CH Musings

Sept. 11, 2001; 25 years later

2026-09-11T21:28:14.375-05:00

I have been watching 911 videos for the past week. Some are new; some I have seen before.

As much as we like to say we will never forget, that is not completely true. It wasn't until I started watching the moments of that day unfold that I realized I had either forgotten or just put out of my mind how I felt. Of course I remember the event, but the years have diminished the degree of fear and uncertainty that I had felt. The coverage - stories of survivors and families of survivors, photos, and news coverage brought it all back.

As I watched the videos, the events of that day became vivid one again. All those desperate feelings and anxiety came flooding back. The experience was so disturbing at times that I had to turn it off, only to go back later to watch. It was almost as if I was obligated, as if I owed it to all the people, to really never forget.

Twenty-five years ago, a normal Tuesday morning turned into the longest day. My husband John and I were both getting ready to go to work. He worked for the Post Office. I worked at our local newspaper. We had the television on to catch the morning news and weather when suddenly the news broke; a plane had hit the World Trade Center in New York. We watched with intensity as it all unfolded. As the first plane hit the north tower, we were riveted to the TV screen. At first this was thought to be an accident, where a small plane could have gotten lost and crashed. That just didn't seem right. A gaping hole in the building was massive. Flames filled the entire building. The damage was much larger than what a small plan would have made. It was jarring to learn that it was a jet liner filled with passengers. Then as we watched, we saw live on air when the second plane hit the south tower. Clearly, this was deliberate.

Despite the anxiety we felt, we both had to leave for work. Halfway into my eight-mile-drive to work, the radio announced that a third plane hit the Pentagon. Suddenly tears streamed down my face. I could hardly drive. It was a completely involuntary response to the news that this was bad! I was overcome with emotion. What was happening! Was our country attacked? Who did this? What do we do now?

When I got to work, I joined one of the paper's owners who sat in front of a television set in a break room. We were glued to the screen despite having to put out the weekly paper that day. We watched the horror unfold...another plane filled with passengers crashed in Pennsylvania enroute to Washington, D.C. Then there was pandemonium as the towers fell, burying so many, including first responders.

This week I remembered all of it. As I watched, I remembered the unthinkable number of people that died that day along with the heroes that tried in vain to save them. And what about the passengers on the planes? They had to know they were going to die. That is unimaginable.

At the end of that day, the coverage continued. The tears flowed easily with each story that was told.

During the next week, I learned that a friend was in Washington, D.C. that day on a business trip. I started taking notes as we talked. He was near the Pentagon just after it was hit. He described the scene as complete chaos. He couldn't fly home because all the planes were grounded so he and another man who lived nearby rented a car and drove all the way home, some 13 hours. I wrote his story for publication the following week.

Another man, one I didn't know, but who lived in the same town, contacted me afterward. He saw the coverage on television and was compelled to drive to New York because he wanted to help. He called me to talk about what he had witnessed. He worked on the pile trying to help look for survivors. I wrote his story as well.

I was not a fan of President George W. Bush, but this was certainly his finest hour.

Today I am so grateful that we had a government that was able to lead the country in a supportive, cohesive, way. President Bush was a caring man and that showed through when it was needed most, as he helped bring the country together.

I will never forget the incredible sense of patriotism that Americans shared with one another during that time. It was almost as if we clung to each other as we shared our fear and resolve.

That does not exist today.

Though I didn't agree with the policies of our government then, I never felt betrayed by them. We were a cohesive country because the horror we experienced came from outside our country.

That is no longer true either. If September 11, 2001 happened today, I have no idea how we would ever deal with it. There is so much division and lack of leadership that I shudder to think how we would cope.

We need the same kind of resolve now that we had then because with a country at war, an economy that punishes the majority of people, mass shootings so often that the news no longer even covers them, as well as an untrustworthy and incompetent leader who promotes violence and cares only about himself, a change is desperately needed.

If 911 taught us anything, it taught us how to be strong and that we can come together as a country for the benefit of everyone. We need our allies around the world, many of whom came to our aid during and after that awful day. I sincerely hope we can begin to solve our problems and end our differences. We have one chance - with the upcoming election. We have an opportunity to elect good, strong, ethical, honest and competent leadership again. We are all Americans and we can and must demand better.

Smalls cat food has gone above and beyond

2026-03-17T14:53:25.244-05:00

Good companies that deserve to be recognized should be. I am happy to comply.

This is the case with Smalls, the human-grade cat food I first ordered last summer.

Their customer service is unmatched in today's fast-paced world, but until last week, I had no idea how unmatched it was.

I began ordering Smalls when my cat Kenni started showing signs of age. She gobbled her food like every meal was her last. Sally liked it too.

Just to keep score, when I ordered my first sample pack in June, I had only two cats, Sally and Kenni.

Sadly, Kenni died in December. I decided to keep ordering from Smalls because I believe in feeding good food to Sally. When I sent my order, I also sent an email to announce Kenni's passing, and to customize my order for Sally's favorite flavors.

Last Friday, I was alerted to a UPS delivery. I wasn't sure what I ordered since I shop online often. I was so surprised when I went out to get my delivery. It was a plant, the above pictured Pepperomia plant in a pot with a kitty on it.

The card read, "Hi Carol, This is Alex from the Smalls team reaching out. I recently heard of Kenni's passing, and I am so sorry for your loss. All of us here at Smalls hope this gift in their memory provides some comfort and hope during this difficult time. With love, Team Smalls."

I cannot express how this gesture touched my heart.

Kenni was the last of my perfect cat family; Ryan, Kasey, Boo, Rusty, and their mom Timi who gave birth to my girls on April 11, 2007. Initially, I considered finding homes for all these cats, but I couldn't bring myself to part with them. Timi was a good mom and it was such a joy to have an entire cat family to fill my heart. I fell in love with them the moment they took their first breath. And I loved them all until they breathed their last.

While I miss them terribly, I am thrilled to have Sally, who came into my life a few years ago. She will be four years old next month and although she was a rambunctious kitten, she is growing into such a sweet girl.

Sally thinks she runs the household, and I am starting to believe it too. She loves feeding time. I am happy to comply, especially because I know I am giving her healthy food.

Thanks so much for all you do Smalls. I'm a fan!

Spring can be beautiful, but also destructive

2026-03-13T13:24:00.007-05:00

I have been watching the calendar since colorful leaves began to fall in September and all through the cold winter days.

Spring is my favorite time of year and is just about here. Traditionally, the weather teases with freezing temperatures one day and 80º the day after. The transition when winter winds down is a real mixed bag.

Officially just a week away, signs of spring are everywhere. Magnolia and fruit trees, pictured at right are looking their best. Daffodils and other spring bulbs show off their best colors.

But all isn't rosy with the coming of spring. In addition to the emergence of spring flowers and beautiful trees, the weather can turn on a dime. When it does, it can wreak havoc on everything around.

That was the case earlier this week when a cold front from the north met with warm moist air from the Gulf of Mexico. The result was a series of severe storms. Among them, the worst occurred east of Kankakee, Illinois to northwest Indiana. An EF-3 tornado devastated parts of Aroma Park and Lake Village, Indiana as well as parts in between and well beyond.

For me, this was personal. I watched the progression of the storm on TV from my Ozarks home. Storm chasers offered riveting video coverage from the formation of massive and multiple twisters to the swirling debris that was once somebody's home. As I watched, I was concerned about the severe storm forecast for my own locale. Thankfully that did not happen.

But I used to live and work in the Kankakee area. I was intimately familiar with the region. Family and friends were in the path of the storm. I am thankful that everyone I know weathered the storm untouched, but for so many, that was not the case.

It is heartbreaking to see the devastation left behind. It is almost unthinkable to imagine how anyone deals with this type of loss. Property was the main casualty, but lives were lost as well.

We have to do better.

We must take more responsibility as we plan for our future. Arguably, a warming climate has contributed to the severity of storms, as predicted many years ago. And yet, we have done little to thwart the worst effects of climate change. Whatever we have done has largely been undone since Donald Trump assumed the role of President. His wrong-headed policies have gutted environmental protections, cut necessary regulations, and have threatened to destroy public lands long ago set aside. The Trump administration doesn't care about people or the environment. Trump only cares about himself and making more money, evidenced in his mantra, "Drill Baby Drill." That term makes me cringe.

Isn't it time we all wake up and do a better job at managing that little blue dot in the vast blackness of the universe we call home. Our Earth with all her living plants and animals are all we have. And we have already destroyed so much.

Earth Day is a little more than a week away, just two days after the Vernal Equinox or first day of spring. Our lives largely revolve around the seasons. Perhaps we need to try to make them a little more friendly by regulating the pollutants we disperse into the air without a thought and using renewable energy. Perhaps we should make Earth Day 2026 a time of personal and collective responsibility. The consequences are as dire as what we saw Tuesday night in Illinois and Indiana and all the other places that have and will continue to be ravaged by storms.

Lookie here; its a pineapple

2025-05-22T11:27:00.004-05:00

For years I have complained about my gardening difficulties. No more!

No, I didn't grow an award-winning tomato or the largest pumpkin on the planet. Besides, it is too early for that, since it is just past planting time as I am writing this in mid-May. But, I did have what I consider a monumental gardening success recently - a baby pineapple.

About four or five years ago I bought a pineapple, which was delicious, by the way. Just for snicks and giggles, I decided to plant the base. I have done this with all kinds of fruits and vegetables, with little, if any success.

Every summer since then, I put the plant outside on the deck. Every winter I brought it back into the house. It wasn't a particularly pretty plant; it looked a bit like a Yucca with strong spike-shaped leaves, but it was growing and green and looked relatively healthy.

In mid-March, when I was watering my plants, I noticed something in the center of my pineapple plant. I didn't recognize it right away as a baby pineapple, because I never imagined I would ever be able to grow a pineapple, especially on my sun porch. But, there it was.

I have enjoyed watching it grow. It is almost visibly bigger every time I look at it. I will have to do some reading, to figure out when it should be harvested. I don't want to mess it up by picking it too soon or waiting too long. And I have the feeling, this will be a really sweet treat.

Gardening has long been a struggle for me

2024-07-25T15:06:00.006-05:00

For the past 20 years of living in Arkansas, I have dreamed of a bountiful harvest. Every year, I begin with more optimism than anyone could ever hope to muster. In fact, from the time the leaves start to fall from the trees, I am stricken with Spring Fever, anxiously awaiting the coming of spring, my very favorite time of the year.

From reading a lifetime of gardening magazines, watching You Tube videos and television programs, trying plants and cuttings from friends, and having pretty good success with house plants, I have really tried to grow pretty flowers and tasty vegetables, but with little success.

I have planted beautiful gardens only to have them produce few flowers and even less vegetables. I’ve planted spring bulbs, perennials that never show up after the first year, and annual flower seeds that never get more than a few pair of true leaves. Something always happens along the way. Animals are a big problem. The deer, which I love to watch, like to eat nearly everything I plant. They are brazen, like the deer I saw on my front porch munching on a pot of petunias. Raccoons, squirrels, and armadillos, not to mention the three stray cats that have adopted me, dig up tulip bulbs, hyacinths, lilies, etc.

I’ve tried composting all my kitchen scraps. I never understood why they seemed to break down so quickly until one day I looked out the window and saw a family of foxes munching on a cantaloupe rind. I still compost sometimes, but realize I will never be making dirt. Admittedly, I think I’d rather give in to buying compost and still feed the foxes. I love watching them.

I’ve learned that soil is a problem, so additives are always necessary. The many trees have taken most of the nutrients out of the soil. And, of course, there are too many rocks. Trees block out sunshine that just the year before was not a problem. Too little rain…On and on, there is always something. I’ve tried to remedy each problem as it came up.

This year, as always, I will anticipate that first mouth-watering tomato from my own backyard.

As previously mentioned in another post, I took a trip at the end of March to celebrate my mother’s 95^th birthday. I had a wonderful time, but was anxious to get back to planning my garden. Then I got sick, some sort of a stomach bug. It seemed to last longer than it should. I just wasn’t bouncing back as quickly as I’d wanted to. But once the antibiotics were out of my system and I finally did get a little energy, my enthusiasm came roaring back.

I had lots of yard work to do, but I was ready. Outside chores had really suffered during my late husband’s illness. He died in the spring last year and I didn’t even give the garden a thought. But this year, I was bound and determined to get the property looking like there were actual people living here and not just animals playing in the tall grass and weeds. I hired a yard guy, who came once. It just didn’t work out.

So I got to it all myself. While trimming some bushes along the sidewalk, I had my first ever encounter with poison ivy. I knew what it was, and I took precautions. I disposed of my gardening gloves, washed my hands and arms with hot, soapy water, even though I was sure I hadn’t touched it. I put my arms inside a garbage bag as I pulled the plant and turned the bag inside out, careful not to get it anywhere near me.

Well, that didn’t work because my right upper arm was covered with red raised bumps and blisters that itched profusely. I used my favorite essential oils, but had to reapply often. I won’t lie; it was pretty miserable. Finally, after about a week I could stop tearing at my skin. Oh boy, that stuff is nasty. Needless to say I am not a fan of poison ivy. And I thought ticks and chiggers were bad – well they are bad – but this stuff!!!

Once healed, I thought I was in the clear to get outside and start working on the garden. I purchased some tomato and pepper plants, tending to them lovingly until time for planting. Finally, I added several bags of soil to the raised bed my husband made for me years ago and prepared a few pots.

I was pretty excited to get my plants in the ground. But the fates stepped in once again as I came down with a nasty respiratory infection. The last thing on my mind as I breathed with the help of an inhaler, was gardening. Gradually though, I started feeling better and was able to nurture my little garden space.

I finally feel good again. I am anxious to enjoy that first tomato of the season, pictured above.

My hot pepper plants are already producing beautifully and I have eaten a few Black Cherry Tomatoes.

I even had a few phlox that I planted last year put on a pretty show for the first time.

High hopes are in the offing. I got a late start but this might just be the best garden I have ever had, though it is early yet and time will tell.

Admittedly, I think I just got lucky. We had lots of rain at just the right time and temperatures have been great. It is now the end of July and there are lots of flowers on my tomato plants. Even the house plants I bring outside each year are doing well, which makes me pretty happy.

Because this is Arkansas and two crops are possible, I added a few cucumber seeds and squash seeds from last year.

I even planted an herb garden. Things are looking up around here and that makes me very happy.

My recent trip was magical

2024-04-01T15:30:00.003-05:00

Most people like to travel, often thrilled to get away from it all. I do not; I am a home body. My interests and therefore my life, revolves around things I like to do at home, like quilting, tending to my plants, watching birds, and caring for my cats. Nothing makes me happier than the little comfortable niche I have carved out for myself here in Arkansas where I find joy in the small, simple things. I just like looking out the window. It is beautiful here and the pace is slow.

But recently I decided it was time to go home again, to visit my mother who just turned 95, and to see my son and his family, to bond with my grandkids. Never mind the cost. Never mind the anxiety, fear of flying, reluctance for an old lady to travel alone, not to mention my completely non-existent spirit of adventure. It was time and I recognized that.

Despite years of hearing my loved ones clamoring for me to come home to visit, I was steadfast. I don’t travel. But, like a switch went off in my head, I decided it was time. I even started to get a little bit excited, so I booked a flight to O’Hare Airport. When I told my friends and family I was coming, they probably thought I was kidding and would back out at the last minute. I had no intention of doing that. I had made up my mind. It was just a matter of doing a little planning, making some lists, and getting organized—all things I try not to do—in my carefree, retired life.

The last time I was on vacation was in 1997 when my late husband John, who was getting ready to retire, decided we needed to take a trip to Arkansas to meet up with his friend Paul. Paul’s father lived in Jasper, AR. He rode his motorcycle here and he told us we had to see this place. He almost sounded like a vacation planner when he described the area around Bull Shoals Lake, a place I had never heard of at the time. But we felt it too because we kept coming back year after year until 2005 when we moved here.

I haven’t been on an airplane since 1974, when my mother and I visited my grandmother in San Antonio. Grandma was ill and we knew we would probably never see her again. We are both so glad we made that trip.

This was not just a visit with family and friends, but I am thankful it was that too. For me, this trip was so much more.

I decided I didn’t want to make a 9 hour drive. So, when I decided to fly, I didn’t hesitate. I wanted to land at O’Hare. Thankfully, my son Chris offered to pick me up.

In many ways, aviation has paralleled my life. As a child, I remember O’Hare, housing Air Force personnel before it was a commercial airfield. Chicago’s Midway Airport was then the busiest airport in the world. When I was a little older, my parents moved from Chicago to just a few miles from O’Hare, I watched O’Hare grow as we entered into the jet age. And then as an adult and young mother, I advocated for O’Hare expansion over building a third airport in the cornfields between Beecher and Peotone. John and I lived in Beecher for 28 years where we raised our family.

There was no doubt in my mind that I wanted to land and take off from O’Hare. After 20 years of fighting for it, I have and always will feel a fondness for the place. I was not disappointed. It was an absolute thrill – magical even.

To land at O’Hare and get picked up by one of the people I love most in the world – my son Chris –was a moment I will never forget.

I so enjoyed spending time with Chris, his wife, as well as my two grandkids. They are pretty grown up now and I am just so proud of the people they have become. It warmed my heart to see the love of this family, in their beautiful home and to get a glimpse of the life they live. It was indeed magical. I have missed so much, being so far away, but I believe regrets serve no purpose. These days, I live for the moment, and I will cherish these moments for the rest of my life.

I married into a wonderful family. John’s sisters and brothers-in-law, both named John, are like my own sisters and brothers. And at the same time, they are also friends. Betty and John used to live here in Arkansas, so when she and her husband moved back to Illinois, I thought I would never see them again. I was so touched that they traveled hours from their new home just to see me. Being with them felt like the most natural thing in the world.

I spent an entire day with Jean, John’s other sister. I got to see where she lives and works. It was wonderful to see places I’d only visualized during our phone conversations. Spending time with family during this trip was indeed magical.

It was good to visit my mother, who has never looked her age. She is in decent health and for the most part takes care of herself. Going back to your childhood home always seems smaller than we remember.

Her caregiver is one of my old friends, who for a time was my sister-in-law. I haven’t seen her in probably 40 years. She threw the birthday party for my mother which is the event that set my trip in motion. Just being with Patty again melted away countless years in my mind. I felt like a teenager again. Tell me that isn’t magical!

I was also able to see two of my first cousins and two of their daughters. It has been so many years since we were able to just sit down and talk. No wedding or funeral, just a good time getting together the way we used to when we were kids at family parties put together by Grandma and Grandpa, the glue that held families together back then. Who doesn’t miss those days? We talked about current goings on, but mostly reminisced about the good ole days. The feeling of being a kid again was pure magic.

And then there were two of my dear friends – those people with whom you share such a special bond – one that stands the test of time, people you rely on to help you get through the hard times, the people you tell your secrets to, and share your hopes and dreams with. I haven’t seen Sherri in 30 years, but once we stopped crying and hugging, it was like I saw her yesterday. There is no other way to describe it than pure magic.

One day my friend Michelle, my partner in our battle to fight the State of Illinois’ plan to build a Peotone Airport, came to see me. We worked so well together for so many years. I call her my friend in the foxhole, since we shared such a tumultuous time together, each of us having the other’s back. When we got together, we talked, and laughed, and cried, and hugged as we reminisced about some of the things we did, the places we went, and people we knew. Our relationship was always like magic as we defeated, at least for the last 20 years, the effort to build that unneeded, unwanted airport in the beautiful cornfields near Peotone.

As I traversed those farm fields, I couldn’t help but think about the countless stories I had written for the newspaper, the people who are no longer with us, the busy life I led when I lived there, and how different things are these days. This place was as much a home to me as the place I now live. It was so familiar. And as I thought about it all, more memories came flooding back. I was a part of this community and I left it behind, with no regrets. I love my home in Arkansas, but I will always be connected to my home in Illinois.

And then for the final magical moment of my trip

As I was waiting to board the plane for my flight home, I thought I saw someone I recognized, a friend from Arkansas. I really don’t know lots of people in Arkansas, so what are the odds that I would be in Chicago with a friend from Arkansas. But sure enough, as I got to my seat, there was Heather, one of the first people I got to know here. I couldn’t believe it. We sat next to one another on the flight home. When we got off the plane, her husband John was waiting for her. More hugs ensued.

It really was a magical trip.

You Tube just makes me happy

2023-11-01T14:04:00.003-05:00

Howie

I have long been a television aficionado, and have written about my thoughts on the subject often over the years, in this very blog. There are too many posts to mention here, but for anyone who is interested, just type “television” into the search box at right to check them out.

My television viewing began at a very early age--coincidentally--both mine and that of the industry. I remember well, those black and white shows and movies as our family gathered in front of the round screen in the living room to experience what was then a brand new innovation.

I was only about three- or four-years old when my older brother Bobby and I used to visit our grandparents, just next door, to watch “Lassie,” every Sunday night at 6 o’clock. That was our time. My memories are vague about those days, but I’ve heard the stories my mother tells. She said Grandma made us snacks, often popcorn and apples, and sometimes cheese and crackers. Sometimes, there was a rare treat - iced tea and layer cake with coffee-flavored frosting.

The adults in my family always had a pot of coffee brewing. What a perfect way to use the last of what was in the pot. It was, so to speak, the icing on the cake. I don’t often bake these days, but if I make a cake, you can bet the liquid in the frosting is not milk or cream, but coffee. One taste of it, or come to think of it, the very thought of it, always brings me back to Grandma’s kitchen.

While so many details of those days in Grandma and Grandpa’s house are sketchy, I’ve seen “Lassie” many times in reruns over the years. I loved that show. There was always a lesson to be learned, family was the most important thing, and I was smitten with the way Jeff and later Timmy bonded with what I’ve always believed was the most beautiful dog I’d ever seen.

Lassie was portrayed as a hero, a friend, a loving companion, and the adult in me would have to add, well-behaved and smart.

That show has been so imprinted on me that several years ago I had the occasion to buy a Collie, one that looked just like Lassie. We named him Howie. That’s him, top right, and I swear he was the best dog I’ve ever known.

Today I’m a cat person, but if there was a sable-colored, rough-coat Collie that needed a home, the cats and I would make room without a second thought.

Watch on You Tube

“Lassie” and so many other vintage programs and videos that take me all the way back to the early days of my life can be seen on You Tube.

It is the latest addition to my TV addiction.

Watching You Tube videos is my go to these days when I can no longer handle all the bad news and ugly politics that fills the airwaves. I briefly touched on this subject in my most recent post, “Hey there, Hi there, Ho there,” as I related to filling the hours that used to be spent with favorite TV shows, still on hiatus due to the writers’ strike this summer.

In addition to reliving days gone by, I have used You Tube to study instructions on how to repair this or that. I’ve sought answers to the ever-growing questions that elude me like who was that actor or what was that movie.

I’ve watched videos about the neighborhoods where I’ve lived. Pleasant memories always fill my head and my heart as I ‘travel’ to another place and time. I’ve watched countless quilting videos and learned how to knit socks.

You Tube, now owned by Google was purchased for $1.65 billion in Oct. 2006. It is the second most visited website in the world, only after Google Search, according to Wikipedia. It was founded on Valentine’s Day 2005 in San Mateo CA by Jawed Karim, Chad Hurley, and Steve Chen.

I certainly appreciate their work because today, I use You Tube to seek my own happy place and it does not disappoint.

Hey there, Hi there, Ho there…

2023-10-27T18:29:00.007-05:00

One Friday afternoon, I was wondering what to for the weekend. My usual favorite TV shows weren’t on due to the writers’ strike this summer. I didn’t feel like a movie and had already exhausted my fill of reading and sewing, and household chores.

So I turned to You Tube. I often turn to You Tube to satisfy curiosity, learn more about some of my favorite things, and to enjoy a little nostalgia. Generally, my ‘feed’ shows a variety of different topics. One of which, on this particular night, was a video of the original Mickey Mouse Club, a childhood favorite when I was about three.

I watched the presentation, time-traveling in my mind to my earliest days of TV viewing. My interest was peaked, so I searched for my favorite Mouseketeer, Annette Funicello. I knew she was big, page after page depicted stories, videos, interviews, songs, and movies.

I began watching everything I could find about her. There was so much content, but I settled on a serial she starred in with Tim Considine that aired on the Mickey Mouse Club in the early 50’s. It was called “Annette” and although a little hokey by today’s standards, it was also charming, innocent, and sweet. I found it to be enchanting.

I was surprised that I had zero recollection about what we might call a ‘mini series’ today, although I know I watched it. I watched the Mickey Mouse Club every day. I remember lying on my stomach in front of the television set as my mother scolded, “Don’t get so close!”

When I was five years old, I adored Annette. In fact, the picture above is of a much younger version of myself with my favorite stuffed toy that I named after her. I loved that little tiger. Perhaps that was the beginning of my cat fancy too, who knows? I carried her everywhere. Now that I think about it, I have no recollection of what ever happened to her, but I have never seen another toy like her. Believe me, I have looked.

I was not surprised at all the information about Annette on You Tube. She was the most popular Mouseketeer, hand-picked by Walt Disney who first saw her at a school dance recital. Annette was about 12 when she “got her ears.”

I learned so much about her during my viewing marathon. I realized that my adoration of her was very well-placed as she was an incredible human being who by all accounts was as sweet as the girl she portrayed in her beach movies with Frankie Avalon and in the myriad appearances she made on talk shows and interviews, and on the records she sang. She remains my idea of what a child’s role model should be.

Annette became ill in the late 1980’s. I was a busy young wife and mother at the time, so I was unaware of the struggles she went through after being diagnosed at age 50 with multiple sclerosis. I had no idea how brave and giving she was, or how much she suffered in her last years. She began the Annette Funicello Research fund for neurological diseases with the hope of finding the cause, treatment, and cure for MS. She made it the purpose of her life. While the disease made her unable to walk, eat, or speak in her last years, she never gave up the fight, nor did her devoted husband Glenn Holt.

Annette died April 8, 2013 at the age of 70. Holt died five years later.

It was an emotional weekend where I laughed; I cried. I admired this woman as a child, but not only was she a good role model for a young child, but as an adult, I found that she was even more inspiring. Life is hard for child stars, but Annette seemed to take it all in her stride.

I think about early television and how innocent it all was. But those were the times in which we lived. I’m so grateful to have experienced those years. I think when people talk about the good ole days, this is what they mean. It wasn’t all sunshine and roses, of course. And I can only relate my own experience. Times were simpler, slower. There was a sense of purity and trust. I am glad that at an early age I learned to admire a person with good qualities and character, not just someone who was famous, beautiful, or rich, although Annette was all of those things.

My marathon was filled with emotion, but isn’t that what life is all about?

US DOT Secretary visits Gary/Chicago International Airport

2023-08-31T14:36:00.002-05:00

U.S. Transportation Secretary Pete Buttigieg returned to his Indiana roots Wednesday to visit the Gary/Chicago International Airport where he remarked about the future of the facility.

This is music to my ears, as I've been an advocate of the Gary airport for the past 30 years. I've long felt that it just makes sense to improve an existing airport in an urban area close to Chicago, rather than build a brand new airport far, far away from where anyone wants to go.

Oh, I know, the State of Illinois' latest iteration of Chicago's Third Airport is to settle for a cargo airport at Peotone, rather than the sprawling 7-square-mile rival to O'Hare International Airport, one of the busiest airports in the world, which is what they really wanted.

Illinois' flawed plan for a simply wrong-headed project has never received the support necessary, financial or otherwise, to actually lift the thing off the ground.

I remember when studies were performed back in the 1990's in search of a perfect location; there was a no-build option for the project, but only for a short time. It was never taken seriously by airport advocates, so they simply dismissed it.

A long, long time ago

The project was actually first proposed in 1968 by three area chambers of commerce but accomplished little. It was resurrected in 1985, in the Illinois legislature as a means to bring economic vitality to the south suburbs.

A small contingency of south suburban officials are all that ever really took the project seriously. Even the airlines balked at a new airport. And despite millions of dollars spent trying to make it happen, there has never been a proven need for it.

That isn't for a lack of trying however. Illinois transportation officials and south suburban leaders would try anything to bring back the economically-depressed southern suburbs, trying everything to get the airport to fly. They made it central in planning discussions, proposed economic opportunities with the airport front and center. But they never really looked at what was necessary in the corn, soy, and wheat fields, along the tar and chip roads, and working farm economy of eastern Will County.

Conversely, the Gary/Chicago Airport has enjoyed support of presidents, mayors, governors, and members of the public who recognized a real need to revitalize this airport and this region of the country. For many years, the State of Indiana and City of Chicago have been doing just that.

Now, add the U.S. Secretary of Transportation and the Biden-Harris Administration to offer their support as well.

"And I want to lift up the story of Gary because this is a community that kept the fires lit, that literally kept the furnaces going to supply the tens of thousands - tens of millions - of tons of steel that this country needed…" Buttigieg said, likening the viability of the airport to the once-heralded steel industry that actually built the region.

He added that the federal government wants to make sure that there will be boom times again.

"We've made new investments to build that heavy air cargo apron and logistics center here at Gary/Chicago Airport," Buttigieg added.

According to the Chicago Tribune, Gary’s airport received a total of $8 million in federal community project funds in 2022 and 2023, with the money going toward a specialized fire truck, snow removal equipment, a heavy air cargo logistics apron and a new sanitary sewer for the cargo center. The airport has requested another $3.5 million in federal funds for 2024, which would help further expand its cargo operations, airport executive director Dan Vicari said.

When I first learned that Pete Buttigieg, the former mayor of South Bend, Indiana was named Transportation Secretary, and that President Joe Biden got a sweeping infrastructure bill through the Congress and signed it into law, I wondered how this would affect the third airport debacle.

This is what I had hoped, that funds would flow to Gary which has been steadfast in its quest to serve the aviation needs in the region. So far, the federal government barely recognizes the Peotone project.

Peotone does not now nor has it ever had aviation needs. And it is time to pull the plug on the project.

Red, White, and Blue and a little surprise

2023-07-04T18:13:00.000-05:00

I cannot let another day go by without mentioning how very much I enjoyed the concert put on by the Mountain Home Symphony for this year's Red, White, and Blue festival, coined, Red, White, and Beautiful.

Indeed it was.

We are very fortunate to have this dedicated group of musical performers to entertain us. I found this concert, held at Arkansas State University Mountain Home, held on the evening of June 23, to be extra special. It was even more than I had hoped because of a surprise not long before the rousing finale of The Stars and Stripes Forever.

I love music. Like so many others, listening to music has always had a soothing, calming effect on me. I decided to attend the concert when I first learned about it in the local paper. Since the death of my husband John, just two months ago, I felt some good inspiring, enthusiastic, marching tunes were just what I needed.

I had no idea how emotional it would be.

I admit I was a little weepy during the first beautiful solo rendition of our national anthem. My patriotism always makes me a little emotional, especially given the nature of the politics of the day, but there is also something about a voice with the ability to make beautiful music. The human condition that allows such a thing confounds me. I have no musical talent, but am in awe of those who do.

The concert was beautiful, as each individual instrument blended so perfectly with the others in the making of music.

But then, in the program, of which I was unaware, the selection was Henry Mancini's Moon River. At that moment, I felt utter joy as I saw my life flash before my eyes. Moon River, originally written for the movie, "Breakfast at Tiffany's" was Andy Williams' theme song and I have loved Andy Williams since I was 14 years old.

Just hearing the first few bars of this so-recognizable melody left me breathless.

As I closed my eyes I was transformed back into my early 20's. I was at Airie Crown Theater in Chicago. It was in the 1970's and my late husband John and I had first met and that was one of our first dates. He took me to see Andy Williams sing, backed by a full orchestra conducted by Henry Mancini. Of course, Moon River was prominently featured. That night was magical.

Several years ago, when I attended his book signing, I was able to meet my idol, Andy Williams. I wrote about it at the time. (click here). I was able to tell Andy I was his biggest fan, and that I married my husband because he took me to hear Andy sing. That became a legend in our 46-year marriage. I had told John that so many times that we both actually believed it.

I am grateful to the Mountain Home Symphony Orchestra for giving me the opportunity to relive this special moment in my life. But isn't that what music is all about? It has the power to transform us. It can bring us tremendous joy. And it can simply make us happy. So I offer my appreciation to every performer who is dedicated to making music. They did a splendid job. We, in this part of the country are so lucky to have them. And, I look forward to their next concert.

I am a widow!

2023-06-27T13:46:00.002-05:00

I've been called many things in my life, but one of the hardest names to deal with is the latest - widow!

It has been nearly two months since my husband John passed away in my arms, as I was helping him from his wheelchair to his bed. John had been having difficulty breathing and was experiencing pain in the side of his abdomen. This had been going on for two days and I was alarmed. There have been so many instances like this, so I didn't anticipate his inability to snap back from it once again.

I went into his room after he had a nap. I asked him how he was.

"I feel good." I asked him if he was in pain.

"No," he said.

Those were the last words he spoke.

He had slept in his chair and wanted to be in his bed, so he asked me to help him. During that process, he simply slumped to one side. I struggled to get him onto the bed and tried to wake him. This had happened before, several times, but this time, he didn't wake up.

John had experienced many health issues, some really serious, since he had a severe stroke eight years ago. We dealt with problems as they arose and with medical intervention, had always moved forward. Clearly his external deficit on the right side of his body left him without function. It caused countless other problems. But there were internal issues at play as well, that were not so apparent.

Suffice it to say, his condition was hard on both of us. Despite my exhaustion, complete mental fatigue, in addition to his frustration and depression, we still found ways to cope. We even found ways to laugh, an important component of our 46-year marriage. We knew one another and were compatible in all the ways that count. We laughed at the same things, were frustrated by the same things, and had a lifetime of memories, with friends, family, and so much more to draw upon. There was always something to talk about. We even enjoyed the same television shows.

For nearly a year, John was a Hospice patient, so a nurse and bath aide came to visit at least three times per week. These angels of mercy not only helped John, but they were invaluable to me. Since our moving to the Ozarks, nobody has ever visited us three times per week, or more, so we looked forward to seeing them. I was especially grateful because they relieved the heavy burden of responsibility for John's health care from my shoulders.

I am so grateful to Allison and Liz for all they did for John and for me. I will always be appreciative.

Each month, Hospice offered a 5-day respite, whereby John would spend 5-days at a local nursing home, leaving me with all that time to do whatever I wanted. I usually spent that time cleaning the house without interruption, playing my favorite music as loud as I wanted, and even singing, which I could never do in anyone else's company because I suck at it. John was always quick to point that out. More laughter! Sometimes I went out with friends, but usually, I just needed time to chill alone.

John would call me in the mornings and sometimes throughout the day. We would talk about the latest goings on in the political world, people I'd heard from, what was going on with our two kids and their families, and of course, the weather which we old people often obsess over. I told him when he was at respite and he'd call me, it was like having a boyfriend. On the last day, I was always anxious for him to come home, only to begin the often painful cycle again.

I make no excuses, but must admit that respite was a lifeline for me. Caring for him, monitoring his medications, vital signs, and trying to keep him as healthy as I could was exhausting. At the same time, I cared for our aging cat family, did all the chores, and tried keeping up with everything to run a household. It was especially hard when I got sick. And, I seemed to be sick often. Constant worry and wondering what to do if something happened to him or to me, caused constant anxiety. The responsibility was often times more than I could cope with.

Today, I find myself thinking about all that has happened, not just in the last eight years, but the years when we were so happy here, exploring new places and enjoying the beauty of our surroundings. We both loved it here, and although we miss our friends and family back home, we loved where we live.

The last eight years were dark days for sure. And although I miss my life partner and companion, I wouldn't want to revisit all that we went through again.

So now I sadly wear my new title. It is hard to say it out loud. I am a widow!

The wounds are still fresh, but I know I will be OK. I've always been resilient. I'm proud to have survived those dark days. And, my heart is full as I feel the love of friends, family, and everyone around me who have been so helpful. I know I have leaned on so many. That is not something I'm comfortable doing, but they have kept me standing.

One of my favorite words is 'understanding.'

I now practice that on myself as I try to sort out the often conflicting emotions I now feel. I am looking through a lens of awareness and hopefulness where once there was neither. I will always miss John. And, I will always talk to him, as if he is still here. I may not verbalize those words, but they are there, even if only in my head where only I can hear them. I have finally come to the realization that he isn't just at respite and is not coming home again. But he left me with so many thoughts, so many memories, two beautiful children, and a lifetime of laughter. Who can ask for anything more? I'll be OK.

Age is just a number; we deserve better

2023-05-23T11:10:00.004-05:00

Old doesn't mean no longer useful

There are so many troubling things happening these days, not the least of which is my own advancing age.

Gone are the days when the wisdom of age meant something.

There will be another presidential election next year. President Joe Biden has decided to run again. I am saddened that despite his successful tenure so far with a long list of accomplishments, there is little enthusiasm for his candidacy. I have great respect for the office of the presidency. I would expect the leader of our country--the same country that is supposed to honor freedom and democracy--to be supported on principal. President Biden is working to make life better for all Americans. His accomplishments are many, unlike the train-wreck that is the disgraced, twice-impeached, indicted, and allegedly criminal 45th President who claims to want to run again. He used the highest office in the land to enrich himself and his family, to make deals that would line his pockets. He worked only for himself and didn't care who he hurt along the way.

It seems more often than not, that seniors are treated as inferior by the younger generations. American culture doesn't seem to revere its elderly as in other countries.

Maybe part of it is because the days of spinning tales around a fire to impress and entertain the kiddos with stories of long ago no longer happen much in today's families, my own included. It is rare to break bread during leisurely Sunday suppers or even holidays with the extended family gathered around a big table. So few of us live like the close-knit Reagan clan in the long-running TV drama, "Blue Bloods." Perhaps technology is to blame, as it has supplanted the ability to simply talk to one another and to air our differences.

Since I have reached Medicare recipient status, I've noticed a kind of stigma surrounding my generation. I don't understand why the younger generation disrespects us "boomers," but I'm terrified that our entire country could hang in the balance over the issue of age.

I get why younger voters may prefer one of their own to occupy the White House, but that appears not to be an option, at least not this time. I assure you, your time is coming. Changes happen slowly however, over time. And timing is everything. The election for the next President will be crucial, and in fact dire. It would behoove everyone to realize how high the stakes are. A repeat of 2016-2020 would be a disaster of which we may not be able to drag ourselves out. We do not need a replay of some of the worst years this country has ever known.

I'm tired of hearing that Joe Biden is too old to seek the office he now holds. Don't we abhor discrimination? Isn't age a discrimination just like that of race, religion, gender, and sexual preference?

This election will be so very important, especially given Biden's apparent opponent.

Biden has proven to be far superior to that lout who thinks cognitive ability is based on remembering five simple words an hour after he first recited and memorized them. Biden is a proven leader who has the ability to remember far more than five words. In fact, he remembers his days in the Senate, can recall his work as Vice President, remembers his visits with countless world leaders for whom he shares a mutual respect. He juggles the problems of our country and our world with relative ease because he is experienced at doing so. He has worked with the best our country has to offer. He has dealt with the world's worst. And he has done it all with grace, dignity, and good humor. He has the ability to continue on the path to which he began. No, he isn't perfect. I don't agree with everything he has done. No one could fit that bill. But, I am politically aware enough to know that Joe Biden is far superior to the former guy, who has no grace, no dignity, and no good humor. Biden is not afraid to change his mind. Nor is he afraid to fight for what he believes in.

Character, wisdom, and experience have to count for something. Age has nothing to do with it.

For whatever reason, Generations X, Y, and Z seem to have it in for us "boomers." They make jokes at our expense. They blame us for the shape of the world, the planet, and the country. Many have no respect at all for the life we've lived, the battles we've waged and won. You must remember that we were once your age.

I can attest that during the early years of my own life, I was among many who tried to make the world a better place for the next generation. But that battle continues. There is always more work to be done.

Personally, I'm at a place in my life where I could care less if someone likes me or not. Of course, I prefer the former, but I can accept the latter. But to this end, as we head toward another election cycle, can't we get just a little bit excited? Can't we be a little more supportive? Joe Biden snatched this country out of the hands of a mad man who caused so much damage and would do it again.

I wish the news media, of which I generally hold in high regard, would put a stop to reporting Biden's age every time they mention his name. There are far more things to report about Biden than how old he is.

Nothing better than spring in the Ozarks

2023-04-12T12:05:00.006-05:00

While running some errands yesterday I couldn't help but notice the hills and hollows in the distance. There is no question that emerging leaves on the trees have colored the landscape a special shade of green reminiscent of the "spring green crayon" I remember from my earliest days a long time ago. Gosh, when was the last time I saw one of those?

The redbuds are in their final phase of blooming; flowering dogwoods are abundant. Lilacs and other spring plants and bushes add to the beauty of the close and distant views. And then there is the scent. A sweet smell rides the gentle breezes that bear witness to perfect temperatures in a perfect time of year.

And, the hummingbirds have returned.

Who doesn’t love a spring day? I wonder if I can stand another winter.

While we had a fairly mild one, there was a day that stretched my tolerance. It was a crazy snow storm, one that brought eight or so inches of the wettest snow I have ever seen. The power went out because of the weight of the heavy snow on branches unable to bear the weight. I couldn't start the wood stove in our all-electric house, because the fire wood was so wet, not to mention old, so it started getting pretty chilly inside. Every time I tried to start a fire, it just kept going out. Our dear friends brought some dry firewood to help us out. I finally got a really nice fire going. The temperature started to improve, but a short time later, smoke started billowing out of the stove pipe and the back of the stove. The house started filling with smoke. I didn’t know what to do, so I closed the flu and rearranged the logs inside so the fire would go out. Our eyes burned and throat hurt. Just then, thankfully, the power came back on. I turned on the whole house fan, opened some windows, retrieved a fan from the sun porch, and turned on the ceiling fan as fast as it would go. Finally, the smoke cleared. We called the chimney guys who said it wasn’t a chimney fire, the chimney was fully open, and so it must have been the heavy snow on the roof that blocked the smoke’s escape.

That was at the end of January and I am just getting over the cough.

Last fall was beautiful; it was colorful despite the record hot temperatures last summer. The fall was heavenly. In fact, I almost thought fall could take over springtime as my favorite season. This has never happened to me before. I always considered fall as just a prelude to winter, of which I am not fond.

But now that spring is here, there is no contest. I remember all the things I love about this season of new life. The activities of spring are exhausting and exhilarating. The promise of gardening and tidying up property, deep cleaning inside and out; it is lots of work. But it is good work--the kind of work that makes you feel really good about yourself. Even taking a shower takes on a new dimension. Showers are just more enjoyable as hot water soothes aching muscles. Soap mingles with dirt encrusted arms and legs and then swirls down the drain. When done, you feel like a new person.

A walk in the yard always reveals surprises, like the first daffodil, tulip, hyacinth, and crocus. Shoots from last year's flowers emerge, anxious to begin their new life cycles, frogs and birds sing their springtime songs. I just inventoried a bluebird nest and discovered five tiny blue eggs. I can't wait to see them grow. Until we moved to Arkansas, I hadn't seen a bluebird at my house since I was a little girl playing in empty lots in the city. There were plenty of them back then, even in an urban setting. Hummingbird sightings were very rare as well. That is not so in the Natural State. Making hummingbird food is a weekly chore added to an every-growing list. But, it is one I relish.

I haven't begun the vegetable garden yet, but that is on my list of things to do very soon. I planted a couple of tuberous begonias I ordered in the dead of winter. I can't wait to see them. I now have a begonia garden in front of the porch, enhanced with a few annual begonias I picked up at the grocery store. Planting, plants, and flowers just makes me happy.

There is nothing like spring in the Ozarks. This is the season for life anew, not to mention joy and pleasure. And, there is no place like my own backyard.

Happy Spring

2023-03-30T13:59:00.001-05:00

Happy Spring!

I need to figure out how I barely noticed my favorite season sneak into my calendar.

Normally, I start counting down the days to spring in early winter. In fact, that may be one of my only Christmas traditions. But this year, I feel as though I didn't even see it coming.

Where does the time go? When anyone says the older you get the faster time seems to fly by, believe it!

It seems that in my youth, time seemingly stood still. As a little girl I recall how it was often difficult to find ways to fill all those daylight hours. That is certainly not the case these days. Are days still only 24 hours long? It certainly doesn't seem like it.

As a child, it wasn't uncommon to sleep a full eight hours every night. That rarely happens these days; I'm lucky to sleep six, and then it is usually not without a break or two. So the days should feel longer to me, right? They do not!

When I was little, I remember having so much time on my hands that I often complained of being bored, having nothing to do. Perhaps it just takes longer to do things now because I can honestly say I haven't been bored in 60 years at least. My days are full with a variety of activities and projects--many of which never seem to get done though it isn't for a lack of trying.

Now that spring is here, there are so many things to do outside. The weather hasn't been very cooperative, with cold temperatures and lots of rain and storms. But, even from inside the house it is nice to contemplate working in the yard, starting with tidying up the winter landscape. We have had a few open-window days yet we still need the furnace for evenings. Heck there was just a freeze warning this week. I love open windows when we can let the outside in. The house seemed to relish the new sounds and smells wafting through the rooms. A gentle breeze seemingly blows the winter doldrums away. At least that is how I see it.

I am especially anxious for the trees to get their leaves again. This is always my favorite thing; you can almost watch tiny green buds grow into leaves that turn the landscape a beautiful shade of yellow-green. It is almost iridescent. Almost like magic, the yard surrounding the house will be hugged by the growing branches, laden with new leaves. When the tree skeletons fill in the entire yard appears smaller, compacted, and more intimate.

There are already flowering trees and some early spring flowers. But I want more.

I've put out hummingbird feeders in anticipation of our annual visitors, due anytime now.

I'm pleased to see Bluebirds nesting in boxes in the front yard.

Spring is truly a wondrous time. I'm glad I finally noticed it.

I will always remember Bill Hood

2022-12-29T13:17:00.002-06:00

Sadly, I just learned that a man, with whom I have held much regard, has died.

I crossed paths with Bill Hood, sometime in the late 1980's and early 1990's. He was formerly the Director of American Airlines. As such, we were on the same side of the debate on whether or not to build a third airport, some 40 miles south of Chicago. We certainly came from different places, but our goals were the same--halting the construction of a major international airport at Peotone. Some of our reasons were very different, but some were also the same.

I didn't know him very well--hardly at all--really, but I knew he was someone I'd never forget. I admired his dedication to the cause for which I was so passionate. I recognized that he was a good and principled man who believed in doing the right thing and fighting for what he believed in.

I will never forget when he called one day to ask if I would give him a tour of the airport site. I was very excited at the chance to plead my case to someone who might actually have some say in the project. Up until that point, everyone who was anyone supported the project.

In truth I suppose I never really got over the fact that a representative of a world-renown airline could have anything in common with a housewife and young mother from the small town of Beecher, Illinois. Our initial meeting was prior to my writing for a local newspaper. Our paths crossed often at the countless meetings we attended, as I continued to write about the proposed airport until I retired and moved out of state in 2005.

On the day we met, he picked me up at a local restaurant and we drove around the nearly 7 square miles of rich farmland nestled among the farm towns of Beecher, Peotone, Monee, and Crete. I didn't hold anything back as I told him everything I knew about the area where I lived for many years. I believed with all my heart that the airport was a foolish idea. I showed Bill an airport just didn't fit in the fertile farmland of Will County. I showed him the topography, as we talked about the many creeks and streams. told him about where the land flooded when it rained and how quickly the water soaked into the ground afterward, something that doesn't happen with tons of concrete and asphalt. I talked about wetlands, recharging the aquifers that supplied well water to the rural areas, potential pollution, urban sprawl, as well as the working farm economy that would be completely displaced. I introduced him to the farmers I knew and other advocates of retaining some of the best agricultural land left in the Chicago area.

He didn't interrupt and I knew he completely understood.

Back in those early days, I was always impressed with some of the good people I met, especially those that understood what a folly the airport would be.

Bill and I have remained Facebook friends through the years. We didn't interact often, but each time he commented on a post or wished me a Happy Birthday, I was reminded of how much he impressed me way back in those early days.

I will never forget all he did to aid our cause. I wish I had known him better. I will always think fondly of him.

I offer my deepest sympathy to his family and friends.

Every quilter needs a quilting cat

2022-12-08T10:31:00.001-06:00

I just can't resist sharing this picture of my quilting pal Sally

CHQuilts: A new quilt top to close out the year

2022-12-04T17:19:00.001-06:00

CHQuilts: A new quilt top to close out the year: I can't believe I finally finished this. While it is only a quilt top and remains a long way from becoming a completed quilt, I am to...

COVID-nobody is safe

2022-11-08T11:45:00.003-06:00

"How the hell did you get COVID, you haven't been out of the house in 40 years?" was my son's reaction to my latest health news. I got a similar response from my daughter. These two know me too well.

While it is true, I seem to have a reputation as a home body, I'm not squirreled away in isolation, afraid to be with other people. I just happen to enjoy my solitude. Living in Arkansas among the trees and wildlife really suits me. It is a chosen lifestyle. I love it here. I always have. Going on 18 years in the Natural State, I am always thrilled to glance into the backyard to see the deer foraging on a honeysuckle bush, watch a frog dance in and out of our tiny pond next to the front porch, or check out one of the local stray cats I feed, scamper up a tree.

It is easy to take these pleasures for granted. They really do define me. Home is where my heart is. And, I am happy here.

I admit that I haven't had much of a life outside of the home but that was also a choice based on a once-busy lifestyle. When I worked for a newspaper, I was rarely home. There were lots of people to interact with and I found myself going to many places I never would have gone to otherwise. I was always busy because I loved my job and was always ready to run out to cover a story at a moment's notice. I did that for 20 years. When we came here, I wanted a change. Yes, it was a financial struggle, but the peace of mind was so worth it. I came to love my own company, became a crazy cat woman, and relished my life in the woods.

My reclusive lifestyle, however, has run its course. I've recently made the decision to get out more. I felt it was time to open up my life again to new people, make new friends, and explore new possibilities.

Maybe my timing is off, because three days after a weekend get together with friends, I started getting sick. Oh, the irony. I had been so diligent about protecting myself from COVID. I admit that I wasn't unhappy with the suggestion to stay at home. I did it anyway. But things have changed; the country is now open and seemingly doesn't take COVID very seriously anymore. I am still not around hoards of people and have gotten all my vaccines and boosters. Rarely is anyone seen with a mask these days. And I never even considered wearing a mask to a party with friends.

And then last Tuesday, I thought I had a cold or allergies. Those are big around here and the older I get the more susceptible I am to blooming of things.

But the following day I realized this was not just a cold. More indescribable (because they are just gross) symptoms appeared. I took a test, and voila, it was positive. Frankly, I was not surprised. I knew this was not just a cold. That was a week ago and I am seeing improvement; there are moments when I feel great followed by explosive sneezing, non-productive coughing, and what I like to fondly call, liquid face where every orifice in my face leaks. (How gross is that?)

Because I am vaccinated, I suppose this could have been worse. I know it could because so many thousands of people have died from this virus. So many people still die from it. I'm grateful to not be one of them.

I'm not angry that I contracted this virus. What I am angry about is that it should not have gotten this bad. Had the inept, disgraced, twice impeached ex-president done his job, COVID would not have taken so much from so many. The virus replicated into so many different variants because we didn't stop it when we had the chance. I should not be sick right now because COVID should have been a thing of the past. But, with all the lies, innuendoes, and complete irresponsibility that has fueled this disease, if there is any blame to be assigned, Donald J. Trump is the man we must look to.

Little is said these days about Trump's inept response to the initial COVID outbreak or the more than a million dead that has resulted. His lies about COVID have been diluted by so many more lies, cheats, and dastardly deeds.

With cold weather coming and predictions of more illness on the horizon, I guess I'll go back to my hibernation strategy. That's OK.

Beautiful Sally has an attitude

2022-10-26T10:08:00.005-05:00

Sally is beautiful. She is feisty, has boundless energy, and when it is her idea, she can be so lovable.

Trouble is, she has a bit of a mean streak too. I hope she outgrows it since she is only six months old. She bites and scratches, growls, and cries.

I'm not sure what lies behind her prima donna attitude, but I believe it is based on insecurity with a little fear mixed in. Bringing Sally into our lives has been an adjustment for us all.

Her much older step-sisters Kenni and Kasey are unaccustomed to having another cat intrude into their domain. They haven't been very welcoming.

Bonding with Sally hasn't been easy for my senior cats. Not only are they getting older, but in the last few years they have lost their two sisters Ryan and Boo as well as their mother Timi. And, they are now 15 years old, so the rest of us seniors, they be a little less tolerant than they once were. They have been used to it being just the five of them for so long. For all of their lives, they have interacted only with their litter mates and always had their mother around too to teach them right from wrong. If I remember right, they were all good kitties and although a tad mischievous, they never really were problematic. In fact, I think I've noted many times in the past, they are an absolute joy in my life. I raised them from the moment they were born and never saw the kind of aggression I've seen in them lately until started 'playing' with them. Sally was certainly the aggressor. She is even mean to me sometimes, the lady who doles out cat food, changes the litter box and openly adores them all.

I had hoped the elders could be surrogate mothers to Sally, try to teach her the ropes, but that turned out not to be the case. When these three are together, it is like being in a jungle with lions, tigers, and bears. Oh my!

Sally is here because she was dumped at a friend's house a few months ago when she was just a small kitten, I have no idea what her first days and weeks were like. Just the fact that she was unwanted and then abandoned is bad enough, but I have no idea if she was nurtured by her mother, father, or if she had siblings. Did she fend for herself without that maternal bonding? Was she dumped because of her mean streak? I've noticed that poor Sally does not knead like other cats. Some people call this behavior "making biscuits," but in our house we call it "dancing." Long ago my son Chris coined the phrase. In fact, I have only seen her dance once or twice. This behavior is often associated with a kitten nursing, and signifies comfort and pleasure. Did she lose her mother and have to be bottle fed? Sally is only now starting to exhibit contentedness. She does purr, when she curls up on my lap or a comfy quilt. I do think she is learning that she is loved, perhaps for the very first time.

Sally has the potential to be loving and gentle, but that is only when she is Dr. Jeckyl. It is when she becomes Mr. Hyde that it concerns me.

To be fair, all the kitties are going through struggles to find their way. I want to help any way I can, but none of them are innocent. Sally has been the aggressor; something the elders are not at all used to. But they are fighting back. The noises they make during this interaction is far worse than it sounds. Sally especially makes really scary noises, like she is being maimed. But there is never a wound nor blood anywhere to be seen. I suspect it is more like very hard playing.

I am starting to see faint signs that this may just be a horrible phase, not unlike her teething. For example when Kasey, left, joins me in the evening as I watch TV or play word games on my phone. Sally will now jump into my lap too. They have even gone so far as to hold hands, or should I say I hold hands with both of them at the same time making their paws touch. Sometimes though Sally will reach out and touch Kasey's paw without my urging. Kenni, below, is taking a little longer, but she is starting to tolerate Sally. It is interesting to watch their behavior. It has become somewhat predictable and is often funny.

There is a positive in all this running around after each other. Kenni and Kasey are not just old fat cats anymore. The exercise they get, as they chase Sally through the house at warp speed is good for them. They have lost some weight and no longer spend the day like slugs as they did before.

I suspect Sally just wants to play, almost constantly, and with anything. Of course, these two are jealous of my affection for her. It is almost like they put up with my complete adoration of Ryan for their whole lives. Everybody, including them, knew Ryan was my favorite. While I and possibly them too, continue to grieve her loss, there seems to be some competition for my affection. No one will ever replace Ryan. I still miss her every day.

I hope Sally calms a bit in the next six months. As she grows the struggle will continue for Alpha Kitty title. Little do they know, I am the Alpha Kitty, but they will all get it one of these days.

Not a day goes by that I don't laugh at Sally's antics. Nor does a day go by that we don't have a cat fight. Sally is still smaller and can weasel into tiny places the others can't get to. But as she gets bigger, I expect she will slow down a little. She has the potential to be a sweetheart. She just needs to shed her Mr. Hyde demeanor. I can wait, but for now, can't we all just get along?

Votes are important and should not be bought. Instead, be an informed voter!

2022-10-23T14:03:00.004-05:00

I can't wait to vote for a candidate--and I don't care what party he/she belongs to--I am looking for someone who needs to point out the complete insanity of spending hundreds of millions of dollars to get elected to public office.

Money should not be the incentive for public service. Holding public office is not a get rich scheme, or at least it shouldn't be.

Why do people have so little faith in government?

Look at the obscene amount of money that is spent every election season. Look at the number of millionaires that make up the U.S. Congress. Money in politics is almost cartoonish! At least it would be if it wasn't so tragic. And, it harms us all! The first priority for public officials should be getting money out of our political process. We need more than lip service. We need reform!

Since I claim to be a lifelong Democrat based on policies, substance, and philosophy, I can assure you that it is not because I enjoy the countless emails, phone calls, and advertisements asking for money I don't have. It is infuriating that candidates require any more from me than my voice or my vote.

In these difficult days when corporations pay zero in taxes, the middle class is disappearing, people beg in the streets, and children go hungry, it is obscene to allow so much money to be wasted to win favor of potential voters. Do we really want to select leadership by awarding it to the highest bidder? The process to elect leaders who represent us in this Republic needs to be fair. Citizens United needs to be abolished.

We all need to pay our fair share in taxes because taxes support government services that are used by all. Taxes should not be favors for friends, family, and campaign donors.

Nor should religious institutions be exempt from taxes beyond its normal charitable functions. Religious institutions have proven they cannot be trusted to keep their beliefs out of policy-making. That is not what our founding fathers intended as they proposed a strong separation between church and state. Corruption occurs when blurring that line. If churches want to be a business rather than a charity, they too should pay taxes. Simply advancing religion should not be a reason for tax exemption.

Health care should not bankrupt people. Perhaps some of those campaign billions could be diverted toward making health care affordable for everyone. People are living longer because of the advancements in medicine. That is good, but when so many seniors have to choose over their pharmaceuticals or food on the table, there is a big problem.

Health care decisions should not be made by insurance companies.

Cannabis, a naturally-grown herb which has proven to have health benefits and been used by humans for eons should not be illegal.

Women need to make their own medical care decisions. The idea that politicians decide what is best for women and their families is unthinkable.

Voting is the ONLY option we the people have to turn things around. It will not happen in one, two, or three election cycles, but we voters must be diligent. We have to do better. We have to be informed. It isn't enough to follow the loudest voices, especially in today's climate where lies are treated as truth for the gullible and easily swayed.

We the people must all do our homework, at the local, state, and federal level. It is vitally important. We are electing people that affect every aspect of our lives. We must read and judiciously study the candidates. We must watch how incumbent politicians vote on all issues. We need to educate ourselves. With 24-hour news and access to every speech, every debate, every aspect of a candidate's record, we must ensure that we know who we are rewarding with our precious vote. Voting is our link to the democratic system. And it is vitally important.

Democracy will only work when we the people participate. We can only participate if we are informed. Change will come, but it has to come from us. We are the foundation of our democracy. The elected officials merely represent us. These people are not elite, regal, or royal. They are PUBLIC SERVANTS.

We need to elect leaders who will truly represent the peoples' interests and not their own. Money should have little to do with it.

Change begins now. We must all be a part of it.

Just a reminder, if quilting is your thing...

2022-09-12T12:45:00.002-05:00

Just a reminder that this site, CHMusings as I like to call it, is a testament to how much I love living in the Arkansas Ozarks.

But, it also contains a link to all the posts from my other blog, CHQuilts, one that is dedicated to my love of all things quilting.

Feel free to follow my quilting journey, one that has spanned nearly 30 years, even though I still consider myself a newbie quilter. I continue to learn new techniques, challenge myself with nearly each project, and share what I've learned.

While CHMusings contains mostly generalized and even personal postings about my life in the Ozarks, it also contains links to CHQuilts. This is a blog within a blog, of sorts.

Quilt-related posts can be accessed from clicking on the above tab - CHQuilts, There, I have provided the name, title, and short description of each post.

CHQuilts can also be accessed by any of the links herein.

Typing chquilts.ozarkattitude.com into any browser will also take you there.

So come on over and check out some of my latest quilting posts. Each contains a photo and story. Subscribe today to either or both blogs, so you don't miss a post. And don't forget to leave a comment.

Sally fits right in

2022-09-08T13:30:00.010-05:00

This has been a hard year for John and me. With the devastating loss of the best cat that ever lived, my Ryan, who died last March. We also lost Timi, the mother of my beloved kittens in August. Timi was John’s favorite.

John was hospitalized and was in rehab at a nursing home for several months. I had some health issues of my own. The country is going to hell, and the world is less safe than anything I’ve known in my lifetime. It seemed every day there was something to challenge my good humor and destroy my sparkling personality.

But there was one bright spot.

In June a friend and neighbor posted a picture on Facebook of a kitten that was dumped in front of her house. She was looking for someone to adopt her. I took one look at the face of this little Tabico kitten and knew I had to have her.

I was still aching from the loss of Ryan and Timi. A new kitten was the last thing I ever thought I’d want or need. But there was something about this girl. John called me that morning. He had seen the photo too and asked if I had seen it. I said I did and I wanted her. He was not surprised. I contacted my friend who came right over with this adorable kitten.

The first thing she did was play with a toy with feathers. I named her Sally, after Burlesque queen, Sally Rand who was known for dancing with feathers. My Sally loved to dance with her feathers too.

As of this writing, Sally is nearly five months old. Sally is not at all like Ryan, even though she has a bit of a Ryan look about her. Ryan was an angel. Sally can be angelic, but she can also be a little devil. She is Dr. Jeckyll/Mr. Hyde. But she is a kitten, after all. It has been 15 years since I had kittens around the house. I guess I’ve forgotten about their naughty antics.

As Sally grows, her personality leans more toward lover than fighter. She follows me around the house during the day and sleeps with John at night. She paws, hisses, and fights with her step sisters. Poor girls are 15 yrs. old, and slept day and night before Sally showed up. Now they are getting their exercise as they chase her through the house and certainly hold their own against this little maniac running around the house. There is lots of chasing, and even a little fur flying, but that seems to be waning. I have seen them exploring one another, sniffing, and even sleeping together now and then. Sally just has to learn the boundaries. She already knows the spray bottle means business. One look at it is all she needs to stop her in her tracks when she digs in my plants, tries to bite my hand, or picks on her sisters.

Peace be with you Timi

2022-08-05T19:21:00.000-05:00

This is a sad day, in that we had to say goodbye to Timi, who in many ways was the matriarch of our family. As with many families who have multiple feline members, it is clear that they often times rule the roost. That was Timi.

Timi was the Mother of our five kittens, born fifteen years ago. She outlived three of them. Most recently, her first born was my Ryan, the best cat that ever lived in my view. I just lost Ryan last March and still miss her more than I can say.

Timi gave us the greatest gifts in those little bundles of fluff she birthed in a box on the front porch on a hot July day in 2007. Timi was a special cat who used to take walks with us. She was a stray initially, but kept looking in the windows until we gave in and let her inside. Once we did, she broke out of an ill-fitting screen and came back pregnant.

I’ll never forget when she climbed the window next to my computer desk, her little belly bulging, to alert me that ‘it was time.’

I met her on the front porch where I had already prepared with a birthing box for her and a baby box for the little ones.

I had read up on what to do in case our young Mother-to-be was unsure of how to proceed with the birthing process. I was fully prepared to help her any way I could.

Timi did great. She was such a trouper. And she raised her girls well. I have been so happy with this little feline family we melded into our own. As empty-nesters, whose kids live far away, John and I considered the girls our second family.

Now, with the loss of Timi, we now have only two of her kittens. Rusty, the runt of the litter lived only 11 days. Boo died two years ago with a respiratory ailment. She was a special needs kitten, in that her entire right side was not fully developed. She basically was a three-legged cat, but she never let that stop her. Kenni and Kasey are doing great. And, we have taken in a new little girl, Sally. But this mom and her five babies can never be replaced.

Timi may have been somewhat demanding, but she gave so much more than she took. When we went for walks, Timi would always walk with us, her tail high in the air. She loved our walks. She wasn’t strictly an inside cat; she still liked to go outside. After all, she was an outside cat. She made friends with the other animals, opossums, skunks, foxes, and deer. Strangely, she was my cat outside, but she was John’s cat inside. She often slept with him. When he was sick, he called her his nurse.

It has been an absolute joy to have shared our lives with this cat family. Each and every one of them was special. We will never forget Timi, who really did give us the greatest gift. So, R.I.P. my little mama; you will always have a special place in our hearts.

Goodbye my sweet girl

2022-03-22T13:22:00.001-05:00

For a week I have rattled around the house, feeling somewhat lost; I’m almost afraid to look at the floor, the window sill, pillows on the couch, my quilts... A profound sadness floats around like an invisible specter, void of the joy that once was but is no more. A week ago I had to say goodbye to my beautiful Ryan.

Ryan was more than a cat, more than just a pet. Ryan was a part of my soul. She understood my moods; she shared in every part of my life. She brought me so much pleasure. She made me laugh. And now I cry.

Ryan was born, along with her four litter mates on July 11, 2007. I will never forget the day her mother, Timi, summoned me for help as I sat at my computer. She climbed the window screen next to my desk, her belly bulging. I knew it was time and I was ready. I had read all about cats giving birth. Timi was young, so I was ready to help her if needed.

Timi came to us as a stray. We resisted the urge to feed her and bring her inside, but one day I’d had enough of her peeking into the windows at us, so I decided it was time to bring her in the house. Shortly thereafter, she pushed out the screen and jumped onto the ground through an open window. She came home pregnant. I was elated.

I had already made her a birthing box on the front porch. She was eager to hop into the box and set out to deliver her kittens. When the first kitten was born, Timi knew just what to do. Like a good feline mom, she licked the baby until she was clean and dry. When Timi turned her attention to give birth to the second kitten, I picked up that first baby, who I had already named Ryan after my favorite NASCAR driver, Ryan Newman. I had a second box lined with newspapers and baby afghans from my own kids on the porch as well, but I just couldn’t let go of this perfect little bundle of gray and white fluff. Her eyes were closed; her ears lay flat on her head. She had the cutest little pink nose and tiniest little paws. She was magnificent. I fell completely in love with her.

Five babies were born that day almost 15 years ago. Only two remain along with their mother.

Rusty, the runt of the litter, and probably the prettiest one who resembled her mother’s muted Calico colors, lived only 11 days.

Boo died three years ago. She succumbed to a respiratory infection, which she had often. Boo, a.k.a. Junior was our three-legged cat, born with a deficiency on her entire right side, including her front paw which she could not use. She was very small, and often sickly, but feisty and the toughest one of the bunch.

As the kittens grew, it became clear that Ryan, pictured in the kitty condo in the top left, was my favorite. She and I were together all the time. She joined me at the computer, often times walking on the keys or climbing into a file drawer. She helped me fold laundry, often times jumping into the dryer and trying to make a nest in the clean, warm clothes. I couldn’t make a bed without Ryan hiding under the sheets. When I took a bath, she was intrigued by the bubbles. She walked back and forth on the side of the tub as if pacing. Sometimes she put her paw on my shoulder. It appeared as though she wanted to jump in, though she never did. She was light on her feet and very agile; she only fell in once. What a surprise that was!

Ryan enjoyed my favorite pastime, quilting. When I hand-quilted, she sat beneath the folds of fabric on my lap or on top of my work, so as if to say, “stop quilting Mom, time for me.” When I worked at my machine, I had to take lots of breaks as she insisted on my paying attention to her. Often times, she curled up in a pile of fabric in a basket just to be nearby. Our favorite time was when I sat in my recliner to watch TV. I never had an empty lap. And when I finished a quilt, she always showed her appreciation
for my handiwork. I think she figured I made quilts just for her.

About four years ago, Ryan got very sick. No one really knew what was wrong with her. She was diagnosed with Bobcat Fever, but I don’t think that was what ailed her. She started losing weight and ran a fever, but she recovered, though never completely. In the next couple years she had good days and bad days until one day she got very sick again. A new vet diagnosed her with possible lymphoma. She continued to lose weight, but on medication, she remained active and seemingly recovered again. This roller coaster went on for some time. She no longer used her litter box. She became a very finicky eater. She was no longer anxious to be cuddled. And, she enjoyed time by herself. Then a couple weeks ago, I knew. Normally a small cat, Ryan weighed only three pounds. I knew her time had to come to an end. She stopped eating and no longer enjoyed her life, so there was no longer a choice. I had to say goodbye to her.

A piece of my heart went with her. I’m grateful to Dr. Sarah Shedenhelm of Baxter County Animal Clinic for her kindness and understanding.

The house and all the places Ryan frequented is empty now, despite her two remaining sisters Kasey and Kenni as well as her mom Timi. As much as I love the others, they are not my Ryan. The bond between us will never be broken as she will live in my heart forever. She will always be my best girl.

Plants are my joy

2022-02-11T11:32:00.002-06:00


Today is Feb. 11^th. Tell it to my Christmas Cactus that only recently has decided to bloom. Actually, this used to be a Thanksgiving Cactus, blooming on time for years in late November. A couple of times it has bloomed at Christmas time, but I guess now it is a Valentine’s Day Cactus. Oh well, fine with me.

Speaking of Christmas, there is this Poinsettia—last year’s plant--that made it through the summer, fall, winter, spring, and now another winter. This is the only “red” it has produced, but I’m grateful for its effort. Not only that, but she is still alive, which is a feat all its own.

Finally, these are the plants that have made me happy throughout the dreary winter, and too-numerous Covid months. I just love their whimsical growing habit and those adorable little flowers.