Janet's Blog

When I was in the fourth grade at East Ward School in Fairbury, my teacher's name--by some coincidence that would only become apparent to me decades later--was named Mrs. Bauer. She was a good teacher, patient and kind. Her classroom was invariably calm. My classmates worked hard and generally did everything Mrs. Bauer required. (As I look at the photo below, I can't help but think that the overall class character was heavily influenced by the overwhelming number of girls in the class.) After all these years, I'm surprised that I remember the names of 90% of the kids in this photo. I'm standing in the middle row, second from the left. I was a good student. I loved to read, and arithmetic was always easy for me. I remember how Mrs. Bauer would assign our daily arithmetic assignments, always giving us ample time to complete the work in class. That year, long division was the newest, hardest thing we had to learn, but I caught on quickly. Not everyone did. Mrs. Bauer direc...

Our floral couch sat in the living room for more than 25 years. We hadn't had it for too long when we celebrated November birthdays in 2000. That birthday party was special because it was Victoria's first birthday with us, her new forever family. She had lived in our house permanently for exactly one week. The couch was a perfect spot for a picture to commemorate the day. Bill's mother, Beth, was celebrating her 74th birthday that day, while Victoria was turning five years old, and Bill had just turned 46.  I remember going shopping for a new couch for the family room, sometime in the late 1990s. I didn't expect to be able to buy a new living room couch, too, but the furniture store was having a fantastic sale. So we bought a new couch for the family room, as we had intended, and a beautiful, floral couch for the living room—two for the price of one. That family room couch served us well, and was replaced at least a decade ago. The living room couch wasn't used near...

I read an article recently, stating emphatically that capris are out . Capris, defined as “close fitting women’s pants that end above the ankle,” or alternately, “just below the knee,” have been quite popular for more than a decade, this time, but lately we have been told that only unfashionable, old women choose to wear them, despite their practicality. Capris are considered, by some, to be unflattering because the hem often bisects the leg right at the widest part of the calf, making the legs look “stumpy, and cutting the line of the body at its most awkward point.” One commentator asserted that capris make a woman look like she is “standing in a ditch.” Some fashionistas further claim that capris are often over-embellished with cuffs, obvious pockets, and other details on the legs, making them even more tacky.  Victoria and me, about 15 years ago, in our "unfashionable" capris The name of these three-quarter length pants comes from the Italian Isle of Capri, where they fir...

All around me, it seems like people are talking about the importance of being "transparent." By this, they mean that we need to stop sharing only the good things in our lives, so we can present a more balanced picture of the struggles we all face from time to time. I understand that honesty is a fundamental value; I truly believe that honesty is still the best policy. I also understand the need to share our experiences, even the negative ones, with people who are going through the same kinds of struggles. It can be greatly comforting to hear how someone else has overcome similar challenges. It is encouraging to share common experiences with people who face the same kinds of daily battles that we do. That's why support groups flourish. When the sun is shining brightly, it's wonderful to let the light in--except when it shines in our eyes. All windows, especially the clearest and cleanest ones, benefit from blinds. Let's face it, though: none of us are sparkling...

Skinny jeans are in style or, perhaps I should say, back in style. When I was a girl, jeans weren't a style choice at all. Some workmen wore them, and farm kids wore them, too, but rarely in town. Jeans were for riding horses--and mucking out the chicken coop. By the late fifties and early sixties, teenage boys were wearing slim fitting jeans, with rolled up cuffs, but girls still wore dresses to school and church. If girls wore jeans at all, they were riding horses--or doing chores. I don't remember when I got my first pair of regular blue jeans, but I'm guessing it was in the late 1960s. Then, they would have been boy's jeans that needed to be tailored to fit me. Mom was the tailor, and I was the picky one. I don't know why I insisted that my jeans should be skinny. I was pretty skinny myself, and the boy's jeans were not, so I'm sure that had something to do with it. Mom didn't complain too much about taking a couple of tucks in the waist band, ...

For several months, I've been thinking of writing a blog about being in the zone, but the time hasn't been quite right. I guess I have to be in the zone to write about being in the zone. According to Wikipedia, being in the zone is "the mental state of operation in which a person performing an activity is fully immersed in a feeling of energized focus, full involvement, and enjoyment in the process of the activity. If you are in the zone, you are happy or excited because you are doing something very skillfully and easily." Conversely, if you zone out,  you become oblivious to your surroundings, especially in order to relax.  Levi is certainly in the zone when he is playing Minecraft or using the computer, but at the same time, he is zoned out to the people around him. Victoria zones out while she is texting her boyfriend, but I don't know if she necessarily has to be in the zone to do so. Sometimes I think she has to be in the zone to do anything els...

I'm sure you've seen a cute picture, perhaps in a child's story book, of a darling little fairy sitting on a stylized toadstool. But, just in case you don't know what I mean, here's a perfect example: Very cute, but very wrong ! I am currently fighting my own, private, toadstool war, and it's anything but cute.  When we lived in Michigan, I was amazed at the variety of colorful mushrooms we found when we hiked in the woods. Those large, inedible fungi were eerily beautiful. Even the edible morels, considered to be a delightful delicacy among those who knew where to find them, were at least interesting to look at, as well as delicious. But, thankfully, the mushrooms in Michigan stayed out of my yard. For the past couple of years, ever since we had to remove the huge hackberry tree that  shaded our back yard, I've been fighting some prolific toadstool colonies that feed on the decaying, underground roots of that old tree.  This spring has been wett...

Sleep--who needs it? Sometimes, I wish I could do without it. Just think, if I didn't have to sleep, I could accomplish so much more in a 24-hour period of time. Without sleep, I would have plenty of time to clean the house, do the laundry, home-school Levi, try out a new recipe, even watch an occasional movie.  I would have time to paint more pictures and write more music. I could schedule extra quality time with the grandkids. Oh, the books I could read, and write!  Limitless energy would be quite a gift, wouldn't it? Yet God, in his wisdom, made us with a need for sleep. As we are reminded, in Psalm 127:2, In vain you rise early and stay up late, toiling for food to eat— for he grants sleep to those he loves.  "He grants sleep to those he loves." That's a little hard to grasp. It is challenging to think of sleep as a gift, when we are so enmeshed in useful activity. It's go-go-go, from dawn to midnight, as we rush from one diversion to another....

I have a theory about food. I've given it plenty of thought, and I've come to the conclusion that the foods we enjoy most are those that have, at some time in our lives, been forbidden or, simply, unavailable. My parents were born during the Great Depression, and grew up during World War II. Food was relatively scarce in the Dust Bowl, where the unreliable rains hardly ever watered the parched ground, and the topsoil blew away into the darkening sky. People in middle America ate whatever meager crops they could grow, and hunted for squirrels and rabbits and deer, and any other animals that might provide a little meat for their families. Jobs were hard to come by, and times were bleak in our country. Then, just as the drought was ending, World War II erupted in Europe and Asia, and young American men, who couldn't find jobs at home, enlisted in the armed forces and joined the war effort abroad. Before too long, there weren't enough men to fill the crucial jobs, so yo...

I'm usually the last one to go to bed. But it hasn't always been this way. Before Bill and I had kids, we watched the late news on television, and then turned in for the night. But after our first baby arrived, things changed. Sometimes, Erin needed to be fed or was fussy or, more likely, she just didn't want to go to sleep because she might miss something. When Meagan arrived a few years later, she was a much better sleeper, but I don't think Erin has ever gotten past her night owl tendencies. And neither have I. I've read recently that introverts, like me, need some alone time to recharge their batteries. Over the years, as my life has gotten busier, my only chance to be alone comes late in the evening, after everyone else is in bed. That's when I usually write my blog, or read a good book, or watch a TV program of my own choosing, without interruption. For the last several months, I find myself waiting until 11:00, or a little later, for Victoria to get...

We had a major leak in our main indoor water line on Saturday night, which meant that we had to turn off the water overnight and for most of the day on Sunday, until Bill had time to tackle his least favorite pastime--plumbing. He had fixed that particular pipe once before, so it didn't take him long to repair the leak on Sunday afternoon, after he rounded up the supplies he needed. Before we shut off the water, we had filled some pitchers with water, and we turned the water on again, just long enough to take some quick showers, but I realized, in a hurry, just how fortunate we are to have mostly reliable, hot and cold running water. After making do with pitchers of cold water for a few hours, I would definitely rank indoor plumbing as one of the greatest inventions of all time. That incident started me thinking about the basic amenities, as well as the luxuries, we all take for granted here in the US.  The question is, how far back do we go to find the best inventions ever...

There I was, flat on my back, inside a tube, preparing for take off. 10, 9, 8, 7... It wasn't my first MRI, or even the second. I've had several over the years, just to monitor an anomaly in my brain that was discovered twenty-some years ago when my doctor was looking for something else. Nothing ever changes, but we have to check on it occasionally to make sure. So, there I was... According to  mayoclinic.org ,   "Magnetic Resonance Imaging (MRI) is a technique that uses a magnetic field and radio waves to create detailed images of the organs and tissues within your body. Most MRI machines are large, tube-shaped magnets. When you lie inside an MRI machine, the magnetic field temporarily realigns hydrogen atoms in your body." It works differently from a CT scan (cat scan), which  " combines a series of X-ray images taken from different angles, and uses computer processing to create cross-sectional images, or slices, of the bones, blood vessels and soft tissu...

I had been to a Hobby Lobby in the Denver area once or twice over the years, but I really had no idea why people were so excited about the new Hobby Lobby store that was moving into half of the old WalMart building in Scottsbluff. Oh, I was glad that the vacant building was finally being utilized. I was thrilled that Dunham Sports moved into the other half of the building, too, and that our thirty-year-old mall is finally being revitalized. Like everyone else in our community, I have been visiting Monument Mall more often lately. It is great to see so many cars in the parking lot again. For too many years, when I ventured into the mall, it was common to see only the aging mall walkers, those exercisers who window shop as they walk, but seldom stop to buy anything. I really appreciate the new flurry of activity inside since the mall has attracted so many new stores, anchored by the old, reliable Herbergers store at one end, and Hobby Lobby at the other end of the mall. I ...

As I was pulling the pillowcase off a pillow a little while ago, there was a sudden eruption of feathers.  Feathers billowed everywhere, all because the side seam of the aging pillow had split open.  So, I spent a few minutes gathering up the feathers and stuffing them back into the pillow.  I'll have to sew up that seam before I put on the clean pillowcase. Feathers are wonderful in their place, on the back of a goose, or safely inside a feather pillow, but I don't really appreciate them when they are floating around my bedroom. I've also spent a good part of this morning swatting at flies.  We have far too many of those annoying creatures buzzing around our house this week.  It's too early in the season for flies!  Let's face it, anytime is too early for flies.  I hate flies! I suppose the flies are here because of our abundance of rain.  So many insects seem to be more prolific when the weather is damp and rainy.  I just wish that...

I called the tree lady a few weeks ago because we needed to have our dying birch tree removed from the front yard before it fell on a car--or one of the kids. And, while we were at it, we asked her to take out several overgrown yew bushes, and trim the dead branches out of our mammoth blue spruce.  At the last minute, Bill decided to ask if she could give us some advice about the huge old hackberry tree in the backyard, right next to the garage.  He had noticed a small split in the trunk a few months ago, and wondered if she thought it would help relieve some stress on the tree if we removed a major branch or two. Bill did not realize just how long and wide that crack had extended since he last took a good look at it.  The tree lady recommended removing the whole tree as soon as possible, before the next heavy, wet snow or 60 mile-an-hour gust of wind dropped a large section of the tree onto our house.  And, what's more, she declined to take down the tree ...

It took me fifty years to realize that the president was shot on my grandma's birthday.  It must have had some awful impact on her, even though she never mentioned it to me.  That one event impacted every living American, and a huge number of other people throughout the world.  Republican or Democrat, young or old, male or female, whatever their circumstances, anyone who was five years old or more can tell you where they were and what they were doing when they heard the news.  Just ask them! I remember that day well.  It was a crisp, sunny, fall day in Norfolk, Nebraska.  Dan and I had gone home for lunch, as usual, since Lincoln Elementary School didn't have a hot lunch program.  We walked back to school shortly before one o'clock.  Our teachers met us outside the front door of the school, and told us the news, that the president had been shot.  Then, they sent us all back home again.  Dan and I ran all the way home to shout the horri...

It's been forty years (gasp) since the Fairbury High School Class of 1973 graduated.  I've heard it said that "you can't go back again."  Well, this past weekend, around seventy of my high school classmates, along with quite a few accommodating spouses, tried, quite successfully. Class reunions seem to produce a myriad of emotions: apprehension ( What will they think of me? ) excitement ( We get to re-connect with old friends! ) trepidation ( Will I fit in?  Did I ever?  And, what should I wear? )  curiosity ( What are they doing now? ) I know that some classmates refuse to attend reunions for a variety of reasons.  After all, adolescence can be such a hard time for so many teens; some people just don't want to re-visit a time that may have been very difficult for them.  Those who have moved far away may feel like they no longer have anything in common with the classmates they knew so long ago.  And some may worry that they aren't successful e...

In high schools and colleges all over the country, hundreds of thousands of newly-minted seniors are rejoicing in their long-awaited status.  Finally, they have reached the pinnacle of their education; king of the hill, top of the heap, whatever you call it, they have reached a major goal in their lives.  Seniors, at last! On the other end of the spectrum, those of us who first attained senior status a few decades ago are approaching senior status of another kind.  A few may be rejoicing at the thought of impending retirement from jobs that have become drudgery.  Some look forward to extra time with grandchildren or the chance to travel to previously unknown locales.  But some us are feeling more than a little confused.  When does senior status begin, anyway? When I'm asked by some teenage checker in a restaurant or grocery store if I qualify for the senior discount, I'm forced to ask that question:  "How old must I be to be considered a senior?" ...

We all have them: t-shirts--at least one or two, or maybe a dozen or two.  Some t-shirts come to us as gifts.  Some function as uniforms for sports teams or jobs. A few are simply souvenirs of places we've been.  Many express sentiments that reflect our interests or passions.   And one person's t-shirts, taken collectively, tell a story about their wearer.  When I was a young child, girls didn't wear t-shirts very often.  I guess t-shirts were considered to be boys' clothes. And even boys' t-shirts were pretty mundane, just plain colored or striped.  But by the time I was a teenager, souvenir t-shirts came into fashion and, from there, the whole t-shirt industry just seemed to explode.  Now, on any given day, 95% of my students are wearing t-shirts.  (For boys, the percentage is even higher.)  T-shirts and jeans have become the universal school uniform for kids of all ages, and the clothing of choice for many adults, too. Not too ma...

Sometimes, there are just not enough words.  Emotion swells within us, and mere words cannot begin to express our deepest thoughts and feelings.  I think that's why God has given us tears and hugs and music.  When words fail us, we still have effective ways to communicate with each other and with God, himself. Of everything that God created, only people have been given the ability to speak.  Most plants are unable to generate any sounds on their own, and most species of animals utter only one or two characteristic sounds.  The words of human beings set us apart from the other living things in our world.  With all of the words that humans can speak, you would think that words would be enough.  I am amazed when I think about how instantaneously and effortlessly the human brain can communicate its thoughts, stringing appropriate sounds together to make words and sentences that make sense to the people around us.  A newborn child communicates only...