Janet's Blog

The house is decorated, inside and out. Shopping is done and homemade gifts are finished: plenty of presents are waiting, under the tree. Groceries have been purchased and recipes are lying on the counter, ready for cooking to commence. Schedules have been arranged and rearranged to accommodate everyone's plans. Christmas is nearly here. It's a busy time for my family, as well as yours. It's been a hectic year, full of the ups and downs that come with life. Bill has been working even harder than usual this year, often spending a week or two out of every month in Alabama, near Birmingham, working on a cable TV/internet project--except in the spring, during track season, when Bill coached the pole vaulters from Gering High School. Bill has also decided that a good coach needs to know what he's doing, firsthand, so he has been vaulting, too. He was excited to win first place for his age group at the Cornhusker State Games in Lincoln this year, with a vault of seven

It was a windy day, a few weeks ago, when Victoria chauffeured me down south of Gering, for lunch at a diner on the hill. As we drove, we couldn't help but notice the tumbleweeds blowing across the road and stuck in the fences that line the four-lane highway. So, we started talking about tumbleweeds, and how some enterprising citizens of the high plains have actually collected tumbleweeds to sell on e-bay for big bucks. It isn't too hard to find tumbleweeds around here. The prolific, green weeds grow in the ditches and along fence lines, every summer.  In the fall, tumbleweeds become tan and brittle, making it easy for a brisk breeze to break their stems. Then, they are off, tumbling across the fields and roads, dropping their seeds as they roll across the plains, until they gather in their final resting places, in protected shelter belts and against buildings and fences.  No, it wouldn't be hard to find tumbleweeds here. But, if we decided to actually sell them, we

'Tis the season, when many of my Hispanic friends are busy making tamales for Christmas. Since tamales are such a labor-intensive favorite, they are usually made only for holidays and special occasions. Then, several people often get together to share the work and fun, before they share the fruit of their labor with their friends and families. When I was growing up in the Hotel MaryEtta in Fairbury, I knew exactly one person of Mexican heritage. Tanya Aranda worked in the hotel as a dishwasher, and sometimes, as a maid. She was a short woman with gray hair, who lived with her husband, Pedro, (I think that was his name) in a little house under the viaduct. I know where she lived because Mom would sometimes provide transportation for her, to and from work, especially when the weather was too cold for her to comfortably walk the mile or so between her house and the hotel. Tanya was a hard worker, and a loyal, reliable employee, who was willing to work anywhere she was neede

At the age of 40, John Glenn was the first American to orbit the Earth in a space capsule. He died today at the age of 95, and with him, a large part of our country's history is gone, too. Back when I was growing up in Norfolk, and then in Fairbury, Nebraska, everyone knew John Glenn's name. He was always called by both names, John and Glenn, never just John or Mr. Glenn. He was the one and only John Glenn--a household name, and a legend from the very day he orbited the Earth. It only took five hours on February 20, 1962, for John Glenn to circle the Earth three times, but in that brief period, he became a national hero, joining the ranks of other adventuresome Americans, like Lewis and Clark, and Charles Lindbergh, and the Wright brothers. And, even better, he proved that America had what it took to keep up with, and maybe even surpass, the Russians, who had been the first in the world to send a manned spacecraft around the Earth. And so, the great Space Race was on its wa

It's a familiar image: an angel on one shoulder and the devil on the other, each trying to influence a person toward good or evil. And it's a familiar feeling, too, that of being pulled in two different directions at the same time. Sometimes it's just plain hard to know what to do. Obviously, we don't really have angels and demons sitting on our shoulders, vying for our attention. Yet, God's Holy Spirit lives within each of the people who have accepted his gracious gift of a Savior. And, we can't deny that the Evil One tries constantly to derail our attempts to do God's bidding. Sometimes, that sneaky devil does his best to deceive me, just as he tempted Adam and Eve in the garden, saying  "Did God really say that?" (Genesis 3:1) Recently, I've been hearing a lot of the devil's taunts: "You're wasting your time writing that book!  No one will want to read it.  You'll never be able to find a publisher.  Writers are

It's that time of year again. Thanksgiving is past, and Christmas is yet to come. Except... Except that some of us choose to celebrate some type of "thanksgiving" all year long. Some of us long to thank God everyday for everything he does for us, because one day' s thanks can't begin to account for all of his blessings. Some blessings are obvious, like food and family. Others are less tangible, but still essential. We take so much for granted, don't we? Yet, without God's love for us, we wouldn't have air to breathe, gravity to hold us down on the ground, or the know-how to fabricate our homes and cars. Without God, we wouldn't have our bodies, so "fearfully and wonderfully made." Without God's grace, we would cease to exist. Now that our national holiday of thankfulness has passed, we look ahead to Christmas. Except... Except that the stores and malls have been looking ahead to Christmas for far too long already. Commercial

I've been putting off the job for months. The mere thought of cleaning the basement has been overwhelming. Besides the normal clutter, the basement has been crammed full of my teaching supplies, as well as a few boxes of dishes and glassware that belonged to Aunt Ellen. Our basement has been so crowded with extra stuff that we've had a hard time putting things where they belong, so it's become more convenient to just drop things on the closest available surface. But now, I can't put it off any longer. So, for the last few days, with time off for Thanksgiving, Victoria and I have been working in the basement for a couple of hours a day. So far, we have bagged up an overflowing barrel full of old clothes for Goodwill, and we've packed another huge bag of worn towels to donate to the Humane Society. I've found a winter coat and snow boots that will fit Tobin, and Victoria has saved a few "quality items" for future use, when she has a home of her own.

A few weeks ago, I received a friend request on Facebook, from a woman I didn't know. That happens occasionally, and I usually just delete the request. But, this time, the last name was one I recognized, so I left the request alone, and decided to wait and see what happened. I didn't have to wait long. One evening, a few days later, Brenda Bullock called me and explained who she was. And, just like that, a wealth of memories came flooding back to me. This story begins about forty-five years ago, when I was in high school. When my new friend, Shari Luehring, was a freshman at Fairbury High School, she boarded in town with her grandma during the week, and drove home for the weekends, because home was more than half an hour away, even when the weather was good, down on the Kansas state line near Hollenberg. That year, Shari and I got together often after school, at her grandma's house, to play guitars and sing together. By the time we were sophomores, Shari's brother, Br

Our youngest daughter, Victoria, turned 21 today. In honor of the occasion, she drove us the twenty miles south of Gering to the old Hilltop Cafe, now re-imagined as the Double L Country Store and Cafe. We enjoyed a marvelous, diner-style lunch, along with some good conversation, before she drove us home again. Driving hasn't come easily for Victoria. She is finally beginning to be a confident driver, and will soon be ready to graduate from her third learner's permit to a full-fledged driver's license. Victoria's life hasn't always been easy. As a young child, she was shunted from one caregiver to another until she was finally placed with a nurturing foster family when she was almost four years old. The following summer, I spotted her picture on a Nebraska HHS website for adoptable children. Early in our marriage, Bill and I had discussed adoption as a way to expand our family, but it was more than twenty years later before we were able to pursue that possibil

When Victoria was just learning to read, I bought her a book entitled "One Sad, Glad Man," about a sad, lonely man who kept accumulating pets, two of one kind, three of another, until his home was filled with pets and happiness. For all I know, that book might have influenced Victoria's lifelong love of animals. This particular book came to mind recently when I was thinking of a pastor I knew, years ago. He was really the first pastor I knew well, because I sat in his office, along with eleven other eighth graders, every Saturday morning for almost a year, as we prepared for confirmation. He was the Lutheran pastor who confirmed me and, a few years later, he married Bill and me. It was a sad story that led Pastor B and his family to move to Fairbury, all the way from Hawaii. You see, his wife had recently died of cancer, leaving him to raise their four young children, who ranged in age from two to about twelve. Pastor B's sister, Dorothy, had been working in Hawai

A couple of weeks ago, I published a blog called  "A Matter of Integrity."  In it, I suggested that undecided voters should take the time to check out all of this year's presidential candidates, including the marginal, third-party candidates. Well, I've followed my own advice, and discovered that the lesser-known candidates seem to be just as flaky as the two main party candidates. Have I mentioned how frustrated I am with this year's presidential choices? I've been comparing this election with previous elections, and I've come up with the not-so-novel opinion that the main difference this year is the negative, and often exaggerated, media coverage of every candidate. Recently, a friend of mine wondered aloud why any decent person would ever consider running for president, knowing that the media would rake up every little mistake he or she has ever made or, if mistakes were hard to find, would fabricate the "news" needed to attract readers/l

I hit the wall last night. Yes, I literally hit the wall, or, I guess I should say, the  door. I had turned out the family room lights and was walking down the hall to get ready for bed when I remembered that I needed to move the wet laundry from the washer to the dryer. So, I scurried through the kitchen to the basement, switched the laundry, and headed back upstairs. This time, though, I strode through the dark family room toward the bedroom and, forgetting that the pocket door leading to the hallway was closed, I charged right into that solid, wooden door. "Ouch!" doesn't even begin to describe the pain! My nose is still tender today, and I've had a splitting headache all day long. As a result, I can honestly say that I understand the true meaning of that idiom, "hit the wall." Our oldest daughter, Erin was about fifteen when she really, truly, hit the wall. She was up long before the sun, just about ready to leave the house to catch an early morning

integrity : doing the right thing even when no one else is watching This is Levi's working definition of integrity. He knows what the word means, and can quote the definition at will, but that doesn't mean he can always live a life of integrity. We have been working hard on the concept of personal integrity, and we are making slow progress, but it has become increasingly harder to find good role models for him to imitate. And, when we look to our nation's presidential candidates this fall, the task becomes nearly impossible. I am not, by nature, a political person. I am not interested in arguing with anyone about the upcoming election, or the merits (or lack thereof) of any of the current candidates for president. I am not writing this article for those of you who have already made up your mind to vote for either one of the main party candidates because you agree with the party's platform and the candidate's interpretation of that platform. If you are wholeheart

When I was in late grade school and Junior High, my summer days were well-scripted. Most days, I slept in until 9:00 or so, then got dressed, and had breakfast, and read until lunch time. Technically, I was probably supposed to be monitoring Dan and Laura, if they were in the apartment and not following Mom or Dad around the hotel, but realistically, they didn't need much oversight, since they were probably reading, too, or watching TV, or playing quietly. In the summer, we usually ate lunch in the MaryEtta Cafe, because when Mom worked in the hotel in the mornings, she certainly didn't have time to fix lunch for the family. Then, after lunch, I often watched a couple of game shows on the lobby television (more about that later) and walked, or rode my bike, to the library, three blocks north of the hotel, to return the books I had checked out a day or two earlier, and check out four more. At 2:45 every summer afternoon, my presence was expected in the cafe, to wait on co

I walked out to the garden this evening to pick anything that was ripe--more green beans than I was expecting, a solitary cucumber, a wealth of little grape tomatoes, several Romas, and two nice, plump Beefsteak tomatoes. It was a good harvest for a balmy, early October day. And the biggest tomatoes were just perfect for BLTs! I've loved bacon, lettuce, and tomato sandwiches for as long as I can remember. I've ordered toothpick-skewered, triple-decker sandwiches from a restaurant, now and then, over the years. They are a little hard to eat, but always savory and delicious. I prefer my BLTs on two slices of whole wheat or whole grain bread, lightly toasted, with nice, crisp bacon, a little crunchy, green lettuce, and thin-sliced, garden fresh tomatoes. And, in my family, we always serve BLT's the Bauer way, with a fried egg inside. We started making our BLTs with eggs when our girls were little, when we figured out that Erin really didn't like tomatoes. So, to fill

At the present time, it is estimated that 20% of the children in any public school classroom have been diagnosed with a mental health disorder. 20%! That's five children in an average-sized class of twenty-five. This statistic doesn't include those children who, for one reason or another, have never received a diagnosis for their unconventional behaviors. As a former teacher, and as a parent of children with mental health concerns, I don't doubt this number at all. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if the number were higher. But, the question remains: Why are there so many kids with mental health diagnoses, like ADHD (Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder), autism, depression, bipolar disorder, reactive attachment disorder, and numerous other behavioral disorders? I don't remember having any classmates who routinely disrupted classes when I was a child. Children with special needs were usually sent away to some kind of special school, but even so, there just