The Christmas Box Angel of Hope .........or, "Tears in Heaven"

An Angel of Hope stands in Silver Springs Cemetery in Stow, Ohio .  The angel reaches, arms outstretched, as if bestowing a gift on those before her.  She is doing just that.

Inspired by Richard Paul Evans' book, The Christmas Box, in which a grieving mother visits an angel statue every day,  readers asked where they could visit an Angel.  Evans commissioned Jared and Ortho Fairbanks, of Salt Lake City, to design an angel statue for that city.  Evans had no idea that grieving parents everywhere would want their own angel, and at last count, 106 Angels of Hope are doing duty around this country.

The Angels of Hope are giving peace, tears, relief, and freedom to express grief to parents and families who have lost children. No age, race, cause of death or time passed matters: All grievers are equal at the feet of an Angel.

I know this because I have attended Angel of Hope Ceremonies in Stow since losing Philip over five years ago.  I go there with my friend, Suzy, who lost her daughter, Ellen, four years ago.  My darling husband, Randy, goes with us as escort, and provides tissues, umbrellas, a ride to and fro, then quietly sheds his own tears for Philip, Ellen, and all of the families standing before the Angel of Hope.

This event was recently held in coordination with the Compassionate Friends Worldwide Candle Lighting, when families who lost children light a candle simultaneously around the world. The Compassionate Friends, begun in England, is an organization to help bereaved parents, and has provided support for over forty years in the United States, with over 600 chapters now active.

On a cold December Sunday evening, Suzy, Randy and I walked across the small cemetery to the Angel.  Graves glowed throughout the cemetery, with battery-lit luminerias.  Near the statue are graves of babies, small markers facing the Angel of Hope. Names of children are etched into bricks in the patio that surrounds the statue.

We stood, this time, in cold, clear weather, while the founders of the project welcomed people, passed out candles, then read poems, prayers, and shared understanding with those gathered before the Angel.

We've stood there in blowing wind, freezing cold, and hideous heat, as ceremonies take place both in winter and summer. Balloons with glittery lights inside are sent up to Heaven at the winter event. They've been beaten down by blizzardy gusts, snow and sleet, but this time they went straight up!  In summer heat, doves of peace fly Heavenward, no matter the weather.

The most amazing thing is the people.......over 450 at this recent event.

Grief is often very lonely:  "I am the only person who ever felt this way, who lost a child."

 Not true!

As we stand near the Angel, we feel the presence of others arriving, and soon realize the crowd behind us, around us, to the sides of us...........ALL who are there to honor and remember a child. We have come together for a few minutes, summer and winter, to pause, get strength from each other, share our grief, unite in a ceremony, and walk away knowing that we are NOT "the only person......"

Beautiful music is part of the ceremonies.  Music brings up emotions and memories, so many of us do not listen to it anymore.  Somehow, at this place, it helps to LET us feel, LET us cry, and because we are all together, this is OK. We are many. We cry together.

There are words from a pastor, and a Jewish prayer where we join in to respond, "We will remember them............. " We know that the death of a child can come to ANY family.

This December it was bitterly cold out there. A young woman brought her little boy to place flowers on the grave of the sister he will never know.  The woman knelt on the ground in front of me, her young son close to her side, tears streaming down her face, while she loved and kissed that little boy.......her precious son.........understanding, more, perhaps, than many other mothers, how blessed she is to have him.

We lit each others' candles until the cemetery was more aglow with candlelight, then raised them up to the sky in unison. We wept.  We cried with "strangers," and yet NOT strangers.............because we all know the hideous grief we share. Afterwards, parents lay flowers at the feet of the Angel, and when we leave, huge bouquets drape her feet.

                            We are NOT alone.  We are understood. We understand.

On the way home, a deep well of grief is released by the beauty of the event, then bit by bit, conversation returns, tears dry, we go back to the "new normalcy" that will never feel normal. Somehow "strangers" may have conveyed to each other more understanding than people whose names and faces we do know. 

The Angel of Hope is out there in the dark as I type this. There may be a parent sitting on a bench next to her.  If not now, then tomorrow.  It is a place of peace and hope, where tears may unashamedly flow, and sometimes it provides a soft place to be when everything is too much to bear.

It is said that an angel is a celestial being who acts as an intermediary between Heaven and Earth. I am sure there are earthly angels also, as there have been many angels in my life, human and bronze.



For more information, or to find an Angel of Hope near you, visit www.richardpaulevans.com , and click on "Angel Statues."


Copyright:  KP Gillenwater

Weight Watchers Points Plus Chicken Pot Pie......or, "Sing a Song of Sixpence"

Due to the high volume of traffic on my Eggs Benedict recipe, I've decided to share my next-favorite Weight Watchers Points Plus recipe. (I am also sort of off-the-soapbox this week. The holiday mood has taken over........!)

Anyway, back to this delicious meal in one dish..................

This can be made with chicken or turkey. Actually, the reason I decided to share this is because I just made this with my leftover Thanksgiving turkey, and it was, as usual, a huge hit at my house.  Not only is this delicious, but it is almost sinfully easy to make!

                                              Weight Watchers Chicken Pot Pie

You will need:

1 pre-made pie crust from the cooler department at the grocery store. These usually come 2 per package, so save one for the next time!

1 can of mixed vegetables, like Veg-All, drained
1 can fat free cream of chicken soup

2 cups cooked chicken breast, cut up  (I have used the grocery store roasted chicken, skinned and cut up. I have also used canned chicken breast, but real boneless, skinless chicken breasts, cooked and cut up, have the least number of calories. If you are using turkey, use the breast for the least fat.)

1/4 cup fat free skim milk
salt and pepper
cooking spray

Spray a pie pan.
Preheat the oven to 450 degrees.

In a bowl, mix the chicken, soup, milk,vegetables, and some salt and pepper, gently.  Pour this mixture into the pie pan and spread evenly. Unroll the pie crust, lay it on top of the pie,  crimping the edges around the top of the pie pan.   Use thin strips of aluminum foil to cover the pie crust edges to prevent them from burning. Make some air vents with a sharp knife in the top of the crust, evenly.

Bake between 20 to 40 minutes. You sort of have to watch it....... When the top crust is golden brown, it is ready.  Let it sit for about 5 minutes before serving.  Cut in fourths.

Now for the really good part:  As a Weight Watcher, you can eat a fourth of this pie!  When I cut it, I like to carefully remove the crust and put it where it won't get soggy. It is sort of like the dessert, it tastes so good!  Be careful to get your fair share of vegetables, too, since there is no bottom crust, and they tend to slide out.

I've added up all the points and divided by four to be able to tell you that this marvelous and filling meal (1/4 of the pie) will deliver 12 Points Plus to your thinning frame.  If this sounds high, remember you are eating a fourth of this pie!  On days I plan to prepare this, I cut back on breakfast and lunch so I can enjoy this feast for dinner!

Enjoy!


Next time, I will be back with my regular words of wisdom, opinion, or memorabilia.  I am gearing up for the holidays right now, and thinking FOOD for the next few weeks. I don't DO cookies...........just healthy low-fat food!  (If you missed the Eggs Benedict recipe, see my October 2, 2011 posting............it's sooooo good!)


copyright:  KP Gillenwater

The Highland Theatre..... or, "Magic Carpet Ride"

My husband, Randy, and I went to see a movie last week.  Instead of heading out to a busy new venue, we trod the familiar path to the Highland Theatre, which has been in Akron's Highland Square area since 1936.  We started out in Akron not too long after that, ourselves, which may be one of the reasons we absolutely love the Highland Theatre.  There's no comparison with new movie houses of today..............

The same movie was showing west of town, in a cram-you-in-the-seat-next-to-a-person-where-you-will-soon-be-rubbing-up-against-him/her-intimately sort of places.

You know the routine:  Line up, buy the ticket, smell the glorious six-dollar popcorn smothered in heart-clogging butter, get lost in the hallway looking for the one theatre room out of ten or twelve, and check your ticket twice to be sure you are in the RIGHT room!  THEN, find a seat, and if we are not there half an hour before the forty-five previews of movies that won't come out for another six months, we may not even get to sit with the person we came with!  Every seat might be taken, and latecomers are divorced in the dark from their partners, and forced to rub up against strangers.

During whatever show we've come to watch, there seems to be an earthquake or bombing going on somewhere else in the building:  never quite located, and out of sync with the show we're watching. We hear bombshells.... or whatever.  It never fails that someone is texting or playing with a brightly-lit fancy phone, in spite of polite commercials asking guests to turn them off before the show, too.

I am not a fan of "modern" movie houses, I guess you can tell.

The Highland Theatre is my idea of Nirvana for movie-goers.  It has had some tough financial times, we've heard, and we are doing our part to be sure it is in Akron for many more years to come.  In other words, that's where we spend OUR movie money.  All five dollars of it.

That's the price.  Five bucks.  A polite lady takes your money as you enter the lobby of the Art Deco relic of the past.  It's worth five dollars just to SEE the Highland Theatre, I think.  The lobby has a one hundred and ten foot curved bar, where you can buy yourself a beer, a Crown Royal, popcorn,  nachos or sweets to enjoy with the show. ( I used to buy candy at that counter's location when I was a kid. Ten cents a box.  I'd stock up for weeks at that price, take it home, hide it under my bed, and for under a dollar I ruined my teeth and had a wonderful time.)

There is a stage near the bar, in case you get the urge to dance, I suppose, during a musical. And there are tables with chairs near the China White Lounge, so you can sit comfortably with your drink at a table, if you'd rather not be in the dark with it. Rumor has it that some reunions are held in the theatre, and wouldn't THAT be fun???!

Oh yes, there are theatre seats, and plenty of them. AND LEG ROOM............you can put your feet on the seat in front of you if you want to...............and be comfortable!  Nobody is going to brush up against you and squoosh you, and no stranger will be in your lap!  There is room for EVERYBODY!!!

In the early 2000's, a half a million dollars was spent to renovate and repair this theatre.  The good news is that it has not altered its personality. The Highland today is pretty much the same as The Highland "back then."

As a frequent visitor to ladies rooms, I can promise you that the restroom, with its white and gray marble stalls and maroon-patterned wallpaper, still has the ambiance it had in the fifties.....and sixties.......except that the swooning couch (or whatever it was called) is no longer at its place against the wall.  Since I never swooned on it anyway, that's OK, and the wall still has the break in the chair rail, in case they want to replace it someday, for ladies who swoon over the new vampire movies. Other than that, that ladies room is vintage!

Randy and I took our seats, along with the twenty-five other customers. We'd bought our tickets behind a lady who dragged in a little cart full of clean laundry that she'd done at the local laundromat. She parked it by her seat.  No big deal.  (Try doing THAT at those fancy new movie houses, huh???)

While sitting there, watching Randy clog his arteries with some inexpensive popcorn, before the one and only preview, I had a sort of FLASH BACK............one of those times when not your whole life, but only a small portion of it, flashes through your memory-brain, delivering glimpses of things from the past.

In the semi-darkness and quiet, I looked over the large seating area of the Highland Theatre, and saw myself sitting in exact seating areas, in years gone by!

My first movie ever was seen in this theatre.  I was seven years old, and I don't remember the movie, but I remember the experience. We sat in the left section, all four of us. It may have been the only time my mother went to a movie with us, as most of my childhood movies were seen with Pop. We saw Western Movies, one by one, each weekend until I got too old to be seen with a parent. Many were in the Highland Theatre.

My friend Alexis and I sat, center-section right side, weeping copiously during Gone With the Wind.  It was 1960, and Clark Gable had recently died. Lexie and I were not only weeping for the beauty of GWTW, but for the loss of our movie star leading man, the love of our just-turned-teen lives.

Right-section, midway back, Pop and my sister, Alison, and I sat, while Debra Kerr and Cary Grant lost each other, and found each other again, in An Affair to Remember.  I was ten, my sister fifteen, and Pop 55. (Oh my goodness..........he was so YOUNG!)  He'd taken us to the movies on a Saturday night ( 35 cents back then, if that,) and we sat in the Highland Theatre, all three of us sobbing at the end of the movie. (You know the scene: Cary Grant finds out that Debra Kerr can't walk.........and they play THE MUSIC...........and she says, "If you can paint, then I can walk................")  We cried so hard and long that we begged Pop to let us watch it AGAIN..........and we DID!  We sat there in the Highland Theatre, and watched An Affair to Remember  TWICE in one night!  I must have seen it fifty times since then...............and I always remember Pop saying "Yes, OK," while we three sat there, wet cheeks in the dark.

My neighbor, Lindy, and I sat center-section near the front, with her four brothers and sisters to see Thirteen Ghosts.  Her dad had dropped us out front with her entourage of siblings.  At twenty-five cents per kid, it bought her parents some time alone in a quiet house. (We didn't figure that out until we were older, and her little sister was born.....) Armed with a ten-cent box of Licorice Allsorts and a pair of paper glasses with one red lens and one green lens (which I still have somewhere), we had the BeJesus scared out of us with half of Akron's other screaming children, some who cried.  (Not us.) Every seat was taken. Loud shrieking audiences never were my thing, but I remember vividly the howling and gnashing of teeth that afternoon. The ride home in the two-tone station wagon, Lindy's dad smiling, and her siblings saying how they hadn't been really scared at all, holding my paper glasses, was half the fun.

Lastly, returned from college,  I sat with a young man, center section, last row, and fell in love with Robert Redford during Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid.  I may have been a little in love with that young man, too, then. There was a black mark on the theatre screen for many years.  I later found out it was a hole, and he confessed before the show that he had made it by throwing a rock at the screen, in his youth. If you were a patron back then, you might remember that black mark, too, huh?  The screen has been replaced, and that young man, who sort of resembled Robert Redford, was also replaced shortly afterwards. 

Our movie ended, the laundry lady dragged her cart out the door, we all said goodbye to the ticket lady, and to each other. We'd shared an experience at the Highland Theatre, after all. (I had actually shared several experiences, but who knew that?)

The Highland Theatre is still here on West Market Street.  I want to see it STAY on Market Street.  The marquee with lighted bulbs welcomes us and YOU! The movies they're showing are first-run stuff lately, which may be why we've been there so many times.  If you live in the Akron area, GO THERE!  You can see pictures online at www.virtualakron.com/highlandtheater  or visit it live at Highland Square, in Akron.

Your flashbacks are welcome, too, I am sure, and if you don't have any, create some!


copyright:  KP Gillenwater

The U.S. Postal Service, ......or, "Sealed With a Kiss"

The United States Postal Service is having a rough time, financially.  The news tells of layoffs, limited delivery service, and a higher price of stamps.

HOLD IT!  Can you even IMAGINE our life without postal service in this country????

Think of the joy, as a kid, of receiving a birthday card from Grandma!....  Refunds from sending in box tops?... Post cards from faraway places?...  Your first real love letter, reeking of cologne?

I am a HUGE supporter of the postal service. At least once a week I buy stamps, mail a package, or pick up my FREE box to wrap and send a gift away. The place is the hub for my bill paying!  I never mail a bill from my own mailbox now, but prefer to drop it into the slot for "stamped mail," and see that it is on its way right THEN. (I find that there are fewer bills lost that way, frankly.)

I do not do online banking, and part of the reason is that I LIKE to write out my check and send it by mail.  It gets there.  I've had time to look the check over, examine it for mistakes, put on the stamp, use some of those free return address labels that I received via the postal service, and know that my bill or letter is not done by a mouse click.

I just mailed a small package to Oregon.  If you have never DRIVEN to Oregon, then you may not fully appreciate just how far away Oregon IS from Ohio.  It takes beaucoup de days to drive to Oregon, much less to find the address I just wrote on that package. (We're talking about a week, here.  At least.)  Did I mention the mountains, rivers, and bad weather? (and the stops along the way to sightsee???)

I mailed this "media mail" package for $2.82.  IS THERE ANYBODY ELSE IN THE ENTIRE WORLD WHO WOULD HAVE TAKEN THAT PACKAGE ALL THE WAY TO OREGON FOR $2.82????

(I heard your collective, breathless "no.....!")

YOU WANT A BARGAIN? Stop looking at the mall, folks...................go to the POST OFFICE!!!! For only 44 cents, they will take your letter all the way across the country! I actually felt guilty over that package! It bordered on slave labor.

No, I do not have relatives who work for the post office. (Yet).........although I do have a friend who is a postal worker. This is not about saving her job.  This is about APPRECIATING WHAT WE HAVE, using it, and not letting online banking and email reduce this marvelous service disappear from our lives.

Who has not felt a flutter in his or her heart when opening the mailbox and pulling out a stack of envelopes and magazines?  Who does not have a letter from a long-lost love hidden away somewhere? (An email just isn't going to do it......)

Who hasn't wept and cried over a hideous bill that arrived just as your overdraft notice arrived in the same mail batch?  Just THINK of the heart-stopping moments in your history all because of the United States Postal Service!

My fondest "mail memory" is the day my college acceptance letter arrived.  Almost no such supreme joy has been personally delivered to my house! Yes, I saved it!  It didn't come by email.........it's paper!

 Birth announcements!  Invitations that you can actually HOLD IN YOUR HAND and enjoy the anticipation of the event...........instead of closing out the screen and then thinking about it.  Great Grandma's letters..........Civil War soldiers' farewells to loved ones at home.........handwritten memories, all delivered by MAIL.

You know I am not a huge proponent of Nooks, Crannies, and Kindles............I want to HOLD a book in my hand. I feel the same way about wedding invitations, love letters, and bills.  I want to SEE them, reread them, and SAVE them.  (And if it's a really nasty bill, I want the pleasure of RIPPING it up and shredding it..............Get it???)

If we use it, it will stay.  If not, when the lights go out and all the batteries die............all of those pleasant email messages will be gone forever.  And while I am an ardent emailer myself,  if I had a wedding invitation to offer, or a love letter I wanted delivered, it would be signed, sealed, and then delivered by a postal worker.  And it would be worth the 44 cents to know that it was being HELD in a hand of a person for whom I care.



Copyright:  KP Gillenwater

The Complaint Department...........or,"Ain't That a Shame"

Usually I can be pretty upbeat.  Maybe it's that winter is creeping into our lives, but I am having a hard time right now staying positive.  It doesn't help that there are little things that bug me.  It's usually a little thing that is the straw that breaks the proverbial camel's back.

Today I am going to mention a few things that really irritate me.

I've already mentioned the plugs on electric items---- one fat prong and one normal one, and they never fit into the plug the first time.  That sort of explains the kinds of things that I am talking about here.

Have you noticed that restaurants no longer put spoons on the table?? Okay, I am sure I've seen one or two, but for the most part, you have to ask for a spoon, these days.  I've learned to carry a spoon along to one Mexican restaurant, so I can eat the salsa without the chips. Pay attention to this, because if they can leave the spoon off the table, maybe they will soon leave the knife and fork off, too! What if you want that last little blob of gravy, and a spoon is the only tool that can scoop it up? There we sit, spoonless!  (And if you HADN'T noticed this, now that you are aware of it, you will!)

Libraries, my favorite places, put the bar codes and other stickers over the titles and name of the author!  I had to virtually remove one of those plastic jackets, which involved turning it inside out and bending my hand at an odd angle, to take a sticker off to find out who wrote the book I was reading! Okay, I hear you telling me that her name would be on the title page.........but if I had written that book, I would want my name shining on the front cover, wouldn't you?

It's the same thing with picture frames.  The stores put the price tag on the glass!  Who wants to bring home a brand new frame and not just wash the glass, but have to scrub the glass before putting Aunt Nellie's picture out before her visit?

NetFlix ads keep flying into my face whenever I visit certain web sites. Don't they "get it" that the first time I x-ed out their ad, maybe I didn't WANT to sign up for NetFlix?  But even after HUNDREDS of times, the little red ad continues to pop up.  I wonder if I did sign up, if that would stop it?

Polska Kielbasa, one of God's gifts to humans, comes so tightly sealed in plastic that I have to surgically remove it.  (You think I am being really picky, now, don't you.........)

Giada De Laurentiis, the Food Network star? Does this woman EAT??? How many meals have I watched her prepare, my mouth drooling, and occasionally she might stick her finger into something and put a tad onto her tongue and tell me how good it is, but we don't see her EAT.  Even when she has a party at the end of a show, everyone else eats and drinks while she just stands there weighing maybe 85 pounds, smiling happily.  I want to SEE her EAT.  If I take a taste of what I'm cooking, I gain two pounds.

Macy's Department Store.  I am too lazy to cut out a coupon, so I never have one.  If I were to go into Macy's, I couldn't get the "deal," because I do not have that little piece of paper, so I have made the conscious decision to never go into Macy's again, so I won't be disappointed. (I hope their marketing strategist reads this.)  I wonder how many other women, primed to spend money, avoid Macy's for that same reason!!!!

L'Oreal, the company that I'm worth it to use their hair coloring, has changed all the models on the boxes of hair dye.(No, that blond hair you see is not natural.......had you fooled, though, didn't I?) Just as I got familiar with the lovely young woman on that box front, named her Blondie, and knew who I was looking for in the hair dye aisle, they pulled a switcheroo and put some unrecognizable lady in her place!  I had to go home, look up the NUMBER for the color, and then go back and introduce myself to the new girl.  I feel as if I've lost a friend.

Shampoo and conditioner bottles can be mixed-up in the shower, unless I choose to wear my glasses to wash my hair, which would not only LOOK odd, but get my glasses wet.  I am going to label the bottles with giant S and C letters, using permanent marker.  (Imagine the visual of my discovery of this issue.) Why didn't THEY think of this?

I bet you can hardly wait until the dead of winter, when I start to really find fault with stuff, huh?



Copyright: KP Gillenwater

Weight Watchers Points Plus and Eggs Benedict,.............or..... "I'm A Believer"

I've lost a considerable amount of weight in the last two months.  I haven't mentioned that until now, because I thought I might wake up and find out it was a dream.  It's not.

I dug out the last booklet that I brought home from a Weight Watchers meeting a year ago. I stopped attending meetings, as  I had lost my motivation, and couldn't seem to shed the last five pounds.  The booklet told  how the new "Points Plus" system works.  I hadn't been on that program when I stopped attending the meetings, and I'd tossed the new information into a drawer.  Good thing I knew where I hid it!

I actually got out of bed at 1 AM one night to search it out, and spent the next few hours online to find details.  I also called a friend who had begun the program, (not in the middle of the night), and her excited comments about her results made me decide to try this Points Plus system.


The NEW Points Plus System is so easy to follow that you would not even know I had been watching what I ate and counting points unless you lived with me.  It allows more points, and more "extra" weekly points.  The way to calculate the points changed, also.  One major change is that FRUITS AND VEGETABLES ARE "FREE." Before, I had to count an apple as one point, a banana as two, and so forth, so it was less desirable to eat fruits and vegetables when I only had 18 points a day to use.  Now, with 29 points, and not having to count fruits and vegetables, there's more food on the table and I am eating fruit and vegetables every day! (I see them as "Get Out of Jail Free" cards!)

The number of points a person is allowed each day is based on current weight, height, age, and activity level.

In simple terms, THIS IS THE BEST METHOD OF WEIGHT LOSS I HAVE EVER USED.  I've eaten three meals a day, a few snacks, good meals, counted my points, and the weight I wanted to lose has literally melted off.

In June, I laid a pair of skinny jeans on the floor of my "dressing room," and made myself walk over and around them for most of the summer. They were right there, reminding me that I couldn't fit into them. (They coughed and hissed at me each day, and I swore at them and kicked them a lot.)

I wore them to work for dress-down day Friday. (Now, we're friends.)

No, I am not being paid by Weight Watchers to tell you this.  I use a website www.calculator.com  to figure out the Points Plus for things I eat.  I've cooked some of the easy recipes in that booklet. I buy WW cookbooks, subscribe to the magazine, and am a Facebook friend.  I've played in my kitchen, following the guidelines, and I've created the best diet meal in the entire universe..............which we are eating once a week..............and lost weight.  Of course I am going to share this recipe!
                                           Weight Watchers  Eggs Benedict
    Yes, I know this is generally a breakfast thing............I've gotten over that....now it's called "Dinner!
Serves two.
Ingredients:
                  4 eggs              2 English Muffins             Canadian Bacon    "Hollandaise Sauce"
I've used Oscar Meyer Canadian Bacon. It has 2 packages of 4.4 oz.....so I can get two meals out of a box. I've also used Canadian Bacon from Aldi's when I can find it.  Both work fine.  About 2-3 slices per person is enough.

First, make the Hollandaise Sauce, using a blender.
Ingredients:  1 egg yolk,  1/2 tsp Dijon mustard,  1 T water,  1-2 tsp lemon juice,  1.5 T melted butter, salt, pepper

In the blender, mix together the yolk, mustard, lemon juice, water, and salt and pepper.
Then, slowly pour in the melted butter (through the top hole in the blender lid) with the blender on "blend."  Pour this sauce into a small bowl, and set it aside. (Resist the temptation to drink this......)

Spray a frying pan with no-stick stuff, and cook the Canadian Bacon in the pan. I like to get it a little brown. (Notice that there is virtually NO FAT oozing out of this bacon......hence no fat on your thighs, either...) Keep it warm.

Split the muffins and toast them.  You might want to be sure the first one is lightly browned before starting the eggs.

In another sprayed frying pan, fry the 4 eggs, gently turning each one over once.  You want them to be "runny" in the middle.  Randy says this is called "Over Easy." (Yes, I know that REAL Eggs Benedict call for poached eggs, but they taste the same to me, and this is easier.)

Lay the muffin halves on 2 plates.  Put the Canadian Bacon on top of the muffins.  Gently lay a fried egg on top of each baconed muffin.  Spoon the Hollandaise Sauce over these, and sprinkle with some parsley flakes. (Presentation is everything.)

Points count:  muffin-4, each egg-2, Canadian bacon-2-3, H-Sauce-2
The whole plate per person is 11-13 Points Plus.
(and worth every point.....)

Enjoy!
It will take a sharp knife and a fork to eat this, but it will take awhile, and fill you up. You will need to chew.  Every time I've made this, I feel as if I am cheating on my eating plan.  I've also lost weight.

I've made Eggs Benedict for years, and served it only on Christmas Morning.  I always used a packaged Hollandaise Sauce mix to make life easier.  I will probably use this new recipe from now on.  (Philip named it "Holiday Sauce," so that's what we call it.)

If you remember, I was using a website to count my caloric intake earlier this year.  Not a bad thing, but this new Points Plus thing is, in my opinion, wonderful.  I hope the ad they run under this blog  is for Weight Watchers.  There is no arguing with years of success, and the fact that WW stopped, took a look at scientific weight-loss research, and then recharged their program last year with this NEW system, is pretty awesome.

I religiously attended WW meetings for five years. I made friends, most of whom I only know by their first names.  I trusted my WW Leader, and I learned a lot about eating right. I also learned how my emotions could cause me to binge.  Right now, I am doing this at home, and not attending meetings, but if I had not been to all those meetings, I would be there.  I just cannot argue with SUCCESS.


copyright: KP Gillenwater

Sentimental Clothing,.................or, "A White Sport Coat and a Pink Carnation"

There are enough unworn clothes in my home to fully dress three people.  I am not talking about things on hangers that COULD be worn.  I mean "souvenirs" of my life that I cannot part with, for emotional reasons.

There's an old hatbox stuffed with my mother's hand-knit sweater, a hope chest full of the past, and a few hanging items in an old piano crate in my basement.  No one place holds the treasures, so I am apt to come upon one, without warning, at any moment. When I do, I enjoy a few moments of "being there." (Those of you with stuff tucked under rugs and in the backs of closets "get" this.)  I live in a minefield of memories, just waiting for me to trip upon them!)

I know this sounds as if I am a candidate for "Hoarders," but I don't see it that way. (That's what they ALL say......) Each piece of clothing is too "special" to discard!

A quick tour:  Clothing from my childrens' youths:  A teeny bright red corduroy suit worn by Philip at age two for Christmas. A green linen Easter dress I made for Meredith's third Easter, hand-embroidered with flowers and bees. This has a hat with a similarly-decorated hatband.  A white Baptismal "dress" that I made with meticulous tiny stitches for my last, Stephen. (A 3-year old Meredith called it "Stephen's curtain.") Under that is a nearly worn-out green sweat suit worn out by that same baptized boy. It turned him into a dragon, complete with spikes up his back and over his blond, curly head.

Oh, it's not just my childrens' clothing that I am writing about, though!  EVERY mother saves those things. Doesn't she?? (See how I am working up to making this come across as "normal?")

There is a plaid dress I wore to first grade a hundred years ago.  The collar is frayed, and I am the only person in the world who knows it is because I chewed on it to comfort myself:  a little girl at school, homesick.

There are two dresses made by my aging mother, her fine top stitching all around one, and the other I can still picture her in, trying to get cool on hot summer days.

There is the dress I wore to my father's funeral, thirty-eight years ago. I bought it the night before calling hours, to do him proud. I never wore it again, but know how I grew in spirit during the few hours that I did.

There is a "hostess skirt" (Remember those?) with a matching shawl, brown velvet, with embroidered ribbon that I could ill-afford when I made this outfit. It represents a moment when I told myself I was "worth it," and spent the grocery money on myself!

My father's felt hat, that he wore to work every day of his life while I was a child, is still in its hatbox. Occasionally I take it out, rub my fingers around the brim, and smile, thinking of the man who wore it.

Of course, there are wedding gowns!  I inherited my grandmother's silk and lace dress from 1906, and two of my own, less fancy, more utilitarian, bought to get the jobs done, not impress.

I know people who don't have a single baby garb from their own babies' lives!  I've seen beautiful wedding gowns in garage sales...........they apparently took up too much space, and the owners wanted rid of them!  These are not people to whom I can relate..................(How COULD they????)

Could I cast off these items, let someone else wear them, allow them to be torn to rags for industry, or sold to strangers at vintage shops?  Probably not.  Let me tell you how I know this.

When Philip died, he left so many tee shirts (each one special) that our family members still wear them.  I have drawers full of them.  I open the drawers,  put my face into his shirts and smell him, frequently.  For a moment or two he is right here. Those shirts aren't going anywhere, unless to clothe his brother.

Philip also left a nice gray suit that he wore to his ten-year high school reunion. Never again. A good suit, he chose it for himself to wear for his return to his hometown, and he must have liked it.  I know he had a wonderful time at that reunion!

I decided, three years after his death, that I couldn't house the suit anymore, and knew that some other person might be overjoyed to wear it.  Along with some other items, I donated it to The Discovery Shop, a resale shop that benefits the American Cancer Society.

When I dropped the things off, my hand must have held onto the suit a bit too long, because the volunteer gave me that "look" which I have come to know means, "There is history here.............." and I told him that the suit had belonged to my thirty-year old son who died, and I hoped that some man would enjoy it.  The volunteer thanked me for thinking of Discovery Shop, assured me it would find a person, then he took it away.  I cried all the way home.

But here is why I know I could never part with my dad's hat, my mother's sweater, or the funeral dress:  Several weeks after the donation, I drove back to the Discovery Shop, went in to "visit" Philip's suit on the rack, held up the hanger, put my arms around the suit, and hugged it. 

I visited that suit until it finally disappeared into the city, hopefully on the back of a young man who bought it for a special event--  maybe his wedding, his first date, or his high school reunion.

I know that when I leave this planet, my children will find these odd pieces of clothing, not know their worth, because, after all, they are MY history, not theirs.  Instead of tossing them out, I would hope that they would put them into the casket with me, as my sister and I did with our mother. She and I found some "saved pieces" of clothing that were her history, and that is what we did. We "sent them along with her," as if she were an Egyptian Princess.

I guess that I'd also like to think that they'd take home something I wore a lot, and tuck it away for quiet little "visits" with their mom........ Me.


copyright:  KP Gillenwater

My Tiny Flying Friends............... or, "Hummingbird"

Hummingbirds have enriched my life for over twenty-five years.  I'm sure they were "there" before then, buzzing around me, but I was oblivious to their existence.  When I "discovered" them, I was like the proverbial kid in the candy store: I had to FEED them, PHOTOGRAPH them, WATCH  them!

I bought a feeder,  pricey nectar, and spent summers since then entranced by those little birds zooming in and out of my yard, sitting on perches, and sipping  juice.  Territorial by nature, there have been some fairly decent sword fights near the feeders, as one bird would protect its food from another. Loud screeches accompany these bouts.

Occasionally, I've had a hummingbird flutter right before my eyes as if IT is studying ME !

I've discovered over the years that hummingbirds in Ohio have a pattern of behavior.  Like the swallows of Capistrano and the buzzards of Hinckley, I can depend on seeing my first hummer of the season on or about May 7th, each year.  That is the day I hang out my feeder, and I haven't been disappointed yet.

Because it is not a good idea to keep feeding these little guys into the fall, I remove my feeder on October 7th.  If I were guilty of letting them think that they could keep feeding as Ohio gets colder, they might miss their starting time for the flight south to wherever it is they go for winter. I like to picture them in South America having nectar at  colorful festivals, while I am struggling in the deep Ohio snowfalls.

We primarily have Ruby Throated Hummingbirds here. They are luminous green with a bright shiny spot on the front of their necks.  There are supposedly five types in Ohio, but this one breeds here and is predominant.  I've photographed them repeatedly with a fast lens, as they flutter and dip and soar. It is said that if you can see three hummingbirds, you have ten times that many waiting their turn to feed.  I like to think so!

A year when I had grown some fabulous "kitty whisker" flowers in my garden (no, I don't know their real name, just their nickname) I had hummers all day in the garden, and one day the strangest one ever showed up.  It was round with an exceptionally long beak, antennae, was a mottled cream color and brown, and moved rather slowly from bloom to bloom.  This was before computers, so I trotted off to the library to find out what kind it was, to no avail.  Bea Van Iderstine, fondly known as Mrs. Van, knew more than most people about birds and such, and when I described this odd little hummer to her, she told me it was a "hummingbird moth," not a bird at all!  Who knew?  (Bea did.)

Once, when my children were little, a hummingbird soared into a swing set pole, and landed in our yard.  Because by then I had learned to SEE these zooming creatures, I saw it fall.  I picked it up and held it in my hand.  It was totally dazed.  It had no weight.  I could have been holding a mere feather in my hand.  I felt its little heartbeat and talked to it before it died, and was amazed at the smallness of its physical being.

I found a hummingbird nest once, also.  It was like a very small puff of cotton candy.  Who knows where they build these little puffs? They are no larger than a pair of small socks rolled together. I kept the tiny nest on our mantle for many years, as a conversation piece.

In Utah, a few summers back, we watched from a restaurant window as literally HERDS of hummingbirds fed at a decent-sized feeder. The lady who filled them wouldn't tell us her secret recipe, but she said she had to fill the feeders three times a day.  There must have been ten birds at a time!  I don't attract but two at the most.  I am not complaining, for if I lived in Hawaii (and wouldn't THAT be a pity!)  I would get NONE. There ARE none in Hawaii, alas. 

This summer I have enjoyed our hummingbirds in my front yard AND the back yard. They have entertained us with their sparring matches, zoomed in and out during cocktail time on the front porch, or dinner on the back porch.  We always point or nod to acknowledge the arrivals.  From inside the house, we take note of their comings and goings.  I frequently ask myself how did I, as a child, never notice these little creatures?

I no longer buy pricey nectar, but make my own with sugar and water. I boil the water, add the sugar and stir until it is dissolved.  If I want to make it red, I add a drop of food coloring, but some folks say the coloring isn't good for the birds. ( I make sure it is cooled before I put it into the feeder, of course.)  I actually think they like my mixture better than store-bought nectar. If I mix up a large batch, I keep the extra in the refrigerator until it's time to change.  It has to be changed regularly so it is clean and doesn't make the birds sick.

In another month I'll remove the hummingbird feeder for fall and winter.  I know my little friends will be vacationing in warmer climes, where someone else will put out nectar and enjoy their visits.

On May 7th next year, though, you know I'll be waiting for them!



copyright:  KP Gillenwater

Summer Summation,..................or, "Summer in the City"

I had a mental list of things to do this summer.  I had a closet full of clothing  I planned to wear while I was doing those things.  Yesterday I looked in the closet and realized, in horror, that most of those outfits are hanging there, unworn.  I forgot to wear them! (At this point, I am changing my attire every two hours, for obvious reasons.)

I also didn't do all the things I planned to do.

However, I've evaluated the season, and found that Randy and I, or friends and I, or my children and I, managed to:

 enjoy a week at a sunny beach.

 see an outdoor play (Chicago!)  at Porthouse Theatre, and take a picnic.

 go downtown to Lock 3 to hear a loud band entertain thousands of Akronites.

 host a family picnic, or two..........

 go to at least two other family picnics.

 travel overnight with my daughter.

 go to Columbus for a meeting and fireworks.

 go to Stan Hywet to see Richard III by the lagoon, done by a cast of near-thousands, it seemed, (although it was probably more like fifty.)

 sleep on the porch during a thunderstorm, and also sleep there in the heat and cool nights.

walk around the neighborhood several times. 

have multiple lunches with friends. (This did not involve playground duty or bells that ended a lunch period.)

 go to Howe Meadow on three evenings to enjoy laid-back summer concerts.

 go to garage sales and buy happy surprises for myself.

 spend a whole day shopping with a friend.

 attend a memorial service for a friend's daughter, and see dear friends who I miss.

 meet a friend for an Angel ceremony one hot afternoon.

 go to an afternoon movie on a hot day, all by myself,  ( a first, for me.)

 take my son shopping for flip-flops and out to lunch.

 attend a neighbor's annual summer bash and get reacquainted with other neighbors.

 attend two symphony concerts, one in a very old urban cemetery after dark. (Spooky!)

participate in the 11th anniversary of the Wineos Wine Group celebration dinner event.

 host a birthday dinner for my daughter.

write a few blog entries.

go to the real-life -full-screen-in-your-face movies to see "The Help"......(.OMG. See this!)

go to a movie that was so awful I won't even mention the title. Randy also cringed through it.

 have out of town guests for at least two weeks of the summer.

 and visit the Akron Zoo not once, but THREE times!

.............and it ain't over yet, folks!  We are sucking the marrow out of every single moment of this wonderful summer...............not missing a beat.  Notice the words "go" and "attend" in those amusements of this fleeting season.  They didn't just come to us: We had to GO.

Next year at this time, I will, hopefully, be officially retired....................the pressure to use my time so wisely will be off................and as I contemplate this, I can't help but wonder..............

What if I were to become complacent about having time, to the point that I didn't make the most of it??? 

That is a frightening thought for one who is about to embark on nearly total freedom.

We have made the most out of every single day of this summer, just as we almost always have done.  We know how quickly a summer passes.  We value the chance to DO THINGS and GO PLACES!  We do NOT want to lose that zest for living each day to the fullest that we have enjoyed, (and reclaimed in recent years.)

I had said I would watch The Today Show to the end each day. I didn't.  I said I would sit and drink coffee on the porch as I read the paper every morning. I didn't.  There was too much going on outside of my home. Our city has a plethora of events, many free, that can keep a person on the move almost every evening.  I am thankful for parks,  musical events, walkways, and a national park two miles from our home.  We've used them!

In nine months, We'll be free to choose the day's activity every day! We can go or not go.   I don't want those events to be like this year's unworn clothing, forgotten and  neglected. Next summer, and the next, there will be the same delightful opportunities right here in our city. We need to be there!

"Let the wild rumpus start!"*

I've already bought my calendar.



* Maurice Sendak, in Where the Wild Things Are


copyright: KP Gillenwater

Lost in My Shirt.......or "Dazed and Confused"

I got stuck in my tank top this morning. No kidding. My neck was twisted inside the spaghetti straps, and there was a bra-type thing inside that did a straight-jacket hold on me.  It took awhile to get it back off, then moments to study it before I tried to put it back on......brave of me, actually............and I still didn't have it right!  Eventually, with glasses on,  I found a label, so I could figure out which was front, back, and inside. I need written instructions to wear clothes.

My plugs on electric cords always need to be turned around at least once before they will go into the socket. Wasted motions! I could bet money that this will happen. What are the odds? Is anybody else bothered by this?????

The grocery self-check-out machine at Giant Eagle keeps accusing me of bagging items that weren't scanned. "Please return the item from the bag!"  Eeeek!  They were scanned! It's humiliating to be called a thief by a machine. I've begun to yell back at the thing, "I DID scan it! LOOK! Check the receipt!"

The movie ticket clerk told me I'd earned a "Free $2 Popcorn" with my ticket. When I tried to redeem it, the popcorn clerk told me I owed $2.  I asked what was "free" about my coupon, and he told me I got the six-dollar popcorn for ONLY $2.   SIX DOLLARS FOR POPCORN?  I could fill a ballroom with six dollars worth of popcorn kernels, folks!   I passed on the "reward."

In over 90 degree heat, I tried to buy a bottle of water at a machine. I saw a slide place for credit cards...............for $1.50........??......and couldn't figure out how to use it, and I already had the dollar fifty in my hand, thank you very much.  After two bifocal changes, I managed to find a place to insert the bill and coins.  Children were staring at me. (Must have been the muttering.....)

Lately I feel a bit as if I am the square peg trying to fit into the square hole, but the hole keeps changing while I am doing it.

I know that the world is moving quickly, but I think that I am, too.  Apparently I am not moving quickly enough to keep up with it!

For example:  It was announced that all the Borders Booksellers are closing down.  Was it because nobody was buying books?  Nope!  It was because so many people apparently are buying cyberspaceinvisibletotheeyesofpeoplewithoutthemagicreadingmachine "books" that some of us (and I am not including myself in that word "us...") are not buying the real thing, called BOOKS.

I've SEEN one of those gizmos, by the way.  I touched it. I walked around it and glowered at it suspiciously........... (Picture the scene from Planet of the Apes when the apes see the Statue of Liberty.........)  I looked at it, heard its owner glorify it and deliver a sales pitch to the rest of us there that we all needed one, too.  Sour grapes.

Imagine not being able to walk up to a stranger on a beach and say, "I liked that book, too!"

I am NOT about to give up real books with flapping pages, coffee-stained covers, notated margins, grocery lists inside the front covers, and the feel and smell of a real, honest-to-God BOOK!  This square peg would only go into that hole if I were hammered into it.

To my credit, I did manage to rent AND return a DVD movie at the "Red Box" nearby, with no glitches.  Using the DVD player was the hard part, actually, since the words "play" and "pause" are written in such teensy letters on the remote control that several eyeglass changes had to occur for restroom breaks.  BUT  I did get it OUT of the "Red Box," and with trembling fingers managed to put it back IN to the "Red Box," and the screen said "Thank you. Movie has been returned."  Like I couldn't figure that out..................

Here I sit in front of my computer, totally self-taught.  I am sure this gizmo would do a lot of other things, given opportunities.  Right now it keeps photos, plays Scrabble, sends emails, and lets me write down these ingenious thoughts to share with you. 

I remember our first computer. It had a separate disk drive, weighed more than I did, and we spoke in hushed tones around it.  It didn't have pictures on the screen, only words.  We thought it was brilliant.  I learned to use it by using it.

I may have to go back to the "Red Box" and use it again. Perhaps practice does make perfect!  I need to forgive the Giant Eagle's self-check-out thing and try it again (without yelling), and maybe I could mark the electric plugs with nail polish on the big side so I could overcome that little issue. (Of course, I'd have to mark the big side on the wall, too.............)


It will be a cold day in Hell, though, when I use a book-reading-device to read a BOOK.







copyright: KP Gillenwater

Retirement Looms, Tantalizes, and Taunts,......... or, "Our Day Will Come"

I had an appointment with a retirement counselor at the State Teachers Retirement Association.

My God.  Am I really going to be THAT "EXPERIENCED" in another year?..... or so.....  There were hints.  I've felt the pitying glances from co-workers for all of this past year : Sweet young things with shiny new teaching certificates, going to set the classrooms afire, save the world, and imbue the Youth of America with KNOWLEDGE.

I remember that!  I was one of those sweet young things, once, myself!  I had a smile on my face every morning, never missed a day of school, and thought I'd LOVE every student, they'd love ME, and every day would be full of calm, joyfully-instructed knowledge.

 I got past that the day little Tammy rolled full-body down a sheet of art paper I'd laid on the entire length of the hallway floor. My excited students had used many colors of chalk to draw a picture of "Our Early City." Once completed,  Tammy, adorably dressed,  chose to rollllllllll down the long masterpiece, coming up tie-dyed when she finished. Three custodians scrubbed down the hallway.

The older teachers in the building laughed and tittered (old word, look it up) about "that new young thing" trying to teach fourth grade and having no clue.................

Instead of looking UP to them, perhaps I looked at those teachers with disdain. Maybe I did not appreciate their years of experience, their talent, their calm way of doing things honed by years of experience.  Today I am getting that same "look" from the youngsters with whom I've been sharing the copier.

At any rate, I made an appointment and drove to our state's capital to find out if I can retire next year, or not.  Who knew? Their website was elusive and mysterious. I needed a human being to explain it all. (Actually, I'd had a "human being" who "explained" it LAST year, but he did such a poor job that I was still in the dark.............)

 I took twenty years off from this profession to raise my OWN children, you see.  I believed that raising MY children took precedence over teaching OTHERS' children, and I still think I was right.  I'd never take back those years of reading to my own kids and sending notes in their lunch boxes for anything. I tried to be the best mother I could be. I was the PTA President, vice-president, secretary, and committee chairman (not all at once), the President of the Friends of the Library, the Sunday School teacher, and anything else I could volunteer for, to help my kids' world be perfect for their learning environment.

This week, I sat quietly in the office of a very good communicator, a retirement specialist highly  recommended to me.  I learned about the cost of supplemental health insurance, the small percentage of my now fantastic salary that I will receive if I sign my name on the paperwork, and the little-bitty amount that will be left over after taxes.  This was a shocking moment.

I didn't sleep all last night.

I was up at 3 AM, mentally budgeting this pittance.  I've also now mentally removed the cable TV system from my home.  I have figured out what I can save by cutting out the newspaper, the land phone, and only flushing once a day.  I've calculated the cost of toothpaste versus baking soda, sleeping in the car in Walmart parking lots so I can still travel,  and using McDonald's wifi.  I've turned off lights all day, cut the air conditioner down one more degree, and used the speed clean cycle on the dishwasher.

OH MY GOD.  Could I live like that?  FEAR is fearsome, and if I continue to let it alter my thinking, it will take all the joy out of knowing that I wouldn't be getting up at 5:00 AM on frigid Ohio mornings, except for one more hideous winter, maybe.

"Off-season travel" is a truly beautiful phrase, and I think that if I utter it like a mantra, it may help me to overcome these fears.  I'm muttering it as I walk, shop, and cook. It seems to be working well enough...

I've always had ENOUGH.  Even when I didn't KNOW that I was not rich, I always had ENOUGH.  I know that I will be OK, and still get to use toothpaste and read a newspaper............somehow.

I can squeeze a nickel until it bleeds, find a bargain on nearly anything I'm looking for, and know that I'm at that crossroad in my life when it is time to think of ME.  Am I going to sign up for this?  The paperwork is sitting on my desk, calling my name, softly and mesmerizingly............

Will anybody miss me if I leave my job?  Will those sweet young things cheer?  Maybe. Maybe not.  I still have one full year to make this decision.

I certainly don't LOOK old enough to retire, right? 

Maybe they'll all be shocked and surprised at my age!!!  They'll talk about how they "didn't know"........., wish they'd learned more from my expertise..............miss me...........

and maybe I will write more fiction in my retirement.............


Wow!  I can turn those proverbial lemons into lemonade already!



copyright:  KP Gillenwater

Travel Journaling or, " Moments to Remember"

 I just finished a travel journal, ran out of pages, and stacked it up with ten others.  A person who writes for fun cannot just do it a little bit..........it is a compulsion.

My travel journaling began when I married Randy, ten years ago, and got a mate with my same itchy feet and love of history. We were off and away, any time school was out.  No historical location, beach, winery, or oddity goes unvisited when we're "on the road." We've spent afternoons traipsing through cemeteries, battlefields, hiked city streets, walked beaches, and climbed lighthouse steps.  As we go along, for sure, I don't want to forget where we've been or what we've seen!

 I collect ticket stubs, post cards and brochures, paste them into journals, and write about what we see, in between the pasted-on items. Once I began this,  I couldn't control my need to tell MORE about what we'd seen, details of each event, people we'd met, food we'd enjoyed, places we'd stayed, and interesting facts we'd learned about the sights we'd visited.

Randy and I travel hit or miss.  We used to get in the car and let the driver choose the direction. That worked for awhile, but we drove all over Alabama once: north, south, north, south, and wasted some gas, before we decided that a better plan was to AIM in one direction, and then stop along the way to see what we could see. Getting off the major highways is what we do best.  There are all kinds of fun things to see off the interstates! Choose an exit, get off, and just see what I mean!

For ten years, that is what we've done.  We have a wall map of the United States on which we've marked the routes we've covered.  Colored lines with dates cover most of this map. Dotted lines mark cruise routes. Anything unmarked is saved for retirement. We've gone east, west, north and south. We've retraced routes to beaches many times, revisited cities and sites we didn't get enough of the first time, and gotten off the beaten path to discover little-known (but oughta-be) places.  (Who ELSE liked the "World's Largest Frying Pan" in North Carolina enough to go back a second time?)

 This is not to tell of the places we've been, but to explain my travel journals.  Once I started writing about each day's events, I was hooked on keeping notes for posterity.  The books piled up, one upon the other. Sometimes we get one out to look up the name of a restaurant or town that we've forgotten.  On a quiet day I will open one and relive a special vacation or short jaunt, and enjoy reading what we did and what I thought about a particular day.

Randy and I pack lightly for our trips, but I carry my "journal bag" on the back seat. It's a small gray sack holding markers, scissors, glue stick, pencils and pens.  I gather things to put into my journal as we go along. I used to write the text out, longhand, but recently I've taken to recording the days by blog each night.  I  began to share my travel blog with friends and relatives.

When a trip is over, I print the blog, paste the writings and memorabilia into a blank book, and that journey is "saved" for us to enjoy again later.

We take joy in having our travel history written for perpetuity.  We know that as long as one of us is alive, the remaining one will keep reading them, re-enjoying trips by heart. Then they will be handed-down to my adult children.

Today I played catch-up: I was months behind in the pasting process. I glued in two trips this afternoon, filled a trash basket with leftover brochure scraps, and still have a weekend and another vacation to finish up before we start out on our next trip. 

Is this a chore?  Not on a bet.  Today I RE-travelled to Nashville, attended, by memory, the Grand Ol Opry at the Ryman Auditorium, and recalled a lovely dinner and people we'd met.  It was all vivid in my mind as I pasted my writings, post cards and photos on those pages.

Travel Journaling is joyous writing.  While personal journals are generally meant for only the writer's eyes, I share my travel journal because I've always been the kind of person who wants to SHARE with others when I've found something grand. Frankly, I wish I could do travel writing for a living. What a combination of my two favorite activities that would be!

My minimalist children might want to dispose of my journals some day. Before they do that, I would hope that they'd look at that map of the United States, figure out the colored lines criss-crossing our marvelous country, read them, picture the places in their minds, and set out on their own journies and adventures.

The passion for travel might be the best inheritance I leave to them, and while it takes no space in a suitcase, it's the most important thing to take along!




copyright:  KP Gillenwater

My Stuff, His Stuff............or, "Bits and Pieces"

In the eighties, there was a pair of crazy sisters who called themselves "The Slob Sisters."  They wrote a book* about how to clean a house and do it right.  I howled with laughter, and kept a file box of day-to-day household duties on the program.  It worked, and it was delightful fun at the time. It felt good to keep my home orderly, clean, and working like a clock.  A number of my friends embraced this program at the same time, and we worked in our homes, laughed a lot, and enjoyed the system.

We wore aprons with pockets filled with dusters and screwdrivers, used a 50-foot cord on our vacuum cleaner, had spray bottles of cleaning fluids hanging from the loops on the sides of our aprons, and virtually laughed ourselves silly as we cleaned.  It worked. My home was organized, clean, and uncluttered.

Occasionally I would don my "cleaning fairy suit," and stop in, unannounced, at homes of friends on the program, do a white-glove inspection, laugh a lot, and have coffee afterwards.

You notice that we laughed a lot. That's because back then we didn't have a lot of STUFF.

Now, I HAVE STUFF.  Lots of it.  My beloved Randy reminds me every day of my stuff. He says I have too much stuff, and he'd really like me to de-stuff, or at least to organize it to his satisfaction.

Recently we passed a shop named "The Stuff Store."  I laughed uncontrollably for days over that.  Randy wouldn't stop the car to see what stuff they had in there, so I had to imagine it. The visuals I  concocted probably were better than the store's actual stock..............

We ALL have "stuff."  (and if you don't, then what's wrong with you?)

George Carlin, the late humorist, said, "A house is just a place to keep your stuff, while you go out and get more stuff." I've had four houses, in ever-expanding sizes, and the stuff has increased incrementally, too.  I think, and Randy agrees, that I am just about overstuffed.

My major problem is that Randy keeps MOVING and HIDING my stuff! If we're having company, he seems to think that it will offend these people.  I keep telling him that THEY HAVE STUFF, too, but he moves it, and sometimes it doesn't show up again for years!

Fortunately, I have a room for most of my stuff, with shelving, boxes and labels to control this collection.  It is fairly organized. I can find anything I am looking for, because it's my stuff, and I take care of it.  Even I amaze myself, sometimes, when I need Aunt Helen's pewter candelabra or a striped ribbon, and voila..........I can produce it because I know my stuff!

The NEW stuff that hasn't yet been categorized and found its "place," is where it gets a bit sticky. You know that old phrase: A place for everything, and everything in its place?  Whoever wrote that bit of drivel must not really DO anything !  He probably just SITS, looking at his stuff, never USING it!!

When I bring home a new piece of stuff, sometimes I am not quite certain how it is going to fit into my life.  This new item might linger on the kitchen counter for a day or so before I "locate" it to its new destination. This is the danger point. After I disappear to work,  Randy picks it up, puts it on a chair or carries it to my stuff-room, where it gets lost under random papers or projects; or worse yet, he delivers it to the location HE thinks it should live! (Wrong!!!)

Entire collections of valuable stuff have been misplaced in just this way. My tax receipts for twenty years got burned up when I moved boxes, to relocate them. I just happened to set them near a fireplace. Mr. Johnny-on-the Spot incinerated my entire tax history!!! (Guess what? I haven't needed any of that stuff yet, either.....but I don't mention that part, much.)

Part of the problem is that I get side-tracked in the never-ending quest to position my stuff in the best possible spots, and sometimes I don't move fast enough for Randy. The tax info was destined for another shelf, and never got there. If I lay a knife down when I've sliced a tomato, to pick up a pepper, the knife might get washed while my back is turned! I've actually taken mustard out of the frig, and it has been replaced while I reached for the loaf of bread!

I bought thirty-six CD boxes a few weeks ago. (Don't ask why.)  I put the bag of boxes next to the cabinet where the box-less CD's awaited their new homes.  Imagine this:  Randy was INSULTED when I called home to ask him if the bag was still sitting where I'd put it!  (This was a test.....)  He denied even THINKING of moving it! And when I got home, there it was, where I'd left it. (He probably had to search the house while I was gone, retrieve it, and replace it before I got home.....)

He wonders why I attach sticky notes that say, "Leave this here!" on things.  He became peeved when I wrote "Do Not Remove," on defrosting chicken. Vacuum cleaners are labeled, "Not done yet. Walk around this."  Newly-washed underwear that is hanging up to dry needs a sign that says, "TEST FOR DRYNESS BEFORE FOLDING."  (I kid you not....)

Does HE have stuff, too? Of course he does, but he doesn't call it that.  It's a "collection" of wood, windows, doors, shelves, nails, nuts, bolts, twine and other building materials. He calls it "work equipment."  Periodically, I threaten to go to into his workshop and rearrange HIS STUFF, and put things where I THINK THEY SHOULD GO.  The look of terror on his face is that of pure fright when I say that.................. and I haven't done it...............yet.

This is not about de-stuffing. I already know I can't do that.  I need my stuff. I just hope that if anything happens to me, my family will look it over well before they trash it, maybe find a treasure or two, and THEN yell, "Why in the Hell did she keep THIS?"

I just visited Amazon.com and ordered a copy of that book. I could use a really good laugh while I shuffle through my stuff, and maybe I can clean the house with joy in my heart and laughter in my soul........as long as the fifty-foot vacuum cord doesn't get wrapped around my neck........but I know that if it did, Randy would wind the cord up quickly and save my life. 




copyright:  KP Gillenwater

* The book is titled Sidetracked Home Executives,  by Pam Young and Peggy Jones. It seems to have been reprinted, and it's on Amazon.com.

Your Deepest Secrets Revealed ! or, "Do You Want to Know a Secret?"

I saw a news item on CNN titled " Did Cell Phones Unleash Our Inner Rudeness?"

  I DON'T THINK SO!  But for truly rude people it would be a great excuse.

I think there have ALWAYS been rude people amongst  us.........We just didn't think they were cool or fun to be around, and we were not forced to interact with them...........until now.

The cell phone has made everybody's business everybody's business, apparently!

 I don't really WANT to know about strangers' elimination schedules or  dental visit details, but lately the entire world is sharing that kind of information via the cell phone that might as well be surgically implanted onto their ears~ and while you might not even BE on the other end, YOU get to hear all about it!

 The first time I encountered a true cell phone publicity hound, I was attending a book sale at a library and a fool got on his cell phone. He roamed the library, talking loudly about his ex-wife and what she could do with herself. Details of the yelling match they'd had were re-yelled into his cell, so we all got the picture. We patrons stood open-mouthed in aisles of books, in horror, listening to intimate details of the screamer's private business. We pretended to be interested in old National Geographic Magazines! None of us had the nerve to tell him to take it outside.  I suppose we presumed he might be intuitive enough to hear our gasps, see our mouths opened in shock, and translate that to a big "Whoops!" but he did not.

I heard one woman betray her best friend's most private secret while she waited for a doctor appointment.  The entire waiting room was treated to this, by the way.  No one interrupted her or pointed to the door, but I wish someone had.  We heard the details, dirty as they were.  Some friend!

I love the signs at fast food places or banks that say, "Please finish your call before we wait on you." I bet those tellers and servers have heard more private conversations and verbal foreplay than they can stomach.

I've learned more about diseases, rashes, divorce and family dysfunction from complete strangers than I knew existed.  I heard sex-talk as I waited in line at the post office! I was party to a final break-up of complete strangers, as one yelled, and those nearby listened. I politely turned away. 

I remember when we didn't even mention distasteful issues. Colonoscopies were private! We didn't know what you ate or threw up, then.

My hubby won't even speak to me if I call him when he is standing in line at Home Depot.  "Later," is about the sum of his conversation then.  I make my cell calls outside of stores or in the car.  A personal talk should BE private! 

I would like to see a national defensive action by those of us who still have a sense of propriety:  Join me, so I don't feel alone in this, by stopping dead in your tracks during the next private conversation revealed.  Let's all stand stock still, mouths gaping, and give full attention to the speaker!  On Stage! Let the speaker be a star! Let's applaud if he hangs up! Or grab pens and tablets and take notes! We could croon "ahhhhhhhhhh," or "Oh no! or No way!" when the details get really juicy. Do you think that those subteties would get the point across?  Would he hang up, crawl away mortified and embarrassed? Probably not.

 I actually believe those people don't KNOW any better!

What I'd like to say to these people is simple: Please keep your private calls private!  Don't tell about Aunt Lulu's bowel obstruction in the grocery line.  Your daughter's broken engagement details should stay in the family.  Tell people off privately, so we don't hear your @##!!!* words!

We really DON'T WANT to hear it!!!


copyright@ K P Gillenwater

Reading on the Run, or "You Can't Always Get What You Want"

I just finished a delightful book, The Jane Austin Book Club, by Karen Joy Fowler.  It was 250 short pages long. (There were some extra pages that explained Jane Austin's books, and some other stuff at the end, but the book itself was 250 pages.)

It took me TWO WEEKS to read this book.  I teach reading.  There is just no excuse for this slowness for a person who is literate, has read hundreds (no, thousands) of books in her lifetime, except that I DON'T HAVE TIME to get deeply involved in a book! Not that I CAN'T get deeply involved, mind you.I just can't sit and read, uninterrupted, until the book is over, the plot has been resolved, the dog has died, true love has won out, or the killer is behind bars.

I have to postpone my reading until I can eke out a few minutes for myself to just READ and let myself "get lost in a good book,"as those posters in my classroom say.

I got to wondering this afternoon if anybody else has this problem???  I also realized that it is truly a MIRACLE that I finished this book in "only" two weeks!!!! (As if that isn't pathetic enough, I have to make excuses for myself, now..........)

For a woman who drags a book to bed with her every night, wouldn't you THINK that I might be reading before I starting making those z sounds?  Sometimes I lie there, look at the book next to me, try to warm up the bedding, and feel too weak to even reach out and OPEN the book!  And when, and if, I do pick it up, I have to prop the book up onto the pillow next to my sleepy head, just to put it in front of my eyeballs.  Then, SLEEP GETS IN THE WAY, and most nights the bookmark drops out and I find the unread object right where I left it when my eyes closed.

Here is how the "miracle" of completing a book in "only" two weeks happened, actually.  I sneaked-read. Not with a flashlight under the covers. (I would only have fallen asleep and burned out the flashlight batteries, after all.)  Not by dragging the book to the bathroom and staying in there until someone shouts out, "Have you taken up residence in the bathroom????!!!!"  That doesn't work, and that's not a very comfortable place to read, anyway.

I HAVE FOUND ALMOST 18 MINUTES AN HOUR to read, simply by using the mute button on my TV when a commercial comes on, and reading until the actual program comes back on!!! (See my post about "Hit that Mute Button," and you will know what I think of the persistent commercials for pharmaceuticals, anyway.)  I have discovered that I don't need to watch advertising for automobiles, banking, fast food, ANY food for that matter, or ads advertising the program that's coming on next.  Not ads for movies, diet remedies, or those beautiful new chocolate ice cream bars (which I confess was the  only ad I had trouble muting.....)

OK, so the plot gets a little disrupted.  I put my finger on the spot where I looked back up at the TV and just hold it there until the next "reading session" begins. Since the actual SHOW is shorter than the commercials (or so it seems) I can still maintain the train of thought.  Try it!

As a proponent of sustained silent reading (that post will show up after I retire,) and reading in general, it has been hugely upsetting to me that I have so many diversions that my favorite pastime has been neglected.........

ESPECIALLY SINCE I HAVE SHELVES AND PILES OF BOOKS that I "plan" to read.  I am celebrating a birthday this week, and in order to read all of those books I would have to live for another fifty years, and read, non-stop, for all of them. As this is NOT my twenty-fifth birthday, that is not a probability. Besides, I keep buying more books, so the piles keep growing...........................

What else do I do to find some literary time?  I never leave home without a book in my possession.

I am NOT sitting at stoplights, reading, by the way. But I AM reading in doctor's offices, standing in long lines, waiting in the car, during any "spare" minutes of my half-hour lunch period, or waiting to meet up with someone with whom I am having lunch.  Standing in a line at the post office goes a lot quicker with a book, and I've seen jealous stares from co-standers, wishing that they had brought THEIR book along!

I've also begun to have the library reserve the audio version of a book I want to read, and use the driving time to and from work to "listen/read."  It makes the trip shorter.

Once I retire (I dream.) I plan to spend a portion of each day just sitting and reading. I want to SIT and read.  Not read while I walk or watch TV. I want to have TIME to read, and not to have to fit it into something else I am busy doing!

As a child I used to sit in a tree at the end of my street, nestled into large limbs that held me comfortably, and just READ.  I loved the solitary-ness (is this a word?) of it.

Yes, I am a people-person, but sometimes just being quietly alone with a good book is the best company, and the time to read, without interruption, would be wonderful......................

Grief.............................or, "Cry Me a River"

Yesterday, April 30, it was five years since my thirty year old, first-born child, Philip, died. Today is  the day of the week it was, and  I will spend today watching the clock, knowing where we were, what we were doing, what we talked about, and what we ate, as the day progresses to the time when I watched him drive out of my driveway to die of heart failure a short time later, that Sunday evening.

I know how today will pass, because I've lived through four other days like this one. I know that I will cry, and I know that I will be exhausted when I go to bed tonight.

Grieving is very hard work.  It means opening up your heart and letting the pain of loss truly permeate your soul.  It is, as they say, "the price of love."  It is, also, as Stephen King said, "...like a drunken houseguest who keeps coming back over and over again, to say goodbye."

It does not leave. But it does change.

I had three years of grief counseling after Philip died, and attribute my knowledge of Myself and Grief to this counseling.  There were times I just cried throughout the hour-long session, times I expressed anger, hurt, resentment, and God only knows those feelings that losing one's child evoked.  But the good news is that those feelings were expressed.

Right now you are probably saying, "Why is she writing about this?"  I am writing about grief today, because it is, now, a part of who I am, and who I will be for the rest of my life.  Losing one's child changes a person, and it can be for the better or for the worse.  I believe that my counseling experience has made life livable for me.  My counselor also formed a support group for some of us.

A group of grievers meets, and the support from these other parents and spouses, who are also grievers, has been a huge part of my wellness.  We know how each other feels.  We've shared stories of people who have said things like, "Get over it!"  or, "You mean you're not over that yet?" or "I cried all day yesterday when I buried my mother, and now I am going to just go on with my life."

We've shared stories of the "signs" that we've received and interpreted as coming from our departed loved ones, and taken joy and hope from the experiences that we've shared.  We've truly come to believe, as a group of grievers, that life is eternal.  (We've also been amazed when we shared those tales of "signs" with others who say they believe in Eternal Life, and act as if we're crazy when we mention that we've had proof! )

We've cried together, gotten good advice from our grief counselor, our leader, and become dear friends in the process.  They say that "grief can change one's address book," and we've also shared some of those stories.  It is true.  Some friends may have found me gloomy, some co-workers found me less interested in my job, and some people just really don't know what to say, or write, to someone who is deeply grieving. (Which is why they have sympathy cards.)

My address book has changed over the past five years. I have stopped trying to maintain family relationships with relatives who said nothing after Philip died. I wonder if they missed my newsy Christmas letters. (And yes, they did know about Philip.)

Today, this Sunday, is not like a year ago, in that TIME has moved on.  The rawness of the grief has healed, somewhat.  I calculated that I have now lived for 1,825 days since then.  I've gotten up every single day and "put one foot in front of the other," as we say.  I've gone through all the stages of grief, on and off again, and finally know that I've reached acceptance.  I've had the "magical thinking," had some yelling sessions with God, and cried more tears than I ever knew were humanly possible.

Interestingly, I have grown as a spirit, and as a spiritual person, because of this grief. I've reached out to others who have lost a child:  We understand each other.   My address book has grown to include a list of like-minded friends, who "get it," when we stare into space for a few minutes, skip a Christmas Eve service, tear up over music, or bring up the name of our loved one during conversation instead of pretending that he or she never existed.  This has been my gift from this five years. I have embraced grief, and become a better person because of this, I think.

I have also deeply appreciated my friends and family who have supported me.  I've understood that I have reasons to "keep on keeping on," in part, because of the love they've shown me.  My beloved husband has heard it all, and he has held my hand, and me, and let me weep. He never told me to stop feeling what I was feeling, as if I could have stopped.  He has listened for countless hours about those feelings, and loves me yet.

My friends (the ones still IN the address book) have been wonderful.  I cannot name them all, but they know who they are. One sat quietly by my side for an entire day, not talking, while I slept in a chair, early on. Her quiet presence was reassuring.  Others sent cards on days that they knew were important to me.  Phone calls.  Hugs. Meals. Emails.  Invitations to be together for dinner, art walks, and coffee.  My friends have held me up. To paraphrase something Philip once said,  I am rich with friends.

It is now 10:30 AM.  Five years ago on that Sunday, at this moment, I was sitting on the porch saying a prayer for my son's health.  I know exactly what I prayed for, and how I said it. Philip and Randy were sitting in the kitchen, watching TV and having breakfast.  Today I will mark that day, hour by hour, not to be sad about it, but because I had that day.  I've come to see it as a gift, that I got to spend that last day of his life with Philip. 

We are all touched by grief at some time.  It is inescapable.  If not, then it would mean that we were solitary individuals, without people who we love, in our lives.  Or it would mean that we denied our true feelings, and did not allow ourselves the right to grieve.  Stephen King was right.  This grief comes back over and over and over again.  Many times it slaps me in the face when I least expect it.  I know that it will continue to do that.

I've known since I began this blog that I would someday have to write about grief.  It is the most awful feeling in the world, without a doubt, in my opinion. When our country's worst enemies' sons and family members have been killed in the turmoil of war in recent years, I have actually felt sorry for those enemies. That's probably part of the lesson of this experience in my life:  compassion for others.

Would I change this, in my life, if I could?  IN A HEARTBEAT.

But since I have gone past that stage of "magical thinking," and I know I cannot do that, probably what I need to do is let others know that they can live through grief,  and more than likely, even when it doesn't seem possible, you will.




copyright:  KP Gillenwater

All My Children................or, "The Times, They Are A-Changing"

I heard the news about All My Children's cancellation with the same horrid feeling I get when I hear about  misfortunes of someone I know.  In this case, it is many people I "know" dearly who will be leaving our lives, as my favorite soap opera is eliminated.

Thirty-five years ago, or so, when I moved with my still-relatively-new husband to begin our lives away from my hometown, I had no job, no friends, and no money to spend the day shopping.  Voila!  Soap operas filled the void. I could literally watch soaps, I figured out one day, from 11:30 AM until 4 PM.............and the time flew because of them. I learned to keep one eye and both ears on the TV while I cleaned, did laundry and cooked.

All My Children soon became my favorite "soap," and I was caught up in the life and loves of Erica Kane, Tad Martin, Palmer, Opal, Adam, Dixie, Haley,  Greg and Jenny..........(I actually wrote a letter to the show about the frustration over Greg and Jenny's never-ending engagement).............(That's a secret.)

 I "attended" weddings dressed in my best clothing, cried at funerals of characters who had met their demise, laughed aloud more times than I could say at the over-the-top antics of Opal, my all-time favorite character........(she wore her mittens with those little clips on the ends of her sleeves, for God's sake).........she talked with a twang that was more deep South than the map could go, had mile-high red hair, killed a husband in the throngs of passion, and was risque' enough to let a bored young housewife get caught up in her craziness and be diverted from routine.

I even named one of my children after a character, although it was just the NAME I fell in love with............remember Philip Brent?  The name Philip "stuck" in my head, and when delivery time came for my first baby,  I used that name. (I also borrowed Stephen Foster's first name, for another, lest you think I was addicted to soap operas..........)

When my kids were little, I nursed them during All My Children, then later fed them lunch at 1:00.  They could eat while Erica and her latest love interest conversed.  In the summers, we would leave for the swim club at 1:30 and I'd leave a small tape player in front of the TV, set for thirty minutes, so I  could listen to the rest of the show while I cooked dinner.

These people were "family" to MY family, which had few true blood relatives nearby.  We conversed  about the characters as if they were just ordinary people we knew well, and sometimes folks would ask  "Who is Tad?" or "Where does Erica live, and why haven't we met her?"

My son, Philip, continued this connection by watching AMC  when cable TV made the Soap Network available.  It took me awhile to figure out how he knew so much about events in our "other family," when we were all working.  He was watching in the night!  (He always did appreciate the value of "family!")

I confess that I have not watched AMC faithfully for the past decade or so, since I went back to teaching.  I defend myself, however, by telling you that on summer break I watched it, hit-or-miss, and was able to pick right up a story-line without any problem.  I noticed that Tad got a little grayer, however.................. he was always a heartthrob..............(sigh)

I never felt that I had divorced these characters, though! They were "family," or stand-ins for vacancies, and added volume to our real numbers.  I knew their innermost secrets as well as what motivated their actions. If it were only so easy to understand REAL people, huh????

I am not going into mourning over All My Children, but I do feel a pang of "another loss" at its passing.  I keep noticing that life seems to be full of "passings," and these get replaced by things that I either do not understand, don't "get," or don't have the technological skills to use. 

In my guest bedroom is a blanket with the map of Pine Valley, the setting for All My Children, on it.  It was a gift from Philip, his last Christmas.  It's blue, pink and yellow, and has "All My Children," and "Pine Valley" written on it..........and shows where Pine Valley exists in relation to the rest of the world.  Ironically, it shows Pine Valley as the center of the entire country.............and the rest of us sort of revolve around it.   That seems to say it all, doesn't it?    Great gift, by the way.

They may do away with All My Children, and take Pine Valley off the soap opera "map, " but there are those of us who will always live there in our hearts, will never forget the joy, tension or agony we experienced as we sat, glued to the set every day at 1:00.  The theme music is in our heads on "replay" at our mental recalls. 

No, I am not leading a letter-writing campaign to save AMC, as I am sure that the TV Powers That Be have done their financial homework before axing a well-loved old program.

But I WOULD write a letter if there WERE a campaign.  I'd sign a petition...........wear a sandwich board........and possibly stand on a street corner waving a sign that reads "SAVE ALL MY CHILDREN!"

I'd do the same for any endangered family member ...............................





copyright:  KP Gillenwater