Janet's Blog

Our house shares a double-sized corner lot with fifteen trees.  The trees provide wonderful shade for the yard and house, but they also drop plenty of branches whenever the wind blows.  Here in western Nebraska, that's practically every day.  For seventeen years, I've been tossing the smallest twigs into the flower beds and kids' play spaces in hopes that they will eventually be trampled into mulch.  The biggest branches go into a pile to be cut into firewood or taken to the tree dump, and I usually cram the rest of the branches into the dumpster.  But, no more! When Bill was in Denver this week, he bought me a new toy--er--I mean, tool.  It's even better than the hose reel he brought home last week.  It's something I've been wanting for years--an electric wood chipper.  Bill bought a new extension cord to go with it, and a black vinyl grill cover to protect it when we're not using it.  He put the chipper together and tried it out briefly, then reminded m

Mom always said that she and Dad raised us kids to be independent.  If independence means that we think for ourselves and don't follow the crowd, then they succeeded.  You might say that we each march to the beat of a different drummer.  But being different isn't necessarily intentional, and it isn't always easy.  I've often identified with Kermit the Frog, who sang "It Isn't Easy Being Green."  But I noticed that even Kermit usually made the best of whatever his so-called life had to offer. My siblings and I were the only kids we knew who lived in an apartment in a hotel.  We worked in the family business, even when we were very young, because we were needed.  My first cooking experiences were not on a kitchen stove, but on the flat grill in the Mary-Etta Cafe.  Since we didn't have a yard to play in, we spent long afternoons in Fairbury's beautiful parks, and my family went for extensive walks in the country long before hiking became popular. 

On the second floor of the Mary-Etta, there was a room, kind of like a small lobby, called the Drummers' Retreat.  The west windows looked out over the roof and skylights above the party rooms, and on across to another brick wall, but the room was often sunny and inviting for people who wanted to smoke or read or conduct a small, private meeting.  The Drummers' Retreat was furnished with Stickley-style mission oak chairs and end tables, along with the mandatory ash trays and a few old magazines.  One summer, though, Mom and Dad set up several beds to make a temporary dormitory for railroad workers who came to town after a train derailment near Jansen.  (Mom told me later that the derailment became a tremendous blessing for us, because the hotel was filled to overflowing for several weeks while the workers cleaned up the huge mess.) Once in a while, when both of the party rooms were in use, tables and chairs were set up in the Drummers' Retreat to serve a meal to a third g

My friend, Nancy, suggested that I write a blog about Merthiolate.  If you're younger than fifty, you probably don't have a clue about that icky orange stuff.  I hadn't thought about it in years--some things are best forgotten. Merthiolate, and its cousin, Mercurochrome, were common antiseptic solutions that used to be applied to skinned knees and minor cuts.  They were watery liquids, bright orange in color, that killed germs.  Unfortunately, that drippy antiseptic stung, a lot, and smelled bad, too.  The telltale orange stain remained on your skin for days until it finally wore off.  These days, kids are quick to run to any available adult whenever they have the least little scratch, in hopes of receiving a Band Aid decorated with a picture of a favorite cartoon character.  Trust me, when I was a child, kids did not mention minor injuries, for fear of that nasty Merthiolate.  We might have been more willing to receive First Aid if Band Aids had come with pictures on th

We just returned from an overnight trip to the family ranch near Gordon.  It was great to see Mom and Dad, and Uncle Gary, but we didn't get to do any hiking like we usually do, because it rained for most of the short time we were there.  This time, though, the wildlife came to us. As soon as we arrived, Meagan claimed a bedroom for herself, which should have been a rare treat for her.  She went to bed soon after Victoria and Levi crawled into their sleeping bags in the dormitory.  Mom and I were still sitting at the dining room table, talking, when Meagan suddenly dashed out of her bedroom, slamming the door behind her.  She had been lying in the darkened bedroom, nearly asleep, when she noticed the sound of something flying around the room.  At first, she thought it was a moth, but when she opened her eyes, she could just barely see a rather large creature flying around and around near the ceiling.  It was either a giant moth or--a bat!  That's when Meagan bailed. Dad sle

I don't watch much reality TV, but I can't help hearing about it.  Each show is all about a group of people, previously unknown to each other, working together (or not) to meet certain difficult challenges on the way toward establishing a winner, who usually walks away with a wad of money.  Along the way, people are placed onto somewhat arbitrary teams.  Individuals make and break friendships, sometimes called alliances, with little lasting regard for anyone except self.  Backstabbing gossip is a mainstay of reality TV.  Periodically, a person who is determined to be the weakest link is voted off the show. So, I wonder, what would happen if a group of Christians got together to film a TV reality show?  Would they all work together, willingly, toward a common goal, or would they break up into several self-serving denominations?  Would people offer encouragement to each other, and pray for each other, regardless of denomination or perceived sin, or would they offer self-righteo

My preschoolers love the movie, Cars .  Most of my little boys, and quite a few of the girls, too, can name all of the movie characters.  We see lots of cars, of many kinds, for Show and Tell.  I'm always amazed at the little boys who can identify every Match Box car by make and model. Victoria, at fifteen, has been studying hard so she can take her test to get her learner's permit.  She's been noticing cars lately, too, wondering what kind of car she'll be driving someday.  I remember riding in several family cars, mostly Fords and Ramblers, when I was growing up.  I was fascinated with my Grandpa Wegner's Chevy because he could magically remove the key from the ignition while he was driving.  Station wagons were popular in the 1960's, especially with large families, because all of the extra passengers and pets could ride in the back.  Seat belts and safe children's car seats didn't exist, so a station wagon could easily be filled with ten or twelv

Flags are flying high above the city streets. We're planning a picnic with Bill's sister and her family--hamburgers and hot dogs on the grill, salads, chips, and watermelon.  Levi is begging to buy fireworks.  We look forward to seeing some magnificent fireworks displays in our neighborhood.  It looks like a typical Fourth of July again this year. When I was very small, I remember sitting outside under the yard light on Grandma and Grandpa's farm, watching as my dad and uncles got the fireworks ready.  Someone would run to the house to turn off the yard light so we could see the show against the darkened sky.  Then, the yard light would be turned on again so they could get more fireworks ready.  Even as young children, we were allowed to wave sparklers around and around, reveling in the magic of their colorful, sparkling lights.  We always expected a few minor burns and a few mosquito bites, but it was worth it. When we moved to Norfolk, my dad shot off bottle rockets