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Blogger insists on showing my posts and comments to others as my Books Blog, You can click on it to get here and vice versa....the Book blog is just that while this one, my first, original has miscellany

Sunday, September 7, 2008

Margie Sway

I wonder how we adapt traits that make us become like those who are not DNA relations? And just what traits are genetic? For a long time I've wondered about what's genetic and what's environmental? I also wonder about how much environmental is needed to be influential?

Aunt Marge in 1941,  before marriage
Today I thought about my Aunt Marge; she was my aunt because she married Uncle Carl, Mom's brother. Aunt Marge died in 1997 and Uncle Carl is still going strong living on his own in Lower Burrel, PA at the age of 89. I sure wish he would consider hiring help in mowing his lawn, etc. but that's another story of the stubborn Ostrowski Polish lineage. Well that was another thing, Aunt Marge was a "Slovak" and the Polish let her know that too. The comment, "what can you expect from a Slovak?" was said in a teasing manner but seriously too.

Aunt Marge was a beautician. She had her shop in their home for as long as I remember. She put hair up in pin curls for many older ladies many years after it went out of fashion to do so. She also liked to travel while Uncle Carl confined his travels to annual reunions with his WWII Army buddies and many fishing and hunting trips with the guys. He said he'd seen enough of Europe during the war to last him for several lifetimes. So Aunt Marge traveled with others or took tours on her own to Europe and all over. Aunt Marge had a favorite saying, "Carl if you can't speak and say something nice to me just don't say anything at all." And with that she'd vacate the room or area, off smiling about her way. They never had any children.

I thought of Aunt Marge when I put on an old sweatshirt jacket today that I've had for years. It's way too big but comfortable. I admired the floral and faded sage green pattern and the corduroy collar when I picked it up at some garage sale in CA for probably $1 years ago. I wore it to aerobic classes in CA because it reached to my knees and gave cover over the leotard and tights till I got into class. I've not lived in CA for 3 years and I must have given up aerobics at least 10 years prior to that. I toss this history of this sweatshirt jacket in so you get the drift of my parsimonious side. Some things I just keep. Well last year I looked at it hanging in the closet abandoned for years, and being in one of my sewing moods said, "I'll shorten it and then I can wear it with jeans and it won't look so bad." Never mind that the shoulders hang 3 inches below my shoulders and the cuffs fall far below my hands, I push those up. It's comfortable. So I did indeed cut it down to jacket size length. Aunt Marge would have been proud.

She was short and often her clothes were too long. In my family Aunt Jinx, Mom's & Carl's sister, is a top notch seamstress who for a time, when she was laid off from Pittsburgh Plate Glass worked as a seamstress at a blouse factory. By the way she too is still hanging in there at age 86 and lives in her own home, a widow in Natrona Hts., PA.

Well Aunt Marge used to cut down her skirts and even her shirts, making them shorter to fit her. All this she would do spontaneously as one day she'd put the clothing on and it suddenly occurred to her that it was too long. But while Aunt Marge might have been great with hair, sewing was not her forte. She could neither cut nor stitch a straight line. But it didn't bother her much, she was always proud of her alterations. It came to be known as the Margie sway!

Jinx would take one look at Marge's product and say, "Marge take that off and give it to me to take home and fix." Aunt Marge would be astonished,"Fix it? I just did. See how good it fits." It was a routine for I Love Lucy. Usually these discussions ended by Jinx taking the altered article home with her to sew it straight and fix it right. Jinx too has the stubborn Ostroski lineage which I really must write about someday on this blog. Though they were friends, the Pollack always won over the Slovak.

A couple years ago visiting in PA I put on a pair of slacks that were too long which I'd shortened. Jinx was horrified. She immediately said, "Patty take those off and let me hem them." I laughed and said, "Oh I already did..see they fit." Jinx nearly became apoplectic and continued--"I don't know how you can be like Aunt Marge wearing something that crooked......" And she would straighten my hems.

So today after heading outside with my jacket I caught my reflection in the car window. Wow! This jacket hem is not straight at all! I had to laugh out loud--Aunt Marge's spirit attacks again. Here in retirement in MN , I sew a lot more and know way better. I can sew and cut straight lines too! But here's my jacket with a Margie sway to it. And I've worn it for over a year this way--well it's just for kicking around. Maybe this will start a new cut to clothing in the fashion line--I just might have a new design. And I would call it the "Margie sway", see the directions now, --cut two lengths to the Margie sway, hem with 2 to 3 inches of the Margie sway!

So while there was no genetic link to Aunt Marge and I did not spend lots of time with her, how did I pick up this trait? Or is it that as a people we are all really a lot more alike than we can imagine?

Tuesday, August 19, 2008

Election Preparation

Got this in from a friend today---

The presidential election is just a few months away. And we've been hearing a lot of talk from both sides.

Unfortunately, it isn't always easy to judge a candidate's stance on issues. Statements can be taken out of context. Or, a candidate may not respond to questions. And if you listen to mainstream media only you have the most tainted view.

But GlassBooth.org can help you make sense of the candidates. It's a nonprofit, nonpartisan organization. You can begin by exploring the candidates. You can get information on where a candidate stands on specific issues. The site even cites the sources of its information.

Or, you can take a different approach. Take a quiz on your positions. Select the issues that matter to you. Then answer questions on the issues. You'll be matched with a candidate.

I know what some of you are thinking. Your mind is already made up about the candidate you'll support. But it doesn't hurt to make sure you're voting for the right guy!

Go to: http://www.GlassBooth.org

Sunday, August 17, 2008

Jelly birds and frolicking foxes



Ah it's back to the two of us, nature shows and the Olympics. Is there anything better than watching the best athletes in the world? Takes my breath away. And the opening ceremonies. Each time I think they will never beat this and each time I'm proven wrong. But the Chinese have now set the mark so high, that I feel sorry for the next country--is it Britain? Who will ever top this? The only complaint I have is we have to stay up way too late to watch and when my eyes want to close at 10--10:30PM they are used to closing. Staying up till later hours doesn't do my psyche or body any good. Hooray Mike Phelps and Dora Torres--you go old gal! Well one more week. Even with the supposed 16 year old Chinese gymnasts it is a show. Inspiration to be the best--to win! The payoff for training and practice. Go for the gold nd silver is not that bad either! Just getting there is an accomplishment of a lifetime.

We go through a 32oz. jar of Welch's grape jelly every week to feed the Baltimore orioles which flock off our deck to eat their jelly of choice. They prefer the Welch's and that's what we provide. It seems this year there have been more babies; we've gone through more jelly, and they are hanging around longer. Last years they were all gone by August, I'm sure. But they provide entertainment right out our kitchen sink window or the sun room. I have noticed that when the jelly feeder gets low, the birds fight. Is this a lesson for humans--with scarcity comes trouble? When the jelly is plentiful they seem to get along better each one taking a spot at the feeder. Precious to watch when the parents bring the babies to the feeders and drop jelly into their open mouths. Nature lessons -- the adults don"t do this but a couple times then it's up to the youngens to figure it out.

Our back yard has become fox haven. I don't believe I ever really saw a fox until we moved to MN. This is my third year feeding foxes in the back--I'm the Fox Lady to all the neighbors or word on the street is "these are Pat's foxes." Never mind that foxes have lived here longer than me, by virtue of feeding I'm the fox lady! This started quite by accident. Three years ago I started to put out scraps for whatever animal, coon, possum might saunter up from the creek and hill below. I just hate throwing things out. Well I can't help it.

All our scraps now have a home, nothing is wasted. I love that. Even though we no longer have any domestic animals there are consumers out back. I buy a huge sack of breads and whatevers at the Bread store--used to be called the day old store. Sometimes I mess up and call it the "recycled bread store"--always good for a laugh. Costs only $2.25 for many loaves of squished bread. Weighs a ton and I have a challenge hoisting it into the back of my SUV. A loaf a day is all they need. I also purchase a big sack of dry Purina Cat Food for days when there is nothing else. I don't want to spoil these foxes from hunting which they need to do to survive, but feeding them has provided real cheap entertainment which we both watch out the door or windows.

The only thing so far the foxes have not eaten is raw carrots. Some got too rangy in the fridge so I gave them up to fox food. You could see the foxes sniff and look up at the house--as though, "Carrots? Carrots? We don't eat carrots!" And the next day there were carrots remaining scattered all over the lower lawn.

Last year I found an old pan as a fox dish. Now the foxes have their own dish. When we are out of town they don't get to eat unless jerry's cousin and friend clean out their fridge. But the very day we return so do they. They go right for their dish. They arrive at different times. Usually by 5:30--6:00PM. Sometimes though Mama is extra hungry and shows up at 3:30PM looking into Jerry's shop and up toward the house. One day I pedaled in on my bike and there she was--I told her "It's way too early." She just looked at me. All I have to do is take the food down and they seem to know my scent and voice, "Foxy, come and eat, come on Mama Fox."

We have noticed that by late fall Mama and Papa run the kids off--begone! On your own! Do it yourself! Also this past harsh winter there was no fox feeding. I suppose they had more sense than us and headed to Florida for the winter! But by spring they return. I'll never forget the first time a Mama grazed trough our back yard up to the bird feeders--"Jerry come look there's a dog!" Well remember I'm a city girl! All I knew of fox was the collar around my old jacket!

This year we have 2 fox families, we think. Mama and 3 babies which she birthed under the neighbor's deck and Mama and Papa and baby. Last year Mama had two wild ones who would jump and attack her as she brought them up the hill to feed. I could see the exhaustion on her face--these damn kids! Settle down! Dad had to help with the escort. We can always tell the babies--by size by redder coats and by laziness. They seem to tire and lay down in the yard while the old folks feed. Mama sometimes becomes the scout turning them loose and settling back to watch.

This year while the kids and grand daughter were visiting, they witnessed Squirrel Hunter Flat Tail, the name I've given one baby fox who is bound to catch some of the squirrels which help themselves to the back yard bird feeders. Squirrel Hunter slinks along and watches the squirrels. He has come close to pouncing right onto one or two. But the other night I was glad to have company witnesses. "Hurry and come look" I yelled. "Fox is climbing the tree!" No one would have believed this woman from CA.

Jerry moseyed on over and could not believe what he saw. Neither could the other 3 who high tailed it to the sun room. We all watched the fox climb the ash tree--about 8 feet straight up the trunk to the fork of the tree! Chasing squirrel. We have plenty head of squirrel in our back yard, so I would not mind him having a good dinner. Squirrel climbed higher and really touted the fox. Fox hung over the fork of the tree and surveyed. For a bit we thought he'd go higher. For a bit we wondered if he'd get stuck in the fork. Eventually Squirrel Hunter descended, "Darn no squirrel tonight! Guess I'll eat bread."

Now I don't know much about fox but the locals tell me fox don't normally climb trees. Jerry's cousin asked what I'd been feeding them. This particular night they had left over pizza from 2 nights before. Yes our fox are quite the showmen.

I will be writing a story soon about Squirrel Hunter and Scout. Like I've said, right out our back yard, birds, squirrel, foxes. Cheap entertainment.

Saturday, August 16, 2008

Are we dealing with, dementia or plain meanness?

Back to our simple quietude which we do not appreciate until we have a week like this which was. While we loved every minute of their visit, tonight we crash--a week of son, DIL, and grand daughter took its toll. That with the late night Olympics broke our routine, especially mine.

Activity all week--starting Sunday with their arrival. That was the day Jerry's mother, 91 years old decided to act out. For a bit now she has been exhibiting very nasty tendencies toward me. Most of this happens when people are not around just her and me--sleers,nasty comments, insults, etc. I get annoyed but walk away. Sunday though after providing dinner and having her here to be part of the company, she began her laments about her Oceanside tribe. They are Jerry's dead sister's progeny--the ones who have done everything but assassinate a president. They are alums of every penal institution in and out of CA including Folsom prison; but in her eyes the cops have always picked on them. Yeah right--innocent druggies, robbers, etc.

Many years ago in CA as a favor for a friend who was at the CA Youth Authority, I chaired some promotional panels around the state to develop lists to promote managers (officers) within the Youth Authority System. In Chino, the warden of Chino prison served on the panel. As we chatted I told him that my nephews were alums of his institution; he knew them. Recidivistic grads. So far now 2 are dead from police related incidents--one shot by police swat team in Oceanside in the 70's at the age of 15 or so; one committed suicide in jail just last year. Anyway quite the group. But in their grandmother's eyes they're innocents. Believe that and we have a bridge to sell you cheap.

It is a sore subject in this house. Jerry has defended me from the old lady in the past who promptly forgets what she says. Since no one will push to have her tested for dementia, so that we know what we are dealing with, this behavior is ignored. Her adult children say, "that's just Mom." We need to know is she really crazy, can she be medicated, can she be committed to live where they see to her taking the right pills, is she just acting out for attention, is she manipulative?

I knew it would be tough with Aunt Marie gone. I was right. Aunt Marie kept Florence some what in check, till her last years of frailty.

So here we are having a good day to start off and here is the 91 year old talking about her tribe. And ain't' it awful what lives they have had. Ain't it awful how sad, etc. I heard enough. This makes everyone uncomfortable to say the least. And this never comes up around Jerry because he will not tolerate it! So it's me, DIL cleaning up after dinner in the kitchen and the old lady watching us. In my own home and feeling I can say something, I suggest to Florence that she talk about something pleasant. With that she (Jerry's mother )goes off on me: "Well this is MY FAMILY. We are not up to your class. You, Pat, live in your own little world where everything is perfect, everything is wonderful..... '' On she went snarling at me and throwing her arms about. You haven't seen anything till you have seen this 4'10" nasty old grey haired unattractive lady carry on.

Many in her family said she has always been nuts. She did time in the mental hospital in her 20's committed by one of her sisters. Not playing with a full deck and certainly not today. I say something again, like, "just talk about something pleasant, Rod, Sophia, Barb, " "Well" she yells I don't know anything pleasant. After all you go by every day and you never stop in to see if I need anything...." By this time I bite my tongue and walk away. And yet I know that if I attack back it will make me look worse. See she has an audience--DIL. This goes on and I walk off into my own living room, mumbling to Jerry. DIL takes old lady outside and calms her as a timeout. Before being taken to her own home, Florence tries to offer a bit of an apology quoting the Bible that the tongue will get her in trouble---I walk off again.


I don't know what she's up to this time, but I will have no more of it. I do not deserve this. This is not the first time I've taken such crap from her. After all, the reason she lives around us is no one else wanted the responsibility of her. In 1990father in law died: we got the old maid! No gratitude for all we have done and change that to me. Her 80th birthday party; her 90th birthday party, finding her mobile home in the Sr. Park in Newcastle; taking her to church; introducing her to folks. What to do. Descend to her level? Then again, in her demented mind she has pulled it off again. Jerry is more than fed up but what to do. He said after her 90th when she did not even thank me that "no more will you do these parties for her even if she lives to be 100."

Last night we take her to dinner with everyone, which is an inconvenience--having to take 2 cars and pick her up. At dinner she acted like she'd never been in the restaurant; I remind her she's been there many times. She snarls at me again. I order a Margarita and drink it and ignore her. DIL sits next to her and helps out. What an angel, Angel is! We take her to see the sand sculptures on the river and DIL as sweet as she is, holds her hand and walks with her. Old lady grins knowing she has a patsy.

Well after some rest, I do intend to tell her that I shall no longer be available. She can torment whomever she chooses, count me out. Maybe it's time she moves to CO with her daughter. Me thinks she knows what she's doing; and thinks folks will think,,,"such a sweet little old lady." NOT

But as my friend, Sandy, advised me today, "you do not like to lose and you do not like to be out of control. You will win this one too..And where was your bottle of vodka?."

This has taken time on my blog but someway I have got to stop this abuse. My mother is long dead and I would not tolerate this from her. We fought. There are only so many chances in this life and biting the hand that feeds soon cuts that hand off. Even if the biter is senile. I know that people can only make you feel bad if you allow their garbage into your head---now what's wrong with me? Our favorite old friend, adopted Mom, Helen Kiker who died at the age of 98 in NV the same day as Aunt Marie always said, "Old people just don't get to be crabby and nasty. They were crabby and nasty when they were younger. People just become more like what they are as they age."

Tuesday, August 12, 2008

Vintage Perception


We are enjoying a week's visit with son, DIL & grand daughter from CA this week. (The Morrison's of Rancho Murietta) Lest I forget, this revelation of vintage being in the eye of the beholder, I must record this on the blog.

Janine, grand daughter, will be 18 end of the month and just graduated from high school. This trip was a big graduation present for her and their first trip to MN. Well grandma figured this would cost some bucks, and after all look at all we have missed in contributing the last few years being here. So Sunday while Mom & Dad napped to recoup from the red eye overnight flight I decided it was time to take Janine to The Buckle. Well on Sunday in this area, most stores are closed but the Buckle which is a funky 20's something place is in the mall next to Macy's. We spent some time there and left with two funky tops which she can add to her collection. I said I would only buy 2 for her so she chose carefully from many strange looking things (in my vintage eyes.)

We were talking about clothing and I admitted to being old now because these ugly clothes and resurrections of psychedelics do not at all appeal to me. Janine said she loves sales--well I bet because the price of clothing would at least be tempered with sales. And she said she likes funky (isn't everything funky today) and really "loves vintage."

Vintage, now that's something I know about. I commented that the local college girls pick up 40's & 50's clothing from Goodwill or rummage sales and then have it altered to fit them. She got a strange look. She didn't say much. In a little bit she mentioned vintage again. So being the perceptive grandma that I am I could perceive a defining moment was in order.

Oh yes it was...Janine explained that vintage means stuff from the 70's. Well that was a real eye opener for me. Here I'm thinking 40's, maybe 50's are vintage. And here is the Kid who knows its the 70's.

Now I realize that we are Vintage People--which I commented on yesterday through our journey in the Niagara Caves some 260 feet underground, the hard way, steps down and then steps up. That's us including vintager grandma with cave phobia in the photo. It's the back up those same stairs that's a killer after walking around for nearly an hour. It was supposedly only a one mile walk, but felt like 20. Now, because I grew up in PA, land of coal mines and had grand fathers who were coal miners I've been disabused of any interest in underground. I do not do that--one could say I have a phobia about underground. I've had limited times venturing there, once in CA at the Grass Valley Empire Gold mine when my Mom & aunt visited where I shuddered the whole time. And this event yesterday. As if it were not enough, the venturesome folks on our walking tour group wanted all the lighting turned off----shudder. For the few seconds it lasted, I was not a happy spelunker! But here in Harmony, MN at the "world famous" Niagara caves, we had our experiences stretched. DIL, Angel, loves caves so this was a trip for her. And why didn't this vintage person stay on top where she is much happier.

Well, sometimes Vintage People need to have their experiences expanded and so we are this week. See what we miss without teenagers! Who would have thought that the 70's are vintage. I'm so glad Janine clarified for me! Off the blog, she has just advised me that she is now up (yeah I can see that) and ready to go.

Sunday, August 3, 2008

Stuff and more stuff


Yesterday I browsed over to the local Catholic School's summerfest to buy two BBQ dinner tickets for us. The dinner was to honor the parish's two sisters (nuns) who are retiring to their convent order in Rochester, MN after many years in this community. I have met them both and especially enjoy Sister Marga, she is always bright with a smile. So I thought this would be a good way to avoid cooking and enjoy the evening with others. Being a Catholic event they had a beer tent too, so liquid refreshments were available.

I recite my mantra as I approach any rummage sale, estate sale, auction, silent auction, Goodwill or thrift store, etc. "NO MORE STUFF" I say this out loud and silently because I really mean it. I really do not need anymore STUFF!

But here I was chatting with the neighbor, enjoying the time, and intrigued by what might be around. First the silent auction where there was a tent full of different items. I have been cured of my CA tendency to bid up the prices to help raise $$. That's because I learned that here in MN they often will not outbid me. That results in my acquiring stuff for which I have no need. Often it's stuff I merely store until I can take it to the Goodwill store or until some other deserving organization has a rummage sale and requests donations. Oh now and then there is something that I just need to acquire, like my life size angel adorned with white mini lights and a golden mesh skirt. (Photo of she & me attached)

Angel graced the local Catholic church balcony until the Monsignor decided she must go. He said she was tacky and he could no longer abide her being suspended from their choir loft. So the ladies of the parish agreed to put her in their silent auction about two years ago during their community fall roast beef dinner. Well, I just cannot stand to see a perfectly good angel go to waste. I'd not added any new angels to my collection for a long time. And there she was, no bidders. Heck, she's worth at least $10, my bid. My bid was the only bid because how many people have room for her. The next day when I was called to come get her the ladies had teased the Msgr. that he'd won her. Right in the midst of this, I arrived to claim her to which he was so relieved that he said, "I am giving you a special blessing for taking her away from me." Ever since she has resided in various places in the house, upstairs, downstairs, bedroom and most recently out on our enclosed 4 Season Room. From there she has joined in and watched over many events including our neighborhood women's bunco night. She smiles as we roll our dice and drink our adult beverages of choice when I host the gals. I usually serve wine or Brandy slushes and she & I sample the drinks first to be sure that she agrees they are just right! Jerry greeted her with something like what the old Msgr. must have felt, "what in the world are you going to do with that!" To which I said, "Don't offend her, she brings a special Catholic blessing from the Msgr. himself." This stirs up my Catholic roots.

Well I just had to browse the rummage sale where they were taunting $1 per grocery sack. I acquired a neat small wooden knick knack shelf, just what I'd thought about the other day; it seems Divine that these things materialize at the Catholic church for me a lapsed Catholic. Sure wish I could chant my way to winning the lottery! But then as folks remind me, "Pat you first have to buy a ticket." Well just Friday as I was dusting in the bedroom my thought, "if I had a tiny knick knack shelf I could put these precious little figurines onto it and get them off my night stand." From my mouth to the angels' ears! There on the rummage tables was a tiny wooden shelf. Perfect, Divinely guided. It has two shelves and tiny spool and rim holders along each. Into my bag it went. I also found a little paperback book of scriptures and quotes, "What Gardening has taught me about God." Well you all know that I am a book addict. Here's one I could have written. And, in anticipation of arrival of one and only granddaughter in a week from CA I found a great beaded bag--old looking, maybe from the 50's beaded white mesh. She will love this. And if she by some stretch doesn't I can always use another bag, maybe, or pass it along. To my calculations these treasures were only 33 1/3 cents each! Now you just can't beat that.

Time to get on with the evening details, dinner, etc. More later in Part 2 of Stuff and more stuff.

Liberals, socialists, communists

Perennial Socialist Party presidential candidate Norman Thomas (the grandfather, incidentally, of Newsweek Assistant Managing Editor Evan Thomas), echoed that sentiment: “The American people will never knowingly adopt Socialism. But under the name of ‘liberalism’ they will adopt every fragment of the Socialist program, until one day America will be a Socialist nation, without knowing how it happened.”

It is really starting to bother me tremendously that people can't distinguish between socialism and what the leftists, extreme Democrat liberals are spewing. Maybe that's because there is no difference any longer. There used to be, I think in the days when there truly was a concern for the less fortunate of our nation.

I attribute this election year phenomena to the lack of real education in this country. Our public schools are no longer (for the most part) teaching, they ignore history. Most teachers don't understand history at all so how can they pass along lessons. What we have now is a result of probably one or two generations of declining education and increasing indoctrination.

Socialism, liberalism and communism, words that have amazing parallels today. Electorate beware "a fool and his money can be devious..."

I have a very radical right friend who has ranted about communism over the years I used to laugh at him and think, we'll never go there. Then one time I recall remarking to him that "the term communism is passe...it's no longer existing." He was smarter than me. What we are facing now is a resurrection of the communistic state here in this country disguised as toleration. Soviet dictator Nikita Khrushchev said of Roosevelt’s “New Deal” paradigm shift, “We can’t expect the American people to jump from Capitalism to Communism, but we can assist their elected leaders in giving them small doses of Socialism, until they awaken one day to find that they have Communism.” And then it will be too late for all of us.

This is the scariest national election I have ever encountered.

Friday, August 1, 2008

A new environmental term

Last night just for fun we attended a town hall meeting at the Legion about electrical power lines that are proposed from S Dakota (coal generated) to Minneapolis, down along the Mississippi through the hills and from the La Crescent township across the river to La Crosse and then on to Chicago. What entertainment. We went for information about this project and to learn why some are upset.

A troupe of falsalarmist environmentalists are trying to stop this. I said we went for information but this was indoctrination. They talked about electro magnetic fields. I asked what scientific data they had that indicated these were harmful to human beings as it is my understanding that one would have to be very adjacent to or under an exposed power line for more years than the human life span to be harmed. They admitted they had no data, but then one said, "well we didn't have data about second hand smoke either..." To which another man, a smoker, groused, "yeah and you still haven't proven that connection." Someone mentioned global warming and one of the old farmers in the audience said, "sure could have used that this past winter." (Now don't get this wrong, I hated being around smokers and so selfishly I'm glad for the smoke free environments.)

We sat for about an hour listening till we couldn't stand the humor any longer. Besides I was beginning to show my Pat-side--giggling uncontrollably which always causes Jerry to look at me. There was plenty to laugh about, like why are all these people afraid to cut their hair? Old guys with grey pony tails, receding hair and shiny bald heads really look funny. So do old ladies with long gray bushy hair, uncombed, too au naturel with no make up and dirty feet in bare sandals. I can understand when the young are involved in such a movement, but I guess I expect better from us more mature types. with age comes wisdom, supposedly. But not for a bunch of aging hippies.

One of their new catch phrases--"community based wind." I thought I'd heard everything in CA but this was new to me. Jerry came up with a good explanation of that--the entire town gathers at the parking lot of the hockey rink (aka our community center) and everybody farts on signal! Wish I could do a graphic artist's rendition of that cartoon.....a town bent over, drawers dropped, ready, aim, fire!

Evidently they don't want these nasty electricity lines--because they are generated in SD by coal! I asked what they thought might happen if everyone starts buying electric cars and plugs them in. I also mentioned that with people pollution (over population) and growth there is a complementary need for electricity which does not fall out of the sky. Ahh wind energy--that;the answer. Someone asked what happens when the wind doesn't blow.

In CA under Jerry Moonbeam Brown's governorship we built massive areas of windmills all along the Altamont pass. They still work, some, but I understand CA wants to shut those down because birds are flying into the blades. Well they only do that once.

Our DFL dumbocrat legislator was there to convene this meeting. It was funny to hear him praise the MN legislature for passing a law in 2007 that we will conserve. He says as a result our MN electricity use is declining(BS!) But it's not so in the states around us because they don't have these laws. I can just see it all now, all it takes is a law passed and immediately usage is decreased--please don't let congress find out. Oh no danger yet, they adjourned for vacation.

They talked about the power grids and some more mumbo jumbo. At the head of this agitation was (what else) an attorney for some "Concerned citizens." It was a cheap night out. We left and came home and finished the blue berry pie I'd made a couple days ago. I don't think I'll ever forget the term "community based wind!" I've laughed all day about it!

Tuesday, July 29, 2008

Twisty turns, financials, roses, politics.

Looking back over years of life it is amazing the twists and turns on the journey. I'm listening to Tom Sullivan on Fox Talk on the XM radio right now as I write and think. He's discussing the recent government bail out for those who are losing their homes in the mortgage meltdown. Because Steve has just lost his condo, this is a sore spot. I have much sympathy for those in the bad financial situations but I do not support government bailouts.

Steve called Sunday evening, woke me up and sounded happy as a clam that he will be moving now into an apartment in Roseville. He's relieved because rent is less than what he'd been trying to pay to keep up with his escalating mortgage. Now I'm not at my best when I've been awakened from my deep sleep, but I thought, "I must now be living in a nightmare. He has lost the condo, is on eviction status, and just barely found a used car to replace his truck which had been totaled by an underinsured drive, and he's gleeful?" Why did it not occur to him to work two jobs? He's tired, he says and yet who isn't when they have to sacrifice to get ahead? Of course he has lost the condo and with it the $$ we fronted. Easy come and easy go to him. Well that was a twisty turn and an opportunity he will not get again. This money tree is losing its leaves. Yet, who could have ever thought that real estate in CA and all around would get so upside down? Who would have thought the loans would go sideways? We all expected things to continue to grow. And who would have thought that there were so many predators in the financial industry feasting on fixing the unsuspecting trusting souls with lousy loans which would be defaulted? And who would have thought that Steve would lose his job with the school district after 12 years? Well enough about that.

The point is, things change and if we could have crystal balls to see ahead would we do things differently? Surely some things. And yet, life can work out if we persevere and trust and keep our faith. I've kicked myself many times for leaving Allegheny college, for the stupidest decision of my oh so wrong first marriage, and being across the country in CA. But know what? Somehow, I always wanted to live in CA and so I stayed there. And if I hadn't I'd never have met Jerry, we'd never have had the house with the swimming pool, we'd never have lived on acres in Newcastle and raised over 300 roses, I'd never have had the career with the State and I'd never have met all the friends along the way. I have to remember that here in Mayberry land when I wonder what in the world we are doing in MN? Yet this is a different environment.

In CA none of us were natives; well at least not many in my time. We came from all over and so we hung out together and made families of ourselves. We were different and we were the real blending of ages, backgrounds and beliefs. Many of my friends were very different politically than me and yet we enjoyed drinking wine together, reading, watching movies, shopping. We were accepting. I think that is what I miss the most. Here people have lived for generations and outsiders are really outsiders. It takes a unique outlook, self confidence and faith in the Almighty to ignore and persevere the twisty turn.

Another loopy turn has just hit me. In CA I was a very avid rose grower with a garden full of every type of rose from antiques to the latest hybrids. I grew nearly 400 roses at one time and then cut back to about 350. It used to be my therapy after a day in the bureaucracy to get out there and dead head roses in the evening. Every weekend I'd be doing something with my roses. I was very active in our rose society too holding every office. I studied and passed exams to be a consulting Rosarian, attended district meetings and national conventions. Had friends all over the world from our mutual love and interest of rose growing. I considered trying my hand at hybridizing. Flash forward on the twisty life road to 2008 in MN. Yes, we have a very lovely small rose garden about 25 different roses. But I have no desire to ever have so many roses again. For one, the arthritis in my hands rebels if I clip for too long. The different climate from CA to MN forced me to learn a different method of care an cultivation. No longer do I want to be all tied up in roses. In some ways rose growing is easier here--our season ends with covering the garden with mulch in November and then nothing needs to be done until maybe March at the earliest. This past year it was late April until I could get out there and prune away old growth. In CA roses were year round work with heavy work in December through February, our foggy rainy season. That's when we dormant sprayed and pruned back to force dormancy. Here no fall pruning is needed--they go to sleep on their own like good children who know it's bedtime. One of Jerry's first projects was to get the ground dug for our rose garden to accompaniment of comments from many neighbors who were sure that I was wasting our time. Today those same neighbors admire the blooms and complement me about my knack for roses. One says, "anyone who can grow roses in MN really has talent." I explain that roses grow everywhere, it's just knowing what kinds to grow here where winter can become harsh. We really do have the prettiest rose garden in town and one of the only. Which gets to the point of this twisty turn in my road. Accidentally I did not renew my rose society dues in December. Well, they went to online bulletins so they did not send a paper dues reminder and I really forgot all about paying my dues. Just last week one of the members from the Twin Cities Rose Club asked me if I'd joined another society. No, omg--guess I forgot to pay my dues. Then I thought, well why bother? I have never attended a meeting of this rose society which insists on being called a "club." It is in Minneapolis and meets Friday evenings. That would be a 2+ hour drive more or less each way. Not my idea of fun after it gets late. And I don't want to pay for a hotel room to stay over night. Besides, I have been spoiled by the best in CA and the programs here seem way too elementary for me. The District conference in March was so boring that I was just beside myself. I haven't attended a local meeting in 3 years so it is unlikely that I ever will. I really don't even care that I'd lose my consulting rosarian status by not belonging to a local society. I guess this is another twisty turn--I have the knowledge and the friends and will retain my American Rose Society membership at the national level. But unless there is something much closer, I will no longer be a local dues payer. Different from CA where I belonged to at least 3 local societies and was so into this. Another evidence of how interests shift and things can change. Besides why waste the $30 dues. That's not much until I start to consider all the different $25, $10, $30, etc here and there and pretty soon it's into the hundreds. Better use of money for other things.

Looking back at twisty turns helps us look ahead too. This too shall pass. It came to pass, it didn't come to stay. As I watch the stock market declines affect our investments, I keep optimism that this shall pass so that someday we will look back and talk about the depression of 2007-08. I hope we are now on the bottom leg of this downside journey and that we will start upward again.

Oh now listening to Jessie Ventura on Tom. Ventura is really a different person, truly an independent spirit rough, gruff, bright and opinionated. I have an acquaintance here in MN who has a license plate, "TAX FREE" on her corvette. She says they bought it the year Jessie was governor and returned excess $$ back to the people instead of allowing the state government to spend it. Talk about different! He calls the $ "Jessie checks." Around here there are differing opinions about Jessie. If there can ever be significant independent politics he will be part of it.

Sunday, July 27, 2008

Lipstick chronicles blog and bullies

One of my high school gal pals recommended the lipstick chronicles blog. I just checked it out and really like it. So thanks to Carlie I now have one more website on which to "waste time." Or as I prefer, another portal to things unknown, unsaid, and unknown to be desirable before this experience. Well it's my leisure retirement time and I could be doing lots worse....hey, that's the same argument I use with Jerry about shopping---"I could be dong worse things...I could be hanging out on street corners, bars, whatever."

J.B.Stanley writes on the lipstick chronicles blog that she was pondering how to develop a character for her writing and was hanging out in Barnes and Noble. She asked the following question,

"Can you think back to high school or junior high and tell me if there was someone who was especially mean to you?" I plowed on. "A bully?"

Slightly suspicious, she nodded. "Yeah, I knew someone like that. Why do you want to know?"

"Well, I’ve already based characters on people who have wronged me, my third cousins, or my cat. At the moment, I’m fresh out of villains. But you knew someone who had an extra supply of cruelty?"

She nodded immediately. "In high school. His name was Russ."

Russ? My antagonist had a first name. I’d make up his last name later. "What did he look like?"

"He was your average blue-eyed blond, but he was too mean to be cute. He only smiled when he thought he was hurting someone." She paused in the middle of straightening a row of Seventeen magazines. "His face was always bunched up in a smirk. Like a little frog."

I could picture him already, but as a grown man in his mid-twenties. "What kind of things did he tease you about?"

The bookseller’s face clouded over. I could see that Russ’s words still haunted her and she was in her mid-forties. "He told me that no one would ever ask me out. He said that I looked like a fat boy. He called me fat boy all the time. I hated him." She gazed out the window and then turned back to me. "You know what? I still hate him."

I find this fascinating because lately with our reconnection I've been thinking back on Ken Hi days. Even thinking back past that to Ridge Ave Jr. Hi times. Why stop there, what about 3rd Ward elementary school? Maybe my memories have dimmed so much that they have black holes but I really cannot think of any bully or anyone who was that mean to me during my school days. I don't know, maybe we were nicer then. Or maybe I just had such self esteem and confidence that I didn't attract bullies? Or maybe I've just been fortunate. I think if I'd had someone taunting me as described above, I'd have called him/her something worse. Maybe I was too naive to recognize an insult and merely laughed at a fool who tried? Or maybe with the abuse that happened at home, nothing else phased me.

I remember being on the stage in our high school assembly--maybe running for some class office. Anyway I remember tripping and flopping. Of course everyone laughed and I know my face must have been red. But I laughed too. Of course I was embarrassed--what teenage girl wouldn't have been in the 60's. But something deep inside carried me over that and just let me laugh too. Maybe this is a trait that has served me well in life.

Now don't think for a moment that it's been an ice cream sundae existence. Yet I have been able to shrug off many things by laughter. I know it's good for the body, soul, spirit. It must disarm an insult.

The other day I was picking up some alterations and yakking with the seamstress when an attractive, well groomed, well put together, poised elderly lady came in with a garment for Pat to mend. She began to talk with us as we were laughing about something. She shared that her husband was just getting on her last nerves. she said,"He was a major in the Army and he still expects every one to hop to it and salute him. It's just killing me, I had a stroke last year." She seemed so sad and shaken. Well Pat started to laugh and replied, "Why don't you do just that but make fun of him? Laugh at him." You know laughter is the best medicine. I commented further that the only salute he'd get from me would be a one finger one! She thought about this and then got a gleam in her eye, "you know you girls might just have the answer..."

I left right after that and there outside sat her husband in their car. He rolled down his window and asked me' "Is my wife in there? " I sensed his demanding demeanor was not a casual inquiry, so I decided to have my fun there with the Major and replied, "Why how would I know? Who is your wife? I mean I don't even know who you are let alone your wife." He bristled and described her. I laughed at him and said, "Oh yes she is. And you must be the Major." To this he swelled up (aha I spotted the recognition he craves....) then demanded , "well what's taking so long?" There was much I could have said including that we were assuaging the poor gal about him, but my better judgement prevailed. After all she has to live with him I don't. So I merely said, "Well I was there first and so she had to wait her turn. If I had only known that you were out here waiting and in a hurry for sure I'd have let her go before me." I walked across to my car grinning. I had to get away before the devil on my left shoulder made me say more. I fight that devil all the time, sometimes he wins. In the car I really chuckled, "what an arrogant jerk." Pity his wife who despite wearing beautiful diamond and silver jewelry was burdened with an insufferable windbag. Ah well, she has likely tolerated this for many many years.

I called Pat, the seamstress after I got home to share the episode of the Major. she got a good chuckle.

Well bullies and me don't mix. Maybe they never have. Maybe I'm immune.

Monday, July 21, 2008

Favorite quotes

After joining Facebook to keep up with my homeys in PA, I filled out my profile. Below are some of my favorite quotes that I shared on Facebook. Most of you know, I love words, and good quotes. When I put together scrapbooks or memory makers for friends, I always like to include a few.

For years I collected quotes and kept them in a folder which soon grew way beyond anything usable...so with my "retirement leisure time" I started to keep these quotes in a binder and on the PC. I do that sporadically and when I want a particular fitting quote I never can find it! Where's my staff when I need them! (Hey I think that's my favorite original retirement quote. Where's my secretary? You're kidding I have to do this?)

I've seen fire & I've seen rain......(James Taylor song)

It came to pass not to stay.....(not sure of source whether I said this or someone said it or I read it.)

Toto, I don't think we're in Kansas anymore...(Dorothy in Wizard of OZ)

But we have promises to keep and miles to go before we sleep.....(Robert Frost poem, Stopping by woods on a Snowy Evening)

Live in the layers not in the litter. (Stanley Kunitz poem, The Layers Look back on this blog where I have posted the entire thing)

When people show you who they are, believe them...the first time! (Maya Angelou this would save me lots of trouble if I'd heed it entirely instead of not following that little voice that says, " girl watch out here." Then the other little voice says, "oh go on, try it , give hm/her/them the benefit of the doubt." Most often it works out, "Dummy! Shoulda listened the first time!"

PUT ON YOUR BIG GIRL PANTIES & DEAL WITH IT
I don't know who said this but I have it on a tile in my closet so I see it every day along with One Shoe Can Change Your Life, attributed to Cinderella--that is to address my shoe collection addiction which has diminished some, but which still draws me to check out especially red heels!

Sunday, July 20, 2008

Thinking back, favorites on the spot and more

I have been in contact with some of my old high school classmates as a result of my front page AWON story on my father in my hometown newspaper. Here in "Mayberry" many of these folks have been here all their lives so they are in contact with high school pals, etc. When I listen to them I think, "how strange..." I read books like the "Ya Ya Sisters" and think, how strange. There has been so much water (some rough, some muddy) over that bridge. But lately I've been scratching my head, looking at my high school year book and remembering. Putting together long forgotten pieces. It is indeed strange. I am mostly thankful for the life I've had but now looking back creates nostalgia. What if, what if, I'd stayed in PA. What if I'd completed Allegheny? Surely it would not have led me back home. Sometimes I acknowledge it was the biggest mistake of my life to leave Allegheny and marry that first time. But then, God was looking out. And He can bring good out of anything. I was too young, stupid to be married. I was clueless. Had my home life been better I know it wouldn't have happened but it did. Had my mother not been so wretched, it might not have happened, but it did. As a result I got to CA. I stayed, my grandmother to the rescue to help me get back off my pregnant self and onto my own feet. I had Steve. I met Jerry after my escapades or, in spite of them. And the rest now nearly 41 years later has been a great life, ups, downs and all. And so now, in 2008 I'm finally recalling high school. So much I would not have traded for anything.

My friend Carlie, got me onto Facebook. Yet one more electronic marvel. So I'm completing all those questions, favorite songs, quotes, books, etc.....It gets me thinking how much is really a favorite--or is it just what we recall when on the spot. And for me, a dabbler, a flitter, or as Dave Mitchell said, "easily bored with the attention span of a Cocker Spaniel." Is that intelligence or is that attention deficit dsorder. so many diagnoses today. And what is a favorite? Is it what strikes me at the moment, the first thing that comes to mind or is it what later stomps out, "hey what about...?" ? I read something Colin Powell wrote about dabbling, and agreed! He said he did not want to run for public office because he wanted to dabble, to do what came up. Now, is there a more forward? Do we focus more backward and review? Or are we treadng water trying to stay in place?

Talked to Steve tonight, his hard luck life. And this has made me think so much more again about what's genetic and what's environmental. That boy (my son, our son surely ) was raised with every advantage which he ignored. He lives a meager existence now, lost his permanent job as school district custodian nearly 2 years ago, works on call, no benefits, is losing the condo for which we poured the $$ down payment and now is without a vehicle, his truck was hit in front of his place and the person has insufficient insurance. Nothing is his fault, and yet everything is. Sometimes I worry that he is depressed and sometimes I get annoyed at his lack of ambition, his lack of striving and his lackadaisical attitude. Others have children succeeding, moving forward and Steve who should have, drags down. The victim, the helpless. I hate that and yet I do love my son as a mother does. What next? This reminds me of my first husband, lack of ambition, clueless. Yet Steve never knew him. so my interest, what's genetic. How can it be? I suppose we will help him get a vehicle. I said he has to pay this back. He agreed--oh sure. How many vehicles is this we've backed? We cannot continue to support him. When I mention he should move here, he doesn't want to. Yet when every door closes, isn't that the sign to try something else? And what would he do without us?

Hmmmm. Sometimes God brings things we least expect to our lap. It is hard to practice really our Christianity in trials. Yet that is what life brings..

Tuesday, July 15, 2008

Quote from Tony Snow

We were saddened by tony's death. He showed how to live life to the fullest, always. This quote says it all.

Tony Snow in The Jewish World Review, 2005:

The art of being sick is not the same as the art of getting well. Some cancer patients recover; some don't. But the ordeal of facing your mortality and feeling your frailty sharpens your perspective about life. You appreciate little things more ferociously. You grasp the mystical power of love. You feel the gravitational pull of faith. And you realize you have received a unique gift – a field of vision others don't have about the power of hope and the limits of fear; a firm set of convictions about what really matters and what does not. You also feel obliged to share these insights – the most important of which is this: There are things far worse than illness – for instance, soullessness.

Monday, July 14, 2008

What a weekend

Saturday, July 12 we buried Jerry's Aunt Marie Cook, 97 years old. Her last years were in the nursing home and just were not Marie. In her life, Marie was always loud with laughter--as tough a life as she'd had and as hard as she worked she was full of joy. Whenever Marie was in the room you knew it because you could hear her! She was Jerry's favorite aunt. Now that leaves only Florence of the sisters. she took this fairly hard--I think harder than when Lyman, her husband died. Jerry was a pall bearer. The church was nearly full, she'd lived here all her life.

I did not get to speak as I intended because the family did not request anyone to remember her so it was not part of the service. I thought that weird, but who knows about them. Alden (Marie's son) would have enjoyed it but Shirley, his wife is a different kind of person. She is usually grumpy and unhappy and now with Marie gone,I think she is relieved and figures they will move to Texas where several of their children live.

We have had several rain, thunder, lightning, wind storms that come up and last an hour or so and just pour down sheets of water. The tall hollyhocks, as tall as the roof of the house in spots, survived the torrents of wind and rain the best. It occurred to me that Marie was like those hollyhocks--loud with laughter, bright despite, and happy. I wanted to share that thought and another.

Marie worked all her life--hard. She had bad arthritis in her legs the last years which restricted her mobility. She never would have the $$ to get medical treatment, knee replacements, etc. So she went on. Well that did not stop her--she was always taking care of the old people. In her 80's she was cleaning house for the old ladies--some of them were younger than her!

That was Aunt Marie Cook. She was proud and quick with words. She was the one who could straighten Florence out; she got tired of Florence's laments about Oceanside's tribe. She'd tell her so. Now there is no one.

After the funeral we came home and Jerry said his stomach hurt. He hadn't eaten any of the sandwiches at the church. He thought he had gas. Well he never lays down so I knew that was a sign. After letting him do that for half an hour and no relief, I decided we'd go to the doctor. That meant Urgent Care across the river in La Crosse as our doctor is not open on Saturday. He agreed reluctantly.

In 1993 he'd had emergency surgery as a result of a kinked intestine. They removed about 3 foot of his intestine and he's had no other troubles that way. Well, that was on our mind but Jerry said it was not the same kind of pain. At urgent care, Fransciscan Skemp, we got right in and they examined him, drew blood, took xrays and ran an EKG. They said the EKG had abnormalities and they were worried about a blockage in the bowel. He was not nauseous, no fever, just uncomfortable enough to go to the center. Well the Mayo system does not fool around. After the tests and consults in urgent care the doctor said he wanted to admit him to the hospital; we went straight to his room on the 7th floor. What a shock!

They ran more bowel xrays and hooked him to a heart monitor. Drew blood to check heart enzymes ever few hours. A young woman MD. who was covering for Dr. Franta was highly alarmed. Said he may have had a heart attack, there was a bowel obstruction, etc. A young MD, she was more alarmed than the urgent care MD. He spent the night and they ran a cat scan and took blood every couple hours. The blood work was good. He could have nothing to eat/drink only ice chips. I was scared.

I got home about 9:20 PM beat and had phone calls to make. Just walking through the process. I did not sleep well at all and got up about 5:00AM Sunday AM. fed the birds, showered, picked up limbs and branches outside again and went to the hospital. The surgeon had been in the night before after I left and said that all looked normal on the cat scan. No problems there.

The cardiologist came in Sunday AM and had slight concern. he believes the electrical impulses around one part of the heart are not connecting right. He wants more tests which have been scheduled for this week. but he said Jerry could come home! Provided they give him fluids and he tolerates them. He did just fine so we brought him home about 3:30PM Sunday. I was beat but most relieved.

About 8:40 AM Sunday sitting in the hospital room where Jerry was sleeping, I felt like I'd been given a warm hug. I believe that was the sign from Jesus that all would be right. It was reassurance that prayers were being positively answered. I have felt that same sensation in my life during other crises. That is why I worried because I'd not had that feeling Saturday night. Well he's home, soft diet yesterday and today. Then no restrictions.

Our family MD is on vacation so he will see him when he returns on the July 23. Meantime he's been scheduled for all kinds of further tests--echo cardiogram and a stress EKG. We hope for the best. A pacemaker was mentioned, but the cardiologist was dubious of that. He just want a thorough testing.

I am grateful again for prayers and positive answers.

Monday, July 7, 2008

Newspaper Article My Father


One of the reasons we went to PA in June was so that I could be interviewed by my hometown newspaper (The Valley Dispatch) about my father, my search and AWON. I'd emailed asking to place a tribute to my father and the crew on June 20, the 64 year anniversary of the crash. Instead, Jeff Domenick, the editor became interested in my story and in AWON. So he agreed to do a feature and said I should call when I got to town. The fates and my angels were at work, I was interviewed on June 20, the anniversary date. Other AWON orphans also are featured. But my aunt Virginia who was thrilled about the piece says that I stole the front page with my photo. I hope this brings more members and I hope for me some of the Ball family see it and know about us. Most of all I hope this reminds people to never forget the sacrifices of WWII. I know the newspaper will not hold the article online forever so I have cut and pasted it here.



World War II orphans search to fill blanks left by fathers
By Rossilynne SkenaVALLEY NEWS DISPATCHSunday, July 6, 2008

Growing up in New Kensington during the 1950s, Pat Ball Morrison learned not to talk about her dead father. "When kids would ask me, 'Your name is Ball and your mother's name is McKinley,' it was really embarrassing because that didn't happen back in those days. And then I would say, 'Well, my father was killed ...'
"And then people would just kind of look at you like you had the plague or something, so you learned really early on to not talk about it."
Lewis Ball died before his daughter was born. He knew that his wife was expecting, but he never had the chance to meet his child.

Morrison is one of America's 183,000 "war orphans." Her father died when his bomber crashed into the sea. For 60 years, Morrison, 63, knew only that her father had been killed in World War II. She didn't know the details of what happened in June 1944 and she didn't know why.


Not aloneMorrison's story isn't that different from other 600-plus members of the American World War II Orphans Network (AWON). Many of these "orphans" are finally just discovering who their fathers were and how they died.
AWON was founded to honor the memory of those who died in the war and to reach out to as many so-called war orphans as possible, said Barry Barr-Finch, AWON's director of regional coordinators. Barr-Finch, 64, of Seattle, said AWON fosters an environment for those who lost a parent to tell their stories and to learn. "It's an opportunity for me to meet other orphans and we get to share our stories. We get to hear other people's situations. And then one of the things that happened to me as a direct result of that, I have learned to find things I didn't know existed -- for instance, my father's records."
There are now members in every state, he said, and the organization is always looking to reach more war orphans.


Some members with ties to western Pennsylvania share their stories and the stories of their fathers, America's fallen heroes.


Morrison grew up with just a few remnants of her father, like his hat and his belt. Until her mother died a few years ago and she found letters, documents and memorabilia while cleaning out her house, Morrison never really knew what happened to him.
Morrison's father, Lewis Ball, was piloting a B-24 from Nassau, Bahamas, to Charleston, S.C. on a training flight. His last report was just as it was getting dark; an urgent message was sent an hour later.
The official story, she said, is that the plane ran out of fuel. Along with the accident report, she received a signed letter from the man who fueled her father's plane.
"I find this odd because, you know, you've got to figure that guy's job was just to put fuel in airplanes. He says that he asked the engineer, 'You sure you have enough fuel?' because that's the official story on this -- that they ran out of fuel.
"But there's speculation, you know. Was a German submarine along the coast? Were they flying low? We'll never know," Morrison said.
"The reason that we're called American War Orphans Network is because the government called us orphans -- war orphans. And I know when I mentioned that to my mother when she was alive, she got very angry. She said, 'You're not an orphan. I'm still alive.'
"I said, 'Well, even the government said that we're orphans.' I never thought of myself as an orphan because I knew I had a mother," she said. "But it's just kind of interesting that that is the title we were given."


Morrison grew up resentful of the situation, that she didn't know the details.
"I thought this is really just bizarre. But I've learned through AWON there are just so many of us that have the same story. Our mothers did not talk about it."


Now Morrison lives in Minnesota and keeps all the mementos in her "patriotic room."
She's involved with AWON and its members.
"Now we talk all the time," she said, "making up for years where nobody said anything."


Soldier's Son
AWON member Ben McClelland, 64, said his grandmother was never able to accept the loss of her son.
"She always expected him to come home," he said. "She would go to the front door if she heard a car or truck. She thought he was going to come home."
McClelland's father, Ewing Ray "Pete" McClelland, was in an artillery division that was protecting European countries when the Germans made a final offensive and captured two American divisions, McClelland said. Those divisions were marched to a holding camp in Germany. After that capture, the allied troops did a bombing raid throughout the area and accidentally bombed the prison where the soldiers were, he said.
McClelland grew up in Masontown, and he didn't know the details of his father's death until he started his research.
"Like many of the AWON members, I grew up, of course, without a father and without knowing much about my father's life and especially about the circumstances of his death in the war," he said. "His death was not something that we could talk about within the family."
It wasn't until he was more than 50 years old that McClelland was able to visit his father's grave. The trip was a traumatic one.
While visiting the cemetery, he said, repressed memories came back. It gave him the impetus to write his memoir, "Soldier's Son," which chronicles his experience growing up. It has chapters that focus on his family and his parents' relationship. McClelland now teaches English at the University of Mississippi and lives in New Albany, Miss., with his family.
Growing up, McClelland said, he thought there was some "family secret."
McClelland's father, who was 29 years old when he died, went to college to study optometry but, when Pearl Harbor was attacked, he came home and enlisted.
His mother never remarried. It wasn't until McClelland was an adult that his mother would talk about the situation. Now, McClelland holds hope for children whose parents are fighting in today's war. It's not just families who lose a parent, but parents who survive warfare but return home with emotional or psychological problems.
"There are children who are facing the same kind of situation I had," he said. "I hope that the service community has better support systems that we had before."


Another familyFor Antonetta Bell, of Boyers, AWON is like "another whole family."
"You relate to them," said Bell, 66.
After she joined the network, she did research about her father's story.
Her father, Pasquale Niro, was killed in 1945 when he was helping his brigade cross a river. He was the last to go across and was shot.
Her mother would only say that he was killed by a sniper.
"He was always 'the man in the picture,'" she said.
There was a family picture taken of her mother, father, sister and herself before her father went overseas. Bell was 2 1/2 years old when her father left.
Prior to his death, he had already been wounded a couple of times.
Niro, who wasn't a U.S. citizen when he enlisted, was told that he would get his citizenship papers sooner if he enlisted, she said. After he died, Bell said, he finally did receive those papers.
Bell said Memorial Day reminds her of what her father did for his country.


Never forget
Stewart Lerch grew up with no father to play ball with and no father to look up to as a role model. Lerch, 64, an AWON member from Reading, was 7 months old when his father was killed in New Guinea. Lerch's father only saw him once.
"Growing up, people will say to me, 'Why are you an orphan -- you had a mother?' As in the Orphans Network, we will say, we didn't really have a mother because they were dealing with the loss," he said.
Lerch's daughter Susie Clark, 45, lives in Ross Township. She calls the network "eye-opening."
"It was so upsetting to me to hear how a lot of the families didn't talk about the servicemen who were killed, whether it was just too painful or whether it wasn't socially accepted," she said.
Lerch remembers that, as a child, he'd walk into a room and adults would stop talking.
"Parents and adults did not talk to children about these things," he said.
It wasn't until he was about 55 years old that he discovered letters his father wrote to his grandmother. Lerch never got the answer to why his dad was killed.
He was told that the answer was in the Bible. But, he said he looked and couldn't find it.
When he was about 11 or 12 years old, he found the answer while looking at a calendar sent to his home from the Veterans of Foreign Wars.
Two dates stuck out in his young mind: Memorial Day and the Fourth of July.
"They died to ensure the Fourth of July would always be a day for our independence," he said.
His father, also named Stewart Lerch, was a member of an engineer combat battalion that was also used as infantry. His father was serving as an infantry rifleman when the Japanese attacked. He was shot and killed instantly.
Lerch has "the dreaded telegram" announcing his father's death, his dad's rings, letters and a folder with the picture his father carried with him.
He now gives talks to school groups about World War II. He also talks to veterans and encourages them to share their stories.
"We as a nation may never forget our fallen heroes -- past, present or future. I hate to say future, but it is going to happen."


Rossilynne Skena can be reached at rskena@tribweb.com or 724-226-4681. SIDEBARPat Morrison and her scrapbook Jason Bridge/Valley News Dispatch

American World War II Orphans Network
AWON's mission is to locate and support American orphans of World War II and to honor the service and sacrifice of those killed in the war.
The network provides a registry of orphans and families, guidance to locate records, biannual conferences and regional and local gatherings as well as publications, online communication and a speaker's bureau.
For more information about the Network, including how to become a member, visit http://www.awon.org/.

Saturday, June 14, 2008

Lyrics to Duke the Spook

Duke the Spook

The night is calm – the sky is clear,
A perfect set-up for a bombardier.
Motors roar with an angry spark
The big B-24’s on their marks;
From the ground with shrieks and wails,
A ghostly figure hits the ether trails,
A mascot, in a high hat and tails.
Meet the gallant swell – “Duke the Spook”,
Charming as all hell – “Duke the Spook”.
With flowery phrase on his lips
He’ll annihilate those Nips
when his killing smile greets the foe.
Death is done in style, don’t you know?
Class will win and they’ll give in;
You’ll shake the hand that shook Berlin
Oh, “Duke the Spook!”

Duke the Spook


I have been in touch with two wonderful gentlemen from Charleston, SC who are collaborating to write a book on the old WWII Charleston Army Air Base. That was my father's last stop. Of course this caught my interest and the last two months have been like Christmas.

Darrell Parker is the one who loves to do research went to the Charleston library archives and found the original newspaper clipping about my father's plane crash. The article had the home addresses of all the crew. Well 64 years later chances are very slim that I will find any remaining family members, but it's something I have to check out. I learned that there were many B-24 crashes out of and around Charleston. Sometimes there was nothing in the newspapers because the government did not want to alarm citizens. I also learned that there were many German POWs in Charleston and they were on road building and brush clearing work crews. They had no place to go--ocean or swamp. The history I'm learning is fascinating to me!

George Miller has sent me two manila envelopes full of photos, history of the base and memorabilia photos. The second arrived Friday--included were the insignia, Duke the Spook which was the men's logo for the 400th Bombardment Group. Now I have another piece of information about my father. At first when I saw Duke, I shuddered. Then I realized, this was a WAR. The men knew their chances as pilots of B-24's were not good. D Day had started but the skies were heavily covered in Europe. My father and his crew would have been on their way if not for the fatal crash. So these brave men aced it with a macabre sense of humor to us. Yet they looked at death and made it classy. Duke the Spook was a popular song sung by Bing Crosby and dedicated to the men of the 400th Bombardment Group. It was written my Jimmy Van Heusen. I have never heard it but I'll now be searching.

One of my favorite tunes that I sung as a kid and still think about is Bing's "Swingin' on a Star."
Providential that now I have another Bing tune in my life?

Now I look at Duke and appreciate him for his significance, for his bravery in the face of death--dancing to meet fate with a silk top hat! I am so indebted to these two men. Can't wait to get to Charleston to meet in person--but Darrell warned me to stay away in summer or I would hate them all. Last Saturday he called--it was 98 degrees and 93 percent humidity! Not my kind of weather.

Monday, May 26, 2008

Memorial Day 2008 (5-26-08)

Today is the end of this long weekend trip to northern MN where we stayed in Bemidji at the Royal Oaks RV Park. In what we heard is very abnormal for this area there are many camp/RV spots open. The $$ of gas has affected RVrs and others who are staying home. We made this trip to see a new area of the state, to us. This is where MN earned the name of land of 10,000 lakes as there are more lakes than I've ever seen one after another.

This is RV, resorts, cabins and camping and fishing area. Home of the Chippewa , Crow and Ojibwe Indian tribes. Besides casinos, these Indians have many industries--bottling water, raising and selling wild rice, moccasins, etc. And their own license plates--these plates which I first spotted at Wal Mart are not MN but each sovereign tribe has their own plate. Have never seen that anywhere else in the country.

By the way, Bemidji has the busiest WalMart we've seen anywhere in the country. The mainstay of the town besides the huge statues of Paul Bunyan and Babe the blue ox at the visitor center, is the Univ. of Bemidji. All brick buildings--many many dormitories. Not sure but think the primary academic is geology, natural sciences, and other similar outdoor scienes. Oh Bemidji is also home of curling---guess they need to amuse themselves during the long harsh winters here.
Saturday we went to the headwaters of the Mississippi River at Itasca State Park. I did not take off my shoes to walk across the rocks there as I thought I would. Call me a coward, but it was too cold with still the melting snow keeping the water icy--those who did the walk on the rocks barefooted were kids and 20 somethings. Another time when the water is not so high or cold! Lake Itasca has a fascinating visitors center full of history of the area and the tribes and the fur trapping and the French Indian wars of the 1700's. Many buildings of this park were built by the CCC in the 1930's making us wonder why we can't do such a thing today to put people to work--but then flash---back then those who didn't work didn't eat. Today the courts will say "ah no that's servitude or slavery" "Must not." Yet another lost American value becomes clear with reflection on history and seeing this visible monument to such efforts. In one exhibit two men now in their 80's wrote of being part of the CCC in 1936 where for the first time they got three meals a day, all they could eat, and a pair of boots-which came in one size. Large. One man said he will never forget those boots.

Itasca has a large drive around which is one way traffic so that we enjoyed all the sights from the truck seat. I saw hundreds of ladyslippers in bloom. This is the first time I've seen the MN state flower in bloom.

But primarily we cme north to attend the ceremony held today in Akeley,MN at the VFW Post where Kathy Swanson, AWON, and her mother received the last of her father's medals from WWII. Senator Norm Coleman presented these, the Akeley VFW, which seems to be the hot spot in this tiny town, went all out. The Legion came from Walker,MN slightly bigger but tiny. Coleman messed up the presentation by saying Kathy's father died August 17, 1949--then covered saying that was his own birthday! I don't think he ever said 1944. Kathy's father died the day she was born August 17, 1944. Cpl. Ed Newsome was a medic and wounded in the Pacific. He was to be sent back to the states but died in the hospital; his diary indicates bombs were dropping. His grave is memorialized in the Phillippines. Kathy never knew that her stepfather was not her biological father until she went to get her birth certificate at age 16. Then her mother told her Johnson name was not her name! That began her search and journey which finally led to today's ceremony. She found her father's family in Texas and has met those still alive. She has also seen her father memorialized in Texas in his hometown monument. She and her husband are very active in their VFW and have the display wall with service branch and brief life stories of each member. Bob Swanson created this using the WWII memorial model. They intend to sell out and become full time RVers. We will see them next in Tucson.

Weather turned cold today. Could have used some of the woolen sweaters from the Bemidji Woolen Mill which I did not buy when we visited it Friday!

On our way here we stopped at Camping World in Rogers MN where I got my tricycle at last!!I have pedaled it around this RV park but will prefer concrete at home. It has 3 speeds and handbrake as well as pedal brake--a nice big basket on the back where I can carry stuff. They had just gotten 2 in on the truck and assembled it. While we intended to stop on our way home, with only two I didn't want to take a chance on missing out--have had my eye out for one since I first saw it in CA in November at the Camping World in Rocklin.

We head home tomorrow. This has been a restful trip--maybe too much so. Yesterday I sat over three hours working the Wall Street Journal's crossword on the computer; no way to save it so I kept guessing away. My butt wnt to sleep!

Monday, April 21, 2008

Spring has arrived


Great weather here the last 2 days--70 degrees! Whee! And we can just watch all the grass grow--it seems by the hour. How quickly the flies appear--will the mosquitoes be far behind? Looks like two or three rosebushes did not make it through the winter. So will be replacing those.

This month, I bought the wildest pair of shoes I've bought in a long time. The are nearly 3 inch heels, look great with jeans; I'll wear them now and then but certainly not when I'll be on my feet for long periods of time. These are fun party shoes, which fit the saying--If you wear a great pair of shoes, no one will notice the size of your tush! Jerry is not as amused and says things like "stay away from wherever the working girls hang out." He's always considered himself a comedian about my shoes. Years back in CA he commented about another pair--"How far did you have to chase that pimp to take those shoes off him?" Maybe if we had not had such a long hard winter, I would not have been as tempted with these shoes, but had to have them and their Betty Boop peep toes!

I really embarrassed myself on April 5. Karaoke at the La Crosse, Legion. I chose "I Hope You Dance" and the sounds that came out of my mouth were not from this world. Wow, I've never sounded that bad. So I have been giving the voice a work out by singing more around the house. I talked to a friend who had the same awful experience at Karaoke that same night--so we think there was a Karaoke Demon o the loose. This Demon tried to get us both from ever stepping up to the mikes again, but we shall overcome. We'll try again--next time, I'll stop when the K DJ plays the song too slow or low for me. Anyway since I so embarrassed myownself, Jerry thinks he's off the hook for future song fests--not so.

Monday, March 24, 2008

American Deaths in IRAQ

Today's big media news is that 4,000 Americans have been killed in Iraq. Well let me preface my "so" "and what else" by reminding you of my patriotism. I know the cost of war. Along with over 180,000 other Americans I lost my father in World War II.

But 4,000 killed? Over five years? Come On People. How many are killed in automobile accidents annually in this country? How many junkies die of overdoses annually in this country? How many Americans were killed by terrorists in New York City on fatal 9-11?

I do not shrug off the death of anyone of our brave military serving in Iraq. But we need to put this into perspective. How many of them might have died here in this country on the road or in another kind of accident?

Their families are compensated. No, life can't be bought but neither can freedom be cheaply defended. The media would twist all this to have us believe the war is a failure, even though the surge is working. The media call it Bush's War. The liberal media hate our President and I believe they hate our way of life. They are about their own liberal agenda.

Did you know that until three years ago, the "death gratuity", a tax-free sum paid directly by the government, was $12,420 for military death? In addition, service members had a group life insurance policy for $250,000 with the government paying the premiums.

In 2005, Congress increased those amounts to $100,000 and $400,000 respectively, retroactive to 2001. So, if a service member dies in the line of duty today, his survivors get half a million dollars. Hmm. Do local/state governments insure their fire fighters or police officers for similar amounts?

Note that "dies in the line of duty" does not mean "is killed in combat". In the military context, it simply means that the member was on active duty or on authorized leave and did not cause his own death through willful misconduct. If a soldier dies in a snowmobiling accident on his day off, his family gets the full amount.

In 1962-68, the death gratuity was six months' base salary and the insurance policy was $10,000...it's gone up quite a bit. When my father's plane and crew disappeared in 1944 it was $10,000 period! So the government has generously increased this death benefit.

Our military are doing what they are paid to do---defend us.

Friday, March 21, 2008

What a difference a day makes



Yesterday, March 20, first official day of spring, the snow was nearly all melted. A week ago I saw the first robin on our back deck and yesterday we saw several robins in the front hunting for worms. No worms out yet, the evening temperatures still freeze and those crawlies stay snug far underground.

I walked the neighbor's dog with my jacket open and thought that at last this terrible winter would end and it would be spring. Easter is Sunday and I don't ever remember having Easter in the snow growing up in PA.

Yesterday I decided to get out some of my Easter bunny decorations and lighten up the living and dining room for Easter. The last few days we were out in the motor home, readying it for a short trip next weekend to Albert Lea for one of the Republican endorsing conventions to which I'm a delegate. It will be good dry run getting ready for our trip and reunion in Pella, IA end of April.

The weather forecasters predicted a snow but we hoped it would just pass us by or not stick and melt as quickly as it came down. Not so.

Woke up this morning to a blanket of white and still more tumbling white feathers from the sky. Phooey! By this time, I was sure the angels were done combing the dandruff from their hair! Enough with the white stuff!

So again today it's back to Jerry shoveling/snow blowing. Well it was his idea to move here to what has been the tundra winter; he's paid plenty penance. He says its all exercise, but I think if he were honest he'd admit he's seen enough white for awhile.

I suited and booted up to walk out into the white fluff to snap some photos to contrast how it all changed between yesterday and today. Spring tried to poke through but Jack Winter isn't done with us yet. What a difference between yesterday and today. My winter rose garden awaits spring.

Thursday, March 20, 2008

Animal people


For the first time in our lives, after moving to MN we are without domestic animals, pets. Jerry is vehement that we not get any dogs or cats so that we can come and go when we want to. Besides we live in the city limits now, not like Newcastle, Ca where the animals had over 6 acres to roam free. Living in the "city" means a leash law and no loose animals.

Well every once in a while I peruse the want ads and think, maybe we should get some animal--a small poodle, a schnauzer, a Siamese cat--something that I could talk to. But as quickly as I mention it, Jerry puts his foot down again.

We have always had animals. Sometimes we had two or three head of dog; once along with the dogs, our circus included two Siamese cats and a cockatiel bird. I wanted such a bird after meeting one that a friend had which talked and was so adorable. George, the bird, was named for King George because we got him on Independence Day 1977. (Photo of George sitting on my arm 1977 above) He was a misnomer as after 4 years he went into a terrible molt. I didn't know what it was then, but he had hardly any feathers left and I thought he must surely be dying. What to do with a bird? Off to the bird doctor which took some searching and a referral of our veterinarian who did horses, goats, farm animals of all kinds, dogs and cats but not birds. As I recall, I packed George into a portable cage and drove about 40 minutes away, to somewhere in Carmichael.

The bird doctor took one look and said, "she is molting." Huh? She? turns out George had a "deferred hormonal system" which took 4 years to shake loose. And immediately following that she developed a deep psychological yearning to mate and was sexually frustrated. So She had pulled out all her feathers. This was according to the bird vet. I did not want to mate George. I learned that though George was amusing, sat on my shoulder and liked to fly around the house, the upkeep on a bird is tremendous. Seeds flew everywhere near the cage requiring daily vacuuming. Daily cage changes too due to other droppings. So the vet said, my other option was to administer thyroid medication to George and hope for the best.

This was a new challenge to animal husbandry for me--crush the thyroid pill in a teaspoon of water and pour down the bird's throat. Not at all as easy as it might sound. But somehow I persevered without wringing George's neck. By the way, the male cockatiel has the Bright orange/yellow spots on the cheeks. George had the great color so we never once thought he was a she. The vet explained that "it happens in the animal world, one sex is mistaken for another and so on." As we lived in CA this did not even surprise me--I worked around all kinds of people.

Well after several months George had restored herself and was back to looking colorful. But she developed a very strange habit of sitting on the bottom of her cage and swaying. Again, we watched this for several days; she was eating, but acting strange. I thought she was heavily constipated as she wasn't eating much and wasn't dirtying up the cage with droppings. Even odder, George refused to come out of her cage, screeching and pecking at me like she never did whenever I opened her door to let her out. Another phone call to the bird vet who said "she is likely trying to lay eggs but she will not be able to because she is sterile." Nobody told George who acted like this for about a week. One day we came home from work and there were two eggs in her cage. Only George wanted nothing to do with them. We removed the eggs and George went back to her normal self.

Only after her hormonal resurgence and her sex change she never did try talking again, no more "pretty bird." George shrieked so loud that we heard her a mile away outside out in the orchard. We had George for nearly 10 years. People told us that they didn't live but seven years max. No one told George.

We had two Siamese cats who ruled the house during the same time, Roscoe (male) and Mimi (female). We would come home and find Roscoe lying spread eagle across the top of the bird cage--one paw in the cage trolling. He never got to George. Roscoe trolled while George protested the intrusion by hiss, peck and nip at the troller.

George' demise came suddenly without warning. I felt responsible because at the time I was singing with a woman's chorus. I had the lead vocal parts and was working hard on the high ranges and soprano notes. George would screech with me. That Saturday I did not hear George singing along. He hit the higher notes easier than I did. One look into the cage revealed a peaceful George, on the floor. We buried George out in the back by the big oak trees and the swing, a park like area overlooking the hills. I've never since wanted another bird; one was all it took.

I remember my grandparents in PA had canaries. I always thought they were pretty. My grand pap had been a coal miner and raised canaries for the miners. My grandmother enjoyed the chirping. Grandpap was devoted to canaries because they advised miners of oxygen or bad air in the mines. My uncle told me that my grandfather, Teofil Kochanowski, was always crazy for animals and would go out of his way to get dogs, birds, whatever. I know he always had hunting dogs and Boston Terriers when I was growing up. He would cut their tails off--I always cried about that. I don't think Grandpap ever took a dog to the vet.

Uncle Carl told me that once when they were growing Grandpap brought a ground hog into the house and went to bed. I believe he came in late and had been out with some of the guys drinking "N Piwo" and possibly won this ground hog in a card game. The story goes that my grandmother arose bright and early the next morning, just like normal, came into her kitchen and saw a ground hog and likely broomed it out the door in no time. My grandma, Baba, was an excellent housekeeper and would not have wanted a wild animal in her house. When Granpap awoke and came downstairs, no trace of the animal. He asked where his ground hog was and Baba just looked at him, like "what the heck are you talking about, Pap?" She never admitted to anything and so Grandpap didn't confront her further. Uncle Carl said, that all he could say was, "no proof that Rose did anything." He knew he didn't have a ground hog anymore and never again brought one into the house that anyone knew. But now I know that I have likely inherited my love of animals from Granpap. Even worse, my son, Steve has compounded love of animals. Today in CA Steve loves his dog, Bandit. I know we were animal people but I'd never thought that it was an inherited trait.

My most famous best dog pal of all time was my Great Dane, ACE whom I'll write more about later. He was the dog of all dogs, in his heyday weighing about 170 pounds and still preferring to be a lap dog. He did commercials for the local Newcastle rib house starting a trend at folks sharing their animals love of Spencer's Ribs.

Our first Siamese cat, which found Jerry and became our famous Lady Godiva is another entertaining tale. When Jerry called and said, "Do we want a cat?" I said, "Sure but what about the dogs?" He replied, "Oh this cat will take care of herself." And she did claiming the house as her territory from the day she arrived. It turns out that she was in heat; this was likely the reason she had gotten out. Or someone had tossed her out. There is no earthly sound like a Siamese cat in heat! We lived in a two story home with high ceilings--she raced up and down the stairs, clawing the carpets, drapes and screaming. We took her to the vet, because I was sure she was sick. The car ride with her was absolute torture. The vet explained that she would soon pass through this but would be in perpetual heat unless she were fixed. We did not want to hear those screechy wails, so we had her fixed and peace was restored to Fair Oaks.

Lady Godiva became famous, featured in columns in the former Sacramento Union newspaper. She was a self taught toilet user. I accused Steve, our son, of neglecting to flush the toilet. I could not understand his behavior because he was about 9 at the time. "But Mom I do flush" This went on for several weeks until one day I was home alone, just me and Lady Godiva. I will never forget being at the counter between our kitchen and den and hearing a trickling noise in the bathroom off the den. I walked there and there sat Lady Godiva on the toilet. Indignant as only a Siamese can be! She looked at me as if to say, "Look I allow you your privacy, might you respect mine?" I could not wait for Jerry to get home to hear about this! We don't know how or why she figured it out. But she never did learn to flush! We never had to have those nasty cat boxes around!

Friends awaited the chance to witness this. She indignantly allowed people to observe her at toilet--all the while keeping her long Siamese tail up in the air over her head. She was quite the Siamese. When we moved her to Newcastle she transitioned to going out side too and became quite the huntress. Before that she had been a strictly an inside cat. It was a sad day when she layed down and gave it up after about 12 years. We buried her out in the backyard too.

We've enjoyed many animals as part of our family over the years and I will write more later. But for now after babysitting and walking Abby, my neighbor's old lab dog for a week while she went to FL, I am in complete agreement with Jerry. No more animals in the Morrison house.