Janet's Blog

It's been about three weeks now since I got my new car. Well, actually, it's a 2016 Dodge Journey--new to me--with only 32,000 miles on it. It looks new, inside and out--I should probably thank the previous owner for taking such good care of it-- and it smells new, probably thanks to the "new car spray" that car dealerships are rumored to use. I've been researching cars for several months, mainly because my grandkids have outgrown the Jag that Bill got such a good deal on, more than nine years ago. He was a little sad to trade in the Jag, but I'm ready for a car that provides the space and reliability that my 14-year-old car just couldn't deliver. My new car is defined as a "crossover" vehicle, with a third row of comfortable seats that fold down easily when they are not needed, so I will have plenty of room for the grandkids and their car seats. And did I mention that the Journey is red? Years ago, when Bill and I lived in Michigan, we bou...

The view from Mom and Dad's dining room window varies from season to season, but some things never change. The trees are always there, sometimes fully leafed out, but mostly bare in the winter--except for the one oak tree that Mom says should have been planted someplace else. No one realized that that particular variety of oak wouldn't lose its leaves until spring, thus blocking the winter-time view. But, regardless, one other thing doesn't change: the birds are always there in the backyard. Oh, the varieties change according to season, and some birds, like the gold finches and grosbeaks, only make an appearance during spring and fall migration. But the view from the dining room window is always interesting , and sometimes downright breathtaking when the sun is setting there, in the western sky. The chickadees and nuthatches flock around the feeders, especially in the winter when Dad puts out multiple feeders with several kinds of seeds, so every kind of bird w...

Sidewalks, streets, and houses: all  towns have them. Here in Gering, most of the streets are asphalt, and the concrete sidewalks butt right up to the curb, most of the time, with no grassy area between. Here, the houses are a mixture of small bungalows, tinier cottages, and ranch style homes of all sizes. I'm used to it now, but I used to think it was strange. You see, I grew up in the other end of the state, in Fairbury, from the time I was nine until I headed off to college. And there, in Fairbury, streets and sidewalks, and even houses, were a little different. For starters, many of the streets, in all but the newest sections of town, were made of red brick, laid closely together without mortar, so they were easy to remove and replace if the sewer pipes running under the streets needed attention. Brick streets don't really develop potholes, but if the bricks start to settle in one spot or another, it is relatively easy to dig them out and level them. I walked on Fai...

For several months now, I have been walking a couple of miles around the neighborhood almost every day, snapping a few pictures along the way, and marveling at the beauty of God's creation. On the warmer winter days, and even in the spring, I walked in the early afternoon, as long as the wind wasn't blowing too hard. But now that summer has arrived, sunset is definitely the best time to walk. Sometimes, the clouds almost upstage the Monument. Jackson, our 10-year-old Shih Poo, looks forward to the walks as much as I do. In fact, he comes running to my side as soon as I quietly slide open the curtain to take his red leash from the closet hook. It has almost become a game for me to see if I can grab his leash without him noticing, but so far, he has always won. Jackson, ready for a walk. Jackson loves to make the neighborhood dogs bark, and strains at the leash as if to join them in their fenced-in yards. But we both know that he is really a scaredy-cat at heart. That...

It was my second trip to the hospital to see Meagan and Grandbaby #4. As I entered the room, two-year-old Lydia yelled at me, "Out, out!" I looked to Meagan for a translation. As it turns out, what Lydia really meant was, "The baby is out of Mommy's tummy!" During the three days since then, I've heard Lydia tell several people, "Baby out!" She holds that new baby as often as anyone will let her. When she is playing, and looks up to see him, she starts giggling, pointing at him, shouting "Baby!" or running to give him a hug or kiss. It's obvious that Lydia loves her baby brother. Evie, too, loves to hold the baby, and pat his tummy. Tobin doesn't seem to be as excited as the girls, but he keeps bringing one of his favorite stuffed animals, laying it close to, or even on top of, the baby, before running off to play, not stopping even long enough to have his picture taken. This newest Stobel baby is already cherished. ...

I was speed-walking my way through the neighborhood last night, just at dusk, with my little Shih-poo, Jackson, in tow, thinking about some long-lost sights and sounds, and even smells, and it occurred to me that I've experienced countless things that my grandchildren will never encounter. Oh, I know, they will undoubtedly be faced with a wealth of experiences, throughout their lives, that I can't begin to imagine. Just think of the stories they will tell their own grandchildren someday... But today, I wonder if Tobin, and Evelyn and little Lydia, and the newest grandson, due any day now, along with any of their future cousins, will ever get to milk a cow by hand, as I did, with limited success, when I was three or four. And, I wonder if they will ever get to hold a newborn piglet, or hear the eager snorts of a dozen little pigs as they crowd together to nurse from a patient sow. I don't remember bottle-feeding my little lamb, Lola, but I suppose there is some chance ...

I can see clearly now, the rain is gone I can see all obstacles in my way Gone are the dark clouds that had me blind It's gonna be a bright, bright, sun-shiny day. I think I can make it now, the pain is gone All of the bad feelings have disappeared Here is the rainbow I've been prayin' for It's gonna be a bright, bright, sun-shiny day. Look all around, there's nothin' but blue skies Look straight ahead, nothin' but blue skies... Johnny Nash, 1972 It was a few months after my last eye surgery, the transplant that replaced the damaged layer of corneal tissue in my right eye. I knew I was seeing better than I had in a long time, at least in that eye; my ophthalmologist assured me that my distance vision was 20/20 without glasses, and my close vision was nearly perfect with reading glasses. But that day, as I was driving south, from Scottsbluff to Gering, I noticed the snow dusting the Wildcat Hills at the end of the road ahead of me,...