The Feast of St. Francis

The Feast of St. Francis
4 October

Our friend, Janet, made a great suggestion for our day's outing so the "girls" and I have just returned from a trip to the animal shelter where, today, the animals were celebrated and blessed on the occasion of the Feast of St. Francis. I'd brought Pfeffernuss out of the car, the better to control her, but she was in Pfeffernuss form, barking out calls and commands when Father Jeff arrived.

Father Jeff responded to her need and came to meet Pfeffernuss. When he remarked on her high-pitched bark, I explained that Pfeffernuss is a Cur, a hunter, and has what is called the "tree bark" of the Cur. "Oh," he said, "so when she trees a squirrel, she gives that bark and wherever they are, the hunters can hear that." I agreed that she could be heard. Imagine running a pack of these as they do in the south. Thankfully, she does run silent until she finds she can't reach her quarry.

"So, will she tree a squirrel?" he asked, looking into the tree behind him. "She will tree a squirrel?" I laughed and told him that within the hour, I had seen her try to chase a squirrel up our massive maple. The squirrel ran a spiral and Pfeffernuss [I know not how] actually followed the spiral until gravity found her. Then, she barked to alert me. And, as Pfeffernuss continued to alert the company assembled and the Father cast glances at the tree, I began to explain that the present excitement was due to the herding instinct of the Cur, a hunter/herder. "I was extremely disturbed by her separation anxiety until I realized that she is distressed when people separate because she wants everyone to keep to the proper flock or pack behavior," I told him.

Only when the Father spoke and prayed did Pfeffernuss settle down, bless her little heart.

After all the blessings, Father Jeff stopped by to remark on how beautiful Mika is. He was surprized and saddened that our little Chow-faced red dog, a foster placement, had not found a home. He was so glad, though, that she had remained with me. Then he came to admire the Molly Collie. He wasn't sure about Molly's breed but he remembered having a dog like Molly when he was a boy. His dog was so great with the cows, he said, and I could see him reminiscing. He really understood my wish that Molly had a couple of pygmy goats. He was convinced that would provide Molly much exercise and happiness.

I had parked next to the grass so I put Molly into the car and sat in the passenger seat to write a check for the shelter, leaving Mika and Pfeffernuss "on watch" at the open door. When I offered the check to a member of the board, Father took the opportunity to learn more about Pfeffernuss. He seemed very taken with her and was eager to get her "breed name" well in mind. I spelled "Cur" for him and the board member and told them that most of what I've learned about Curs, I learned on the Internet.

Though the Cur is not considered a "breed" of dog, it is a definite variety in the south, recognized by many people from the south and by many hunters. I'm often approached by men who do a double take, point and ask, "Lady! do you know what you've got there?" In response to this question, board member, Father and I said in unison; "A dog?" at which we laughed and Pfeffernuss got another pat.

Janet had suggested that having the blessing at the Shelter might encourage people to adopt animals so I should say that I guess Pfeffernuss is a real blessing. The first dog I saw was a lovely English Mastiff which I'd so like to have. Pfeffernuss, of course, wanted to adopt on the spot but her insistence immunized me so entirely that, when the Italian Mastiff appeared I attended, patted and moved along, dragging Pfeffernus behind me. The dog I longed to spend more time with was a Shar Pei who looked so like Ursa -- black and beautiful and proud. Fortunately for me (unfortunate for him, I suppose), I can't keep another dog and don't want a male, even if he is to soon be a "shim," his future designation according to the worker who brought him out for blessing and showing.

One day, I may find myself with one dog, the Pfeffernuss, and be required to adopt a friend for her. On that day, I will take the Pfeff to the pound and let her choose a new friend. "Just ONE!," I'll be yelling, "Just ONE!"

Aw, gee. How am I supposed to know - - - mirlitons?

-
The first ingredient is "3 medium mirlitons." How am I supposed to know what that is? I live in "If it's got gravy, it's food," USA.
So, I looked up "mirliton" and got this: "mirliton (n.): A kind of musical toy into which one sings, hums, or speaks, producing a coarse, reedy sound." This is a musical dish?

I tried again and got:
1. kazoo.
2. chayote. which, for me, was still no help. Onward I go and learn that Chayote is "A tropical American perennial herbaceous vine (Sechium edule) having tendrils, tuberous roots, and a green, pear-shaped fruit cooked as a vegetable" or -- "The fruit of this plant."

Finally, at a place called http://bitsofdust.com/ I found this: "Mirlitons, which are gourdlike fruit that taste like squash, may also be labeled chayote or vegetable pears at the supermarket." Vegetable pears, I can understand. I don't expect to find them but, if you can find them, here's the link to the recipe for Peppers Stuffed with Mirliton, Shrimp, and Turkey Sausage.

I, also, found a great sounding fall recipe. I think Apricot-Pumpkin Bread Pudding sounds just wonderful.
" . . . try this bread pudding with raisins or dried cherries in place of the snipped dried apricots."

Or how about Garlic-Wine Pot Roast on one of those cool evenings? Beef and Red Bean Chili sounds like a good warm up meal. This site is a treasure trove of foods and most of the recipes I looked at had nutritional facts available. Oh, http://bitsofdust.com/ , where have you been all my life?

"The Secret Influence of Color" as applied to the wedding

On Mon, 27 Aug 2007 17:39:42 -0500 Kendall M Nellis writes:


Color, color everywhere and I, with my white hair, wear white (a choice, apparently, completely ignored as fashionable) to one of the biggest occasions of the season. My apologies.
click here to read more

Date: Mon, 27 Aug 2007 17:39:42 -0500
Subject: Re: The Secret Influence of Color

But on another note:
At Paige's Wedding, we (Paige, Kendall, Mom, Dad, Josh, & Peg - at least!) apparently conveyed "Faithfulness, tranquility, dependability, sensitivity."

Paige,and Peg went for "straightforward, but not too serious," and Josh (and Sue) added "wholesomeness and earthiness" to the conversation.

Dad & I angled for "powerful," (Dark blues are associated with "intelligence, stability, unity, and conservatism" - hence the banker's "power suit.")

Then there was you, laughing through it all: “For a touch of humor, try periwinkle,” Purple is associated with both nobility and spirituality, and Lavender suggests refinement along with grace, elegance, and something special; also creativity.

At the Reception:
You went with "purity, cleanliness, and innocence" (white) or "ivory . . . calming color. It carries some of the same pureness, softness, and cleanliness of white but is slightly richer, a touch warmer."

I stayed with the power color scheme in red, but "In some cultures, red denotes purity, joy, and celebration. Red is the color of happiness and prosperity in China and may be used to attract good luck."

So, overall, no bad choices - in my humble opinion!

Kendall
http://desktoppub.about.com/cs/color/a/symbolism.htm

I knew you would take the opportunity to critique our costumes of the day. Thank you. That was fun.
I hope the Asians in the crowd didn't take offense, thinking my ivory was white in the evening light. In their eyes, my head-to-toe white might have been more appropriate for mourning -- exactly what Mother should have worn for my wedding.

Reunion Questionnaire

yada, yada, yada - - -


Do you think you will be coming to the reunion? yes

Send a brief biographical sketch of what you have been up to for the past 45 years. What have you been doing that keeps life interesting?

I describe myself as a freelance volunteer. When the call comes, I answer - - - and learn. Have you encountered a stray pet, stray elder, stray child in Decatur? You will, probably, find my phone number on some wall. I’ll foster the pet, feed and transport the elder and teach the child. Since I’ve seen you, I’ve spent many years as a serial learner. When I married, I learned mapreading, conferencing and home improvement. When I had children, I learned to write books to teach them to read and I learned to write computer programs to teach them math and spelling. When my mother-in-law had a massive stroke, I learned rehabilitation skills. When my children went to school, I learned to advise and assist teachers who did not yet understand learning disabilities. [All those boring conferences bore fruit when I took the 9 slow students of one class to bring them up to class speed.] When the girls landed roles in The Children’s Theater production of The Hobbit, the girls and I learned costuming in the shop at ISU. After teaching the girls to sing, sew and knit, to grow, preserve and cook their own food, to drive and use tools, I sent them off to college and to the Army, let my hair return to its normal color and took on serious freelance volunteering. During the Gulf War, I wrote “ankle length” letters to college students and to soldiers, one of whom has retired and joined the Lord’s Army. He and his wife are, now, missionaries in St. Petersburg, Russia. In 1993, I re-learned country navigation and handling government forms when I volunteered as a community mental health worker for Farm Services in the wake of the great flood. When the girls settled in St. Louis and Chicago, I learned to navigate serious city traffic to help transplant, support and maintain their lifestyles and pets. Last year, I learned to use the Internet to find that perfect condo, to train an “untrainable” dog and to save the life of a feral kitten. The dog is named Pfeffernuss and the cat, a Jellicle cat, is Eliot.

This year, I will learn to be a mother-in-law! This entry was late (very late) because this was a year of storms, new roofs, car repairs, reunions and weddings. Paige married Josh Birk on August 8th which has made for several months of distraction. [Sing Froggie went a’Courtin’ 47 times or so.] The garden was prepared, the food had been tasted and chosen, the musician was engaged and the flowers had been ordered as designed when the “We have dress!” e-mail arrived. Not at all the end of the tale. “What do you think of these shoes?” messages came daily and we waited with baited breath to hear that Kendall had finished the bride’s overdress and was well into her own dress. On the 6th, all converged on the scene and we lived in a whirlwind for a week. The New York hairdresser (and bridesmaid) worked overtime as we hit the luncheon/supper circuit, in days before and after the wedding, and traveled to Chicago for the big reception. Sunday, we returned after the last wedding breakfast.

Now. This is a reunion, right? Can anybody give me dress code guidance? Oh, well. Never mind. I have clothes in the car and the dog is on guard. I have any number of outfits left over from the wedding. That’s another tale entirely. Oh, how I hate shopping!

The Snow

Wednesday, January 29, 2003

You missed a lovely snow.

Last night's snow was a spring snow, not the glittery snow of the frigid night of winter but the soft, wet snow of a spring. It was a philosopher's snow, a snow for wandering and pondering. It sifted through the silent night, sliding onto the earth at an angle so slight that it seemed some tilt of the universe had charted its course. In the windless night, the snow lay, undisturbed, where it fell on the tops of posts and clinging to each bare branch. I, cloistered by the white air and serene in the silence, surveyed this sanctuary and fell into contemplation.


This morning, the snow is perfect for snowballs and snowmen. The neighborhood is deserted; the children have gone to school, their parents have gone to work and I am left to my own devices. Four dogs respond to my call. I can tell they've been trailing something. Each nose is covered with snow. They are anxious to get back to their pleasures but they stand alert as I dip into the snow and pack it between my palms. They watch me draw back the snowball and they gauge the direction it will fly. With the pitch, they are off and running. For some few minutes, they are a scrambling mass. They chase and ground snowballs, they catch snowballs. Snowballs are wonderful. And, they're edible. Not one, retrieved, reached my hand.

Last Letters Home

This letter has turned into more nostalgia than I’d meant but I thought it might jog your memory and get your help with the history I’ve been asked to write about our years on the farm, especially those years on Haw Creek.


Dear P.J. -

I hope you had a good Thanksgiving. Our Thanksgiving weekend was very fast-paced this year. Kendall and I met Paige and Josh at Jennifer’s, where we did almost nothing more than say hello and eat our lunch. We missed all the games and never got the chance to break out games here. Josh and Paige are getting married next year so this is the year they have to make all the rounds of family -- and this a foreshortened weekend. Josh’s parents have divorced and remarried so he has the extra pressure of making time for four families before he hurries back to Chicago to cover a holiday shift. This year, he had to work on the Saturday so he was in quite a time crunch. On Friday morning, we girls took Goethe to the vet before visiting Josh’s stepmother and dropping Paige at Josh’s home (Mom). By the time Kendall left, I was exhausted.

Paige and Josh have a condo within blocks of the lake. Her fathers-in-law-to-be have spent weekends doing all those handyman jobs necessary in new digs but, if you happen to be going toward Chicago, take tools and call Paige. So far as I know, Sayard and Alex are the only Platt connection to have visited. They were the unpacking party. I was the packing party. In August, I sorted, packed and cleaned during the day and we all hauled in the evening, unpacking some boxes to be refilled the next day. That was a week I was extremely tired. I was, at the same time, relieved. Kendall and Paige had kept me busy for 3 months searching for just the right condo. It was a high stress time. I am not an Internet whiz and my connection is so slow that I spent hours each day tracking down listings and Open Houses. I hope never to move to a city. I know the girls will be on me with a whip and a chair. Unfortunately, we will go through this process again. This condo is considered interim housing. I’ve been warned that we’re on a five-year plan.

I get nostalgic this time of year. Like a child, I wait for cold weather and snow. This has been a strange season, hasn’t it? Paige called the morning after she returned from Las Vegas where she was running a conference for her Michigan Avenue financial firm. “I’ve been gone four days and I’ve missed the fall,” she lamented. She was so right. She was only hours before the first snow. We’ve had two “springs” because of the earlier cold snaps. Twice, now, spring bulbs have sprouted.

Have you noticed that we don’t seem to get so much snow these days? I remember picking corn in the snow but I do remember how disappointed we were in those early years that we had so few Christmas snows. My memory tricks me into believing that we always had snow on New Years’ Day because I so vividly remember those masses of cousins racing down the pasture hill across from Ruth Ann’s. Do you remember the exhilaration of the fast run there? Do you remember the drop and Sploosh into the brook at the bottom of the run for those who chose to stay with the sled? How many times did you take the wet way?

Mother should have been on hand to give braking tips. Do you remember how she always dragged her feet when we used the icy road from the canyon as a sledding run? You and Dad were speeding down the hill ahead of us, whooping and laughing. Behind, far behind, Mother was looking for slow spots and screaming. It was never long before she dug in her toes. I had more fun in the pasture across the road. You and Dad always went faster but, when we used the pasture run, Mother was less terrified. We, too, had one long run, not the series of starts and restarts we had on the icy road. Oh, I remember snow.

Do you remember that “door” cut into the side of the canyon wall? It always reminded me of a guard post and I wished for a British Palace Guard to fill it. It was always a mystery. I mentioned it to George Clark one day and he told me he thought his brothers had put it there. He had no more idea than I why it was done but solving half a mystery is better than none, I suppose. Have you taken the grandgirls to explore our early home grounds? Have you explored the old barn and told them how we used to squirt milk into the cats’ mouths just to hear the gargled meows? Have you told them the stories of the floods? Have you shown them the photo of the cat on the post in the flood and told them how we made Dad wade out to save the kitty? You should, also, tell the girls about the fish fries after the neighborhood gatherings for pitchfork fishing as the flood receded. I wonder which year the flood was so high that the snake came up the screen door behind Mother’s chair. Do you remember how she shrieked? Mother was afraid of snakes, wasn’t she? She hated the outhouse and I remember mushroom hunts as fraught with danger -- Mother and her “lance” trying to herd us and ward off the snakes she expected to see at any moment. Did you ever learn to identify any mushroom other than the Morel? I never did. I miss mushrooms.

I thought of Mother when I voted this fall. With so many unopposed candidates, the ballot would have been just her cup of tea. I remember the ride home in 1948, Mother, “mad as a wet hen” because she’d voted for the wrong guy. That was the year that I learned voting is important. Now, I’m a little more relaxed and wonder why dad was so angry about Mother’s one wrong vote. Until Sayard suggested it, I hadn’t thought of writing in my own name in those uncontested races. Cute idea, huh? Did you do the “Paper or Plastic?” routine at your polling place? That’s what it seemed to me when they offered me a paper ballot or a plastic screen. Voting in Chicago must be a real adventure -- or may be soon. Some suspect Chicago may be trying to update their voter fraud. This year, there was a UFO at O’Hare Airport on polling day. Bringing new voters? Air Traffic Control didn’t assign it a gate so, after hovering above United for a long while, it shot through the clouds and disappeared. I suspect someone will get them a GPS for the 2008 election. They need better directions to the polling places. Who votes at O’Hare?

We’d tried to get Dad to write down so many stories and I encouraged him to write some early farm days stories for Oralee. For years, she’s been after me to write that tale. I assume she had asked Dad before that. I don’t really remember much about the farm conditions in those early days. You could help with that. I do remember the “miniature” farm equipment and the old truck and, of course, Mother’s “Green Dream” turned “Green Nightmare.” I remember the old hay hooks that carried the hay to the haymow. And, I remember the year they began to use the elevator to move the bales. Do you remember walking up the elevator when the guys started the belt? Just another of those times I had to scream and gesticulate until you were rescued. You were a busy one.

What I remember most are the canyons, fishing under the bridge, days in our super-size sand pile, playing in Sand Slough and climbing the hill above Sand Slough to pick Bluebells. I remember what a great livestock dog Puffy was but I remember how you cried when she stood on her hind feet and picked all the blackberries you might have reached. You were about 2½. [Look for picture of you in overalls, bucket in hand, wiping away tears.] Do you remember how Puffy, also, picked cherries? Lucky we could climb the trees. Do you remember when Dad shook a squirrel out of the tree and, then, took it away from Puffy? What a good supper we had! Do you remember how, after that, she would deliver the victim of her latest hunt to the back door? [She had a very interesting idea of what sort of things people would eat. Can’t you just see Mother cooking a ‘coon?] I have a dog with much the same attitude. I’m sure she would pick apples if she could reach them. When I dig, she digs; when I pull, she pulls; when I carry and pile branches, she carries and piles branches. I’ve been told she’s a Cur (and she does have a Cur personality) but most are agreed that she looks like a Pit. She does have the Pit teeth, a distinctive feature of the Pit, in the front of her mouth but she hasn’t that open space near the hinge of the jaw.

If any of this has jogged your memory, write a bit or, at least, tell the kids. Dad was so big on history -- especially, family history -- that there might yet be another historian in the family. And, you have to admit: our family history is long and interesting. I’m sure the girls could write some great school papers.

I hope you have a wonderful Christmas and a Happy New Year. Pass around the cup of cheer for me and we shall do the same for you. I miss seeing you all.




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As my plans often do, this one went awry. This letter was in the queue when the power went out. I know you and Dad never liked my long letters but, this time you’re getting two long letters -- as soon as I get a new cartridge for my printer. Apparently, the last one froze. It was very cold here. I’ve lost most of my house plants. Gotta go begging, I guess. Got any plants?



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The wind is cold and damp on this New Year's Day. Just yesterday, it was warm and sunny and I'd thought the need for jackets and boots was yet, like the snows in the west, days away. This wind has brought down, I hope, the last of the damage left by the ice storm.

The ice storm. People have asked for the story. That surprised me. I think most outsiders knew more than we. I heard all the news on St. Louis and Chicago stations. Locally, we have only talk shows, helpful the first night but irritating beyond telling after that. It was a very Katrina-like experience. The Governor announced that State Offices would be used as warming centers. It was all PR. The State Offices had no instructions and, certainly, had no blankets and food. Meanwhile, the Governor had sent Illinois National Guard to Missouri but couldn’t quite manage to send any to us. When the Guard was expected on Tuesday (the 5th day), the locals opened a shelter. Town folks are not at all the same as the country clans. I, first, saw Guardsmen on Wednesday. They must have been town folk. They seemed confused by the mission.

When Dr. Birk came, he said, “The whole city looks like a war zone.” He was wrong, The houses were standing but, after 10 days of hauling and stacking limbs and branches, it did look as if I was prepared to ward off an invasion. My barricade of limbs, branches and twigs stretched along100 feet of parkway and hid any parked car from my sight.

It was an odd several days. It had me searching memory, as I had done in the 1978 ice storm, for a memory of ice storms on Haw Creek. I don’t remember ice storms but I know we had power failures. Do you remember how, through the years, Mother and Dad laughed about the time she brought out her hotplate, so pleased that she was prepared for the emergency -- until she realized the hotplate, like the stove, required electricity.

I think Mother would have enjoyed this ice storm, provided she’d been snug in a little cabin. There was so much to appeal to her senses. I think of her most days when I look at the landscape filled with trees she’d have loved painting. And, then, there were the clouds. November had ended with a shirt-sleeve day, a darkening sky and frigid air. Chilled, the canopy of branches caught the light rain and transformed the yard into a sparkling, twinkling mass overhead. Through the hours of the evening, the branches hung lower, each sounding the accumulation of the ice in its moment of small surrender to the weight with the clink and clank of twigs become tuneless wind chimes.

In the stillness of the night, I began weaving tales of reindeer on the roof. Santa’s team on a practice run, I’d suppose. And, I’d have had small children rushing to windows with thoughts of a broken sleigh and a less than jolly old elf each time something rumbled down the roof’s incline and dropped over the side. Yes, yes. I know Santa would have just flown away.

I waited for the response to the impression of distant thunder. Finally, the sirens’ song was all around as heavy trucks moved through the night, stopping here and there to perform rescue rites to the hum of heavy chain saws.

When a large limb took down my power line, the dogs and I huddled in the dark, waiting for the rest of the 150-year-old Maple to capitulate. I was glad I’d spent so much time talking to “tree guys” during the summer. Each had assured me that this tree, which stands so close, would not hit the house. All agreed that this wonderful old Maple would twist and crash down on the garage.

Around midnight, I took the dogs to the front yard where there is almost no threat of tree fall. There, I met Josh, my next door neighbor. He reported on the state of the neighborhood. Masses of fallen trees blocked each end of our street and made the alleys impassable. Josh and I might have been among the few who appreciated the beauty of the night. The airways were filled with frantic voices and odd advice. Hour after hour, Josh and I reported to each other -- he on the condition of the larger neighborhood and I on the extent of damage being reported by the outside world. It was predicted that we were in for a long siege. When Paige saw the pictures at Christmas, she said, “Momma, if you’d sent these pictures, we have felt sorrier for you!” Then, she and Kendall had a good laugh as I closed my eyes and hung my head in an “oh dear” attitude. Electricity, my dear. Electricity.

Friday [1 December] -
ice-laden branches strewn in the yard
apple tree shattered, cherry in shards
and snow falling without regard
to the sheet of ice beneath.
amongst limbs bending low
and grounded trees,
winds our Alpine path to the world.

And, that’s how it remained for days on end though someone did whittle out a narrow opening at one end of our street, access for us and for emergency vehicles needed on this three-block stretch of street. Overnight, I’d cleared the branches off the back sidewalk so the dogs could tear out of the house without injury but Pfeffernuss, the Pit, ignored the cleared sidewalk. For Pfeffernus, the ice storm was a hoot. She spent hours joyfully jumping and dodging and crawling through the masses of limbs in the back yard. Molly, Birks’ Border Collie, spent her days discovering snow balls. Inside these snow-laden ice globes were tennis balls, collapsed by the low temperature. This was just one of the things that made me wish I had a good camera. My butterfly bush, still bright green and purple, stood encased in its ice sculpture until the thaw but, on the twelfth day, Molly found an ice ball about the size of a ping-pong ball which turned out to be a red cluster of Maple buds encased in ice. There was wonder everywhere.

I’d thought I had too many ice scrapers but Josh and I needed most of them. When he came on Friday to ask if he could get a jump, we looked at the inch-thick ice on the cars, rolled our eyes, laughed and hove to. We, finally, got a door broken loose on the Dodge and started it. Leaving it to warm, we turned to his little truck. Over the next 12 days, we did a lot of visiting over cables each day. Finally, he got one of those battery boosters that plug into the cigarette lighter socket. Hey! Those things work!

For 3 days, I had cut, broken and dragged branches, exercised dogs and run errands to stay warm. My kerosene heater was little help in single-digit temperatures. While I couldn’t stay warm enough, the food couldn’t stay cold enough but I did make the effort, freezing and refreezing water-filled jugs I’d meant to take to the cider squeeze. It did help turn the refrigerator into a giant cooler. Still, the neighbors and neighborhood cats got lots of food that week. I, also, did quite a lot of cooking. What was I thinking when I bought a stove with an electronic ignition! Boy, would I have enjoyed a blazing oven fire.

On the fourth day, Paige called around 11 A.M. to say she was on her way to Decatur. “Oh, Paige, you don’t want to do that. It’s cold down here.” She said that’s why she was coming. She’d decided I needed a generator and had enlisted her boss’s help in choosing one. “My mom lives in Decatur,” she’d said in answer to his puzzlement. Paige went back to her office and called Dan. “Do you think we can convince her it’s a treadmill?” she was asking when her boss came in, lay the front page of the Tribune before her and waited. I had said I wanted a treadmill so the dogs could run alongside my stationary bike. Pfeffernuss needs a lot of exercise. She used to jump the fence and run the neighborhood if I hadn’t exercised her or if she saw kids running and playing. The vet told me he thought an inground electronic fence might be what I needed. He was right. She’s jumped the fence only once since we bought it. Amazing! And, one day, I might get it out of the box.

When Paige had finished her phone call, her boss told her to get a car and insisted on helping her choose and load a generator at Home Depot. He was prepared (in his 3-piece suit, I guess) to come to Decatur to do the setup. Paige told him she could handle things at this end so he “cabbed” back to work. At 6, Paige called to say she was in town and was in Dr. Birk’s garage/workshop where there was heat and light. Dr. Birk was busy assembling (handles, etc.), filling the crankcase with his preferred oil and familiarizing himself and Paige with the instruction manual. Mrs. Birk was busy in the kitchen preparing a meal to bring with the delivery. By 9:30, Paige and I were enjoying a warm meal in front of an electric heater while a fan spread the heat of the kerosene heater. I thought it was quite warm but Paige complained that, even the next morning, she could see her breath.

Things were much improved after the generator arrived. I had more light, 24-hour heat and indoor refrigeration. On Tuesday afternoon, a crew chief came to check on his son’s house (next door) and, seeing me hauling branches, asked how I was doing. Son, John, had told him about the nice lady who lives next door and had asked him to check on me. I told him I was doing well but would be in trouble in a couple of hours because the generator would be running out of gas. He said he’d come back to fuel and start it for me - - - and he did.

The next morning, the Guard arrived in our neighborhood. We kibitzed for a bit about the mission and the Guard and the Kendall, who‘d been stationed at their post. “Hey,” I said. “You guys are Army. I bet you know about generators.” They thought they knew little -- probably true because military units are so specialized -- but, when I showed them where to put the gas, they were able to fuel and restart the generator. They went away feeling much more useful. Josh, also, got a turn before the several cans were light enough for me to lift high enough to pour gas into the tank.

It was Tuesday when Josh complained about never having a warm night’s sleep. I pulled two old (and dirty) sleeping bags out of the garage, “to put under your mattress,” I’d explained. Do you remember how the cold came through the mattresses when we were kids? Oh, how I wished for feather beds. When Josh told me he had only an air mattress and 3 blankets, I called a local charity. “Go tell Josh you need him and his truck,” Dave told me. “If he asks, tell him ‘We’re going to get your bed,’ and laugh.” I was glad I’d had Josh follow me. We put a bed, a dresser and a lamp table for his living room in the truck and, amazingly, we got 2 nice living room chairs, a large bag of flannel sheets, a sleeping bag and army blanket in the back of the Subaru. Josh was overwhelmed. And, he was so grateful for his first warm night. The next day, I looked at his shoes and socks and decided he needed a definite upgrade. When I returned with hunting socks, I discovered he’d bought himself some work boots. Gee, can that Josh smile!

Late Thursday, I came home to find lights blazing here and a crew arguing next door. “No way to fix it,” they declared. “Got to get an electrician.” I ran my generator line to Josh’s back door so he could use the electric heater to supplement the kerosene heater I’d lent him on Saturday. The next day, I caught a crew and asked how things were going and how they were doing. Eventually, the chief asked if I was okay. “I’m okay,” I told him, “but the people next door have no power and they have a month-old baby.” [These silly people had moved back to Decatur after sheltering at her parents’ home for several days. I guess they thought they could stay warm enough if they talked Josh out of the kerosene heater.] I followed the chief around to the side of the house where he surveyed the damage. When he’d asked me what the problem was, I’d said I didn’t know. I still don’t know what that pipe is called. I stood there while he explained the damages to me. Suddenly, Josh and Carl burst out the back door to explain what they’d been told. Though the crew argued again, the chief said the meter was the province of the power company and they should replace the meter now. He turned to Josh and Carl and explained what he wanted them to do before he returned. When the crew returned, the guys had stabilized the pipe so the wires could be run and the meter could be installed. While these guys worked and grumbled, one of the crew played with a power saw near the alley. I asked Josh if I looked pitiful enough to get that guy to come tackle my larger limbs. Laughing, Josh said he thought the guy would come help me just to stay warm.

“What would I have to do to get you to cut some limbs in my yard?” I asked the guy near the alley. “Show me where they are,” he said, grinning. As I led him past Josh, I told him I’d passed the pitiful test and we all laughed. Mother never quite approved that I talked to everyone I met but I’ve always been glad Dad taught me that skill. Kibitzing is an important survival skill. I got more help than many and was more help to several because I was always available and always social.

I will, also, be forever grateful to have grown up in a family that faced crisis with such good humor. I know, now, how serious things like the floods were but, if you remember, the family never gave the children any reason to think crisis was not just another adventure. When people doubt the stories I tell about hayracks filled with food, bond fires, pitchfork fishing and evenings of laughter and play in sight of flooded fields, Dan tells them our family is pioneer stock. I guess that’s as good a description as any. We, certainly, were taught to meet challenges, weren’t we?

I think I’m better at the challenges of crisis than at the everyday demands of life. Everything was in disarray when I’d finished hauling limbs. Dan arrived on the 12th to help with the clean up but he didn’t last long. He hired the first guy to wander by. It turned out to be a good thing. The cherry tree is gone, though a stump remains. It would have been a good time to have a fireplace. We had some lovely cherry logs, a few apple logs and branches and some great maple limbs that could have been cut to size. Dan didn’t get much exercise while he was here. He just hung around until Christmas. I accomplished little in the shopping department but I did make sure we had food on hand. I did make an effort to get Josh’s gift. Last year, we’d presented him with a “Joshtree” decorated entirely with socks. This year, I gave him 5 pounds of potatoes and his choice of potato mashers. He chose our family masher. He had no idea how great Mother’s masher is. Remember those wonderful mashed potatoes that came out of that pressure cooker?

The girls were here for 5 days. Paige was ours exclusively 3 of those days and Josh was with us two days. We served goose and lamb on those days and a pepperd beef roast on another day. We, also, got the turkey carcass from Josh’s mom from which we always make sandwiches and turkey broth. For the rest, we ate sauerkraut pizza and lived on the leftovers Kendall allowed us. At the end of our time together, the leftovers were packed in coolers for the trip to Chicago where Kendall would transform them into new meals -- Shepherd’s Pie one of the favorites.

I have only one Christmas regret. Aunt Frances was having a hen party the day after Christmas and the girls and I could not figure out how to arrange to make an appearance. Our days were full and we had a wonderful time. Even Wednesday was too full to be a letdown. We searched knitting patterns and sorted yarns into intended projects. A couple of hours before Dan and the girls left, Josh came by to pick up luggage and Goethe. We packed the second car (Kendall’s) and the girls headed for the Bloomington train station with Dan. It was hours before I’d heard from everyone -- 3 in Chicago, one in St. Louis.

An update: Kendall had planned to head for St. Louis yesterday but put off her trip. This morning, she discovered a flat tire. For some reason she couldn’t use the jack, somehow locked her keys in the car and, then, realized that her tire was bare of tread. Only by Grace had she been able to finish her trip to Chicago. She was fortunate to find an open tire store and a smart tow truck driver on New Year’s Day. The driver handed her the keys to her car and took her to the tire store. She’s home safe. Her plan is to replace the other two tires on Wednesday.

I hope this will be a great year for all of you. Let me know what’s happening there in your territory. I see Travis at family days, once in a while, but he doesn’t transmit much information. He did talk about business and I do have his card so I can get to his web site. Think about saying “hi” now and then. I’d be delighted to hear from you.

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On Wednesday morning (Jan 3) -- these letters in the queue -- I was holding my errand list and the ink cartridge from my printer when my e-mail finished downloading. “I was sorry to read of P.J.’s passing” the first message began. When I’d cleared some of the cobwebs, I reached for the phone. Still holding the list and the cartridge, I reached Aunt Frances, read the message to her and said, “What’s going on up there?”

P.J. Platt
1947-2007

Tuesday, January 2, 2007

LONDON MILLS - P.J. Platt, 59, London Mills, died at
7:40 a.m. Monday (Jan. 1, 2007) in OSF St. Mary
Medical Center, Galesburg.
He was born Feb. 23, 1947, in rural Maquon, the son of
Paul and Lorene Stanley Platt.

He married Ardith Owens.

Survivors include his fiancee, Marie Reeder,
Fairview; four sons, Brian Platt, Ellisville, and Joey
Platt, Corey Platt and Travis Platt, all of London
Mills; and five grandchildren.

He was reared in rural Maquon and moved to London
Mills where he has lived and farmed for 32 years. He
worked at Gale Products until it closed.
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P.J. was so much more than so few words could say. He, bundled in blue and held to the hospital window, was my first childhood memory. He was my little brother, my solace in the isolation of our early home, the only other keeper of mutual memories of our times and history.