Janet's Blog

It's been more than three months now since Uncle Gary left this earth. He knew he might not survive the surgery to repair his aortic aneurysm. After living with the aneurysm for years, and enduring several other procedures along the way, his last surgery was his surgeon's heroic, final effort to fix something that was finally beyond repair. Gary would be the first to tell you that he had lived a satisfying life. Except for one rather brief marriage, he lived alone in the house he had bought in North Platte. He had a large, loyal group of friends there, where he had retired after working there as a dispatcher and, eventually, communications supervisor, for the Nebraska State Patrol. I would characterize Gary as usually soft-spoken, diligent, determined, ethical, hard-working, and loyal to family and friends. He loved sharing his garden space with his neighbor, and sharing his produce with his friends. After his sister, my Aunt Ellen, was no longer around to make jelly, he learne...

These Kids Are Driving Me Crazy is a book for adults who work with kids with neurodivergence or mental health issues. It is currently available on Amazon in Kindle ebook format as well as paperback. I started the book several years ago, soon after I officially retired from teaching. However, as long as I was homeschooling my son, Levi, I didn't have time to  concentrate on writing this book. It was much simpler to publish my first children's book,  Grandma Whatcha Doing? , which is also  available on Amazon. I decided that the Covid-impacted winter would be a good time to buckle down and finish writing the book I abbreviate as  Crazy! --as in   "the thought of actually finishing this book is driving me crazy!" When my church invited me to participate in a book signing earlier, I was motivated to have this book ready, too.      Life is all about building relationships, but that can be hard to do in a school or extracurricular setting, or even at ...

I'll confess, I was the one who asked for a lot of snow. Okay, I may not have been the only one, because when the whole state is officially in severe or even extreme drought, there are bound to be others who have also prayed for the moisture we need so badly.  I didn't expect to get a lot of snow this weekend, though. When the temperature hovers at 0 degrees, or even lower, any snow we get doesn't usually amount to much. The -30 degree wind chill doesn't even enter into it. Apparently, this snowstorm didn't get the memo--and God answered my prayer, sending the moisture we need, in spite of the forecast.  Originally, the meteorologists were predicting a frigid weekend, with maybe an inch or two of fluffy, white snow. Well, this snow is fluffy, all right, all 8 to 10 inches of it. (That's just a guess.) I'm not complaining, not at all, because a foot of fluffy snow produces much more moisture than just an inch or two. The last time we had significant snow was ...

Do you remember Aesop's story of The City Mouse and the Country Mouse ? You may know that Aesop was a slave and storyteller who lived in ancient Greece more than 2500 years ago. It's amazing that his tales are still being told, and elaborated upon, so many years later.  In a nutshell, this story is about a country mouse who invites his city cousin to visit him in the country. The country mouse offers simple, country food to his visitor, who turns up his nose at the humble provisions. The city mouse, in turn, invites his poor country cousin to visit him in the city, where the country mouse is amazed at the abundance and variety of food to be found there. However, as the two cousins sit down to eat, their lavish meal is interrupted by a murderous cat. After the country mouse flees to the safety of his own home, the tale ends with a moral, as all of Aesop's fables do: It's better to live happily with little and be content, rather than live with abundance or a lot of someth...

I hope our newest little blessing enjoyed her first, quiet hours at the hospital, before she went home to her busy, noisy family because, for the rest of her early childhood, she will have to nap in spite of the daily commotion that is always present in a large, home-schooling family.  Ruthie Mae was born on Saturday, January 9th, six days past her due date, at 1:37 a.m. With her scant, light hair, deep, blue eyes, and long, slender fingers, Ruthie certainly looks like her brothers and sisters. At 6 pounds, 4 ounces, and 20 3/4 inches long, she was the smallest of the Stobel babies, although her birth weight was exactly the same as her mother's.  For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb. I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well. Psalm 139:13-14 In this unprecedented time of a worldwide pandemic, Meagan was a bit concerned about staying in the hospital for Ruthie's birth. She most ...

No doubt about it, 2020 was a year to remember--and, for many of us, a year we would rather forget. We were broadsided with the sudden pandemic and all of the restrictions that have come with it. At the beginning of the year, we were hoping to see more clearly, with 20/20 vision, as prompted by the year itself. Then, when we began to see some things much more clearly than we expected, it was natural for us to long for better days and, in fact, a better year.  No one expected so many instantaneous rules: Wear your mask; stay 6 feet apart; stay home; stay away from other people; don't go out to eat;  disinfect all surfaces, but don't hoard toilet paper and cleaning supplies; wash your hands; don't touch your face; stay away from funerals and weddings; get your vaccination. In a year when we were hoping for clearer vision, we got to see our innate selfishness and lack of concern for others, our "my way or the highway" mentalities. Unfortunately, 2020 showed us the s...

It seems like such a long time ago, when the celebration of Christmas was new to me, and so exciting, and sparkly, and holy. And yet, in some ways, it just seems like a short time ago, when I posed in my red velveteen skirt in front of Grandma's tinsel-covered Christmas tree in Bloomfield, my newest doll in one arm, with my other hand resting possessively on the handlebars of my new (to me), light blue tricycle. Little Danny had something new to ride, too, a rocking horse, possibly made by Grandpa in his basement workshop. His left hand was poised on the horse, ready to ride into the sunset, sixgun pointing at some invisible villain. He was even dressed for the job, just like every other little boy who lived in the late 1950's. This is the only Christmas picture I have from my childhood. Black and white photos, like this one, were only taken on special occasions and, even then, we weren't guaranteed a good picture, since we had to wait and see what developed, weeks later, w...