Fifteen years ago (or more), Megan and I went to Mansfield, IN, for their huge craft fair as part of Central Indiana's covered bridge celebrations. That particular day, I bought a treasure--a home made Halloween bat wreath. It's one of a kind. (If you saw it, you'd understand why.) The center circle is in padded orange calico, and the outer edge is a large black calico ruffle. In the center of the circle is a black satin bat, with red eyes that flash while the whole thing laughs maniacally, due to a motion sensor. Every year, I have put that stupid wreath on the door, with the batteries installed. (In later years, I learned not to put the batteries in until the 31st because I got tired of hearing the laughter every time a car drove by outside.) It has never received more attention than it did this year!
One little girl saw it and heard it as I answered the door. Her eyes got really big and she took a step backward. (I was afraid she'd fall off the stoop!) Several others reacted similarly. At one knock, I opened the door while the wreath was flashing and laughing, and said "Yeesssss?" in a menacing tone. There were two teenagers on the other side of the door who were in the spirit of things and expressed fake fear. It was fun!
Do you know the song, Christmas Was Meant for Children? Well...I used to believe that Halloween was meant for children, but now I'm inclined to think that it's meant more for parents! I had many children at my door who were way too young to know what was going on, or even to eat the candy that was doled out. (I was guilty of that when my daughter was a baby, and I loved seeing my very young grandchildren in costume for the greedy holiday!) I get amused at Christian parents who think that the children will be taken away by the evil beginnings of the occasion. It's all about the fun! There is also a group out there complaining about children who dress up in stereotypical costumes depicting a culture. Are we taking ourselves a bit too seriously????
Halloween 2011 is now history. I still have a half-bowl of candy left. Since the family will be here this weekend, it won't go to waste.
On another note, today would have been my brother's 58th birthday, had he lived. He left this planet far too soon and without my permission!
Still another note, tonight was my son-in-law's first official Halloween in America where he actually met trick-or-treaters at the door. He said it was "charming". :)
Monday, October 31, 2011
Sunday, October 30, 2011
I Should Have Been Raking Leaves, But...
Shoulda, woulda, coulda... It was a fairly decent day and I SHOULD have been out raking leaves...but...but....it's Sunday...but...but...there are still a lot of leaves left on the trees. Oh, well!
I spent some time yesterday preparing the house for the trick-or-treaters, convinced that today was Halloween. When I sat down at the computer this morning before church, an email or two had come in with 10/30 as the date stamp. Huh? Surprise! Today isn't Halloween; tomorrow is!
What I DID do today was go to church, do some grocery shopping, and start my Christmas shopping. (I had a few ideas, so I just did it.) My family will be here next weekend, so I had to start thinking about what to feed them. Truth be known, by the time they get here on Friday night, it will be too late for supper, and they will leave early-to-mid-afternoon on Sunday, so we are really only looking at one day of food. There are some Grandma's House typical meals...like walking tacos (which my grandson loves) and corned beef and cabbage (which my granddaughter loves), but I'm keeping the options open. I have steak and pork and brats and chicken. We'll see what transpires. I eat it all!
I actually spent $17 on myself today! I have had three bathrobes around the house...all of which serve a useful purpose (hiding my body). One of my favorites--one that I sometimes sleep in--is faded and threadbare and developing holes. I bought a replacement today. Let's have a moment of silence for the old one. My daughter bought it for me back when she was still in high school. Time for the rag bag! RIP dear robe! You were my friend!
I need to step up my preparations for weekend company. I will be so happy to have all of my chicks in the coop again!
I spent some time yesterday preparing the house for the trick-or-treaters, convinced that today was Halloween. When I sat down at the computer this morning before church, an email or two had come in with 10/30 as the date stamp. Huh? Surprise! Today isn't Halloween; tomorrow is!
What I DID do today was go to church, do some grocery shopping, and start my Christmas shopping. (I had a few ideas, so I just did it.) My family will be here next weekend, so I had to start thinking about what to feed them. Truth be known, by the time they get here on Friday night, it will be too late for supper, and they will leave early-to-mid-afternoon on Sunday, so we are really only looking at one day of food. There are some Grandma's House typical meals...like walking tacos (which my grandson loves) and corned beef and cabbage (which my granddaughter loves), but I'm keeping the options open. I have steak and pork and brats and chicken. We'll see what transpires. I eat it all!
I actually spent $17 on myself today! I have had three bathrobes around the house...all of which serve a useful purpose (hiding my body). One of my favorites--one that I sometimes sleep in--is faded and threadbare and developing holes. I bought a replacement today. Let's have a moment of silence for the old one. My daughter bought it for me back when she was still in high school. Time for the rag bag! RIP dear robe! You were my friend!
I need to step up my preparations for weekend company. I will be so happy to have all of my chicks in the coop again!
Tuesday, October 25, 2011
Dr. Phil's Truisms
I've hit the jackpot! The Oprah Winfrey Network airs old Dr. Phil programs at certain times of the day, so if I'm lucky, I can watch more than one show a day! (Beats "Keeping Up with the Kardashians"!)
After so many years of watching the Dr. Phil show, I have come to know most of his truisms--things he repeats over and over again. I wish I could denounce them, but they are all so true! Here are a few of them:
1. You can't change what you don't acknowledge.
2. The most influential person in the life of a child is the same sex parent.
3. People who have nothing to hide, hide nothing.
4. Some relationships need a hero.
5. Children would rather be FROM a broken home than LIVE in one.
6. If you fight in front of your children, you change who they are.
7. We create what we fear in our lives.
8. Would you rather be right, or would you rather be happy?
9. Your job as a parent is to protect your children and prepare them for the next stage of life.
10. In order to have happy children, you have to take care of the parent.
Wish I could find fault with all of that, but I haven't been able to!
I am so proud that my family has seemed to get past division for the sake of the grandchildren. (Except where my ex is concerned. Apparently he doesn't like me very much, which is a hoot considering that HE is the one who strayed from our relationship.) In any case, we are also now dealing with a family member who has been diagnosed with dementia, and that changes everything rational. One can deal with things that happen for a reason, but dementia adds a new dimension that won't always make sense. I pray for my sister who is dealing with this in her life! (And she needs to pray for me for my own trials and tribulations!)
Another day, another dollar....sort of!
After so many years of watching the Dr. Phil show, I have come to know most of his truisms--things he repeats over and over again. I wish I could denounce them, but they are all so true! Here are a few of them:
1. You can't change what you don't acknowledge.
2. The most influential person in the life of a child is the same sex parent.
3. People who have nothing to hide, hide nothing.
4. Some relationships need a hero.
5. Children would rather be FROM a broken home than LIVE in one.
6. If you fight in front of your children, you change who they are.
7. We create what we fear in our lives.
8. Would you rather be right, or would you rather be happy?
9. Your job as a parent is to protect your children and prepare them for the next stage of life.
10. In order to have happy children, you have to take care of the parent.
Wish I could find fault with all of that, but I haven't been able to!
I am so proud that my family has seemed to get past division for the sake of the grandchildren. (Except where my ex is concerned. Apparently he doesn't like me very much, which is a hoot considering that HE is the one who strayed from our relationship.) In any case, we are also now dealing with a family member who has been diagnosed with dementia, and that changes everything rational. One can deal with things that happen for a reason, but dementia adds a new dimension that won't always make sense. I pray for my sister who is dealing with this in her life! (And she needs to pray for me for my own trials and tribulations!)
Another day, another dollar....sort of!
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
Grave Markers
I think I might have mentioned in a previous blog post that my daughter, son-in-law, and I drove down into north central Illinois seeking the graves of my Covill grandparents, without success. A genealogist in that county offered to have one of her volunteers look in the Greenfield Cemetery in La Moille, IL, for my grandfather's grave, which we hadn't been able to find. The volunteer found the location but no marker...which means, in essence, that no marker was ever placed for him.
That makes me sad, actually. And the worst part is that my sister and I buried our brother in 2006, without a marker. Doug had been estranged to us. His life insurance was in the name of his roommate, but she didn't have any authority to do anything with his remains. Thus, what arrangements my sister and I made, we did as his only legal next-of-kin and in the hope that his roommate would pay for it. We were frugal in our approach. We had Doug cremated, which was his wish, and spread his ashes in the family cemetery, which was also his wish...but without the permission of the cemetery authorities. His roommate did pay for his cremation and funeral arrangements, but disappeared thereafter, leaving us to wonder what to do about a grave marker. My sister and brother-in-law paid for the luncheon after his services. His burial was not without honor.
Doug was a veteran. He is entitled to a military grave marker, but all of his military documents are lost to us. Thus, I have decided to do whatever it takes to get what he deserves and find a way to get a marker placed on the grave where his remains would have been placed had he been a whole body upon burial. We first have to apply for a DD-214 form...proof of service--then talk to the cemetery people. I think we have proof that the family owns grave plots... It won't be easy. I just don't want to go to my own grave knowing that we never put anything up to remember his life. We'll see how this goes.
Meanwhile, it is rainy and gloomy here for the second day. Yuck!
That makes me sad, actually. And the worst part is that my sister and I buried our brother in 2006, without a marker. Doug had been estranged to us. His life insurance was in the name of his roommate, but she didn't have any authority to do anything with his remains. Thus, what arrangements my sister and I made, we did as his only legal next-of-kin and in the hope that his roommate would pay for it. We were frugal in our approach. We had Doug cremated, which was his wish, and spread his ashes in the family cemetery, which was also his wish...but without the permission of the cemetery authorities. His roommate did pay for his cremation and funeral arrangements, but disappeared thereafter, leaving us to wonder what to do about a grave marker. My sister and brother-in-law paid for the luncheon after his services. His burial was not without honor.
Doug was a veteran. He is entitled to a military grave marker, but all of his military documents are lost to us. Thus, I have decided to do whatever it takes to get what he deserves and find a way to get a marker placed on the grave where his remains would have been placed had he been a whole body upon burial. We first have to apply for a DD-214 form...proof of service--then talk to the cemetery people. I think we have proof that the family owns grave plots... It won't be easy. I just don't want to go to my own grave knowing that we never put anything up to remember his life. We'll see how this goes.
Meanwhile, it is rainy and gloomy here for the second day. Yuck!
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
Life's Little Lessons
This has been one of those days in which one task led to another. (Trust me...I didn't overwork myself!)
When I woke up this morning, I noticed that I had been drooling onto my pillow. Then I got to looking at the pillow case. Yuck! There was mascara and makeup on it, which is what happens when you don't take off your makeup before you go to bed. Okay, so I stripped the bed, pre-treated the stains, added a little bleach to the load, and washed my bed linen. No biggie.
EXCEPT, I got to looking at the washing machine and discovered that it was filthy. Not the tub, of course...but under the lid and around the rim, etc. I do laundry on a regular basis. How is it that I just kept overlooking that???? It took all of 5-10 minutes to clean. I need to be paying more attention!
I was also embarrassed yesterday afternoon, late, when Grandma Judy dropped by to bring me some apples from an orchard, and it was dark in the living room because of burned out lightbulbs. I reached over to turn on the one light that was still working, and it popped right in front of us! We sat in the relative darkness and talked for a bit before she left. Needless to say, I started replacing bulbs after she left... (I failed to mention that I was still in my bathrobe and hadn't done my hair or face. Oops!)
I still haven't put things away since I returned from my daughter's over two weeks ago. Here I am, starting to look at Thanksgiving plans, and I'm already behind!
The bathtub drain is running slowly again. Need to work on that. And cleaning floors and beds and kitchen messes. I always have the best of intentions. Guess I just need deadlines to remind me to look at things with a wary eye! Doesn't look like I'll need to be planning a Colts Superbowl party this year, so maybe I need to invent another excuse to have people over, just so I'll clean!!
When I woke up this morning, I noticed that I had been drooling onto my pillow. Then I got to looking at the pillow case. Yuck! There was mascara and makeup on it, which is what happens when you don't take off your makeup before you go to bed. Okay, so I stripped the bed, pre-treated the stains, added a little bleach to the load, and washed my bed linen. No biggie.
EXCEPT, I got to looking at the washing machine and discovered that it was filthy. Not the tub, of course...but under the lid and around the rim, etc. I do laundry on a regular basis. How is it that I just kept overlooking that???? It took all of 5-10 minutes to clean. I need to be paying more attention!
I was also embarrassed yesterday afternoon, late, when Grandma Judy dropped by to bring me some apples from an orchard, and it was dark in the living room because of burned out lightbulbs. I reached over to turn on the one light that was still working, and it popped right in front of us! We sat in the relative darkness and talked for a bit before she left. Needless to say, I started replacing bulbs after she left... (I failed to mention that I was still in my bathrobe and hadn't done my hair or face. Oops!)
I still haven't put things away since I returned from my daughter's over two weeks ago. Here I am, starting to look at Thanksgiving plans, and I'm already behind!
The bathtub drain is running slowly again. Need to work on that. And cleaning floors and beds and kitchen messes. I always have the best of intentions. Guess I just need deadlines to remind me to look at things with a wary eye! Doesn't look like I'll need to be planning a Colts Superbowl party this year, so maybe I need to invent another excuse to have people over, just so I'll clean!!
Monday, October 17, 2011
Annual Kiddie Kandy Kwandary
Yes, I know I misspelled some words in the title! It was my effort to be cute. So sue me!
The time approacheth for me to purchase Halloween candy for the trick-or-treaters. Decisions, decisions. This shouldn't be a big deal, but it is! Here's why:
1. I was a kid once, and I knew what I wanted to get in my bag: CHOCOLATE. Those were the days when the candy industry hadn't yet figured they could cash in on Halloween by packaging small amounts of chocolate individually and charge through the nose for them, and before society's perverts thought it was funny to give apples with razor blades in them--and even still before everyone had to be suspicious of homemade treats due to tampering. More often than not, I got things like apples (gag!) and homemade popcorn balls. (Now that I am older, I recognize the amount of work that went into making popcorn balls, but I never ever ate one!) All I really wanted was chocolate. Hard candies were out of the question, and taffy-like candies were a waste of time. I guess I was a candy snob! Maybe it's because we never really had candy just lying around at home. Candy was a treat, and free candy was Heaven!
2. When Megan and I moved to this house in 1992, it was the first real neighborhood we had been in since we came to Indiana in 1988. I bought at least four huge bags of candy, expecting lots of trick-or-treaters. Every year since then, I've been somewhat surprised at the smaller numbers of roving ghouls and ghosts that appear at my door, leaving me with leftover candy.
3. Leftovers! If one doesn't appropriate the handouts correctly, there will either be no candy left, or lots of it. If I am going to have candy left over, I want to make sure it is something that I want and/or my grandchildren will eat. You know what that means!
4. Funding my life as a retired person gets a little tricky. The bags of chocolate candy get more expensive with less in them. I can't afford spending a lot of money on candy to give away, yet want to be in the spirit of the occasion...so...I am ready to make a decision.
DECISION: I will buy three bags of candy from the Dollar Tree store (everything is $1), and supplement my home candy dish with chocolate. It's the best I can do!
The time approacheth for me to purchase Halloween candy for the trick-or-treaters. Decisions, decisions. This shouldn't be a big deal, but it is! Here's why:
1. I was a kid once, and I knew what I wanted to get in my bag: CHOCOLATE. Those were the days when the candy industry hadn't yet figured they could cash in on Halloween by packaging small amounts of chocolate individually and charge through the nose for them, and before society's perverts thought it was funny to give apples with razor blades in them--and even still before everyone had to be suspicious of homemade treats due to tampering. More often than not, I got things like apples (gag!) and homemade popcorn balls. (Now that I am older, I recognize the amount of work that went into making popcorn balls, but I never ever ate one!) All I really wanted was chocolate. Hard candies were out of the question, and taffy-like candies were a waste of time. I guess I was a candy snob! Maybe it's because we never really had candy just lying around at home. Candy was a treat, and free candy was Heaven!
2. When Megan and I moved to this house in 1992, it was the first real neighborhood we had been in since we came to Indiana in 1988. I bought at least four huge bags of candy, expecting lots of trick-or-treaters. Every year since then, I've been somewhat surprised at the smaller numbers of roving ghouls and ghosts that appear at my door, leaving me with leftover candy.
3. Leftovers! If one doesn't appropriate the handouts correctly, there will either be no candy left, or lots of it. If I am going to have candy left over, I want to make sure it is something that I want and/or my grandchildren will eat. You know what that means!
4. Funding my life as a retired person gets a little tricky. The bags of chocolate candy get more expensive with less in them. I can't afford spending a lot of money on candy to give away, yet want to be in the spirit of the occasion...so...I am ready to make a decision.
DECISION: I will buy three bags of candy from the Dollar Tree store (everything is $1), and supplement my home candy dish with chocolate. It's the best I can do!
Saturday, October 15, 2011
Why?
How is it that I can be so successful with things that don't matter much, but on the important stuff, I fail miserably??
I have a philodendron plant that has been in the same pot for well over 25 years. I don't feed it, and only water it occasionally, but still it survives. Why?? Well, the dear plant is beginning to show signs of dying. I will root cuttings and replant it in new soil so it can regenerate. It doesn't owe me anything!
I'm still trying to figure out why having grandchildren is so much more rewarding that having one's own kids. There is the obvious--the fact that one can spoil one's grandchildren and give them back to their parents--but it is more than that. There is a certain freedom about loving children late in life. I don't have to "fix" them...just love them. And I sure do!
The family across Stanley Road from me was having a yard sale today. Why? A couple of months ago, the lady that lived there died. They were trying to dispose of some of her precious belongings, which were very nice. It struck me that none of the things they were selling would mean as much to the buyers as they did to the woman who died. God help the people who have to dispose of my stuff! I have very little of any use to anyone! The woman had some very nice clothes and shoes...all too small for me. Ugh!
On Friday, I went to a function at church called Snack 'n Craft. It's a ladies' night out kind of deal. Bring a snack to share and a craft you are working on...spread out on the ample tables in the room, and enjoy the company. Why did I go? Leaving home with my projects forces me to actually work on them. When I was still teaching, I used to take papers to grade. This time, I took Civil War pension documents to sort through and transcribe--all part of the process of understanding what my great-great-grandmother went through just to get an $8-a-month widow's pension! (She couldn't prove she was a widow. Turned out that her husband had simply abandoned the family. Long story!) Anyway, I enjoyed the fellowship.
Today was a mostly fruitless day for me. Not sure why. Maybe tomorrow will be better!
I have a philodendron plant that has been in the same pot for well over 25 years. I don't feed it, and only water it occasionally, but still it survives. Why?? Well, the dear plant is beginning to show signs of dying. I will root cuttings and replant it in new soil so it can regenerate. It doesn't owe me anything!
I'm still trying to figure out why having grandchildren is so much more rewarding that having one's own kids. There is the obvious--the fact that one can spoil one's grandchildren and give them back to their parents--but it is more than that. There is a certain freedom about loving children late in life. I don't have to "fix" them...just love them. And I sure do!
The family across Stanley Road from me was having a yard sale today. Why? A couple of months ago, the lady that lived there died. They were trying to dispose of some of her precious belongings, which were very nice. It struck me that none of the things they were selling would mean as much to the buyers as they did to the woman who died. God help the people who have to dispose of my stuff! I have very little of any use to anyone! The woman had some very nice clothes and shoes...all too small for me. Ugh!
On Friday, I went to a function at church called Snack 'n Craft. It's a ladies' night out kind of deal. Bring a snack to share and a craft you are working on...spread out on the ample tables in the room, and enjoy the company. Why did I go? Leaving home with my projects forces me to actually work on them. When I was still teaching, I used to take papers to grade. This time, I took Civil War pension documents to sort through and transcribe--all part of the process of understanding what my great-great-grandmother went through just to get an $8-a-month widow's pension! (She couldn't prove she was a widow. Turned out that her husband had simply abandoned the family. Long story!) Anyway, I enjoyed the fellowship.
Today was a mostly fruitless day for me. Not sure why. Maybe tomorrow will be better!
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
The Fro-dog Years
Still talking about critters here...
After my cats went over the Rainbow Bridge and my daughter was out of the nest, I determined that I didn't want any more pets. I am a committed pet owner--one of those that generally accepts that the animals are part of the family and that the responsibilities of their care are just part of the package. I had put up with cat hair, cat barf, cat litter, cat pee, cat poop, cat-scratched wallpaper, etc., for 14 years. I figured it was time for me not to have to take care of another living thing aside from myself. Yeah!
This seems off topic, but it isn't. When I bought my house-on-a-slab in Plainfield, every room was carpeted--even the bathrooms and the kitchen. The kitchen carpet was one of those low-pile berber deals that won't wear out. Just gets dirty and doesn't clean up well.
Okay...so the first thing my daughter and her then-husband did after moving out of my house to their own apartment was get a 6-week-old puppy. I knew it was in the works and had admonished them, over and over, not to do it. They were just getting started in life, living in a rental apartment with carpeting, etc. Don't get a dog now! Did they listen? Noooo.... The pup was Nathan's decision. He named HER Frodo after a book character that he liked. (The character was male; the dog was female. Try to explain that to people!) Frodo was an adorable buff cocker spaniel with the prettiest brown eyes and long, floppy ears. She also became, over time, one of the most spoiled-rotten dogs I have ever met!
The apartment complex where the kids lived had resident ducks and geese around a small lake. There was duck/goose feces everywhere...and that, I guess, is the reason Nathan and Megan didn't bother to housebreak the Fro-dog. I let them know that they weren't doing right by her, to which Megan responded, "When you have your own puppy, you can train it any way you want." Thereafter, I said, "Then don't bring her to my house because she won't be a good house guest!"
Nathan treated Frodo like a princess, and she filled the bill. She flatly refused to eat dog food, preferring to lick human dinner plates and/or steal food from the table when the human backs were turned. (She was a shameless food whore!) She piddled and pooped anywhere in the house she chose, in spite of the fact that she might just have been outside minutes before... And after the children were born, Robin learned at a very young age to put a paper towel over piles of dog poop. (Isn't that what all toddlers do??) Still, I loved that stupid dog...and she loved me. When I arrived at their house, I was always greeted by doggie-hysterics. She was a hoot, but she was also a health hazard!
In my last post, I mentioned that my cat Puddy Tat had cornered a yellow Lab with her attitude. Puddy did the same thing to Frodo. The kids would come to visit. Butterscotch would run and we wouldn't see her again for the duration of their visit, but Puddy--who lacked claws but didn't lack attitude--would stand down Frodo. The dog wouldn't get off the couch because of the big bad pussy cat! It was comical, actually. While the humans dined in the kitchen, Puddy would lie down near the kitchen doorway, thereby preventing the scaredy-dog from being near the food--something that just killed her! After Puddy died, it took several visits before Frodo realized she could get off the couch.
Nathan and Megan and Frodo lived first in that apartment in Indy, then with Nathan's parents for a few months, then at Friendswood Golf Course where the children were born just five miles from me. Then Nathan got a good job offer in Muncie, IN, and the family was to move there. The first place they found to live--a rental--required "no pets". Nathan cried and cried at the notion of having to relocate Frodo to another home. I slumped in defeat. I could not let my grand-dog go to a shelter somewhere after she had been so spoiled. She wouldn't understand. I loved Frodo....I just didn't WANT her. I relented. Okay...I said I would take Frodo until I could find her another home. I made Megan and Nathan pay to have her professionally de-flea'd and make sure her shots were up to date. I purchased things that I needed for a doggie housemate. And so it went. I decided I would work to housebreak her, then find an acceptable home for her. Well! Frodo had other ideas!
I didn't know it then, but cocker spaniels are hard to train. It is a characteristic of the breed. I got Frodie when she was three and had her five years. I worked and worked to train her to "go" outside, but had to buy "puppy pampers"--pads to put down in the kitchen for her to urinate and defecate on. Sometimes she did, and sometimes she didn't. The kitchen carpet, which was already dirty, became a cesspool of germs. (Dr. Oz would not approve!) When my grandchildren came to visit, I couldn't let them be on the kitchen floor nor could they play in the back yard until we did the "poop patrol". (Ryan was too young to remember it, but he and I used to go out to do poop patrol so I could pick up dog feces before he went out to play. He got pretty good at spotting it. Isn't that an accomplishment with which you want to be able to credit your grandchild????)
Sad to say, but Frodo could not be trusted alone around the grandchildren. She was defensive around food and/or chew toys that had food potential. If she felt threatened at all, she would nip. She was totally insecure which leads to fear reactions. For awhile, grandson Ryan would get down on all fours at Frodo's level and follow her around, even to her safe places under my feet, pretending to be a dog. I lived in dread that she might turn around and bite him in the face, just to get him to leave her alone. He was too young to be deterred. "That's what dogs do," he would tell me.
One day, Megan and the grandchildren came to live with me, unannounced. A divorce ensued between Megan and Nathan. In the meantime, we did what we could to make my little house suitable for all of us. The bottom line was that I felt we were living in Frodo's toilet. The handwriting was on the wall. Frodo was not adoptable and had been unresponsive to training. She had just chased Robin down the hall and nipped her on the fingers. I was done. For the first time in my life, I gave up on a pet.
With a heavy heart, and feeling like an absolute criminal, I took Frodo to the vet to be put down. Thereafter, we began to put the house back in some semblance of cleanliness. The kitchen carpet was replaced with vinyl flooring. The yard was permanently rid of the need to do the "poop patrol". We survived. I hope Frodo will be waiting for us with forgiveness on the other side of life. I really felt that I had no choice in the decision I had to make. I hope she understands that she was my LAST pet!
After my cats went over the Rainbow Bridge and my daughter was out of the nest, I determined that I didn't want any more pets. I am a committed pet owner--one of those that generally accepts that the animals are part of the family and that the responsibilities of their care are just part of the package. I had put up with cat hair, cat barf, cat litter, cat pee, cat poop, cat-scratched wallpaper, etc., for 14 years. I figured it was time for me not to have to take care of another living thing aside from myself. Yeah!
This seems off topic, but it isn't. When I bought my house-on-a-slab in Plainfield, every room was carpeted--even the bathrooms and the kitchen. The kitchen carpet was one of those low-pile berber deals that won't wear out. Just gets dirty and doesn't clean up well.
Okay...so the first thing my daughter and her then-husband did after moving out of my house to their own apartment was get a 6-week-old puppy. I knew it was in the works and had admonished them, over and over, not to do it. They were just getting started in life, living in a rental apartment with carpeting, etc. Don't get a dog now! Did they listen? Noooo.... The pup was Nathan's decision. He named HER Frodo after a book character that he liked. (The character was male; the dog was female. Try to explain that to people!) Frodo was an adorable buff cocker spaniel with the prettiest brown eyes and long, floppy ears. She also became, over time, one of the most spoiled-rotten dogs I have ever met!
The apartment complex where the kids lived had resident ducks and geese around a small lake. There was duck/goose feces everywhere...and that, I guess, is the reason Nathan and Megan didn't bother to housebreak the Fro-dog. I let them know that they weren't doing right by her, to which Megan responded, "When you have your own puppy, you can train it any way you want." Thereafter, I said, "Then don't bring her to my house because she won't be a good house guest!"
Nathan treated Frodo like a princess, and she filled the bill. She flatly refused to eat dog food, preferring to lick human dinner plates and/or steal food from the table when the human backs were turned. (She was a shameless food whore!) She piddled and pooped anywhere in the house she chose, in spite of the fact that she might just have been outside minutes before... And after the children were born, Robin learned at a very young age to put a paper towel over piles of dog poop. (Isn't that what all toddlers do??) Still, I loved that stupid dog...and she loved me. When I arrived at their house, I was always greeted by doggie-hysterics. She was a hoot, but she was also a health hazard!
In my last post, I mentioned that my cat Puddy Tat had cornered a yellow Lab with her attitude. Puddy did the same thing to Frodo. The kids would come to visit. Butterscotch would run and we wouldn't see her again for the duration of their visit, but Puddy--who lacked claws but didn't lack attitude--would stand down Frodo. The dog wouldn't get off the couch because of the big bad pussy cat! It was comical, actually. While the humans dined in the kitchen, Puddy would lie down near the kitchen doorway, thereby preventing the scaredy-dog from being near the food--something that just killed her! After Puddy died, it took several visits before Frodo realized she could get off the couch.
Nathan and Megan and Frodo lived first in that apartment in Indy, then with Nathan's parents for a few months, then at Friendswood Golf Course where the children were born just five miles from me. Then Nathan got a good job offer in Muncie, IN, and the family was to move there. The first place they found to live--a rental--required "no pets". Nathan cried and cried at the notion of having to relocate Frodo to another home. I slumped in defeat. I could not let my grand-dog go to a shelter somewhere after she had been so spoiled. She wouldn't understand. I loved Frodo....I just didn't WANT her. I relented. Okay...I said I would take Frodo until I could find her another home. I made Megan and Nathan pay to have her professionally de-flea'd and make sure her shots were up to date. I purchased things that I needed for a doggie housemate. And so it went. I decided I would work to housebreak her, then find an acceptable home for her. Well! Frodo had other ideas!
I didn't know it then, but cocker spaniels are hard to train. It is a characteristic of the breed. I got Frodie when she was three and had her five years. I worked and worked to train her to "go" outside, but had to buy "puppy pampers"--pads to put down in the kitchen for her to urinate and defecate on. Sometimes she did, and sometimes she didn't. The kitchen carpet, which was already dirty, became a cesspool of germs. (Dr. Oz would not approve!) When my grandchildren came to visit, I couldn't let them be on the kitchen floor nor could they play in the back yard until we did the "poop patrol". (Ryan was too young to remember it, but he and I used to go out to do poop patrol so I could pick up dog feces before he went out to play. He got pretty good at spotting it. Isn't that an accomplishment with which you want to be able to credit your grandchild????)
Sad to say, but Frodo could not be trusted alone around the grandchildren. She was defensive around food and/or chew toys that had food potential. If she felt threatened at all, she would nip. She was totally insecure which leads to fear reactions. For awhile, grandson Ryan would get down on all fours at Frodo's level and follow her around, even to her safe places under my feet, pretending to be a dog. I lived in dread that she might turn around and bite him in the face, just to get him to leave her alone. He was too young to be deterred. "That's what dogs do," he would tell me.
One day, Megan and the grandchildren came to live with me, unannounced. A divorce ensued between Megan and Nathan. In the meantime, we did what we could to make my little house suitable for all of us. The bottom line was that I felt we were living in Frodo's toilet. The handwriting was on the wall. Frodo was not adoptable and had been unresponsive to training. She had just chased Robin down the hall and nipped her on the fingers. I was done. For the first time in my life, I gave up on a pet.
With a heavy heart, and feeling like an absolute criminal, I took Frodo to the vet to be put down. Thereafter, we began to put the house back in some semblance of cleanliness. The kitchen carpet was replaced with vinyl flooring. The yard was permanently rid of the need to do the "poop patrol". We survived. I hope Frodo will be waiting for us with forgiveness on the other side of life. I really felt that I had no choice in the decision I had to make. I hope she understands that she was my LAST pet!
Monday, October 10, 2011
Critters I Have Loved
Don't ask me why I am posting this. I have no clue!
I have always been an animal lover. Because we were military nomads in my younger life, we didn't have pets...but when we settled in Danville, IL, for a whole couple of years, my dad brought home a dog. She was a young dog, but not a puppy. She was a blonde cocker spaniel, and her name was Taffy. Wow! A pet! We'd never had a dog before. I was a kid and knew nothing about what to do. We didn't play with Taffy...never took her on walks. She was just supposed to exist, I guess...and exist, she did. When we were sent to Japan, she went to live with my grandparents on the farm. When we returned, Taffy was almost unrecognizable. She had become fat! My grandparents apparently had fed her from the table.
Taffy moved with us to the Chicago suburbs and continued to live her seemingly-unloved existance. Then, one day, she was gone. Was I away at college? I don't remember. I do remember my parents telling me that Taffy had "gone down in the back" and they had her put to sleep. I think she was 10 at the time. I accepted it then, but all of these years later, when I think about poor Taffy, I feel bad. She didn't get a fair shake in life.
Fast forward to my relationship with my then-husband. He had an Irish Setter named Ann, and before we were married, he gave her to me. Ann was not what I would call a show-quality setter, but she was a very good dog. We could take her everywhere without a leash. She just wasn't very bright. Sometimes, she would flush out birds in the field and would be jumping as if to catch one, when there were rabbits running practically right under her feet and she didn't see them! She could never have been a hunting dog. She hated guns. I suspect some were fired around her and it scared her to death. Ann was my child. I loved her and she loved me.
The first Memorial Day weekend after my husband and I were married, we were packed and ready to leave for Indiana for the Indianapolis 500. Joe took Ann to work with him because we didn't want to have to return home to get her before departing from Illinois to Indy. (He had a library to keep her in during the day.) He had a luncheon date planned with other faculty members. The very last thing I said to him that day as we left for work was, "It's supposed to be hot today. Don't leave Ann in the car."
At the end of the workday, Joe came to pick me up for our trip to Indiana...but he took me into my office. I immediately knew something was wrong. "Where is Ann?" Joe was forced to tell me that he had left Ann in the car while he went to lunch with friends for "just a little bit"...and Ann was dead due to the heat. He had realized the gravity of the situation when he got back to the car and had driven her to a vet--or so he said--but she could not be revived.
In a second, I went nuts. I screamed and cried and beat on his chest. My teacher's aides heard me and left in a hurry. I shocked myself with the strength and insanity of my reaction. (I have only experienced one other event that did the same thing to me...just two years ago.) I was sick for weeks...could not eat or sleep. There was no joy in life. All I could think of was that my baby dog had died at the hands of someone who was supposed to care for her. It was awful.
Instead of leaving for Indy, we detoured to the family farm in order to bury Ann. My parents didn't know we were coming, so when we showed up, there were questions. I sent Joe to the pasture to begin digging Ann's grave while I explained to my mother. She was so angry. I think she said something like, "I want to shoot him!"
My daughter was born the next year. God took away my dog but gave me the love of my life! As Megan grew, she became a critter lover like me. We always lived in rental homes so couldn't have pets, but when we moved to a rental home in Indiana in 1988, we requested permission to have a cat for her. The landlord said "no problem". We were totally new to the area, so I called a local veterinarian's office to ask about places to find a pet. They referred me to a lady in Eminence, IN, who took in strays. The woman there could only catch one cat--an orange tabby that scratched the hell out of my arms in the process of trying to put her in a carrier. We took her home and opened the carrier, and that was the last we saw of the cat for a week!!!
The very next day, I was outside. Out of the bushes running straight to me was a 4-5 month old kitten who was very dirty and very loud, just begging for food and love. She was a mostly white cat with some black and a tiny bit of brown. I sent Megan around the neighborhood with the kitten to see if anyone knew where she belonged. (She SAID she did. True or not, I don't know.) No...we can't have two cats! No way! You can guess the rest...
We named the orange cat Butterscotch, aka Sputterbutt, Butter Buds, but mostly known as Butter...or simply "Buds". In the beginning, we only knew she was there because the food would disappear. One evening, in an effort to play with the white cat, we were using a string...and the orange cat came out from under the couch to catch it.
The white cat was named Puddy Tat (from Tweetie-bird's attempt to say "Pussy Cat"). Puddy Tat became Puddy, and then simply "Puds". (My then-husband called her Shithead.) The two felines became fast friends, in time. We would often find them wrapped in each other's arms in slumber...in laundry baskets, beds...you name it.
When my ex and I split up, he made it clear that I was to take the cats with me. Unfortunately, Meg and I were moving to a rental place that specified no pets. What to do? They stayed with us for a couple of weeks until Megan said she was afraid we'd be kicked out if they were discovered...so I asked my brother in the Chicago area if he could take them and find homes for them. He said he would. They were locked in his bedroom in Oak Park, IL, with six other cats in his apartment. Seven months later, when I bought a house in Plainfield, IN, the cats were still with him. Megan and I drove up to retrieve them. When we arrived at our home and opened the cat carrier, the cats blinked and looked around a bit, but it was as if we had never been separated!
Buds was a scaredy-cat all of her life. If she came to your lap to be petted, she always placed herself facing out so that if you made one false move, she would launch to another room. She was street-smart. Puddy was just a common thug, too dumb to know that she could be frightened. Puds was the dominant cat--the licker/groomer. I have a blind friend who had a yellow Labrador service dog that came to visit one day. Puddy was 1/8th that dog's size, but she had him cornered in fear with her swagger. She did the same thing to a dog I had a few years later. If I had a ladder put up for a household project, I'd find Puddy on top of it. If there was an open suitcase somewhere, Puddy slept in it. The usual human response to Puddy was "You stupid cat!"
One day in 2000, I noticed that Butter was sitting on the arm of a chair near the bay window and hadn't moved for hours. Very strange behavior for her. I took her to the vet--always stressful. He heard a heart murmur and noticed that her gums were quite pale--an indication of a big-time heart problem. As she gyrated on the exam table trying to get away from him, he thought she could have a heart attack right then and there. I broke down because I understood the decision that would soon face me. I cried and cried in the vet's office, then brought Butter home.
Over the next week, things got worse. Buds could hardly move, but she exhibited a desire to be outside--something that hadn't happened since the day we got her many years before. She had scratched a spot on the back of her neck totally bald. I put a piece of gauze over it so it wouldn't sunburn and let her go outside on the patio. I checked on her every few minutes. Mostly, she just sat in one spot. Then, on one check, she was gone! I started calling for her. She responded. Somehow, she had found her way through a hole in the fence and was in the neighbor's yard but totally scared. I retrieved her. Butter had an adventure!
Then, one day, Butter could no longer hold up her head. I knew I couldn't leave her home alone in that condition, so I took her to school with me. The vet's office was practically on the school campus, and I had second period free. That morning, I could put Butter over my shoulder and carry her around--something she never would have tolerated before. I had to say good-bye to my Butter Buds that day, then go home to Puddy Tat without her.
Megan moved to her own apartment that week...so Puddy lost two of her best friends in the same week. She was never the same again. Over the next two years, she became very thin--had stopped eating but was drinking a lot and urinating a lot. I took her to the vet. They checked her for diabetes but couldn't find that. They did an ultrasound and found spots on her liver. I took her home to be comfortable. One evening, she simply couldn't stand anymore. I had brought her food and water to the living room near her. She would stand up to go to them but would fall over. I called the emergency vet near the airport for her final trip. Puddy and Buds are buried near each other in a flower garden in my yard. I loved those stupid cats!
There is one more pet to discuss, but it is late. You will have to hear about Frodo the Wonder Dog later!
I have always been an animal lover. Because we were military nomads in my younger life, we didn't have pets...but when we settled in Danville, IL, for a whole couple of years, my dad brought home a dog. She was a young dog, but not a puppy. She was a blonde cocker spaniel, and her name was Taffy. Wow! A pet! We'd never had a dog before. I was a kid and knew nothing about what to do. We didn't play with Taffy...never took her on walks. She was just supposed to exist, I guess...and exist, she did. When we were sent to Japan, she went to live with my grandparents on the farm. When we returned, Taffy was almost unrecognizable. She had become fat! My grandparents apparently had fed her from the table.
Taffy moved with us to the Chicago suburbs and continued to live her seemingly-unloved existance. Then, one day, she was gone. Was I away at college? I don't remember. I do remember my parents telling me that Taffy had "gone down in the back" and they had her put to sleep. I think she was 10 at the time. I accepted it then, but all of these years later, when I think about poor Taffy, I feel bad. She didn't get a fair shake in life.
Fast forward to my relationship with my then-husband. He had an Irish Setter named Ann, and before we were married, he gave her to me. Ann was not what I would call a show-quality setter, but she was a very good dog. We could take her everywhere without a leash. She just wasn't very bright. Sometimes, she would flush out birds in the field and would be jumping as if to catch one, when there were rabbits running practically right under her feet and she didn't see them! She could never have been a hunting dog. She hated guns. I suspect some were fired around her and it scared her to death. Ann was my child. I loved her and she loved me.
The first Memorial Day weekend after my husband and I were married, we were packed and ready to leave for Indiana for the Indianapolis 500. Joe took Ann to work with him because we didn't want to have to return home to get her before departing from Illinois to Indy. (He had a library to keep her in during the day.) He had a luncheon date planned with other faculty members. The very last thing I said to him that day as we left for work was, "It's supposed to be hot today. Don't leave Ann in the car."
At the end of the workday, Joe came to pick me up for our trip to Indiana...but he took me into my office. I immediately knew something was wrong. "Where is Ann?" Joe was forced to tell me that he had left Ann in the car while he went to lunch with friends for "just a little bit"...and Ann was dead due to the heat. He had realized the gravity of the situation when he got back to the car and had driven her to a vet--or so he said--but she could not be revived.
In a second, I went nuts. I screamed and cried and beat on his chest. My teacher's aides heard me and left in a hurry. I shocked myself with the strength and insanity of my reaction. (I have only experienced one other event that did the same thing to me...just two years ago.) I was sick for weeks...could not eat or sleep. There was no joy in life. All I could think of was that my baby dog had died at the hands of someone who was supposed to care for her. It was awful.
Instead of leaving for Indy, we detoured to the family farm in order to bury Ann. My parents didn't know we were coming, so when we showed up, there were questions. I sent Joe to the pasture to begin digging Ann's grave while I explained to my mother. She was so angry. I think she said something like, "I want to shoot him!"
My daughter was born the next year. God took away my dog but gave me the love of my life! As Megan grew, she became a critter lover like me. We always lived in rental homes so couldn't have pets, but when we moved to a rental home in Indiana in 1988, we requested permission to have a cat for her. The landlord said "no problem". We were totally new to the area, so I called a local veterinarian's office to ask about places to find a pet. They referred me to a lady in Eminence, IN, who took in strays. The woman there could only catch one cat--an orange tabby that scratched the hell out of my arms in the process of trying to put her in a carrier. We took her home and opened the carrier, and that was the last we saw of the cat for a week!!!
The very next day, I was outside. Out of the bushes running straight to me was a 4-5 month old kitten who was very dirty and very loud, just begging for food and love. She was a mostly white cat with some black and a tiny bit of brown. I sent Megan around the neighborhood with the kitten to see if anyone knew where she belonged. (She SAID she did. True or not, I don't know.) No...we can't have two cats! No way! You can guess the rest...
We named the orange cat Butterscotch, aka Sputterbutt, Butter Buds, but mostly known as Butter...or simply "Buds". In the beginning, we only knew she was there because the food would disappear. One evening, in an effort to play with the white cat, we were using a string...and the orange cat came out from under the couch to catch it.
The white cat was named Puddy Tat (from Tweetie-bird's attempt to say "Pussy Cat"). Puddy Tat became Puddy, and then simply "Puds". (My then-husband called her Shithead.) The two felines became fast friends, in time. We would often find them wrapped in each other's arms in slumber...in laundry baskets, beds...you name it.
When my ex and I split up, he made it clear that I was to take the cats with me. Unfortunately, Meg and I were moving to a rental place that specified no pets. What to do? They stayed with us for a couple of weeks until Megan said she was afraid we'd be kicked out if they were discovered...so I asked my brother in the Chicago area if he could take them and find homes for them. He said he would. They were locked in his bedroom in Oak Park, IL, with six other cats in his apartment. Seven months later, when I bought a house in Plainfield, IN, the cats were still with him. Megan and I drove up to retrieve them. When we arrived at our home and opened the cat carrier, the cats blinked and looked around a bit, but it was as if we had never been separated!
Buds was a scaredy-cat all of her life. If she came to your lap to be petted, she always placed herself facing out so that if you made one false move, she would launch to another room. She was street-smart. Puddy was just a common thug, too dumb to know that she could be frightened. Puds was the dominant cat--the licker/groomer. I have a blind friend who had a yellow Labrador service dog that came to visit one day. Puddy was 1/8th that dog's size, but she had him cornered in fear with her swagger. She did the same thing to a dog I had a few years later. If I had a ladder put up for a household project, I'd find Puddy on top of it. If there was an open suitcase somewhere, Puddy slept in it. The usual human response to Puddy was "You stupid cat!"
One day in 2000, I noticed that Butter was sitting on the arm of a chair near the bay window and hadn't moved for hours. Very strange behavior for her. I took her to the vet--always stressful. He heard a heart murmur and noticed that her gums were quite pale--an indication of a big-time heart problem. As she gyrated on the exam table trying to get away from him, he thought she could have a heart attack right then and there. I broke down because I understood the decision that would soon face me. I cried and cried in the vet's office, then brought Butter home.
Over the next week, things got worse. Buds could hardly move, but she exhibited a desire to be outside--something that hadn't happened since the day we got her many years before. She had scratched a spot on the back of her neck totally bald. I put a piece of gauze over it so it wouldn't sunburn and let her go outside on the patio. I checked on her every few minutes. Mostly, she just sat in one spot. Then, on one check, she was gone! I started calling for her. She responded. Somehow, she had found her way through a hole in the fence and was in the neighbor's yard but totally scared. I retrieved her. Butter had an adventure!
Then, one day, Butter could no longer hold up her head. I knew I couldn't leave her home alone in that condition, so I took her to school with me. The vet's office was practically on the school campus, and I had second period free. That morning, I could put Butter over my shoulder and carry her around--something she never would have tolerated before. I had to say good-bye to my Butter Buds that day, then go home to Puddy Tat without her.
Megan moved to her own apartment that week...so Puddy lost two of her best friends in the same week. She was never the same again. Over the next two years, she became very thin--had stopped eating but was drinking a lot and urinating a lot. I took her to the vet. They checked her for diabetes but couldn't find that. They did an ultrasound and found spots on her liver. I took her home to be comfortable. One evening, she simply couldn't stand anymore. I had brought her food and water to the living room near her. She would stand up to go to them but would fall over. I called the emergency vet near the airport for her final trip. Puddy and Buds are buried near each other in a flower garden in my yard. I loved those stupid cats!
There is one more pet to discuss, but it is late. You will have to hear about Frodo the Wonder Dog later!
Saturday, October 8, 2011
Serendipity
Lots of stories to tell but not much energy. This post will ramble. If you aren't in a rambling mood, move on!
I spent two weeks at my daughter's in Grayslake, IL. I went up on a Friday with the intention of staying only a week, but things happen. I had such a good time with Denis's Russian parents. First, I was going to come home on Thursday...then Sunday...then found out that the grandchildren had a day off on Tuesday and would need supervision, so I stayed until then. Was going to come home on the Wednesday after that...but I was too unenergetic to do anything. Thus, I didn't leave until the Thursday AFTER the original Thursday! Two weeks!
Denis's parents, Luda and Sergey, departed on Friday, Sept. 30th. Before that, however, we took turns cooking the supper meal for the breadwinners. It was unspoken. When I got there, they seemed to leave supper to me...but I had to be gone one day and they took over. It was all good. Meg has a cleaning service that comes every couple of weeks. On the day of the cleaning service, after Megan and Denis left for work, Luda and I just launched into picking up things to make the place clean enough to be cleaned. We didn't say anything to each other about it. It's a gal thing! Some things are just obvious in any culture!
I did attend a ceremony for Major Pat at The Salvation Army's Territorial Headquarters in Des Plaines on a Wednesday while I was there. Pat is retiring as National Director of SATERN, probably the largest radio network of its kind in the world. They had refreshments and a nice presentation by the National Commander/Commissioner (I'm not sure which). The man made it a point to say that SATERN is a "big deal"...and worthy of recognition from "national". I have to say that it is gratifying to hear that from a non-ham. Patrick--and all of the rest of us in amateur radio/SATERN--have struggled for years to help others to "get it". This little ceremony cemented that and gave Major Patrick his "due". Nice!
Unfortunately, being on the highways and byways of the Chicago area has its pitfalls. When I got off the tollway on the exit that would take me to THQ, there was an unattended toll booth that needed $1 in coins. I didn't have $1 in coins! I threw what I had in the basket and moved on. The same thing happened as I got back on the tollway to return to Meg's. Ugh! Had to get online to pay $2. As I came home, I got aced out of paying an 80-cent toll by the fact that there was only a 3/4th mile notice and the right two lanes were occupied by semis...so I couldn't get over in time to be in the cash lanes. I'm letting that one pass. They can sue me for 80 cents! It's not like I didn't try!
The Tuesday that I supervised the grandchildren was a busy one. I drove Robin (and Ryan) to Robin's dentist appointment. She went in alone, got her shot and a filling, and was back in the waiting room less than 30 minutes later! She was a trouper, bless her heart. After that, we went to have lunch with Meg, then I took the kids to the movie to see Dolphin Tale in 3-D. Thereafter, I drove the kids back home to Zion. It was a beautiful day.
Oh...didn't mention the genealogy trip! The weekend after Luda and Sergey left, Megan, Denis, and I drove several hours south into Illinois to seek the graves of my Covill grandparents. Megan printed out what information she had. We drove first to Princeton, IL, because they have a county genealogy society that is open one Saturday per month...which was THAT Saturday. We didn't get there until 1:00, and they close at 3:00, so we were busy little beavers! The gal in charge was totally knowledgeable and helpful. We got a lot of information in a relatively short time!
Armed with cemetery information about who is buried where, we went first to Tiskilwa, IL, to seek Grandma Covill, who was buried near her folks. We found her parents, but not her. Just some empty spaces in the cemetery row. Running out of time and daylight, we drove to LaMoille to look for Grandpa Covill who was buried near HIS folks. Same thing. We found his father's grave marker, barely readable...but nothing for Grandpa. The family was dirt-poor. It is our belief that no gravestones were ever placed for them. I wish I were a wealthy person so I could put markers on their graves in the memory of my father who probably helped pay for their funerals... Again, it was a beautiful day for a ride. We took pictures of a Civil War monument in Princeton that has my great-grandfather's name, and his brother's, inscribed. Although we weren't successful in finding the final resting places of my father's parents, we saw a part of Illinois that were part of their lives...and other information about family. I counted the trip as a success!
I came home from Megan's with a bug. Chest and head congestion. I have been trying to recuperate without seeming like a hypochondriac, but it's been tough. Thankfully, this isn't a major bug. If I got a major bug, I would probably not survive...
Hope to be well enough to go to church tomorrow!
I spent two weeks at my daughter's in Grayslake, IL. I went up on a Friday with the intention of staying only a week, but things happen. I had such a good time with Denis's Russian parents. First, I was going to come home on Thursday...then Sunday...then found out that the grandchildren had a day off on Tuesday and would need supervision, so I stayed until then. Was going to come home on the Wednesday after that...but I was too unenergetic to do anything. Thus, I didn't leave until the Thursday AFTER the original Thursday! Two weeks!
Denis's parents, Luda and Sergey, departed on Friday, Sept. 30th. Before that, however, we took turns cooking the supper meal for the breadwinners. It was unspoken. When I got there, they seemed to leave supper to me...but I had to be gone one day and they took over. It was all good. Meg has a cleaning service that comes every couple of weeks. On the day of the cleaning service, after Megan and Denis left for work, Luda and I just launched into picking up things to make the place clean enough to be cleaned. We didn't say anything to each other about it. It's a gal thing! Some things are just obvious in any culture!
I did attend a ceremony for Major Pat at The Salvation Army's Territorial Headquarters in Des Plaines on a Wednesday while I was there. Pat is retiring as National Director of SATERN, probably the largest radio network of its kind in the world. They had refreshments and a nice presentation by the National Commander/Commissioner (I'm not sure which). The man made it a point to say that SATERN is a "big deal"...and worthy of recognition from "national". I have to say that it is gratifying to hear that from a non-ham. Patrick--and all of the rest of us in amateur radio/SATERN--have struggled for years to help others to "get it". This little ceremony cemented that and gave Major Patrick his "due". Nice!
Unfortunately, being on the highways and byways of the Chicago area has its pitfalls. When I got off the tollway on the exit that would take me to THQ, there was an unattended toll booth that needed $1 in coins. I didn't have $1 in coins! I threw what I had in the basket and moved on. The same thing happened as I got back on the tollway to return to Meg's. Ugh! Had to get online to pay $2. As I came home, I got aced out of paying an 80-cent toll by the fact that there was only a 3/4th mile notice and the right two lanes were occupied by semis...so I couldn't get over in time to be in the cash lanes. I'm letting that one pass. They can sue me for 80 cents! It's not like I didn't try!
The Tuesday that I supervised the grandchildren was a busy one. I drove Robin (and Ryan) to Robin's dentist appointment. She went in alone, got her shot and a filling, and was back in the waiting room less than 30 minutes later! She was a trouper, bless her heart. After that, we went to have lunch with Meg, then I took the kids to the movie to see Dolphin Tale in 3-D. Thereafter, I drove the kids back home to Zion. It was a beautiful day.
Oh...didn't mention the genealogy trip! The weekend after Luda and Sergey left, Megan, Denis, and I drove several hours south into Illinois to seek the graves of my Covill grandparents. Megan printed out what information she had. We drove first to Princeton, IL, because they have a county genealogy society that is open one Saturday per month...which was THAT Saturday. We didn't get there until 1:00, and they close at 3:00, so we were busy little beavers! The gal in charge was totally knowledgeable and helpful. We got a lot of information in a relatively short time!
Armed with cemetery information about who is buried where, we went first to Tiskilwa, IL, to seek Grandma Covill, who was buried near her folks. We found her parents, but not her. Just some empty spaces in the cemetery row. Running out of time and daylight, we drove to LaMoille to look for Grandpa Covill who was buried near HIS folks. Same thing. We found his father's grave marker, barely readable...but nothing for Grandpa. The family was dirt-poor. It is our belief that no gravestones were ever placed for them. I wish I were a wealthy person so I could put markers on their graves in the memory of my father who probably helped pay for their funerals... Again, it was a beautiful day for a ride. We took pictures of a Civil War monument in Princeton that has my great-grandfather's name, and his brother's, inscribed. Although we weren't successful in finding the final resting places of my father's parents, we saw a part of Illinois that were part of their lives...and other information about family. I counted the trip as a success!
I came home from Megan's with a bug. Chest and head congestion. I have been trying to recuperate without seeming like a hypochondriac, but it's been tough. Thankfully, this isn't a major bug. If I got a major bug, I would probably not survive...
Hope to be well enough to go to church tomorrow!
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