Janet's Blog

It's Leap Day, that extra day, every four years, When February 29th arrives, to great cheers, Especially from those poor, sad souls  Who haven't celebrated an actual birthday in one thousand, four hundred sixty days. WHEW! That overdue, "Happy Birthday" song must be music to their ears. How did Caesar figure it out, more than 2,000 years ago? No calculators, no adding machines,  No computers to help them make sense of their schemes.  But those Romans were smart, when they added a day To the month of February, in just this way, to make the calendar right. So if you're grateful for Leap Day, you know who to thank-- Some intelligent Romans from Caesar's think tank. It's Leap Day, at last,  Still waters run deep day,  Don't be a creep day, Earn your own keep day... As you sow, you also shall reap. A supernumerary day, extra special in every way, But it is what you make it, nothing more. Think of the treasures that might be in store.

Diversity--it's a big buzz word these days. All people are urged to accept anyone and everyone, no matter their race, ethnicity, religion, culture, gender, sexual orientation, age, social status, physical ability or appearance, values, national origin, or political beliefs. I am sure that I have left some things off of this list, but you get the idea. I have no problem with diversity. Jesus implores all of us to love our neighbors as ourselves, so it's hard to argue that any people should be treated poorly just because they are different than we are. There is only one issue: I've noticed that numerous, vocal people in our American society want everyone to champion every single cause listed above, with no room for individual,  diverse beliefs. To put it more plainly, some people insist that we agree with every possible belief, value, or identity, regardless of our personal convictions about right and wrong.  Newsflash: Even though I may disagree with you abo

I was just sixteen, the first time I rounded up some friends to sing in the nursing homes in Fairbury. It was summer, so we had some time available. And, I loved the new-found independence that came with having a driver's license and a vehicle to drive. The vehicle was unconventional, to say the least, but the old, yellow, converted mail van/catering van was perfect for hauling several girls and guitars. The only seat was the driver's seat, unless you counted the folding chair that slid toward the back of the van whenever the driver used the brake. For the most part, my passengers sprawled on the cold, metal floor in the back of the van, or perched carefully on one of the raised wheel covers. We usually met in the early afternoon once every week, or so, in my church's parking lot, because Grace Lutheran Church was located just a few blocks from the nursing homes. When our youth leader noticed what we were doing, he decided he wanted to organize us, and open up our minis

Frances was a woman of indiscriminate age, with scraggly hair that people would have called dishwater blond. She was thin, too thin, really. She always wore faded, cotton house dresses. She never made eye-contact with anyone. I remember when she first came to work at the Hotel Mary-Etta, sometime in the mid to late 1960s. Some agency made arrangements with Mom to hire her. I suppose that her wages might have been government-subsidized, and I'm sure she received some extra job training and supervision. Frances was an outcast, of sorts, because she had mental health issues. She was always talking to herself and the voices she heard, in a high-pitched little voice. Sometimes she even argued with herself. She didn't talk much to the people around her, just answering direct questions with a yes or no, while gazing off to one side, or scrutinizing some tiny spot on the floor. But she was able to wash dishes by hand, in the tiny dish room just off the Mary-Etta Cafe. The other