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400 Miles from Home
Our best man, Rob, is visiting for a few days this long holiday weekend and it has been one full of reminiscing. Yesterday we went hiking at Giant City State Park and he became overwhelmed with the silence of the forest. He commented on how weird his ears felt with the absence of city noise. Even with the sounds of birds and locusts, the silence was deafening to him. He is used to honking horns and jets overhead. It has been too long since Rob walked in the southern Illinois forests amidst sandstone bluffs. It reminded me of a time about 25 years ago when Rob took us hiking in…
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The Secret to a Happy Marriage
Such power in one tiny word. The secret to “A” happy marriage. That “A” implies I have all the answers, know all the preventatives for broken marriages. How arrogant of me. I only believe I know what has worked for one. The only recipe I can write about is the one which has lasted 35 years in my own home. 35 years this past week. In my mind, we set out on this journey long before marriage. Six years before. Back in the days of constant bliss when we were together and aching when we were apart, I thought we should be together every day of our lives for evermore.…
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Vast Planet, Tiny World
One evening, Jim and I stopped by a table in a local restaurant to speak to the guy who had been our wedding photographer. Mike and I knew each other from my high school days and he and his family had recently begun attending the church my family belonged to. As we chit-chatted, we talked about how we had both graduated from Murray State University in Kentucky. When that happens, there is an understood connection between the people in the conversation and the place. We both obviously shared a love for Murray. While we were trying to figure out if we had been there at the same time, he mentioned…
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It’s Just a Number
It was a BIG birthday this week. 60. It hurts to say it much more than anything else. Since age 40, I’ve had some students say, “What? You are THAT old? You don’t look that old.” Thanks. It has helped to hear that. They swear they didn’t say it for good grades; they really meant it . . . they said. I don’t know what I expected 60 to be. Like every birthday, it doesn’t feel any different. It helps it has come a couple of weeks after retirement. Now there is more time for reminiscing. Wow, 60 birthdays. I think back to the milestones. That photo above is my…
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Lurch’s Bifocals
Between kindergarten and third grades, Alisa and I were good buddies. We spent a lot of time at each other’s houses. I loved going to her house where the furniture matched, her bedroom looked like it belonged to a girl instead of a grandma, she had a color TV, and her mother made my favorite breakfast. I can’t remember if I was still sleeping on our couch which made a bed or I had graduated to a Jenny Lind bed upstairs at the time, but I know my sister and I had a pink play kitchen complete with refrigerator, sink, and stove on our upstairs landing. It was made of…
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Roasted Like Corn on the Cob
I’ve decided to take a break this week. This is the second day of my retirement and I thought I would let someone else rack their brain for something to write. I didn’t have far to look, because my sister roasted me this week at a retirement party honoring the three retiring teachers in our district. She underestimates her writing and speaking skills, but she had the room of approximately 50 people laughing the entire time. I stole the speech so I could highlight her. That, and I am a sucker for self-deprecating humor. “As many of you know, Carla and I are sisters, and contrary to what she always…
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My Dad, My Adversary
My four-year-old was sitting on a board hooked over the barber’s chair to make him taller. We had recently moved back to southern Illinois from Kentucky and I was reconnecting with people in my hometown. Monk the barber knew everyone and everything going on in the village boasting a population of 2,000. When he realized who I was, he switched the conversation. “How is ole Duck doing?” With nicknames like Monk, Duck, and Butt-cut, I didn’t know where this may be headed. I knew my daddy (Duck, short for Donald Duck) and Monk had some kind of history together from way back, so I wasn’t sure what he wanted to…
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Happy Mother’s Day
I took my mother for granted. I thought she would always be here. Her mother lived to be 97, so why wouldn’t her mother’s daughter? My mother lived 25 years less than my grandmother and her death hit me hard. It hit us all hard. Fifteen years ago tomorrow, Mother’s Day. I lived in a grievous fog and thought depression and sadness were my new normal. Until they weren’t. Two years later I realized the veil had slowly lifted, although I didn’t recognize when. It finally felt good to remember happy times and her ridiculous “Rubyisms” without that gut-wrenching longing for her. This Mother’s Day, I am grateful for a…
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Cool, Clear Water
One of my students emptied a packet of sweetener into his bottled water during our first-period class yesterday and prompted students around him to ask why. He didn’t have any explanation other than it tasted good. A little odd, maybe, but many of us use additives in our morning drinks, don’t we? My husband and I put what we fondly call “coffee crack” into our coffee every morning. My favorite is Southern Butter Pecan. I have switched my drink habits up over the years. Many years ago, I was a soda drinker. Then I became addicted to sweet tea. I eventually stopped drinking all caffeinated and sugared drink for several…
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Not Mad as a Hatter, Yet
“I’ll be there God willing and the creeks don’t rise,” said Mother for the hundredth time during my eight years. And she added, “If nobody’s sick.” She was on the phone talking to only God knew who, but it was definitely someone from the George Hart Post 167 VFW Auxiliary. It could have been one of her sisters. All seven of the Short girls belonged to the women’s auxiliary and I’m sure each of them had held multiple offices at some time or another. My mother was a natural born secretary/treasurer for every organization to which she ever belonged: VFW Auxiliary, PTA, our village township. At one point, she was…
