of the arena had one come every time Post-Partum Aggression was scheduled to play.  But by that third season, we were really starting to get the hang of it.  We even won a few games, as I recall.  Or maybe it was just one.  I would like to believe that it was more than that, but it is hard to recall.

We mostly just cared about getting the exercise to work off our baby weight.  In fact, I remember distinctly coming off the field one night, beat red and dripping with sweat, to be greeted enthusiastically by my then five year old, Tano.  He didn't understand the rules of the game or the scoreboard, but cheered for us just the same.

"Did you win, Mama?" he asked with an eager joy in his eyes that further melted my already overheated heart.

"No, buddy," I smiled at him, "we didn't win, but I sure had fun running around and getting sweaty with my friends."

I realized then that I really didn't care if we won.  What I had said to the boy was entirely true.  This was shocking to me, honestly, as I had always, up to that point, been a highly competitive person in any sport.  Heck, I get nasty playing Scrabble.  But this team was different.  Despite our fierce sounding name (or at least we thought it sounded fierce), we were really just in it for the friendship and exercise.  Coach Angela had learned to not only accept that fact, but almost appreciate it.

So back to our unusual meeting today.  Angela and I were friends in Vancouver, Washington for the last bit of the 1990s and the first few years into the twenty-first century.

Why do I always want to crack a Buck Rogers joke whenever I say twenty-first century?  The trouble is, I don't even have a good Buck Rogers joke, but I wish I did.  If you have one, dear reader, could you maybe send it to me?  Thanks.

In 2004 I moved to Montana, leaving my Washington friends behind, at least physically.  Angela and I have been in touch off and on over the years, and I think we have seen each other a grand total of twice in those six and a half years.  Until today.

Angela's husband, Shawn, has cancer.  It is a rare cancer, sacral chordoma, and only a select few hospitals in the nations have ever dealt with more than one or two cases of it.  Its tumors are extremely slow growing, and thus often very late in diagnosis.  Shawn's case was unusually severe.  The tumor in Shawn's pelvic region had grown to the size of a basketball before it was discovered.

The only place equipped and staffed to handle the surgery was Massachusetts General Hospital in Boston.  Shawn and Angela have been there steadily since August.  (At the time of this writing), it is now January.  Angela has been able to take a couple of quick trips home to see the kids, five in all, ages 7-15, who are being cared for by Angela's mother, but mostly she has been by Shawn's side, seeing him through it all.  She walks back and forth to an apartment they are renting near the hospital.

Since we are in the Boston area for a couple of days, I had the privilege of visiting my old friends today in room 904 of the Spaulding Rehabilitation Hospital, where Shawn is recuperating from surgery and learning how to walk again.  The tumor's location and the resulting surgery left him with nerve damage in his feet and ankles.  It was so good to see them.  They are hoping Shawn will be released in a few more weeks and will get to return home.  Then it will be a waiting game.  There are so many other complications to work through, and this type of cancer generally recurs, often with finality.

Chatting with Angela, I couldn't help but notice so many contrasts between us right now.  As much as she desperately wants to, she can't get her kids within reach right now, and has to settle for phone calls, emails and text messages.

I can't get more than ten feet away from my kids most of the time, since so much our time on the road is spent in the Starcraft, in a cozy hotel room, or in a cramped booth at a restaurant.

Angela's life is all simple routine--wake up, eat breakfast, walk the few blocks from the apartment to the hospital, ride the elevator to Shawn's floor, make her way down the familiar hallways, turn in at his room and take a seat in the chair next to his bed, then encourage him through his day and read books.

I am in a different bed almost every night.  I am seeing new sights, eating new foods, meeting new people, learning new things in new places every day.

Angela has had no car for the last six months.  She walks or takes a bus or light rail train everywhere she needs to go.

Me?  I know our van better than I ever wanted to.  We live in it or out of it almost all the time.  It is our school room, our living room, our dining room and kitchen, our rec. room, our storage facility--everything but the bathroom (so glad my kids are done with diapers).

Our lives couldn't be much different right now, mine and Angela's, but our lives brought us both to Spaulding's room 904 in Boston on this snowy day in January, 2011.  My life, for all its craziness, feels so much more stable than hers.  Mine is a fun and exciting adventure right now.  Hers is a grueling journey, full of questions and insecurities.  Mine is full of gratefulness and joy.  Hers is full of struggle and desperate, tearful pleas.

After visiting a couple of hours, we exchanged prayers and hugs and said good-bye.  I do hope I see them both again--someplace more like home.

(to be continued)  

Four Months in a Starcraft--Jeremy and his friend, George

To start at the beginning of this story, click here.


The show closed on Sunday evening and we spent Monday in Boston touring the historic sites.  It was a beautiful day, sunny and clear, but the temperature didn't climb above ten degrees Fahrenheit for the whole day.  We walked much of the Freedom Trail (again in our less than city-chic winter gear) and spent blocks of time in the Old State House and the Old North Church before walking to the Union Oyster House to warm up with bowls of clam chowder.  Sitting in the oldest restaurant in the United States, sipping chowder where presidents and statesman have done the same for more than two hundred years, was quite a thrill for all of us.  In addition, we finally got warm.  On a day like that, getting warm was just as thrilling as the history.

Our tour guide for the day, Jeremy Lord, a former student of Andy's, then took us to Lexington and Concord to see where the first battles of the American Revolution occurred.  We soaked in as much history as we could before returning to Springfield for dinner at Jeremy's gracious home.  Conversation with him and his wife in their warm, hospitable home was the perfect end to a truly wonderful day.

When we had finished a wonderfully satisfying meal accompanied by equally enjoyable conversation, Jeremy and his wife, Mary, both stood up and moved into dessert mode.  There were two different kinds of cake and two different ice creams.  My kids must have thought they had died and gone to Grandma's house.

Although I was truly full and had politely declined the offer of dessert for a change, I sampled my son's ice cream discreetly while we waited for our hosts to pour the coffee and rejoin us at the table.  It was made by Friendly's, a common ice cream in some parts of the country, and was called "Forbidden Chocolate."  I was understandably curious.

Wow.  Having tasted it, I understand the name.  I can imagine that it might be outlawed in Communist countries where they don't approve of individual happiness.

So, dessert served, hot drinks poured, hosts seated, the conversation continued.  One topic led to another until Jeremy transitioned to storyteller mode and he began to tell us about his friend George.

Jeremy's piercing blue eyes danced with delight, for it is obvious that he loves to tell a good story.  The rest of his face remained stoic and somber, however, for he is an native New Englander, after all.  He launched forth, taking us on a verbal journey to another time and place.  I only wish I could reproduce his thick New England accent in written form, but alas, I don't have enough experience with it to write it well in the vernacular.  Use your imagination:

"Whenever I had business in Little Rock, Arkansas, I would always drive the extra forty miles south to the Holiday Inn in Pine Bluff to get my shoes shined."

We all gasped appropriately, which must have pleased Jeremy quite a lot.

"It was worth it to me," he continued, "because George, the shoeshine man, gave the best shoe shine in the country.  He charged four dollars for a shoe shine, but he always gave more than just a shine.  I would climb into the tall chair and he would ask, 'Would you like a copy of the Wall Street Journal, Mister Jeremy?  Com-pli-mentary.'  And that paper was worth at least a dollar.  'Would you like to enjoy a soft drink, Mister Jeremy?  Com-pli-mentary.'  There was always something extra, but the shoe shine was still only four dollars.  You see, George was brilliant.  He was not an educated man, but he was brilliant."

"And I bet no one paid him just four dollars, either," I wondered aloud.

"No," Jeremy twinkled, "That shoe shine was worth at least fifteen."

Jeremy went on to describe the technical details of the shine.  He was telling a good story to an attentive audience and he was not about to leave anything out.  He told of how George would remove the laces, wash the shoes thoroughly with saddle soap, dry them with a blow dryer, then polish, buff, wax, buff, wax, buff, etc. until a man could see his own reflection in them.  But all the while, they talked.  After a few visits, they talked like old friends, ignoring the differences in their upbringing, their education, their vocations, their accents, their skin colors.

One day, as they each talked of their upcoming retirements, the conversation turned personal.  "George," Jeremy asked, "you seem to me like a very rich man."

"Oh, I am, Mister Jeremy, I am," George replied as he whipped his shine rag back and forth.  "Now I might not be rich like some people think of rich--lots of money and that sort of thing--but I'm rich just the same.  I have a home and friends.  I have my wife and my family, my church.  I'm rich, alright, and very happy.  You see," he continued, "I discovered years ago, Mister Jeremy, the secret to happiness."

I'm guessing George must have paused dramatically here, because Jeremy paused his story just long enough to make us all lean forward over the last bites of our desserts, waiting to hear George's secret.

"The secret to happiness," George confided, "is shinin' shoes."

Jeremy paused just a half-second more and was rewarded with the desired effect before moving on.

"If I give the best shoe shine there is, and my customers go away feeling satisfied and convinced that they just got the best shine in the world, I feel happy.  The same goes for everything else.  If I am the very best church member I can be, the preacher is grateful and I feel happy.  If I am the best husband I can be, my wife feels loved and that makes me happy.  It's as simple as that."

Jeremy was moved by this simple man's profound conclusions, and he said that George thought much the same way as Aristotle.  "Who's he?" asked George.

"Oh, he's a very wise man, a philosopher," Jeremy replied.

"He from around here?" George wondered casually and Jeremy choked back a laugh.  Those of us seated around the dinner table had no need to hold back our own laughter.

"No, he's from Greece."

"Oh, that's too bad," George lamented.  "He sounds like a guy I'd like to meet."

I couldn't help but think that George sounded like a guy I'd like to meet.


(to be continued)