Welcome to my personal page. I’m a writer, and if you’d like to read some of my stories and poems and an excerpt from and review of my novel, We Shall Overcome, please visit my web site at http://www.abbiejohnsontaylor.com. You can visit my blog at http://abbiescorneroftheworld.blogspot.com. I also have a blog on the samobile network. Thank you for coming. I hope you enjoy what you find here.
Today, I’m going to take a break from plugging my own book and talk about someone else’s. In turn, this author has already posted about me and my book on her blog at http://actuallyalethea.blogspot.com/ This is what’s called a blog tour, and it’s a great way for authors to promote their work without leaving their offices.
According to her profile page, (Christine) Alethea Williams grew up in southwest Wyoming. She was an avid reader while living among railroad workers and miners. She took a variety of writing classes where she learned a lot about writing and publishing. She has written monthly newspaper columns, published short stories, and won awards for her writing. Willow Vale is her first novel. She was a past president of Wyoming Writers and now lives in the Northwest with her husband, a rescued senior dog, and an Amazon parrot named Bob.
According to her blog, Willow Vale is a great book for anyone who likes romance and historical fiction. Set in the Wyoming frontier after World War I, it is the story of Francesca Sittoni, an immigrant who is brought to this country against her will by a husband she never loved. She ends up widowed, pregnant, and with a small daughter. Because she’s afraid of being deported to her impoverished country, she answers an ad from Wyoming rancher and former doughboy Kent Reed for a housekeeper and cook. She agrees to spend a year with him but wonders if she is actually a secretly sought mail order bride.
This is the story of two strangers who manage to conquer their demons and create a life together. I haven’t read it yet, but I definitely plan to buy and scan it. It’s available from Baker & Taylor, Ingram, Amazon, and the publisher Jargon Media at http://www.jargon-media.com/publishing This Website doesn’t work at all with System Access so I wouldn’t try to buy the book from there if I were you.
Questions for Alethea Williams
Q. In what town in southwest Wyoming did you grow up? Were your parents railroad workers or miners? What else can you tell me about your childhood?
A. I grew up in Rawlins. My dad held many jobs on the Union Pacific Railroad, so we just kept moving west to towns along the tracks as he got another new position. I may have been the only person in history who had a nun tell her parents to make the child stop reading so much!
Q. What kinds of books have you enjoyed reading?
A. All books. I write historicals, so of course I read novels of any historic period. I read a lot of mysteries and detective fiction, mainstream and literary, Westerns; just about anything, really, whose cover catches my eye.
Q. Did a particular teacher inspire you to make creative writing a career?
A. Not really. The only suggestion I remember was journalism.
Q. Why did you decide to write a historical romance novel that takes place on a ranch in Wyoming after World War I as opposed to one that takes place on a plantation in Louisiana during the Civil War?
A. The advice goes: write what you know.
Q. Do you have any plans for future books?
A. I have the first book of what I hope will be a trilogy already written.
Q. In what part of the northwest do you, your husband, dog, and parrot live?
A. We live in the Willamette Valley, (Oregon) about 60 miles from the coast. Although it is always green here, I miss Wyoming vistas.
Q. Is there anything about your writing that hasn’t been revealed before?
A. I do not outline. I compose directly to the computer. It took a while to learn to do that, but now I wouldn’t want to go back.
Abbie Johnson Taylor, Author of
We Shall Overcome
and
How to Build a Better Mousetrap: Recollections and Reflections of a Family Caregiver
http://www.abbiejohnsontaylor.com
Kids do the strangest things, and I was no exception. When I was about eleven, I loved to pull loose threads from my socks. The folloing poem from How to Build a Better Mousetrap: Recollections and Reflections of a Family Caregiver describes this hobby and its consequences.
Socks
At the age of eleven,
I sit on the floor in front of the wastebasket in my room,
pull loose threads from my socks, one by one.
“What are these sock strings doing on the floor?” Mother asks.
“The cat did it,” I say.
Despite continual chastisement and threats of spanking,
my favorite pastime is removing threads from my socks, one by one.
When you were a kid, did you do anything that might have been considered out of the ordinary? Please tell me about it by leaving a comment below or e-mailing me at abbie@samobile.net.
Abbie Johnson Taylor, Author of
We Shall Overcome
and
How to Build a Better Mousetrap: Recollections and Reflections of a Family Caregiver
http://www.abbiejohnsontaylor.com
One problem at the nursing home was high staff turnover. People left because they were burned out or found better jobs. Some didn’t even bother giving two-week notices. Others just didn’t show up and couldn’t be reached. After working there for fifteen years, I gave my own two-week notice because I was getting married and decided to quit working and write full time. When I told residents I was leaving, they said, “You’re the only one around here with the lovely voice. Who’s going to do singer-cize?” This inspired the following poem from How to Build a Better Mousetrap: Recollections and Reflections of a Family Caregiver.
Who’s Coming Next?
Who will bathe, dress, feed me,
give me all my medications,
make sure I’m healthy?
Who will prepare and serve my meals,
pay attention to my requests for certain foods?
Who will play the guitar and sing,
encourage me to sing and exercise,
show me how to make Easter baskets,
call bingo, read to me?
Who will clean my room,
do my laundry, change my light bulbs?
Who will listen to my concerns,
help me work out my problems?
If you must leave,
who will take your place?
By the way, if you use Bookshare, How to Build a Better Mousetrap can now be downloaded at the following link. http://www.bookshare.org/browse/book/432068
Abbie Johnson Taylor, Author of
We Shall Overcome
and
How to Build a Better Mousetrap: Recollections and Reflections of a Family Caregiver
http://www.abbiejohnsontaylor.com
Before you navigate to a previous post or a different blog because you think this is going to be a lecture on temperance, read on. In 1971 when I was ten years old, Dad and I drove from our home in Tucson, Arizona, to Sheridan, Wyoming, to visit Grandma. The decision to take the trip was made on the spur of the moment while we were sitting at the dinner table with my mother and younger brother who was only three at the time. Grandpa Johnson had recently passed away, and Grandma was struggling with the family business and wanted Dad to come and help for a while. It was summer, and I was out of school, and although Mother worried about me being away from her for the first time ever, she reluctantly agreed that it would be okay for me to go with Dad.
We left right after supper. Dad said we wouldn’t stay in any motels. We would sleep in the car instead. We drove most of the night and all the next day through Arizona and Colorado, stopping at such sites as the Navajo reservation, Four Corners, and Mesa Verde. In the evening, we reached Durango, Colorado. The following poem from How to Build a Better Mousetrap: Recollections and Reflections of a Family Caregiver details our adventures there.
A Memorable Stop in Colorado
In the summer of 1971 at the age of ten,
I traveled with Dad from our home in Tucson, Arizona,
to Sheridan, Wyoming, to visit Grandma.
While bar hopping in Durango,
I had Coke—Dad drank something stronger.
One establishment served hot dogs.
I liked them plain with not even a bun.
I must have had at least three.
Intoxicated, we made our way to the car.
I slept on the back seat
while Dad slept on the ground nearby.
Who knows where we were when we woke up?
When we got to Wyoming, I was disappointed to learn that state law prohibited children from being allowed in bars. As an adult, I see the sense in that, but as a child, I found bars fascinating and couldn’t understand why I couldn’t accompany Dad into a bar in Wyoming when I could in Colorado.
I’ve never liked the taste of alcoholic beverages. As a kid, I was given sips of beer and wine but wasn’t impressed. I was told that I would appreciate these drinks when I was older. On my nineteenth birthday, we all went out to dinner to celebrate. I tried wine, beer, and even a wine cooler with 7-up, but nothing tasted good. I decided then and there that alcohol was not for me.
Did you ever go into a bar when you were a kid? Were you with your parents or did you sneak in with friends as a teen-ager? Did you ever try anything alcoholic before you reached the legal drinking age? Tell me about it. Leave me a comment below.
Abbie Johnson Taylor, Author of
We Shall Overcome
and
How to Build a Better Mousetrap: Recollections and Reflections of a Family Caregiver
http://www.abbiejohnsontaylor.com
Hi Abbie,
The only time I went into a bar was when I was a teen.
Two friends and I were out trying to ride the bus somewhere. I don’t remember where we were going.
We went in to ask for directions. The smell of hamburgers and french fries cooking intoxicated my nose.
After gaining our travel tips we were getting ready to leave when the bus we needed rolled by. It meant we had to wait an hour for the next one.
The waitress after hearing our story let us buy lunch and wait for the next bus.
This was the first time I learned that bars can have some of the best food around.
In my younger adult years I only went to listen to live music and eat good food.
After watching a few fights I decided staying out of the bar was a more prudent idea.
Hi Gail, I agree with you that staying out of bars is a good idea, especially at night. During the day, they’re not bad because not many people are there. My father had a business that sold and serviced coin-operated machines, and when I was in college, I frequently went with him to a number of bars where I counted and sorted the coins while he serviced the machines. One establishment was apparently owned by someone named Fred because they served a concoction they called Fred’s Blazing Saddles Chili. After taking one bite of that stuff, I realized the title was pretty accurate.
The chili was spicy?
It makes me wish I could try it.
I love spicy food.
It is difficult to make anything too spicy for more liking.
Yeah, that’s why they called it Fred’s Blazing Saddles Chili. I think I could only tolerate about two or three bites. Since I was busy working with Dad, I couldn’t afford to have a blazing saddle. Smile.
After Bill suffered his first stroke, I felt helpless, as I watched him struggle to regain his strength. He was a changed man, and the change that shocked me the most was in his voice. Before the stroke, I often sat on his lap while he sang to me. He didn’t have perfect pitch, but he could carry a tune pretty well. After the stroke, when Bill told his speech therapist I was a singer, she encouraged me to sing with him to improve his speech. He could no longer carry a tune, and it was hard listening to him intone the words to his favorite songs in rhythm with no tune.
The following poem from How to Build a Better Mousetrap: Recollections and Reflections of a Family Caregiver describes my feelings of helplessness after Bill came home and I started taking care of him. It also emphasizes the fact that although he’s a changed man, he’s still the one I love.
Dependent
I know what to do—
I don’t know what to do.
The wheelchair, vertical bars, gait belt
offer assistance but can’t bring him back.
He’s not the man I married—
he’s still the man I love.
Abbie Johnson Taylor, Author of
We Shall Overcome
and
How to Build a Better Mousetrap: Recollections and Reflections of a Family Caregiver
http://www.abbiejohnsontaylor.com
Hi Abbie,
It is really hard to deal with loved ones when the change to their lives is sudden.
It is even harder when their voice or another attribute about them one really likes is now absent.
Many things have changed for Hank since he has become a heart patient.
I can’t say that in his case it made life better.
The one thing that hasn’t changed his ability to maintain an upbeat disposition.
This has helped us climb all the mountains.
Many couples divorce when their spouses take abrupt turns.
Thanks for blogging.
Love between a couple is a wonderous gift.
Hi Gail, Bill has also managed to maintain a good attitude most of the time. He gets depressed occasionally, and who wouldn’t in his situation, but we’ve managed to do this for five years and hope to make it through many more years together. Thanks for your comment.
Fred was a gentle soul. He had been a boxer and a farmer and lost a finger. When I met him at the nursing home, he was suffering from dementia but didn’t let that get him down. He always had a smile, a friendly greeting, and a handshake and managed to brighten my day every time I saw him. He is the subject of the following poem from How to Build a Better Mousetrap: Recollections and Reflections of a Family Caregiver.
Fred
“How are you today?” I ask the old man in his wheelchair, as he smiles at me.
“Fit as a fiddle and ready for love,” he answers.
He asks me the same questions. “What’s your name? What’s my name? Why am I here? Where’s my wife? You’re a beautiful girl. Do you have a husband?”
I could stay with him all day, repeat the answers to his questions—but I have places to go, things to do, people to see. With reluctance, I say goodbye.
Fred loved music. Here’s one of the many songs I sang to him and other residents at the nursing home. This link will be available for at least a few days.
http://dl.dropbox.com/u/15213189/always.mp3
Abbie Johnson Taylor, Author of
We Shall Overcome
and
How to Build a Better Mousetrap: Recollections and Reflections of a Family Caregiver
http://www.abbiejohnsontaylor.com
It’s always a blessing to work with a friendly person.
Thank you for singing such a nice arrangement.
I like that song too.
Your comments about Fred make me wish I had the opportunity to meet him.
Fred was a nice person and so was his wife. Most of the residents at the nursing home and their families were.
A few years ago at about this time, my father and I spent two weeks with my brother and his family in Florida. For the first couple of days, it rained, and because of the humidity, it felt colder than it was. I wished I’d stayed home. Fortunately, I brought my Victor Reader Stream with plenty of material on it, and I was only too happy to curl up in an armchair with a blanket and listen to a good book.
When the temperature finally climbed up into the 70’s and 80’s, the fun began. The following poem from How to Build a Better Mousetrap: Recollections and Reflections of a Family Caregiver details what I did during those two weeks. I had a great time, and I hope to return for another visit.
Florida’s Song
When temperatures in Wyoming fall below zero,
and snow is on the ground, I go to Jupiter,
bask on a sunny beach,
feel the sand and water between my toes,
walk on the pier
while fishermen reel in large sharks and other sea creatures,
gaze at low flying birds,
view a poignant moment, as a man drops rose pedals into the ocean
to honor his dead wife,
do water exercises in my brother’s unheated outdoor pool
to the thumping rhythm of “Single Ladies,”
enjoy a good book on the screened-in patio overlooking the pool
while a gentle breeze makes wind chimes sing a haunting melody.
On a warm Saturday, I go to Fort Lauderdale,
sail on The Jungle Queen to a tropical island,
eat a hot dog while others watch alligator wrestling.
After two weeks,
I return to the reality of winter in Wyoming.
Have you ever visited or lived near the ocean? If so, what did you do on the beach? Have you ever tried surfing? Tell me about it. Leave a comment below.
Abbie Johnson Taylor, Author of
We Shall Overcome
and
How to Build a Better Mousetrap: Recollections and Reflections of a Family Caregiver
http://www.abbiejohnsontaylor.com
Hi Abbie,
You know I already lived near the ocan.
Swimming in the ocan in my opinion, is far superior, to an y pool or fresh water body.
I love how it feels, keeps one buoyant, and smells.
I have tried surfing but never got the hang of it.
My brother on the other hand loves to surf and fish.
I like to sail.
I have a story to tell you.
When I moved to Nebraska and was doing my orientation program for a month at the Nebraska Services for the blind before assuming counseling duties we went to a man-made beach.
When they said we were going to a beach I was thrilled.
“You have the ocean near by?”
I asked in our group meeting.
Everybody cracked up.
It was very boring.
Hi Gail, I went sailing once in 1984 off Redondo Beach in California with my dad, brother, and a couple of uncles. We paid a guy to take us out in his thirty-foot sloop for three hours. It was a sunny day, but it was windy, and the sea was choppy, and I was sick the whole time. The guy was really nice. He gave me a bucket to throw up in, gave the guys some basic instruction on sailing, and let each of them take turns steering the boat. I was too preoccupied with being sick to think about sunscreen, and I was wearing shorts so my legs got badly burned. Being young and foolish, I had a hamburger, French fries, and a Coke before hitting the high sea and didn’t know dramamine existed until it was too late. I haven’t sailed since, but I’m glad you enjoy it.
When I was growing up, one of my family’s favorite activities was a visit to the mountains to escape the heat of Tucson, Arizona. We packed a picnic lunch, and if we ended up near a creek or any other body of water, we swam. The following poem from How to Build a Better Mousetrap: Recollections and Reflections of a Family Caregiver describes a typical day in the mountains with the Johnson family.
Highland Adventure
Mother packs sandwiches, chips, fruit, pop,
loads everything into the trunk of our Mercedes Benz.
Dad turns off the air conditioner.
We open the windows, breathe the fresh mountain air.
We picnic near a creek.
My younger brother, father, and I dabble in the water.
When it’s too deep, I’m afraid.
Dad holds me, tells me to kick.
Later, we pile into the car, tired but happy.
My brother and I are asleep before we reach home.
When you were growing up, did your family go up in the mountains? Did you ever hike, fish, or ski? Tell me about it by leaving a comment below.
Here’s a song about enjoying a sunny day in the mountains or anywhere else. It was made popular in the 70’s by John Denver who spent much of his life in Aspen, Colorado, a mountain town. To learn more about him, visit http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_Denver The link to a recording of me singing this song will be available for at least a few days.
http://dl.dropbox.com/u/15213189/sunshine%20on%20my%20shoulders.mp3
Abbie Johnson Taylor, Author of We Shall Overcome
and
How to Build a Better Mousetrap: Recollections and Reflections of a Family Caregiver
http://www.abbiejohnsontaylor.com
A couple of weeks after Bill suffered his first stroke and was transferred to the nursing home, I was invited to a friend’s birthday party for her little girl. I was feeling especially sad that day, and it was all I could do to hold back tears, as I ate tacos and watched the child open her gifts. The following poem from How to Build a Better Mousetrap: Recollections and Reflections of a Family Caregiver illustrates this.
A Secret Sadness
I fight to keep from crying.
“Push it back, way back,” I tell myself.
Melissa’s eight-year-old cries of delight
mingle with the chatter of her playmates,
the smell of tacos.
Bill suffered a stroke that paralyzed his left side.
Will he ever walk again?
I paste a smile on my face, admire Melissa’s presents.
How can I be happy?
I’ll leave you now with a song that also depicts my unhappiness in the first weeks after Bill’s first stroke. This is one of Bill’s favorite songs, and he wants me to sing it at his funeral. I don’t know if I can do that. The link will be available for at least a couple of days.
http://dl.dropbox.com/u/15213189/stormy%20weather.mp3
Abbie Johnson Taylor, Author of
We Shall Overcome
and
How to Build a Better Mousetrap: Recollections and Reflections of a Family Caregiver
http://www.abbiejohnsontaylor.com
I knew a man who wanted his grown children to sing at his funeral. Since they knew that was his desire, they taped the music far ahead of time and the funeral director played it at the appropriate time in the funeral. Just a suggestion to grant Bill’s wishes while not experiencing your own grief.
Hi Abbie,
I enjoyed your singing of this song.
I like it a lot too.
Doing a taping in advance is a good idea.
What ever you do it will be the right choice for you at the time.
I am grateful to have the privilege to read your work.
See you later today.
Hi Betty, actually, I thought of that when I made the recording. I saved the file on my computer so when the time comes, I don’t have to sing it live if I don’t think I can. I’m sure Bill will appreciate it no matter how I do it. Thanks for the suggestion.
Hi Betty,
How cool Abbie has another reader of her blog.
Welcome.
Hope you start one.
Those are nice comments you left.
Betty, I agree with Gail. You should start a blog. You don’t have to be a writer to do that, but they say that even if you’re just writing blog posts, that still makes you a writer. A lot of people on the network have blogs here, and I don’t think many of them are writers like me and Gail. There may be others in your situation, and you may be able to reach out to them through a blog. I enjoy reading and listening to your posts here.
Hi Betty,
If you start a blog I will read it on a regular basis like I do Abbie’s.
It is sad that most of the people on the network do not use the blog.
A lot of people have blogs on the network, but I think a lot of people don’t take time to read other people’s blogs, and that’s what is sad, but to each his own.
As I said in earlier posts, I was born in New York City, and my family moved to Boulder, Colorado, and Tucson, Arizona, before finally settling here in Sheridan, Wyoming. I went away to college and came back. When Bill proposed to me, he was living in Fowler, Colorado, at the time, and I thought he wanted me to move there to be with him, which I might have considered, daunting as it sounded. To my relief, Bill wanted to move here to be with me. The following poem was just published in Sensations Magazine. It details all the places where I’ve lived and illustrates the fact that Sheridan, Wyoming, is where I want to stay.
Where I Came From
I came from the city they say never sleeps,
a town in Colorado I barely recall,
the heat of Arizona that seeps into your bones,
a place where blind children learned the three R’s,
a neighborhood where children rode bikes, played games,
the green grass and trees, rolling hills of Wyoming,
college campuses full of activity,
a summer in Kansas when I was glad to get home,
a North Dakota winter so brutal, so cold,
another town in Colorado where I might have been happy,
a blue Wyoming sky—this is where I’ll stay.
Abbie Johnson Taylor, Author of
We Shall Overcome
and
How to Build a Better Mousetrap: Recollections and Reflections of a Family Caregiver
http://www.abbiejohnsontaylor.com
Hi Abbie,
I grew up in Honolulu, Hawaii.
I have lived in Arizona for three months. Hank and I lived in Tempe. We liked the weather especially no flees and at the time no fire ants.
Texas is like living in Honolulu at least weather wise concerning humidity. It doesn’t get as hot there as it does here.
I like the fact that it is always possible to travel between states. In hawaii you either have to sail or fly.
Hi Gail, one of the reasons we left Arizona after living there for eight years was because we couldn’t take the heat anymore. I guess Texas isn’t nearly as hot. I’m glad you like living there.
Hi Abbie,
It gets up to 110.
Arizona has a dry heat therefore it doesn’t seem as hot.
The weather here in Texas has a lot of humidity and so it feels stifling.
The humidity in Hawaii is more like Houston. Houston is sticky but New Orleans is down right awful.
Wyoming I’m sure has a bit dryer conditions than Texas.
Yes, Gail, we do have dryer conditions here in Wyoming, but it gets cold in the winter, and there’s a lot of snow. I guess that just goes to show that no place has perfect weather conditions all year round.
Reta, pronounced Reeta, was one of the residents at Sheridan Manor I knew for years. When she first came, she preferred to stay in her room, choosing not to attend group activities, although she came to the dining room for meals. She loved to visit with me or anyone else who took the time to stop and talk. As her mental abilities declined, she chose to take her meals in her room, although she still loved to visit.
For some unknown reason, she started singing to herself, as she sat in her room. When she was eventually confined to a wheelchair, aides wheeled her to the lobby and other communal areas where she regaled everyone else with her songs. The following poem from How to Build a Better Mousetrap: Recollections and Reflections of a Family Caregiver illustrates how Reta devoted the last few months of her life to song.
Reta’s Song
She sits in her wheelchair day in and day out,
singing the same song over and over and over again.
The tune is the same.
She makes up different words.
Sometimes, her words make sense.
Often, they have no meaning.
Unaware of what goes on around her,
she just keeps singing that same song
over and over and over again.
There was a time when she didn’t sing,
not even when someone else was singing.
She’d talk your head off for hours.
She didn’t keep singing that same song
over and over and over again.
She has changed.
She no longer talks your head off.
She sings it off.
When spoken to, she responds mostly In song.
The words are different.
The tune is the same.
She just keeps singing that same song
over and over and over again.
Abbie Johnson Taylor, Author of
We Shall Overcome
and
How to Build a Better Mousetrap: Recollections and Reflections of a Family Caregiver
http://www.abbiejohnsontaylor.com
Here’s a more upbeat look at Christmas. The following poem could be sung to the tune of “Deck the Halls,” but I won’t do that. Instead, I’ll leave you with a link to where you can hear me play and sing another well-known Christmas song. This link will be available for at least a few days. I hope all of you who are reading this have a merry Christmas and prosperous 2012.
CHRISTMAS PARODY
Tis the season to go crazy,
round and round it all gets hazy,
lots of programs and parties galore!
Hang up the phone and open the door.
Tis the season to spend money
on gourmet coffee and lots of honey,
candy, toys, books, clothes,
wrapping paper, ribbons, bows.
Deck the hall with a four-leaf clover.
Tis the time to be hung over.
Open up the wine and brandy.
Water should be always handy.
Look at the brightly burning fire.
Play the guitar and join the choir.
Don’t be shy. Just let it out.
Tis the time to “twist and shout!”
Oh the days are swiftly flying,
new year coming, old year dying.
Till the ending of this year,
Fill your heart with Christmas cheer.
http://dl.dropbox.com/u/15213189/christmas%20song.mp3
Abbie Johnson Taylor, Author of
We Shall Overcome
and
How to Build a Better Mousetrap: Recollections and Reflections of a Family Caregiver
http://www.abbiejohnsontaylor.com
Since my mother died of cancer on December 15th, 1999, Christmas hasn’t been quite the same. Now, with my family scattered across the country, it’s usually just me, Bill, and Dad for the holiday. Below is a poem that talks about how a particular carol causes a lump in my throat, as I mourn my mother’s passing. Below the poem, you will find a link to a recording of me playing and singing that carol. This link will be available for at least a couple of days.
A MOURNFUL NIGHT
I wash dishes,mouth the words to “O Holy Night.”
As soap washes away skum
from plates, glasses, silverware,
centuries after that holy night,
tears washed away the pain of my mother’s passing,
but the carol still causes a lump in my throat.
http://dl.dropbox.com/u/15213189/o%20holy%20night.mp3
Abbie Johnson Taylor, Author of
We Shall Overcome
and
How to Build a Better Mousetrap: Recollections and Reflections of a Family Caregiver
http://www.abbiejohnsontaylor.com
The first of two poems I’ll include today is supposed to look like a Christmas tree. It has nine lines with each line having more syllables than the last. In the second poem, I talk about how the creation of the first poem triggered a memory of a school Christmas craft project that didn’t turn out quite right. Both poems are from my new book, How to Build a Better Mousetrap: Recollections and Reflections of a Family Caregiver
On A Summer Evening
Cool
darkness
surrounds me.
Crickets chirp their
evening serenade.
I lie awake, listen
to the night outside the panes.
I finally close my eyes and drift,
lulled by the crickets’ songs, the breezes.
I Admire My Handiwork
The poem contains nine lines,
each with one more syllable than the last.
It looks like a Christmas tree.
I’m transported back to my fifth grade classroom
in a school for children with visual impairments.
I’m pasting pop bottle tops to a piece of red felt
in nine rows, each containing more lids than the last.
But the rows are jagged.
“It’s supposed to look like a Christmas tree,” says Mrs. Jones.
“Don’t you know what a Christmas tree looks like?”
Almost fifty years later,
I stare in amazement at my computer screen
where I’ve managed to form a perfect Christmas tree out of words.
What do you remember about having a Christmas tree in your home? Did Dad go out in the forest to find just the right tree, or did you all pile into the family station wagon and drive to a nearby lot? Did you use homemade or store-bought decorations? Did your tree have a star or angel on top? Who was given the honor of putting that star or angel on top of the tree? Please e-mail me or share your memories below.
Here’s a Christmas medley to get you thinking about that memorable Christmas tree. This link will be available for at least a couple of days.
http://dl.dropbox.com/u/15213189/christmas%20medley.mp3
Abbie Johnson Taylor, Author of
We Shall Overcome
and
How to Build a Better Mousetrap: Recollections and Reflections of a Family Caregiver
http://www.abbiejohnsontaylor.com
abbie@samobile.net
When I was a child we bought our tree off a lot.
When I lived in Nebraska I got to experience cutting our tree down.
I think of the two I like being able to go to the
Tree Farm the best.
The pines smell superb. Walking with the crunch of the branches and needles under my feet always seemed invigorating.
This was the only time I liked snow on the ground.
Many times we bought cups of hot chocolate and walked around looking at the tree.
It definitely proved challenging making sure the tree and the stand were in the correct alignment.
Now you can buy a tree with all the lights already on them.
In my estimation takes some of the joy out of getting a tree.
I always welcome your songs in your post.
As a child we just bought stuff didn’t have anything special that I recall.
Who ever grabbed the star put it on.
When I got married my husband or my mother-in-law would put the star on the tree.
During my first marriage we did buy a new ornament every year but right now don’t remember what kind.
When I married Hank we always let Mandy put the star on. He would hold her high in the air so she could do it.
Hank really likes trains so often there was at least one train decoration.
Hi Gail, thank you for sharing your memories. I agree that buying a tree from a lot is more agreeable. I also loved to walk among the trees and breathe in the scent of fresh pine needles. Also, I don’t like being around such equipment as chain saws because I’ve always been sensitive to the loud, destructive noises they make.
Now, we don’t have room in our house, but if we did, I would buy a tree that’s already decorated just because it would easier to put up. With my limited vision, if I tried to string lights and tinsel on a tree, it would look like something the cat dragged in if we had one.
One day when I was eight, my dad took me up on the roof of our house. This was back in the 60’s when we lived in a house in Tucson Arizona. We had a swamp cooler on the roof, and it always broke down during the summer months. The following poem from How to Build a Better Mousetrap: Recollections and Reflections of a Family Caregiver talks about that time on the roof, how everything seemed different from up there, and how Dad somehow managed to get the cooler going again.
On Top of The House
The cooler stands silent, inert,
dares Dad to fix it.
At the age of eight, I perch on one of the roof’s slopes,
gaze in wonder at the world below.
Mother calls from far away, yet close.
Where is she?
Dad hunches over the cooler.
“Turn it on,” he calls.
After a pause, it springs to life,
distributing cool air throughout the house’s interior.
It’s time to leave the top of the world.
Did you ever climb on the roof of your house when you were a kid? Tell me about it. Have you ever watched your dad repair something or try and fail to repair something? Please e-mail me or share your comments below.
By the way, How to Build a Better Mousetrap: Recollections and Reflections of a Family Caregiver is now available in print online from Amazon, Barnes and Noble, and the publisher iUniverse. On my Website at http://www.abbiejohnsontaylor.com is a page containing information about the book, a sample poem, and links to where the book can be ordered on the sites I just mentioned.
Now, let’s take our reminiscing in a different direction. The house in Tucson I just mentioned had no chimney so Santa Claus came in through the front door on Christmas Eve. This was in the good old days before people locked their doors. What are your memories of Santa Claus? Here’s a song to get you thinking about it. This link will be available for at least a few days.
http://dl.dropbox.com/u/15213189/up%20on%20the%20housetop.mp3
Abbie Johnson Taylor, Author of
We Shall Overcome
and
How to Build a Better Mousetrap: Recollections and Reflections of a Family Caregiver
http://www.abbiejohnsontaylor.com
abbie@samobile.net
Hmmm.
As a child we didn’t have a chimney either.
I assumed though he would still come down the chimney.
I never gave any thought to the fact that this was impossible.
I did think though if it was blocked he would just come in the door. Locked or not he still had the ability to enter.
Hi Gail, this is interesting. Nowadays, in an era where everyone locks their doors, I wonder what parents tell their kids if the house doesn’t have a chimney.
When I was a child, since on my mother’s side all of the grandchildren were around the same age, (births ranged from 1945–1956), Santa clause would come to visit the lot of us at one time. One of my aunts made a Santa Clause suit replete with white fur, a belly pillow, and red suit and hat. Of course he wore a long white beard made of cotton. Most of the time he would be an older uncle who lived in the area. As we grew older, different uncles took over the job but disguising the voice was the biggest challenge. Some of our presents were piled in the back of pickup trucks and they would be hauled to the front porch of the farmhouse (which still had an outhouse in the back yard by the smoke house), where Santa would read out the names and we all would run to the front door and line up so we could get our presents when our names were called. After Santa left, our parents would take over and pass out gifts that were under the tree.
Hi Betty, thank you for sharing. My mother always took us to see Santa Claus in department stores and other locations, but we never received gifts from him directly. He always brought them on Christmas Eve after we were in bed, and in the morning, they were in our stockings or under the Christmas tree.
On January 28th, 2006, I learned the meaning of this word. I’d heard the word before, but the damaging concept had never hit home until that fateful night when I walked into our house after performing with my group at a wine tasting event to find my husband lying on the floor, drenched in sweat, and barely coherent. The following poem from How to Build a Better Mousetrap: Recollections and Reflections of a Family Caregiver details the events surrounding my husband’s first stroke and the hopelessness.
Hemorrhage
Barely coherent, drenched in sweat, he lay on the floor. “What happened?” I asked. His response was unintelligible.
“I don’t need to go to the hospital,” he told the paramedics. “but if my wife wants me to go, I guess I will.”
“The stroke was caused by bleeding on the right side of his brain,” said the doctor. “He may need surgery.”
“In this case, surgery won’t help,” another doctor told us. “We’ll just have to wait and see.”
“He’s not strong enough to participate in our rehabilitation program,” said the social worker. “He’ll have to go to a nursing home.”
“I don’t know how much you’ll recover or how long it will take,” a third doctor said. “Continue the therapy, and watch your blood pressure.”
“We’ll work on strengthening your legs and try to get you up and moving,” the therapist promised him.
“They’ve given up on me. I don’t think I’ll ever walk again.”
Abbie Johnson Taylor Author of
We Shall Overcome
and
How to Build a Better Mousetrap: Recollections and Reflections of a Family Caregiver
http://www.abbiejohnsontaylor.com
abbie@samobile.net
Hi Abbie,
I’m sure this poem will ring a cord with others who have experienced finding their family member after a stroke.
I send hugs of encouragement to you.
It isn’t easy being a care giver.
I hope your book does well.
By the way how is your main blog doing?
Hi Gail, you’re right. Being a family caregiver isn’t easy, but it could be worse. Thankfully, Bill is still mentally alert and relatively healthy. The only challenge I face daily are the physical ones associated with his personal care, but after doing this for five years, I’ve pretty much got it down to a fine art. I’m grateful for the help I get from the local senior center’s in-home services program.
As for my other blog at http://abbiescorneroftheworld.blogspot.com, it’s doing about as well as this one, but I’ve gotten more comments there from time to time. I post the same information on that blog that I do here, and I have it set to e-mail me when someone leaves a comment there which makes monitoring comments a lot easier. Serotek is an excellent company, and I hope that someday, they’ll develop this capability with the blogs here.
When we grow old, we often become dependent on others because we can no longer walk, talk, see, hear, or think clearly. A nursing home is not like a prison. There are no bars on the windows, no armed guards, but a nursing home is still an institution where everything is regimented. When you’re used to being in your own home where you can do the things you want when you want and eat food cooked to your specific liking, moving to such a facility can be a difficult adjustment, no matter how hard the staff tries to make residents feel at home. It sometimes feels like a prison sentence.
The following poem is from my collection, How to Build a Better Mousetrap: Recollections and Reflections of a Family Caregiver. It talks about being sentenced to a life of dependence simply for growing old.
Aging
I sit on a bench outside the nursing home,
an ordinary red brick building with many windows.
Oaks and cottonwoods grace the lawn.
The fragrance of roses and newly mown grass permeate the air.
Birds sing. Cars whoosh by.
Through an open window,
an old woman talks to herself, laughs.
I think of others imprisoned by age,
unable to stand, walk, talk, see, hear, think,
sentenced to a life of dependence for growing old.
Abbie Johnson Taylor, Author of We Shall Overcome
and
How to Build a Better Mousetrap: Recollections and Reflections of a Family Caregiver
http://www.abbiejohnsontaylor.com
abbie@samobile.net
Calvin, my husband is 77 years old. Until about two years ago our life was good. Then I started to notice the subtle changes of memory and the endless questions he would repeatedly ask me hourly each day. I tried to warn his kids but when in public, he could fool those who didn’t see him regularly. Now, the disease has progressed and has a name: Alzheimer’s dementia. Since this process began about 2.5 years ago, we have moved out of our home which was paid for and left it to be rented by whoever will pay the askinng price. We left our beloved church where I played the organ each week and taught Sunday school adult class. We first tried a house but he didn’t have enough memory to perform upkeep and regular maintenance. After a hospitalization, the doctors and social worker suggested a retirement home which had less responsibility and overseers who were a call away if we needed help. Now our daaughter-inlaw manages our meds, and within this upcoming year we’ll take the car keys away. Now we live in two prisons at the same time. One is a structured three story building among 9 others like it at this address. All of our Social Security goes to buy food and pay the exorbitant rent afforded to those who are aging and might need special care. But the inner prison is far worse than the concrete structure. For one inmate the brain is slowly short circuiting out and losing vital connectionss by months, and weeks, and days. The second inmate faces the challenge of having a comfortable world torn upside down while she watches the one most dear to her in life gradually slip away leaving only the shell or housing where the soull and spirit once lived. Right now he’s probably 10 years old, but tomorrow he could be 5 as another shortcircuit occurrs in the wasteland that was once an intelligent degreed mind that cann no longer write a check or spell a familiar last name.
Hi Betty, I believe you hit the nail on the head. In the fifteen years I worked at the nursing home, I met residents who were perfectly alert and saw them decline to the point where they couldn’t even speak. I’ve always been concerned for family members who deal with this on a daily basis. At least when I worked at the nursing home, I could go home at night and get away from it. I feel fortunate that Bill isn’t suffering from this, and I can only wish for the best for you and Calvin. Thank you for sharing.
I’m sending out Christmas letters early this year for a good reason. I’m in the process of self-publishing my collection of poems entitled How to Build a Better Mousetrap: Recollections and Reflections of a Family Caregiver. The book is in the printing stage and should be on the market in a couple of weeks. Once it hits bookstore shelves, I’ll be busy marketing so I’m trying to get my Christmas chores out of the way early.
The year 2011 has been an eventful one. In February, I made a difficult decision. I’d been singing with a women’s barbershop group called Patchwork. I first joined them when they were part of the Sweet Adelines network, and we eventually separated from the network because we couldn’t find the required number of members. Last year, I realized that my philosophy for performing was different from that of the majority of the group. We were performing songs that weren’t ready to be performed and often gave performances when we didn’t have all our parts. This negatively effected our sound. When our assistant director quit, I decided I’d had enough as well. As it turned out, several others in the group felt the same way and also quit. About a month later, we formed our own group, Just Harmony.
This group isn’t limited to barbershop music. We sing a variety of songs with three and four-part harmony, some accompanied, some not. Patchwork’s former assistant director now directs us and accompanies us on piano when necessary.
We’ve had several performances since we started practicing in April. In May, we sang “The Star-Spangled Banner” to start a local baseball game. in July, we sang for a senior ladies’ golf tournament banquet. In September, we performed for a gathering at a clubhouse in Banner about twenty miles south of Sheridan. In October, we sang at a talent show at the local Methodist church where we practice, and in November, we performed at a service at the Prairie Dog Community Church located about seven or eight miles south of Sheridan. Last Saturday, we sang for a red hat Christmas party at the Holiday Inn, and next Saturday, we may perform again at the Prairie Dog Community Church.
In April, I attended the WyoPoets annual workshop in Casper. The presenter was Lee Ann Roripaugh, a creative writing instructor at a South Dakota university. She taught us several forms of prose poetry. The poem below is one I wrote during the workshop. The form is called a haibun, a combination of prose and a Japanese form called a haiku which contains three lines: the first and third having five syllables and the second having seven. This poem is included in my collection.
Spring’s Hopelessness
Spring comes wet with little sun. Hope is dashed by the wind that buffets the house, rattles wind chimes, rain that drums on the roof. Without enough warmth, grass, flowers, trees, shrubs won’t grow.
He loves the sun, can’t get enough. It’s one of his few pleasures since he can no longer walk or use his left arm or care for himself. After a brutal winter with endless snow, frigid temperatures, he longs to enjoy the sun’s healing warmth.
wishes for the sun
fall on the deaf ears of God
wait for warmth to come
In May, our friend Becky Holloway from Marshalltown, Iowa, spent a week with us. In June, I attended the Wyoming Writers’ annual conference, again in Casper. In September, we received a visit from our friends Don Andreoli and Alice Lentz who live in Pueblo, Colorado.
Also in September, Bill and I celebrated our sixth wedding anniversary by attending my cousin Shelley’s wedding at the Eaton Guest Ranch about nineteen miles east of Sheridan. The ceremony was held outdoors, and the weather was perfect, sunny and in the low 80’s. Afterward, we moved indoors for appetizers and dinner. It was a great way for us to commemorate our marriage.
In November, I asked Bill what he wanted for Christmas, and he said, “a copy of your poetry book.” I then realized it was time for me to self publish How to Build a Better Mousetrap: Recollections and Reflections of a Family Caregiver. I contacted iUniverse, the same company that published my novel, We Shall Overcome, and within a week, they had the manuscript. Now, after three rounds of proofing, it’s finally in the printing stage.
In a couple of weeks, the book should be available from many online book retailers for $10.95 per paperback copy and $3.99 per eBook edition. If you want a more accessible digital copy, e-mail me, and for the price of the eBook, I’ll e-mail the book to you in doc format. You can read more about the book on previous posts.
Now, click on the link below to hear or download a holiday greeting from Bill and me. We wish you a joyous season and prosperous new year to come.
Sincerely,
Abbie and Bill Taylor
http://dl.dropbox.com/u/15213189/holiday%20greeting%202011.mp3
Abbie Johnson Taylor, Author of We Shall Overcome
and
How to Build a Better Mousetrap: Recollections and Reflections of a Family Caregiver
http://www.abbiejohnsontaylor.com
abbie@samobile.net
Hi Abbie and Bill,
Happy seasons greetings to both of you.
We’re going to have a quiet Christmas and New Year.
Good luck on the book.
I will look for it on Kendel. I can read it on my PC.
I’m glad to hear your singing group is going well. It’s nice to work with like-minded individuals.
Singing is a wonderful outlet.
I look forward to your songs as part of your posts.
Hi Gail, I don’t know if Amazon will make it available for Kindle. I do plan to contribute it to Bookshare as soon as I can scan a printed copy. Will keep you posted on that.
What did you have this morning when you got up? Here’s a poem that talks about something I occasionally fix for me and Bill. It’s included in my new book, How to Build a Better Mousetrap: Recollections and Reflections of a Family Caregiver, which I hope will be released next month.
Breakfast
We eat pancakes,
not square, not triangular,
not bathed in peanut butter or onions,
round buttermilk pancakes
covered with maple syrup,
prepared by me with love.
They say breakfast is the most important meal of the day. Do you remember Mom or Grandma making pancakes, waffles, or biscuits from scratch, waking to the smell wafting up to your room from the kitchen, enticing you to climb out of your warm bed on a cold winter morning, put on a robe and slippers, and hurry downstairs to a hot breakfast? Please share your memories. You can leave a comment below or e-mail me at abbie@samobile.net
Abbie Johnson Taylor, Author of We Shall Overcome
and
How to Build a Better Mousetrap: Recollections and Reflections of a Family Caregiver
http://www.abbiejohnsontaylor.com
abbie@samobile.net
Breakfast is my favorite meal. It has been since I was little.
We usually had hot cereal like oatmeal or Cream of Wheat. If not that some kind of cold cereal.
Since my parents had a grocery store to run they didn’t often take time for pancakes or waffles.
I didn’t have to worry about crawling out of warm covers into frigid temps.
If we had a special breakfast it was Vienna sausage or Portuguese Sausage and eggs.
Pancakes was something we ate at out.
Hi Gail, now, I know where you got your inspiration for the story you’re working on about the Japanese girl who’s family runs a grocery store. I also liked oatmeal and cream of wheat when I was a kid. My mother never made oatmeal, but my grandmother did, and I developed a taste for it when I visited her. Both my mother and grandmother have passed, and I don’t bother with hot cereal anymore.
Below is a story of mine that was published in the fall/winter issue of Magnets and Ladders. I mentioned it in a post a while back but thought that since Thanksgiving is tomorrow, you would enjoy reading it.
Her First Turkey
The dining room table was covered with a white cloth. Linen napkins adorned the eight place settings that each contained a plate, silverware, and a glass. Two of the glasses were plastic and had milk in them. The other six wine glasses were empty. A bottle of wine and cork screw were placed in the center of the table.
Pat admired her handiwork with her limited vision and hoped her mother-in-law would approve. This was her first Thanksgiving with her in-laws, and she willed everything to go smoothly. With a sigh, she sauntered to the doorway and called, “Okay, dinner’s ready.”
They all trooped in, her husband Steve, his parents Harry and Lee Ann, his brother and sister-in-law Rob and Linda, and their two children, Jayson, eight, and Ella, five. As Pat hurried to the kitchen to bring out the platters of food, she heard her mother-in-law say, “All right everyone, this is Pat’s first turkey. I don’t want anyone to say a word if it’s dry.”
“Do I have to eat the turkey if it’s dry?” asked Jayson.
Linda appeared in the kitchen doorway. “Can I help?” she asked.
“Sure,” answered Pat with a sigh of relief. “Take the turkey to Steve so he can start carving it.” She carefully removed the electric knife from a nearby drawer and placed it on the platter next to the bird. “Then you can come back and get the potatoes and gravy. I’ll get the stuffing, salad, and cranberry sauce. Oh, I still need to take the rolls out of the oven.”
“Take your time,” said Linda, placing a reassuring hand on Pat’s shoulder. “This all looks wonderful.”
After the turkey had been cut and the wine opened, and all the food was served, Pat was relieved to hear the satisfying sounds of cutlery scraping against plates. But still too nervous to eat, she stared at her food.
“Ummm, this turkey is nice and juicy,” said Lee Ann.
‘I knew it would be,” said Pat with a smile. She picked up her fork and took a bite.
“Have you cooked a turkey before?” asked Lee Ann. “I’d think that would be hard for someone who can’t see.”
“This stuffing is delicious,” said Linda. “I’d love the recipe.”
The room fell silent, and Pat could feel everyone’s eyes on her. She didn’t want her in-laws to know that she hadn’t prepared the meal, but now that someone had asked for a recipe, what could she say? She didn’t know the first thing about making stuffing. Her mother had never shared her recipes with her.
She took a deep breath and said, “To be honest, I’m not much of a cook. The turkey, stuffing, potatoes and gravy, salad, and rolls came from Albertson’s. The cranberry sauce came out of a can. I ordered the pumpkin pie from Schwan.”
“Hurrah for the fun! Is the pudding done? Hurrah for the pumpkin pie!” came Ella’s sing song voice from the opposite end of the table, breaking the tension. “We sang that at school yesterday, and I told everyone we were going over the river and through the woods to Uncle Steve and Aunt Pat’s house, but it doesn’t fit into the song.”
Everyone giggled, and Pat said, “You’re right, sweetie. It doesn’t, and I’m sorry I missed your program yesterday. I had to work.”
“That’s okay,” said Ella. “I really like your turkey.”
“I do too,” said Jayson. “It’s not dry at all.”
“The potatoes are great,” said Steve. “I think they’re just like Mom’s.”
“Oh you,” said Lee Ann with a laugh.
“I like the salad,” said Rob.
“The rolls are wonderful,” said Harry. “Excuse me. I’m going to have another.”
“This was a great idea,” said Linda. “Maybe the next time I host a holiday dinner, I’ll do the same thing. It would save a lot of time.”
Lee Ann cleared her throat. “Linda, surely you realize that nothing compares to a home cooked meal. However, this is rather nice. Pat, I’m sure it would have been next to impossible to prepare a meal like this from scratch when you can’t see.”
There it was again. Pat’s mother-in-law expected less of her because she was visually impaired. Maybe she should have tried to cook a turkey. She’d seen plenty of articles on cooking in Dialogue and other magazines for the blind written by sightless cooks. In fact, there had been step by step instructions on how to cook a turkey with no sight.
The rest of the family continued eating and chatting as if nothing were wrong. But Pat put down her fork and hung her head, as shame washed over her. Her appetite was gone. “
“What are you smiling about?” asked Steve a month later, as they were driving to Rob and Linda’s house for Christmas dinner.
“Promise me you won’t say a word,” said Pat. “I told Linda I wouldn’t tell anyone, not even you.”
“You and Linda can trust me. My lips are sealed. Now spill.”
“Okay, Linda ordered the prime rib, twice baked potatoes, green bean casserole, rolls, and apple pie from Warehouse Market.”
Steve burst into loud, uproarious laughter. “Mom’s gonna be pissed.”
“Not if she doesn’t know,” said Pat. “If she or anyone else asks for a recipe, Linda will promise to e-mail it to them and send them a recipe she finds online. I wish I’d thought of that last month.”
“I do too. I didn’t think Linda would ask you for that stuffing recipe. It was pretty good, though. But I think this Jell-O salad you’re bringing is going to be a hit.” He tapped the Tupperware container she held securely in her lap.
“I figured if my friend Jackie could make this recipe with no sight at all, I could make it with some vision.”
“I think you’re right, honey.”
“If anybody asks for the recipe, I have it right here.” She tapped her pants pocket that held the printed recipe. “I saved it on the computer so if more than one person wants a copy, I can e-mail it.”
“Good for you,” said Steve. “That talking computer of yours sure works wonders.”
“I downloaded a book from the National Library Service for the blind called Cooking without Looking. Maybe next year, I’ll feel more confident about cooking a Thanksgiving turkey.”
“Maybe we could do it together. It’s about time I learned how to cook.”
The End
Who cooked the turkey when you were growing up? Did everyone chip in and bring something? Did the men watch football while the women prepared the meal? Please feel free to share your Thanksgiving memories. You can comment below or e-mail me. Also, you can click on the link below to hear me sing, “Over the River and Through the Wood.” Have a great Thanksgiving!
http://dl.dropbox.com/u/15213189/over%20the%20river.mp3
Abbie Johnson Taylor, Author of We Shall Overcome
and
How to Build a Better Mousetrap: Recollections and Reflections of a Family Caregiver
http://www.abbiejohnsontaylor.com
abbie@samobile.net
Hi Abbie, I trust you and Bill had a nice Thanksgiving.
When I was 26 I moved from Hawaii to Nebraska. I got a job working for the Nebraska Services for the Blind as a counselor. Many of the people who work for the commission come from all over the country. They like me were going to eat Thanksgiving with friends or alone.
I invited the people who helped me get settled in this new community. I made a turkey and stuffed it with veggies. We had Stove Top Stuffing and canned jelly Cranberries.
I do not recall that anyone brought anything.
I didn’t like to cook back then so this was a real accomplishment.
Everybody else were absolute “NFB the only way people”.
One of them died when he was in his 40s from a heart attack. He died in a cab on the way to the hospital. We heard the cab talk to dispatch. He and his widow were married one week before my wedding when I was married the first time. His widow and er sister sang at our wedding.
Adding to the eeriness’s of it all:
They had just gone on a retreat and talked about such a possibility several weeks before this happened.
My husband and I had the feeling that morning before the call went out that we should call them and tell them that they both needed to go in that cab together. This was not a practical nudge we decided because 1. we were just acquaintances and they’d never believe us, and their children were young and could not be left alone.
See you Saturday.
Hi, Gail, your Thanksgiving meal sounded good, and I’m sorry to hear of your friend’s passing.
Bill and I went out with my dad this year. We ate at Perkins where I had turkey and all the trimmings. Bill had strawberry pancakes, and Dad had a hamburger and salad. I don’t think it matters what you eat as long as you give thanks. I hope you’re having a good day.
Hi Abbie,
I agree it doesn’t matter what you eat as long as one gives thanks.
Glad your book is going to be published finally.
Hi Gail, I’m glad, too, that it’s finally happening. I received a phone call from my book consultant at iUniverse a couple of days ago, and she said the book is being activated at the printer’s, and I should be receiving a print copy to review within a week. If there aren’t any problems, it should be available from Amazon and other online book retailers in a couple of weeks. Will keep everyone posted.
Abbie Johnson Taylor
Author of We Shall Overcome
http://www.abbiejohnsontaylor.com
http://abbiescorneroftheworld.blogspot.com
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