Janet's Blog

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...

I'm feeling a little brain-dead, barely motivated to sit down and write this blog.  Since school started almost a month ago, I've hardly had time to breathe.  When can I get off this endless merry-go-round of home visits, preschool classes, assessments, meetings, and appointments?  My morning class is a challenge, overflowing with high needs kids.  Some days, I barely sit down until lunch, when my aides and I just sit and eat, and sometimes hardly talk at all, because we are so exhausted.  My afternoon class is a little smaller, a little older, and a lot less needy, comparatively speaking, but I still need to be on my toes to keep up with them.  So, when I get home from school, I don't feel much like dealing with Levi's latest antics or Victoria's newest drama.  How I wish I could borrow some of my students' excess energy!  Have you noticed that four-year-olds rarely walk anywhere?  Instead, they run, gallop, hop, crawl, bounce, dance, twir...

Years ago, when my Grandma Vawser visited us in Michigan, I remember that she was so eager to worship with us at the Friends Church in Traverse City.  And, afterwards, she raved about the hymnal that was used there, the All-American Church Hymnal , because it contained so many hymns that she had known and loved her entire life.  It was always very difficult for Bill and me to decide what to get our grandparents for Christmas, so we were thrilled to order a copy of that hymnal for her from our local Christian bookstore, and mail it to her for Christmas.  It probably cost only two or three dollars, and postage was only a dollar or two then, so we certainly didn't spend much.  But we were happy to make her happy. I didn't realize what an impact that gift had made until after Grandma died many years later.  When her belongings were divided among her numerous children and grandchildren, that hymnal made its way back to me.  It was immediately apparent...

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?" ...

I love chickens!  From those cute, fluffy, yellow baby chicks, to plump Barred Rock and Rhode Island Red hens, to those strutting roosters with their iridescent tail feathers waving in the breeze--I love them all.  It must be hereditary--Dad loves them, too. Maybe I need one of these exotics! A tired Rhode Island Red hen  I enjoyed walking with Levi and Victoria through the small animal barn at the Scotts Bluff County Fair last week.  The rabbits were cute and cuddly, all except the Flemish Giants, which were just big.  I wouldn't mind having another mini-lop or Netherlands dwarf, like Meagan raised for 4H several years ago.  Levi might be ready for a rabbit of his own by next summer--we'll see. But, we were surprised to find that the chickens seemed to be the stars of the small animal entries, since they greatly outnumbered the rabbits at the fair this year.  And they were beautiful, award-winning examples of poultry, from standard ba...

I was twelve when I told Mom, out of the blue, that I wanted a guitar for Christmas.  I really don't remember longing for a guitar, or even giving it much thought, and I didn't really expect to receive one, but there it was, all wrapped up under the tree.  It was a small, red, beginner's guitar, most likely purchased from the Sears catalog.  For weeks, I sat on my bed, teaching myself to play the chords from the pamphlet of songs that came with the guitar.  I don't remember ever working so hard to learn a new skill--I certainly never put forth that much effort when it came to practicing the piano.  It wasn't long before Mom decided to pay for guitar lessons.  I don't know if my old piano teacher knew how to play the guitar--I doubt it--but she did know how to teach music, and I was diligent about practicing.  I learned the notes well.  (Not too many guitarists can say that.)  I learned many chords, and learned to finger pick in the classica...

It was almost like a Norman Rockwell picture, or maybe even a Thomas Kinkade painting of a softly-lit village.  I'm thinking of Bloomfield, Nebraska, on a Saturday night in the late 1950's. The whole community turned out downtown on a Saturday night.  That was the one night the stores were all open for business, with their front windows lit up so everyone could see what each store had to offer.  The street lights were aglow, and a few neon lights glared in the background, beckoning people to come on in. The smells of cows and cigarette smoke mingled faintly with the odor of hamburgers and fries wafting into the evening air from a nearby cafe.  Empty parking places were scarce, with cars angled into every space that lined both sides of the three-block-long main street; another row of neatly parked cars stretched right down the middle of the street.  There were no stoplights or traffic cops to give assistance, but none were needed.  Saturday night was a nig...