'A TALE OF TWO WOMEN...."

Possibly the most challenging part of writing a Blog is coming up with an eye-catching, to-the-point headline. I submit the following headlines that may well “perk” your interest in this Blog…and then again, maybe not!

“Woman Forced to Walk Gang Plank. Witnessed by Seven Children While Husband Watches With Great Expectations!” Or….”Local Woman Escapes Certain Captivity Enroute to California!”

Those headlines, though a bit “over the top,” came to mind while mulling over how to entice you to read the next couple of paragraphs during this busiest time of the year, and I do apologize…and then, again, maybe not!

That story about the at-risk woman with husband and seven little look-alikes? True. And I know it’s true, because…?

Nothing happened in the unlikely manner suggested in the first headline, but way back in the Spring of 1679 when into her middle years, Anne Kinton Borton, in fact, did walk up a sliver of a wooden plank to gain access to a mighty vessel called The Griffin, having bade her parents, William and Elizabeth Borton of Aynho, and siblings farewell earlier in the days just gone by in their hometown of Banbury, England.

Nothing save the breaking of that well-worn slightly-splintered board and a sea of crashing waves would keep that woman from her ordained destination and future…one filled with great expectations, her husband had reassured her, over and over again, as she nightly tended to her long black hair with the finest of brushes, a Christmas-1678 gift. (Indulge me, please, in this literary license!)

Incidentally, I should mention here the fact that the noted Mr. William Penn (of Philadelphia’s ‘Brotherly Love” fame) was also on board, his very presence adding a bit of distinction to the List of Passengers. Penn and John Borton, Anne’s husband, were cohorts in the new and somewhat suspicious religious movement called the Quakers, and both were “leaving town” before another jail sentence could be pronounced upon John and others for their religious zeal.

The authoritative King of England was the most suspicious and “double-downed” efforts to lose no time keeping The Tower cells at the ready for these upstarts. No “dummies” they, 151 families prepared to leave on several ships within the next few months for their New World.

In spite of the fact that the famous Mr. Penn was a personal and close friend of the family, I muse sometimes if he conveniently “took to his quarters” when the children of my ancestral Grandmother and Grandfather took to roaming The Griffin searching for adventure on the high seas, pestering Mom and Dad, and the one with the best knowledge, The Captain, “Are we there yet?” (Rather than scold the pesky kids in a resounding way, against his quiet nature...)

The List of Passengers show no Penn children on board (in my family book) so “Uncle” William had to have been a chosen delightful, if sometimes unwilling, “foil” for a few of their escapades during the sea journey.

This particular early band of Quakers was on its way to Burlington, New Jersey. Today, trying to put myself into Anne’s high-button shoes and multi-layered crinolines, I wonder what thoughts she harbored as The Griffin sailed its way into the New Jersey port. I am thinking she was thinking “What was I thinking?” And, silently of course, to her husband, a respectful “Are you happy now?”

Anne’s story, noting the slight gender change in this script, reminds me of the Biblical story of Ruth and Naomi…”Wither thou goest, I will go!”

The Americanization of the Borton Family had begun…

The 200 acres of land, on which John and Anne built their plantation-type home, is described as being located on the south side of the Rancocas Creek below Centerton extending back to the edge of Masonville, was purchased from the native Indians for a cash payment of 20 pounds and seven shillings in late 1679. What a bargain! But, I hastily add that it had to have been an equitable sales price to all parties concerned: considering the mind-set of those early Quakers when, if everyone was in agreement as to the terms, the pact was sealed by their “word” and a firm handshake, a done deal!

And so the Grandparents Borton settled down in this new land of plenty (if they worked hard), raised their seven children, served both their Faith and Country. I, among many thousands of descendants, am thankful that on one fine Spring day in Banbury, England, Anne packed up the few suitcases, a couple of homemade toys for the kiddies, threw in a potion of headache remedy for William Penn (I’m guessing on that one) and followed her husband and her heart to The Jersey Shores of 1679.

Anne and John’s story is typical of all of our grandparents who came to America as Immigrants, but whose complete stories will never be known due to loss of detailed written information or, sadly, lack of interest.

I’ve got my own sneaking suspicions that 17^th Century Grandmother Grace Baldwin Marsh (born 1592 and married to John Marsh 1613) of Braintree, Essex County, England, the same area from which the ancestral grandparents of “Lucky” Baldwin originated, is “gambling” on me to make that historic connection. Could it be?

That story about the “local woman”? True…

In January of 1948, she walked up three pull-up wooden steps to board “The Pony Express” ready to leave Atlantic Iowa, and Omaha, Nebraska, for Union Station in Los Angeles.

What was this young bride thinking as she took that first of three well-worn steps to send her on her way to join her husband in that land of “milk and honey and orange groves” now populated by hordes of corn-fed Hawkeyes escaping Iowa’s 1930’s Depression Days or World War II ex-servicemen who had fallen in love with the excesses of constant sunshiny days, evening’s cool ocean breezes, Pasadena’s Rose Parade and adorable Hollywood starlets.

I was thinking I looked “really sharp” dressed in my Sunday best, heels, covered from knees to neck by a really cute dark brown Mouton Lamb fur coat (purchased on the installment plan from The Vogue for about $60.00) with a heart-shaped less-than-a-hat-but-more-than-a-headband type of chapeau recently purchased from Bullocks ($10.98) across the street from The Vogue. I may have been misinformed but I was told that this is the way one should dress on these modern-day trains. So I did…dressing up to the 9’s. Big mistake!

My railroad car’s name was aptly named: The Pony Express. This antiquated mode of transportation for the next three days and two nights was straight out of any Western movie I had ever enjoyed at the Strand Theater on a Saturday afternoon. Missing was the standard movie-extra “shotgun rider.”

Wooden seats with iron braces (no comfortable bounce there) suitcases shoved under the seats or onto the one shelf directly above one’s head. No curtains for the windows and no facilities for personal hygiene! FYI: The more “cushy” cars attached to the front and rear of The Pony Express provided the amenities. (If Mom, in sending off her last-born child at 7:30 a.m. that January cold morning, had had the chance to inspect this particular railroad car before I headed off for those Western Skies memorialized in those “fluffy” Western Stories I so loved, I fear I would not be writing this part of the Blog. Not a chance.)

What was spectacular about my absolutely-beautifully-landscaped scenic trip? For starters: the large cities and small burgs in Nebraska, Wyoming, Utah, Nevada and California, crossing the whole of Wyoming’s Medicine Bow range, riding the rails, so to speak, along the banks of rivers cutting in and out of the forest and mountain ranges, some showing the results of devastating recent forest fires, thence, onto the flattened acres of lush farmlands, sandy deserts and, finally, California!

On my final day of being “all aboard The Pony Express” the last of my Snicker Bars were consumed, which is good planning anyway you look at it!

If I was disappointed I was not joined by Roy Rogers or Tom Mix or Hopalong Cassidy on The Pony Express, I was definitely not disappointed when just outside of Las Vegas a really-wizened but still stately figure of a man joined the passengers, carefully adjusted his colorful poncho-style blanket around his shoulders (it was January, remember), took his seat of importance on the floor, bowed his head and went to sleep! My being “taken into captivity” would have to come another time…perhaps at the Union Station where a “slight scuffle” might ensue? (Or in a local Ralphs’ market in the Dog Food Aisle…see previous Blog “Facts of Life”.)

(This trip, with those one or two exceptions, was like straight off the pages of a John Huston movie script and those equally time-honored stories that were my bromide for a good night’s sleep while in residence at 210 Birch…something for the grandkids to read some decades down the road!)

What 22-year-old CountryGal who had never been west of my sister Rhoda’s home in Louisville, Nebraska but twice, maybe three times, wouldn’t be “blown away,” I ask you….

Lacking every apparent outward sign of natural Scottish “Reivers’ bravery,” I can only think, in looking back, I must have inherited some of Anne Kinton Borton’s English “intestinal fortitude” in this firm determination to plant new roots in another New World (“Lucky” Baldwin’s Arcadia), with my husband raise a family of three, serve my Faith and Country (today that would be the terrific Senior Citizens Lunch Day Program at Temple City’s Live Oak Community Park).

 And, in my daily comings and goings if I should give somebody an unintentional “headache,” I will attempt to quickly remedy the situation with a spoken apology (albeit being a Quaker by birthright and choice, it may be a silent one). But sincere!

You have my word…

Working Title: "THOSE BOYS....HONESTLY!"

If the "working title" that heads up this Blog smacks just a little bit of an "intuition" of what I feel will become the adventure of my lifetime, then my work is done!   But by now, you all know I cannot let things go "unexplained" and there just may be one new reader who hasn't a clue as to what I am yakking about.

So...for the uninitiated, let me introduce the four young lads who live in the other important state in the Midwest, Illinois, and who have added more excitement to my days than any old bowling score of 244 at the local bowling alley!   I am, as of this minute, in the movie-making business!  How about that?  Well, even if it is just in name-only, it's better than:   spending my precious early childhood days cutting out paper clothes for a paper Shirley Temple doll in 1932 or tripping (well, if I had stuck my left leg out in the aisle of the studio where he was debuting with Dean Martin I could  have)  Jerry Lewis back in 1949 or causing Kris Kristofferson a near heart attack back in 1991:  this is huge! 

You've read about Rhoda in a previous Blog and you've also read about "Old Moll" her grandmother who has probably been more maligned than praised because of a lack of understanding amongst her neighbors, back in the late 1700's; both are distant Derry cousins and subjects of a film/documentary that is currently in the production phase heading toward a Fall filming session by "those boys...honestly!"   Like I said:  this is huge!

And now it's time for you to read the "back story" (an honest-to-goodness replay of the sacrifices, the toil, the fruits and the frustrations, the top-of-the-mountain joy) experienced by these four young film-makers who are making their own mark in the film industry via YouTube (which you will soon read about), and other venues where their efforts are shared with fellow film enthusiasts...no doubt about it, somewhere in this generation of professionals is another Steven Spielberg; indeed, one of the four you are about to meet?  

In non-alphabetical order please meet Brandon Lamprecht, Darrin Ford, Bryan Wolford and Winston Whitten; and I shall stop short of calling them "characters" but, instead, "principals" of this particular scenario who have put together cast and crew to film "The Mysterious Rhoda Derry."  As is the case with even Hollywood studio heads, funding is a key ingredient; and the search continues daily for sponsors and donations, a monumental task even for Steven Spielberg and Tom Hanks.  (You will get your opportunity to participate during the up-coming commercial break...)

In my script, I call them "Rhoda's Four Prince Charmings" for reasons known only to womankind:   the challenge of filming Rhoda's "anything but a Fairy Tale" existence will be a daunting one but not an insurmountable one.  Heroes are made, not born...pulled from the shelves of the Carnegie Library in Atlantic, the fanciful books of the famous Grimms Brothers taught me that early on!

Perhaps not all that daunting for the young man who chose a camera at the age when, for the ordinary little boy, a  fireman or a policeman's cap was first choice.  That would be Brandon.  His early interests led him, after High School, to Illinois State University where he received a degree in Film and Video Art.   Fellow collegian  Darrin has a degree from Illinois State and one and a half years of graduate school from Columbia School of Art located in Chicago.  So here we have two well-trained but yet to be employed potential nominees for "The Best Documentary Award," primed for some future stroll down Hollywood's famous Red Carpet, the latter part of that sentence my personal prophecy with, perhaps, a little help from "Old Moll!"  Like I said before....this is my script!

The road to get them there has had its share of "unexpected curves,"  "potholes," and "No U-turns."   With diploma in hand, Brandon headed with fiancee, Alex, to Ft. Myers, Florida, for employment filming automotive training videos for a time, and with the pay scale in upscale Florida less than desirable, Brandon became increasingly aware of his roots, and missing them, up north in Illinois.  Darrin, until his job was eliminated in 2001 at "Blast T.V." when it went financially under, was gaining valued experience at the Spanish Television Station.   And, again, here we have two accomplished young men and one fiancee coming to that proverbial "fork in the road." ... time to head back to the homeland, and they did.

As Brandon has said..."Nothing in life comes easy."  And acknowledges that his true learning has come from just such patches of stretching.  Because of the decline in employment in the year 2001, Brandon turned to a completely different type of vocation as did Darrin.  Brandon qualified for his CDL and became a ready-mix driver in the concrete industry while Darrin tested the landscape business before  becoming an installer of high-end home theater systems.  These are jobs they still find gainful today;  and since all my Fairy Tales must have a happy ending...the fellows reconnected in 2006 and started filming again...I am going to let Brandon tell you in his own words how that all came about!

"We purchased a small camcorder for about $300 and brought back to life an old Macintosh Computer that Darrin had used back in college to edit our films. Everything was so out of date and of very low quality,but thanks to YouTube, even the most amateur film-maker could get people to watch their videos. We did a lot of research on YouTube and found really boring videos about peoples' cats, or just people doing random blogs.  For some reason many of these bland videos were becoming very popular.  We decided to 'up the bar' on YouTube and provide better quality entertainment (at least in editing) to try to break out into the industry.  Darrin and I have a very radical style of humor and  tried to push the envelope with our rude, crude and sometimes very vulgar display of humor.  In addition, we recruited my long time best friend, Winston Whitten as sound man, who also had a taste for similar humor.  Together the Trio made all kinds of  'shock humor"'videos that made fun of everything. 

"The idea was simply this, the more shocking, the better chance we had of  'getting in' with the Industry.  The more shocking they were, the more people wanted to watch.   Probably not the most respectable philosophy, but nonetheless we chose it.  I, personally, have always tried to push the envelope on what is considered the norm due to being a self-proclaimed non-conformist.   'Normal never did me any good.  I never liked normal...I simply do not know normal and if I ever met normal, I would probably slap it!'  Honestly, those were very pure times for us, as crazy as some of our antics were, we really enjoyed making them.  There was no pressure.  We had only to hold ourselves accountable.  The videos cost nearly nothing so we were not out any large expense.   Yet after two years, and still in the same financial status, we knew we needed to do something more.  We had finally matured at ages 33 and 31."

(Stuff you should know as you follow these Blogs:  The many YouTube films which became a sensation among that website's followers were produced by Reality's End Film of which Brandon, director, writer and producer, and Darrin, cameraman, are the co-owners.  Bryan serves as first assistant director and co-writer while Winston came on board as the all-important sound man.  Any promotions or filming activity will be properly acknowledged in future Blogs or Facebook News Feeds...clicking on any of their names on Facebook will keep you up-to-date on Those Boys!  ..and if you feel so inclined to support the Rhoda story, that would be welcomed gratefully, of course...)


How utterly charming is their truth!   Honestly!  No Burma Shave roadside signs to entertain them on their journey to an uncertain destination, the young men put their hopes and dreams into a film  that, in a short 17 minutes of pure intensity, captured great attention on YouTube, that story called "Bookbinder."   Production began in October, 2008, this black and white film that Brandon says was inspired by his own personal favorite,  the original Twilight Zone.  A. Manuel Bookbinder was a patient at the same Peoria State Hospital as Rhoda and was given the responsibility of digging graves of patients who passed away.  Unknown is the legal name of the man who became known as "Bookbinder."  What is known is his dedication to the funerals of all those who spent their last days in the Peoria State Hospital, and that would include our very own Rhoda.  "Bookbinder" is a film that should be seen; my words are far too inadequate to describe the profoundness of the story, the acting, and I think that can be arranged...just ask!

Count it all a "great learning experience" this making of "Bookbinder."  Brandon says there were tons of obstacles to overcome before filming:  better equipment, actors, costumes, sets, lights, all in all it was like starting over again in order to get this 1906-1911 period film "in the can."   A starting date of January 19, 2009 (not that long ago!) found The Boys in the office of Brandon's mother-in-law shooting takes of John Johnson (Winston's brother) a local actor from the "Barn II" dinner theater playing the part of Dr. George Zeller, and of whom Brandon says: "John stepped onto the set looking so much like Zeller, it was quite scary.  He seemed to embody the character right away.  Everything just  seemed to fall right in place."  High praise, indeed.

Filming the story of "Bookbinder" introduced the young film-makers to the tragic story of Rhoda. 

During the production and filming period, Rhoda's story of a "bittersweet life" will, hopefully,  prove to be another "great learning experience" for Brandon, Darrin, Bryan and Winston, the cast and the crew of "The Mysterious Rhoda Derry" and for those of us who have only lately learned of her days on this earth. 

It will definitely be in Tribute to an extraordinary woman!

PRELUDE TO THE PREQUEL.....

From what I have learned over the years (from reading all those movie-themed publications of which I cannot name you one at this moment and I place that blame strictly on the shoulders of one Katie Couric) before every "take" the Director calls for, he or she will dutifully explain the "back story" of the action about to be preserved forever on film to the actor or actress so that he or she can heartfully emote or deliver what "the boss" hopes will become "classic" in due time.....and, hopefully, everyone will hit their marks, say their scripted lines and the Director will heave a sigh of relief and holler "Cut!"....and everyone exits to the make-shift picnic table covered in red-and-white checkered oilcloth  and where Arby's Roast Beef Sandwiches, Curly Fries and Cherry Turnovers await for the taking....

At least that is the way I see it being played out when Brandon, Bryan, Darrin (he loves Arby's as much as I do!) and Winston commence filming the story of Rhoda come Fall near Peoria, Illinois.  

To know Rhoda and all her complexities, you have to know the "back story" of her family life which begins with getting to know Mary "Old Moll" Derry, a gun-toting, varmint-shooting, spell-casting, fortune-teller of the American Revolution, "Witch of the Little World" and was said to "command rattlesnakes to guard her and her home," a hovel in the mountains above Uniontown, Pa.  She was a renowned practitioner of both "Pow Wowing" and the "Heshen-Hammer," both varied types of Occultism that originated hundreds of years ago in Germany, and was reputed to possess an "Erdspiegel" a type of crystal ball by which she could tell fortunes.  (This validated information comes from a letter written to Joan Brown Derry, another family historian, by Wilbur R. Landman whose grandparents knew "Old Moll" personally, and from whom they bought supplies at the "Granny Store" owned by "Old Moll.")

Mary, born between 1760 and 1768, and her husband, Jacob, born about 1765 in Loudoun County, Virginia, "came up over the Allegheny Mountains out of Harpers Ferry after the end of the American Revolution" and unto them were born Basil, Jacob, Barbara, Jeremiah, Rhoda and Mary.  It is from Jacob that Our Rhoda A. descends.  (An interesting note here is that the first Rhoda, born in 1804, married a Jacob Isenhour and is likely related to President Eisenhower.)

Landman's great-grandmother Cunningham often related stories about "Old Moll"..."she was a real witch," and in his letter Landman says "she is the witch who forewarns Polly Williams that her fiance will murder her, casting her off the white rocks in the mountains near Fairchance."  He continues:  "She was widely known throughout southwest Pennsylvania as a healer, using herbs and roots, was able to ride a great distance on a broomstick and she walked with a cane."  The "point" being...even though living at a far distance from her Grandmother but hearing "stories" of things that had "been wrought," our Rhoda's early childhood education was definitely defined in ways that would affect her uncertain teen years.    All this plus dodging bullets from a flintlock  wielded by a "witch-hunting" mother .... and definitely begs the obvious sensibility of an "Old Moll" question:    Why walk when one can conjure up a ride? 

Now I am debating whether or not to point this Blog in the direction of Brandon, Bryan, Darrin and Winston!  It may be a little bit too much "back story" information but I'm thinking these four young men from Illinois are more than up to the task of bringing Rhoda's story to life in a way that will stir the souls of the film's beholders...and if they should feel the prod of "Old Moll's" cane, so much the better!

More "back story" stuff....
Long ago and far away in the distant land of Atlantic, Iowa, a little five-year-old missy  (raising hand here!)  made a solemn promise to herself that when a little girl was born unto her, that little babe would be named "Mary Elizabeth," not knowing, of course, her father's name would rhyme with ....guess!   When "Old Moll's" story was told to us several years ago, we marveled at all that had been ascribed to this celebrated-for-her-time plainswoman.  How much embellishment was added by "witnesses" to her story as it was handed down from generation-to-generation is up-for-grabs.  We do know for a fact that the practice of "Pow Wowing" is used for  "cure or to effect a change and is based on Bible verses".  What is equally fascinating is that "Old Moll's" gift is in evidence in today's generation of family members ... but that's a story for another day!

Now, let me tell you a little bit about "the boys!"   ... stay tuned!



                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                        

A WORD OF EXPLANATION....A PREQUEL

Thank goodness for my Webster's Dictionary!

Cousin Noah's trusty volume has saved my "reputation" many times when writing "stuff 'n such" for the PTA newsletters, the El Monte Herald and the local newspapers that would print my freelance articles about the small town doings of organizations I belonged to.   More than once my limited exposure to the "world" as a kid  (in other words, guys and dolls, lack of engaging sophistication) in a small Cass County, Iowa, town  was a literary challenge when it came to composing news releases soon to be read by neighborhood USC or UCLA college graduates, no less!    Long before the advent of Spellcheck as a household word, it was prudent to own several tomes of Noah's printed genius, and wouldn't he be "thrilled" today to find words that would, in his day, be found less than Puritanical?

Perhaps it is well and good that I have never reached that level of "sophistication" that I so yearned for and admired as a young lass in that town of 5,000 plus souls...even with the help of Roget's Thesaurus, that distant Cousin on the Marsh side of the family, and a few pious peers who laughingly pointed out to me, all too willingly, my gaffes in the "double entendre" department.   (I have learned to stop doing that to a point.)

(I ask you:  What "sophisticated miss" would press her pug nose against the plate glass window of the ANT, then located on Main Street, and eagerly watch for the first printed page roll off the antiquated press, then run home to 210 Birch, apply a coat of Tangee,  and eagerly await the arrival of the delivery boy and, oh yes, the newspaper?  Egregiously guilty!)

Most of the words that I came to live by in those days came from the Atlantic News Telegraph and the Des Moines Register, each just as much a staple in any household as cream and sugar, vinegar and spice.   Today is an entirely different story....give me another year or two and I will, with ease and a bit of borrowed confidence, employ a computer-driven vocabulary that would make Belva Jane Mythaler, English Teacher Par Excellence, pleased as punch.  Yes, I know the road to "sophistication" is one of temerity and would probably preclude "pleased as punch" in most literary circles.  I intend to introduce that phrase when and if I gain membership, operative words being "when and if!"  However, knowing and seasoned girl scribes tell me the "road is long and winding, uphill,  potholes abound, and the money is almost non-existent!"

So I Blog away...and there are no finicky deadline-demanding editors looking over my hunched shoulders as I type away looking somewhat like a 2011 edition of Apple Mary of the 1930's comics fame:  Alas!  Some of you will not know her, of the kindly heart and rounded frame, you being of such a tender age and the like!  :)   As a former AHS "The Needle" feature story writer, I am quite content in my dotage!  Knowing there is a Deb and another Deb, a Linda, a Colleen, a Jennie, a Jen, a Jessica, an Emilie, a Nancy, a Jane, a  Cindy, a Beth, a Sue, a Tonya, a Melinda, a  Mary, a Ginna, a Linden, a Sharon, a Rita, a Julie,  and a Kat ...(I will add male names for a slight fee!) ... reading these plain-spoken words gladdens my whole being!


When next we meet, it will be to tell you of the "behind the scenes" story of four young men in Illinois who are filming:   "The Mysterious Rhoda A. Derry".  The saga of Brandon, Bryan, Darrin and Winston is a truly remarkable one in itself, and I am so hoping  my "lack of sophistication" with words doesn't get in the way of your feeling the sheer wonderment and awe, that I am caught up in, as they share their experiences and joys and frustrations in the making of this mind- and heart-changing Reality's End movie.   Move over, Steven Spielberg!    That's a "wrap!"  ...


                                                      * * * * * * * * *

P.S.   About that word "prequel"....

Sometime ago, B-B-D-W (the four filmmakers) made a movie called "Bookbinder" a 17-minute film about another inmate of the Asylum which housed Rhoda and many others.  It had a good run on YouTube and other places and one of the last scenes in that movie was of Rhoda's funeral service. 

In the course of their creative careers and because Rhoda' story has had such an impact on their lives, B-B-D-W decided to make "The Mysterious Rhoda Derry"    In other words, where the "Bookbinder" story ended....oh well, I'll explain another time!  (Think cart-before-the-horse scenario and you'll be just fine!)

So...and Brandon, correct me if this needs a "retake" but "prequel" means "before the sequel" (which is the Bookbinder film) and if there is no such word in your dictionary, pencil it in.  You'll be seeing it a lot!    And Cousin Noah, no doubt, will be "pleased as punch!" 



 

A WOMAN TO LOVE....

This story is dedicated to every woman I have ever known who has faced struggles and hardships in her "walk" through life, who has had to draw on backbone and raw courage of "epic" proportions in meeting those challenges face-to-face and SURVIVED!

Rhoda A. Derry, the woman of whom you will soon be reading, is one of those women.  Her Story is not a fairy tale, but it is one from which you can draw strength, purpose and JOY and know that there are "Prince Charming/s" alive and well in Peoria, Illinois, willing to capture her existence on film for all to see how the "Human Spirit" endures in an almost-unendurable situation...life in a mental institution and the people who came to know and love someone who could, easily, be described as a "pitiful woman" but I do not!   By the end of her story, you will know why!

....as someone who has had her nose buried in books of every nature since before Kindergarten days, I know that any authoress, worth her salt, should acknowledge those individuals who have contributed, confirmed, verified or ratified information she has purloined in an effort to make her own prose look and read more believably.  In my case that would be "Doc" Derry (a cousin I inherited through my marriage to his distant cousin, Del) and to Joan Brown Derry, another cousin.  Between the two of them, they have compiled a Derry Family Genealogy Report (yes, I added wherever I could to round out their information) which will become the Legacy that my three kids will inherit with maybe a few dollars, depending!  It is from "Doc's" latest book...A Letter from Aunt Ethel...that I draw my historically-correct information about his Great Great Aunt Rhoda A. Derry.  "Doc" and Joan, through sheer industry and a great love for family history, have given members of the Derry Family a most awesome gift to be cherished by generations to come.

AND SO IT BEGINS...

The history of Rhoda is, at once, compelling, mystifying, intriguing, and smacks of witchcraft and the casting of spells handed down from generation to generation.  It all began with a woman by the name of Mary "Old Moll" Derry who lived in Pennsylvania during the 1700's.   "Old Moll" was quite famous (or infamous) in her day as she could prophesy events, being quite accurate enough that her rustic log cabin was skirted around by those who knew only too well of her foretelling.  Her reputation and practices of witchcraft and occultism were enough to drive family members away from that vicinity to locate in Indiana and eventually, Illinois, where Rhoda would appear on the scene in 1834 as the daughter of Jacob and Rachel Derry.  Of course, stories of "Old Moll" were still alive and well in Jacob's household, and one can only imagine the thoughts that must have lingered in the mind of a very young and impressionable Rhoda as she grew up into a young teen-ager, especially with a Mom who also was capable of "shooting at imaginary witches around the house."  Whether or not she actually "bagged" a witch is up for grabs but it is easy to vision all the kids in the family scurrying  under the beds when Rachel (the Mom) took gun in hand to shoot at  something only she could see!   "Old Moll" must have been right-proud knowing that her daughter-in-law was proving to be a right-good shot!   Aiming counts, too!

In newspaper accounts of Rhoda, she has been described as having been a "very beautiful" young girl born to a family that was mistakenly described as "wealthy"... honest, trustworthy, hardworking, but never  wealthy.  Her beauty attracted the attention of the neighbor boy, Charles Phenix, when they were both 16 years of age in the year 1850, and their romance led to an engagement which did not suit the purposes of Charles' Mom, Nancy, not one bit!   Whatever her reasoning was, and knowing the other family's mindset about witches and casting of spells, Nancy (playfully or with malice) threatened her future daughter-in-law with bewitchment if Rhoda did not release her son from their engagement.   "The Ruse" worked so well on our young and impressionable Rhoda that she ''exhibited all the signs of one possessed of an evil spirit" and was certain that "Old Scratch" was after her.  (For those not acquainted with "Old Scratch," my cousin, "Doc" states that it is an Old Norse term meaning "hermaphrodite goblin or wizard.")   Why Charles did not "man up" to his meddling mother, and what happened to this young and handsome young man after his engagement to Rhoda was so tragically severed may well never be known.  I wonder if there may well be Phenix progeny who will read this story of their Grandpa's young love for Rhoda....

And, of course, being the incurably sentimental one of my family, I want to shake Charles Phenix silly and want to know why he felt his love for Rhoda and their future wasn't worth going to battle....It is written in Doc's book that, to her credit, Nancy Phenix was willing to talk to Rhoda and take away the "spell" but Rhoda would have none of that, being more than a little frightened the first time around.

So little was known of mental illness in those early days of medicine and Dr. Joseph Mehr in his book "History of Illinois Public Mental Health Services 1847-2000" tells us that "Everyone is capable of becoming schizophrenic, and everyone has that trigger."  As "Doc" says in his book:  "Belief in witches and witchcraft and Nancy's curse must have been an explosive combination for young Rhoda."   Rhoda's first exposure to a life away from family members came about in 1856 when she was admitted to the Jacksonville Asylum as "unmanageable" -- dreams of marriage to Charles,  babies to nurse, growing old with the man she loved, all shattered beyond belief, little wonder.   At Jacksonville, those in charge of Rhoda's care "could not keep the doors of her room locked at night and in the morning, Rhoda could be found walking about in the yard. When asked who let her out, Rhoda would reply:  'Mrs. Phenix.'"    Understanding, helping, controlling  Rhoda and her "mysterious" behavior eventually proved to be too much for staff members....What to do?   Lack of expertise and knowledge about the human existence at facilities in those days offered up just one solution.   "Go tell Aunt Rhody...she's going home....."

What is a loving family to do when a beloved daughter is returned home by the Asylum  with a note saying she is not insane?  Jacob and Rachel turned to relatives for comfort, help and understanding.  For instance:  "One night when it was very cold, Rhoda's brother-in-law slept close to her bed that he might keep her covered.  He dreamed that a black cat came into the house and ran around the house on the ceiling three times,when it jumped and scratched him on the face.  When he awoke the next morning, he was told Rhoda had the same dream.  The man's face was burned as from the wound of the cat's claws, and the side nearest the girl was nearly paralyzed."  And in another almost unbelievable instance, "Rhoda ran and turned a somersault and lit on the bed on her head...and whirled about like a top...with her feet up!  She was told by her brother, Jerry, to get down but she said, 'I can't.  They are holding me up!'"   Rhoda's penchant to use multi-syllable words were of delight to her family and friends in conversations, this in spite of never having the opportunity to be properly educated, perplexing to say the least....

Equally perplexing to her family, she often foretold the visits of relatives to her home.  Further, "If a strange man came to their house, she would ask him for a chew of tobacco and upon receiving it, she would tell the man his name and the object of his mission."   Strange stuff, indeed!   And...always, the family was confronted by the big question:   What to do about Rhoda?

Rhoda's Mom passed away in 1860, her father was aged and here was Rhoda, a handful to say the least.  The only reasonable answer and the next stop....the inevitable poorhouse for our young, beautiful and very insane cousin.   And there she remained for approximately ten years where it is said she "beat out her own eyes, pulled out her own hair and otherwise injured herself.  After each of these spells, she would sing a beautiful song and offer up a solemn prayer, asking God to forgive her."   The years passed....and Rhoda, along with other inmates of the poorhouses of that time,  endured her deplorable existence.
                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                               
Record keeping was not the most accurate at the "almshouses, poor houses" and complete records are sparse.   Here is what Joan Brown Derry says about Rhoda's admittance to another new "home away from home".   "In 1874, the law required poorhouse keepers to keep books of accounts. If Rhoda was finally admitted on 3 September 1860, then she had already been at the poorhouse for almost ten years at the time of this (1874) census.  She was already listed as being blind, indicating that she has "beat her eyes out" during that ten-year period.  A young lady, only 25 years old, still retaining some lucid moments, must have felt total despair and hopelessness at what she saw around her."

For forty-three years, Rhoda lay abed (actually a basket)  amid unspeakable squalor, subject to the unwanted company of rodents, her fragile body fast becoming misshapen, "a hideous object"  in the eyes of an unsympathetic beholder. It was said that when Rhoda was placed on the floor, "she hopped along on her hands, so doubled up that she looked more like a toad than a human being." 

"From these surroundings, in 1904, Rhoda was brought to the Illinois Asylum for the Incurable Insane, later to be known as the Peoria State Hospital.  She was taken to the hospital for women, bathed regularly and lived for the first time in forty-three years, in a bed between clean white sheets."    And Dr. George A. Zeller entered Rhoda's life for reasons known only to God.   Rhoda entered the Asylum in a common clothes basket.

For the two years that Rhoda was under the care of Dr. Zeller and his staff, Rhoda was given "even better attention and her appreciation of special delicacies was only equal to her delight at being given a chew of tobacco.  (Some habits are hard to give up!)  We never allowed her to become the object of curiosity, but when real students of social problems came along, we took them to the bedside of Rhody and her case alone called down more blessings upon the State than all the eighteen hundred others we are now caring for."  So stated a letter received by Honorable C.B. McCorry, judge of the Adams County Court about Rhoda's unique case. 

The letter continues:  "(At the time of her death in 1906) Rhoda had reached her allotted three score years and ten and is buried in grave number 217, Asylum Cemetery.  The nurses who cared for her in life were at the side of the grave when the last honors were paid her and, when they returned to their duties instead of feeling relieved that a great burden had been lifted from their hands, all were crying.  ...the State is better for the knowledge that justice was finally done this long neglected woman."

Dr. Zeller's role in Rhoda's tormented life  proved to be one that forever changed the way mental patients have been cared for the world over.  Dr. Zeller's autobiography states "she had a history which is probably without a parallel in the world.  As a striking example of the evils of almshouse treatment of the insane, she did more for suffering humanity than almost any woman in the country."  

Dr. Zeller caught the eye (the still discerning heart!)  of our once very young, very beautiful, very sane cousin in a way that brings a not-so-silent chuckle from within my heart and soul when I think of her actions as he would pass by her bed on his rounds of the hospital.  It is recorded that upon occasion, she would reach out and tug on his pants leg, bestowing upon her hero a flirty little smile...

It is also recorded that some, who have stood by her grave site, have felt a slight tug on a pants leg....

Without a doubt, and for all these reasons, Rhoda is A WOMAN TO LOVE....!


                                       Inscription on Rhoda's Headstone:

                "THEY BUILT THIS PLACE OF ASYLUM SO THAT NO
                      OTHER HUMAN WOULD SUFFER AS YOU.  YOU
                      TAUGHT US TO LOVE AND FEEL COMPASSION
                  TOWARDS THE LESS FORTUNATE.  MAY YOU FIND
                            PEACE AND WARMTH IN GOD'S HANDS."



                                                                  --30--





SCOOP....Rhoda's story is not over by any means.  As you read this, there are four young men in Peoria, Illinois, at work putting the final touches on their newest film production entitled "The Mysterious Rhoda Derry".  Reality's End Film is the name of the company, and you will soon be reading their individual stories, their dedication to the making of Rhoda's movie, and "stuff" known only to them right now.   (I love being a Cub Reporter!)  :)                                                                  

                                                                             

"STUFF 'n SUCH I MUST HAVE LEARNED WHILE BEING POTTY-TRAINED...."

Where to begin....?

To be perfectly HONEST and FORTHRIGHT, when I was a "kid of 50 or 60 years of age," sharing "Stuff 'n Such" (with or without 'bathroom humor') was farthest from my mind; but now that I am "on the fast track" to 86 years of age in April of this Year of Our Lord, it seems that this is exactly what I should be doing...and I know you readers well enough by now to know that your ears have perked up, you have reached for your eye-glasses and are probably thinking as I am (since I don't know where this is going or will end): "What is that Old Dame up to now?"

Actually, I am just doing the most natural of Grandma activities: Giving sage advice! But you will have to look for the "key words"...I am not going to make this easy for the Grandkids, not my job!

As most of you know, these "masterpieces" (of which there are about 40 now) are meant to be read by FUTURE generations of Cranston/Derry Progeny. If these Blogs serve well, they will have "kept the Grandkids out of jail and off the streets" long after my "dust" has settled. Mission accomplished, so to speak.

All of which I write cannot be verified since I am the "last one standing/sitting" of the Cranston Family...but count it all "TRUTHFUL" as that is what Mom and Dad would expect of me. This I do know: What I have come to accept and employ as Certain Principles must have come from my full-siblings known as Trudy, Leona, Rhoda, Addie, Bennie, "Dutch" (George Jr.), Perle and Kenneth and half-siblings Earl, Jesse and Archie. Addie and the four boys were the ones still in residence at 210 Birch when my unexpected arrival(you've read about this earlier) took place that nice Spring Day in 1925. My birth had to have been greeted with mixed reviews....13 kids? Even in those days when kids were treasured for the farmhands they would eventually become, for a small-town family this was a big undertaking, even if the "little tyke" was about the cutest, baldest little charmer you'd ever want to diaper. And, diaper those five-kids-under-the-age of 16 did! (Well, Bennie was 16 years of age at that time, and I doubt that he put "that kid" and my comfort ahead of a baseball game on any Sunday afternoon, but I do have a picture of my big brother carrying me, "The Baby of the Family"--in a frilly dress and bonnet to match--as if I was a prized baseball bat! In a few years he would don a soldier's uniform, head for Italy and come back with several Purple Hearts...and continue his love for baseball by announcing games at the local ballpark.)

Was it the other four siblings' WARM hands as they carefully pinned my diapers (this was way before Huggies, you understand) or...the gentle rubbing of their noses against my nose when I probably smiled so precociously back at them, or...the PATIENCE each exhibited as they proudly "brought up" a good burp or two after a feeding or...even if not any of the above but something your Grandma Mayme said they "had" to do, was this chore at this early age the beginning of that warm mushy feeling of LOVE, as far as I am concerned that ingredient by which we stay "found" and not "lost"...CENTERED?  (Centered was a term I learned at the age of 40 when I embraced the Quaker (Friends) religion little knowing then that my Great Grandfather many times over, John Borton of England, crossed over the Atlantic Ocean to settle the province of New Jersey and to establish the beginning of the Quaker religion with William Penn.)

Not too long ago, I had the supreme privilege of  MINISTERING to a dying friend in the very same way...yes, the adult Huggie-type diapers, the patience, the rubbing not of her nose but her "nappy" hair that belonged to my dearest of friends, Betty Hatcher, who remarked once more, as she feebly raised both thumbs upward, that I was COLOR-BLIND...

Uncle Ben was a man of INTEGRITY, a man of FAITH and was always at his younger brother's dinner table, usually tending to my wants as I sat next to him in my well-used High Chair. (Yes, somewhere there is a picture..) If you have ever seen the painting of the Old Man in Prayer  that was so popular in years past, that would be so like my Uncle Ben. I remember the hands clasped, the words of GRACE, heard but not understood, and my Uncle's bent head that I observed through inquisitive eyes not quite closed. Today, I close my eyes in PRAYER and know that, with a little help from His FRIEND, Uncle Ben is continuing to tend to my earthly needs and wants. PRAISE be!

Here comes the most challenging part in giving Grandmotherly advice to those generations yet unborn. Can one adequately explain COMPASSION and CHARITY and SERVICE except to just include these words and HOPE and BELIEVE that the other words capitalized above will TOUCH their hearts, minds and souls in ways that will make their Spirits soar?

TRUSTING...

Grams

In Memory of Big Sister Aletha Fay Cranston,  arrived to take a quick look and returned Home May 7, 1904.

The Making of a Movie..."Christmas in Connecticut"

It was a busy day today! I found a Flea (really!) on Sadie; and since she is my bed-partner for the time being, that Flea was the object of my scorn for the better part of the morning. A quick trip to the local CVS Pharmacy, and the subsequent purchases of a Flea Collar, a Flea ointment, and an Oatmeal Shampoo, is putting chase to that one and only Flea as we speak! There will be no Flea Circus in my bedding...I don't care how the Sirs Barnum and Bailey would have handled that enigma in the good old days!

But that is not the "gist" of this story, probably has not the slightest connection to what I am going to share with you.

The "gist" of this story I am about to lay upon you came to me while I was humming a song to myself while searching for all those Flea products and the fact that Christmas would soon come upon us and CVS was being duly all decked out by its employees in Christmas decorations on a slightly colder day than usual for sunny Southern California and I was happy! Silver Bells happy! And it was only 9:25 a.m....

Let me take you back in time to the remaining three months of 1991, to the suburbs of Arcadia, California, where the calendar pages were confirming it was truly Winter, the days were getting shorter and the weather fast becoming slightly on the brisk side...REAL SNOW was expected on nearby Mt. Baldy and other Ski Resorts. Not much going on in our end of town but in the "uppity" part of Arcadia, there were rumors that a famous movie star was scouting out sites for a Turner Movie Classic to be called "Christmas in Connecticut." He was seen running up and down the myriad streets of our bedroom community in his Hummer (oh, yeah, this could be the connection) and was going to hire citizens to be "extras" in this movie that would star ruggedly handsome Kris Kristofferson, Laker's No. One Fan and fashion-model-skinny Dyan Cannon and some others, large and small, not quite so well known. (Well, Tony Curtis was definitely well-known but he wasn't in any scenes being shot in Arcadia.)  The man who singlehandedly had made The Hummer famous, Mr. Universe himself, Arnold Schwarzenegger, was to be the Director; he was the guy in the white tee-shirt in the Hummer, and everybody was agog with excitement. (Aren't you glad I solved Sadie's problem in one fell swoop, and we can now concentrate on this one man known as The Terminator, Mr.Freeze, Maria's muscled husband and, oh yes, California's 38th Governor!)

Back to the making of this Classic Movie - well, not really, but it was to be a remake of a Classic Movie - and for the true movie buff, I will probably ruin your take on movie making when I divulge one or two dirty little secrets I learned by peeking when I should have been typing away at my Pre-School duties.

By now you are probably wondering how I know even this much about how Arnold spent the months of October, November and December of 1991. It just so happened that one of the places scouted for a couple of the important scenes to wrap up the movie was the Quaker Church where I had lovingly toiled as Secretary, Treasurer, Board of Trustees, Window Washer on Work Days since 1965. The Hummer parked in front of the Church was one of the first indications that this location was exactly what Arnold had in mind: yes, the pews could be removed, wooden floors laid down over the new carpet and voila! the Sanctuary would become a place where Kris and Dyan would have a great time of mingling and dancing to the clapping hands of the extras. And the sidewalk in front of the Quaker Church was ideal for artificial snow to be blown about as the sleigh drawn by a beautiful horse left the dance with Kris and Dyan snuggled up under cozy robes. Perfect! Arnold was happy with the arrangements, the Trustees of the Church were happy for there was a fee involved for the use of the premises, and I was really happy for some church members who would be paid for being "extras" for the day...waiting to be discovered just like Lana Turner was at the drugstore counter in Hollywood, if you want to believe THAT story!

Sometimes out of a "downside" to any story there can be an "upside" ... in my case, the December 5th target date was the day I spent at the hospital with Del who was experiencing some heart problems and, not being there on location that day, I was definitely out of "the loop" and unlikely to be "discovered" which, if you will recall from previous Blogging, is why I came out to California in the first place in 1948. It seemed simple enough: Shirley Temple had 52 curls and became a star. I could type, take and transcribe Shorthand and had a few pin curls of my own...but I couldn't dance and no Bojangles to teach me. Enough said.... (Explaining to you with tongue-in-cheek, the Downside.)

(The Upside) Arriving at the scene where the stars and the church extras were acting out their lines at the dance inside the Church walls, the horse being fed a nice bucket of oats by his (or her) handler, the limousines with attached chauffeurs lined up both sides of Lenore Avenue, klieg lights, cameras, overhead booms (for sound) and reflection boards being wielded by stagehands, I was swept up in all the excitement as were a lot of the neighbors and Lookie Lou's who had dropped by to see what all the commotion was. Even the Arcadia police men and women strolled the premises which I found exciting, too! Uniforms! Sleepy South Arcadia had come alive!

Sometimes I just cannot help myself, wanting to know all the inside details of what makes things tick. But why I walked over to the parking lot where all the movie stars' huge trailers were parked and where the Transportation Crew was settled in, doing nothing but waiting for the movie to wrap up and they could all go home, well, that is what I do best...ask questions and soak up information to be mentally filed away to be used 19 years later in a Blog.

Only a shy and innocent lass from Iowa would ask the typically blonde question: "Is anybody famous here?" Of the Transportation Crew yet! Yup, I got their attention, and I shared with them that all my relatives back in Ioway thought I had movie stars for neighbors ever since I had written them about Martin and Lewis and my close encounter with Jerry. That got things started, of course, and so I took pictures of everyone and everything in the immediate vicinity, which can now be found somewhere in large boxes in a closet at 5529.

Now about those dirty little secrets. In those movie scenes where the actors are dancing dizzily around and around the dance floor and you think they are really better than anyone on "Dancing with the Stars"..well, don't you believe it! The dancers are standing, and hopefully anchored, on a moving platform and are not "boot-scooting" at all...very deceptive, right? The "snow" comes out of a machine and isn't really "snow" but that is a trick that is as old as the hills and this is not something new I am telling you. It is a convincing trick tho'! Furthermore, "Arnie" is really not all that tall, all that muscular nor all that different from your average "Joe" hanging out with his crowd at the Bit o' Bavaria down street on Live Oak Avenue. Mebbe a tad richer!   (And Dyan hung out with her stand-in and ignored my Rose Parade Princess hand wave...whatever, Dyan!)
As day turned to dusk and, with camera in hand trying to find just the right moment to "snap" Kris Kristofferson as he hurried to his "home away from home," I think I might have caused him to swallow his orange-colored Tic Tac (he jumped a country mile!) when I reached out to sweep a tree limb from his path and he might have thought I was reaching out to touch his arm....nawwwww! :)

But the dumbest thing I did that evening was to turn down a chance to meet Arnold on a one-to-one basis. Previously I had met a young man...he was seated among the Transportation Crew when I asked if there was anyone famous there, remember?...by the name of John. He and his wife were there as part of the movie and they were personal friends of Arnold's. As we got better acquainted and John realized I was not a threat to the completion of this movie, he asked me if I wanted to meet Arnold. Arnold, at that exact moment, was passing by, and it would have been the ideal time to exchange small talk, ask him how he's doing, how's the wife, when's the next "cattle call"... that sort of thing. (Yes, I do know John's last name but to save him embarrassment, I am not disclosing it at this time....he sorta got in trouble with the Government when he was involved with the House Banking scandal of 1992 after the making of this film. I am sure you can Google it if you are one of those who lose sleep over trivia like this...I'm going to!)

I can close my eyes and see the disconcerting look of disbelief on the face of my new friend, John of political fame in Washington D.C., as I said "Un huh...uhhh...nah."

So, kids, I am here to tell you now: when an opportunity that may never come again, presents itself to you in the form of a "gift," take it! We all know "It is not over until the Batlady sings!" and, perhaps, there will come another Kodak Moment for Arnold and me, perhaps not! The populace of California will "let Arnold go" in January of 2011, and he will have more time to flit around our countryside scouting locations for another new film in one of those Hummers now out of business, too. And if they decide to cast a now older, even shorter, curly-haired, nicely-rounded "femme fatale" for the role of "Batlady"...why, I am sure I can take time from my Facebook Friends to audition for an old "friend!" (It's either THAT or challenge Palin for President in 2012...on the Blogger's Transparency Platform...'cause every Geriatric Doctor's column I've read says..."You Seniors gotta keep movin', movin', movin'!)

No doubt "Christmas in Connecticut" will soon be seen on Turner Network again for the 18th time, and I (and my bed-partner, a Flealess Sadie) will watch it with the same wide-eyed enthusiasm I felt on that comfortably cold and wintry night, just before Christmas 1991.

Along with the employees of CVS, may I be the first to wish you a "Very Merry Christmas!"? And, that's a "wrap!" That's movie lingo for "30" in the newspaper world....

THE GESTATIONAL PERIOD FOR A "PUBLISHED" WRITER

There are some subject matters that are just plain "taboo" when mixed genders are gathered around the fireplace, the dining room table or at the local Hockey Rink.

I find that Hockey Moms (and others of their ilk) of my acquaintance tend to feel they can break the "rules of convention" in the conversational area in today's more liberal or relaxed society wherein Hockey Dads, on the other hand, band together, (hey, when a Hockey Mom is immersed in record keeping, supplying drinks, cookies and band aids to the team, scheduling family outings around future hockey games, who has time to do that four-letter word "cook"?), to discuss how to fix the Thanksgiving turkey in one of those new deep-fry contraptions you can find at your nearby Kohl's or, perhaps, ask around who has the best recipe for Creme Brulee, and, yes, the best use of duct tape?..like across the  Hockey Team's  Mom's mouth when her kid is taking a beating at the end of an opponent's lethal hockey stick. (You ever see a Mother Bear in attack mode? Kinda like that...)

When I was active in PTA and other stuff when my own three kids were of school age, it was considered beyond the dictates of good taste to ask, especially in a chiding tone: "Is that really a Paula Young Wig?" ..."Now tell me, how much do you actually weigh (or drink...or smoke...or gamble...or cheat)?" And the most cutting of questions ever..."And how is that working for you?" Bless you, Dr. Phil, for perhaps the most cogent of all questions of this century.

The question put forth today to the Hockey Moms gathered at the Riverside Ice Rink really put me to thinking. The question: "What animal has the longest Gestational Period?" A Dad piped up (these are erudite family men, to wit: a doctor, an advertising executive, an Internal Revenue civil servant, two teachers among others) and I think it was the rocket scientist who offered: "690 days for one of Ceyla's six baby elephants!" Of course the Hockey Moms (and others of their ilk) were duly impressed and upon returning home, I looked up on Ask.com, just to be sure, and sure enough the wannabe naturalist was right. And for purposes of this Blog and just for fun, I looked up information for the "Blue Whale" and found the Gestational Period to be one year, three months longer than  that of any of the Hockey Moms who would have you believe their Gestational Period was...forever!

The point I am trying to make here is that these blessed events take time, these "new births at the end of Gestational Periods." Just for comparison's sake, for me it took a "Gestational Period of some 75 years" to realize a dream come true, a dream that was conceived when I was ten years of age and submitted an Essay on one Abraham Lincoln, the Young Backwoodsman, the Rail Splitter, the Young Man Who Walked Miles to Return Forgotten Change, The Young Lawyer from Springfield, Illinois, the 16th President of the United States, and he had a little something to do with the Emancipation Proclamation! A good ten pages, handwritten as I did not have access to anything but a No. 2 pencil, and sheets of Woolworth's notepaper upon which I poured my deep and undying love for this Backwoodsman!   I did not notice the facial wart until much later, but I doubt that it would have made any difference in my degree of affection for this man...less than 20-20 eyesight can be a good thing sometime! Even today!  (I personally doubt that his wife, Mary, had for him the kind of adoration I held buried secretly away in my humble heart until today!)

If you have been to Facebook lately, you will have noticed directly across from my name in bold print and a picture that could use some updating, the URL that will lead you to the website maintained by PoliticsDaily.com whose Editor-in-Chief is Melinda Henneberger, the one directly responsible for my entry into the world of "published writers" and my emotional condition as of today's date which is, also, the end of my own personal "Gestational Period."

A lot of writers my age are retired, should be retired or no longer among us, and here Melinda finds me at the age of 85 and gives me something that no one else could: space in her online newspaper! I love that woman, but not as much as I love Abe, but she will understand: there's just "something" about a Rail Splitter!


75 years spent in writing letters overseas to four brothers during World War II, writing the humor column and human interest stories for the AHS's newspaper, The Needle, letters to young classmates of the year 1943 who were in the Service, to Mom in Atlantic, Iowa, after Del and I moved to California, stacks of church and preschool newsletters at my place of employment, 20 years of publicity news releases and newsletters for three PTAs, a year's worth of "Portrait of a Teacher" column for our school district (and listen to this, at least two teachers told me they were promoted within a short time of their "Portrait" being printed in the local community paper) over 67 years of personal reminders for Class Reunions and two self-published booklets spotlighting their lives, the annual Family Christmas Letter...this "on-the-job" training probably is just about the equivalent of the four years of Journalism at the University of Iowa I so dearly wanted to pursue following graduation. But, as I have mentioned before...Life has a way of happening, and I am just really pleased with the way Romans 8:28 spells it all out for me!

Melinda told me once that she knew of someone dear to her who, late in life, pursued her dreams with great success. Hardly knowing me at all except for an occasional post, in telling me that, Melinda encouraged me in the only way that I could wrap my heart around...just keep writing, pursue my dream. I had found a dream earlier in the form of http://countrygalcitywoman.blogspot.com/ where I aimed to write "from the heart with an attitude of Thanksgiving" as long as there are people like my wonderful Facebook Friends and family and friends in Iowa who try to keep track of their Auntie in this manner....and am "pursuing" as fast as I can!

Those two years of Journalism taught by Grace Busse, bless her heart, at AHS is finally paying off and the check soon to be sent by Politics Daily represents the first cash payment for any of the stuff that has come off this keyboard and all those manual keyboards of so long ago! I am going to take a digital picture of the check before cashing it and frame it so that my descendants in the year 2090 will know what their Granny was up to in those "good old days."

If there is a lesson or moral in this Blog that "says" something to you, take it from me, who took it from Melinda Henneberger...pursue your dream. It is out there waiting for you. Have patience...not all Gestational Periods are the same. I refer you to the Prolific Bunny Rabbit - 33 days; Minnie and Mickey Mouse - 20 days (each); Gilbert (Alan and Molly Cranston's  lordly cat) - 62 days; and Sadie - ruler over all my domain - 65 days, but, again, who's counting!

All those cute little Hockey Moms I know personally have managed to fit in from one to six Gestational Periods...and as long as those handsome Hockey Dads serve up a nicely caramelised Creme Brulee, I don't see that changing any time soon!

Personal aside to Dana...a Hockey Mom who really does understand all those complicated Rules and Regulations of Hockey: Now do you know why I (one of those of like ilk) asked that "Gestational Period" question?

This Blog is for you! Love, Mom

'ONCE IN A BLUE MOON...PART III"

Call it the "Luck of the Irish" or "providential" or "mere coincidental"...or "out of this world!"...

Mary and I began our plans for our August trip to Iowa way back in November of 2009 when she remarked, off-handedly over Turkey and the Trimmings at the Brea home of son Denny and wife, Trish, that she would like to once again visit Iowa. With her busy schedule, how would that be possible? What I thought was a guest's heavy hand on his fork and knife at the dinner table was actually an Earthquake of great proportion but 300 miles from us and so we felt only that back-and-forth movement which is discombobulating when it comes to spearing a piece of turkey and other goodies! That was my second surprise! We would make it happen!

We chose August 16-August 30 which, just so happened, would include the date of the AHS Class Reunion for the years 0-1956, though this was unknown to us until March when the date was set in cement. Chalk this up to one of the four in the first paragraph. See where I am going with this?

The 1943 Class Reunion held in 2008 was supposed to be my last Reunion, ever, as I was getting too upset, or excited, over all that body searching that seems of late to be zeroing in on us innocent-looking (wherein the danger sometimes lurks) grandmotherly types. I called a halt to traveling alone after the 2008 trip and was happy with that decision, no matter how much Dale Anderson, Class President, would beg or beseech...Nope! But, oh, how I loved Class Reunions, getting together with those guys and gals of yesteryear...

Mary's desire to visit Atlantic for a two-week period was a most-excellent reason to ticket Allegiant Air as our airline of choice (straight through to Des Moines) immediately before minds were changed. Never have those months passed so quickly ... the fact that there would be people (and a horse named "Jesse") in Des Moines and Atlantic just as eager to see us as we were to see them was heartwarming. Mary, Denny and Dana had accompanied me to Iowa in 2008 but had only five days to spend there, not nearly enough time to revisit family and friends and places they came to love during our family vacations.

Mary and I were determined to visit the five scattered cemeteries, lay flowers on each and every loved one's gravesite; tour the famous Hitchcock House in nearby Lewis, partake of refreshments at the Tea House in Audubon, consider possibility of getting a Tattoo in Omaha, meet up with Del's "removed" cousin, "Doc" Derry to hear more about his Aunt Rhoda's poignant story and the Documentary being filmed of her bittersweet life and, of course, sample as much food as possible at the Pizza Ranch, the China Buffet, The Downtowner, Hy-Vee and The Burger King, going back twice or thrice as the taste buds demanded. Nieces Sherry Cranston and Mary Barnholdt Ray quickly scheduled their hospital work days to have Wednesday, Thursday and Friday free to transport us in the four directions...it is nice to have professional medical people in the family and not have to worry about "billing" should the need arise. Randi and Liz Cranston, daughters of Sherry, went along for the ride and what fun those two young ladies proved to be, bubbly personalities at full tilt. Nick Kern, Liz's fiance, was our male escort to the Tea House in Audubon as well as a welcome dinner guest other times..and I am sure he is still wondering: "How in the heck did I manage to inherit this family?" (Again, refer to that first sentence, Nick! You're a perfect fit!)

Now about that All-Class Reunion up to and including the class of 1956!

More than 175 graduates of AHS were in attendance at the August 29th festivities with the oldest a lovely 98-years-young lady who drove herself to the Atlantic Community Center. How's that for intestinal fortitude? The Class of 1947 hostessed the event, The Downtowner catered the delicious lunch (ham balls or chicken with a nice sauce, delicious buttery small potatoes flavored like no other I have ever tasted, a vegetable that was not "forgettable" but one that I can't remember right now, rolls, beverages and dessert, a generous slice of cake and don't ask me what color! The Committee and its Chairman, Donnas Helbourg, deserve kudos for a Reunion that will be remembered for a long, long time...the Class of 1943 was represented by Janice Clithero Williams, Howard Paulson, Wayne Ullerich and myself out of our class of 101 strong back then. It was great seeing some of those guys and dolls who had traversed the halls of the old (WPA-built) High School before us, and to once again, reacquaint ourselves with the "youngun's" who sat in the very same seats we did so very long ago. I brought home two souvenirs of the event... black and gold pens...one that will forever remind me of that very special day and one sent on to the Topeka, Kansas home of Dale. Go Trojans!

For all the 23 years I lived in Atlantic and just down the road from The Hitchcock House in Lewis, I had heard about its history as being a part of the Underground Railroad transporting fugitive slaves from the Kansas Territory with the help of Reverend George Hitchcock, a Congregational minister during the mid-1800s time frame. The House was abandoned during the 1960s and deteriorated to a very sad state of affairs. But...you should see her now! Grants from organizations and with the help of a group of dedicated citizens from the area, the house is now restored as it was thought to have been in those early days. Tours are given, and we were not about to head back to California without seeing this House which is now a nationally recognized site (2001) on the National Park Service Underground Railroad Network to Freedom and which is one of only 2,500 historic properties in the United States to be designated (2006) as a National Historic Landmark by the Secretary of the U.S. Department of the Interior, its highest honor.

I have always been intrigued by the often-told stories of workmen uncomfortably seeing/feeling "presences" around and about the House as it was being restored. Mark Crum repeated a story over a lunch at The Machine Shed where a relative had, indeed, witnessed such an occasion. Mary and I believed him! It was not what you might call a "busy" day when we paid a call to the premises. Others of our party had seen the House (I in 2008 with the Class of 1943) and it just happened that there was a guide who was willing to show Mary the House as a party of one. My daughter took tens of pictures which she would not have been able to do if there were others taking the Tour...policy and such. It was an experience that Mary is not likely to forget for a long, long time...and she has the pictures to prove it. Rather, on the digital Memory Card.  For on the Memory Card were shadows of four or five people, some standing, some sitting, as if they were "at home at another time, some light and some dark in skin color." Could it possibly be? When Mary returned to her home and posted the pictures to the computer, the figures did not develop as such which is what we were hoping would happen. It's hard to convince the occasional non-believer what we were trying to show them on the digital camera. And, we don't try. Question... Are we, on a daily basis, surrounded by "friendly spirits"? I vote "Yes"...It was not my "imagination" that recognized a little girl in a dress of that period, an older woman seated in a chair with hands folded as if in repose, and of others. Mary has the Memory Card to back up our claims, you have only to ask! "Out of this world" ... hands down.

A funny thing happened to The Trio after our Sloppy Joe dinner at Alan and Molly Cranston's home in Marne. We had enjoyed good food, good company, a tour of the Masonic Lodge of which Alan is a "head honcho," meeting Gilbert, the family cat of immense proportions and beauty, a warm and balmy evening spent in this small community of 149 home-loving citizens, all good stuff for thinking about come winter time.

It was all going rather well for us...no need yet to call out for The Guardian Angels...HOWEVER, the evening was not over yet, by any means!  When it came time to leave and while driving cautiously out the driveway, we noticed a car was coming up the road. Peggy stopped to let the car pass, and then proceeded to continue backing while turning the wheel of the Saturn to get us into the direction to go back to Atlantic. With no street lights shining down upon us and with the dark of night upon us, and evidently the Guardian Angels at that moment were eating Sloppy Joe leftovers in Molly's kitchen, the car somehow managed to find itself in a slightly tilted position on the bank of a ditch that had the night before been saturated with rain, therefore, it was slippery. I first realized we might be in for a bit of excitement when I found myself "tilted, too"...leaning way too far back in the front seat was my first clue. The two Marys (the other Mary being my sister-in-law and widow of my brother Ben, also of Marne) were also leaning thataway. Peggy had hold of the wheel which kept her from sliding into my space. We were at such a tilt that if anyone had slid or tilted further than they had, the car would have, no rocket science here, flipped over with us inside and possibly rolled. Into the fence of the baseball field on the other side of the street. Ok, I will give this one to "The Luck of the Irish" grouping. Of course, we giggled a tad nervously, for fear of any movement, but it was kinda funny in a way that only three sober Irish scrubwomen would fully understand....

Alan, the Grand Tyler of all 30,000 Iowa Masons in 322 Lodges the year 2001-2002, now a volunteer everyman for Heritage House, the Hospital, Gilbert's seatmate, and Molly's handsome 72-year-old husband...tonight would become legendary! Just like Superman in the comics, Alan held the car upright with both hands, with ONE when he opened the door for us on the right-hand side, as we exited so gingerly. Never have I wished I weighed less than at that moment! Once all of us were safely out of the car, it was a question of what way would be the safest way to remove the car from the side of the ditch. Remember it was slippery and the car could have dislodged at any moment. Molly suggested that Alan run over to the nearest and only bar in town to get help from those (see Plan B) who were visiting the friendliest place in town...they could easily have lifted or moved the car with little or no effort OR, here's another thought Molly came up with, call a friend with a John Deere Tractor. She's so darn cute!  Plan B was to entice the entire Motorcycle Club to do The Deed! 

A wise thinker always, Alan figured out just how to do it, using Einstein's Theory and Newton's Law of Gravity and common sense, and brought the Saturn back safe and sound to where we were standing at the side of the road...we were in a fit of laughter by this time as all was well...for the moment! We gathered up the Guardian Angels and off we went, down that lonely country road that leads to Atlantic and the Super Eight; and now you are reading about it in this Blog, and Alan and Molly will probably get a great big chuckle out of this experience as they relive it when I send them an e-mail telling them...it is written! I think of this occasion as payback time for when Mom, Dad and I were his big brother, Dick, and his "guardians" during World War II when his Dad was in Italy in a foxhole. Molly, with your gentle and sweet soul and Alan, with your great big dark brown eyes that sparkle with "life!" ... how I love you! And, oh yes, Gilbert...you ARE precious! Meowww!

The first woman I saw sporting a pair of pierced earrings was a darling little old lady by the name of Fanny who lived one short block from my house, heading east on Third Street. (No, not Fanny Brice but of that era.) The minute I saw those sparkling baubles sitting so daintily on those two little old earlobes, I swore I would one day sport pierced ears ... if I could ever muster up enough courage to actually withstand all that piercing pain! That day came, but in a most unprofessional way and in the unprofessional hands of "Sonny". (I must confess here that I have never called Del "Sonny" in conversation with others or to his face and why I am doing it now in this Blog, I can't explain...is there a psychologist in the house?)

We had only recently moved to Pasadena, dinner was over and the dishes washed, we had no television but did have a small radio and pretty much had seen all the movies being shown that week. Bored! One of the fascinating aspects that drew me to Del prior to our marriage was his one pierced ear which, as a sailor during WWII, he gave himself. Courage personified! Looking at that now-healed-over wound, I remarked I had always wanted pierced ears. "I can do that!" ... those words from "Sonny's" mouth prompted quick action. He quickly gathered up all his medical needs: a raw potato, a sharp and sterilized needle and a piece of straw, probably unsterilized because it is highly flammable around flames. With more determination than courage, I displayed one hour later: one small hole and one small straw, to be twirled every 15 minutes and soaked with rubbing alcohol at said intervals, in each dainty earlobe. I had reached Womanhood! I hesitate but must say that these wounds were slow in healing, and I was getting impatient. Straw does not sparkle, looks ugly, and my one broom was looking rather sparse and straw-bare. Time to take action!

Downtown Pasadena was not that far in walking distance from our apartment and so, one fine morning, I took $10.00 out of my purse, plunked it down on the counter of the jewelry store near Lake and Colorado, and walked out of the store with my first pair of earrings, 14 kt. gold studs (today's market value - $100.00) and I still have them as we speak. My ears healed immediately, and now I wear 14 kt. gold earrings for medicinal purposes and do not feel one bit guilty...thank you, Fanny!

Now Mary Barnholdt Ray must have inherited the same "vanity" affliction a lot of the Cranston Women have...we don't like pain, but will suffer the moment if it takes a "little" courage and the result looks mighty fine when observed by the naked eye. In her case...a Tattoo! This was the Plan: The women folk would pile into her car on Friday, head for the Tattoo Parlor in Omaha, get that butterfly embossed on her curvaceous lower leg, hit the Antique Store across the street, lunch at Harrah's and do a bit of gambling on the now-anchored Boat that used to travel up and down the muddy and mighty Missouri. No room for Plan B...and it all worked out so well. The one most disappointed was daughter, Mary, who was hoping for an open appointment. For reasons I will explain later, we will both be getting butterflies sometime soon...ours will be black with highlights. Some of the money left at Prairie Meadow was recouped at Harrah's...all even and that means I "won" in gambling language. Mary's Tattoo is now completely healed and is envied by those of us who are mustering up enough courage and moola to enhance body parts rarely seen by others. I am going for the ankle...

If these writings are the ingredients for a Recipe on "How to Have a Very Excellent Time With Family and Friends"...and I do believe that it is a "dash of this and a dash of that" that make the tried-and-true ordinary vacation extra-ordinary...then the special condiments for this vacation time are places, people and properties heretofore not included and if left out, said Recipe would turn out just a tad short of being "yummy" for the reader. We can't have that!

For instance...meeting up with "Shorty" Parrott and ex-Sheriff Bob Vogesser at Hy-Vees during our Bill Auerbach episode. Brothers of childhood friends, their stories and laughter added flavor to the tales that were being spread around fast and furiously, some true, others?...who knows! I'm betting "true" as there are no secrets from the past in a small town the size of ours; maybe some embellishment, of course, but all in great fun. My brother, Perle, would have loved this as he could "embellish" with the best of 'em! At the Class Reunion, we reconnected with Ardythe Anderson Hanson of Altoona (the cute cheerleader I was telling you about?) and Robert (Ozzie) Paul who, at the age of 86, drove all the way from Michigan alone to attend the Reunion. Ozzie was at one time a "near relative," his sister having been married to said Perle in their early twenties. The "topping" came in the form of a still-beautiful woman of 90 years of age who approached my table with a gleam in her eye and a smile on her face that forecast I was in for a "I don't believe it!" kind of moment. For sure! When she announced as her first name "Ethel" I knew it was the gorgeous gal that Perle introduced to our family when I was all of 10-11 years of age, and whom I had not seen since their relationship ended after about two years when her family moved. Ethel Sorensen (a widow now with family) was one of those early friends who took me under "her wings," in a most nurturing of ways: how to apply Tangee lipstick with a liner brush, how to put more bounce in my curly locks, tips on how to grow out of my tomboyish stage into more of a ladylike pre-teen...I adored Ethel for her wisdom and friendship when it wasn't really necessary. Well, for me it was! Perle was her first love, she told Mary and me at the Reunion, and I kinda think she still thinks of my brother as I do...with tender affection.

The whole town of Walnut was on our "must visit" list as all of that small town has been turned over to Antiques and is world-renowned for its treasures. Mary found several while Peggy and I waited in the Saturn and nibbled on the best home-made pecan rolls ever tasted from the bakery on the corner where we parked. Back in Atlantic on another day, we paid a quick trip to the super big Walmart which is just across the street from Super Eight to pick up some personal necessities..okay, snacks...and to Oinkers, more commonly known as The Pines, where they serve the cutest piggy-shaped pork chops on a French Roll that is out of this world when topped with their special barbecue sauce. Peggy took several bottles of that back to Des Moines, and I wished I had some in my refrigerator right now....good!

I remember The Pines in a more vivid way...when it was kinda okay for the teenagers to visit The Pines in the early 1940's for dancing (no imbibing)...I happened to be there (my one and only time and it was a peer-pressure thing) when the young and vivacious wife of a prominent lawyer actually got on top of a table and danced, in a twirly skirt. Have I told this story before? I do remember that I had seen my cousin, the Sheriff at that time, eating dinner with friends, but evidently he and party had left before this "scandalous act" took place. Nothing in the newspapers the next day, so I am supposing that this show-stopper was either not that unusual or not that well received. So, there you have it! In re-reading my notes so that this reporting will be complete, I must note that the very first thing we did after registering at Super Eight was to get into the Saturn, exit onto Seventh Street, proceed in a westerly direction, turn right at the First Presbyterian Church on Chestnut Street and drive slowly down the lately-renovated main street of town to the Atlantic Chamber of Commerce (the old railroad depot) at the end of those city blocks, then turn around to slowly trace our car tracks up the street that I had trodden on foot so many years ago...to school, to the Tyler Coca Cola plant, to the Whitney Bank, to shop at, among many, the J.C. Penneys, Spurgeons, Hoffman's Hardware, The Vogue, Bullocks and Abe Baker's Super Market, to the homes of friends who did not have that extreme privilege of living in Buck Town. Through misty eyes, I remembered it all...

A single-sentence inquiry early in the year 2001 to a young man, then living in Wasilla, Alaska, about a possible Derry "connection" has led to an exchange of paragraphs, letters, face-to-face conversations and, now, a book on the Family that binds us together. Yes, I am talking about D. "Doc" Derry, currently a resident of Atlantic, and without whom my three kids would not know the historical background of this very unique family. "Doc" has dedicated his life to digging into the Derry past and what a story he has to tell...in fact, "Letters from Aunt Ethel" will soon be in print, with pictures. Doc is also working on a second book while working full time at Heritage House...an amazing man! (And before "Doc" knew he was going to be a "subject" in this Blog, he nicely included on the cover a picture of a young Betty, age 19 or 20, next to one of Mt. Rushmore...they haven't aged a bit!)

In an e-mail exchange we promised to get together in August to learn more about Rhoda Derry, "Doc's" great-great aunt, and to introduce Mary to her cousin, several times removed. We met up with "Doc" and his love, Jeri, following our Omaha trip just described, at the China Buffet just down from Hy-Vee...we learned in detail about "A. Manual Bookbinder" (his sympathetic story is now on CD and once was played on YouTube) and about Rhoda, a tragic figure whose life of despair serves as an inspiration long after her demise. Brandon Camprecht, a young film producer/director in Peoria, Illinois, is now completing filming a story about her confinement as a mental patient in an Illinois facility and where "Bookbinder" played an important role in the telling of this poignant story. These are "bittersweet memories" as "Doc" likes to describe the life and times of his Aunt Rhoda who is not likely to be forgotten by those who have come after her.

And...neither will you "Doc!" Mary says her dad, Del, and "Doc" share a family resemblance around the eyes. "Doc's" family line and ours are well documented online through MyHeritage.com (family members are invited to join, just ask) but it is that personal connection on Friday, August 27, that will always remind me of how much we owe to one very personable young man who now carries on the family name of Derry (after 62 years following our departure) in "Sonny's" and my hometown....providential?

"As you have loved us, we love you..."
For whatever psychological reason I know not, I have never really felt a "pull" to visit the gravesites of cherished family members on any of the many trips we have made to Atlantic. Why was it so terribly important that all of our plans were made around visiting the five cemeteries this trip? On August 16th, I had no answer. On August 30th, I did. Delivered on the delicate wings of two very beautiful black butterflies...

With nieces Sherry at the wheel and Mary riding shotgun this time, we spent the morning and afternoon visiting the five cemeteries, and doing the odd jobs that my sister, Trudy, and her two kids, Peggy and Bus, would do prior to every holiday...pull weeds around the tombstones, leave flowers and in brother Kenny and Betty's case...leave Twinkies! I covered up Kenny's wrapped Twinkie with grass, and Peggy came along and uncovered the sugary delight..."It's for the birds, dummy!" "Oh, right! I knew that!" My thought was that the birds might think this was a scavenger hunt...I don't think Peg bought that for a minute. This was all new to me, remember. That bit of levity was parlayed into a most delightful and meaningful time of being with those "who had loved all of us" in that small party so well. And, so it went as we completed our mission at both sections of the Oakwood Cemetery near Lewis, at the Marne Cemetery, at the Flint Cemetery near Griswold, the Atlantic Cemetery, and finally the Wiota Cemetery where Del's parents rest side by side.

For reasons known only to herself, Del's Mom did not want a marker or headstone. Del and Mary had returned to Atlantic for her funeral, but in all the commotion, Mary could not remember the name of the cemetery, and I had not read the obituary for many years. Turning to Linda of the Carnegie Library we found that she was buried next to Harvey in the Wiota Cemetery and were given explicit directions on how to find her gravesite. Go to the east fence, walk down 21 rows and there would be her place. Not that easy...each one of our party taking off in every direction, looking carefully at every headstone (not knowing hers was unmarked at that time) we searched. This is what Mary Ray wrote in an e-mail to me just recently: "This is where the butterfly found Delbert's mother's grave and gently led Mary to her grandmother's and grandfather's graves. It is where we stomped through high grass and weeds."

I was farthest away from the girls when I heard someone cry out, "Here it is!" "Here" being Harvey's headstone. No sign of Mom's, and we knew not where to look from there on. Seemingly out of nowhere and attempting to fly into the brisk wind, came the first simply huge black butterfly, hovering over the space next to the tombstone. Not believing what we were witnessing, Mary took several pictures as the feeling began to sink in that where the butterfly was so determined to settle upon was sacred ground, Mom's gravesite. We left Wiota Cemetery with more determination than ever that our future Tattoos would be butterflies...black for me.

Oh, the second butterfly? The next morning I came out of the exit door of the Super Eight to store some stuff in the Saturn prior to being picked up by The Ensemble and heading for Omaha. As I opened the back passenger door, I heard a very slight "bump", looked down on the pavement and saw another most beautiful black butterfly which somehow had become entangled with a bit of black mass and could no longer fly. I hastened back to our room and told Mary and Peggy of what had just happened and Mary, with a box in her hand, gently scooped up this second buttefly. Yes, the butterfly did expire during the night and yes, it is now safely stored in Mary's curio that contains her treasures. A hard fact, we saw no other black butterflies before or after this occasion.

I am still pondering this as I write about this unbelievable experience: If this second butterfly was also the first butterfly, and we are talking two different makes of cars here, and if we left the first butterfly in Wiota and we are now in Atlantic, a few miles away...how is that possible? OR...in another scenario where this is a case of "two distinct and separate" butterflies, what force of nature led this second butterfly to become attached to the Saturn for us to discover? The parking lot was filled with every make of car at that time of the morning and yet...the Saturn? Confirmation of what transpired at the Wiota Cemetery? Some things are not meant to be understood completely but accepted in Faith and that is good enough for me...

Having flunked "Farewell 101" lo' these many years, the test of saying "Good-by" to the Cranston Clan in Atlantic and Des Moines was one I had, again, few hopes of "passing"....but if it took meeting at Perkins on our last Sunday evening (6 p.m. and be there) following our Class Reunion in Atlantic and a buffet breakfast at Prairie Meadow in Altoona on Monday (the 30th) and a last lunch at The Machine Shed at noon to boost my grade, then so be it! There is just something about "The Cranston Ambiance" that exudes over any "happy meal" we share, whether it be for "food for thought" or "soul food." We all played our roles to perfection and if anybody deserves an "A" for Comportment, I am your girl. The welcomed hugs, kisses and "So Long!" sent us on our way to the Des Moines Airport in time to catch our evening flight...comforted by the fact that our California family would be waiting.

The return trip home to California would have been uneventful except for the very thorough security search given to me free gratis at the Des Moines Airport. Had they heard we were denuding the landscapes of Iowa of rocks? I was given the most thorough of searches by the most courteous of guards...is my name on some sort of register that comes up each time I fly? In a joking remark to another fellow passenger, I said I got everything done but a massage. At which time, my new best friend came over and gently rubbed my right shoulder; and I said, "Thank you!" and exited laughing...

To all the friends and family we have left behind in Atlantic and Des Moines, please know that Mary and I will treasure all the moments you shared with us ... "As you have loved us, we love you!" 'Til we meet again!