The quilt has been hanging on the rack for at least five years, but the other night I wanted to look at it. There's a pattern I remember from Aunt Betty Lou's funeral. My dress was yellow and black. Aunt Orneda told mom it was too bright for a funeral. I was in third grade.



There's fabric from Mom's dresses and flannel from our pajamas.



Mom would work on the squares and when she ran out of pieces for the square, she would finish it with a similar color. When they were all stitched together, she'd have Dad bring in the "work horses" and stretch the quilt out and "quilt" it. I remember the rolls of batting, so soft and hours and hours of stitching. There are probably 10,000 or more tiny stitches. Our living room was filled with the quilt for several weeks. When it was done, us kids always wanted it - new and soft. Sometimes we'd have up to three quilts on our beds.

On October 17, 2011, at OzarksFirst.com it's written: "The Bolivar School District has now lost eight students in 17 months." That was after the death of three high school girls. Earlier in the year two other students died from cancer and another collapsed while out walking with a friend.

Again, last night, Bolivar lost another teen. This now makes nine in the past two years. Though I didn't know him, this one was a bit closer to home as one of my step-sons was close to his former girlfriend. My step-son wanted to go to the hospital to be of comfort to his friend and when we pulled into the parking lot, I was amazed at the number of teens and their parents outside the Emergency Room.

I first read about the accident on Facebook and at that time, no one knew who was involved or even how many were in the accident. The post said there were two people involved and a search was on for the second victim. I immediately called our two sons to hear their voices and make sure they were all right. It turned out that the Facebook post was wrong and only one person was involved.

I've never been personally affected by a teen's death, but last night, watching the teens cry for their friend and with their friends, I began to appreciate grief counseling at the schools for these kids.

Nine teens seems to be an awfully lot of kids to lose in two years for this very small town.

Lord, help me realize that quality time with my family is so much more important than how their rooms or my house looks.

The Green Thing

Checking out at the supermarket recently, the young cashier suggested I should bring my own bags because plastic bags weren’t good for the environment. I apologized and explained, “We didn’t have this green thing back in my earlier days“.

The clerk responded, “That’s our problem today. Your generation did not care enough to save our environment for future generations“.

She was right about one thing–our generation didn’t have the green thing in “Our” day. So what did we have back then? After some reflection and soul-searching on “Our” day, here’s what I remembered we did have….

Back then, we returned milk bottles, pop bottles and beer bottles to the store. The store sent them back to the plant to be washed and sterilized and refilled, so it could use the same bottles repeatedly. So they really were recycled.

We walked up stairs, because we didn’t have an escalator in every store and office building. We walked to the grocery store and didn’t climb into a 300-horsepower machine every time we had to go two blocks.

Back then, we washed the baby’s diapers because we didn’t have the throw-away kind. We dried clothes on a line, not in an energy gobbling machine burning up 240 volts — wind and solar power really did dry our clothes back in our early days. Kids got hand-me-down clothes from their brothers or sisters, not always brand-new clothing.

Back then, we had one TV, or radio, in the house — not a TV in every room. And the TV had a small screen the size of a handkerchief (remember them?), not a screen the size of Wales. In the kitchen, we blended & stirred by hand because we didn’t have electric machines to do everything for us. When we packaged a fragile item to send in the mail, we used wadded up old newspapers to cushion it, not Styrofoam or plastic bubble wrap.

Back then, we didn’t fire up an engine and burn petrol just to cut the lawn. We used a push mower that ran on human power. We exercised by working so we didn’t need to go to a health club to run on treadmills that operate on electricity.

We drank from a water fountain when we were thirsty instead of using a cup or a plastic bottle every time we had a drink of water. We refilled writing pens with ink instead of buying a new pen, and we replaced the razor blades in a razor instead of throwing away the whole razor just because the blade got dull.

Back then, people took the bus, and kids rode their bikes to school or walked instead of turning their mums into a 24-hour taxi service. We had one electrical outlet in a room, not an entire bank of sockets to power a dozen appliances. And we didn’t need a computerized gadget to receive a signal beamed from satellites 2,000 miles out in space in order to find the nearest pizza joint.

It's sad the current generation laments how wasteful we old folks were just because we didn’t have the green thing back then.

Dying to Self

DYING TO SELF

by Bill Britton

When you are forgotten, or neglected, or purposely set at naught and you don't sting and hurt with the insult or the oversight; but your heart is happy, counting it worthy to suffer for Christ—THAT IS DYING TO SELF.

When your good is evil spoken of, when your wishes are crossed, your opinions ridiculed and you refuse to let anger rise in your heart or even defend yourself-, but take it all in patient loving silence—THAT IS DYING TO SELF.

When you lovingly and patiently bear any disorder, any irregularity, any unpunctuality or any annoyance; when you can stand face to face with waste, folly, extravagance, spiritual insensibility and endure it as Jesus endured it—THAT IS DYING TO SELF.

When you are content with any food, any offering, any raiment, any cli­mate, any society, any solitude or any interruption by the will of God—THAT IS DYING TO SELF.

When you never care to refer to yourself in conversation, or itch after com­mendation, when you can truly love to be unknown—THAT IS DYING TO SELF.

When you can see your brother prosper and have his needs met and can honestly rejoice with him in spirit and feel no envy nor question God while your own needs are far greater and in desperate circumstance—THAT IS DYING TO SELF.

When you can receive correction and reproof from one of less stature than yourself and can humbly submit inwardly as well as outwardly finding no rebellion or resentment rising up within your heart—THAT IS DYING TO SELF.

Are you dead yet? In these last days the Spirit would bring us to the Cross. "That I may know Him ... being made conformable to his death." Philippians 3:10

For more of this and other messages, write to‑
Church In Action — Bill Britton Ministries — PO Box 707 — Springfield MO 65801

Back in October 1975, I began attending House of Prayer in Springfield, Missouri. I was desperate for something in my life. When I walked in the doors of that building I felt a strange peace - I KNEW without a doubt I'd come home. I didn't know a soul around me, except my Dad and strange as it seems, he and I were never really close.

I'd felt God calling me to return to Him for several months and finally one day I told him, "Okay - but I can't go back to the UPC church I was raised in. Please find me a place with great music, people my age and where life is real - not just rules and regulations." I'd never discussed this with my family; my sister and her husband attended a Baptist church across town that she loved, but it didn't click with me. One day Dad mentioned House of Prayer (He'd met Bro. Bill on the golf course) and thought I might try it. As I said earlier, I walked in and knew I'd found my place.

The main doors of the church opened to the building the "wide" way. Instead of the pulpit being at one of the long ends of the room, it was in the wide end so everyone felt closer to the pulpit. The pulpit was "open." Anyone could speak - even me if I wanted - but I could have never gotten up in front of anyone, ever!

There was another entrance to the building (on one of the short ends) and there in that vestibule (just outside the bathrooms) was a tract stand. The cloak area was just across the hallway. So while waiting for the bathroom or to get a coat, one could peruse the tract stand and this is where I found this wonderful poem written by Bill Britton, the founder of House of Prayer in Springfield, MO.

I used to carry several copies with me - to refer to in my early days of my recommitment to God, but I eventually gave them all away. Thank God for the internet where everything is accessible all over again.

As I re-read the poem, I see the beauty in the words and with even more clarity see how difficult they are to live by. The one who can live by those words is full of grace and beauty - just like Jesus.

Greg X. Volz - I'm Yours [N05]

I remember when Mike and Greg were working on this album and to this day, this is one of my all-time, most favorite Christian songs. Thank you Mike Schmitz and Greg Volz!

Our Mothers' Day Barbecue

Yesterday we had a bbq for all the moms in our family. Several were here - including Bill's mom, his two sisters Kathy and Laura, Kathy's son Corey and Laura's husband Glen and his son Loren. Bill's brother, James and his wife were here. We don't get to see them often enough. Then his two daughters, Jessica with her kids Bradley and Kileigh, and Victory with Tyler. Kathy also brought her grandson, William. And of course there was Sam and William and Sam's girlfriend, Abbey.

I figured it'd be a lot of work, but it actually wasn't. We were going to grill hamburgers and hotdogs, but we saw that Woods had ribs on sale for $10 a rack, so we bought 4 racks instead. Darlene was supposed to bring hamburger, but she had a flat tire and couldn't get here, so Kathy sent Corey out to get more hamburger.

All in all, it was a great day, a bit chilly, but sunny and nice. The kids loved jumping on the trampoline and the adults sat around and talked while Bill grilled. After standing on his feet all day, he probably wishes he'd bought more ribs and just forgot the grilling.

But the leftovers made for a great lunch today.

More Transfers:

Thursday, July 20, 2006

Serial Blunderer

Okay, you all were probably wondering when my next blunder was going to happen. Ha! Sooner than you expected, right?

The twins were getting ready to go to a friend's house, out in the country. I was busy getting breakfast, beds made, etc. Then it was time to load up the dishwasher and leave. Got all the dishes in, counters washed, etc. But I'm out of Cascade, actually been out for a day or two.

Now Bill has used dish soap in the past -- I didn't know you could do that.

Soooo, I put in the dish soap, not just a few drops, but the whole dishwasher bowl full. Do you know what happens when you use dishwashing soap in the dishwasher, especially about a quarter-cup full?

I'm in my bedroom curling my hair and yelling to the boys to hurry up. I hear William in the kitchen.

"Uh, Noella? I think you need to come in here."

"Why? You guys need to get ready."

"Uh, Noella? There's suds all over the floor, Lots of suds, they're covering the whole floor!"

I groan, walk into the kitchen, and sure enough, there ARE suds all over the floor. Just across the room from the dishwasher sits our computer and that's where the suds are headed.

The boys bring lots of towels from the bathroom and I call Bill, who after hearing my dilemma, is laughing his head off. His solution is for me to get out my Rainbow and start vacuuming the water out.

Well, I get out the vacuum and I guess I didn't watch how the salesman did it 26 years ago, because when I started vacuuming the water, the motor to the vacuum starts sounding funny. Quickly, I shut it off and open it up, to find that it took out water good enough; now suds are way up in the motor. I did remember the salesman told us that if that ever happened, disconnect from the water housing and run dry. Water and oil soaked the towels on the floor. I just hope it dries out enough to use again; that was the only thing (outside of baby furniture) I got from my first marriage, not that it was all that great, I just knew it was a great vacuum and he'd probably be able to get a new one sooner than I would.

Anyway, I sopped (is that a word?) up the rest of the water from the dishwasher, and drained it. Hopefully, it too will work again.

Let's see this was July 20. When was it I mailed that camera in?


Saturday, July 29, 2006

It didn't take as long this time!

The twins and I met Bill in Springfield last night for a movie and dinner. We saw the new Garfield film (which actually I liked better than the first one) and were going to go to McSalty's to hear the band, but they're not there during "Fair" week, so we went to eat at that Mexican restaurant out West Chestnut -- La Hacienda, 4249 W Chestnut -- (which is one of the best ever). Anyway we pulled into the parking lot and drove around -- no parking whatsoever. We figured we'd have an hour or so wait so we went on down to Sonic. A bit of a letdown after looking forward to some of the best Tortilla Soup in the world. (By the way, that's a great movie too -- Tortilla Soup).

So we eat our food, get in our cars (the boys vehemently discussing who's going to ride with Bill) and head home when, while out on I-44, we run into fair traffic. Bill hates to be held up in traffic, so we head back into town and take the back roads out.

We finally get onto Highway 13 when Bill starts his games. He likes to drive in front and get very far ahead, then he'll pull off somewhere and "hide" and waits until he sees me pass. Then he'll get back on the highway and pass us up (whichever twin is in the car with him thinks that is so funny and the first time that happened, I was a little surprised myself).

So I decide to beat him at his own game. When he did it to us on this little jaunt, I told William "don't look at them." Well, they pull ahead of us and we eventually catch up to them and pass them too. I'm afraid that I speeded up a little so that I could get far enough ahead to "hide" myself. See, you can't do this on a straight-away highway, it has to be one filled with curves and hills so you can pull out of sight. Well, they pulled off again and hid. I thought, okay, guys, we'll show you how to play this game, so I pulled off the same road that they pulled onto. We could see them back behind the bushes when we passed them. But before they could catch up to us, I saw a small road to turn onto, so I whipped in and we watched as they went by.

Unfortunately, this road kept getting smaller and smaller. Yep, you guessed it, it was a very long private drive to a privately-owned salvage yard. The reason Bill and Sam couldn't see us was because of the white fence that ran down both sides of our road. Remembering my luck with fences (I hit ours while backing out of our driveway - I wouldn't have hit it if Bill hadn't been trying to tell me how to back up - anyway, that's another story), I decided to pull on ahead; I figured they had a turn-around up there. Well I get up there and it's all cars. A sign in the yard says to check into the office before pulling in any further. I'm debating whether to go ahead or try to turn around. The office looks like somebody's home.

I decide to try to back into a small space and do a Y turn. I start to back up and as I look into my rear-view mirror, there's the biggest tow truck I've ever seen right behind me. I'm not going anywhere! The driver gets out of the truck and starts up toward my car - I'm trapped! All kinds of things go through my mind, but I roll down my window and immediately start smiling and apologizing. It turns out he's a "good" guy and lets me pull ahead and turn around. Feeling like an idiot has become a familiar emotion lately.

Bill calls me on my cell to make sure we're okay. But I did feel just a little bit proud when he says, "Well, we saw you go by and then you just disappeared!"


Sunday, August 13, 2006

Share the Blame - Ultimate Blunders

Just received an e-mail from an RGQ friend (that stands for Really Good Quotes - an e-zine I get Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays) regarding a tape that both of us requested from Tiger Aspect Productiions in London. We were both involved (at separate times) in a TV show called Share the Blame. The working title at the time was Ultimate Blunders. It was shown on The Learning Channel three Sundays in July 2006. The show was about "life" and the blundering way we go about living our lives. Just the fact that the producer/director asked me if I was a "serial" blunderer kinda tells you how my life sometimes goes.

So they pay for a ticket for Bill and me to fly to Chicago, put us up in a pretty nice hotel down by the lake and pay our cab to and from the airport and to their hotel for filming. All in all it was a really great trip and I thoroughly enjoyed it. I really, really liked the people I was working with. So I should be happy, right? Well one would think so, but I'm not. I'm on a rant right now!

You see, the show was cut from 10 episodes to 6 episodes (guess that's show business - right?). And my episode was cut. So was Tim's episode. He's the other RGQer and I think he lives in Boston. They paid his way by train to New York, a really nice experience for him as he'd never ridden a train before.

You see, I can understand the episodes being cut. The show was "okay" I guess, made more interesting because I'd been involved a bit. What I have a trouble understanding is why both Tim and I are being ignored when we asked for a tape. I asked early on and was told that it would depend on how many others asked for a tape. Then when I got the e-mail stating my episode had been cut, I asked again. No answer.

Then I wrote and offered to pay for the tape. Still no answer. So that makes me a bit upset.

I'm transferring part of my MySpace blog to here - mostly the "blunders" part. You'll notice I have a lot of blunders in my life. But we have a lot of funny stuff happening in our family too.

Wednesday, October 04, 2006

That Stuff

I have a problem sometimes trying to remember words when I'm talking to people. Most of the time the conversation will have something to do with whatever is happening at the time. For instance if I'm cooking dinner and I need salt for a recipe, I might ask Bill to hand me the salt, but I'll forget the word and I'll say something like, "Will you hand me that stuff there?" He has no idea what in the world I'm talking about. It makes sense to me, though, because it says "salt" right there in my recipe.

The other night I told Bill we were having shrimp for supper. Sam, one of the twins, hates seafood, and most everything else unless it's chicken nuggets or pepperoni pizza.

Bill loves to "mess" with me, so not knowing that the twins knew about the shrimp, a little later on he told Sam to ask me if we were still having that "stuff" for supper. Sam's immediate response was, "Dad, I hate that stuff."

Now Bill thinks the twins and I have this other language going on. Turns out, the whole conversation "messed" with him!


Sunday, November 26, 2006

Thanksgiving Shopping

Well, I did it! This is the first year that I decided to bite the bullet and go Christmas shopping on the day after Thanksgiving! What an experience. I might do it again next year, depends on the sales.

This year my introduction was to Toys R Us. I don't know if that was a good choice or not. They had $60 MP3 players for $30 and a Robo Sapien for $30, both of which the boys wanted.

My step-son Sam went with me. He'd set his alarm for 4, but it went off at 3, so he was awake/asleep for an hour. I got up at 4:11, got dressed, went in and woke him up. He was already dressed.

We pulled into the parking lot at 5:18 and never in my life would I have believed how difficult it was to get a parking spot at that time in the morning. Finally, we found one, I parked and we went into the store. Bedlam! First off I found a clerk and told her I needed only three items, where were they? She directed me to the other side of the store. In Toys R Us merchandise is set up so that you can't cut across the front of the store to the electronics department. No, you have to go around to the middle of the store and then across, and in this case, crossing through all the checkout lines. We finally make it to the right area, fighting our way, elbow to elbow. When I ask the clerk over there where my items are, he tells me they're over on the other side of the store where I just came from! Luckily, I argued, telling him that the clerk over there sent me to him. He double checks, and sure enough there is a Robo Sapien right there under his nose. I take it and go on to get the MP3 players. Apparently they're sold out of the advertised ones already, but have substituted another one, supposedly better.

Now we have to pay for them. But we have to go to the back of the line. So we follow the check out line throughout the store, believe it or not, all the way to the back and then to the front at the end of the line. We stand in line for almost an hour. The people in front of us are getting cell phone calls from their friends wanting to know where they are because they've already checked out. Apparently they got to one of the registers before it was roped off.

We finally get to the front and pay for our items and head over to Staples where they have flash card drives for $14.95 and USB sticks for $8 (definitely good buys). We quickly find that these items are being handed out, one to a customer. And I get one of the last ones left of each. We're in line there for probably another 30-40 minutes. They sell out while we're there.

Sam is hungry so we walk over to Wendy's which is closed, and the next place is McDonalds. I think I even don't like McDonalds for breakfast anymore.

I've got something in mind to buy David, my older son, something and so we head over to Penney's Home Store, but there's no parking. I drive around the lot and end up parking close to TJ Max and remember that they might have that jelly that comes in pretty glasses that can be reused. I've got only three and I want more. As it turns out they do have the jelly now (they didn't my last three visits). Sam and I look around in there for a while and then check out. Then over to Penneys. I don't find what I'm looking for there, but Sam finds a blanket he likes and it's only $8 - I buy it.

Then on to the Mall. I understand it's been recently remodeled and I want to see what it looks like. I go to the shop and find David's present and then to the candle store to get some candles for myself. And of course, I can't leave until we visit Auntie Anne's for their cinnamon-sugar pretzels and lemonade.

By this time I figured that I'm getting tired and it's noon. It's time to head home, but on the way, we stop by Lowe's where they have the 8-drawer tool chest for $88 - another good buy. The first sales associate sends me over to his left and down some aisles - no chests. I ask further back in the store and they send my from Aisle 00 to Aisle 16 all the way to the front of the store. Believe it or not, the associate there takes me back to the door where I walked in and there are the chests right there in front of the entrance door. It would be really funny, but by then my feet are really hurting! Oh, well, what do they expect for probably $5 an hour employees.

I thought I'd include a nice little shot of Sam while we were at TJ Max's that I took with my phone. I love the picture.





Friday, April 27, 2007

Shrimp Scampi

Last night I fixed Shrimp Scampi for supper. 11-year-old Sam hates seafood and wouldn't touch a bite of it.

Today the boys came home from school and immediately wanted to know what we were having for supper tonight. I told them that we were going to have "Food! Isn't it wonderful? We don't have to starve!" I was a little humorously sarcastic I thought.

After watching American Idol Gives Back, William, Sam's twin brother, tried to remind Sam that a lot of those children in Africa would have loved that Shrimp Scampi. And Sam said, "Well, send it to Africa then. Send a letter with it and tell them to dig in!"

Thursday, June 21, 2007

he somehow got "saved"

12-year-old William and Samuel's big brother Lyle came by on the "spur of the moment" last night and asked if they could go to church with him and his girlfriend. He stated that it was a "revival." So Bill and I said "sure." He said they'd be home around 8 or 8:30 which was okay as they'd still have time for showers and bed.

Around 8:30 they came back in and William who is the talker and story teller, came in all excited:

"I don't know how it happened, but somehow we got 'saved' tonight."

We asked what happened and he was only too glad to tell us.

"Well, a couple of little old ladies came up to us and asked us if we were 'saved.' We said no and they just started bawling and crying. So we had to walk down front in front of EVERYBODY! We had to get down on our knees and everyone started praying around us. They were really loud and everybody was crying and hollering."

I said, "I thought you got saved three years ago at Vacation Bible School." But Bill asked them how they felt about that and they both said it was okay. William said he didn't really feel much different, but Samuel said he got a "warm" feeling inside.

Bill said, "Well, that's really nice. Now maybe you guys won't fight with each other so much."

You should have seen the shocked look on William's face as he cried, "What!!!!????"


Monday, July 09, 2007

Eureka Springs trip

We're back from our trip to Eureka Springs. We spent a night at the haunted Crescent Hotel again. This time we took the boys. They were excited to get to witness (maybe) ghostly activity. We took hundreds of pictures while we were there (a benefit of digital cameras and 1 gig cards).

We got there about 3 p.m. and checked in. We were on the second floor again, this time Room 205. The ghost tour would have cost $70 for all of us, so we decided to forgo the tour and do our own tour (plus we figured we could buy the book and save a bunch of money). And having stayed there before and visiting several times, we kinda knew most of the stories.

The first time we stayed, I woke up in the middle of the night hearing a child cry. When I mentioned it to the staff, they told me there were no children staying there that weekend; and after making fun of ghosts in the dining room, the French doors that were locked open, shut banging on Bill as we were leaving the restaurant. So we had interesting experiences the first time.

Then in November 2005 we were there for a visit and while I was purchasing a book in the gift shop, Bill took this photo of me. He swears that it has not been photoshopped. Notice the eye underneath my hand, and the orange glow just above my hands. The tall black thing on the counter is a lens for my camera.



After visiting the hotel lounge, around 10 p.m. we took our cameras and went ghost hunting. It's hard to tell if we get any good pictures until we get home and get them up on our computer. Bill looked at his first and found these green dots in several images (this one is of me and the boys walking down the hall); they are near the bottom of the picture on the left-hand side of the hallway. (All the "anomolies" were only in this one hallway.) He uses a Canon 10D.



So, as you can imagine, he was pretty excited to get these anomolies. Then he set about to take pictures that were "set up" - the boys walking during a long exposure to get a ghostly effect.

After we looked at his pictures, we looked at mine. I didn't see anything in my pictures until I came to the same hallway. This is what I captured:



The very same anomolies captured with two different cameras - mine is a Canon 20D. And I can swear that these are not photoshopped in any way whatsoever other than reducing image size.

I got the same anomolies in a picture of the front of the hotel later on that night, they are under the two middle windows on the bottom:



Maybe somebody can explain it.

Oh, then in the middle of the night Bill did encounter a "ghost." He got up to go to the bathroom and since there was streetlight coming into the bathroom he didn't turn on the light. As he was leaving the bathroom, he was shocked to see an image standing in front of him; so much so that he "cried" out! Then he couldn't figure out how to get out of the room. Turns out it was a full-length mirror on the door. It's funny how even though we like to say we don't believe in stuff, when we're in a situation where we "might" encounter something, our emotional being takes over our intellect.

The next day we took the boys on the different trolleys that run through the town and ate at a local restaurant. I would advise that you read your receipts really good. The menu said that a gratuity would be added for parties of five people or more; There were only four of us. Our bill was $74. We didn't feel the service was all that great so we only left an $8 tip. When I got home and was adding the receipt to my checkbook, I found that they'd already charged a $10.75 tip, so in reality we paid over $18 tip for service we really didn't care for - plus the food wasn't all that good either.

We visited the Passion Play site where William laughed at himself falling on his Heelys and hurting himself while he was looking at the "big Jesus."

We went to Thorncrown Chapel which is an awesome place - a chapel built in the woods. All the construction is of steel and glass. There are 425 windows and over 6,000 square feet of glass in the chapel. I would love to go to a service there. We first saw it when we were on our honeymoon, but it was closed. This is the first time in all our trips that the chapel was open and it was definitely worth the wait!





Then to top our trip off, as we were checking out, the staff offered us a kitten that was born there at the hotel. As much as I wanted a Crescent Hotel kitten, we said no. We left and the boys kept pestering their Dad until he finally relented and we turned around, went back and got "Casper" the kitten. We're not sure whether Casper is a boy or a girl, but he/she has two brothers now, Sparky - the dog, and Speedy the cat.



All in all, it was a wonderful trip that did not last anywhere long enough.


Monday, August 27, 2007

camera

Okay, I just read through my blogs and the last one (which is really the first one) said something about mailing my camera in.

Explanation:

When Bill bought my 20D for me, he also purchased a warranty agreement which supposedly covered camera cleaning. It’d been a year and I figured the camera needed cleaning, besides it had these funny spots on my pictures. Now I’d never owned a digital camera before and I didn’t know about "dust spots" on the sensor, so I sent the camera in for a cleaning.

Being that it was a fairly expensive camera, I also purchased insurance for the box as it was being mailed. So, I enclosed the $10 repair plus insurance which was about $20-$30 (really expensive, I thought). I get to the post office and mail everything off feeling very proud of myself that I had packaged it so well.

I get home and do some stuff around the house and decide to go check my e-mail at the computer in the kitchen. The desk is a little cluttered what with the mailing supplies, etc., so I’m cleaning my desk off, putting stuff away. I put the tape in the tape drawer, the pens and pencils away. Move the pictures to where they’re not taking up a lot of space, place the phone back on the phone stand and put the coffee cup in the dishwasher. Move the camera to the camera bag and put it away.

I’m reading my e-mail and all of a sudden it hits me! Move the camera to the camera bag???!!!!???

What DID I mail in that big stuffed box? Well, the check, the copies of the warranty info, the papers I printed from the internet site that gave me my claim number! But no camera!

I had to make another trip to the post office and mail the camera in again, purchasing insurance again!

Don’t you just love it!

Renewing my driver's license

In Missouri we renew our driver's license shortly before or on our birthdays. The new law requires that one has to show their birth certificate before the license can be renewed.

I'd planned to renew right on my birthday in my hometown, but my husband decided to take me out to a nearby city that day. In the middle of our outing, I realized that this was the last day to renew my license, so we decided to go to the license bureau. Right as I stepped into the office I realized that I needed my birth certificate. Rather than drive 30 miles home to retrieve my birth certificate, I decided to just go to the Health Department to get another one.

My trip to the Health Department actually was humorous when I realized that the only ID I needed to get my birth certificate was my driver's license.

So get this - the License Bureau would not accept my current driver's license - I needed my birth certificate. The only ID I needed to get my birth certificate was my current driver's license! Go figure!

My New Experience

I asked him, "How many of these have you done?"

He said, "Thousands, we do at least three or four a day."

It started out Tuesday night with a tiny episode of diarrhea and then I went to bed.

I went to work on Wednesday morning and felt kinda blah! Remembering the episode from last night, I came home thinking I might need to be near a bathroom at my convenience. I didn't eat much that day - just a few jelly bellies (flavored jelly beans) - maybe around 30 or 40 of them. And I started "cramping" something awful. I figured all the sugar in the jelly bellies created a lot of gas in my intestines. So I was feeling really, really guilty thinking I'd done this to myself. I ate two or three chicken biscuit crackers hoping that would calm my stomach. It didn't. I ate Tums, I took some Phasyme - that didn't work either.

By 9:00 pm I called my doctor who called in a prescription for Dicyclomine - a medicine that allows your intestinal walls to relax, so if you do have a lot of gas it isn't quite as painful. He gave it to me for a promise that if I wasn't better by the next day, I'd come in. Thursday morning I was no better and the pain had kinda localized around my appendix area. I called the clinic to see what time they opened. My mother-in-law came over to help drive me into Springfield to see the doctor. The clinic opened at 8:15 and at 8:20 I was two miles away on the phone with them. They set my appointment for 9:00.

I finally got in to see the doctor who sent me for bloodwork and an x-ray. Bloodwork showed a high white count that meant a bacterial infection somewhere in my body and the x-ray seemed fine - no obstructions. At one point he asked me to stand on my tiptoes and drop to the floor with my heels. I looked at him like he was crazy because I knew that would hurt. But that was what he wanted. And of course it did hurt - right where my appendix should be. He then sent me over for a CT scan that would pinpoint where in my intestines the infection was.

We get to the clinic and ofcourse there are no close parking places so I have to walk it seems like a half a mile or so but actually it wasn't.

In the lab, all the people are drinking a white milky stuff and I'm thanking God that I don't have to drink that stuff. They all looked pretty healthy and I'm sitting there in all this pain. Finally, I go back up to the desk and ask if there's someplace I can lay down. That's when I find out I have to drink some stuff too, but mine is mixed in grape and cranberry juice. Unfortunately, the juice doesn't seem to help the taste. There's still a terrible aftertaste. I drink about 40 ounces and then they let me lay down. 45 minutes later, they come back with about another 10-15 ounces to drink. The first gets into my intestines and the last coats my stomach.

The CT scan is next. They hook me up to an IV with iodine running in my veins. Thank God they'd warned me that I'd feel heat. Never having had a CT scan before, they assure me that I don't go all the way into the machine. But they do have some water they have to put in me that I have to hold. Now that's a big worry for me wondering if I can hold it for the next six or seven minutes. But I find that it's amazing what the body can do when it has to. Next is the welcome bathroom break.

After about a half hour they come back and assure me that, yes, it's my appendix and I need to go straight to the hospital and it will be taken out that day. So my mother-in-law drives me over and I walk into Admissions. It seems like no one is in any hurry and I sit and wait and wait. By now it's around 2:30 - 3:00 p.m. But they bring in a wheelchair and take me to my room. People keep coming in and asking me the same questions over and over. You'd think that Admitting would forward those questions on with me, but maybe they're double checking. I wait and wait some more. My head starts to hurt and they suggest that I might be dehydrated, so they decide to hydrate me and that should take care of the headache. And I wait and wait some more. Meanwhile I can't eat or drink anything and though I don't want much, I still haven't had anything in over 24 hours. I can't even have ice chips.

Pretty soon, it's 9 p.m. and I suspect that they'll come up to ge me right in the middle of LOST. And for some reason, I'm right. Nothing on TV all day or all night and now LOST is on and that's when they decide they got time to fix me. But I'm in so much pain, it really doesn't matter that much anymore.

They wheel me down in my bed to the OR and I can feel every bump. Bill tells me I was talking so sweet and gently but I was complaining all the way down, he thought it was funny.

Down in OR, they ask me all the same questions that I've answered it seems like a hundred times already. I meet the doctor and that's when I ask him how many appendectomies he's done. Apparently they do 10-20 a week - I would have never thought. The anesthetist or anesetheologist whichever, comes and introduces himself. He's the one I fear the most. I have a dreadful fear of being put completely out. Back in the 60s I dated a nurse anesthetist and he told me all about anethesia and how dangerous it is. Up until now I have been able to avoid being put completely out. Even with my carpal tunnel surgery, I was only given a local. He advised me that he took his job very seriously and that things had come a long ways since the 60s. I resign myself to what will be will be.

They tell me that they're going to give me something to relax me before they put me out - something that's a cousin to valium. I don't know what it was. All I remember is that they started the IV, opened the OR doors and wheeled me in. I saw the lights and the room and the next thing I knew was someone was standing over me telling me it was over. I lost an hour to an hour and a half there. I never even felt the "high."

I tried to talk, but my mouth and throat was so dry. After a while I got to go back to my room to rest. I think I woke up at 11:30, but Bill says I got to the room at 1:30, so I don't remember a lot of what happened in Recovery other than them telling me it was over. I did ask if my legs were tied down because I couldn't move them. Believe it or not at 3 a.m. they brought me a liquid plate to drink - broth, fruit juice, tea and jello. And then they had me up on a potty chair about 3:15-3:30. They came in about every 15-30 minutes to take my vitals and at 8:00 they brought another liquid tray. Everything was delicious, but I couldn't eat or drink much. Around 10 they brought up some toast and scrambled eggs. I got to shower around 10:30. Then around 1:30 they brought a ham sandwich, grapes and cheesecake with tea.

And around 2:30 I got to go home. Less than 24 hours there. Everyone was so very nice to me. I would recommend St. John's to anyone.

But I do have to say, that at my age, the last place I would expect to be would be in a hospital having my appendix taken out. How do I feel now? Even though I only have three tiny incisions - they did a laparoscopy - it feels like someone drove around on my insides.

How many Noella's

Today, the New York Times had an article about people who google themselves and then come across people with the same name. Many times these people find a connection with their other selves.

I have done this in the past, having come across many other Noellas. At first I thought I was the only one, but I found one in California - a photographer. There is a preacher in Florida, a lady in Rhode Island - we corresponded quite often. I think she finally found herself a man as I lost contact with her.

After getting my own MySpace page, I found many other Noellas - a singer, a model, a DJ. At one time my page had 24 Noellas on it.

12-28-07
Just an update on things going on in my side of the world.

My dad went to ER the Friday night before Christmas, so Bill and I went to Springfield to be with him at the hospital. He arrived with severe chest pains (though the ER doctor said he did not have a heart attack). His heart rate was all over the chart though, going from 40 to 140 in just a minute or two and continued this way for over an hour. It was very, very irregular. They gave him medication to get it back into a normal rhythm. He was admitted to the hospital that night and then the next day, developed what they called a mild pneumonia. They then put him on antibiotics. Because of all he went through and the fact that he eats barely enough to keep a bird alive, he became extremely weakened.

Mom called me Christmas Eve saying that Dad was going to be released, but to a nursing home. He is 96 and Mom is 87, it would be impossible for her to try to care for him at this point. We had about two to three hours to find a nursing home. Luckily, one of the best nursing homes in Springfield (Maranatha Village) had a bed open. I spent all day Christmas Eve at the hospital waiting for Dad to be released, then I drove him to the nursing home where I spent another couple of hours checking him in. I know that I need not worry about the kind of care that he'll receive there. I've only heard good things about Maranatha.

It is very strange, though, to watch someone who was so strong in my life, someone I fought with so many days when I was younger, someone who seemed to be such a "rock" in my life be a victim of the ravages of old age. I can remember when I was little, sitting on his lap, or wrapping my arms around his leg as he walked along; then as I grew older, the fights, the advice he gave, the times when he would be the go-between between my Mom and I. And now, he seems to be only a shell of his former self. Though he is in for rehab, I wonder if he will really get to go home, he is so weak. We have repeatedly encouraged him to eat so he can get strong enough to go home, but he keeps saying he isn't hungry. All he wants to do is sleep - he says he is so tired. I've been told that is a part of dying. Only time will tell.

I am going in to Springfield today to take Mom over there so that she can sign some more papers and answer more questions.

1-7-08
As I watch my 96-year-old Dad slowly deteriorate, I am surprised at all the emotions that I'm experiencing.

First, you need to understand that my Dad is first-generation German-Russian. His parents came over from the old country. His parents were part of what Wikipedia says: A substantial number of German-Russians from the Volga ethnic enclave, Russian-Poland Vistula German villages, and also from the German-Russian Black Sea Colonies, emigrated to the United States and Canada during the great wave of immigration from approximately 1880 to 1910. Many of these immigrants settled in the American Midwest states of Wisconsin, North & South Dakota, Nebraska, Kansas and Minnesota and the Canadian western territories and provinces such as Alberta. The lure of cheap farmland, freedom, and avoidance of military conscription enticed many to migrate. Most were very successful, and contributed significantly to North America's agricultural production and ethnic heritage. This large migration ended largely with the outbreak of World War I, and subsequent rise of the Bolsheviks, and the Communist state.

He has always been a loner, so to speak. He usually worked away from home and came home on weekends. At times I enjoyed having him there, but most of the time, I just kind of dreaded when he would be home. He was a good provider - we always had what we needed, but he was very authoratative and his word was "law." There are a few fights that I'll remember always. The first was when I was six years old - I hated milk. The only way Mom could get me to drink milk was either in my cereal or in a glass with chocolate in it. I actually tried, on my own, at school to drink milk a couple of times, but it never worked - I just couldn't do it. My Dad thought that I needed to drink milk white. I would leave the table in tears and endure a spanking because I wouldn't drink white milk. To this day (age 63) I still can't stand white milk, even in cereal. I don't like ice milk or shakes either. I can eat white gravy, cottage cheese and malts and ice cream and even whipped cream with sugar in it, so even I don't understand my distaste for white milk. He finally gave up and I drank water or Koolaid at meals. Another problem we had was that we attended a very, very strict pentecostal church where "everything" was a sin. To this day, though there are probably well-meaning people associated with that denomination, I would never knowingly ever go to one. My Dad felt that he needed to enforce all their rules. He has since rethought many of those rules and saw how ignorant and stupid they were.

Actually, his main regret is his relationship with us. That tells me that he really loved us very, very much. Being of German descent, it made it very difficult to tell us. I was in my 50s before he told me that the first time he saw me, he thought I was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. I was a war baby and was a year or year and a half old before he met me. Part of his problem with me was that because I was born while he was overseas, when he came home, he did not have Mom to himself. He had to share her with me and I demanded a lot of attention and time. He resented that.

I also just found out - actually only a couple of weeks ago - that he left home and was out on his own at age 13. And even before that, he had to work at home in the family business. So he never had a childhood. That was probably why he liked to go golfing, fishing or play pool almost every day of his retirement days. He was very excited when he turned 90 because golf was free.

My Dad was a strong man. He worked on all his cars using whatever was at hand. There was one car that used toilet paper rolls as an oil filter, once he used a Kotex pad or two. He used soda water to clean road grease from windshields when it was raining. Many times we'd stop at a service station where he'd look through the empty soda bottles for one that still had a little Coke or Pepsi in it. I guess it worked, because he did it a lot. He changed his own tires and he would tighten the bolts so tight that even the mechanic's garage machine had a hard time removing the bolts.

As he grew older, he mellowed and was easier to get along with. My mom has told me that he has a lot of regrets and it is very difficult for him to forgive himself, he has told me that himself. Even though each of his children has told him that it's okay and we forgive him and love him, it is difficult for him to accept. Again, though, even in his own spiritual experiences, it has been hard for him to accept God's forgivess for his past "transgressions." I can't imagine that they were all that bad, considering the everyday living of today's generations. As far as I know, he was never involved in drugs, crime or any of the things that many people go to prison for. He stopped drinking and smoking when he got "saved" back in the 50s, so I can't imagine anything that would be so bad that he can't forgive himself.

My Dad, to his credit, was a stand-up guy. He never once backed down from his beliefs, be they right or wrong. That is something I always admired about him, even though at times I didn't like it. He worked at a job he hated all his life. He was never much for unions and he faced many, many days fearing that a strike was imminent. Welfare was unheard of for him. And this was during a time when re-education for a new job was still far into the future. He was a clerk-telegrapher for a railroad company and listened to dots and dashes all day. Many of his coworkers would get irritated at him because he refused to alter time reports of when a train passed through his area late.

Since he worked for the railroad, we rode the train a lot. I remember many, many trips from Poplar Bluff to St. Louis with my Dad; and later after I left home and got to ride back and forth from St. Louis to home on his pass. The most exciting part was when he'd take me to the area where the cars connected together. There was a place between the cars where you could stand and look out with the wind blowing through your hair. It was the most exciting part of the ride. And all the more exciting because it was forbidden to passengers.

So there were good times with my Dad. I remember sitting on his lap, hugging his neck and breathing the smell of the railroad cars (they always smelled of cigars and tobacco back then). He would take us fishing and swimming occasionally, but if boys showed up at the spot, he never took us back. We went to church every Sunday morning, Sunday and Wednesday nights, and we always stopped at the local Dairy Queen for a frosted Root Beer or Root Beer float, or just an ice cream cone. There is nothing better than Root Beer in a frosted mug - you just don't get those anymore. He tried to teach me to box several times. He loved boxing and boxed in the Golden Gloves in his younger years. But during one of our "matches" I accidently hit him in the kidneys and pretty much laid him low for a couple of hours. We didn't box again after that.

This past Christmas Eve we had to put him into a nursing home (the hospital could not release him to my 87-year-old mother - there is no way she could take care of him). And I had to drive him there from the hospital. He was supposed to go in for two weeks of rehab to get well enough to go home, but it's been a steady decline since he's been there. The nursing home is one of the very nicest there is in our town. It is open for visitation 24-7. And I've been there at all hours. They call with any change in his condition.

For so many years, I had such a hard time with my Dad, and now that it's so close to his time of passing over, I find myself creating new and better memories. I am surprised at how much love I feel for him.

It is difficult to watch him decline. There are days when I visit and he looks like he's at death's door, then the next day he'll request to sit up in a wheel chair to eat. They have stopped taking him to the dining room because it seems like such an imposition on him. I talked with the doctor Friday and he was going to try a few more "gentle" things to help him in his alertness, but probably today, they will move him from a Medicare bed to a Hospice bed.

From the nurses, I understand that people from his generation are a "hardy" bunch and he may linger like this for a little while.

While I know that many others have gone through this same situation, this is new for me and I find myself to be stronger that I thought. I've been working on a memorial DVD for him, and while my husband says he could never do that, I find it to be a healing experience for me. It is a project of love and I feel very, very blessed that I have this time with him and for him.

1-10-08
Just to let you all know, Dad passed away about 24 hours ago - January 9, about 1 a.m.

He passed very peacefully in his sleep. He was not alone, the nurses and aides were taking his vitals when they noticed that he was not breathing and they then lost his pulse.

Fortunately, I was able to spend most of the day with him that day - from about 9:30 a.m. to about 8:00 p.m. with a couple of hours out to visit with Mom. I was able to talk to him and tell him how much I appreciated things that he taught me and how much I loved him. I told him it was okay to go. My brother and sister were already on their way down, and my sister and mom felt that that from their places, they could also communicate with him that it was okay to go.

It was an extreme blessing and honor to be with him on his last day, something I will always cherish.

The viewing will be this Friday at 11:00 a.m. at Gorman Scharpf Funeral Home, 1947 E Seminole, Springfield, MO 65804, and then a grave-site service at the new Veterans cemetery out on south 65.

Just messin' around

Wow, didn't realize it'd been so long since I've been on here. Summer is going great - have left house open most of the day and turn on the air in the afternoon. I love summertime - fresh air, hang laundry outside, put Sparky outside most of the day, etc. The twins are in summer school, though today is their last day. Last Friday we went into Springfield so they could mow Mom's lawn. Afterwards, I took them with their friend to Jordan Valley Park where they played at the water pavillion (see photo). We were supposed to have lunch with David, but he was sick, so we postponed that for another time, maybe tomorrow?

I've been working on wedding photos all week so I can get the DVD made. Haven't really had much time to do special work with the pics, so they'll have to make do with what they get. That's the way freebies go. But I do enjoy making the DVD.

By the way, here's the Jordan Valley pic:

A Photo a Day

Today's photo is a "Blast from the Past"

Back in the 50s Blue Waltz perfume was found in every five and dime or "dimestore" as we called it - usually Woolworths. It cost about 50 cents a bottle, so every little girl had one setting on her dresser.

As it happens, there is a "dimestore" in downtown Branson, Missouri, that carries many items from the past, and this is where I found this bottle. It cost a bit more than 50 cents though.

A Photo a Day

Again, have not posted for a couple of days.
This photo is for November 15, 2006

This is my MySpace page!

A Photo a Day

Haven't uploaded pictures for a couple of days.
This is for November 14, 2006

We tried a Gra-pple today. I would say, don't waste your money. At $1.25 each, they still can't beat Pink Ladies.

A Photo a Day

How fun! Is this the inside of a corner or the outside?

A Photo a Day

Barb on a wire fence.

Today we visited Gary and Cheryl Stone who had friends over from their days at "the farm." It had been 20-something years since some of them had seen each other. Of course, Bill and I got pictures of everyone but it didn't seem just right to post one of those pics. At one point during the day, I went outside to get my photo of the day. That's when I came across the fence. I have a tendency to focus on the "big picture" rather than details. This is an attempt to find art amongst the larger and more mundane things in life.

A Photo a Day

William's basketball game today - the game is so fast. I particularly liked this shot of him running - lots of energy!