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Family Photos

2/22/2022

All of us have seen numerous photos from the 19th century of stern faces of families gathered around a Victorian gingerbread mansion or a sod house on the prairie. For some of those people, I have no doubt, that may have been the only picture taken of them in their entire lifetimes. Even when cameras became more ubiquitous in the 20th century, film and film development was expensive enough that we were careful not to "waste" shots. Of course digital photography changed all that and poor results can simply be deleted. Which means we take a lot more pictures and can waste some shots on silliness.

In my two steps forward, one step back effort to pare down my belongings, I have been through a lot of old slides and photos. I have been struck by the trend from the somber faces of the 1800s to smiling. but still posed, portraits of the mid 1900s to the whimsical groupings of today. In 1980, we celebrated my mother's sixtieth birthday. She came down for the weekend and we had a lovely dinner in Iowa City, took her to a performance of The King and I at Hancher, and then surprised her with arrangements to have a photographer, who was also a friend of my brothers, to take a formal family picture at the Iowa Memorial Union. When the photographer finished, he said "I've always wanted to do this, but I know you people well enough to ask. Everyone turn around and face the wall." Hence the picture above, which is the one I have framed.

A few years later in 1988, we decided to commemorate our silver wedding anniversary and the 100th birthday of our house by having professional pictures taken. Again, we had the traditional grouping of the whole family plus shots of just the kids and also of Butch and me. But through the whole afternoon, our granddaughter Brooke, then 3, refused to smile. This child had always seemed to have been programmed at birth to break into a beaming smile any time a camera was pointed at her, but not that day. We called to our neighbor Karel to come over and make Brooke laugh. She appeared in a gorilla costume (doesn't everyone have one laying around?) but as you can see, Brooke did not find it humorous. We then included the gorilla in the photo, told everyone to make a face, and ended up with this gem.

Whenever the Nortman family gathered, my mother-in-law always wanted a photo of just her seven children--no spouses. (Perhaps she was afraid that we were better looking.) So began a long tradition of always taking an "outlaw" picture. This one is probably out of focus because the outlaws are also the better photographers.

What's in your albums?

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The Writing Life

2/1/2022

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February looks like it is holding a lot of literary moments for me. I have a new Frannie Shoemaker book coming out February 10 and preorders are rolling in, more than for any of my previous books.

It has been a challenge to write. Frannie and Larry take a camphosting job in an Iowa Park in May 2020. The parks at that time were experimenting with reopening the campgrounds in a safe manner with a number of COVID protocols in place. My Beta readers were extremely helpful. Two have camphosting experience, one is a diehard camper, one also writes mysteries but also spent five months as a contact tracer at the beginning of the pandemic, and one is a retired librarian. I know how to pick 'em. So I am in the process of formatting the ebook for upload next weekend and then will tackle the paperback.

Friday, our young local author, Chuy Renteria, will be doing a book signing for his new, highly acclaimed memoir, We Heard It When We Were Young. The event will be at our new gallery in town, The Brick Street Gallery, along with an exhibit of Chris McMahon's imaginative art works. If you're in the area, join us from 5-7.

Next week, I plan to attend a luncheon to hear Iowa author, Thomas Nye, talk about his books on the Amish. One night I have a Zoom book club meeting with an RV village group.

And the following Saturday, a group of Eastern Iowa writers, the 'Book Bums,' will hold a Zoom workshop and gathering with a variety of topics. This group got started with our Book Bums workshop at our local library in 2014 and continued the early November workshops for five years. The last two years, of course, we have not met in person. Hopefully this year.

Finally, the last weekend of the month I will join a gathering of some of my favorite readers, the Midwest Glampers, at Pine Lake near Eldora, so we can plan our escapades for the upcoming camping season. More research for one of my next books!

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A Look Back and a Look Forward

1/29/2022

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Nine years ago in 2013, I had just entered my 70s. I wrote this blog, bemoaning my no-name generation and the frustrations of aging. Now I have recently entered the last year of my 70s and decided to reexamine my goals and outlook. When I wrote this, we would celebrate our 50th wedding anniversary a month later and the next six years would bring plenty of good times and wonderful travel for my husband and me. Then would come the crash and three years of doctor appointments, treatments, challenges, and finally the loss of my houseboy/driver/boyfriend and husband of 56 years.

My bucket list, if I ever had one, took a big spill. At the time, I had two light mysteries to my credit; I would go on to publish 17 more in the next 9 years. I hoped I would stay productive in the writing field, but certainly couldn't predict my other accomplishments. I learned to drive a small motor home and change flourescent light bulbs. I have used a car wash and checked the air in my tires for the first time in my life. I can dump the tanks on my motorhome and yesterday I reset the garage door opener so that the remotes work again. I didn't want to learn any of these things--or rather, I didn't want to have to learn any of these things.

But life is finite and nothing brings it home more than the loss of a spouse. I'm not giving up. There are more books I would like to write, trips I would like to take, and high points to experience. However, I am more aware than ever that each day is a gift and the future is not a given.

Dying a Little Bit at a Time
9/23/2013

I'm a war baby. During the Depression and the war, birth rates were way down and ours was a very small generation. We are so small that we don't have a name or even a president. Not one president was born between 1924 and 1946. Clinton, Bush Jr., and Obama are all Boomers.* So we have kind of sneaked through life sandwiched between the Greatest Generation and the Baby Boomers and no one noticed us much. No big deal; but the upshot is that most of the attention just misses us, especially research and advice. The media began looking at college preparation and choice shortly after I got my BA. They focused on issues raising toddlers as our kids entered high school. 'Empty nest' became a common term long after our birds had flown the coop. We were in our late 50s when magazine articles began to worry about middle-aged crisis.

So what's the point here? Well, as we have aged, we haven't had the benefit of much outside guidance and have had to discover things about getting old on our own. So there was no advance warning to me from talk shows or Dear Abby about the most disturbing realization of aging. And that is, that you aren't going to get it all done.

When you are young, it's like a kid with a toy catalog: "I want that...and that...and that..." There is no limit. So you think "Someday I'm going to build a log cabin on a lake" and a few days later, "Someday I want to visit China." And so on. It's not a bucket list because there is no deadline, no end in sight. So never once do you think, 'Well, if I build a log cabin, I won't have time to visit China. Ever.' But in your seventies, you have to face that fact. Not that you can't do those particular two things, but that you can't do everything. You realize that even though you're not at the end of your road, you can see the exit.

So I have accepted that I am not going to live and write in a garret in Paris or become a Rockette. This will be a shock to some but I have also given up on perfecting my triple axel. I don't think I will run for Congress or sail around the world in a small boat. Actually, this acceptance should make life simpler.

I am not trying to be morbid here; I just want to give you Boomers a head's up to expect lots of discussion of this topic in about five years. Meanwhile, I wonder if I have time to learn a few French verbs this morning...

* This is not to say that we have had no impact. This no-name generation includes the Beatles, Mick Jagger, Barbara Streisand, John Denver, Nelson DeMille, Robert deNiro, Wilma Rudolph, and John Kerry, to name a few.

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A Simple Cabin Christmas

12/27/2021

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The stockings were hung
By the front door with care
In hopes that Kate was finally out of those orange-flavored Crest sample tubes of toothpaste.

We once again gathered at the cabins at Lake Darling State Park for Christmas. We last did this four years ago in 2017 and had a wonderful time. We didn't know then what trials and separations the next four years would bring. The next two years, a diagnoses of cancer to my beloved husband along with appointments, treatments, and life-changing decisions would color our lives and pervade our communications and get togethers. There were bright spots--three grandchildren graduated, two married, and a new great-granddaughter, but it was a long hard time. The next two years began with the loss of my husband and continued with the onslaught of Covid. Working from home, isolation, and online classes became the rule of the day.

So it was with great hope that we planned this get together and with great hope we will go forward. All of our family came except one granddaughter and her husband, who are youth ministers in Alabama and had Christmas duties at their church. I realize that with most of the grandchildren in their 20s and 30s, this may be the last holiday we will come that close. There will be jobs, in-laws, and other demands that will prevent a full gathering. So I especially cherished this time.

We had four cabins for three nights, plus rented the lodge for Christmas Day. We collaborated on menus and tried to keep it simple. Arrival night would be build your own pizzas, Christmas Eve a taco bar, and Christmas Day a couple of pasta dishes and some soups. My sons, son-in-law, and grandsons did much of the cooking, which was delightful and much appreciated. And of course snacks: cheese and crackers, cookies, candy, chips, dips, and other goodies seemed to appear at every turn.

Everyone wanted to know if I was bringing the stockings. Finding small and sometimes silly gifts to add has always been a big part of our holiday. By Christmas Eve, they were stuffed with sentimental things, lottery tickets, Scotch tape, chapsticks, toothbrushes, hand santizer, etc. A month ago, I happened to find a small collection of coins in my husband's things: six Sacajawea dollars (three children and spouses), five Kennedy half-dollars (five grandsons), and three Susan B Anthony dollars (three granddaughters). Into the stockings they went.

The cabins did present a few challenges. Renters have always been required to bring their own bedding and towels. With the onset of Covid, all of the dishes and silverware were removed. I knew that and added a tote of plastic dishes, silverware and paper plates, but forgot that there were no cooking utensils. So, in spite of the fact that we arrived with all of our cars packed to the hilt, there were trips to the dollar store in nearby Brighton for big spoons and spatulas and --oh! for heaven's sake, bring back a can opener!

The weather was phenomenal. We got in several walks and stood around a campfire on Christmas Eve Day. It is dark enough there that the sky at night put on an incredible display of stars. And the sunsets at Lake Darling are usually spectacular.

It was three days with no TV and no internet, but lots of laughs, cards, games, and puzzles. The first puzzle produced was a 2000 piecer of the Eiffel Tower with mostly dark blue sky behind it. It was not completed. Fortunately I received a little less challenging one that we (mostly the grandchildren) completed on Christmas day.

There was also the usual white elephant gift exchange with some real 'winners'. And a new activity just added was 'Human Hungry Hippo." One persons lays on a skateboard on their stomach while their partner steers them around by their legs to try and grab as many colored balls as they can. A third partner bags the balls as they are grabbed. No chins or noses were injured in the process.

Of course, the best part was time with kids, grandkids, and great-grandkids whom I have not seen nearly enough of in recent times. A special treat was Tuan (Scott) who recently returned from service in Kuwait with the Iowa National Guard, as well as meeting his girlfriend for the first time--a delightful young woman who is a good enough sport to tolerate and join in to all of this insanity. Also Steven was on leave from Camp Pendleton. And of course, a visit from oldest granddaughter Brooke provided that necessary Christmas ingredient--small kids. Five-year old Olivia whirled through the crowd applying her new play makeup to any adult who sat still long enough and using her Scotch tape to bandage imaginary wounds. Her two-year-old sister Jordyn tried to keep up. All in all, a wonderful holiday. Merry Christmas to all!

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The Parable of the Christmas Lights

11/29/2021

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This is a post that I wrote three years ago and in rereading it, found it was pretty prophetic, especially of 2019 and 2020 for me. Today I set up my tree and added the lights. I believe last year I bought all new lights and so far they are staying on. The whole thing is a job fraught with memories. Butch always put the tree together and then "fluffed" the branches--spreading them out to add a more realistic look. He also usually did the lights. Lights for me are secondary to the ornaments and that's my next step. But they are all handmade by friends and kids or purchased on a trip. So it is a bittersweet task.

We've all been there. The holidays are approaching so we haul the boxes of decorations from the attic, or the basement, or wherever they have resided the bulk of the year. Maybe we turn on a Christmas CD and hum along while we heat up a cup of hot chocolate or cider or other seasonal drink. We get out the lights and try to string them out on the living room or garage floor. The difficulty of this task depends on how OCD we were the year before--carefully winding them on a spool or wadding them up in a sack or some organizing technique in between. If we are wadders, we face the gargantuan task of untangling, and we may switch from hot chocolate to a glass of wine. Just a small one.

Once they are untangled, we plug them in, one by one. They don't all light. Ever. That is a rule about Christmas lights. We get a little more wine and set about checking for empty sockets and misfunctioning bulbs. This day and age, all light sets say "If one or more bulbs burn out, others will stay lit." That is a lie. After replacing some bulbs, tightening others, and shaking the string (gently), the lights come on. Success!

The next job is to hang them. Maybe they go on a tree, or along the eaves, or above the kitchen cabinets, or along a railing. Wherever their destination, the task is usually not a piece of cake. It involves ladders, wire ties, masking tape, a good sense of balance, and greenery--artificial or otherwise. Regardless, once the lights are hung and we plug them in, voila! One section does not light. Or maybe more than one. Right in the middle. Always. Sometimes a little jiggling will remedy that situation, but then the middle of a another string goes out. More wine.

Strings of lights have become so ubiquitous that they aren't just for Christmas any more. So even if you are of a different religious persuasion, or none, you have still had this experience.

I bought three new strings of lights for our 9 1/2 foot tree two years ago. This year, only one string lit up completely before they went on the tree. The other two only lit halfway.

I decided I didn't care--one whole string and two halves would be enough. I strung the whole string back and forth, top to bottom. I added the other strings and wadded up the unlit sections, tucking them back into the center of the tree where they can't be seen. It wasn't the most even lighting job but looked okay. I proceeded to hang fifty-five years of collected ornaments--more if you count the silver-painted pine cone from my grandmother's tree--and finished off with real tinsel. The aluminum kind that I carefully save from year to year, not that new plastic kind. We both approved the final look and sat down to enjoy our evening and the tree.

Two hours later, the top third of the tree went dark. That was the first string that earlier in the day lit completely before it went on the tree. The string that went on before the other two, all of the ornaments, and the tinsel. The next day, I bought another string to fill in, took the tinsel and ornaments off that part of the tree, carefully wove the new lights through the branches, and replaced the decorations. However, I am not foolish enough to believe that all of the working lights will continue to light until after New Year's.

What's the point?

This whole light fiasco can be seen as a parable for our lives. No matter how carefully we buy, store, and test our lights, some will go dark. Usually in the middle of the string. And we are faced with making do or redoing or changing our expectations. Probably all three.

This summer we made plans for the fall that included several camping trips and a grandson's wedding in Mexico. Then my husband was diagnosed with lung cancer. We jiggled those plans and replaced components, but finally had to change our expectations and cancel each plan, one by one. The treatment is going well and we are hopeful for next year. That is what is important in this moment.

We are aware that we are not alone; we know several others with serious glitches in their strings of lights. Some more serious than ours. What we are all left with is the need to enjoy and appreciate the lights when they are on.

Another lesson from the lights is that even though the tree is beautiful, there are those hidden wads of lights gone dark. Just as many of our friends and neighbors are dealing with dark spots that may not be visible in the flashily lit tree. This is the parable of the lights: Hold your loved ones close and be aware of lights gone dark.

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Going on Record

11/11/2021

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Last year about this time, the Midwest Writing Center in the Quad Cities put out a request for submissions to an anthology about personal experiences during the pandemic and other events of 2020. It is called These Interesting Times: Surviving 2020 in the Quad Cities.
A collection of essays, poems, and even cartoons explores the changes, dynamics, and upheavals of this chaotic year. Terms like quarantine, social distancing, homeschooling, working from home, and shutdown gained expanded meanings, often never imagined in our lifetimes. Each entry has a slightly different perspective--some focused on the mundane, every day adjustments and some on more life altering upheavals: loss of loved ones, jobs, homes, and dreams. And hope comes through on most.

I was asked to submit a piece since the loss of my husband came right before the pandemic hit. It was a difficult piece to write.

The book will be out this month. In addition, public radio station WVIK 90.3 FM has asked to have all of the authors record their contributions to be available as podcasts on the WVIK website. Yesterday I drove to the MWC office in Rock Island to do my segment. That's trepidation you see on my face in the photo. I am not a very good reader, but more than that, I found that reading those memories into a microphone put such a finality on those events. It was a very hard read. But I got through it and am relieved to have it over.

The book is available to order on the Midwest Writing Center's website.

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Success!

10/22/2021

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I decided to wait to write this final blog on my solo trip until I got back home safely and I could report that my first trip without a support group is a fait accompli. I arrived home shortly before noon, parked Agatha without wiping anything out, and, unlike my trip to Backbone last year, there has been no derecho. The drive was easy and pleasant with no wrong turns. The only glitch came on my departure. I suppose in anticipation of near freezing temperatures last night, the park had closed the dump station. I bid Backbone's iconic boathouse a fond farewell and headed out. Palisades State Park was right on my way home, so I pulled in there, paid a small fee, and dumped the tanks.

The weather gurus had things flipped a little. Wednesday was supposed to be rainy and Thursday cool but sunny. Instead, Wednesday was beautiful in the morning, turning cloudy but dry in the afternoon. Thursday morning, I woke up to rain with intermittent drizzle. They were right about the cool part. Since I am old, I opted to stick to the roads for my morning hike, foregoing the steep trails carpeted with wet leaves. I encountered three deer who gave me the usual "Who let you in?" stare before going about their business. It was drizzly but still pretty.

The whole stay, the campground was extremely quiet with only five or six other campers, although every site was reserved for the weekend. I read, finally did a little writing, and napped. I did very little cooking because I had stocked the freezer with leftover meat loaf, rice and chorizo stew, apple crisp, and other goodies for a quick zap in the microwave. All in all, it was an enjoyable finish for the season. Now to the saddest part of a camper's year--unloading and storing linens and staples and getting read to winterize.

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Lone Eagle, II

10/21/2021

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Yesterday's forecast proved quite inaccurate with a beautiful sunny morning and clouds but no rain in the afternoon. I headed out on the West Lake Trail, which has lots of ups and downs. I thought I could get to the Devil's Backbone Trail but didn't go far enough. I still got in about 3 1/2 miles by the time I got back. Then my neighbors told be they hiked 8 miles on that trail! But it was a beautiful day for it.

After my lunch I had to have a long nap to recover. It's very quiet here since there are a whopping seven other campers in the campground and one of those left this morning. I would like to say I got some writing done, but it's been so long, I had to reread what I had and didn't get any farther. Maybe today.

Because the rain arrived in the night along with a front that calls for wind and temps in the low 50s, followed by a frost warning for tonight! I will try and get another walk in this morning, but will stick to the roads.

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Lone Eagle

10/20/2021

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I have always enjoyed the stories of exploits of Charles Lindbergh and Amelia Earhart, although I never had any desire to fly. I left that up to my intrepid husband. But ever since I purchased my little motor home over a year ago, I have wanted to try a solo trip. I love Backbone State Park, especially in the fall and it has good internet reception so it was a natural choice.

Two concerns surfaced Tuesday morning before I left. I had called the park to see if they were still selling firewood in the campground and the ranger said "Not at this time of the year." Well, there are usually farms in the area who have firewood for sale, so I hoped to pick some up along the way since, once I am set up, it's not simple to unhook and wander about the countryside.

It also occurred to me (after I talked to the ranger, of course) that many parks turn off their water around October 15. I had about 2/3 of a tank (according to the gauges, which are notoriously inaccurate) and thought I could make it three days but wasn't positive. So like the pioneers, I started out my journey worrying about fire and water.

It was a lovely drive north and little traffic. I checked several convenience stores, who sometimes carry wood, but not "at this time of the year," apparently. However, a private farm right at the park entrance had a cart with $5 bundles so I stopped and grabbed a couple. Yes, I did pay for them. And lo and behold, the water is still on at the park! Although why they would put the fresh water supply on a one way OUT of the campground so that you have to circle the entire place baffles me.

I got set up in a nice pull through site that I have used before, and with the aid of boards, Agatha is pretty much level. The temps warmed up to about 75 and it was a beautiful evening with a full moon. There are very few other campers here, but I did speak to a couple from Wisconsin who came south looking warmer weather in Iowa. (?!?) I also had a visit from an old friend and built a passable fire. All of the bugs in the county are putting in a final appearance--flies, box elder bugs, stink bugs, orange beetles, and a few mosquitos.

Today's forecast is for rain this afternoon--good time for some writing and reading. I will finish The Great Deluge by Douglas Brinkley about Hurricane Katrina and hope that the outside conditions don't lend too much realism.

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A Quiet End

10/1/2021

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Not to me, or even the camping season, I hope, but to the Pleasant Creek trip. Tuesday morning, before Marcia and Harlan left, we hiked the "Interpretive trail.' Apparently you should interpret the numbered posts along the trail, but there was no guide that we could find. However, we still enjoyed the wild asters and the last of the goldenrod. At the top of a hill, we discovered Lewis Bottoms Cemetery, an old but well maintained site that seemed to be dominated by three family names. Old stones that have started to crumble are embedded in the ground. We saw constant evidence of the derecho--trees either bent by the winds or snapped off like toothpicks.

We also made a couple of short road trips--one day for firewood and a few groceries and one day to a nearby apple orchard, where we snagged some apple cider donuts. We also had lovely campfires with a great view of the lake and sunset. Other than that, this was one of those trips to catch up on reading and napping.

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Family Photos

The Writing Life

A Look Back and a Look Forward

A Simple Cabin Christmas

The Parable of the Christmas Lights

What's the point?

Going on Record

Success!

Lone Eagle, II

Lone Eagle

A Quiet End

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