Janet's Blog

My family has always been a feather pillow family. As long as I can remember, my maternal grandma kept everyone well-supplied with pillows. I'm sure she cleaned old pillows and recycled the feathers into new ticking from time to time. Or, maybe, like Bill's grandma, she took her old pillows to the dry cleaners to be cleaned and reticked. Some of her pillows contained fresh feathers or goose down, obtained from a local, northeastern Nebraska farmer, because she did not raise any kind of feather- or down-producing fowl herself. When I was visiting Mom and Dad last week, I had a chance to go through some old suitcases filled with century-old, family photographs. I enjoyed seeing photos of my mom and grandparents as young children, as well as vintage photos of some great-grandparents I never knew. One photo stood out. At the turn of the twentieth century, when photography was still in its infancy, it was common for rural Nebraska families to be photographed outside their homes, wit

I was sitting on my stool at the front of the church on Sunday, mostly hidden behind my music stand, as usual. The worship team was playing The Wonderful Cross ,   which is an updated version of When I Survey the Wondrous Cross. The verses are the same hymn I've known my whole life, with an additional chorus. This particular version of the song calls for the bass, and most other instruments, to play only a D for the entire verse, with other appropriate chords added just during the chorus. I have the verses memorized, and I can play an open D with my eyes closed and my left hand tied behind my back, so I didn't need to look at my music. At first, I glanced at the rear screen, where the lyrics are displayed for the onstage singers to see, but since I already knew the words, my gaze shifted across the singing congregation. I couldn't help but notice the family standing right in front, some singing, but most struggling to keep from crying. The elderly man on the end was sitting