I feel like I have wasted these first two months of 2021. I spent most of January recuperating from nose surgery, while February was spent recuperating from recuperating. I think Seasonal Affective Disorder set in when the sun disappeared, and temperatures plummeted to waaayyy below zero. I had car issues and heating issues and freezing issues. And although I didn’t want to venture out, I had no choice. Duty calls.
With so many challenges, I spent my spare time hibernating and feeling sorry for myself. This weekend, however, I realized it is only 20-plus days before spring is officially here! Just the thought was enough for me to throw back the covers and shake off the “poor me’s” and visit my daughter. We talked about current events; the pandemic and political sagas, the poor job and economic situations, and all the strife that continues to plague us all. If that wasn’t enough, she told me about the struggle of trying to fix up her house.
“Every day something else breaks,” she told me, nearly in tears. “I just can’t do this anymore.” We were both getting pretty depressed about the whole situation, when she added, “We just need good things to happen.”
We are both fairly positive people, but this past year has been especially hard on us, and everyone else, in our hometown of Cedar Rapids. The pandemic forced many to figure out a new normal, but the derecho in August caused so much damage, the entire community is still feeling the effects.
How can anyone be positive in a world that is so negative?
“Maybe they just need a reminder.”
A lightbulb went off in my head. What a great idea! It made us ponder the question, “What can we do to remind people to focus more on the positive and less on the negative?”
This is how the “Nice Box” was born. The Nice Box would be a subscription box with all sorts of unique and fun and items. It would also feature a newsletter filled with positive life hacks, as well as coupons and samples from various local small businesses.
It would take a lot of work, but we both agreed it was something we are passionate about; helping others to be more positive in a world that tends to focus on the negative. We would do this through the different items in our monthly subscription boxes.
Although we are currently in the “brain-storming” phase of the project, we hope to launch the box later this year. I really think this could bring some much needed sunshine and positive energy into our weary world. All we can do is try, right?
I’ve been a humanitarian much of my life. However, I get tired after working all day. I really don’t feel like helping someone move to a new house or give them a ride somewhere. There are times when I really don’t feel like helping. I try to tell myself it’s ok, that they can find someone else to do it, but I know I will feel guilty for not helping, so, in the end, I help them, if only to keep me from feeling guilty.
Ugh. Self-esteem issues, I know. But it doesn’t take away from how I feel when I help someone and they truly appreciate it. I know I’m doing a good thing. Like going to church or an AA meeting. You don’t really feel like going, but you feel so much better when you do.
I know I don’t have to be a people-pleaser. I really can say no if I have other things going on. I know how to take care of myself. But there are other times when I just can’t help myself. Maybe it’s the look in their eyes, their body language, or even their “vibe” that says “I’m desperate … Obi Won, you’re my only hope.”
I would sacrifice myself for others when push came to shove. Or, I would at least consider it. But since I have been screwed over many times, I have learned over the years to be cautious and not believe that everyone has my best interest at heart. That’s really tough when you are programmed to look for the good in people. Sometimes it takes a time or two of being burned, but I do give the benefit of the doubt.
I received a lecture from my partner the other day because I do so much for my kids, who are adults, and should be able to do it all themselves. But sometimes they need help. I know this because I was once a single parent who couldn’t make ends meet, and my folks stepped in often to help me. I’m not sure what I would have done without them. Were they enabling me? I don’t think so. I think they loved me so much they just wanted to help me get a handle on life. That’s what I’m doing for my kids, but my partner, who isn’t close to his kids, doesn’t get it. And that’s ok.
I think it was my parents’ kindness that taught me to pay it forward. My dad was the same way. Kind, caring, generous. A great guy, but he certainly wasn’t perfect. And I know it wasn’t just his influence – I was born this way. My mom was a good person, too, so I got a double dose of the kindness gene. What a lucky person I am. 🙂
I helped others even before I knew that’s what I was doing. When we were kids, my older sister was crying because her doll broke so I gave her mine. Someone feel and stubbed their knee so I ran home to get a band-aid. I trick-or-treated for UNICEF and filled two cartons that year!
There was a time when I couldn’t help anyone. I developed Crohn’s disease and had to ask for help. I hated it. It made me feel guilty, but I was glad to have it. I wouldn’t have been able to feed my kids, otherwise. Being able to accept help from others taught me to be humble, as well as grateful someone cared enough, especially now that I am in a good place and I can help others less fortunate.
My son and I started a nonprofit, Community Connections of Iowa, to help our community after a derecho hit our area in August 2020. I am proud to say that we finally were able to register as a 501(c) (3) recently, so we can help the community even more! We provide community service, promote the good things happening in our community, and sponsor free family events. It’s what I was born to do.
I was 7 years old when I first that old saying, “Knee High by the 4th of July,” meaning that if the corn was above an average person’s knee, the crop was in good health. I still think about that as I drive past the greenish-brown fields that surround our Iowa community.
The recent heatwave (and no rain) has caused the corn to wither and turn brown some, but I have faith it will bounce back. After all, Iowa is known for its humid summers, which is actually caused by the corn, so I have heard. It makes sense if you think about it. It takes a lot of water to make a good corn crop. All that rain we received in the early part of summer is what gave our corn a boost when it was needed most, but now we are paying for it in the form of humidity. A love-hate relationship, you might say.
The thing about humidity is, not only do you sweat with very little effort, but it makes sweat so your makeup runs and frizzes your hair like an afro. The moisture hangs on you like a wet towel. It makes 90 degrees feel like 115, so when people say, “It’s not the heat, it’s the humidity,” it really is.
Iowa summers aren’t really that bad. I think we become more tolerant as we get older. We are used to the week or two of intense heat that comes every summer. Probably because we know it will end eventually. We are survivors, after all, and know how to prepare for such extremes.
I can remember a time when we suffered without air conditioning. All we had was a fan, which would blow around hot hair. Some nights were unbearable, and it was a treat when we caught a breeze through open windows. We finally got our first air conditioner when I was 11. My mom put it in the window in the dining room (the only window it would fit in), and us kids would sleep on the floor, just to be able to sleep. We all slept upstairs, which was like an oven, unbearable in the 90-degree weather.
Thank God for air conditioning! It’s easily one of the most important invention of the 20th Century. While it can still be miserable to have to work in the heat, at least you know you have a cool place to go afterwards. The upside is that cooler weather is only a few months away; and then we can complain about how cold it is. That’s Iowa for you.
Don’t like the weather? Wait an hour; it’ll change. Or, like the joke Jeff Foxworthy often tells about our state, “You know you live in Iowa when you can you wear a parka and shorts in the same day!” It’s funny, but it’s true. Our weather slogan can best be found in the words of Forrest Gump, “You never know what you’re gonna get.”
There was a time when I didn’t know what Memorial Day was for. I thought it was just a day off from school, with a picnic in the park if it was nice out. When we were older, my siblings and I had to go with our parents to put flowers on the graves of my grandpa and great-uncle in Marengo, as well as the graves of my great-aunts and great-grandparents in Conroy and Ladora. It was a long car ride, boring, and I had better things to do.
I never thought to ask why we were celebrating when Memorial Day came around every year. I was just happy to have the extra way off.
I decided to do a little research to make sure I really knew what Memorial Day meant and found an article on PBS.org:
“It’s a day of reflection and remembrance of those who died while serving in the U.S. military.” The article continues: “The holiday is observed in part by the National Moment of Remembrance, which encourages all Americans to pause at 3 p.m. for a moment of silence.
“The holiday stems from the American Civil War, which killed more than 600,000 service members — both Union and Confederate — between 1861 and 1865.
There’s some controversy over the first national observance of what was then called Decoration Day. It occurred May 30, 1868, after an organization of Union veterans called for decorating war graves with flowers, which were in bloom.
The practice was already widespread on a local level. Waterloo, New York, began a formal observance on May 5, 1866, and was later proclaimed to be the holiday’s birthplace. However, Boalsburg, Pennsylvania, traced its first observance to October 1864, according to the Library of Congress, when some women in some Confederate states were decorating graves before the war’s end.”
Somehow, the holiday has become an unofficial start to summer, which, as I mentioned, includes a celebration at parks, at the beach or pool, and of course, a day off from school and work. Our ongoing family tradition of visiting relatives’ graves is a mainstay on Memorial Day, but until now, I never really took the time to understand that the day should really be set aside for veterans who died serving their country.
There is more to this article but that’s the gist of it. It doesn’t matter where it started, but I think we should all remember why we have Memorial Day in the first place.
This year, I honor everyone who went before me, who ever made a difference in this world and paid the price with their life. And don’t get me wrong, I’m still going to take advantage of the day off and do something fun. But now that I understand why I get the day off, I am much more grateful for it.
“The real gift of gratitude is that the more grateful you are, the more present you become.” ~ Robert Holden
I’m scheduled for a colonoscopy tomorrow. Liquid diet today, no food (including coffee!) tomorrow. And of course, there’s the lovely solution I have to drink tonight to get cleaned out. That’s the worst part – the prep. Let’s just say, I’ll be happy when it’s over.
I was scheduled for a colonoscopy in February, but then I came down with Covid and had to reschedule. The soonest they could get me in was August! In the meantime, since I was having stomach pains, they did a battery of tests on me, including a CT scan and esophogram. All they said is that everything looked ok.
I told my GP about my issues and she was ticked that I had to wait so long for a colonoscopy. She called another gastro doctor to get a second opinion. Wouldn’t you know? My gastro doc’s assistant called the next week and miraculously found an opening.
Too bad it’s at 2:30 on a Friday. A day off would normally be great, but this isn’t how I thought I’d spend it. Still, it will be a relief to find out what’s causing my pain.
I’ve been having health issues the past few years. I was diagnosed with Fibromyalgia a few years ago, along with osteoporosis and problems with my spine. The fibro amplifies every little pain I have, so I never know if it’s something I should worry about or if it’s the fibro. I’m learning though.
It sucks getting old. I know you can still get sick at a young age (I was diagnosed with Crohn’s when I was 28). But it seemed like I hit 50, and everything started breaking down.
I blame waitressing for that. For 25 years I served at various restaurants. I had to move fast and be on my feet 8 hours a day or more. It was good money for a single mom, so I continued lugging those heavy trays from table to table. But I knew I couldn’t do it forever. I don’t think I was in my right mind when I decided to go from waitressing to office work, where I sat for 8 hours a day. Both jobs are extremely tough on your body. I was lucky to find a job where I can do both, so I’m not always sitting and not always on my feet; a good balance.
My curious mind wants to know everything about everything. I know that’s not possible, so I’ll settle for my health. That’s why I’ve been so adamant about finding out if there is something wrong with me. My brother died of bone cancer in 2015. He told his doctor his leg hurt and could hardly walk, so they had him do PT for a while. When that didn’t work they did an MRI (like my brother requested months before and they wouldn’t do). He died a week later. The cancer started in his lungs and spread to his liver and bones before anyone knew. How could his doctor not have known? We never even got to say good-bye, because he lived in Colorado, and the rest of us live in Iowa.
I don’t want that to happen to me, so I dig for answers. Maybe there aren’t any. Maybe they’ll blame the fibro. But at least I’ll know, and then I’ll have peace of mind. Isn’t that why we try to find answers to things we don’t know? I have spent thousands of dollars on tests that say I’m ok. But I don’t feel ok. How are you supposed to know what you don’t know until you know, you know?
I will never stop asking questions, especially when it comes to my health. Doctors don’t know everything. Besides, I’m finally learning to navigate their corrupt system, but it’s not pretty. They charge us ungodly prices to tell us they don’t know what’s wrong.
Personally, I think it’s bullshit, but are you gonna do? We’re at their mercy. I could get on my soapbox and talk until I am blue in the face, but it won’t matter. Nothing will change. They’ve got their system locked in tight. And please don’t get me started on the insurance companies, the real brains behind it all. They are the ones who tell the doctors what procedures you can and can’t have, or what meds they can prescribe. They are the ones that tell you how much you have to pay, based on a code that may or may not be correct. Ugh. Maybe I’ll move to Canada where the healthcare is free.
I’m ok with dying. I used to be terrified of dying, but now I am ok with it. The circle of life, right? I just want to enjoy as much life as I can while I’m still here. I also want to maintain my good quality of life. I don’t want to end up like my mom, sitting all day watching TV because she’s in too much pain to move. So, I stay active, and I keep asking questions.
A little advice to the younger generations: Take care of your body. You don’t know what it’s like to be old because you haven’t had that experience yet. But it’s a bitch. Be sure to exercise and eat right (and don’t drink too much or get hooked on drugs). And for God’s sake, don’t sit at your desk or be on your feet all without taking breaks. Our bodies weren’t meant to do that kind of prolonged work. Take breaks. Don’t be a martyr like I used to be (Wonder Woman lol). Just sayin’.
We can’t know everything, but we can ask those who do know. I know I don’t know everything and that’s ok. I’ll just keep asking until I find the answers. Everything I know in life has come from learning, asking, and experiencing things for myself. In my 60 years, I’ve come to know a lot. And, I’m smart enough to know that if I don’t know the answer, I have to go searching for it.
My brother went looking for answers, but he trusted that his doctor knew what was best. Steve should have demanded an MRI sooner or gotten a second opinion.
Steve’s experience taught me that we have to take control of our health. Don’t let doctors tell you everything is ok when you know it’s not. Don’t let them tell you it’s all in your head. Become a pest. Become that person the nurses and doctors groan when they see.
Gardening has always been interesting to me. From the time I was a little girl planting tomatoes next to my mom, to planting my own little garden in my own backyard, I have enjoyed watching the seeds sprout from tiny seeds to living plants. The past few years, though, I haven’t had a lot of luck. Between the weather, fungus, and little animals, I just haven’t been able to produce much.
My son, Sean, is a lot like me. We like a lot of the same things, including gardening. This year we decided to get a garden lot in the new city gardens in Sinclair Park, located next to St. Wenceslaus Church. There are only 10 or so plots in this small park, plus a few elevated gardens, but it’s still a lot bigger than we thought it would be.
we made the mistake of planting too early (there was a hard freeze a few nights in April), so we started again last week. We planted some seeds and some plants already sprouted. So, if the weather cooperates, we should have quite a harvest of pumpkins, tomatoes, peppers, and onions by the end of the summer.
My son and I also share a disorder that puts us both on the spectrum. Sean has severe ADHD and a learning disability (at 31 he still has trouble reading and writing) and I was diagnosed with Adult ADD, something I didn’t even know I had until a few years ago. It seems our brains have a hard time slowing down. And while we both have other interests, one thing we enjoy doing together is gardening. When we work in the garden, no conversation is needed; we just do our own designated work and get to be one with nature, together.
The other day I took a break and watched Sean working hard, tilling the soil. Normally, he jumps from task to task and needs to be redirected to finish his work, but Sean had no trouble staying on task until he was finished. He truly loved what he was doing. Not only is he a good gardener, he is also a great cook, which I think is his motivation behind the gardening. I know firsthand what a great feeling it is being able to create something with your hands.
Sean may have a disability, but he definitely has a creative soul. And if I can help him figure out what he likes and what he’s good at, maybe that’s the key to helping him live a fulfilled and happy life. We all should be so lucky. 🙂
Confucius is known for the saying “If you love what you do, you never have to work another day in your life.” I’m one of the lucky ones – I love what I do, and it’s not very often that I wake up not wanting to go to work. Most often it’s because I’m sick, or just need a day off.
I work at a local homeless shelter as the office manager. I’m in the back office, but I do work with the clients when I sit at the front desk for a few hours during the week. Some days can be stressful and frustrating, but overall, it’s a very rewarding job, and I love knowing that I am helping them in some way.
I love to stay busy, too. Between my fibromyalgia and back pain, I need to stay busy so I can forget about my pain. The pain doesn’t entirely disappear, but when I focus on other things, I do get some reprieve from it. I cook, clean, craft, spend time outside, write and do other things on my computer, and I exercise.
My daughter and I walked up Mt. Trashmore (a local landmark involving an old dumping site). It’s a hike, but it’s doable for most people. I walked it last year, but it was the first for my daughter. I loved the look on her face when we finally arrived at the top and she saw our city from a new perspective. Although I had seen it before, I was in awe of its beauty, standing at the rail of the scenic overlook, a mile above Cedar Rapids. It was amazing.
Of course, I hurt all over the next day, but it was worth it. Ironically, on the way home to Marion, I took a new route, and was surprised when I saw a sculpture carved out of a tree near the old train depot. Why hadn’t I seen that before, I wondered? Then I realized that I don’t normally go that way. Since I was in a hurry to get home, I told myself I would come back to get a better view.
The next day after work, I returned with my camera and took a few pics. The Marion Depot reminded me of when I was 6 years old and we took the last train from that depot to Chicago. What I remember most from that trip, besides it being a cold morning, is how much the train shook. I also got off on the wrong side when we disembarked, and when I couldn’t find my mom, cried until she found me. I was traumatized for a while after that, being 6 and all.
I looked around at the other happenings around me and noticed the old Marion Library was being demolished. I looked across the street at the new library and decided that I needed to visit it someday. I used to love going to the library, but I’d been so busy, I just didn’t think about it, the downfall of having too much to do. I have to learn to prioritize more.
Today I’m in Oklahoma for my grandson’s graduation from boot camp. Next month I’m going to Colorado, a gift to myself for turning 60. I’m going to stop by Nebraska City to see the town where my mom was born, and on the way home, I plan on visiting Cedar Rapids, NE, a town with a population of 300, just because it sounds cool.
Another reason I like to stay busy is because when I got sober 18 years ago, I made a promise to myself that I was going to start living, and the way I see it that means experiencing as much life as I can with the time I have left. Staying busy, working a job I love, managing my pain, and enjoying life to the fullest.
I work as officer manager at a local homeless shelter. When I was offered the job a year ago, I seriously wondered if I could do it. I hadn’t worked much with that population and didn’t know what to expect.
As fate would have it, my desire to help others was bigger than my fear. I used to judge others harshly for where they were in life, but now I understand that everyone has value.
It’s not always to see that especially if others appear ungrateful, distant, or downright rude. Its easy to lose sight of the big picture – that everyone has their own path to follow.
No one chooses to be homeless; not really. Most people find themselves in a place they don’t want to be, yet they don’t know how to better there situation.
That’s where we come in. Not only does Willis Dady provide a place to stay, but we also offer housing programs, outreach, and employment programs. We have two locations where clients can shower and do laundry. We want them to know that we really do care and that we value them as human beings.
I know we’re not the only ones who care, but I also know we get busy in the course of the day, we forget this. If everyone took a moment to remember this, can you imagine how wonderful th world would be?
We’ve had a dog in our family for as long as I can remember. Some of them were just pets, but most of them a part of our family. Once in a while, we’d pick a pooch that didn’t quite fit and had to rehome, but the others have found a permanent place in our hearts.
Queenie was already a part of our family when I was born. She lived to be over 12 years old. She was overweight from having too many puppies, I think, because back then, no one spayed their dogs. Not many, anyway. Queenie was an Australian-mix, on the smaller side, and every time she came into heat, she’d get pregnant from some dog in the neighborhood.
My little brother and I found her in the basement and tried to wake her. I must have been 9 or 10. It was traumatic. When we couldn’t wake her, we ran upstairs to tell our mom. Mom called Dad and they made us go out to play while Dad put Queenie in the car and took her to the vet.
My oldest sister thought we needed another dog, so she brought home Tandea, Tana for short. She was a Chihuahua terrier, bigger than most Chihuahuas. She hated storms and went into fits when she heard thunder. Tana also got pregnant every time she was in heat. She had a tough time with her first because the dad was a springer spaniel. The lone puppy was big and when it was time to give birth, Tana freaked out and dragged the poor baby across the floor. We calmed her down and she gave birth to Blitz. He had his dad’s coloring and his mother’s big ears.
A few years later Skipper came along (aptly named for his breed, a Schipperke.) Skipper was my sister’s dog, but as you can imagine, he became just like another member of the family. He and Tana became fast friends. Although they barked at anyone who came to the door, they weren’t as brave one night when we came home and found someone in our house. We found both puppies upstairs under my bed, shaking from fear.
My oldest brother was in the Air Force in the ’70s, stationed in Colorado Springs. When he came home for a visit, he brought Ralph, a beautiful tan German shepherd. And, when he went home, he left Ralph with us. Ralph was a great dog. Unfortunately, Ralph loved to run and got shot in the butt with a BB gun one time by a crotchety old neighbor, who said Ralph destroyed his flower garden. Mom was forced to find a home in the country for him.
Having had dogs during my childhood, it only made sense I would have a dog when I moved out on my home. Boozer was a great dog, too. She was a Golden Retriever-mix and the perfect dog. She was quiet and sweet, and did what she was told. It broke my heart when we had to find a new home for her (the apartment we were moving to didn’t allow pets). I tried to explain to the landlord she was a part of the family, but he didn’t care.
After my kids were born, we decided to a house where we could have a dog. April was a Golden Retriever-Lab mix and such a good dog, too. She would come when she was called, she was good with the kids, and was totally laid back. One day, as we were moving into a new house, April took off after a rabbit, and even though we desperately called for her to come back, she ran into a busy street and was hit by a car. She came running back, yelping in pain, and then collapsed at our feet. We rushed to her to vet but she was already gone. We mourned April for a long time.
To ease our sorrows, I told the kids we could get a new dog, and we went to look at the dogs at Cedar Valley Humane Society, where my daughter picked out a little black puppy and named him Buddy. A few weeks later, Buddy got deathly ill and we found out it was Parvo, which usually kills puppies, but not Buddy. He was a fighter. We were able to nurse him back to health. Still, I don’t think he was ever quite the same. We ended up rehoming him with my parents when we moved to an apartment. My mother loved him so much. He became “her” Buddy. He passed away the same year my dad did, in 2008.
We moved to a mobile home park when the kids were still little, and adopted a fluffy white dog named Al from my sister. He was a good dog, but he liked to lick himself. Eww. I could never really connect with Al for some reason, but he was a good puppy. My son wanted a dog of his own, so my ex brought over a Schipperke named BJ. He was not a nice dog. He got out whenever someone opened the door and we spent the next few hours chasing all over the trailer court. Once we got a hold of him, we had to kennel him. He did not like that. He barked at us constantly. It was evident he needed space to run , so we found a new home for him.
It was a long time before I got another dog, mostly because I was so busy. But after my dad and Buddy died, I knew I needed to get a companion for my mother. I looked at all the dogs at the Humane Society and even played with a few, but none of them seemed right. As I was walking out the door, I noticed a black dog with a tan and white face in the corner of her kennel. She was terrified. I tried to get her to come to me, but she was too afraid.
I went back to the shelter a few days later and the dog was still there. This time she came right to me, tail wagging, happy to see me. Her name was Bindi, after Steve Irwin’s daughter. I took her home to meet my mom, and it was love at first sight. Bindi had a few issues, like nipping people when they got out of line and peeing on the carpet, but overall, she was a good companion for my mom. After my mom moved into assisted living, Bindi came to live with me and Jeff, who already had a Golden Retriever, Cam. Surprisingly, they got along great!
Jeff and I decided to take a trip to Texas to see him mom two years ago, and we asked the neighbor boy to come in and feed them and let them outside. We made it to Texas fine, but then I got a phone call that Saturday from the boy’s mother, who was an EMT: Bindi had a seizure, and Shay was taking her to the emergency vet. The vet wasn’t sure she was going to live much longer so I had to decide should I have her put to sleep now or wait until we got home? I decided not to let her suffer, and they went ahead with the procedure.
I am not ashamed to say I bawled like a baby. Not only because I loved her so much, but also because she was a part of my mom, who had passed away the previous December. It was tough for me to come home to a house where she wasn’t there. She had lived a good life though. After all, she was 14 years old.
Cam was lonely without her, too, and his health started to decline, although we can’t really blame it on Bindi’s passing. After all, he was nearing 15 years old, which is unheard of for older dogs. We thought a new puppy might help him, so we drove to Mount Pleasant and picked up our bundle of joy, Charlotte, a mini Golden Doodle. Cam wasn’t sure what to think of this tiny, annoying, little thing, but he became a great big brother.
A year later, Jeff made the tough choice and took Cam to the vet. Cam could hardly stand on his own. Jeff didn’t want him to suffer, but he didn’t want to let him go, either. He’d had his Cam since he was an 8-week-old puppy. Cam was more than a friend; he was like a son. They had been through a lot together.
Although we miss our puppies, Charlotte has been a blessing to both of us. She is fun, a little spastic at times, but at almost 2 years old, she has become a part of our family. She knows when we need comfort or when she has done something wrong. She seeks our forgiveness by jumping into our laps and licking our faces. Of course, we forgive her and everything is ok again.
She is extremely smart and knows a few tricks. She loves to play ball, chew bones, eat treats, and barks when she goes outside to let her friends she is outside (with dogs all around us, she is the rebel rouser of the neighborhood).
Charlotte is more than a “pet.” She is our little girl, and we plan on giving her the best life we can. Sure, she can be annoying when I am trying to work, wanting to sit in my lap while I’m typing. But I let her because I know her time is limited. I wish they could live as long as we do. But maybe God made it that way so we will appreciate them more. (Remember God spelled backwards is Dog 😉
CharlotteJeff and Cam, 2012My mom, Jeff, and Bindi
My great-grandpa William Myers is shown with his brothers in the featured photo. (Bill is the one in the chair.) He was a good guy, from what I gather. He and his wife, Anna, moved from Kansas to Nebraska when my grandpa Leroy was still a little boy. Leroy went to school until 8th grade but then had to quit to help on the farm, as was the case in a lot of families in the early 20th Century. Leroy married at a fairly young age, and he and his wife, Mary, had a daughter, Mary Ann.
Unfortunately, soon after the baby was born, Mary died of a hemorrhage, leaving Leroy to care for his daughter on his own. Leroy remarried after a few years, and he and Hazel had two children; Betty (my mother) and Jerry. Leroy lost his job at the Otoe County Canning Factory when my mom was 5 years old. Bill and Anna had moved to Cedar Rapids a few years before and told Leroy there were plenty of jobs in Cedar Rapids. But once Leroy and his family got to Iowa, all the jobs had been taken. Leroy and his family moved in with Bill and Anna until Leroy got back on his feet again. He got on with the railroad and after a while, things started looking up for the family. They survived illness, the Depression, the war, and all the other little things people go through.
Why am I telling you this story about my ancestors? Because it occurred to me (after learning today is my great-grandpa’s birthday) that I have no idea who I get my “talents” and skills from, but I do know who I get my resilience from – everyone who came before me. It took countless 2 by 2’s to get born, so why have I thought so little about it? It’s mindboggling to think about the circumstances, the survival, and what my ancestors must have gone through. I guarantee life was not as easy back then. Sure, we have problems, but they are much different than previous generations. Today, we have medicine, insurance, better housing and jobs, and food. We are safer than we ever have been (though sometimes it doesn’t seem that way).
I traced our ancestors from the Myers branch back to William Wallace (Braveheart), who lived in Scotland in the 11th Century. Wow, talk about someone who had to push through adversity. And those genes just kept getting passed down through each generation, through the branches and roots until it reached me and my kids and grandkids. I know a lot about resilience, but I think I will save that story for another day. 😉
Hazel and Leroy, with my mom, Betty, and Uncle Jerry, 1935
I live in Iowa, where the winters can seem like the beginning of an ice age, and the summers can feel like you’re stuck in a hot sauna. Although the weather patterns vary from year to year, you can pretty much depend on summers being humid as hell, and at least one week in the winter when we have extreme negative temps and wind chills.
I’ve seen tornados in January and snow in May. And though I was in my 40s when the Flood of 2008 caused the Cedar River to rise to historic levels and flood the entire downtown area, and in my 50s when the derecho occurred here in 2021, the worst weather we’ve had here are blizzards and tornados. Like most Iowans, I’ve gotten to used to the extreme weather.
Two days ago we had snow, wind, with a wind chill in the teens. Yesterday it was sunny and 60, and even though we are expecting storms today, the temps are supposed to rise to a balmy 72 degrees. Although the threat of tornados here is slim, we could still seem lightning, thunder, and hail. and who knows? Tomorrow we could see snow showers. It can’t be ruled out – I have seen it happen many times before.
To be honest, I like the changing seasons. I may bitch about how fickle Mother Nature is, but I really the cool evenings of fall after a sweltering summer, and the warmer days after a cold winter – the rebirth of the world in the spring, and the beautiful colors in the fall. Besides, I suppose it would be boring if the weather was sunny and 75 all the time. And if we didn’t have the bad days, we probably wouldn’t appreciate the good days.
So, as I sit here in my cozy office watching the storm clouds gather, I need to remind myself that Iowa weather’s not so bad. I guess everyone has to deal with Mother Nature in one way or another.
There’s a saying in Iowa that seems fitting wherever you are: “If you don’t like the weather, wait a few minutes. It’ll change.”
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