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When Someone Dies

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When someone dies, I believe as part of grieving, we have a tendency to look at our lives.  As we contemplate mortality and loss we might ask questions. Where are we going?  Where have we been?  What do we do, now that this person who meant so much to us is not here anymore?

My father lived a long time, much longer than he thought he would live – to 90 years old.  The last few years were not good for him. He stopped doing his leather-work.  He stopped writing letters to family and friends. He couldn’t remember things like what time it was or what day it was or what season.  He would eat a meal with us and ten minutes later, ask “When are we going to eat?”  We would tell him he just ate and bring him a snack and a drink.

Ironically, my brother told me, he was in pretty good health. His blood pressure was normal as was his cholesterol.  My Dad loved donuts, pie, cake, ice cream, cookies and candy.  But his cholesterol was always fine. He got much thinner during the last years. He was wasting away.  We had to get him smaller clothes and punch more holes in his belt.  My brother said it was like we were losing him inch by inch and pound by pound.

My father didn’t lose his sense of humor.  He liked to tell funny stories. He was very witty.  We all have a pretty good sense of humor. We have the ability to laugh at ourselves.  It is a good quality to pass on from one generation to the next.

My mom also had a great sense of humor and told funny stories. I miss her laugh. I miss my Dad’s voice and the love for me I saw in his eyes when we visited him. He was someone in my life I always wanted to talk to; to listen to and to share what was happening in our lives.  There is a void in my life without him that is impossible to fill. Even now, I sometimes forget that he is gone.  I won’t need to buy a father’s day card or present this year for him. Somehow that hurts, and yet I wouldn’t want him back because he wasn’t well.

Do we really understand heaven?  For those who believe in everlasting life, heaven is the place we are heading for at the end of our lives.  I wonder if heaven is like the People’s store.  I use to go to the People’s Store on Michigan Ave. in Chicago with my mom and my Dad when I was a little girl.  There was a large landing with a half circle of chairs between stair cases.  We would sit there with my Dad eating chocolate covered peanuts from a paper bag and watch the people.  This was the best part of shopping according to my Dad. My mom was buying what she needed.  We were watching the world go by and having fun with Dad.

When I was growing up in Roseland, I thought my Dad was the handsomest, nicest and funniest man that I knew.  I had watched him shave with the old type of razor and shaving cream.  I watched him comb his black hair. He used some type of greasy stuff on it to hold his hairdo. I knew all of his hats – mostly fedoras. I watched him tie his ties not understanding how he was doing it. I was very glad that girls didn’t have to wear ties. They looked completely uncomfortable and it was easy to spill things on them like gravy and chocolate syrup.  They were also hard to clean although my mom usually managed to get the stains out.  My Dad had a leather case he had made for his shirt pocket.  In it he would keep his glasses, his pen, and some pipe cleaners.  He always had a pocket knife in his pants pocket and change and keys that jingled when he walked.

Now my brother, my sister and I are getting everything out of my Dad’s house. My talented brother is painting all the walls and ceilings and redoing both bathrooms.  He also is removing the horrible disintegrating faded rose carpeting and cleaning the wonderful hardwood floors underneath.  We always called mom and dad’s house, the Quilt house, because there were quilts hanging up in almost every room, on the beds and on quilt racks.  My mom also had a large doll collection and teacups scattered on shelves around the house.  Their home has been a home to me and my children and grandchildren.  So many memories of family get togethers, eating around the large dining room table, opening presents on Christmas morning, and finding the Easter eggs.  Always talk and laughter filled that house.  Now it is quiet.

The last time I was there in May, I felt like the house was saying goodbye to me.  It was letting me go.  As we drove away with our car filled with boxes, it was like we were taking time with us; time that would be spent in our house around our dining room table, in the living room and on our wraparound porch.  I felt a certain peace about it, like mom and dad were looking down from heaven and smiling with love and approval.

 

Ron’s Corner:

Crystal writes so well; don’t you think? I too love remembering the many good times in my life. Every life has both good and bad. I think the key to satisfaction in life is remembering the good and learning from, but not focusing on, the bad. I too have many fond memories from my childhood, some of them are recorded on this web site.  I am so glad that we took the opportunity to interview our parents while they were all still with us. Now only one parent, my dad, remains. However, we are determined to get the memoir published to preserve and share their lives. I read a few pages every now and again. My totally unbiased opinion; It’s really good!

I am so glad we undertook this project. If you are fortunate enough to have living parents, ask them about their lives. You might learn something. It might help you understand a few things. If nothing else, it’s never a waste of time talking to someone you care about. Do it while you can. The time is fleeting.

Ron holding Liz, Crystal holding Michelle, Mary Jane and Jim circa 1986 (the way we want to remember Crystal’s parents).

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Where Have all the Sandlots Gone?

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The other day I was talking with my grandson, Keylan. I asked how he was doing on his high school track team. As usual, he is doing his best, but the World and Olympic records are probably safe for the time being. I told him about my non-record setting times from my high school gym class. I also told him that my best sports were football and baseball. I explained that while I never tried out for a team, I played a lot of sandlot sports. Suddenly, I felt quite old. I was using terminology unfamiliar to today’s youth. I also felt somewhat bad for this generation, staring at screens all of the time, when they could be experiencing life.

When I think back, my interest in baseball probably goes back to around 1959. Even as a five year old, the energy around Chicago was palpable. I didn’t understand much, but this baseball was an exciting game. Everyone was talking about the White Sox. In the end, they prevailed. The Sox won the Pennant. Little did I know that they would not win another Pennant until 2005. However, that’s not the point. At that time, commonly recognized as the Golden Age of Baseball, there were games everywhere. It seemed that every field big enough would have kids playing. My Oak Lawn neighborhood was no exception. From the first day school was out, we played baseball. The school park was only a block away. Sometimes that seemed too far. We would play in the street until Mr. Brown came out and yelled at us. I tried to reassure him that we were all too talented to hit any parked cars. He never seemed to buy that argument. So we walked the tiresome journey to the park where we could run and hit and field for the next three hours, unencumbered.

Some days we would break for lunch and return in the afternoon until dinner. I never really had any lessons. I just watched my favorite players on TV and did what they did. We had a core group, but some different players would show up every day. Often, there weren’t enough to field two full teams so we played modified games. We could play a modified game called Indian Ball with as few as four. With three we played running bases. With two, we played catch, hit, and pitch with a tennis ball against the wall of the school (usually around the corner from the “NO Ball Playing Allowed” sign).

A nice lady across from the school let us drink from her hose. I still remember the taste of the warm rubber flavored water. As bad as it tasted, it’s probably allowed us to survive on the really hot days. After playing, mom usually had cold Kool Aide and cookies waiting for anyone who wanted it. We probably drank a couple glasses before we actually could enjoy the flavor.

Over the course of a summer, we went through a lot of baseballs. However, funds were scarce. Being resourceful, we found tricks to prolong their life. It usually involved sneaking into dad’s tool chest and stealing tape. Eventually, no matter how hard we tried to preserve it the cover would come off. Then it was time for a serious tape job. It made for some colorful baseballs; green, red, black, or whatever tape I found. Mrs. Byczek always thought it was hysterical. To me, it was just a lesson in survival.

Over the course of a few summers, I actually got pretty good. I was a natural hitter and rarely missed. I was also quite good in the outfield. However, I spent most of my time in the infield. I needed more work there. I had a lot of difficulty judging hard grounders. They made it look so easy on TV. Somehow I never considered that the inconsistent clumps of grass and sand and rocks might have some effect. I thought it must be that I wasn’t keeping my eye on the ball, or getting in front of it. What I lacked in ability, I made up for in determination. My favorite game came at a price. The price included scrapes, black and blue shins, an occasional ball in the face (the wrong way to keep your eye on the ball), and at least once a summer the dreaded groin shot (with laughter adding insult to injury). Broken fingers were part of the deal as well. A couple of them are still noticeably bent. Unlike my TV heroes, however, no trainer rushed onto the field. Instead, I excused myself and went home. I enjoyed a Popsicle. The stick made an ideal splint. When combined with a little more of dad’s seemingly endless tape supply, I was again set to rejoin my friends on the field of honor.

Yes I do feel sorry for today’s generation. They don’t know what they are missing. Or maybe they do?

Crystal’s Corner

I also remember sandlot baseball.  My brother and his friends played often.  Sometimes they let me play with them even though I was a girl. Other times, they refused to let me play.  I would get mad at them, yell at my brother, and stomp home.  But after a while, I learned a way to get them to let me play.  I stole the ball.  There was usually only one ball.  Balls got lost so often in weeds and prairies that the parents couldn’t keep replacing them.  I would bring the ball home with me and my brother would follow yelling. “Crystal, you have to give the ball back to me.”  I would go in the house smiling, gripping the ball.  My brother would try to get my Dad on his side, but Dad would say, “Let your sister play.”  Finally, my brother would give in and say, “All right come on, I will make them let you play.”  We would then return to the sandlot where all of the players were now sitting on the ground resting.  That was what was really good about playing sandlot ball. When you got tired, you just sat down.  Then either we would find a hose we could turn on for a drink or go home for snacks and Kool Aid.  A lot of the time, my brother’s friends, Georgie and Bobby, came to my house because my mom made the best chocolate chip cookies and other baked goods.

Summer was fun. Summer was being outside in the sunshine running around, roller skating, playing tag, jump roping, playing red rover, playing mother may I and other games.  We didn’t watch much TV because our moms wouldn’t let us stay in the house to watch TV.  All the parents agreed to tell us, “Go out and play.”  They knew it was good for us.

OK, it’s not sandlot, but it is my grandson Keylan playing baseball. He’s a good kid. He’ll never know what he missed.

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Our Hearts belong to Daddy By Crystal Meinstein

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Sorrow lasts for a night, but Joy comes in the morning (Psalm 30:5)

Last week this Bible verse came true for my family. On Thursday evening, Feb. 16, my father went home to be with the Lord.  On Friday morning, Feb. 17, my daughter, Elizabeth, gave birth to my granddaughter, Addelyn Klein.

I will miss my father very much.  We were always very close and happy to be together.

I have wonderful memories of my childhood with my Dad.  We would go to the People’s store on Michigan Ave. in Chicago.  My dad would buy chocolate covered peanuts at the candy counter and we would sit on the large landing dividing the staircases and watch the people.  I thought that was why they called it the People store.

Every fall we would rake the leaves and my dad would burn them so we could roast marshmallows over the fire.  When our hands could reach the push mower handles, Dad would have us stand in front of him to help him cut the grass.  We also learned to paint the walls as toddlers: first with water and then with paint.  Dad and I loved to watch Tarzan movies starring Johnny Weissmuller on Saturday afternoons. As a child I thought he knew Roy Rogers and Gene Autry personally.  We watched westerns with him and he liked shows like Bonanza and Gun Smoke. Sometimes when our old black and white TV broke down, he would get out his harmonica or his mandolin and play for us.  We would sing cowboy songs with him.

He would eat Jeannette and my tiny cakes we made in our Easy Bake Oven.  A few years later, he was even happier when we baked large cakes, cookies, brownies, etc. in the real oven.  My mom made great pies and butterscotch meringue was Dad’s favorite.  She would make it for his birthday.  Fortunately, mom taught me to cook and to bake when I was young because when she got sick I could do the cooking.  When mom was very sick, Dad, Larry, Jeannette and I joined forces.  Dad said we would never be able to do all that Mom did, but we could team up together and try.  He would split the grocery list in half and give me half and then race me in the grocery store. This didn’t work very well because Dad didn’t know the products that Mom usually bought.  I did.  But he always tried to make things fun even in the worst of times.

Dad was a wonderful speaker who won awards in the Toastmaster organization. Most of his speeches were humorous.  His sense of humor got us through a lot of trouble and hard times. I followed in his footsteps, giving several public speeches in Jr. High School and joining the Debate team in high school. He also read all of my term papers, poetry, and short stories.  When I was about 10 years old and having problems with mean kids at school, my dad gave me his books, How to Win Friends and Influence People by Dale Carnegie and The Power of Positive Thinking by Norman Vincent Peale.  He also would read Rudyard Kipling’s poetry to me.  He told me that when someone hurts you write him a letter and then tear it up.  He also said that, “the squeaky wheel gets the grease.”  After I left home, I had Dad’s and Mom’s voices in my head. When I had difficulties, I would think; what would Dad do; or what would Mom do?  It helped me in making decisions.

For several summers when I was in high school I worked at dad’s office at Sherwin Williams.  This experience consisted of riding in Dad’s car pool with his friend, Crazy Fred. I attribute learning to pray often on those terrifying trips.  Dad at the office was very well respected.  He would take me out to lunch with his friends, Alice Harris and Norris Bishton.    I could tell that he was proud of me and that gave me confidence in myself.

When I married Ron, Dad walked me down the aisle.  He really didn’t want me to get married yet.  He said I was completely trained to do everything in the house and now I was leaving.  Ron and I lived close to Mom and Dad in Illinois and so Ron established a close relationship with both of them.  After they moved to Cincinnati and we moved to Indiana, we saw them as often as we could.  We played pinochle, went out to dinner, visited and took care of the kids together.  Daddy was a wonderful grandfather and great grandfather.  He loved babies and was a great babysitter.  My children were all very attached to their grandfather and my grandchildren were also close to him.  His presence in their lives will be missed.

I know that Dad is with Mom in heaven right now and that is where he wanted to be.  But it will be difficult to not see him and talk to him.  When I lived at home, every morning, Dad would hug me and tell me that he loved me.  He knew when I was upset and would ask me to tell him what was wrong.  He was my confident, my companion, my supporter and my Daddy.

 

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The Gift Grinch     

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That’s me! I am the Gift Grinch! When it comes to giving gifts I am probably fine. I say probably because I don’t do a lot of Christmas shopping. I generally buy for Crystal and for my dad. Crystal is the real shopper. I think she starts Christmas shopping in July. Of course books are a big part of her shopping list. I think she is just determined that everyone should enjoy reading as much as she does. She is affectionately known as the book nana. She is also happy with whatever you give her. I think gratefulness is in her nature.

It’s not that I’m never grateful. I have a great life. I am blessed with a wonderful wife and family. We live in a nice house in a very pleasant small town. We basically have everything we need. However, I definitely have a problem accepting gifts. It is never the fault of the giver. I know my wife and daughters spend a lot of time planning and shopping.

I am truly grateful for all of the efforts and truly grateful for the sentiments behind them. It’s just the gifts and my reactions, I have problems with. Oh, I often say all the right things and smile appropriately, but that’s not enough. The real problem is that I am surrounded by women. Women can tell when you are sincere, unless you are a really good liar, which I’m not.

You see, I have simple desires. When I need something, I will either buy it or start a prolonged process of searching for it. Often, I will have a list in my mind and when I stumble onto what I need, buy it. For example, I have needed a new golf bag for a while. My old one was still functional, but getting holes and more and more worn. I first went to a few stores. Before long, I realized that golf bags are overpriced. I wasn’t going to pay that for a bag to hold my clubs, and no one else should either. The bag won’t increase your enjoyment of the game or improve your swing. In my research I did however decide on exactly the perfect type of bag. I wasn’t about to mention it to my daughters or Crystal. They would probably spend way too much and buy one. Instead, I just kept my eyes open for a few years. One day Susan, our neighbor, mentioned that her church was having a garage sale. Always trying to be supportive of our Christian community, I checked it out. There it was…my bag. It was slightly worn, but marked down to five dollars. I’ve been using it ever since.

OK, so what happens when I do get a nice, meaningful gift from those who care about me? Maybe the best example which my girls still talk about happened a few years ago. My favorite charcoal grill finally broke down. I had picked the neighbors Webber out of the garbage and used it for another ten years. Naturally, since I grill quite often, I went immediately out to look for a new one. Webbers were too expensive, so over the next couple of years, I tried a few others. None worked as well. My girls knew that and went in together to buy a really good grill. I pulled the paper off and looked at the picture. It wasn’t a Webber. It looked more like one of the grills I had already tried and trashed. OK, I’m sorry. I once again need to apologize to my girls. I can’t help what my face does. They instantly knew I wasn’t happy. All of their planning and conspiring to please me were in vain. So I took the grill back added a few bucks and got my new Webber. I’ve been happily using it ever since. I’ve also been periodically thanking them with grilled food. Somehow, it will never be enough. My initial Grinchy reaction may never be overcome. It does, however, provide for fun stories from time to time with the moniker, Oh that’s just dad.

Another example: A few years ago I got a new set of knives. I didn’t need a set of knives. I still used the same knives I had used for the previous twenty years. They were getting a little smaller from continuous sharpening. I had lost one and the handle was loose on another, but it was still functional. Again I made ‘the face’. SORRY! Finally my favorite knife’s handle broke off. It was time for a new set. WOW, look at that I found a new set of knives under the kitchen table. Didn’t someone give that to me for Christmas or my birthday? Of course, it was from Michelle. I used it for a while and came to a stunning revelation. This set was actually better than my old set. I finally called Michelle and earnestly thanked her. The only problem was that the set was from Elizabeth. OH well….do you see the problem? That’s why I’m the Gift Grinch.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not without hope. If the Grinch could do it so can I.

And the Grinch, with his Grinch-feet ice-cold in the snow, Stood puzzling and puzzling: “How could it be so?” “It came without ribbons! It came without tags!” “It came without packages, boxes or bags!” And he puzzled three hours, till his puzzler was sore. Then the Grinch thought of something he hadn’t before! “Maybe Christmas,” he thought, “doesn’t come from a store.” “Maybe Christmas…perhaps…means a little bit more!”

It is nice to be understood and accepted by your loved ones for who you are. Of course, I will try to be more grateful for whatever I get. After all, it’s really the love of the giver that’s the real gift. Jesus knows that.

Merry Christmas!

The grinch grin

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Getting in the Mood for Christmas

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Now that all of the election unpleasantness is over and our bellies are returning to normal after Thanksgiving, we can turn our attention to the really important matters. That’s right, Christmas. In the old days, listen to me kids, you started talking Christmas after Thanksgiving. These days, however, Christmas decorations appear in Wal-Mart around Labor Day. The Hallmark Christmas movies start two weeks before Halloween. Sadly, it’s no longer about preparing for the birthday of Jesus, but Black Friday and shopping. Of course, this is nothing new, probably worse, but not new.

I still remember, as a kid, this season being my favorite time of the year. Mom wouldn’t have it any other way. I was her only child and the rightful prince of the house. i.e… I was spoiled. The only thing I think I liked better than the day, was the anticipation of the day. It would start when every day in November I would check the front porch. I knew it would arrive in a timely manner. Then finally it came! About two to three inches thick, everyone got one. The day the Sears Christmas catalog arrived, my season began. I would spend hour after hour pouring over each page of the colorful guide to my happiness. Yes, I even gave a casual glance to the clothing section. Models would be poised like they were having fun just wearing clothes. Of course, I spent most of my time studying the new and wonderful toys and sports equipment.

The first few days I would just fire through the pages to get a feel for them. What a wonderful feeling. After that it was time to get serious. With pencil in hand, I began to form my strategy. I would start to circle all of the possible choices and duck tailing the pages. It might have been easier to circle the ones I wasn’t interested in. Of course, at least I could skip over the girl pages. I had no interest in dolls, tea parties etc… However, I might admit I kind of had a thing for the Easy Bake Oven. The idea of baking my own cookies and cakes did have a certain appeal. Once my list was complete, I would categorize according to priority. A target rifle and scuba gear was always at the top of my list. I never got either.

Then it came; the shopping trips with mom. We would typically go by bus the ten miles or so to the Evergreen Park Mall. Mom didn’t drive until I was older. We would get to the mall and there was Santa. I stopped believing in him at an early age. How could he be on every street corner and at the mall? Santa’s brothers? Give me a break. I had friends with brothers. They were named Tim and Kevin, not Tim and Tim. Besides, why would so many parents be wondering around my favorite area of the department (toys) if Santa did all of the heavy lifting? I pretended though. It seemed to make mom happy. I even remember once sitting on Santa’s lap and when he asked what I wanted, saying, ‘Didn’t you read my letter?’. This seemed to embarrass mom.

Then things got real. For days, the house would get more and more Christmassy. I never appreciated how much work was involved until many years later. The tree and lights were my favorite part. Occasionally, I would go with dad to pick out the perfect tree. Without me, he would inevitably get it wrong. I do remember some “discussions” about the tree quality. However, they always looked great once decorated (mom’s job) and after dad cut enough off and the proper side was facing the street.

On Christmas Eve, mom and I would walk through Oak Lawn by night. We would enjoy all of the beautifully decorated houses on our way to St. Linus Catholic Church for the service. It was my favorite service of the year. It was mercifully short and almost entirely in English (they still spoke a lot of Latin back then). Then back home for my half-hearted attempt at sleep. Usually, I would find an excuse to get up a few times before actual sleep occurred (bathroom, water, etc.).

I think it was probably a late night for mom and dad; but in the morning I was never disappointed. I would rip open the clothing presents and toss the contents casually aside in order to get to the more important gifts. While I don’t think my parents were overly concerned with my Sears catalog marking, I always got more than I deserved. On Christmas night, we often drove through the neighborhood. Dad always seemed to know where all of the best decorated houses were.

These days, as an adult, the times seem a little more turbulent. There is no more Sears catalog. I read an article saying that Sears itself may not be long for this world. These days, I wish someone else would buy my socks or underwear. I miss mom. However, when I talk to our girls, I can see that they are not willing to give up on our traditions or the season. Liz drags her kids around shopping unceasingly. Lisa usually is with her to assist. Michelle, while she no longer lives in the area, calls to ask all of the when and where details of our celebration. Our grandkids look forward to getting time off of school and all of the associated festivities.

I guess, all in all, there is still plenty to look forward to, and even more to pass on. Getting back to the real reason for the season, this last Sunday was the first of Christian Advent. The first candle lit was for hope. I think that’s what it’s really all about. The future has no guarantees, but where there is hope, there is life. May this little look back help prepare you to truly experience the joy of this season. When you are fighting for the last ‘Rogue One’ doll at Wal-Mart, try to ask yourself WWJD.

Crystal’s Corner: Christmas Traditions

To me, Christmas is the best season of the year because we are celebrating Jesus coming into the world to bring us light and peace and hope.  My family, especially my mom, was very involved with Christmas.  I sang in the choir at our church, so for weeks we were practicing for our December Cantata.  That music in my head would last for months afterwards.

My Mom sent out over 100 Christmas cards.  Before she did a newsletter, she wrote a note in almost every card.  She would set up an assembly line in our living room.  Signing the cards (usually Jeannette’s job because of her excellent handwriting), putting on the return addresses and stamps, sealing the envelopes and then sorting them into states.  We were very organized.  Some of my friends, once they saw what we were doing, wanted to join in.  My Mom took all helpers.

Then there was the baking.  We started right after Thanksgiving and every weekend, we baked cookies, sometimes raisin bread, and pumpkin bread and other sweets.  We froze the cookies and then right before Christmas, we made up plates and gave one to everyone we knew including the paper boy, the mail man, the neighbors, the tax man, etc.  We also had our cookie bake with friends.  My best friend, Debbie, and her mom would come with their cookie dough including potato chip cookies.  We had mixed up several batches especially cut out cookies, snickerdoodles, spritz, gingerbread, drop cookies, etc.  The morning was spent baking and in the afternoon, we decorated the cut outs and gingerbread with icing and sprinkles and candies.  Then we would divide up the cookies.  This way, we got quite a variety.  I have continued this tradition with my girls and my granddaughter.  Boy, can these girls make wonderful cookies and candies.  One year, we had the cookie bake at my house.  We were making goodies in the kitchen, the dining room and the living room.  I was having problems with my microwave that day (it was sparking) and when you opened my freezer, something would fall out.

We have a lot of fun at our cookie bakes, no matter where we do it.  I miss Jeannette and my friend, Debbie at our cookie bakes.  Jeannette and I did a lot together with Mom for Christmas.  Beyond shopping and decorating and baking, we made many of the presents to give away.  Mom would get us started in the summer, buying craft supplies and patterns on sale.  We always made items for the craft bazaar at church in the fall anyway.

I actually shop for Christmas presents all year round and for birthday presents too.  I learned a long time ago to spread it out and shop the sales.  Now I shop online which is very helpful as well.

I cherish our Christmas traditions and I am very glad that my girls also continue to make the season very festive and enjoyable.  Mostly, we enjoy doing things together, laughing, talking, eating any mistakes when we bake, and being thankful for each other and our faith. Christmas can be a lot of work, but if you do it with family and friends, it can be a wonderful season.  My mother would sing carols all the time and we sang right along with her. “Tis the Season to be jolly!”  Ron and I both hope that you are.

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A couple of Christmas pictures from a few years ago.

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Cubs Win! Cubs Win!

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I would like to start with an apology to those loyal faithful fans of the Cleveland Indians. They played their hearts out. If any of a dozen balls had bounced a little differently, I wouldn’t be writing this. But the Cubs did win, and I’m happy for them and for my old home town of Chicago. It still amazes me that my dad will turn 96 later this month, and, in his lifetime, this is the first time they have won the series.

This was a nice break from one of the dirtiest presidential campaigns in American history. I am proud to be an American, but disappointed in both of our major candidates. However, Donald’s slogan made me think. “When was America really great?” For me, that would have to be 1969. Why, you might ask. It was because of the Cubs of course! That was the year they were destined to win it all.

Being from the south side of Chicago, I was a diehard White Sox fan, but it was obvious from the start they were going nowhere. The Cubs, on the other hand, started the season winning eleven out of their first twelve games and were due, heck, overdue!  With one of the most compelling lineups in the history of the game including Hall of Famers Ernie Banks, Ferguson JenkinsRon Santo, and Billy Williams, they were the team of destiny. On August 19th, they led their division by 8 1/2 games. What followed was one of the most indescribably painful collapses in baseball history. In the end, they wound up 8 full games behind the team, now known as, the Miracle Mets.

I suffered right along with them. I remember that summer, walking everywhere with a little transistor radio glued to my ear. Even when I played my sandlot baseball, if the cubs were playing, the radio was right by my side. Occasionally, I had to field a ball to protect it. By the way, in case you were wondering, yes I was pretty good. At fifteen, I too dreamt of the day when I would play for the Sox. I would play for ten years, raking in an excess of $25,000 a year and be set for life.

But baseball aside, truly this was a time of America’s greatness. It had been six years since Kennedy had been assassinated. So that scar had almost healed. Of course it had been only a year since his brother Bobby Kennedy (then running for President) had been killed, and the riots at the Democratic National Convention in Chicago.  That was not so great. Still, President Kennedy’s cold war inspired dream of beating Russia in putting a man on the moon had happened. The pride was back.

Housewives and mothers were, for the most part, still in their homes. Neighborhoods were safer because of it. And then there were girls! At fifteen, I was alive at the right time. Long straight hair and miniskirts made life a little more fun. Even our future was assured. The women of Star Trek showed that to be true. I wonder how many outtakes there were when Yeoman Janice Rand or Lieutenant Uhura bent over wearing those short skirt uniforms.

Of course, in 1969 AfroAmericans (before they were blacks) were rioting. I never understood that. Here they were living in the land of opportunity. They had been free to enjoy all of the country’s privileges for over 100 years (ironically the same amount of time it took the Cubs to win). They were on TV, and in sports. Of course, living in the all white community of Oak Lawn, I had never actually met an AfroAmerican. Oh, I had seen them. Several worked in the Branding Iron Restaurant. They made the best spare ribs I had ever eaten. Surely the problem was just some giant misunderstanding.

Speaking of misunderstanding, this was also the height of the Viet Nam war. What was the big deal? We were America, so we had to be right. Nobody wanted the Commies to be on our doorsteps or under our beds. Besides, we always won our wars. A bunch of hippies didn’t agree. Of course, the girl hippies were cute, rocking out with flowers in their hair. OK, and the music was the greatest ever. Still, most of it didn’t say a lot of great things about our country.

I guess, when you look at it objectively, it makes you wonder, outside of baseball again becoming our national pastime, to what “great America” are we trying to return? On the eve of this critical election, please remember the words of the immortal long time mayor of Chicago, Richard J. Daily. ‘All “yous guys” should vote early and often’ (yes he actually talked like that).

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Lisa and my dad at a White Sox Game (not Cubs) in 2012.

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Everyone Should See Casablanca   

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Crystal has problems sleeping through the night. I too get up occasionally. Usually when I do she will be lying on the couch in the living room watching TV. Inevitably some old movie will be on. I often make a joke about the TV being broken, since it is only showing black and white. I have known for a long time, that Crystal’s preference is well made older movies. She explained to me that she used to watch them with her mom. Her mom would get excited and tell Crystal about all of the well known actors and explain the movie plots as needed.

I have always liked that about Crystal. She has an old spirit. She knows most of the old actors and the best of the old movies. As a writer she is drawn to movies with good, well thought out plots and good character development. Sadly, today’s movies all too often fall short. While I’m not as hooked on old movies as she, I totally agree that Casablanca is on the must see list.

Crystal’s Corner

I watched Casablanca recently.  I think everyone should see this award winning movie.  I understand it better now than I have in the past.  It would be a good idea to have my daughters, and my grandchildren watch it with me.

Because of our memoir, 150 Years of Marriage, and interviews with our parents, I have learned a lot about WWII.  Also, I have read many memoirs and historical fiction books about WWII, France and the Resistance. I know some French history and took French in Jr. High school and High school.  I have also watched numerous movies about WWII – some true stories and some from novels that were made in the 1940’s and 1950’s.  Through these films, you get a better picture of what real life was like during and after the war.

There is so much history referred to in this movie. Casablanca is the major port in Morocco in what was, at the time, called French North Africa. During WW2, there was constant tension between the indigenous French government and occupying German troops.  So there were French officials and German officials running the place.  There was a concentration camp on the island as well.  Casablanca was a place people went because they were trying to leave France.  The transition papers are a major topic of conversations.  There is a black market where people went to trade for what they needed to leave.

Casablanca is a humorous and serious movie with many famous one liners and the music is from the time period.  At one point in the movie, in the restaurant (“Rick’s Café Américain”), the German soldiers sing a German song that is pro Hitler and the Third Reich and then the French man who is married to Ingrid Bergman stands up and goes by the band to sing the French national anthem.  The entire restaurant joins in because they are French.  This causes quite a stir and brings a lot of tension into the scene.  It is what makes this movie great and also important.

Of course, as with any great and timeless movie, the acting is amazing. Humphrey Bogart played Rick, the restaurant owner, and secretly, a gun runner.  Ingrid Bergman played Ilsa, Rick’s now married ex-lover, who wandered back into Rick’s life for mysterious reasons. Together, Bogart and Bergman demonstrate what scene chemistry is all about. The part of Sam (played by Dooley Wilson), who is Rick’s closest friend and ally, is brilliantly portrayed.  He has some funny parts and lines in the movie.  Claude Raines, Paul Henri, and others add significantly as the plot develops.

So if a great love story, told amidst the backdrop of war and espionage, isn’t your cup of tea, don’t see Casablanca. However, you will miss an amazingly written and acted movie.  If you are into Academy Awards, it won three, including Best Picture.  Furthermore, it is part of our culture, which is why we should be having our young people watch it, and show it in history classes at schools. The history teachers then could explain all the WWII references and cultural understanding of the film. It would sure be better than lectures, reading the history books and taking tests.

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Mission Possible versus Mission Impossible

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Crystal always has a lot to say. It wasn’t until we had been married for a couple of years that I realized the disparity in our conversations. We had just bought one of those new fangled answering machines (yes we’re old). I was in the habit of calling home during my lunch hour. One day the machine recorded one of our conversations. Crystal would say two or three sentences followed by me saying ‘I see’ or ‘I agree’ or ‘uha’, etc. Then she would continue. Listening to the tape that evening was a shock. I’m not complaining. I think she just has more words to get out than me.

She is also a more prolific writer. So the next couple of blogs are dedicated to my better half. I have never been much of a “Mission Impossible” fan, but love her take in the following.

Crystal’s Corner

My brother and I watched “Mission Impossible” when we were growing up.  I especially like the music and the actors like Leonard Nemoy and Barbara Baines.  Sometimes the stories were too violent for me, but I liked that the team would figure out what to do and carry it out.  It was usually surprising and intriguing.

We are called as Christians to be on missions for God.  If you choose to accept it, because of Jesus, those missions are made possible (“With God all things are possible.”).  Life is not predictable or logical.  Many things have happened in our lives that seemed to make no sense at all.  Later when we looked back at them we can often see that God had the plan all along. Ron and I have written in our memoir about our lives and our parents’ lives and we can see God’s hand in all of our lives.  It is beautiful to see this.  I am so grateful for God’s blessings and His leading us from situation to situation.  I am considering writing a second memoir about our ten years in Indiana; because God did so much for us there. He led us there in the first place, brought the church and people to help us, and blessed us many times.  He has led us here to Ohio and blessed and sustained us while we have been here.

God makes our seemingly impossible mission, possible.  I recently won second place in an essay contest sponsored by the Museum here in Coshocton.  It was about Coshocton history in the 1700’s.  I wrote about the Lenape tribe that lived here.  Many of them were converted to Christianity by the missionaries.  Their culture was not that different from the Christian way of life.  Their Great Spirit is very similar to God.  It surprised me to learn about the history of this place where God brought us in 1999.  I have entered many writing contests and gotten nowhere.  I knew that God helped me research and write this article.

God told me when we were in Greensburg, Indiana, “You are moving east where three rivers meet.”  The Muskingum, Walhonding, and Tuscarawas rivers meet in Coshocton County.  It is a unique place here in Ohio and in this country. The Native American tribes named these rivers, Coshocton and many cities around here.

I am grateful not only on Thanksgiving but every day.  I am grateful to be in a wonderful marriage to my best friend, Ron.  I am grateful for my lovely daughters: Liz, Michelle and Lisa who have become strong, caring, hard working young women.  I am grateful for my grandchildren.  I am probably one of the proudest Nanas that exist today.  I am grateful to be a 19 year cancer survivor.  Even though I do have health problems, I don’t have spiritual problems.  I am happy every day I am here.  I see the beauty of the earth and the wonder in life.

Sometimes the challenges of life seem impossible to meet, but with God’s help we cannot only survive, but overcome.

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Ohio is a beautiful place to live (view from our front window).

 

 

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Not so Golden Years by Phil Osophy

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Life for Crystal and me has recently been about taking care of our aging dads. Baby boomers are the current sandwich generation. We still have some responsibilities in helping our children and are also responding to the needs of our aging parents. However, as much as I hate to admit it, we are getting ever closer to the sandwich’s bottom slice of bread. Already our children are deciding who will take care of Crystal and who ‘gets stuck’ with me. As of now, Liz gets me (sorry Brad) and Lisa gets Crystal. I’ll let you know when that debate is over. Of course, you might question, as I did, why in no proposed plan were old Crystal and old Ron together during their “golden years”. I’m sure that is some kind of oversight; or maybe not?

“Golden years” might be a misnomer. What about physical/mental decline and increasing dependence, is golden? You can ask my dad, there is nothing golden about it. But maybe there is some purpose. Early in my nursing career, I was giving a bed bath to a ninety plus year old lady. She screamed and complained. She no longer understood what I was doing or why I was doing it. I felt like God gave me at least a partial answer. At our weakest moments, we are giving others a chance to serve and show love. I thought of that often as a nurse. I was proud of the opportunities I had to make lives better. I think of it now as our dads need more and more assistance.

Sometimes, however, it’s just hard. One day at a time, that’s the way to live; that’s all we can handle. But, at times, we can’t help ourselves. Have you ever been lying in bed and unable to stop the tapes in your head? We run the various scenarios over and over. The right answers elude us (by the way it’s currently 4:30 AM).  The ‘what ifs’ become dominant. What are we doing and why are we doing it? The answers become more and more difficult. Maybe Solomon had it right. Life is meaningless. Or is it? Maybe there is some ultimate purpose in life that is above and beyond what we can grasp. Surely the great philosophers must have the true answers.

I was in a philosophy class for a total of one day. I started to read the text book, got my assigned reading list, and decided, before the class ended, that there had to be a less painful alternative. This was supposed to be my fluff elective class. Reading six books dedicated to a subject I couldn’t care less about and writing papers was not achieving my purpose (fluff). I dropped the class immediately and got into a German film class. I thought we would be watching movies and talking about them. Of course, according to our instructor, you can’t ‘really’ appreciate the films unless you first read the books from which they came. Of course then you should write a paper or four papers comparing and contrasting the books and movies. I couldn’t win.

So that was that. In four plus years of college, and many more years of life, I never learned anything about philosophy. What I did learn, however, was something equally useless. I learned that, my least favorite movie of all times was the political satire Kafka (Castle) by Thomas Mann (a good German). As bad as the movie was, the book was ten times worse. It was a lot like the movie but took so, so, so much longer. But what do I know? Mr. Mann won the Nobel Prize for literature for his effort. Little did Mr. Mann know that, many years later, his works would be used to torture college students. By the way, I think I got an A in that class. I conned Crystal, whom I was dating at the time, into typing my term paper. I remember nothing, save the fact that I hated Kafka. Oh and there was also this guy named Siddhartha (book/movie by Hermann Hesse, another good German). He was a man who walked around a lot and had opinions about everything. I later found out that his other name was Gautama Buddha, and he started some religion.

Last Sunday, our pastor got my attention with his sermon entitled Transcendent Purpose. He made some fairly well reasoned arguments that Jesus was the only person to have a purpose beyond the normal human experience (transcendent), that will never be lost (because he is coming back). So that’s it for the rest of us? We live; we suffer; we die. It all seems quite futile, doesn’t it? Each day we are one day closer to Heaven. At least that’s something to look forward to. However, we still have to live each day. We still have aging parents who want answers when we are fresh out. Some of us, who are blessed with children, are asked for even more answers from them. Heaven help us, if they ever find out that, we too are just surviving, and are making this stuff up as we go along.

Maybe the only real answer is from another movie, Disney’s The Lion King. Influenced by William Shakespeare‘s Hamlet , it’s the story of betrayal, murder, and a young lion’s journey into adulthood (a great story for kids). Simba, the young lion, eventually takes his rightful place as the king of the jungle. He is told by the ghost of his father that life is a circle and he has always been destined for his position.

Simba’s travels took him many places. He made lifelong friends, found his future mate, and learned much from those around him. He helped those he could along the way. In the end, he realized that between what he had learned from his parents and life in general, he could be the good and rightful leader of his clan. He had evolved into the leader he was always destined to be. He would rule his extended pride with the love and wisdom of a truly great leader. Now, while the wisdom came from a combination of his parent’s teachings, and his life experiences, I believe that the love came through his parents and from God. I believe that is our true transcendent purpose in life, to pass on our love. Hate is everywhere. If you doubt it, watch the news sometime. We have to start somewhere. Showing more love won’t put a nickel in your pocket or change the bully at work. The only person you can really change is you. A random act of kindness here, a kind word there, a hug for your child or spouse, forgive a neighbor, tell the truth in love to that relative, and who knows what will happen. If that’s how you choose to live, you are part of the solution. If that’s how you live, your life may not have transcendent purpose; but you will have made a positive difference. Your little corner of the world will be at least slightly better for you having been there. Your influence will continue even when you are gone. That’s what I truly believe. Of course, I’ve already told you that I’m making this up as I go along.

If Descartes, Nietzsche, etc. have a better way to live please let me know. Maybe passing on love is a common theme in philosophy. I wouldn’t know. They didn’t cover it in my day of class. Sometimes I think about taking a philosophy class, but then I eat something, and the feeling goes away.

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The last time Crystal and my dad were together Christmas 2013

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Happy B-day Liz or Thirty-Three

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Today my oldest daughter turned thirty-three years old……Thirty-Three! You know what that makes me? Old! I was there when she was nothing. It seemed like a good idea some nine months and three weeks earlier. That’s right she made us wait an extra three weeks. In that time we got so many phone calls from relatives and acquaintances asking what we had. All I could say was a cranky wife who looked like she was smuggling a beach ball. The suspension on my car needed some repairs. The mechanic accused me of hitting some railroad tracks a little hard…..It’s possible (desperate times).

Somehow it all seemed worth it when, after thirty-three plus hours of labor, and a C-section, the nurse rolled by with a cart containing the little long limbed, dark skinned, baby girl with black hair, we had named Elizabeth. At that time, I had been up over fifty hours straight (including around 25-30 of Lamaze). I checked to make sure Crystal was still alive and swerved my car somehow safely home. Her parents were there soon to take me out to dinner (at least I think it was dinner) or maybe breakfast.

Fast Forward

I will never get the image out of my head. After a hard day at work, I stealthy approached our condo door, and quietly opened it with my key. I would generally make it about two steps into the living room before my two year old daughter would come running with coat in hand, and shouted out two of her ten word vocabulary,” Daddy, Out!”

Crystal would look at me from a distance and shrug her shoulders; and I would turn around and head back out. Of course, I had anticipated the event. On the way home, I had already hatched a plan. Would it be shopping, the gym, or the park? It didn’t matter. I knew it wouldn’t be a fight. Elizabeth had me wrapped around her finger. Besides, I did enjoy her company. She had a smile that lit up my world.

As she got older, she had so many questions. She came out of the womb wanting to know everything there was to know. For a long time, I had her fooled. She thought I knew everything. What I didn’t know, surely, her mom knew.

As her sisters came along, naturally Elizabeth was in charge. She would even instruct the baby sitters; after all she knew all of the schedules and all of the rules. At times, I felt sorry for Michelle. She was always the student when they played school and the customer when they played store. Lisa, born five years after Michelle, was always the little sister. She grew up watching and learning from her older sisters.

Fast Forward

Liz’s teen years were rough. Somewhere along the road, Daddy magic failed. She found that sometimes bad things happen for no good reason. Kids can be mean and unfair. Mommies and daddies don’t have all of the answers. Doctors and teachers don’t have all of the answers either. She had an operation when she was about twelve and couldn’t hold down solid food consistently for about six months.

Fast Forward

When her teen years were over, along with her early twenties, she made one final revelation. Maybe, just maybe, she didn’t have all of the answers either. Therein lies the beginning of true wisdom. Somehow, Crystal and I have come full circle. We, at one time, were all knowing. Then, we became always wrong. Now, we are back to at least knowing some things. The other day, Liz told me she didn’t know how I did it. She had just given her first driving lesson to my grandson and almost had a meltdown. I agreed to help. That’s what dads/granddads do.

I have to admit to at least a small amount of mirth, as I watch our now adult children learn all those lessons, which can’t be taught. As Liz now understands thoroughly, good parenting is a matter of prayer, consistence, persistence, and a little smoke and mirrors (or luck).

By the way, I have named a good number of my gray hairs after Liz. Happy Birthday Liz!

 

Crystal’s Corner

One of the privileges of being a parent is celebrating your children’s birthdays.  Our daughter, Liz, is turning 33 years old today.  She is a wonderful mother and wife as well as an excellent RN.  She is also funny, warm, kind, and affectionate.  She has a big heart and an open hand to almost all that she encounters.  I have weird conversations on the phone with her interrupted by her children or the person handing her iced tea at the drive through.  We usually talk about what is going on as well as planning our get togethers.

Her life right now, with a houseful of kids, housework to do, errands to run, meals to make, etc., reminds me of my life.  I fortunately, did not work very much while I was home with the children.  She has to deal with work and all that it entails as well.  She is also going to school to get her B.A.  I don’t know how she keeps her sanity let alone has a chance to take a shower now and then.  We do try to help when we can and we encourage her and give her advice.

Sometimes, I miss the days we had together when she was growing up.  She was our first one and it was just the two of us at home all day for awhile.  Liz has always been a Daddy’s girl from the moment Ron lifted her up in the air in the hospital. She was also my girl who wanted to do everything I was doing.  When I was feeding Michelle she would hold her baby doll and feed her with a doll bottle.  She would put all of her dolls in the living room on the floor for their naps. Each one had a blanket and a book over their faces.  She didn’t want them to get bored.  When she was three years old and having temper tantrums, I figured out that if I put her baby doll on a high shelf, she would stop.  After that I would just have to look at her baby doll when she was naughty, and she would behave.

We are really proud of all of our daughters.  They have all become wonderful caring young women, who work hard and are thoughtful to us.  You think you will forget those early years, but I still remember holding her as a baby, holding her hand as a toddler and dancing with her as preschooler.  She kept changing and growing and amazing us. She still does today.

Happy Birthday, Elizabeth!

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Ohhh how they grow!!!!!

 

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