Janet's Blog

It was a young girl's dream--a whole room full of dolls. And, not just any dolls. No, the walls in that room were lined with shelf after shelf, each one filled with breakable, keepsake dolls, beautifully dressed, rarely touched except to be dusted, never played with, but obviously treasured. I'm talking about Mary Thurber's dolls.   Miss Thurber was my Girl Scout leader during my late elementary and Junior High years. She lived, with her mother, in a small, yellow house just a block or so away from the Episcopal church where our Girl Scout troop met every week. Miss Thurber had some sort of health problem that made walking difficult, so that she sometimes had to resort to using a wheelchair. I still don't know how she made it up and down those steep stairs that led to our basement meeting room in the church. Mary Thurber was a dedicated, creative scout leader. I remember singing folk songs at every meeting, and trying out new recipes in the church kitc...

I've been feeling a lot like the peanut butter in the middle of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Or, maybe I'm the jelly. Either way, I'm beginning to understand the meaning of the phrase, "sandwich generation." The sandwich generation is so named because we are effectively "sandwiched" between the need to care for our aging parents and our children, who may all require physical, emotional, and financial support. Everyone who lives a relatively normal life will get to be the bread, as well as the filling, in the sandwich of life. The oldest and youngest generations, the bread, naturally need support from the middle generation, the peanut butter and jelly. Just as bread comes in many varieties--wheat, rye, sourdough, vitamin enriched, flat or raised--we all come with assorted needs and personalities. Each family is unique, with its own mix of people to love and care for. Think about a pbj sandwich for a minute. The sticky peanut butter is the glu...

I didn't need a coat when I was working in the yard today.  The grass is still green and growing, even though a small patch of snow was melting in the shade.  My rose bushes still have leaves and slightly faded blossoms.  The parsley, oregano, and thyme are lush and green, just waiting for me to pick it all, and dry it tomorrow  The purple petunias in my barrel are still blooming beautifully. It's the middle of November!  Yes, we've had frost.  It even snowed a couple of inches on Wednesday.  But, for the most part, we've enjoyed a beautiful fall, with balmy daytime temperatures and little wind.  It's been quite a contrast to last year, when the snowy, bitter weather began in early September, and continued into mid-May. I've heard that we can thank El Nino for our temperate fall and the predicted mild, wet winter yet to come.  It's hard to believe that warmer-than-usual water in the Pacific Ocean can effect the weather here in the midd...

It's November--time to think about what I'm thankful for this year.  I am glad that our country has a long-standing holiday set aside for thankfulness, to help us remember that there are so many reasons to thank God for his blessings.  That doesn't mean that we aren't thankful during the other eleven months, though.  I guess that our fall Thanksgiving season just serves to focus our thoughts, to help us remember how blessed we are all year long.  So, in no particular order, here are the top ten things that I am thanking God for this year: Bill survived a heart attack in April, and is doing well since then. Victoria is working hard at college, and is happy there. Levi is having a good school year; I am especially grateful for his caring sixth-grade teachers. Erin moved to Cheyenne this summer; she is thriving in her new job as director of instrumental music at LCCC, and we are thrilled to be able to see her often. Meagan and Andy live close enough that we can s...

It was Thanksgiving, 1982.  I was pregnant with Erin, the baby we had yearned for for such a long time.  We had just moved back to Nebraska from Michigan that September.  Even though we had been married for almost eight years, it was the first time Bill and I had ever celebrated Thanksgiving together with his family in Gering. The food was amazing, as usual.  Bill's grandmas were both excellent cooks, and his mother was proficient, as well, even though she always said she hated to cook.  The smell of that succulent turkey wafted throughout the kitchen and family room as we seated ourselves at the extended dining table. Then, before we could enjoy the beckoning feast, even before we said grace, someone, probably Bill's Grandma Lucas, asked us to "go around the table" and each tell one thing we were thankful for that year. I was totally overwhelmed.  How could I express my feelings of thankfulness out loud, without crying, to that group of people I b...