BY JANET WARREN
Journal columnist
My first holiday faux pas of the season happened on December 6th. I typed Christmas Peace Cannon in a printed program instead of Canon and created an oxymoron to rival jumbo shrimp or economy car. I didn’t catch the mistake until the night of the event and, of course, it was too late to do anything about it. The next day, still feeling stupid, I was hoping no one noticed my blunder. A friend who had been at the program saw me in Wal-Mart. “I thought the program went well,” she said. “Except for my misspelled word,” I fished, wanting to hear she hadn’t noticed. Instead I got, “Oh you mean Canon?” Arggg. It goes in my Life Bloopers file.
Blooper aside, this Christmas has been different for me and I’m not really sure why. I have been feeling more spiritual. Sure there was still the rush to mail out Christmas boxes, there was still some grumbling about how busy I am. (Really? Jury duty in December?). I’ve already eaten too much chocolate and spent too much money—so what’s new? What made the difference? I think it was the “Women Who Knew Jesus” program I was in charge of, which was written by a woman in Chandler, Arizona. It is historical fiction because four of the six women aren’t mentioned in the New Testament; specifically the mother of Joseph, the mother of Mary, the Innkeeper’s Wife and a Shepherd’s Wife. I had to condense the reading to fit into our timeframe, but the words that remained were very poignant for me. As the ladies read their parts, I was caught up in it. I had read the words at least a dozen times, but this time, aided by the heartfelt delivery of women I have grown to love, I felt a peace and a stillness. The program also included Nadine Adams, Pamela Sortomme, Velvet Chamberlain, Jan Gwynn, Carol Nelson and Trina Bair who make such beautiful music together I was grateful they agreed to provide musical numbers in between the readings (one of which was the infamous Christmas Peace Cannon). The experience made me think of the quest I have been on since childhood to know the Savior. This year it went deeper than the sayings we always hear this time of year: “Jesus is the reason for the season,” or “Keep Christ in Christmas,” or “Wise Men Still Seek Him.” My feelings transcended to this:“Each of us is an Innkeeper who decides if there is room for Jesus” (Neal A. Maxwell).
My quest continued into motherhood. Years ago when a couple of my children asked why some of their friends didn’t think we were Christian, I explained to them that we, as Mormons, are Christian—after all, Mormon is just a nickname; the name of our church is actually The Church of JESUS CHRIST of Latter-day Saints. That sufficed for awhile, but as the years went on I met people who told me I don’t believe in the same Jesus Christ that most Christians believe in. I realized I didn’t have an easy answer for that, so I began studying in more earnest. Who is this Jesus I believe in? My friend, Beth Stephenson, who
Of bloopers, quests, and family
lives in Oklahoma, put into words what I have been thinking. Beth and I met years ago in Black Forest, Colorado, and forged a bond when we were pregnant with our last children together. We, along with our friend Pam, were the first card-carrying members of the OPLC (Old Pregnant Ladies Club). Our sons Spencer, Jeffrey, and Thomas were born just weeks apart. Beth recently wrote on her blog a thought-provoking essay on the Jesus that Mormons believe in. I will only quote a few things from it, but it is well worth visiting her blog (chocolatecreamcenters.blogspot.com) to read the whole essay.
“I feel frustrated in my impotence to answer the repeated assertion that ‘Mormons believe in a different Jesus Christ than most Christians.’ I don’t know if that’s true, having been a ‘Mormon’[…] all my life. I don’t know exactly who other Christians believe in, but I know who I believe in. I know who I’ve been taught to love and trust from my mother’s knee. So I must leave it to all of you who are not members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints to judge whether you believe in the same Christ that I do.
The Jesus Christ that I believe in was prophesied to come throughout the Old Testament. He was born of a virgin named Mary in Bethlehem and laid in a manger. Angels proclaimed the glad tidings to the shepherds and the heavenly hosts sang for joy. A brilliant new star rose as a sign of his birth. Both Anna and Simeon testified that he was the Messiah when they saw the infant Jesus at the temple in Jerusalem. Wise men brought him gold, frankincense and myrrh.”
Beth goes on in a very beautiful way to portray the New Testament Jesus we, as Mormons, believe in.
My spiritual quest kept on through my divorce and remarriage. This year, my Ghost of Christmas Past visited me during my epiphany to make room for the Savior in my life. I was brought back to the Christmases where my heartstrings were stretched so tight I thought they might sever. Those years my sons spent Christmas Eve or Christmas with their father and I was left alone. I find comfort in this quote from Taylor Caldwell: “I am not alone at all, I thought. I was never alone at all. And that, of course, is the message of Christmas. We are never alone. Not when the night is darkest, the wind coldest, the world seemingly most indifferent. For this is still the time God chooses.” I prefer my Ghost of Christmas Present, however. My daughter and son-in-law are bringing our grandchildren to us, despite the expense, despite the inconvenience. The twins, Seth and Noah, will be here just in time to decorate cookies with Grandma to leave for Santa. Our precious Ivy, will be here in time for Grandpa to get her dressed in her new Christmas Eve jammies. My quest to know my Savior has always been inseparable from my love for my family. Once again, I discover He runs through my life, coloring every event. I never forgot Him. I just needed to be reminded to praise Him.
Just
Sayin’
Friday, December 23, 2011
Pardon Me--Turkeys Really Can Fly
Grant County Journal
Pardon Me, Turkeys Really Can Fly
November, 2011
Written by Janet Warren
Some people have a lot to say about holidays that they think are conjured up by the folks who sell Hallmark cards. Valentine’s Day, Mother’s Day, Father’s Day-- why should they celebrate a day set aside to tell people they love them. Shouldn’t they tell them all the time and not on one particular day? Except, of course, those who do the most complaining about holidays are really just too cheap to buy a card or too lazy to make a phone call. And they certainly aren’t spending the other 364 days of the year telling people how much they mean to them. Me? Just like the rest of you, I get busy. I, for one, appreciate a specific day to remind me my mom might like to receive a card that tells her I’m thinking of her, or to remember my father which always leads to a few shed tears. And I really do love getting flowers on Valentine’s Day.
Thanksgiving is upon us. For many of us it is a day of gorging ourselves in preparation for Black Friday. Did you know some of the stores are actually beginning their Black Friday sales on Thursday? We’ve got to keep our strength up for that holiday shopping. We also cook dishes that have been handed down to us through the generations. Except for that creamed corn/oyster dish my mom always made. It smelled so bad I still cringe at the memory of it. My dad was the only one who liked it. Nothing on my holiday table has anything to do with Pilgrims and Indians except maybe the cranberries. The Wampanoag Indians used cranberries in a variety of ways, including making medicine and dying cloth. I’ll bet their cranberries weren’t jellied and have can marks, though. I prefer homemade cranberry sauce, or at least the whole berry canned kind, but I always have to put out a full can of jellied cranberry sauce for tradition’s sake. Nobody eats it, but I like looking at it—it reminds me of my mother’s thanksgiving dinners without the smell of the oyster/corn concoction.
Let’s play a quick game of Thanksgiving Trivia.
The first Thanksgiving celebrated with Indians was in Plymouth, Massachusetts, in 1621.
INCORRECT! The first known day of Thanksgiving was in 1565 when Pedro Menendez de Aviles and 800 settlers gathered for a meal with the Timucuan Indians in the Spanish colony of St. Augustine, Florida. It wasn’t for another 56 years that the Pilgrims and the Wampanoag Indians celebrated an autumn feast together, which, by the way, wasn’t an annual event.
In 1817, New York became first of several states to officially adopt an annual Thanksgiving holiday.
CORRECT! Here’s the rest of the story as told on history.com: “In 1827, the noted magazine editor and prolific writer Sarah Josepha Hale—author, among countless other things, of the nursery rhyme “Mary Had a Little Lamb”—launched a campaign to establish Thanksgiving as a national holiday. For 36 years, she published numerous editorials and sent scores of letters to governors, senators, presidents and other politicians. Abraham Lincoln finally heeded her request in 1863, at the height of the Civil War, in a proclamation entreating all Americans to ask God to “commend to his tender care all those who have become widows, orphans, mourners or sufferers in the lamentable civil strife” and to “heal the wounds of the nation.” He scheduled Thanksgiving for the final Thursday in November, and it was celebrated on that day every year until 1939, when Franklin D. Roosevelt moved the holiday up a week in an attempt to spur retail sales during the Great Depression. Roosevelt’s plan, known derisively as Franksgiving, was met with passionate opposition, and in 1941 the president reluctantly signed a bill making Thanksgiving the fourth Thursday in November.”
And now for the most important Thanksgiving Trivia—drum roll, please.
On Thanksgiving Day in 2007, two turkeys earned a trip to Disney World.
TRUE!!! “On November 20, 2007, President George W. Bush granted a "pardon" to two turkeys, named May and Flower, at the 60th annual National Thanksgiving Turkey presentation, held in the Rose Garden at the White House. The two turkeys were flown to Orlando, Florida, where they served as honorary grand marshals for the Disney World Thanksgiving Parade. The current tradition of presidential turkey pardons began in 1947, under Harry Truman, but the practice is said to have informally begun with Abraham Lincoln, who granted a pardon to his son Tad's pet turkey (history.com).”
I concede a point to all you holiday naysayers….most holidays have been commercialized one way or another. Yes, Madonna, we live in a material world. Thanksgiving, however, is a very easy holiday to makeover to fit your family. I know many of my friends have been doing “30 days of Thanksgiving” this month. Each day they think of something for which they are grateful. They post on facebook or write it in their journal, or like me just take a couple of minutes to think about it. Today I cannot be thankful for the many trees we have on our property, I will reserve that thanks for the spring when they are absolutely beautiful. I am, however, very thankful for the five young people who helped us rake the leaves up! Cameron, Nick, Johanna, Natanya and Garrett, thanks to your collective work we will take full advantage of the city’s free leaf pickup with over 30 bags.
If you can’t make the holiday meaningful for your families, try celebrating in a very traditional way. Most devoutly religious pilgrims observed a day of thanksgiving with prayer and fasting, not feasting. Just sayin’.
Pardon Me, Turkeys Really Can Fly
November, 2011
Written by Janet Warren
Some people have a lot to say about holidays that they think are conjured up by the folks who sell Hallmark cards. Valentine’s Day, Mother’s Day, Father’s Day-- why should they celebrate a day set aside to tell people they love them. Shouldn’t they tell them all the time and not on one particular day? Except, of course, those who do the most complaining about holidays are really just too cheap to buy a card or too lazy to make a phone call. And they certainly aren’t spending the other 364 days of the year telling people how much they mean to them. Me? Just like the rest of you, I get busy. I, for one, appreciate a specific day to remind me my mom might like to receive a card that tells her I’m thinking of her, or to remember my father which always leads to a few shed tears. And I really do love getting flowers on Valentine’s Day.
Thanksgiving is upon us. For many of us it is a day of gorging ourselves in preparation for Black Friday. Did you know some of the stores are actually beginning their Black Friday sales on Thursday? We’ve got to keep our strength up for that holiday shopping. We also cook dishes that have been handed down to us through the generations. Except for that creamed corn/oyster dish my mom always made. It smelled so bad I still cringe at the memory of it. My dad was the only one who liked it. Nothing on my holiday table has anything to do with Pilgrims and Indians except maybe the cranberries. The Wampanoag Indians used cranberries in a variety of ways, including making medicine and dying cloth. I’ll bet their cranberries weren’t jellied and have can marks, though. I prefer homemade cranberry sauce, or at least the whole berry canned kind, but I always have to put out a full can of jellied cranberry sauce for tradition’s sake. Nobody eats it, but I like looking at it—it reminds me of my mother’s thanksgiving dinners without the smell of the oyster/corn concoction.
Let’s play a quick game of Thanksgiving Trivia.
The first Thanksgiving celebrated with Indians was in Plymouth, Massachusetts, in 1621.
INCORRECT! The first known day of Thanksgiving was in 1565 when Pedro Menendez de Aviles and 800 settlers gathered for a meal with the Timucuan Indians in the Spanish colony of St. Augustine, Florida. It wasn’t for another 56 years that the Pilgrims and the Wampanoag Indians celebrated an autumn feast together, which, by the way, wasn’t an annual event.
In 1817, New York became first of several states to officially adopt an annual Thanksgiving holiday.
CORRECT! Here’s the rest of the story as told on history.com: “In 1827, the noted magazine editor and prolific writer Sarah Josepha Hale—author, among countless other things, of the nursery rhyme “Mary Had a Little Lamb”—launched a campaign to establish Thanksgiving as a national holiday. For 36 years, she published numerous editorials and sent scores of letters to governors, senators, presidents and other politicians. Abraham Lincoln finally heeded her request in 1863, at the height of the Civil War, in a proclamation entreating all Americans to ask God to “commend to his tender care all those who have become widows, orphans, mourners or sufferers in the lamentable civil strife” and to “heal the wounds of the nation.” He scheduled Thanksgiving for the final Thursday in November, and it was celebrated on that day every year until 1939, when Franklin D. Roosevelt moved the holiday up a week in an attempt to spur retail sales during the Great Depression. Roosevelt’s plan, known derisively as Franksgiving, was met with passionate opposition, and in 1941 the president reluctantly signed a bill making Thanksgiving the fourth Thursday in November.”
And now for the most important Thanksgiving Trivia—drum roll, please.
On Thanksgiving Day in 2007, two turkeys earned a trip to Disney World.
TRUE!!! “On November 20, 2007, President George W. Bush granted a "pardon" to two turkeys, named May and Flower, at the 60th annual National Thanksgiving Turkey presentation, held in the Rose Garden at the White House. The two turkeys were flown to Orlando, Florida, where they served as honorary grand marshals for the Disney World Thanksgiving Parade. The current tradition of presidential turkey pardons began in 1947, under Harry Truman, but the practice is said to have informally begun with Abraham Lincoln, who granted a pardon to his son Tad's pet turkey (history.com).”
I concede a point to all you holiday naysayers….most holidays have been commercialized one way or another. Yes, Madonna, we live in a material world. Thanksgiving, however, is a very easy holiday to makeover to fit your family. I know many of my friends have been doing “30 days of Thanksgiving” this month. Each day they think of something for which they are grateful. They post on facebook or write it in their journal, or like me just take a couple of minutes to think about it. Today I cannot be thankful for the many trees we have on our property, I will reserve that thanks for the spring when they are absolutely beautiful. I am, however, very thankful for the five young people who helped us rake the leaves up! Cameron, Nick, Johanna, Natanya and Garrett, thanks to your collective work we will take full advantage of the city’s free leaf pickup with over 30 bags.
If you can’t make the holiday meaningful for your families, try celebrating in a very traditional way. Most devoutly religious pilgrims observed a day of thanksgiving with prayer and fasting, not feasting. Just sayin’.
Saturday, November 5, 2011
One Line Can Make the Difference
Grant County Journal
One Line Can Make the Difference
October 27, 2011
Written by Janet Warren
Halloween used to be my favorite holiday. I’ve been wondering lately why I haven’t been getting ready for it this year. Sure, I started wearing my Halloween socks the beginning of October, but around here that could mean I have school spirit. I started using my Halloween tablecloth and got my witches hat out of storage (just in case). I always have to buy mini pumpkins for decoration, and put my autumn wreath on the door. But that’s it this year. I thought maybe I’m a little lacking in the Halloween spirit because my grandchildren live far away. I imagine if three-year-old Seth was here running around with his eye patch shouting “Shiver Me Timbers!,” I’d whip up a batch of Halloween sugar cookies . Then it hit me. I’m not so excited about Halloween this year because I’m on a diet.
No black and orange m&ms for me this year. No caramel corn, no chocolate, no donuts and cider. I’m one of those weird people who really likes candy corn—but only the orange, white and yellow ones. My friend Connie introduced me to candy corn mixed with peanuts last Halloween. Thanks to her I have a new tasty treat I have to give up this year. I’ve been off sugar for a couple of months now, so I’m not even craving the stuff physically—it’s the emotional craving. I know, it’s pathetic…a holiday based on sugar. I had to get my mind off of it, so I am concentrating on another love of mine. Creepy literature.
Edgar Allan Poe’s The Tell-Tale Heart may not be the best short story, but it is my favorite. One of the main things in good literature is that a story is SHOWN, not TOLD. As the character tells us that he is not insane, Poe brilliantly shows us that, yes, he is.
"TRUE! nervous, very, very dreadfully nervous I had been and am; but why WILL you say that I am mad? The disease had sharpened my senses, not destroyed, not dulled them. Above all was the sense of hearing acute. I heard all things in the heaven and in the earth. I heard many things in hell. How then am I mad? Hearken! and observe how healthily, how calmly, I can tell you the whole story."
What a great first paragraph! Many times when I decide if I want to read a book, I’ll read the first line and the last line. Here’s Poe’s last line:
"Villains!" I shrieked, "dissemble no more! I admit the deed! -- tear up the planks! -- here, here! -- it is the beating of his hideous heart!" The character gives himself up to the police because he hears the beating of his own heart and in his madness is sure the heart of the old man he killed and buried beneath the floorboards is still beating.
Here’s another one by William Faulkner—“A Rose for Emily.” "When Miss Emily Grierson died, our whole town went to her funeral: the men through a sort of respectful affection for a fallen monument, the women mostly out of curiosity to see the inside of her house, which no one save an old man-servant--a combined gardener and cook--had seen in at least ten years."
There is an amazing amount of information in that first line. I was going to give you the last paragraph, but I want you to read the story and the last line would be a spoiler. The great thing about Faulkner’s writing is that you never would have guessed what happens between the first and last lines. Creepy!!!
I’m not sure why my favorite stories are about insane people. The Yellow Wallpaper by Charlotte Perkins Gilman shows a woman’s descent into madness by the gnawing of a bedpost and the faded wallpaper around the room. She doesn’t TELL you the story, she SHOWS it to you.
I’m leaving the Halloween theme now (as well as the insane people subtheme), and if I was a better writer I’d be able to SHOW you that and not just TELL. That’s why I’m taking an online writing class. I am always looking for ways to improve my writing. It doesn’t have a deadline which means I may never finish it, but I am loving everything I’m learning. I needed a project to work on throughout the class. When I moved here two years ago, I met an amazing woman—Kitti Potter. I knew bits and pieces about her life story, and decided I would really like to use it as my project, maybe even write a book. I interviewed her for hours and then I interviewed her husband, Ron. I worked for days to come up with a great first line. I never did, but I came up with a pretty good middle line. "I saw him driving out of a parking lot. Our eyes locked and I could see the sadness. I had broken him. A feeling swept over me, one that I didn’t recognize. Then it hit me. For the first time in my life, I cared." Finally, after many weeks of frustration I called my friend in Oklahoma who is a writer. After telling her what I was attempting, she said, “You know you have chosen the hardest kind of story to tell, don’t you? There is no way you can write it without fictionalizing some of it. You can’t stay true to the story because you can’t get in your friend’s head.” I might be able to TELL this story, but I wouldn’t be able to SHOW it. I understand now. I can’t write this story because it’s not mine to write. I hope Kitti will write it. It’s a beautiful story of love, redemption, and human spirit. You can use my middle line if you want, Kitti, and maybe I can help you come up with a great first one!
One Line Can Make the Difference
October 27, 2011
Written by Janet Warren
Halloween used to be my favorite holiday. I’ve been wondering lately why I haven’t been getting ready for it this year. Sure, I started wearing my Halloween socks the beginning of October, but around here that could mean I have school spirit. I started using my Halloween tablecloth and got my witches hat out of storage (just in case). I always have to buy mini pumpkins for decoration, and put my autumn wreath on the door. But that’s it this year. I thought maybe I’m a little lacking in the Halloween spirit because my grandchildren live far away. I imagine if three-year-old Seth was here running around with his eye patch shouting “Shiver Me Timbers!,” I’d whip up a batch of Halloween sugar cookies . Then it hit me. I’m not so excited about Halloween this year because I’m on a diet.
No black and orange m&ms for me this year. No caramel corn, no chocolate, no donuts and cider. I’m one of those weird people who really likes candy corn—but only the orange, white and yellow ones. My friend Connie introduced me to candy corn mixed with peanuts last Halloween. Thanks to her I have a new tasty treat I have to give up this year. I’ve been off sugar for a couple of months now, so I’m not even craving the stuff physically—it’s the emotional craving. I know, it’s pathetic…a holiday based on sugar. I had to get my mind off of it, so I am concentrating on another love of mine. Creepy literature.
Edgar Allan Poe’s The Tell-Tale Heart may not be the best short story, but it is my favorite. One of the main things in good literature is that a story is SHOWN, not TOLD. As the character tells us that he is not insane, Poe brilliantly shows us that, yes, he is.
"TRUE! nervous, very, very dreadfully nervous I had been and am; but why WILL you say that I am mad? The disease had sharpened my senses, not destroyed, not dulled them. Above all was the sense of hearing acute. I heard all things in the heaven and in the earth. I heard many things in hell. How then am I mad? Hearken! and observe how healthily, how calmly, I can tell you the whole story."
What a great first paragraph! Many times when I decide if I want to read a book, I’ll read the first line and the last line. Here’s Poe’s last line:
"Villains!" I shrieked, "dissemble no more! I admit the deed! -- tear up the planks! -- here, here! -- it is the beating of his hideous heart!" The character gives himself up to the police because he hears the beating of his own heart and in his madness is sure the heart of the old man he killed and buried beneath the floorboards is still beating.
Here’s another one by William Faulkner—“A Rose for Emily.” "When Miss Emily Grierson died, our whole town went to her funeral: the men through a sort of respectful affection for a fallen monument, the women mostly out of curiosity to see the inside of her house, which no one save an old man-servant--a combined gardener and cook--had seen in at least ten years."
There is an amazing amount of information in that first line. I was going to give you the last paragraph, but I want you to read the story and the last line would be a spoiler. The great thing about Faulkner’s writing is that you never would have guessed what happens between the first and last lines. Creepy!!!
I’m not sure why my favorite stories are about insane people. The Yellow Wallpaper by Charlotte Perkins Gilman shows a woman’s descent into madness by the gnawing of a bedpost and the faded wallpaper around the room. She doesn’t TELL you the story, she SHOWS it to you.
I’m leaving the Halloween theme now (as well as the insane people subtheme), and if I was a better writer I’d be able to SHOW you that and not just TELL. That’s why I’m taking an online writing class. I am always looking for ways to improve my writing. It doesn’t have a deadline which means I may never finish it, but I am loving everything I’m learning. I needed a project to work on throughout the class. When I moved here two years ago, I met an amazing woman—Kitti Potter. I knew bits and pieces about her life story, and decided I would really like to use it as my project, maybe even write a book. I interviewed her for hours and then I interviewed her husband, Ron. I worked for days to come up with a great first line. I never did, but I came up with a pretty good middle line. "I saw him driving out of a parking lot. Our eyes locked and I could see the sadness. I had broken him. A feeling swept over me, one that I didn’t recognize. Then it hit me. For the first time in my life, I cared." Finally, after many weeks of frustration I called my friend in Oklahoma who is a writer. After telling her what I was attempting, she said, “You know you have chosen the hardest kind of story to tell, don’t you? There is no way you can write it without fictionalizing some of it. You can’t stay true to the story because you can’t get in your friend’s head.” I might be able to TELL this story, but I wouldn’t be able to SHOW it. I understand now. I can’t write this story because it’s not mine to write. I hope Kitti will write it. It’s a beautiful story of love, redemption, and human spirit. You can use my middle line if you want, Kitti, and maybe I can help you come up with a great first one!
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
Hey Soul Sisters, I Miss Ya!
Grant County Journal
“Hey Soul Sisters…I miss ya!”
Written by Janet Warren
September 22, 2011
Sometimes sisters get a bad rap. In Greek Mythology, the Moirai, otherwise known as The Fates, were born to Zeus, the God of Fate, and Themis, the Goddess of Necessity. They are most often depicted as three hags who control every person’s destiny through a thin thread attached at birth. Clotho spins the threads of life, Lachesis allots the length of the yarn, and Atropos does the final cut. Snip, snip, you die.
Disney’s version of Cinderella isn’t anywhere near as graphic as the Grimms Brother’s version. The Halloween décor has been for sale at Wal-Mart for months, so I’ll give you a taste of the macabre. The stepsisters in the Grimms’ version cut off pieces of their feet to get them to fit in the glass slippers in order to trick the prince. The prince is alerted by birds who are attracted by the blood and peck out the eyes of the wicked stepsisters. They are forced to live out their lives as blind beggars while Cinderella marries the prince and lives happily ever after.
How about the spinster sisters, Martha and Abby Brewster, in Arsenic and Old Lace (1944)? They are two kind, sweet women who go about doing good deeds by killing lonely old men to put them out of their misery. “For a gallon of elderberry wine, I take one teaspoon full of arsenic, then add half a teaspoon full of strychnine, and then just a pinch of cyanide,” Martha explains. She and Abby discovered it tastes much better in elderberry wine than in tea.
As I said, some sisters get a bad rap. But not my sisters.
My sisters make me laugh. And I’m not talking ha ha, I’m talking rolling on the floor, trying not to pee my pants kind of laughing. When we are all together, our children have to brace themselves to see a side of their mothers not often seen. It wasn’t always that way—in fact I would say my sisters and I weren’t particularly close while we were growing up.
My friend, Sandra’s younger sister always borrowed her clothes and stretched out the pants (remember the polyester pant era?)
My niece Brittany’s identical twin, at age four, felt the pain when Brittany broke her arm even though they weren’t together. They still have that kind of connection. I wonder if identical twins have less sibling rivalry than other siblings—that would be an interesting topic to research.
I was seven years younger than my sister Diane and followed her around relentlessly, even wanting to sleep with her. She says I made her pre-teen years hellish. I don’t remember that, and don’t believe it. Moi?
I do, however, remember I was really mean to my sister Sara, three years my junior. When we had ice cream, I would eat mine down to the cone and then force her to trade with me since she still had half of hers. She used the word “probably” a lot. I would mock her every chance I got—“probably, probably, probably,” I taunted. She recently wrote this: “Sisters are there for each other, they play tag team on a moment's notice when other family members are in need, they are there to laugh with, cry with, get through the difficult times together, rejoice in the good times. Sisters are a gift." I think Sara has forgiven me.
I can hear it now from some Ephrata sisters: “Sure you get along with your sisters. You don’t have to live with them in the same small town.” You may be right. My sisters are spread out across the country…Diane is in New Jersey, Sara in Colorado, Valene in Nevada, and here I am in Washington. We’ve never lived close to each other as adults. I’d like to think we would enjoy each other as much as we do now if we all lived in close proximity. But I may never know the answer to that. What I do know is that having a sister changes you whether it is for better or worse.
In my “Leave it to Beaver” upbringing, I never faced many of the horrific things sisters who grew up in abusive families dealt with. I have spoken to sisters who have lived through unimaginable things and many of them form exceptionally strong bonds, especially when they have had to depend on each other to survive emotionally. Those bonds formed while in the belly of the whale cannot be broken.
“Sibling relationships--and 80 percent of Americans have at least one--outlast marriages, survive the death of parents, resurface after quarrels that would sink any friendship. They flourish in a thousand incarnations of closeness and distance, warmth, loyalty and distrust. Asked to describe them, more than a few people stammer and hesitate, tripped up by memory and sudden bursts of unexpected emotion.” ~Erica E. Goode, "The Secret World of Siblings," U.S. News & World Report, 10 January 1994
By the time you read this column, the four Fullenwider sisters will be together in Nevada, along with our brother Dave, who through a cruel twist of fate is forced to spend his life sandwiched between two sisters on either side. We’re coming together to observe and make some serious decisions about our mother, but I’m pretty sure we’ll wedge in some fits of laughter.
“Hey Soul Sisters…I miss ya!”
Written by Janet Warren
September 22, 2011
Sometimes sisters get a bad rap. In Greek Mythology, the Moirai, otherwise known as The Fates, were born to Zeus, the God of Fate, and Themis, the Goddess of Necessity. They are most often depicted as three hags who control every person’s destiny through a thin thread attached at birth. Clotho spins the threads of life, Lachesis allots the length of the yarn, and Atropos does the final cut. Snip, snip, you die.
Disney’s version of Cinderella isn’t anywhere near as graphic as the Grimms Brother’s version. The Halloween décor has been for sale at Wal-Mart for months, so I’ll give you a taste of the macabre. The stepsisters in the Grimms’ version cut off pieces of their feet to get them to fit in the glass slippers in order to trick the prince. The prince is alerted by birds who are attracted by the blood and peck out the eyes of the wicked stepsisters. They are forced to live out their lives as blind beggars while Cinderella marries the prince and lives happily ever after.
How about the spinster sisters, Martha and Abby Brewster, in Arsenic and Old Lace (1944)? They are two kind, sweet women who go about doing good deeds by killing lonely old men to put them out of their misery. “For a gallon of elderberry wine, I take one teaspoon full of arsenic, then add half a teaspoon full of strychnine, and then just a pinch of cyanide,” Martha explains. She and Abby discovered it tastes much better in elderberry wine than in tea.
As I said, some sisters get a bad rap. But not my sisters.
My sisters make me laugh. And I’m not talking ha ha, I’m talking rolling on the floor, trying not to pee my pants kind of laughing. When we are all together, our children have to brace themselves to see a side of their mothers not often seen. It wasn’t always that way—in fact I would say my sisters and I weren’t particularly close while we were growing up.
My friend, Sandra’s younger sister always borrowed her clothes and stretched out the pants (remember the polyester pant era?)
My niece Brittany’s identical twin, at age four, felt the pain when Brittany broke her arm even though they weren’t together. They still have that kind of connection. I wonder if identical twins have less sibling rivalry than other siblings—that would be an interesting topic to research.
I was seven years younger than my sister Diane and followed her around relentlessly, even wanting to sleep with her. She says I made her pre-teen years hellish. I don’t remember that, and don’t believe it. Moi?
I do, however, remember I was really mean to my sister Sara, three years my junior. When we had ice cream, I would eat mine down to the cone and then force her to trade with me since she still had half of hers. She used the word “probably” a lot. I would mock her every chance I got—“probably, probably, probably,” I taunted. She recently wrote this: “Sisters are there for each other, they play tag team on a moment's notice when other family members are in need, they are there to laugh with, cry with, get through the difficult times together, rejoice in the good times. Sisters are a gift." I think Sara has forgiven me.
I can hear it now from some Ephrata sisters: “Sure you get along with your sisters. You don’t have to live with them in the same small town.” You may be right. My sisters are spread out across the country…Diane is in New Jersey, Sara in Colorado, Valene in Nevada, and here I am in Washington. We’ve never lived close to each other as adults. I’d like to think we would enjoy each other as much as we do now if we all lived in close proximity. But I may never know the answer to that. What I do know is that having a sister changes you whether it is for better or worse.
In my “Leave it to Beaver” upbringing, I never faced many of the horrific things sisters who grew up in abusive families dealt with. I have spoken to sisters who have lived through unimaginable things and many of them form exceptionally strong bonds, especially when they have had to depend on each other to survive emotionally. Those bonds formed while in the belly of the whale cannot be broken.
“Sibling relationships--and 80 percent of Americans have at least one--outlast marriages, survive the death of parents, resurface after quarrels that would sink any friendship. They flourish in a thousand incarnations of closeness and distance, warmth, loyalty and distrust. Asked to describe them, more than a few people stammer and hesitate, tripped up by memory and sudden bursts of unexpected emotion.” ~Erica E. Goode, "The Secret World of Siblings," U.S. News & World Report, 10 January 1994
By the time you read this column, the four Fullenwider sisters will be together in Nevada, along with our brother Dave, who through a cruel twist of fate is forced to spend his life sandwiched between two sisters on either side. We’re coming together to observe and make some serious decisions about our mother, but I’m pretty sure we’ll wedge in some fits of laughter.
Sunday, September 4, 2011
The Times They Are A-Changin'
Grant County Journal
“The Times They Are A-Changin’”
Thursday, August 25, 2011
Written by Janet Warren
Come senators, congressmen
Please heed the call
Don't stand in the doorway
Don't block up the hall
For he that gets hurt
Will be he who has stalled
There's a battle outside
And it is ragin'
It'll soon shake your windows
And rattle your walls
For the times they are a-changin'.
These lyrics were written by Bob Dylan 47 years ago, sung at the beginning of his career when you could still understand his words. His song, Times They Are A-Changin’ became an anthem for civil rights and anti-war movements in the late 1960s. It shook a lot of people up at the time, but now the lyrics make me melancholy. They are as relevant today as they were in 1964, except now our windows are shaking and our walls are rattling.
When I first started writing my column, Just Sayin’, almost a year ago (yes, it has been that long—the first one was published September 27, 2010) I wrote this: “I want to write about the good things and the good people of Ephrata. I might write about some of the bad, but the ugly, not so much. You can always get your ugly somewhere else.” I’ve held true to that premise; I have tried to put a positive spin on people and situations. As depressing as things get around us in the world, there is always room for laughter, fun, and sometimes plain frivolity so I decided to do a little changing myself.
I want to change the name of the column. I was listening to a spot on the internet from August, 2009, where political comedian Jon Stewart blasted a segment on CNN entitled Just Sayin’. He said, “They report the news like I think—when I was a 12-year-old girl.” Hmm, that was two years ago, so that 12-year-old would now be 14. I don’t have a 14-year-old girl living in my home anymore, but I used to be a 14-year-old girl and I also raised two daughters. I have experienced eye rolling from both sides of my retinas. Here’s what I imagine the conversation would be if my daughter was 14: (Preceded with a very loud sigh and rolling of eyes) “Really, mom—Just Sayin’? Can’t you come up with something less lame? That is so 2009.” I admit it, my imaginary 14-year-old got to me. Then I read an article entitled “It’s Rude! It’s Crude! It’s Stupid! Just sayin’, by Scott Simon. Simon says (Yes, that is the name of his column): “Saying, ‘I'm just saying,’ puts a fire escape onto the end of a sentence. It lets you express a stern — even rude — opinion, but not really. You're just saying. It invites the listener to discount what we've just heard, even as we're reeling from it.”
What if Bob Dylan had written lyrics like: The line it is drawn, the curse it is cast, the slow one now will later be fast. Just sayin’.
I posted a status on facebook (so there, you bratty imaginary daughter—I am using social media, doesn’t that mean I am keeping up with the times?) asking my friends for ideas for a new title for this column. I got a lot of good ideas. My favorite was from my friend Denise. She suggested “Bits from the Basin.” I liked that, but I shortened it to “Basin Bits.” I made the mistake of saying it fast three times and got “Bison Chips.” From there a haunting song from my childhood kept creeping into my mind about pioneer children gathering buffalo chips for fuel.
I’ve covered a variety of topics in my 46 columns (posted on www.justsayinephrata.blogspot.com), and written about some really great people I have met. My column is about first impressions. It’s an opinion column; I haven’t always kept it light, but I have tried to keep it positive. I wrote about Dorothy Bair and her sense of humor, I wrote about breast cancer awareness, the civil air patrol, and women’s suffrage. I wrote about the line dancing grannies and the red hat society ladies. I wrote about Shirley and Joe Reilly—Shirley asked for the community’s prayers that a kidney/pancreas transplant would be forthcoming for Joe. I called Shirley to check up on Joe and prayers were answered. Not only did Joe undergo a double transplant—he is doing remarkably well. Thank you Ephrata from the bottom of their hearts. I wrote about a lot of exceptional people, including my father when he passed last month.
Thank you for letting me into your homes with my column. I’m not sure I’m ready for too much change. I’m going from every week in Monday’s paper to once a month in Thursday’s paper; that might be enough change for now. I’ll leave the name the same until I can think up a better one. After all—“What’s in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.” Just sayin’. Nah—it’s gotta go. I’ll work on that.
“The Times They Are A-Changin’”
Thursday, August 25, 2011
Written by Janet Warren
Come senators, congressmen
Please heed the call
Don't stand in the doorway
Don't block up the hall
For he that gets hurt
Will be he who has stalled
There's a battle outside
And it is ragin'
It'll soon shake your windows
And rattle your walls
For the times they are a-changin'.
These lyrics were written by Bob Dylan 47 years ago, sung at the beginning of his career when you could still understand his words. His song, Times They Are A-Changin’ became an anthem for civil rights and anti-war movements in the late 1960s. It shook a lot of people up at the time, but now the lyrics make me melancholy. They are as relevant today as they were in 1964, except now our windows are shaking and our walls are rattling.
When I first started writing my column, Just Sayin’, almost a year ago (yes, it has been that long—the first one was published September 27, 2010) I wrote this: “I want to write about the good things and the good people of Ephrata. I might write about some of the bad, but the ugly, not so much. You can always get your ugly somewhere else.” I’ve held true to that premise; I have tried to put a positive spin on people and situations. As depressing as things get around us in the world, there is always room for laughter, fun, and sometimes plain frivolity so I decided to do a little changing myself.
I want to change the name of the column. I was listening to a spot on the internet from August, 2009, where political comedian Jon Stewart blasted a segment on CNN entitled Just Sayin’. He said, “They report the news like I think—when I was a 12-year-old girl.” Hmm, that was two years ago, so that 12-year-old would now be 14. I don’t have a 14-year-old girl living in my home anymore, but I used to be a 14-year-old girl and I also raised two daughters. I have experienced eye rolling from both sides of my retinas. Here’s what I imagine the conversation would be if my daughter was 14: (Preceded with a very loud sigh and rolling of eyes) “Really, mom—Just Sayin’? Can’t you come up with something less lame? That is so 2009.” I admit it, my imaginary 14-year-old got to me. Then I read an article entitled “It’s Rude! It’s Crude! It’s Stupid! Just sayin’, by Scott Simon. Simon says (Yes, that is the name of his column): “Saying, ‘I'm just saying,’ puts a fire escape onto the end of a sentence. It lets you express a stern — even rude — opinion, but not really. You're just saying. It invites the listener to discount what we've just heard, even as we're reeling from it.”
What if Bob Dylan had written lyrics like: The line it is drawn, the curse it is cast, the slow one now will later be fast. Just sayin’.
I posted a status on facebook (so there, you bratty imaginary daughter—I am using social media, doesn’t that mean I am keeping up with the times?) asking my friends for ideas for a new title for this column. I got a lot of good ideas. My favorite was from my friend Denise. She suggested “Bits from the Basin.” I liked that, but I shortened it to “Basin Bits.” I made the mistake of saying it fast three times and got “Bison Chips.” From there a haunting song from my childhood kept creeping into my mind about pioneer children gathering buffalo chips for fuel.
I’ve covered a variety of topics in my 46 columns (posted on www.justsayinephrata.blogspot.com), and written about some really great people I have met. My column is about first impressions. It’s an opinion column; I haven’t always kept it light, but I have tried to keep it positive. I wrote about Dorothy Bair and her sense of humor, I wrote about breast cancer awareness, the civil air patrol, and women’s suffrage. I wrote about the line dancing grannies and the red hat society ladies. I wrote about Shirley and Joe Reilly—Shirley asked for the community’s prayers that a kidney/pancreas transplant would be forthcoming for Joe. I called Shirley to check up on Joe and prayers were answered. Not only did Joe undergo a double transplant—he is doing remarkably well. Thank you Ephrata from the bottom of their hearts. I wrote about a lot of exceptional people, including my father when he passed last month.
Thank you for letting me into your homes with my column. I’m not sure I’m ready for too much change. I’m going from every week in Monday’s paper to once a month in Thursday’s paper; that might be enough change for now. I’ll leave the name the same until I can think up a better one. After all—“What’s in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.” Just sayin’. Nah—it’s gotta go. I’ll work on that.
Tuesday, August 2, 2011
Children Are Like Starfish
Grant County Journal
Children Are Like Starfishes
August 1, 2011
Written by Janet Warren
I have often wondered what makes us choose our paths in life. After years of reflection, I’ve come to the conclusion that little, perhaps inconsequential things at the time, turn us toward the paths we take. There is not one path, but a series of paths we choose, and the reason we choose them is because we are building on prior experiences. When I look back on my own life, my hindsight is clear. I spent the first six years of my life in southern California, and the ocean still beckons to me. From ages six to eleven, I looked at the base of Mount Olympus from my kitchen table, and now I feel like I’ve come home when mountains surround me.
I spoke with two people recently about a decision their families made—adoption; international adoption to be specific. When I spoke to Mindy Wall about the decision she and her husband Darryl made, I understood that experiences she had as a child made her more open to the direction her life has taken. “I always knew I wanted to adopt,” Mindy said, “because when I was 14, my stepfather adopted me. He was so kind to me and changed my life, and I wanted to do the same for a child.” After three biological children (Spencer, Mitchell, and Ethan) it became apparent Mindy shouldn’t have any more, and what had been a thought began to become reality. Because they had dealt with some special needs with one of their sons, Mindy and Darryl felt equipped to adopt an older child with special needs. Their first adopted child came from Russia. When Mindy and Darryl saw a video of Nik he was singing and they fell in love. Both Mindy and Darryl have music degrees and music is a big part of their lives. A year after seeing that video, Mindy and Darryl celebrated Nik’s fifth birthday in the Russian orphanage right before they brought him home. Nik was born without a right hand and has only two fingers on his left hand. Mindy said, “We didn’t want our kids to grow up with a handicapped mentality. We wanted them to know they were capable and able to do anything they set their minds to. Nik (now 15) is a phenomenal soccer player as well as an amazing piano player.
With four sons, ages 9, 7, 5 and 3, the Wall’s decided to build their dream home in Ephrata. The adoption thought kept at them, and they decided to add a sister from China to the mix in 2006. The money didn’t come as easily this time, but the Walls pressed forward to adopt a 2 ½-year-old girl with atresia/microtia, which means she has no ears or ear canals. Once again, the Wall’s provided every opportunity for a normal life to their child, whom they named Alaina. Her nickname in China was LuLu, and she was called that for the first year of her life because she responded to it.
Life hasn’t been easy for the Walls, but it has been quite an adventure. They ended up having to sell their dream home to get out of debt after the second adoption. Mindy says it was a very hard decision and she still misses her house every day. However, she says, “Our kids have all along been our priority.”
After Alaina, the Walls felt their family was complete. That is, until Alaina out of the blue started to pray for a sister. “Where’s my sister,” she asked. “I have brothers, but no sister.” She began making comments about wanting a sister from China because girls in China don’t have any ears. Mindy tried to explain to her that some girls in China do have ears, but out of a series of what could be called coincidences by the uninitiated, the Walls are preparing to adopt a girl from China, the same age as Alaina, with the same medical condition. (Try explaining to Alaina now that not all girls in China are earless). They aren’t sure where the money will come, but a way has always been provided. The little girl’s nickname is LeLe. LeLe and LuLu, both with no ears…don’t tell me that was a coincidence. The Walls will scrimp and scrape to bring LeLe home. A yard sale at the corner of Mocliff and Loma Place will take place beginning at 9 a.m. on August 13. Darryl and Mindy are working on a musical CD to sell as an adoption fundraiser. It should be ready by Christmas.
What about the Tucker’s path to adoption? Matthew Tucker, who is an associate pastor at First Baptist Church, and his wife, Candice, brought home their son Agezu, age 3, from Ethiopia last month. Matt’s path began when he was a kid in the mid-80s. He remembers seeing images of Ethiopian children on TV and wishing his family could bring a starving baby home. He thinks it is a bit ironic that he brings his son home in 2011 when Ethiopia is on the verge of another drought. However, there were a lot of other things that happened between then and now.
Matt and Candice started out their life together wanting children. They assumed they would have many, but after two biological births and a number of miscarriages, both of them decided their family was going to be something different than they had imagined. Candice’s sister, Leah, is a missionary in Hungary. She told the Tuckers about the gypsy babies—babies left in the street in a country where prejudices against gypsies make them into less than human. Both Matt and Candice were touched to the core by the stories of gypsy babies, but it is very difficult and very expensive to adopt from European countries. When Matt found out there is somewhere around 147 million orphans in the world, he began to feel it didn’t matter where they adopted, they all needed help. “I wasn’t trying to make a statement,” Matt said. “It’s kind of like the story with the starfish.”
One day a man was walking along the beach when he noticed a boy picking something up and gently throwing it into the ocean. Approaching the boy, he asked, “What are you doing?” The youth replied, “Throwing starfish back into the ocean. The surf is up and the tide is going out. If I don’t throw them back, they’ll die. “Son,” the man said, “don’t you realize there are miles and miles of beach and hundreds of starfish? You can’t make a difference!”
After listening politely, the boy bent down, picked up another starfish and threw it back into the surf. Then, smiling at the man, he said: “I made a difference for that one.” (Original story by Loren Eisley).
So, the Tuckers approached their sons, Timothy and Trice. “Do you want a brother or a sister?” Matt asked the boys. After a moment’s consideration, Timothy said, “We need a catcher, let’s get a brother.” Little did they know at that very period of time, their brother was being born in Ethiopia. Three years later, the Tuckers brought home Agezu, a small, beautiful boy whose only problem seems to be that he was starved for the first two years of his life. It’s time for Agezu to play catch up, and before you know it he’ll be playing catcher.
This column will move to the Thursday edition, once a month, probably the fourth week, maybe the third…we’re still trying to work that out.
Children Are Like Starfishes
August 1, 2011
Written by Janet Warren
I have often wondered what makes us choose our paths in life. After years of reflection, I’ve come to the conclusion that little, perhaps inconsequential things at the time, turn us toward the paths we take. There is not one path, but a series of paths we choose, and the reason we choose them is because we are building on prior experiences. When I look back on my own life, my hindsight is clear. I spent the first six years of my life in southern California, and the ocean still beckons to me. From ages six to eleven, I looked at the base of Mount Olympus from my kitchen table, and now I feel like I’ve come home when mountains surround me.
I spoke with two people recently about a decision their families made—adoption; international adoption to be specific. When I spoke to Mindy Wall about the decision she and her husband Darryl made, I understood that experiences she had as a child made her more open to the direction her life has taken. “I always knew I wanted to adopt,” Mindy said, “because when I was 14, my stepfather adopted me. He was so kind to me and changed my life, and I wanted to do the same for a child.” After three biological children (Spencer, Mitchell, and Ethan) it became apparent Mindy shouldn’t have any more, and what had been a thought began to become reality. Because they had dealt with some special needs with one of their sons, Mindy and Darryl felt equipped to adopt an older child with special needs. Their first adopted child came from Russia. When Mindy and Darryl saw a video of Nik he was singing and they fell in love. Both Mindy and Darryl have music degrees and music is a big part of their lives. A year after seeing that video, Mindy and Darryl celebrated Nik’s fifth birthday in the Russian orphanage right before they brought him home. Nik was born without a right hand and has only two fingers on his left hand. Mindy said, “We didn’t want our kids to grow up with a handicapped mentality. We wanted them to know they were capable and able to do anything they set their minds to. Nik (now 15) is a phenomenal soccer player as well as an amazing piano player.
With four sons, ages 9, 7, 5 and 3, the Wall’s decided to build their dream home in Ephrata. The adoption thought kept at them, and they decided to add a sister from China to the mix in 2006. The money didn’t come as easily this time, but the Walls pressed forward to adopt a 2 ½-year-old girl with atresia/microtia, which means she has no ears or ear canals. Once again, the Wall’s provided every opportunity for a normal life to their child, whom they named Alaina. Her nickname in China was LuLu, and she was called that for the first year of her life because she responded to it.
Life hasn’t been easy for the Walls, but it has been quite an adventure. They ended up having to sell their dream home to get out of debt after the second adoption. Mindy says it was a very hard decision and she still misses her house every day. However, she says, “Our kids have all along been our priority.”
After Alaina, the Walls felt their family was complete. That is, until Alaina out of the blue started to pray for a sister. “Where’s my sister,” she asked. “I have brothers, but no sister.” She began making comments about wanting a sister from China because girls in China don’t have any ears. Mindy tried to explain to her that some girls in China do have ears, but out of a series of what could be called coincidences by the uninitiated, the Walls are preparing to adopt a girl from China, the same age as Alaina, with the same medical condition. (Try explaining to Alaina now that not all girls in China are earless). They aren’t sure where the money will come, but a way has always been provided. The little girl’s nickname is LeLe. LeLe and LuLu, both with no ears…don’t tell me that was a coincidence. The Walls will scrimp and scrape to bring LeLe home. A yard sale at the corner of Mocliff and Loma Place will take place beginning at 9 a.m. on August 13. Darryl and Mindy are working on a musical CD to sell as an adoption fundraiser. It should be ready by Christmas.
What about the Tucker’s path to adoption? Matthew Tucker, who is an associate pastor at First Baptist Church, and his wife, Candice, brought home their son Agezu, age 3, from Ethiopia last month. Matt’s path began when he was a kid in the mid-80s. He remembers seeing images of Ethiopian children on TV and wishing his family could bring a starving baby home. He thinks it is a bit ironic that he brings his son home in 2011 when Ethiopia is on the verge of another drought. However, there were a lot of other things that happened between then and now.
Matt and Candice started out their life together wanting children. They assumed they would have many, but after two biological births and a number of miscarriages, both of them decided their family was going to be something different than they had imagined. Candice’s sister, Leah, is a missionary in Hungary. She told the Tuckers about the gypsy babies—babies left in the street in a country where prejudices against gypsies make them into less than human. Both Matt and Candice were touched to the core by the stories of gypsy babies, but it is very difficult and very expensive to adopt from European countries. When Matt found out there is somewhere around 147 million orphans in the world, he began to feel it didn’t matter where they adopted, they all needed help. “I wasn’t trying to make a statement,” Matt said. “It’s kind of like the story with the starfish.”
One day a man was walking along the beach when he noticed a boy picking something up and gently throwing it into the ocean. Approaching the boy, he asked, “What are you doing?” The youth replied, “Throwing starfish back into the ocean. The surf is up and the tide is going out. If I don’t throw them back, they’ll die. “Son,” the man said, “don’t you realize there are miles and miles of beach and hundreds of starfish? You can’t make a difference!”
After listening politely, the boy bent down, picked up another starfish and threw it back into the surf. Then, smiling at the man, he said: “I made a difference for that one.” (Original story by Loren Eisley).
So, the Tuckers approached their sons, Timothy and Trice. “Do you want a brother or a sister?” Matt asked the boys. After a moment’s consideration, Timothy said, “We need a catcher, let’s get a brother.” Little did they know at that very period of time, their brother was being born in Ethiopia. Three years later, the Tuckers brought home Agezu, a small, beautiful boy whose only problem seems to be that he was starved for the first two years of his life. It’s time for Agezu to play catch up, and before you know it he’ll be playing catcher.
This column will move to the Thursday edition, once a month, probably the fourth week, maybe the third…we’re still trying to work that out.
Monday, July 11, 2011
'Til We Meet Again
Grant County Journal
‘Til We Meet Again
July 11, 2011
Written by Janet Fullenwider Warren
I watched my father die last Tuesday. Actually, I went out in the hall as I was giving my sister a progress report on the phone. When I came back in the room, I knew immediately he was gone. It was an agonizingly slow process, but the last hour was filled with peace. He was in pain, heavily medicated, breathing rapidly. It was a difficult thing to watch—until the last hour. Then it became surprisingly sweet and peaceful. The caregiver came in to give him his last dose of medicine. “Do you feel the change in the room?” she asked. It went from anxiously waiting to a feeling of heaven being near. He started to breathe very slowly, sometimes stopping altogether, only to resume with a small gasp. And then one time he didn’t start breathing again.
I was chosen by my family to write my dad’s obituary. You know me, I get long-winded sometimes. I kept the obituary to a little over 500 words (my columns are usually 1,000 words). When you’re paying by the line, however, 500 words can add up to $511. Can you imagine? (Check out Reno Gazette Journal, rgj.com/obituaries). But 500 words wasn’t enough to tell people what I wanted to tell them about my dad. Lucky for me, I have a captive audience in my hometown, so I will tell you some of the stories about my dad that I didn’t put in his obituary. For example, the time in high school when my 110 instamatic camera didn’t work. My dad could fix anything and I figured he could fix the camera too. “Well, I can try, but don’t be upset if I break it.” He unscrewed it and springs went flying all around the kitchen. My father uttered a very rare sentence in our home—“I think it would be cheaper to buy a new one.”
Frugal was my father’s middle name; in fact, he would die again if he knew how much we spent on his obituary. Yet when it came to helping his family he was very generous. When Dad lived in Spokane, Washington, my sister Diane lived in Reno, Nevada. Diane had just gone through a divorce (you might think this is a common theme in our family, but Diane and I are the only ones who were ever divorced. My parents were married for 68 years). She was feeling overwhelmed with taking care of herself and her young son. My dad called her up and said, “Diane, I have a couple of airline tickets from Reno to Spokane sitting around with your name on it. Would you and Jeffrey like to come for a visit?”
My father was very handsome. Diane remembers when she was 11 years old, dad took her on a daddy-daughter date at our church. My mom made Diane a corsage and my dad a boutonniere. Diane remembers looking up at my father and thinking he was the most handsome man in the world. She was so proud to be with him that night.
My sister Sara remembers riding in the hills of Sparks, Nevada with my father on motorbikes. I tried once, but I didn’t like it. Sara was also the only daughter Dad ever let drive his motorhome.
For many years, my father was the only man in my life I could trust. After my divorce, he was a rock for me. I knew he loved me when I felt my life was falling apart. Because of my father’s example of loyalty, truthfulness, and integrity, I didn’t lose faith in marrying again. I knew there were men like my father out there and I was able to recognize those traits in Mike when I met him. I really did marry my father in some ways. My sorrow is that Mike and my dad didn’t have thirty years together. Both my dad and Mike think work is fun—they would have had so much fun together!
My nephew, Jeff Neuweiler spoke at my father’s funeral. Jeff is the oldest grandchild, and he had a very special relationship with my father. I had held it together pretty well up to this point, but Jeff’s words about his grandpa touched me deeply. When Jeff moved away from home, my father told him that in any given situation if he would “do the right thing” he couldn’t go wrong. Four words changed my nephew’s life. This was the same advice dad gave to all of us and it is my father’s legacy. My dad always tried to do the right thing.
My dad sang a song over the generations to us and to our children. Two months before his death, trying to get a reaction out of my uncommunicative father, Diane and I sang this song to him. He began to wave his arms to lead us. The day before dad’s funeral my niece Jill found herself singing his song all day. Before my father’s casket was closed for the final time, the family and some close friends had some private time. I asked my brother and sisters to join me in singing dad’s song. My sisters knew I was going to do this, but my brother, Dave, was surprised. But you know, he remembered all the words and he was the best at doing the hand motions.
Up in the air, Junior Birdman,
Up in the air, upside down.
Up in the air Junior Birdman,
Keep your nose right to the ground.
If you hear the great commandment
That the planes are made of tin
Then you’ll know that Junior Birdman
Has turned his boxtops in.
Over and out Junior Birdman. You will always be my hero.
‘Til We Meet Again
July 11, 2011
Written by Janet Fullenwider Warren
I watched my father die last Tuesday. Actually, I went out in the hall as I was giving my sister a progress report on the phone. When I came back in the room, I knew immediately he was gone. It was an agonizingly slow process, but the last hour was filled with peace. He was in pain, heavily medicated, breathing rapidly. It was a difficult thing to watch—until the last hour. Then it became surprisingly sweet and peaceful. The caregiver came in to give him his last dose of medicine. “Do you feel the change in the room?” she asked. It went from anxiously waiting to a feeling of heaven being near. He started to breathe very slowly, sometimes stopping altogether, only to resume with a small gasp. And then one time he didn’t start breathing again.
I was chosen by my family to write my dad’s obituary. You know me, I get long-winded sometimes. I kept the obituary to a little over 500 words (my columns are usually 1,000 words). When you’re paying by the line, however, 500 words can add up to $511. Can you imagine? (Check out Reno Gazette Journal, rgj.com/obituaries). But 500 words wasn’t enough to tell people what I wanted to tell them about my dad. Lucky for me, I have a captive audience in my hometown, so I will tell you some of the stories about my dad that I didn’t put in his obituary. For example, the time in high school when my 110 instamatic camera didn’t work. My dad could fix anything and I figured he could fix the camera too. “Well, I can try, but don’t be upset if I break it.” He unscrewed it and springs went flying all around the kitchen. My father uttered a very rare sentence in our home—“I think it would be cheaper to buy a new one.”
Frugal was my father’s middle name; in fact, he would die again if he knew how much we spent on his obituary. Yet when it came to helping his family he was very generous. When Dad lived in Spokane, Washington, my sister Diane lived in Reno, Nevada. Diane had just gone through a divorce (you might think this is a common theme in our family, but Diane and I are the only ones who were ever divorced. My parents were married for 68 years). She was feeling overwhelmed with taking care of herself and her young son. My dad called her up and said, “Diane, I have a couple of airline tickets from Reno to Spokane sitting around with your name on it. Would you and Jeffrey like to come for a visit?”
My father was very handsome. Diane remembers when she was 11 years old, dad took her on a daddy-daughter date at our church. My mom made Diane a corsage and my dad a boutonniere. Diane remembers looking up at my father and thinking he was the most handsome man in the world. She was so proud to be with him that night.
My sister Sara remembers riding in the hills of Sparks, Nevada with my father on motorbikes. I tried once, but I didn’t like it. Sara was also the only daughter Dad ever let drive his motorhome.
For many years, my father was the only man in my life I could trust. After my divorce, he was a rock for me. I knew he loved me when I felt my life was falling apart. Because of my father’s example of loyalty, truthfulness, and integrity, I didn’t lose faith in marrying again. I knew there were men like my father out there and I was able to recognize those traits in Mike when I met him. I really did marry my father in some ways. My sorrow is that Mike and my dad didn’t have thirty years together. Both my dad and Mike think work is fun—they would have had so much fun together!
My nephew, Jeff Neuweiler spoke at my father’s funeral. Jeff is the oldest grandchild, and he had a very special relationship with my father. I had held it together pretty well up to this point, but Jeff’s words about his grandpa touched me deeply. When Jeff moved away from home, my father told him that in any given situation if he would “do the right thing” he couldn’t go wrong. Four words changed my nephew’s life. This was the same advice dad gave to all of us and it is my father’s legacy. My dad always tried to do the right thing.
My dad sang a song over the generations to us and to our children. Two months before his death, trying to get a reaction out of my uncommunicative father, Diane and I sang this song to him. He began to wave his arms to lead us. The day before dad’s funeral my niece Jill found herself singing his song all day. Before my father’s casket was closed for the final time, the family and some close friends had some private time. I asked my brother and sisters to join me in singing dad’s song. My sisters knew I was going to do this, but my brother, Dave, was surprised. But you know, he remembered all the words and he was the best at doing the hand motions.
Up in the air, Junior Birdman,
Up in the air, upside down.
Up in the air Junior Birdman,
Keep your nose right to the ground.
If you hear the great commandment
That the planes are made of tin
Then you’ll know that Junior Birdman
Has turned his boxtops in.
Over and out Junior Birdman. You will always be my hero.
Thursday, June 23, 2011
Our gift to the wet side
Grant County Journal
Our Gift to the Wet Side
June 20, 2011
Written by Janet Warren
Bob and Shannon Criss have always worked as a team. Both of them moved quite often as children, and they wanted their own children to have the opportunity of being raised in a single community. Shannon was born in Ephrata, moved away, and then returned the last two years of high school. Bob ended up in Ephrata when he was in high school. So when they married and had their first child, Steven, they decided Ephrata was a good, safe community in which to raise their children. The Criss family—Bob, Shannon, and 6-month-old Steven—moved to Ephrata 22 years ago. Shannon had recently begun her teaching career and taught for a year in Puyallup. She was hired at Grant Elementary School by Dan Martell, who was the principal of Grant. She taught 5th grade for seven years before moving to Ephrata Middle School. While she was there, the District purchased Parkway and Shannon moved there to teach 6th graders. She then moved on to the District Office where she was in charge of curriculum and federal programs. The chance to become a principal came in October of 2005. Shannon had come full circle, landing in the place she had begun but now as principal of Grant.
Shannon has a philosophy that every five to seven years you need to shake things up a bit, which is very sound reasoning. Not only do people benefit from change, but the programs they are involved in benefit from new ideas and new perspectives. As Shannon explained, “There’s something out there calling for me.” She and Bob have finished raising their children; their son Steven is in his last year at Eastern and daughter Megan was a 2011 graduate from Ephrata High School. “We did what we set out to do,” explained Shannon, “which was to raise our children in this small community. We feel we did a good job. We lived our lives for our children—you do the softball, you do the 4H. You do what your kids do. Now what do we do? We’ve got a honeymoon, a new beginning.”
There are exciting changes in store for the Criss family. Shannon was hired as the superintendent for Winlock School District, a district of about 750 students. They have never aspired to live in a big city, but Bob and Shannon will live an hour away from Portland, an hour away from Seattle, an hour from the ocean, and an hour from skiing. But best of all, they will live 92 miles away from their daughter who will attend University of Washington in the fall. Bob has his own business as a real estate appraiser so he can work anywhere, and being an allergy sufferer, the thought of no sage and no dust is particularly appealing. In preparation for Winlock, Shannon bought a raincoat and she was given an umbrella and boots as gifts. Apparently Winlock is very proud of the fact that they are the highest elevation (500 feet) in Lewis County so they don’t get quite as much rain as other places in the county. Shannon will miss her five-day-a-week walk up Beezley Hill. “It clears my head,” she said. On clear days, however, Shannon will be able to walk out of Winlock High School and see Mount St. Helens in front of her and Mount Rainier over to the side. With terrain like that, I believe she will find another hill to climb.
Good educators are always reading and the top of Shannon’s reading list right now is “The Six Secrets of Change—What the Best Leaders Do to Help Their Organizations Survive and Thrive.” It must feel good to read a book like this and realize you already know some of those secrets. Number one is “Love Your Employees,” and it is clear that Shannon has done just that. Lisa Wiersma, Nancy Hustad and Eli Garcia work in the front office and as Lisa said, “You don’t often find an office that can run as cohesively as ours. It is more like a family. Shannon has been an example of compassion, kindness and going above and beyond.” Shannon hopes to take a little bit of Ephrata with her. For sure, she and Bob will join the Lions Club which has been a big part of her life here in Ephrata.
The Criss family is gearing up to become part of the Winlock “Home of the World’s Largest Egg” community. She and Bob will attend Egg Days next week. A fiberglass egg 12 feet long, weighing 1200 pounds is the town’s calling card and has had a version of the egg displayed since 1923. Winlock was the second largest egg producing town until the 1950’s, but the egg theme stuck. A new Egg Queen will be crowned during Egg Days. The Egg Day Committee is trying to contact past Egg Day Queens to attend this year’s Egg Day Celebration. Winlock is honored to have Egg Day Queen of 1938, Joyce Wise Senechal, attending this year. Mrs. Senechal celebrated her 97th birthday on February 23, 2011. These are the things that keep small towns alive.
Shannon is looking forward to learning new things like clam digging and kayaking, although she will miss Ephrata and the friends she has made here. “How do you thank people who have been so instrumental in your life?” Shannon asked. As long as Shannon has Bob by her side, however, she and the rest of the family will be fine. “Bob is my advocate and my strong support system. I couldn’t do what I do without my best friend along.”
Lisa Wiersma summed up Shannon’s leaving best: “Anybody can be replaced in a job, but you can’t replace a person in your heart…she’ll leave a hole, and she will be missed.”
Our Gift to the Wet Side
June 20, 2011
Written by Janet Warren
Bob and Shannon Criss have always worked as a team. Both of them moved quite often as children, and they wanted their own children to have the opportunity of being raised in a single community. Shannon was born in Ephrata, moved away, and then returned the last two years of high school. Bob ended up in Ephrata when he was in high school. So when they married and had their first child, Steven, they decided Ephrata was a good, safe community in which to raise their children. The Criss family—Bob, Shannon, and 6-month-old Steven—moved to Ephrata 22 years ago. Shannon had recently begun her teaching career and taught for a year in Puyallup. She was hired at Grant Elementary School by Dan Martell, who was the principal of Grant. She taught 5th grade for seven years before moving to Ephrata Middle School. While she was there, the District purchased Parkway and Shannon moved there to teach 6th graders. She then moved on to the District Office where she was in charge of curriculum and federal programs. The chance to become a principal came in October of 2005. Shannon had come full circle, landing in the place she had begun but now as principal of Grant.
Shannon has a philosophy that every five to seven years you need to shake things up a bit, which is very sound reasoning. Not only do people benefit from change, but the programs they are involved in benefit from new ideas and new perspectives. As Shannon explained, “There’s something out there calling for me.” She and Bob have finished raising their children; their son Steven is in his last year at Eastern and daughter Megan was a 2011 graduate from Ephrata High School. “We did what we set out to do,” explained Shannon, “which was to raise our children in this small community. We feel we did a good job. We lived our lives for our children—you do the softball, you do the 4H. You do what your kids do. Now what do we do? We’ve got a honeymoon, a new beginning.”
There are exciting changes in store for the Criss family. Shannon was hired as the superintendent for Winlock School District, a district of about 750 students. They have never aspired to live in a big city, but Bob and Shannon will live an hour away from Portland, an hour away from Seattle, an hour from the ocean, and an hour from skiing. But best of all, they will live 92 miles away from their daughter who will attend University of Washington in the fall. Bob has his own business as a real estate appraiser so he can work anywhere, and being an allergy sufferer, the thought of no sage and no dust is particularly appealing. In preparation for Winlock, Shannon bought a raincoat and she was given an umbrella and boots as gifts. Apparently Winlock is very proud of the fact that they are the highest elevation (500 feet) in Lewis County so they don’t get quite as much rain as other places in the county. Shannon will miss her five-day-a-week walk up Beezley Hill. “It clears my head,” she said. On clear days, however, Shannon will be able to walk out of Winlock High School and see Mount St. Helens in front of her and Mount Rainier over to the side. With terrain like that, I believe she will find another hill to climb.
Good educators are always reading and the top of Shannon’s reading list right now is “The Six Secrets of Change—What the Best Leaders Do to Help Their Organizations Survive and Thrive.” It must feel good to read a book like this and realize you already know some of those secrets. Number one is “Love Your Employees,” and it is clear that Shannon has done just that. Lisa Wiersma, Nancy Hustad and Eli Garcia work in the front office and as Lisa said, “You don’t often find an office that can run as cohesively as ours. It is more like a family. Shannon has been an example of compassion, kindness and going above and beyond.” Shannon hopes to take a little bit of Ephrata with her. For sure, she and Bob will join the Lions Club which has been a big part of her life here in Ephrata.
The Criss family is gearing up to become part of the Winlock “Home of the World’s Largest Egg” community. She and Bob will attend Egg Days next week. A fiberglass egg 12 feet long, weighing 1200 pounds is the town’s calling card and has had a version of the egg displayed since 1923. Winlock was the second largest egg producing town until the 1950’s, but the egg theme stuck. A new Egg Queen will be crowned during Egg Days. The Egg Day Committee is trying to contact past Egg Day Queens to attend this year’s Egg Day Celebration. Winlock is honored to have Egg Day Queen of 1938, Joyce Wise Senechal, attending this year. Mrs. Senechal celebrated her 97th birthday on February 23, 2011. These are the things that keep small towns alive.
Shannon is looking forward to learning new things like clam digging and kayaking, although she will miss Ephrata and the friends she has made here. “How do you thank people who have been so instrumental in your life?” Shannon asked. As long as Shannon has Bob by her side, however, she and the rest of the family will be fine. “Bob is my advocate and my strong support system. I couldn’t do what I do without my best friend along.”
Lisa Wiersma summed up Shannon’s leaving best: “Anybody can be replaced in a job, but you can’t replace a person in your heart…she’ll leave a hole, and she will be missed.”
Friday, June 17, 2011
A Perfectly Logical Idea
Grant County Journal
A Perfectly Logical Idea
June 6, 2011
Written by Janet Warren
When Logan Nelson empties out the prescription drug drop box, it’s all part of his daily duties as the evidence officer of the Ephrata Police Department. It seems perfectly logical that Ephrata would have a place where people can dispose of their unused prescription drugs, or nonprescription drugs for that matter. I once put two large bottles of expired aspirin in the box. On a day long ago, and in a city far, far away, I would have dumped them down the toilet. Isn’t that what we all did with the expired prescription drugs when we got around to cleaning out the medicine cabinet? That’s a big no-no with today’s environmental concerns. Although I wasn’t able to reach the director of public works for the scientific reason why we shouldn’t flush our drugs, my understanding is that it has something to do with the drugs interfering with the enzymes in the sewage process.
On the website takebackyourdrugs.org, listed are several reasons besides environmental why you should dispose of your unwanted medications. For example:
• Drug overdoses in Washington have surpassed car crashes as the leading cause of accidental death.
• Almost 12% of Washington state teens (one of the highest rates in the nation) use prescription pain medicines to get high.
• Medicine cabinets are the new drug dealer. More than three out of five teens say prescription pain relievers are easy to get from parent's or grandparent's medicine cabinets.
Which brings me back to my comment. If we can’t dump our drugs down the toilet, doesn’t it seem perfectly logical there would be a drop box where we can take them? That’s what Kathy Schultheis thought when she suggested it to her daughter, Heidi Schultheis. Heidi serves on the city council and told her mother about a suggestion form available to the citizens of Ephrata at the police department. Kathy immediately filled out the form and turned it in.
Police Chief, Mike Warren, thought Kathy’s idea was brilliant. Immediately, Chief Warren began the process of implementing Kathy’s perfectly logical idea. Anyone who has ever worked for the government can guess how long the idea took to come to fruition. No matter what agency, be it city, state, or federal, there are piles of paperwork and rolls of red tape to cut through. Luckily for Ephrata, Jefferson Ketch, an administrator for the Health District helped Mike cut through the Drug Enforcement Agency red tape and approval for the drop box was obtained within a couple of months. Next, the drop box had to be implemented into the conversion of a garage into corporal’s office space at the police department. That part took longer because of budget cuts. Logan and Mike designed the box where drugs can be dropped in, but not taken out from the outside. Bill Cox, a carpenter with the City, built the box and finally, about a year after Kathy submitted her form, Ephrata had a place to drop unwanted prescription medications.
As the evidence officer, Logan empties the locked box and disposes of the drugs in Spokane on a quarterly basis. Logan said the box has been “quite a popular service.” Sometimes people have too many drugs to put in the drop box and bring boxes of drugs into the police department, where they are accepted during office hours. Even though this seems like such a logical service to provide, Ephrata is the only 24-hour drop box in eastern Washington. It is listed on takebackyourmeds.org, and Logan has had people from other counties call to find out information about the drop box. Police Departments in other cities have contacted Chief Warren and are following his lead in getting prescription drug boxes in their cities. Who knew Ephrata was such a trendsetter? And it all started with a form that Kathy Schultheis filled out.
In recognition of Kathy’s community service, Chief Warren presented her with a Chief’s Coin at a city council meeting. What’s a Chief’s Coin, you ask? Aha, here’s the rest of the story.
The first coin, eventually earning the name of a challenge coin, is attributed to a pilot in World War I who wanted to celebrate the bond of brotherhood developed among his crew. Special forces in the armed services began making their own challenge coins and the tradition eventually moved into other areas of service, such as fire fighters and law enforcement. These coins are used to reward special acts of service. A tradition that reportedly started during the Vietnam war required coin recipients to carry their coins with them at all times. If at any time a challenge was made, and the person was not carrying his coin, he was required to buy a round of drinks.
The Washington State Patrol, where Mike put in 25 years of service, began issuing coins which they called “Chief’s Coins” (because they were given out by the Chief of the State Patrol) in 2001. From 2001 to 2009 when Mike retired, he earned five Chief’s Coins. He can tell you the story behind each one; getting one of these is a big deal.
Wal-Mart awarded the Ephrata Police Department $2,000 last year and Mike decided to start the Chief’s Coin tradition here using that money. He and Loretta Mayer, his administrative assistant who regularly makes Mike look good, designed the coin with the Ephrata police shield on one side and the county court house on the other. Loretta is a recipient of one of only five Coins that have been given out so far, so she and Kathy Schultheis are in elite company. I must warn Kathy and Loretta, however, that the “coin challenge” isn’t part of the Ephrata tradition, so if anybody approaches you and asks to see your coins, do not be alarmed. No round of drinks is necessary. Donuts…perhaps.
A Perfectly Logical Idea
June 6, 2011
Written by Janet Warren
When Logan Nelson empties out the prescription drug drop box, it’s all part of his daily duties as the evidence officer of the Ephrata Police Department. It seems perfectly logical that Ephrata would have a place where people can dispose of their unused prescription drugs, or nonprescription drugs for that matter. I once put two large bottles of expired aspirin in the box. On a day long ago, and in a city far, far away, I would have dumped them down the toilet. Isn’t that what we all did with the expired prescription drugs when we got around to cleaning out the medicine cabinet? That’s a big no-no with today’s environmental concerns. Although I wasn’t able to reach the director of public works for the scientific reason why we shouldn’t flush our drugs, my understanding is that it has something to do with the drugs interfering with the enzymes in the sewage process.
On the website takebackyourdrugs.org, listed are several reasons besides environmental why you should dispose of your unwanted medications. For example:
• Drug overdoses in Washington have surpassed car crashes as the leading cause of accidental death.
• Almost 12% of Washington state teens (one of the highest rates in the nation) use prescription pain medicines to get high.
• Medicine cabinets are the new drug dealer. More than three out of five teens say prescription pain relievers are easy to get from parent's or grandparent's medicine cabinets.
Which brings me back to my comment. If we can’t dump our drugs down the toilet, doesn’t it seem perfectly logical there would be a drop box where we can take them? That’s what Kathy Schultheis thought when she suggested it to her daughter, Heidi Schultheis. Heidi serves on the city council and told her mother about a suggestion form available to the citizens of Ephrata at the police department. Kathy immediately filled out the form and turned it in.
Police Chief, Mike Warren, thought Kathy’s idea was brilliant. Immediately, Chief Warren began the process of implementing Kathy’s perfectly logical idea. Anyone who has ever worked for the government can guess how long the idea took to come to fruition. No matter what agency, be it city, state, or federal, there are piles of paperwork and rolls of red tape to cut through. Luckily for Ephrata, Jefferson Ketch, an administrator for the Health District helped Mike cut through the Drug Enforcement Agency red tape and approval for the drop box was obtained within a couple of months. Next, the drop box had to be implemented into the conversion of a garage into corporal’s office space at the police department. That part took longer because of budget cuts. Logan and Mike designed the box where drugs can be dropped in, but not taken out from the outside. Bill Cox, a carpenter with the City, built the box and finally, about a year after Kathy submitted her form, Ephrata had a place to drop unwanted prescription medications.
As the evidence officer, Logan empties the locked box and disposes of the drugs in Spokane on a quarterly basis. Logan said the box has been “quite a popular service.” Sometimes people have too many drugs to put in the drop box and bring boxes of drugs into the police department, where they are accepted during office hours. Even though this seems like such a logical service to provide, Ephrata is the only 24-hour drop box in eastern Washington. It is listed on takebackyourmeds.org, and Logan has had people from other counties call to find out information about the drop box. Police Departments in other cities have contacted Chief Warren and are following his lead in getting prescription drug boxes in their cities. Who knew Ephrata was such a trendsetter? And it all started with a form that Kathy Schultheis filled out.
In recognition of Kathy’s community service, Chief Warren presented her with a Chief’s Coin at a city council meeting. What’s a Chief’s Coin, you ask? Aha, here’s the rest of the story.
The first coin, eventually earning the name of a challenge coin, is attributed to a pilot in World War I who wanted to celebrate the bond of brotherhood developed among his crew. Special forces in the armed services began making their own challenge coins and the tradition eventually moved into other areas of service, such as fire fighters and law enforcement. These coins are used to reward special acts of service. A tradition that reportedly started during the Vietnam war required coin recipients to carry their coins with them at all times. If at any time a challenge was made, and the person was not carrying his coin, he was required to buy a round of drinks.
The Washington State Patrol, where Mike put in 25 years of service, began issuing coins which they called “Chief’s Coins” (because they were given out by the Chief of the State Patrol) in 2001. From 2001 to 2009 when Mike retired, he earned five Chief’s Coins. He can tell you the story behind each one; getting one of these is a big deal.
Wal-Mart awarded the Ephrata Police Department $2,000 last year and Mike decided to start the Chief’s Coin tradition here using that money. He and Loretta Mayer, his administrative assistant who regularly makes Mike look good, designed the coin with the Ephrata police shield on one side and the county court house on the other. Loretta is a recipient of one of only five Coins that have been given out so far, so she and Kathy Schultheis are in elite company. I must warn Kathy and Loretta, however, that the “coin challenge” isn’t part of the Ephrata tradition, so if anybody approaches you and asks to see your coins, do not be alarmed. No round of drinks is necessary. Donuts…perhaps.
Monday, May 23, 2011
Life is a Puzzle
Grant County Journal
Life is a puzzle
May 23, 2011
Written by Janet Warren
When things are meant to be, pieces of the puzzle begin to fall into place. At least that has been my experience looking back on my life. Of course, some of the puzzles of our lives, we’d just as soon keep in the box. Jerry Vanden Bos began working in his father’s jewelry store in Port Orchard when he was ten years old. He was brought up to take over the business and when the reins fell to him he was able to grow his father’s modest business into a million-dollar-a-year thriving jewelry business. One morning, he turned to his wife, Paula, and said, “I’m tired of retail. I want to become a crop duster.” Paula, after taking a few deep breaths, told him she had never worked a job she didn’t love, and if he didn’t love retail she would support him in his dream. The puzzle began to fall into place. They sold the jewelry business and Jerry went to Oklahoma to learn to be a crop duster. He has been flying since he was 15, and it had become a passion for him, so the crop dusting was an extension of that. They moved from their home in Port Orchard to Wenatchee where Paula continued to work as a mortgage banker while Jerry flew his airplane and dusted crops. Funny how a line in a movie can change your life. It was “City Slickers” for Paula. Billy Crystal plays Mitch Robins who is more or less happy with life, but his wife tells him that he has “lost his smile.” She sends him on a cowboy adventure to try and find it. This line struck Paula to her soul and she realized mortgage banking wasn’t making her smile anymore. She put in her notice and went to beauty school and worked as a hairstylist until Jerry got a job for the world’s largest Christmas tree farmer and they moved to Oregon. Paula worked at Safeway in Oregon and when Jerry got a job in Ephrata in 1998, Paula was able to transfer to Ephrata’s Safeway. Life moved along; the puzzle pieces fit. Then a mannequin with a broken arm wearing a wedding dress covered with vintage pins in a shop called “Little Treasures” caught Paula’s eye. The cigar-smoking, biker-woman owner of the store, Linda LaPlant, who was as different in personality to Paula as you can get, got under Paula’s skin and they became friends. One day Paula noticed a Business Closing sign in Little Treasures and she went in to talk to Linda and find out what was going on. As Paula was leaving, Linda held up the keys to her store and asked, “Do you want to buy my store?” Paula was taken by surprise, but the thought of owning a gift store began to nudge her creative urge. She went home and asked Jerry about it. “Absolutely not! I am not getting into retail again!,” newly-retired Jerry barked. So, Paula dutifully returned to Little Treasures to tell Linda she would not be buying her store. Linda and the retail gods had other plans, however, and before Paula returned home that day she had not only agreed to purchase Linda’s store, but she had given Linda her car as part of the deal. Now to tell Jerry. Paula said, “The look on Jerry’s face—I thought he was going to kill me!” Paula marched right up to him and shaking her finger to emphasize each syllable said, “I have followed you for 20 years crop dusting, it’s my turn.” To his credit, Jerry said, “You’re right, let’s do it.” Paula and Jerry worked to clean up the space vacated by Little Treasures and on November 4, 2003, Vanden Bos Gifts and Fine Jewelry was opened. Six months later in a huge surprise to the community, Ephrata Drug closed their doors after 28 years. Vanden Bos moved into their vacated space on April 1, 2004. As Paula’s line of Vera Bradley purses and accessories grew, she needed more space and so she rented the historic bank building next door. It was a little awkward because they were not able to punch a hole through to make the two spaces into one since the bank building was deemed an historic site, so it was essentially two different stores but it worked for a number of years. Paula had customers come from all over Eastern Washington because she carried the largest selection of Vera Bradley. A couple of things happened in the last year to change plans. First, on May 10, 2010, their healthy 40-year-old daughter Kristen VanAmen had an aortic dissection. If you remember actor John Ritter and how he suddenly died, that was from an aortic dissection. By all accounts Kristin should not have survived it, but miraculously she did. Stents in her heart helped for awhile, but they eventually failed. Her health has been on a downward spiral and on May 18th, her 41st birthday, Kristen re-entered the hospital too weak for open heart surgery and leaving doctors in a quandary of what to do for her. Jerry and Paula also had their rent raised in the main store space, so they decided to consolidate their store into the smaller bank space. It was actually a blessing since the headache of running both stores was gone so she and Jerry could concentrate more on how to help their daughter. Paula’s sister, Gema Powers, who lived in Tacoma, retired and moved over to Ephrata in February to help with the store in order to free Paula and Jerry up so they could travel to the Westside to help their daughter. As their lease renewal came up, however, emotionally they were too worn down to continue. “One of the things about living in this small town is that many of our customers have been praying for our daughter. Ephrata has a very spiritual heart,” Paula said. They need to concentrate on family right now. They do plan on keeping their home in Ephrata. “I’m too young to retire,” said Paula. “Give me a year and I’ll do something else after we figure out what’s going on with Kristin.” And you can bet it will be something that makes her smile. When the new puzzle gets taken off the shelf, the pieces will fall into place, because that is how life has been for Paula and Jerry.
Life is a puzzle
May 23, 2011
Written by Janet Warren
When things are meant to be, pieces of the puzzle begin to fall into place. At least that has been my experience looking back on my life. Of course, some of the puzzles of our lives, we’d just as soon keep in the box. Jerry Vanden Bos began working in his father’s jewelry store in Port Orchard when he was ten years old. He was brought up to take over the business and when the reins fell to him he was able to grow his father’s modest business into a million-dollar-a-year thriving jewelry business. One morning, he turned to his wife, Paula, and said, “I’m tired of retail. I want to become a crop duster.” Paula, after taking a few deep breaths, told him she had never worked a job she didn’t love, and if he didn’t love retail she would support him in his dream. The puzzle began to fall into place. They sold the jewelry business and Jerry went to Oklahoma to learn to be a crop duster. He has been flying since he was 15, and it had become a passion for him, so the crop dusting was an extension of that. They moved from their home in Port Orchard to Wenatchee where Paula continued to work as a mortgage banker while Jerry flew his airplane and dusted crops. Funny how a line in a movie can change your life. It was “City Slickers” for Paula. Billy Crystal plays Mitch Robins who is more or less happy with life, but his wife tells him that he has “lost his smile.” She sends him on a cowboy adventure to try and find it. This line struck Paula to her soul and she realized mortgage banking wasn’t making her smile anymore. She put in her notice and went to beauty school and worked as a hairstylist until Jerry got a job for the world’s largest Christmas tree farmer and they moved to Oregon. Paula worked at Safeway in Oregon and when Jerry got a job in Ephrata in 1998, Paula was able to transfer to Ephrata’s Safeway. Life moved along; the puzzle pieces fit. Then a mannequin with a broken arm wearing a wedding dress covered with vintage pins in a shop called “Little Treasures” caught Paula’s eye. The cigar-smoking, biker-woman owner of the store, Linda LaPlant, who was as different in personality to Paula as you can get, got under Paula’s skin and they became friends. One day Paula noticed a Business Closing sign in Little Treasures and she went in to talk to Linda and find out what was going on. As Paula was leaving, Linda held up the keys to her store and asked, “Do you want to buy my store?” Paula was taken by surprise, but the thought of owning a gift store began to nudge her creative urge. She went home and asked Jerry about it. “Absolutely not! I am not getting into retail again!,” newly-retired Jerry barked. So, Paula dutifully returned to Little Treasures to tell Linda she would not be buying her store. Linda and the retail gods had other plans, however, and before Paula returned home that day she had not only agreed to purchase Linda’s store, but she had given Linda her car as part of the deal. Now to tell Jerry. Paula said, “The look on Jerry’s face—I thought he was going to kill me!” Paula marched right up to him and shaking her finger to emphasize each syllable said, “I have followed you for 20 years crop dusting, it’s my turn.” To his credit, Jerry said, “You’re right, let’s do it.” Paula and Jerry worked to clean up the space vacated by Little Treasures and on November 4, 2003, Vanden Bos Gifts and Fine Jewelry was opened. Six months later in a huge surprise to the community, Ephrata Drug closed their doors after 28 years. Vanden Bos moved into their vacated space on April 1, 2004. As Paula’s line of Vera Bradley purses and accessories grew, she needed more space and so she rented the historic bank building next door. It was a little awkward because they were not able to punch a hole through to make the two spaces into one since the bank building was deemed an historic site, so it was essentially two different stores but it worked for a number of years. Paula had customers come from all over Eastern Washington because she carried the largest selection of Vera Bradley. A couple of things happened in the last year to change plans. First, on May 10, 2010, their healthy 40-year-old daughter Kristen VanAmen had an aortic dissection. If you remember actor John Ritter and how he suddenly died, that was from an aortic dissection. By all accounts Kristin should not have survived it, but miraculously she did. Stents in her heart helped for awhile, but they eventually failed. Her health has been on a downward spiral and on May 18th, her 41st birthday, Kristen re-entered the hospital too weak for open heart surgery and leaving doctors in a quandary of what to do for her. Jerry and Paula also had their rent raised in the main store space, so they decided to consolidate their store into the smaller bank space. It was actually a blessing since the headache of running both stores was gone so she and Jerry could concentrate more on how to help their daughter. Paula’s sister, Gema Powers, who lived in Tacoma, retired and moved over to Ephrata in February to help with the store in order to free Paula and Jerry up so they could travel to the Westside to help their daughter. As their lease renewal came up, however, emotionally they were too worn down to continue. “One of the things about living in this small town is that many of our customers have been praying for our daughter. Ephrata has a very spiritual heart,” Paula said. They need to concentrate on family right now. They do plan on keeping their home in Ephrata. “I’m too young to retire,” said Paula. “Give me a year and I’ll do something else after we figure out what’s going on with Kristin.” And you can bet it will be something that makes her smile. When the new puzzle gets taken off the shelf, the pieces will fall into place, because that is how life has been for Paula and Jerry.
Monday, May 16, 2011
Lights! Camera! Action!
Grant County Journal
Lights! Camera! Action!
May 16, 2011
Written by Janet Warren
Let me take you back to the days when movies were new. You have to be in a certain age group to remember those days, and even I don’t belong to that group. So I called Mary Lee. Actually, I called her son Jack who gave me her number. Jack said Mary usually doesn’t do interviews and that I would have to use my journalistic skills to pull one out of her. I called her and told her I wanted to ask her a few questions about the early days of movies in Ephrata. That is the extent of my journalistic skills but, luckily for me, it was enough. I never would have believed Mary Lee is 97 years old by talking with her on the telephone.
Mary and John Lee moved to Ephrata around 1939. John was an entrepreneur who always wanted to be in the movie business. He started out with a traveling movie circuit. He bought the very best projection equipment for the time and travelled to the smaller towns like Moses Lake (yes, Moses Lake used to be smaller than Ephrata) and Othello. Around 1940 he bought the Marjo Theater. Mary helped out in the ticket booth in those days, but as her family grew she mainly did the office work for her husband’s ventures. Mary remembers when they bought a new contraption called a popcorn machine and that was the only concession they sold. Those were the days of ushers showing you to your seat. The Nifty Costume Company delivered nice uniforms weekly for the ushers to wear.
Mary describes John as a “very friendly fellow” and he made connections wherever he went. He bought and ran the Sunset Theater in Soap Lake for a number of years, and also bought the Kam Theater (which is now a parking lot behind the Methodist church). Mary explained that the “theater business was very competitive and you had to watch your backside very carefully to make sure someone didn’t take your territory away from you.”
In 1950, the Lees built the Lee Theater in Ephrata. John ran it for a number of years and then eventually it was managed by Sun Basin out of Wenatchee where Jeff Fairchild worked. They ran the theater until one day in the 1980’s the oil in the tank ran out and they couldn’t heat it anymore. It stayed empty, except for some companies renting out the lobby for various businesses for over ten years. In 1990, Fairchild branched out and convinced John Lee into letting him open it back up, and he eventually purchased the theater from Lee. This is when the theater was renovated and two more screens were added. About five years ago, Fairchild sold it to a group of investors which included Lanith Merchant Whetstone. Lanith was a silent partner and didn’t have anything to do with the day-to-day operations. As you can imagine with its history, the Lee Theater fell into disrepair. Lanith mentioned a couple of negative reviews she read on the internet which talked about how dirty the theater was and how things were broken. “As hard as those reviews were to read,” said Lanith, “I knew they were true.” In February of this year, Lanith decided to come out of the shadows as a silent partner and take over management of the Lee Theater. She had a ready-made workforce with her family of 13 children. Lanith’s husband, Steve Whetstone, is a handyman who was willing to help her. The four older girls, Cassidi, Mandolin, Brindy, and Bailey took over The Reel and revamped the pizza. They now make their pizza dough by hand and carefully craft their pizzas. Mandolin, who is also my hairdresser as none of them have quit their day jobs, told me the girls have discussions of whether the pizza needs one or two more pepperonis to make it perfect. She does the same thing with my hair…”hmm, I think I’ll put one more highlight right here…” Mandolin’s husband, Matt, and Cassidi’s husband, Ryan, also help out at the theater. Other family members you might run into are: Geoff, 19; Zach 16; and Mikenzie, 14. When Brad, 21, gets home from his mission in Tennessee, he’ll have a summer job waiting for him. Eli, 11; Sarah, 9; and Jaxon, 5, are waiting in the wings.
You might have 12-year-old Sadie selling you your ticket. Lanith said she used to stand in the booth with Sadie to make it look official, but stopped doing it when she realized Sadie was better at it than she was. Thirteen-year-old Tucker sold me a soda once and was very professional. There was a learning curve, however. Fifteen-year-old Bailey tells the story of a customer asking for large sodas of four different flavors. She misunderstood and started putting all four sodas in one large cup. The customer laughed and said he didn’t think he would be drinking that soda. She was trying hard to give the customer what he wanted, and I think that was pretty creative.
Mandolin has some fun memories about the Lee Theater. When she was in high school she worked there and that is where she met Matt Hope and they became good friends. Mandolin left Ephrata for Alaska for a time and when she returned she realized she and Matt were more than just friends. Matt put on the reader board outside the theater: “Mandolin, Will You Marry Me?” and dropped to one knee in front of the theater with cars honking as they drove by. They are expecting their second child in August. When her mother told her she wanted to take over the Lee Theater, Mandolin and Matt had no misgivings. They work their day jobs and then are at the theater at night.
Mike and I went to see a movie Saturday night. The 9:30 showing, no less. I know, Ephrata is bringing out our wild sides. Sadie sold us our tickets, Cassidi talked to us until the first showing let out. Tucker went in and cleaned the theater between showings. It was clean. The floor wasn’t sticky, and the projector didn’t break. Lanith said they have now fixed all the broken things and scraped years and years of dirt layers off the floor. They replaced the reel-to-reel projectors. She knows eventually they will have to go to digital projectors, but they are taking one improvement at a time. She has a lot of ideas, including nine weeks of free movies this summer. Be sure to go by and sign up for their email list. There is a drawing weekly and some other specials you don’t want to miss!
Lights! Camera! Action!
May 16, 2011
Written by Janet Warren
Let me take you back to the days when movies were new. You have to be in a certain age group to remember those days, and even I don’t belong to that group. So I called Mary Lee. Actually, I called her son Jack who gave me her number. Jack said Mary usually doesn’t do interviews and that I would have to use my journalistic skills to pull one out of her. I called her and told her I wanted to ask her a few questions about the early days of movies in Ephrata. That is the extent of my journalistic skills but, luckily for me, it was enough. I never would have believed Mary Lee is 97 years old by talking with her on the telephone.
Mary and John Lee moved to Ephrata around 1939. John was an entrepreneur who always wanted to be in the movie business. He started out with a traveling movie circuit. He bought the very best projection equipment for the time and travelled to the smaller towns like Moses Lake (yes, Moses Lake used to be smaller than Ephrata) and Othello. Around 1940 he bought the Marjo Theater. Mary helped out in the ticket booth in those days, but as her family grew she mainly did the office work for her husband’s ventures. Mary remembers when they bought a new contraption called a popcorn machine and that was the only concession they sold. Those were the days of ushers showing you to your seat. The Nifty Costume Company delivered nice uniforms weekly for the ushers to wear.
Mary describes John as a “very friendly fellow” and he made connections wherever he went. He bought and ran the Sunset Theater in Soap Lake for a number of years, and also bought the Kam Theater (which is now a parking lot behind the Methodist church). Mary explained that the “theater business was very competitive and you had to watch your backside very carefully to make sure someone didn’t take your territory away from you.”
In 1950, the Lees built the Lee Theater in Ephrata. John ran it for a number of years and then eventually it was managed by Sun Basin out of Wenatchee where Jeff Fairchild worked. They ran the theater until one day in the 1980’s the oil in the tank ran out and they couldn’t heat it anymore. It stayed empty, except for some companies renting out the lobby for various businesses for over ten years. In 1990, Fairchild branched out and convinced John Lee into letting him open it back up, and he eventually purchased the theater from Lee. This is when the theater was renovated and two more screens were added. About five years ago, Fairchild sold it to a group of investors which included Lanith Merchant Whetstone. Lanith was a silent partner and didn’t have anything to do with the day-to-day operations. As you can imagine with its history, the Lee Theater fell into disrepair. Lanith mentioned a couple of negative reviews she read on the internet which talked about how dirty the theater was and how things were broken. “As hard as those reviews were to read,” said Lanith, “I knew they were true.” In February of this year, Lanith decided to come out of the shadows as a silent partner and take over management of the Lee Theater. She had a ready-made workforce with her family of 13 children. Lanith’s husband, Steve Whetstone, is a handyman who was willing to help her. The four older girls, Cassidi, Mandolin, Brindy, and Bailey took over The Reel and revamped the pizza. They now make their pizza dough by hand and carefully craft their pizzas. Mandolin, who is also my hairdresser as none of them have quit their day jobs, told me the girls have discussions of whether the pizza needs one or two more pepperonis to make it perfect. She does the same thing with my hair…”hmm, I think I’ll put one more highlight right here…” Mandolin’s husband, Matt, and Cassidi’s husband, Ryan, also help out at the theater. Other family members you might run into are: Geoff, 19; Zach 16; and Mikenzie, 14. When Brad, 21, gets home from his mission in Tennessee, he’ll have a summer job waiting for him. Eli, 11; Sarah, 9; and Jaxon, 5, are waiting in the wings.
You might have 12-year-old Sadie selling you your ticket. Lanith said she used to stand in the booth with Sadie to make it look official, but stopped doing it when she realized Sadie was better at it than she was. Thirteen-year-old Tucker sold me a soda once and was very professional. There was a learning curve, however. Fifteen-year-old Bailey tells the story of a customer asking for large sodas of four different flavors. She misunderstood and started putting all four sodas in one large cup. The customer laughed and said he didn’t think he would be drinking that soda. She was trying hard to give the customer what he wanted, and I think that was pretty creative.
Mandolin has some fun memories about the Lee Theater. When she was in high school she worked there and that is where she met Matt Hope and they became good friends. Mandolin left Ephrata for Alaska for a time and when she returned she realized she and Matt were more than just friends. Matt put on the reader board outside the theater: “Mandolin, Will You Marry Me?” and dropped to one knee in front of the theater with cars honking as they drove by. They are expecting their second child in August. When her mother told her she wanted to take over the Lee Theater, Mandolin and Matt had no misgivings. They work their day jobs and then are at the theater at night.
Mike and I went to see a movie Saturday night. The 9:30 showing, no less. I know, Ephrata is bringing out our wild sides. Sadie sold us our tickets, Cassidi talked to us until the first showing let out. Tucker went in and cleaned the theater between showings. It was clean. The floor wasn’t sticky, and the projector didn’t break. Lanith said they have now fixed all the broken things and scraped years and years of dirt layers off the floor. They replaced the reel-to-reel projectors. She knows eventually they will have to go to digital projectors, but they are taking one improvement at a time. She has a lot of ideas, including nine weeks of free movies this summer. Be sure to go by and sign up for their email list. There is a drawing weekly and some other specials you don’t want to miss!
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
We're Not in AZ anymore, Toto!
Grant County Journal
We’re Not in AZ Anymore, Toto
May 9, 2011
Written by Janet Warren
I am back after five weeks and four days of living out of a suitcase. I am tired and a little cranky. I’m upset at myself because I forgot to send in our grandson’s picture with last week’s column. To try to rectify that mistake and because I had so many requests for it, here is a picture of Ethan Michael Warren, born April 21. I was busy helping my daughter with her twins and new baby, and I lost track of a lot of things. When you’re away from home it is easy to get out of your routine. I hardly even watched the news or read a newspaper. In fact, I think the first time we turned on the news was when someone called to tell us bin Laden had been killed. Imagine my surprise a day or two later when I saw Ephrata Middle School teacher, Gary Weddle, on national news. Someone needs to teach Bill O’Reilly how to pronounce Ephrata. I substitute at the middle school sometimes, and since I’ve only lived in Ephrata less than two years, I didn’t know the story behind the beard. I didn’t think Amish people taught in public schools, but I put it in the back of my mind to research the subject. I’m glad that was cleared up. I was diligent in paying all the bills before I left, but a new set of them came. You can’t put a stop to those things. I was also gone long enough to forget my passwords in order to pay them online. I kept telling Mike to just put them in a pile and I’d take care of it when I got home, but I did miss one due date. It makes me so mad to have to pay a late fee. I’m also mad that gas got up to $4.00 a gallon while I wasn’t paying attention. No wonder I’m cranky. My vow to exercise and keep on my diet went out the window after the first week. My prescriptions ran out, and my roots grew out. Five weeks and four days is a long time to be away from home. However, I got to hold my granddaughter when she was hours old, and I got to know my twin grandsons better. Seth even began to warm up to me by the time I left Arizona for Reno after four weeks and six days. The next five days I spent in Reno where my sister Diane from New Jersey and her son Jeff (age 40) and grandson Dutch (age 4) from Denver converged to spend some time with my parents. Jeff’s back went out and he ended up in the emergency room and then bed for most of those five days. I counseled him that it’s all downhill after 40, because I felt he should know. That’s the kind of aunt I am. Those four weeks and six days spent with my grandchildren in Arizona got me through those very depressing five days of seeing life slip away from my father. I think the next time I see him will be at his funeral. I was beginning to feel like Dorothy. Although I will miss those munchkins, Seth, Noah and Ivy in the land of AZ, I clicked my heels three times as I boarded Southwest Airlines in Reno, bound for Spokane. “There’s no place like home, there’s no place like home, there’s no place like home.” We’re going home, Toto, back to my normal life. Next week my columns will get back to normal too. I tell you, it’s difficult to write columns out of a suitcase.
We’re Not in AZ Anymore, Toto
May 9, 2011
Written by Janet Warren
April Showers Bring Grandbabies!
Grant County Journal
May 1, 2011
April Showers bring Grandbabies!
Written by Janet Warren
Drum roll please. Last week I told you I had an announcement, and I will hurry and tell you the exciting news now so there will be no more wild imaginings of what it might be. (I received a postcard from a reader wondering if I am pregnant…I think Loretta would have to scrape Mike off the floor if that was the announcement). Of course, now anything I announce will be anticlimactic.
The exciting news is that we have another grandson! Ethan Michael Warren was born to Jeff and Abby Warren on April 21 weighing 6 pounds 11 ounces, 19 inches long. Mike took off for Portland on the 22nd to officially welcome Ethan into the family. Abby did a great job, and last I heard Jeff was singing praises to the person who discovered that white noise quiets a crying baby.
There’s a little more to the story that I will fill you in on. When you ask Mike how many children he has, he will tell you seven with no additional explanation. When he married me, my children became his children. I, on the other hand, always feel the need to explain things, and I’ll tell you why. If you lined our children up in order, it would be like this: Jenni 32, Jodie 30, Mindi 28, Jonathan 28, Jeffrey 25, James 24, and Jeffrey 14. Who would name two of their children Jeffrey? You see what I mean…some explanation is required. Plus, when I say Jeff had a baby, I need you to know it is Mike’s Jeff, because my Jeff is only 14! Such is the blended family. And while we are on the subject, how am I supposed to explain Jodie’s stepchildren? I treat them like my grandchildren, but Meranda is 18 and Robert is 17 and I’m a little too vain to let you think I am old enough to have biological grandchildren that age. It was enough of a shock when I became a grandma at 41 with the birth of Tony, now age 12. I was thinking I might not get any more grandchildren, but after a 9-year wait, we have four more—Twins Seth and Noah, who turned 3 on April 30; Ivy, born April 5; and Ethan born April 21.
So after that big explanation, welcome to Ethan Michael! But there is more…as Paul Harvey would say, here’s the rest of the story.
For a long time now, April 21 has been a sad day in the Warren family. Mike’s brother, Chuck, took his own life on April 21, 1994. Five years, ago, on April 21, Mike’s first wife, Penni (Jeff’s mother) died unexpectedly at age 48 from a fatal reaction to a medication. Personally, I think Ethan being born on April 21 is perfect. No longer will April 21 be a day of sadness, thinking about people gone too soon. Penni loved babies. She would have been so excited about her first grandchild. In fact, I like to think of Penni as Ethan’s guardian angel. Surely she spent time with him before he was born. Perhaps she gave him some advice. I’ll bet she told him all about his daddy--that he loves the outdoors and he is such a hard worker. I imagine she told him about his mommy and how much care she took to bring a healthy baby into the world and how she thinks of Ethan as the greatest gift she has ever had. And I am very sure Penni told Ethan that he was going down to the Warrens, a family who takes care of each other, who loyally stands by each other, and that he would learn to love family the way they do. But most of all, I think Grandma Penni told Ethan to give his grandpa a big hug for her, and that he was going to be so lucky to have a grandpa who would always think he hung the moon.
By the time you read this column, I will have boarded a plane and flown from Phoenix to Reno to visit my parents, and then I’ll be back in Ephrata before my next column is due. I’ve missed y’all. Oh wait a second…I was in Arizona, not Texas. See you soon.
May 1, 2011
April Showers bring Grandbabies!
Written by Janet Warren
Drum roll please. Last week I told you I had an announcement, and I will hurry and tell you the exciting news now so there will be no more wild imaginings of what it might be. (I received a postcard from a reader wondering if I am pregnant…I think Loretta would have to scrape Mike off the floor if that was the announcement). Of course, now anything I announce will be anticlimactic.
The exciting news is that we have another grandson! Ethan Michael Warren was born to Jeff and Abby Warren on April 21 weighing 6 pounds 11 ounces, 19 inches long. Mike took off for Portland on the 22nd to officially welcome Ethan into the family. Abby did a great job, and last I heard Jeff was singing praises to the person who discovered that white noise quiets a crying baby.
There’s a little more to the story that I will fill you in on. When you ask Mike how many children he has, he will tell you seven with no additional explanation. When he married me, my children became his children. I, on the other hand, always feel the need to explain things, and I’ll tell you why. If you lined our children up in order, it would be like this: Jenni 32, Jodie 30, Mindi 28, Jonathan 28, Jeffrey 25, James 24, and Jeffrey 14. Who would name two of their children Jeffrey? You see what I mean…some explanation is required. Plus, when I say Jeff had a baby, I need you to know it is Mike’s Jeff, because my Jeff is only 14! Such is the blended family. And while we are on the subject, how am I supposed to explain Jodie’s stepchildren? I treat them like my grandchildren, but Meranda is 18 and Robert is 17 and I’m a little too vain to let you think I am old enough to have biological grandchildren that age. It was enough of a shock when I became a grandma at 41 with the birth of Tony, now age 12. I was thinking I might not get any more grandchildren, but after a 9-year wait, we have four more—Twins Seth and Noah, who turned 3 on April 30; Ivy, born April 5; and Ethan born April 21.
So after that big explanation, welcome to Ethan Michael! But there is more…as Paul Harvey would say, here’s the rest of the story.
For a long time now, April 21 has been a sad day in the Warren family. Mike’s brother, Chuck, took his own life on April 21, 1994. Five years, ago, on April 21, Mike’s first wife, Penni (Jeff’s mother) died unexpectedly at age 48 from a fatal reaction to a medication. Personally, I think Ethan being born on April 21 is perfect. No longer will April 21 be a day of sadness, thinking about people gone too soon. Penni loved babies. She would have been so excited about her first grandchild. In fact, I like to think of Penni as Ethan’s guardian angel. Surely she spent time with him before he was born. Perhaps she gave him some advice. I’ll bet she told him all about his daddy--that he loves the outdoors and he is such a hard worker. I imagine she told him about his mommy and how much care she took to bring a healthy baby into the world and how she thinks of Ethan as the greatest gift she has ever had. And I am very sure Penni told Ethan that he was going down to the Warrens, a family who takes care of each other, who loyally stands by each other, and that he would learn to love family the way they do. But most of all, I think Grandma Penni told Ethan to give his grandpa a big hug for her, and that he was going to be so lucky to have a grandpa who would always think he hung the moon.
By the time you read this column, I will have boarded a plane and flown from Phoenix to Reno to visit my parents, and then I’ll be back in Ephrata before my next column is due. I’ve missed y’all. Oh wait a second…I was in Arizona, not Texas. See you soon.
Thursday, April 28, 2011
Good Things Take Work
Grant County Journal
April 25, 2011r
Good Things Take Work
Written by Janet Warren
It was like a well-executed military maneuver. Okay, maybe more like a scene from Pink Panther with Steve Martin, but we pulled it off.
1. Spencer arrives at the Easter pageant in Mesa directly from work, still dressed in his scrubs, to save Jenni and me seats. Check.
2. Jenni and I get all three children ready to leave from home in Chandler; buckled in car seats. Check.
3. Driving to Mesa, Jenni asks if I have my cell phone, a strategic necessity in our plan. Oh oh.
4. Go back home to get my cell phone. Check.
5. Arrive at Mesa Arizona Temple 30 minutes later, 10 minutes before showtime. Should have been 20 minutes, but every plan has a wrinkle. Check.
6. Double park behind Spencer’s car. Check
7. Jenni stays with children in double-parked van, hoping no one will ask her to move, and nurses baby. Check.
8. I try to find Spencer amidst 8,000 people. Thank goodness for cell phones. Check.
9. Spencer returns to car to relieve Jenni and drives the three children home. Check.
10. Jenni slides into the aisle seat Spencer has procured 10 minutes after show time. It would have been perfect if not for the cell phone wrinkle. Check.
Good grief it’s difficult to have a spiritual experience when you have small children (or teenagers). But it was worth it. For me, it was a once-in-a-lifetime experience, unless, of course, I happen to be visiting my daughter in Arizona the week before Easter again, then it could be twice-in-a-life, because I would definitely do it again. I had the opportunity to see an Easter pageant put on by the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and held on the lawn of the Mesa Temple. In 65 minutes, the life of Christ was portrayed in music, dance, and through the words of the King James Version of the New Testament.
In 1928, a few months after the Mesa Arizona temple was built, this pageant was performed out of the back of a cotton truck as an Easter sunrise service. Except for a few of the war years, it has been performed every year since then. It has grown into the largest annual outdoor Easter pageant in the world. Today it is presented on a 9,600-square-foot stage, which stands four stories high, complete with professional sound and lighting systems. The 450 volunteer cast members prepare for nine formal performances, which 4,000 to 12,000 visitors attend each night. It is presented for all faiths, cultures, and ages.
The pageant is a community event that is free to the public. No donations are accepted and no tickets are required. People travel from all over the United States to see this beautiful remembrance of Jesus Christ. There was seating for 8,000 people on the night my daughter and I attended, and most of them were filled. I was amazed how quiet 8,000 people, including children, can be when they are mesmerized. The play began with Christ’s birth, and because of it’s quick pacing, was able to depict many of the biblical events in Christ’s life such as when he told the parable of the ten virgins and his suffering in the Garden of Gethsemane. The crucifixion was portrayed, but I think one of the main differences between this pageant and a traditional passion play is that it focused more on Christ’s resurrection. At the end of the pageant, all 450 cast members were on stage, angels with trumps were four stories up, and Christ was raised on a pedestal above them, which made it look like he was in the air above the stage. It was all masterfully done and such a beautiful thing to see.
As we were leaving the north lawn of the temple grounds, the visitor center’s curtains were opened to reveal an 11-foot statue of the Christus. The original marble Christus was sculpted by Bertel Thorvaldsen, a Danish sculpter, in 1821. It is housed in the Church of Our Lady in Copenhagen, Denmark. The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints commissioned two replicas in the 1960s; the first was placed in storage until the facility to house it was built on the Salt Lake City temple grounds, but the second one was displayed at the 1965 World’s Fair in New York. The LDS church has 134 operating temples around the world (not to be confused with their meeting houses). The closest temples to Ephrata are in Kennewick and Spokane. Today there are more than 15 Christus replicas placed around the world in LDS temple visitor’s centers—Los Angeles, Hawaii, Mexico, Japan, Washington D.C., and Mesa being a few. I have also seen Thorvaldsen’s Christus at the beautiful Victorian Dome of John Hopkins hospital, where Spencer did his medical fellowship. The Dome is part of the original hospital built in 1889, and the statue, entitled Christus Consolator, was unveiled on October 14, 1896. A bronze full-size replica is located at the Oakwood Cemetery in Huntsville, Texas.
Thorvaldsen originally envisioned sculpting the Christus with hands raised, as if to bless, but at the last minute decided to sculpt Christ with his hands outstretched so that all could see the prints in his hands as he reached out to them. It is a gorgeous sculpture and a gentle reminder of how Christ died for us.
Sometimes we get so busy in our lives that it takes an effort to remember to slow down and reflect on our blessings. I hope Easter refreshed you spiritually. Without nourishment to our souls, life can become pretty grim.
Mike’s coming to Arizona on Friday for the twins’ third birthday! I also have another exciting announcement next Monday. Talk to you then.
April 25, 2011r
Good Things Take Work
Written by Janet Warren
It was like a well-executed military maneuver. Okay, maybe more like a scene from Pink Panther with Steve Martin, but we pulled it off.
1. Spencer arrives at the Easter pageant in Mesa directly from work, still dressed in his scrubs, to save Jenni and me seats. Check.
2. Jenni and I get all three children ready to leave from home in Chandler; buckled in car seats. Check.
3. Driving to Mesa, Jenni asks if I have my cell phone, a strategic necessity in our plan. Oh oh.
4. Go back home to get my cell phone. Check.
5. Arrive at Mesa Arizona Temple 30 minutes later, 10 minutes before showtime. Should have been 20 minutes, but every plan has a wrinkle. Check.
6. Double park behind Spencer’s car. Check
7. Jenni stays with children in double-parked van, hoping no one will ask her to move, and nurses baby. Check.
8. I try to find Spencer amidst 8,000 people. Thank goodness for cell phones. Check.
9. Spencer returns to car to relieve Jenni and drives the three children home. Check.
10. Jenni slides into the aisle seat Spencer has procured 10 minutes after show time. It would have been perfect if not for the cell phone wrinkle. Check.
Good grief it’s difficult to have a spiritual experience when you have small children (or teenagers). But it was worth it. For me, it was a once-in-a-lifetime experience, unless, of course, I happen to be visiting my daughter in Arizona the week before Easter again, then it could be twice-in-a-life, because I would definitely do it again. I had the opportunity to see an Easter pageant put on by the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and held on the lawn of the Mesa Temple. In 65 minutes, the life of Christ was portrayed in music, dance, and through the words of the King James Version of the New Testament.
In 1928, a few months after the Mesa Arizona temple was built, this pageant was performed out of the back of a cotton truck as an Easter sunrise service. Except for a few of the war years, it has been performed every year since then. It has grown into the largest annual outdoor Easter pageant in the world. Today it is presented on a 9,600-square-foot stage, which stands four stories high, complete with professional sound and lighting systems. The 450 volunteer cast members prepare for nine formal performances, which 4,000 to 12,000 visitors attend each night. It is presented for all faiths, cultures, and ages.
The pageant is a community event that is free to the public. No donations are accepted and no tickets are required. People travel from all over the United States to see this beautiful remembrance of Jesus Christ. There was seating for 8,000 people on the night my daughter and I attended, and most of them were filled. I was amazed how quiet 8,000 people, including children, can be when they are mesmerized. The play began with Christ’s birth, and because of it’s quick pacing, was able to depict many of the biblical events in Christ’s life such as when he told the parable of the ten virgins and his suffering in the Garden of Gethsemane. The crucifixion was portrayed, but I think one of the main differences between this pageant and a traditional passion play is that it focused more on Christ’s resurrection. At the end of the pageant, all 450 cast members were on stage, angels with trumps were four stories up, and Christ was raised on a pedestal above them, which made it look like he was in the air above the stage. It was all masterfully done and such a beautiful thing to see.
As we were leaving the north lawn of the temple grounds, the visitor center’s curtains were opened to reveal an 11-foot statue of the Christus. The original marble Christus was sculpted by Bertel Thorvaldsen, a Danish sculpter, in 1821. It is housed in the Church of Our Lady in Copenhagen, Denmark. The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints commissioned two replicas in the 1960s; the first was placed in storage until the facility to house it was built on the Salt Lake City temple grounds, but the second one was displayed at the 1965 World’s Fair in New York. The LDS church has 134 operating temples around the world (not to be confused with their meeting houses). The closest temples to Ephrata are in Kennewick and Spokane. Today there are more than 15 Christus replicas placed around the world in LDS temple visitor’s centers—Los Angeles, Hawaii, Mexico, Japan, Washington D.C., and Mesa being a few. I have also seen Thorvaldsen’s Christus at the beautiful Victorian Dome of John Hopkins hospital, where Spencer did his medical fellowship. The Dome is part of the original hospital built in 1889, and the statue, entitled Christus Consolator, was unveiled on October 14, 1896. A bronze full-size replica is located at the Oakwood Cemetery in Huntsville, Texas.
Thorvaldsen originally envisioned sculpting the Christus with hands raised, as if to bless, but at the last minute decided to sculpt Christ with his hands outstretched so that all could see the prints in his hands as he reached out to them. It is a gorgeous sculpture and a gentle reminder of how Christ died for us.
Sometimes we get so busy in our lives that it takes an effort to remember to slow down and reflect on our blessings. I hope Easter refreshed you spiritually. Without nourishment to our souls, life can become pretty grim.
Mike’s coming to Arizona on Friday for the twins’ third birthday! I also have another exciting announcement next Monday. Talk to you then.
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
Christmas in April
Grant County Journal
Christmas in April
April 11, 2011
Written by Janet Warren
My favorite quote collector, Dorothy Bair, recited this poem to me and I loved it. It was written by the most prolific author in history, Anonymous.
When first he called me sweetheart, My youthful knees grew weak,
and that was topped when I heard wife, for sure, I'd reached my peak.
Until a tiny voice said Mommy, a joy I still recall.
But now, the sound of "Grandma" is the sweetest word of all.
The little princess has arrived! Ivy Noël Heaton, 6 pounds 2 ounces, 20 inches long. Noël is my daughter’s middle name; she was born a week before Christmas. The parents realize Ivy will forever be explaining why her middle name is Noël when she was born in April, but she’ll have to explain about the trema over the e anyway. Even though I was the one who named my daughter Jennifer Noël, I just learned when Ivy was born that the two dots over the e is called a trema and it means that the vowel preceding the e is pronounced separately and not blended into the e. Of course, this will make no sense to you if the paper isn’t able to print the trema. You’ll have to imagine the e with two dots over it. Jennifer (later shortened to Jenni), wanted to be sure Ivy wasn’t named anything on the top 10 list of baby names. Jenni, who was born in 1978, grew up with at least 3 or 4 Jennifers in her classes at school.
Jenni is recuperating, but it’s tough with three-year-old twins who don’t understand why they can’t jump on their post-operative C-section mommy. That’s one of the reasons I am here—I’ll do the heavy lifting until the other grandma comes to take over. We’ve had a bit of jealousy over here too. Hey—last time there were two babies so I got to hold a grandchild anytime I wanted. Oh, and the boys have also been a little jealous. Seth saw his daddy holding Ivy and yelled at him to give mommy her baby back. When Spencer tried to explain Ivy was Mommy and Daddy’s baby, Seth cried, “No, Seth is Daddy’s baby.” It almost broke my heart. This parenting stuff is hard work, which is why being a grandparent is so fun. I get to enjoy the moment without having to worry about the long-term consequences. When I leave, Jenni and Spencer can always say, “We only do that when grandma is here.”
I walked Seth and Noah over to the park yesterday so Jenni could get some much-needed rest. Gone is the beautiful, little bit too warm for me, weather. It was replaced with 70 degrees yesterday. Except for being a little windy, it felt really good. Apparently 70 degrees in Arizona is cold. Adults were at the park dressed in hooded sweatshirts. Wimps. Today, however, was in the 50s and I was wishing I had packed some socks.
I saw a roadrunner a couple of days ago. When I called Mike in Ephrata and told him, he said, “what year?” Mike, Mike, Mike. You have cars on the brain, but I am missing the way you make me look at something in a totally different way. No, I saw the bird like the one who was always driving Wile E. Coyote crazy. I have never seen one that wasn’t animated, but it was obvious it was a roadrunner when it ran past me in the park.
I promised to send a picture of Ivy, and here she is! I can’t help myself, I have to go into grandma mode. She is the most beautiful baby girl I have ever seen (besides my own, of course). Thanks, my Ephrata friends, for letting a semi-old grandma brag.
Christmas in April
April 11, 2011
Written by Janet Warren
My favorite quote collector, Dorothy Bair, recited this poem to me and I loved it. It was written by the most prolific author in history, Anonymous.
When first he called me sweetheart, My youthful knees grew weak,
and that was topped when I heard wife, for sure, I'd reached my peak.
Until a tiny voice said Mommy, a joy I still recall.
But now, the sound of "Grandma" is the sweetest word of all.
The little princess has arrived! Ivy Noël Heaton, 6 pounds 2 ounces, 20 inches long. Noël is my daughter’s middle name; she was born a week before Christmas. The parents realize Ivy will forever be explaining why her middle name is Noël when she was born in April, but she’ll have to explain about the trema over the e anyway. Even though I was the one who named my daughter Jennifer Noël, I just learned when Ivy was born that the two dots over the e is called a trema and it means that the vowel preceding the e is pronounced separately and not blended into the e. Of course, this will make no sense to you if the paper isn’t able to print the trema. You’ll have to imagine the e with two dots over it. Jennifer (later shortened to Jenni), wanted to be sure Ivy wasn’t named anything on the top 10 list of baby names. Jenni, who was born in 1978, grew up with at least 3 or 4 Jennifers in her classes at school.
Jenni is recuperating, but it’s tough with three-year-old twins who don’t understand why they can’t jump on their post-operative C-section mommy. That’s one of the reasons I am here—I’ll do the heavy lifting until the other grandma comes to take over. We’ve had a bit of jealousy over here too. Hey—last time there were two babies so I got to hold a grandchild anytime I wanted. Oh, and the boys have also been a little jealous. Seth saw his daddy holding Ivy and yelled at him to give mommy her baby back. When Spencer tried to explain Ivy was Mommy and Daddy’s baby, Seth cried, “No, Seth is Daddy’s baby.” It almost broke my heart. This parenting stuff is hard work, which is why being a grandparent is so fun. I get to enjoy the moment without having to worry about the long-term consequences. When I leave, Jenni and Spencer can always say, “We only do that when grandma is here.”
I walked Seth and Noah over to the park yesterday so Jenni could get some much-needed rest. Gone is the beautiful, little bit too warm for me, weather. It was replaced with 70 degrees yesterday. Except for being a little windy, it felt really good. Apparently 70 degrees in Arizona is cold. Adults were at the park dressed in hooded sweatshirts. Wimps. Today, however, was in the 50s and I was wishing I had packed some socks.
I saw a roadrunner a couple of days ago. When I called Mike in Ephrata and told him, he said, “what year?” Mike, Mike, Mike. You have cars on the brain, but I am missing the way you make me look at something in a totally different way. No, I saw the bird like the one who was always driving Wile E. Coyote crazy. I have never seen one that wasn’t animated, but it was obvious it was a roadrunner when it ran past me in the park.
I promised to send a picture of Ivy, and here she is! I can’t help myself, I have to go into grandma mode. She is the most beautiful baby girl I have ever seen (besides my own, of course). Thanks, my Ephrata friends, for letting a semi-old grandma brag.
Making Limeade out of Lemons
Grant County Journal
April 4, 2011
Making Limeade out of Lemons
Written by Janet Warren
My daughter and son-in-law, Jenni and Spencer, moved to Arizona in September, after Spencer finished nine years of medical training back east. None of our family has ever lived where you can grow citrus trees, and when I visited Arizona in November, I was intrigued with the lime tree Jenni had growing in her back yard. We had fresh limes right off the tree for Thanksgiving. They looked like limes, they tasted like limes, and they smelled like limes. I had no reason to think they weren’t limes until a month later when Jenni informed me they had turned bright yellow. If Jenni had mentioned her lime tree to someone who had lived in Arizona for a few years, they most likely would have told her about the growing season and that her limes were actually lemons. Sometimes we assume things and don’t bother to check with someone who really knows.
When my son was 11 years old, Mike and I took him to meet Aunt Charlene in Hemet, California and to visit the attractions in San Diego and Los Angeles. He was at the age where he was beginning to be interested in the world around him, yet not quite old enough to understand them. Of course, I’m not sure I’m old enough to understand some of the things that are going on around us, either, but that is beside the point.
We drove down the Oregon Coast and then entered California through Crescent City. Just north of Crescent City, Jeffrey looked around him and said, “California doesn’t look like it’s bankrupt.” Sometimes as adults we view the world like an 11-year-old. I admit when my daughter and her family moved here last September, I was worried about the murders that were taking place with the Mexican drug cartel. A man was even beheaded in Chandler, where Spencer and Jenni live, although I later found out it was way out in the desert. When I visited them in November, which is the first time I have ever been in Arizona, the part of my brain that behaves like an 11-year-old was probably saying, “It doesn’t look overrun with illegal immigrants and murdering cartel henchmen.” My point is, we can get riled up with the news reports of everything that is going wrong, even to the point of jumping on the Boycott Arizona Bandwagon. Some of us don’t even bother to ask someone who lives here; we form our opinions from the media. I happen to think Governor Brewer is very brave for sticking up for Arizona. There are a lot of reasons I wouldn’t boycott Arizona, but the most important one is because some of the most important people in my life live here.
On a lighter note, those of us who live in the cooler Northwest are sure to say we could never live in Arizona because of the heat. We forget that six to eight months of the year is beautiful and that you can grow grapefruit trees in your backyard.
Arizona’s spring has sprung. We went for a walk to the park the other evening, and I could smell the night-blooming jasmine. The temperature was like a warm summer night, but it was very pleasant. On April 1, however, Chandler broke a record temperature for that date by 5 degrees. It got up to 98 degrees. Jenni cranked up the air conditioner and we stayed indoors most of the day. Fortunately, the rest of the week dropped down to more normal April temperatures in the 80s. It usually doesn’t begin to get into the 90s until the middle of May. The latest forecast has Friday with 76 degrees.
The reason I am here for a month is that Jenni’s C-section is scheduled for 9 a.m. tomorrow morning. My almost-three-year-old twin grandsons, Seth and Noah, don’t have a clue what is about to happen to them when Jenni has the new baby. Noah has warmed up to me, but Seth is still very suspect of me. Friday morning Jenni was resting in bed and Seth was on the other side of the bed watching a movie on an iPhone. I went in and kneeled down beside Seth and asked him what he wanted grandma to make him for breakfast. He scooted quickly over to his mother’s side saying, “Mommy, help me.” Oh my, he’s in for such a surprise tomorrow when either grandma makes him breakfast or he will be one hungry little boy. That’s the problem with living so far away. I was talking to Julie on the playground at Grant before I came here and expressed how I wished I lived closer so I could see my grandchildren more often. “My grandkids live in Seattle,” she said, “and I don’t see them that much either.” She has a point there. Unless I lived in the same city, I probably couldn’t have the close relationship I wish I had. Of course, living that close to your children might present a whole list of other problems. And, as beautiful as Arizona is the rest of the year, I really couldn’t take that summer heat. Snowbirds, maybe? That would be the best of both worlds. Mike, can we talk?
April 4, 2011
Making Limeade out of Lemons
Written by Janet Warren
My daughter and son-in-law, Jenni and Spencer, moved to Arizona in September, after Spencer finished nine years of medical training back east. None of our family has ever lived where you can grow citrus trees, and when I visited Arizona in November, I was intrigued with the lime tree Jenni had growing in her back yard. We had fresh limes right off the tree for Thanksgiving. They looked like limes, they tasted like limes, and they smelled like limes. I had no reason to think they weren’t limes until a month later when Jenni informed me they had turned bright yellow. If Jenni had mentioned her lime tree to someone who had lived in Arizona for a few years, they most likely would have told her about the growing season and that her limes were actually lemons. Sometimes we assume things and don’t bother to check with someone who really knows.
When my son was 11 years old, Mike and I took him to meet Aunt Charlene in Hemet, California and to visit the attractions in San Diego and Los Angeles. He was at the age where he was beginning to be interested in the world around him, yet not quite old enough to understand them. Of course, I’m not sure I’m old enough to understand some of the things that are going on around us, either, but that is beside the point.
We drove down the Oregon Coast and then entered California through Crescent City. Just north of Crescent City, Jeffrey looked around him and said, “California doesn’t look like it’s bankrupt.” Sometimes as adults we view the world like an 11-year-old. I admit when my daughter and her family moved here last September, I was worried about the murders that were taking place with the Mexican drug cartel. A man was even beheaded in Chandler, where Spencer and Jenni live, although I later found out it was way out in the desert. When I visited them in November, which is the first time I have ever been in Arizona, the part of my brain that behaves like an 11-year-old was probably saying, “It doesn’t look overrun with illegal immigrants and murdering cartel henchmen.” My point is, we can get riled up with the news reports of everything that is going wrong, even to the point of jumping on the Boycott Arizona Bandwagon. Some of us don’t even bother to ask someone who lives here; we form our opinions from the media. I happen to think Governor Brewer is very brave for sticking up for Arizona. There are a lot of reasons I wouldn’t boycott Arizona, but the most important one is because some of the most important people in my life live here.
On a lighter note, those of us who live in the cooler Northwest are sure to say we could never live in Arizona because of the heat. We forget that six to eight months of the year is beautiful and that you can grow grapefruit trees in your backyard.
Arizona’s spring has sprung. We went for a walk to the park the other evening, and I could smell the night-blooming jasmine. The temperature was like a warm summer night, but it was very pleasant. On April 1, however, Chandler broke a record temperature for that date by 5 degrees. It got up to 98 degrees. Jenni cranked up the air conditioner and we stayed indoors most of the day. Fortunately, the rest of the week dropped down to more normal April temperatures in the 80s. It usually doesn’t begin to get into the 90s until the middle of May. The latest forecast has Friday with 76 degrees.
The reason I am here for a month is that Jenni’s C-section is scheduled for 9 a.m. tomorrow morning. My almost-three-year-old twin grandsons, Seth and Noah, don’t have a clue what is about to happen to them when Jenni has the new baby. Noah has warmed up to me, but Seth is still very suspect of me. Friday morning Jenni was resting in bed and Seth was on the other side of the bed watching a movie on an iPhone. I went in and kneeled down beside Seth and asked him what he wanted grandma to make him for breakfast. He scooted quickly over to his mother’s side saying, “Mommy, help me.” Oh my, he’s in for such a surprise tomorrow when either grandma makes him breakfast or he will be one hungry little boy. That’s the problem with living so far away. I was talking to Julie on the playground at Grant before I came here and expressed how I wished I lived closer so I could see my grandchildren more often. “My grandkids live in Seattle,” she said, “and I don’t see them that much either.” She has a point there. Unless I lived in the same city, I probably couldn’t have the close relationship I wish I had. Of course, living that close to your children might present a whole list of other problems. And, as beautiful as Arizona is the rest of the year, I really couldn’t take that summer heat. Snowbirds, maybe? That would be the best of both worlds. Mike, can we talk?
Monday, March 28, 2011
Leavin' on a Jet Plane
Grant County Journal
Leavin’ on a Jet Plane
March 28, 2011
Written by Janet Warren
Woo hoo! I met my goal last week. I actually told a story in less than 1,000 words. I have been writing this column for seven months now, and last week’s column at 878 words was the first time it printed above the crease in the newspaper. Now when you read my columns and they are above the crease, you can cheer my victory! I think my problem is that I don’t write like a journalist—concise and to the point. I write more like a novelist—slowly meandering, stopping every once in a while to get a cool drink and describing the flowers while I am there. But I have really enjoyed the journey, and I hope you have too.
I’m going away for awhile. Not to a quiet, padded room somewhere, but to my daughter’s house in Chandler, Arizona. She is having our first granddaughter and the C-section is scheduled for April 5. I’m going a week early so she can get a little rest before the big day. Almost three years ago, I traveled to Ann Arbor, Michigan, when she gave birth to our twin grandsons, Seth and Noah. They are causing a bit of a ruckus these days. I have a feeling they are sensing the world as they know it is about to change.
Sometimes I begin to feel isolated in Ephrata. My family is too far away to hop in a car and go for a visit. But, I can hop on a plane and be in Arizona in less time than it takes for me to drive to the Spokane Airport, check my bags and have the full-body scan at the security checkpoint. Of course, the twins think I live at the Phoenix airport and wonder why I don’t visit more often when it only takes a half an hour to pick me up.
I was explaining to a gentleman that I would be sending in my columns from Arizona for the next few weeks and mentioned I’d be sure to send a picture of our new granddaughter. It was really funny the way he started back pedaling. “Oh, that’s not really necessary,” he stammered. I finally figured it out. He thought I was one of THOSE grandparents—the ones who brag about how beautiful and smart their grandchildren are. Believe me, I will not bore you with the run-of-the-mill antics of my grandsons, or how the new granddaughter is sleeping through the night at one week old.
I suppose I could have hung a Gone Fishin’ sign on my column for the next few weeks, but I thought you might like a taste of Arizona. Thanks to the magic of the internet, I can send in columns from anywhere. I was there in November and there are so many places I want to visit—the Superstition Mountains for starters. The first time I visited Phoenix, I was taken aback that there are such beautiful wild-looking mountains there. I was expecting flat, dry land. The sight of palm trees up against a mountain range during sunset was really unusual. I’ll talk about the cacti and the other vegetation that grows in the Phoenix area because that always interests me. Last time I was there, I picked a few pods off a mesquite tree and then figured out what they were on the internet. Some of the crops I saw growing I had never seen before, so I did some research and found out it was sorghum.
And as for the pictures—I’m sure I’ll send a picture of the new baby. I mean, what kind of grandma would I be if I didn’t take advantage of having a column in a newspaper where I can show a picture of my granddaughter to thousands of people? And I might tell a story or two about the twins, but I promise they won’t be ordinary ones like every grandparent tells. Did I mention both of them are geniuses?
680 words! Another one above the crease!
Leavin’ on a Jet Plane
March 28, 2011
Written by Janet Warren
Woo hoo! I met my goal last week. I actually told a story in less than 1,000 words. I have been writing this column for seven months now, and last week’s column at 878 words was the first time it printed above the crease in the newspaper. Now when you read my columns and they are above the crease, you can cheer my victory! I think my problem is that I don’t write like a journalist—concise and to the point. I write more like a novelist—slowly meandering, stopping every once in a while to get a cool drink and describing the flowers while I am there. But I have really enjoyed the journey, and I hope you have too.
I’m going away for awhile. Not to a quiet, padded room somewhere, but to my daughter’s house in Chandler, Arizona. She is having our first granddaughter and the C-section is scheduled for April 5. I’m going a week early so she can get a little rest before the big day. Almost three years ago, I traveled to Ann Arbor, Michigan, when she gave birth to our twin grandsons, Seth and Noah. They are causing a bit of a ruckus these days. I have a feeling they are sensing the world as they know it is about to change.
Sometimes I begin to feel isolated in Ephrata. My family is too far away to hop in a car and go for a visit. But, I can hop on a plane and be in Arizona in less time than it takes for me to drive to the Spokane Airport, check my bags and have the full-body scan at the security checkpoint. Of course, the twins think I live at the Phoenix airport and wonder why I don’t visit more often when it only takes a half an hour to pick me up.
I was explaining to a gentleman that I would be sending in my columns from Arizona for the next few weeks and mentioned I’d be sure to send a picture of our new granddaughter. It was really funny the way he started back pedaling. “Oh, that’s not really necessary,” he stammered. I finally figured it out. He thought I was one of THOSE grandparents—the ones who brag about how beautiful and smart their grandchildren are. Believe me, I will not bore you with the run-of-the-mill antics of my grandsons, or how the new granddaughter is sleeping through the night at one week old.
I suppose I could have hung a Gone Fishin’ sign on my column for the next few weeks, but I thought you might like a taste of Arizona. Thanks to the magic of the internet, I can send in columns from anywhere. I was there in November and there are so many places I want to visit—the Superstition Mountains for starters. The first time I visited Phoenix, I was taken aback that there are such beautiful wild-looking mountains there. I was expecting flat, dry land. The sight of palm trees up against a mountain range during sunset was really unusual. I’ll talk about the cacti and the other vegetation that grows in the Phoenix area because that always interests me. Last time I was there, I picked a few pods off a mesquite tree and then figured out what they were on the internet. Some of the crops I saw growing I had never seen before, so I did some research and found out it was sorghum.
And as for the pictures—I’m sure I’ll send a picture of the new baby. I mean, what kind of grandma would I be if I didn’t take advantage of having a column in a newspaper where I can show a picture of my granddaughter to thousands of people? And I might tell a story or two about the twins, but I promise they won’t be ordinary ones like every grandparent tells. Did I mention both of them are geniuses?
680 words! Another one above the crease!
Monday, March 21, 2011
A Wing and a Prayer
Grant County Journal
March 21, 2011
A Wing and a Prayer
Written by Janet Warren
Today, March 21, is my father’s 86th birthday. I was his present on his 33rd birthday, so today is also my birthday. (The answer is 53 for those of you doing the math). I would like to dedicate this week’s column to my father, Richard Fullenwider.
There are little pieces of time in my life that stand out. They are moments when either I was stunned beyond belief, or when I witnessed something that was so breathtaking I stood in awe.
I was stunned when President Reagan was shot. I couldn’t leave the television as I tried, unsuccessfully, to wrap my mind around it. Do you remember where you were when Challenger exploded 25 years ago? I was in my daughter’s first grade classroom and everyone was tuned into the news coverage as it took off. I was paralyzed. A similar experience happened when students were massacred at Columbine High School, an hour away from my home in Colorado Springs.
I am sure all of you, like me, have experienced personal things over the years that have left you numb and not able to catch your breath. Perhaps a break up of a marriage or the death of a loved one taken too soon. Thank goodness my life’s scale has been tipped with more experiences being awed than I have had with being stunned. I consider those moments to be tender mercies.
Two of those memories involve eagles.
I spent the last two years of high school in Spokane, graduating from Mead in 1976. My father was the Boy Scout Executive of the Inland Empire Council for 17 years, beginning when I was a junior in high school. I went away to college after graduating from Mead, but I always considered Spokane my home. Even after living 26 years in Colorado Springs, the Northwest tugged at my roots.
One morning I was in the kitchen. It must have been a Saturday since my dad was home. My father excitedly started calling for me. “Janny, Janny come here quick!” I ran into the living room wondering what in the world could have happened since my dad was always a calm man, not given to outbursts. We watched, father and daughter, as a bald eagle soared just over the pine trees in our backyard. It was so awesome to see that majestic bird against the backdrop of the blue sky. This was in 1975 when bald eagles were on the endangered species list, so seeing an eagle fly in our backyard was truly a moment of wonder. What I remember most about the experience was the look on my father’s face. He was completely delighted at the sight of the eagle.
Years later, I was living in Colorado Springs. Our home had a sunroom off the master bedroom and my son Jeffrey, who was 4 years old at the time, was in there while I was cleaning. All of a sudden, he started calling for me, “Mommy, mommy, big bird, big bird!” I thought he was seeing one of the many magpies we had in the forested backyard, so I tried to placate him with “Yes, those birds are big aren’t they?” He would have none of that, so I finally went into the sunroom and stared at a golden eagle in a tree about 20 feet away from the window. Jeffrey and I were so mesmerized by the sight, I didn’t even think about grabbing my camera. We watched, mother and son, in complete silence for at least five minutes until the eagle took off. His wingspan must have been six or seven feet, and it was so beautiful I couldn’t speak. To this day, Jeffrey remembers, and he teases me about thinking his big bird was a magpie.
When I saw Toni Canady’s photo of a bald eagle in the Grant County Journal on January 10, I knew I would be making a pilgrimage. Mike and I had an anniversary right after that, so when he asked me what I wanted to do, my answer was clear. “I want to go to Grand Coulee and see if I can get some pictures of bald eagles.” Unfortunately, the only two eagles I saw were too far away to get a good shot. Word got back to Toni, and within a few days she provided me with a color photograph of the picture that appeared in the Journal. I asked Toni what went through her mind when she took this picture. Eagles inspire that feeling of awe in Toni, like they do me. As she took this particular photograph, she thought of her ill father-in-law, who loved eagles, and imagined he would have enjoyed being there with her. Shortly after this picture was taken, Toni’s father-in-law, Louie Canady, passed away. Toni has peace with it knowing he is now flying with the eagles. Those are the tender mercies I’m talking about. The ones that bring peace and meaning.
In a not-too-distant day, I will frame the picture of the eagle, alongside a picture of my father and part of a poem by Don R. Wilkins from Motley, Minnesota.
By strength of wing will soar on high.
My future yet to be
To glide beyond restricting Earth.
Eternity to see.
March 21, 2011
A Wing and a Prayer
Written by Janet Warren
Today, March 21, is my father’s 86th birthday. I was his present on his 33rd birthday, so today is also my birthday. (The answer is 53 for those of you doing the math). I would like to dedicate this week’s column to my father, Richard Fullenwider.
There are little pieces of time in my life that stand out. They are moments when either I was stunned beyond belief, or when I witnessed something that was so breathtaking I stood in awe.
I was stunned when President Reagan was shot. I couldn’t leave the television as I tried, unsuccessfully, to wrap my mind around it. Do you remember where you were when Challenger exploded 25 years ago? I was in my daughter’s first grade classroom and everyone was tuned into the news coverage as it took off. I was paralyzed. A similar experience happened when students were massacred at Columbine High School, an hour away from my home in Colorado Springs.
I am sure all of you, like me, have experienced personal things over the years that have left you numb and not able to catch your breath. Perhaps a break up of a marriage or the death of a loved one taken too soon. Thank goodness my life’s scale has been tipped with more experiences being awed than I have had with being stunned. I consider those moments to be tender mercies.
Two of those memories involve eagles.
I spent the last two years of high school in Spokane, graduating from Mead in 1976. My father was the Boy Scout Executive of the Inland Empire Council for 17 years, beginning when I was a junior in high school. I went away to college after graduating from Mead, but I always considered Spokane my home. Even after living 26 years in Colorado Springs, the Northwest tugged at my roots.
One morning I was in the kitchen. It must have been a Saturday since my dad was home. My father excitedly started calling for me. “Janny, Janny come here quick!” I ran into the living room wondering what in the world could have happened since my dad was always a calm man, not given to outbursts. We watched, father and daughter, as a bald eagle soared just over the pine trees in our backyard. It was so awesome to see that majestic bird against the backdrop of the blue sky. This was in 1975 when bald eagles were on the endangered species list, so seeing an eagle fly in our backyard was truly a moment of wonder. What I remember most about the experience was the look on my father’s face. He was completely delighted at the sight of the eagle.
Years later, I was living in Colorado Springs. Our home had a sunroom off the master bedroom and my son Jeffrey, who was 4 years old at the time, was in there while I was cleaning. All of a sudden, he started calling for me, “Mommy, mommy, big bird, big bird!” I thought he was seeing one of the many magpies we had in the forested backyard, so I tried to placate him with “Yes, those birds are big aren’t they?” He would have none of that, so I finally went into the sunroom and stared at a golden eagle in a tree about 20 feet away from the window. Jeffrey and I were so mesmerized by the sight, I didn’t even think about grabbing my camera. We watched, mother and son, in complete silence for at least five minutes until the eagle took off. His wingspan must have been six or seven feet, and it was so beautiful I couldn’t speak. To this day, Jeffrey remembers, and he teases me about thinking his big bird was a magpie.
When I saw Toni Canady’s photo of a bald eagle in the Grant County Journal on January 10, I knew I would be making a pilgrimage. Mike and I had an anniversary right after that, so when he asked me what I wanted to do, my answer was clear. “I want to go to Grand Coulee and see if I can get some pictures of bald eagles.” Unfortunately, the only two eagles I saw were too far away to get a good shot. Word got back to Toni, and within a few days she provided me with a color photograph of the picture that appeared in the Journal. I asked Toni what went through her mind when she took this picture. Eagles inspire that feeling of awe in Toni, like they do me. As she took this particular photograph, she thought of her ill father-in-law, who loved eagles, and imagined he would have enjoyed being there with her. Shortly after this picture was taken, Toni’s father-in-law, Louie Canady, passed away. Toni has peace with it knowing he is now flying with the eagles. Those are the tender mercies I’m talking about. The ones that bring peace and meaning.
In a not-too-distant day, I will frame the picture of the eagle, alongside a picture of my father and part of a poem by Don R. Wilkins from Motley, Minnesota.
By strength of wing will soar on high.
My future yet to be
To glide beyond restricting Earth.
Eternity to see.
Monday, March 14, 2011
A Golden Touch
Grant County Journal
A Golden Touch
March 14, 2011
Written by Janet Warren
In Greek mythology, King Midas, who was a good king and a kind man is granted a wish. Thinking the economy of his kingdom could be improved with treasure, he quickly wishes that everything he touches will turn to gold. That wish doesn’t turn out too well for King Midas, as all of his food turns to gold and he nearly starves. Even his daughter turns to a statue of gold when he hugs her.
In today’s vernacular, however, the Midas touch is a good thing. It means an uncanny ability for succeeding in every venture, or a golden touch. When I was talking to Glenn Chamberlain last week, the story of Midas came to mind, but with some very important differences. Glenn has been successful at a myriad of undertakings because he recognized opportunities, thought them through, planned, and worked really, really hard. As his wife, Carolyn said, “When Glenn decides to do something, it happens.”
Glenn was in the Air Force in Bremerton but was transferred to Moses Lake in 1962. After four years there, Glenn and Carolyn, who were both raised in Bremerton, decided they liked living on this side of the mountains. Carolyn said, “We lost our webbed feet.” In 1966, Glenn was offered a job at the PUD in Ephrata where he obtained his lineman’s journeyman license. During this time, he became interested in beekeeping. He continued to buy hives and increased his business so it became a full-time job and he had to hire two people to help him. As Carolyn explained, “Glenn has always had two jobs and it allowed me to do what I wanted to do—stay home and raise our eight children.”
After eight years at the PUD, another opportunity presented itself. Glenn bought Enterprise Oxygen, a welding supply and industrial gas business. He decided he didn’t need three full-time jobs, so he quit the PUD. At the time he bought Enterprise Oxygen there were three stores. Under Glenn’s ownership, he grew it to nine stores and branched out into medical supplies. Glenn gives credit to his brother, Gary. “I could not have built such a successful business without my brother. He wasn’t a clock-watcher. If something needed to be done at 10 p.m., Gary was right there with me.” Enterprise Oxygen expanded into Spokane, Walla Walla, Pasco, and Yakima and Glenn got tired of spending so much time on the road. He has always loved to fly—so what did Glenn do? Why he got his pilot’s license, of course, and bought a plane.
A good businessman, like a gambler, not only needs to know when to hold ‘em, but when to fold ‘em, and in 1996, Norco offered to buy Enterprise Oxygen. Glenn knew Norco would come into his market whether he sold it to them or not and decided he didn’t want to become their competitor. He didn’t retire, he just went on to the next adventure.
The Chamberlain girls love horses, so the next episode begins with the purchase of an equestrian center in Spokane. Glenn does not do things in a small way. He began to show horses and actually won the 2000 world championship for Pleasure Driving (Gentlemen) class. Although he no longer shows, the Chamberlains still have six horses. Glenn said, “We have 25 grandchildren, and they need something to ride when they come and visit Grandpa’s farm—although the girls are the ones who like the horses. The boys like the 4-wheelers.” These are some seriously fun grandparents.
Carolyn had her own hobbies. She sewed clothes and decorated cakes. Even now she wonders how she had time to do it all while raising so many children. “Our children were heavily involved in sports and Glenn and I attended every game,” said Carolyn. Glenn, however, not content to sit on the sidelines, became a referee for Varsity football and baseball games. He also found time to serve on City Council for 11 years and as Grant County Commissioner for 4 years. Carolyn always stood beside her husband, supporting him, except when she sat behind him on the seat of a Gold Wing. In 2003 they joined a motorcycle club, the Gold Wing Road Riders Association.
Glenn and Carolyn are long-time members of Rotary International, and Glenn became interested in a Rotary-sponsored literacy program in Guatemala. In true Glenn-fashion, he jumped in with both feet. He made four trips to Guatemala to make sure the program was legitimate and that Guatemala was safe before he began to take Carolyn with him. They just returned from their 12th trip together. I asked Glenn if he had any literacy success stories. He told me about Magdelena.
Magdelena was in the literacy project, but in 8th grade her father died. So that she didn’t have to drop out of school to support her mother, Glenn offered to sponsor Magdelena, paying for her books as well as the money she would have earned had she dropped out of school. Magdelena recently graduated from high school, and because of Glenn her dream of attending the university has been realized. She rides the chicken bus for an hour each Saturday to attend the university. She starts early in the morning and takes five or six classes in a row. Magdelena teaches third grade every morning during the week and studies in the afternoons. Glenn offered to send her more money so she wouldn’t have to work and could take classes during the week, but this is not the custom in Guatemala. It is expected for her to work, so Glenn’s money goes for her tuition and books, and the $100 a month she earns teaching third grade goes to help out her mother.
One of the big draws for Glenn and Carolyn to keep returning to Guatemala is that the literacy project targets the Mayan culture, the poorest of the poor. These humble people are grateful to the Gringos who bring hope to them. Some of the children in the most rural areas Glenn visits have never seen a tall white man with white hair, and are drawn in fascination to him. The Literacy Project has grown over the years, mostly by word of mouth. Glenn and Carolyn return every February, at the beginning of the Guatemalan school year, to distribute books. During the rest of the year, Glenn has managed to find a few things to keep him busy.
I won’t leave you hanging about King Midas. He recognized his error and Dionysus, the god who granted him the favor, allowed Midas to wash away his magical touch in the river Pactolus which turned its sands to shimmering gold.
Glenn Chamberlain does have a Midas touch, but there is nothing magical about it. He looks at the world with a curiosity few possess, and he goes for it. He enriches lives because of it.
To learn more about the Guatemala Literacy Project, visit www.guatemalaliteracy.com.
A Golden Touch
March 14, 2011
Written by Janet Warren
In Greek mythology, King Midas, who was a good king and a kind man is granted a wish. Thinking the economy of his kingdom could be improved with treasure, he quickly wishes that everything he touches will turn to gold. That wish doesn’t turn out too well for King Midas, as all of his food turns to gold and he nearly starves. Even his daughter turns to a statue of gold when he hugs her.
In today’s vernacular, however, the Midas touch is a good thing. It means an uncanny ability for succeeding in every venture, or a golden touch. When I was talking to Glenn Chamberlain last week, the story of Midas came to mind, but with some very important differences. Glenn has been successful at a myriad of undertakings because he recognized opportunities, thought them through, planned, and worked really, really hard. As his wife, Carolyn said, “When Glenn decides to do something, it happens.”
Glenn was in the Air Force in Bremerton but was transferred to Moses Lake in 1962. After four years there, Glenn and Carolyn, who were both raised in Bremerton, decided they liked living on this side of the mountains. Carolyn said, “We lost our webbed feet.” In 1966, Glenn was offered a job at the PUD in Ephrata where he obtained his lineman’s journeyman license. During this time, he became interested in beekeeping. He continued to buy hives and increased his business so it became a full-time job and he had to hire two people to help him. As Carolyn explained, “Glenn has always had two jobs and it allowed me to do what I wanted to do—stay home and raise our eight children.”
After eight years at the PUD, another opportunity presented itself. Glenn bought Enterprise Oxygen, a welding supply and industrial gas business. He decided he didn’t need three full-time jobs, so he quit the PUD. At the time he bought Enterprise Oxygen there were three stores. Under Glenn’s ownership, he grew it to nine stores and branched out into medical supplies. Glenn gives credit to his brother, Gary. “I could not have built such a successful business without my brother. He wasn’t a clock-watcher. If something needed to be done at 10 p.m., Gary was right there with me.” Enterprise Oxygen expanded into Spokane, Walla Walla, Pasco, and Yakima and Glenn got tired of spending so much time on the road. He has always loved to fly—so what did Glenn do? Why he got his pilot’s license, of course, and bought a plane.
A good businessman, like a gambler, not only needs to know when to hold ‘em, but when to fold ‘em, and in 1996, Norco offered to buy Enterprise Oxygen. Glenn knew Norco would come into his market whether he sold it to them or not and decided he didn’t want to become their competitor. He didn’t retire, he just went on to the next adventure.
The Chamberlain girls love horses, so the next episode begins with the purchase of an equestrian center in Spokane. Glenn does not do things in a small way. He began to show horses and actually won the 2000 world championship for Pleasure Driving (Gentlemen) class. Although he no longer shows, the Chamberlains still have six horses. Glenn said, “We have 25 grandchildren, and they need something to ride when they come and visit Grandpa’s farm—although the girls are the ones who like the horses. The boys like the 4-wheelers.” These are some seriously fun grandparents.
Carolyn had her own hobbies. She sewed clothes and decorated cakes. Even now she wonders how she had time to do it all while raising so many children. “Our children were heavily involved in sports and Glenn and I attended every game,” said Carolyn. Glenn, however, not content to sit on the sidelines, became a referee for Varsity football and baseball games. He also found time to serve on City Council for 11 years and as Grant County Commissioner for 4 years. Carolyn always stood beside her husband, supporting him, except when she sat behind him on the seat of a Gold Wing. In 2003 they joined a motorcycle club, the Gold Wing Road Riders Association.
Glenn and Carolyn are long-time members of Rotary International, and Glenn became interested in a Rotary-sponsored literacy program in Guatemala. In true Glenn-fashion, he jumped in with both feet. He made four trips to Guatemala to make sure the program was legitimate and that Guatemala was safe before he began to take Carolyn with him. They just returned from their 12th trip together. I asked Glenn if he had any literacy success stories. He told me about Magdelena.
Magdelena was in the literacy project, but in 8th grade her father died. So that she didn’t have to drop out of school to support her mother, Glenn offered to sponsor Magdelena, paying for her books as well as the money she would have earned had she dropped out of school. Magdelena recently graduated from high school, and because of Glenn her dream of attending the university has been realized. She rides the chicken bus for an hour each Saturday to attend the university. She starts early in the morning and takes five or six classes in a row. Magdelena teaches third grade every morning during the week and studies in the afternoons. Glenn offered to send her more money so she wouldn’t have to work and could take classes during the week, but this is not the custom in Guatemala. It is expected for her to work, so Glenn’s money goes for her tuition and books, and the $100 a month she earns teaching third grade goes to help out her mother.
One of the big draws for Glenn and Carolyn to keep returning to Guatemala is that the literacy project targets the Mayan culture, the poorest of the poor. These humble people are grateful to the Gringos who bring hope to them. Some of the children in the most rural areas Glenn visits have never seen a tall white man with white hair, and are drawn in fascination to him. The Literacy Project has grown over the years, mostly by word of mouth. Glenn and Carolyn return every February, at the beginning of the Guatemalan school year, to distribute books. During the rest of the year, Glenn has managed to find a few things to keep him busy.
I won’t leave you hanging about King Midas. He recognized his error and Dionysus, the god who granted him the favor, allowed Midas to wash away his magical touch in the river Pactolus which turned its sands to shimmering gold.
Glenn Chamberlain does have a Midas touch, but there is nothing magical about it. He looks at the world with a curiosity few possess, and he goes for it. He enriches lives because of it.
To learn more about the Guatemala Literacy Project, visit www.guatemalaliteracy.com.
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