Janet's Blog

I have been counting the days since last week's oral surgery, until I am allowed to exercise again. Today's the day! When the weather cooled off a little this evening, I was out the door with Jackson to walk the neighborhood. In the summer, the best time to walk is often just after the sun sets, when the air is cool and still. It's only been the last three or four years that I've been making a conscious effort to walk regularly. At first, I used the Health App on my phone to track my steps, but I have been more motivated since Bill brought me a FitBit from some convention he had attended. This time of year, I walk more than 10,000 steps nearly every day. It's become a habit now, except when I'm sick, or when the weather is nasty. When I was growing up, first in northeastern Nebraska, then in Fairbury in the southeastern part of the state, exercise was not a priority for most people, probably because it just wasn't necessary. Farmers and their families got pl...

We like to think that we are civilized people, here in the US in the 21st century. For the most part, we have been living busy, predictable lives. We work hard, and we play harder. Until just a few months ago, every minute of nearly every day has been scheduled, and we have been stressed by our ceaseless and, in our opinion, decidedly worthwhile activities. Now, our stress is caused by something different: the uncertainty of these unexpected, unparalleled times. So many things have changed in just a short time: our job and school situations, our limited ability to travel or gather freely, our inability to seek services and products we once took for granted, and our sense of freedom and personal safety. Was it really only four months ago that our biggest concerns revolved around our families' activities and favorite sports teams?  Now, we have been coerced to stay close to home and cooperate with new rules that have been totally foreign for most of us, until now. We don't like t...

There is nothing quite like a tree. I love the sight and smells of all flowering trees, but especially the pink crabapple trees that bloom so beautifully most springs--except, sadly, not for this year's too-cold spring. The majestic oak trees, with their acorns, have always fascinated me, and the vibrant, orange, sugar maples in Michigan are without comparison in the fall. But here in Nebraska, nothing can compare to our state tree, the mighty Cottonwood. One of many Cottonwoods at Scottsbluff's Riverside Park. I'm not talking about the newer, cottonless, ornamental trees, erroneously called Cottonwoods in spite of their relatively wimpy appearance and inherent lack of cotton. The trees I love the most are decades old, or even a century or more in age, stretching their branches heavenward, with trunks that can only be encircled by several people clasping hands around a tree.  Shimmering leaves. The shade of a magnificent Cottonwood provides a refreshingly cool sanctuary on ...

I was working in the yard about three weeks ago, moving some mulch, when I got a sliver under my fingernail. It hurt like the dickens, and was visible, a black line just beneath the nail, where it extended nearly three quarters of the way up. None of the sliver was reachable with a tweezers, a needle, or anything else. It didn't help that this particular nail has a ridge that dips down, right along the path of the sliver, making it that much harder to see the end of the sliver under the nail, let alone get ahold of it.  As soon as I came into the house, I washed my hands with soap and doused the offending finger with hydrogen peroxide, which bubbled up just like it was supposed to, killing any bacteria that dared to accompany the sliver. When Bill got home, he tried to remove it, with no success, and with much pain on my part, so he gave up because he didn't want to hurt me. I googled how to remove a sliver from under a nail, and tried soaking my finger in a solution of baking ...

When Meagan asked if she could bring the grandkids to play in our yard yesterday afternoon, I was excited to have them visit, even though we had to practice some social distancing. We have a big backyard, with plenty of activities to keep the kids busy, so I didn't need to plan any particular projects for them to do. But, I did remember that the calendar had changed; it was the first day of May--May Day--so I decided to put together some May baskets for them. I had to make a quick trip to Dollar General to pick up a few necessities anyway, but when I checked the shelves for some M&Ms, I had to make do with peanut butter ones, because the plain M&Ms were all gone. I guess M&Ms must be a universal May Day tradition. Later, when I checked on FaceBook, I noticed several people mentioning May Baskets this year. Since everyone is mostly at home, more people have time to celebrate the old May Day tradition, some for the very first time. And besides, delivering May baskets...

It's been 50 years since the first Earth Day burst onto the scene. 50 years! I remember the first one, because all of the students at Fairbury High School were allowed to wear jeans to school that day (!) and we were dismissed for the afternoon, assigned in groups of three or four to pick up trash in a particular part of town. I was with two or three other Freshman girls, working along Highway 136, just a couple of blocks from where my folks live now. It was a gorgeous, sunny, spring day, a perfect day to walk and talk to our friends as we worked, interrupted only when a passing motorist stopped to ask for directions to Highway 72. (As I recall, Carla, the most outgoing one of our group, informed him that we had no idea where to find Highway 72, since none of us were old enough to drive.) The trash we picked up that day was a little different from the trash I pick up when I walk in Gering now, five decades later. There were plenty of candy wrappers then, and way too many ciga...

I was seventeen or eighteen when our traveling ministry group sang at a nursing home in Oklahoma or Minnesota, or some other state on one of our three-week-long journeys. I remember seeing a sign that stated "Today is the First Day of the Rest of Your Life." Another popular sign urged the residents, and perhaps the staff, as well, to "Bloom Where You are Planted." Our Traveling Ministry group, Wheels of Faith . Pictures like this make me grateful for recent, digital photography. I don't know why I hated those signs, and their implied meanings. They make perfect sense now. But then, I probably thought they didn't really apply to me, since I was sure I had my whole life ahead of me. Perhaps it seemed like it was asking too much for nursing home residents to do anything meaningful with the remainder of their lives. Or, maybe, the signs just seemed like clichés, even then, when the sayings were new. Now, I know differently. I've had an active ...