I wasn't ready to say good-bye

Grant County Journal

I Wasn’t Ready to Say Good-bye

Written by Janet Warren

June 28^th, 2012

My world changed on April 24^th.  My son, Jeffrey Alexander Meacham, age 15, ended his life with a bullet. He would have been 16 on June 22^nd.   He lived with his father in Colorado during the school year but came to Ephrata most of the summer and other school breaks.  About a year ago he decided he wanted to live with Mike and me for his junior and senior years of high school so he could do the Running Start program at Big Bend.  His father figured out a way he could do the same thing at Pikes Peak Community College in Colorado Springs, so my hopes were dashed once again.

Jeffrey was in Ephrata just three weeks before he died.  My last glimpse of him was at the Spokane Airport.  I had forgotten my purse so I couldn’t get a gate pass to wait with him until his plane boarded as I usually did.  He hugged me and told me he loved me before he ascended the ramp into security.  I watched as he shed a few tears when he thought I wasn’t looking.  I wanted to run up the ramp, take him in my arms, and beg him to stay with me.  But I’ve always wanted what was best for Jeffrey, and I thought it was his choice to stay in Colorado. 

Jeffrey had two lives that I knew about.  The first one was in Colorado Springs where he was born and remained in the family home after his father and I divorced. He was a brilliant student, taking advanced placement and honor classes.  I checked his grades the day before he died—as usual straight A and A+ work.  One of his teachers sent me his last assignment he had written for an English class.  It was an 8-page, well-thought out, well-written paper that he turned in on the morning of the day he died.  He was active in our church, faithfully attending an early-morning seminary class, even the morning of that fateful day.  He had no addictions—the toxicology report came back completely negative. 

Jeffrey’s second life was here in Ephrata.  He loved his stepfather and had a strong bond with him.  He had a special friend here, Nick Quist.  Those two would take up where they left off every time they were together.  Jeffrey could be a typical teenager in Ephrata and take a rest from his first life.  I liked to think he recharged his batteries here.

Jeffrey obviously had a third life that no one knew about.  He never spoke of it to anyone—somewhere deep inside that brilliant mind of his he lived in pain.  There is no outside reason that Jeffrey died; it is in his third life that those answers remain vaulted.  One of the things I read in a grief book has taken on special significance:  “I have since learned grief is not about answers; but learning to live with the questions.”  So many questions.

On the one-month anniversary of Jeffrey’s death, May 24^th, my close friend Pam George passed away in Colorado Springs from a massive heart attack.  She was 57 years old and didn’t even know she had the advanced heart disease the autopsy showed.  Pam was Jeffrey’s protector.  She always called me with news of Jeffrey.  She called when he gave a talk in church, or if she heard him say something to her son Spencer that she thought I should know about.  About six months ago Pam told me that she thought Jeffrey was really well-adjusted.  He seemed happy.  He loved his computer classes at school, he never missed his early-morning seminary class.  She hadn’t always felt this way, and I knew Pam always told me the truth, so I tried to get over my sadness that Jeffrey wasn’t going to come to Ephrata for his last two years of high school. 

At Jeffrey’s funeral, Pam told me in her no-nonsense way, “When I die, the first thing I am going to do is find Jeffrey and ask him ‘What in the world possessed you to end your life?”” Then she died.  And I have no doubt the first thing her spirit did was find Jeffrey.  In fact a small piece of my broken heart is comforted knowing Pam is with my son in the spirit world.  But Pam left behind a husband and four children who are suffering just as I am.  Spencer, who loved my son Jeffrey, came home to find his mother on the floor and tried to resuscitate her. He has experienced more in the last two months than any 16-year-old should have to go through. (Read The Bench Babies written by the mother of Bench Baby #3 at www.chocolatecreamcenters.blogspot.com for a beautiful story of friendship between three boys and their mothers.  It was posted April 28, you’ll have to click on Older Posts a couple of times. Spencer was Bench Baby #1, and Jeffrey was #2).

One of the most helpful stories about grief comes from a keynote speaker at a Compassionate Friends conference.  Steven Kalas writes that when you lose a child, grieving is a lifelong experience. “You don’t get over it.  Getting over it is an inappropriate goal.  An unreasonable hope.  The loss of a child changes you.  It changes your marriage.  It changes the way birds sing.  It changes the way the sun rises and sets.  You are forever different…the goal is not to get over it.  The goal is to get on with it.”  He goes on to liken profound grief to a stage play where the stagehands push a huge grand piano into the middle of the set.  The piano changes everything.  You keep bumping into it, and it blocks your ability to interact with other players.  The entire play must be rewritten around it.

“But over time, the piano is pushed to stage left.  Then to upper stage left.  You are the playwright, and slowly, surely, you begin to find the impetus and wherewithal to stop reacting to the intrusive piano.  Instead, you engage it.  Instead of writing every scene around the piano, you begin to write the piano into each scene, into the story of your life…eventually you learn to play that piano.  Your grief becomes an intimate treasure, though the spaces between the grief lengthen.  You no longer need to play the piano every day, or even every month.  But, later, when you’re 84, staring out your kitchen window on a random Tuesday morning, you welcome the sigh, the tears, the wistful pain that moves through your heart and reminds you that your child’s life mattered.  You wipe the dust off the piano and sit down to play.”

I love you Jeff.  I love you Pam.  I have a strong belief of an afterlife and look forward to the day when I will see you again which is what keeps me going.  Until then, I will try to stop bumping into that piano and learn how to play it.

Both obituaries can be viewed at dignitymemorial.com

ONCE IN A WHILE IT’S GOOD TO PUT PEOPLE ON PEDESTALS


Grant County Journal

January 2012

Janet Warren



I learned something about myself in the last couple of days and I am not proud. I am a spoiled brat. I had suspected as much when I whined so much about my high efficiency washer and dryer not being on pedestals that Mike took his stash of money he had been saving for his surround-sound equipment and bought me the pedestals. I had to sit on the ground to fold clothes out of the dryer for cryin’ out loud. Then I learned of a woman whose old washer and dryer and car died all at the same time. My good friend stepped in to help her, sending a repair man to her house. The woman offered him all of $16—probably the last of the month’s money—but he refused to take it. Hey, but I don’t have to sit on the floor to fold my clothes anymore.

The coup de grace came yesterday when my desktop computer died. How was I going to write my column? Why hadn’t I replaced my laptop when it started running so slowly? I even shot an email from my iPhone to the editor of the Journal telling her I may not be able to get the column to her this week. Then my husband, who is always saving me, offered to leave his iPad home so I could write it on that. Not optimal, since the keyboard isn’t that comfortable, but doable. As I started to get set up I realized the iPad didn’t have any data processing software. I couldn’t write on it. What the heck was I supposed to do? Write it in longhand? Wait a second—I once had those skills. I used to have good handwriting until I learned to type. I used to be able to spell—until I started using SpellCheck. I realized I was way ahead of those youngsters who were bottle-fed technology. So I started to write out my column in longhand. This is really pathetic, but I can’t write like that anymore. The way I write is to think about a topic for quite a while. Then I finally sit down at the computer to type it and I basically write it in “stream of consciousness” which is to write everything I have been thinking about without really thinking about it. Then I go back and cut and paste and fill in and take out. I can’t do it that way when I’m writing longhand.. Longhand forces me to write in a logical pattern, thinking about what I am going to put on the paper. I can’t do it. How am I supposed to know how to spell coup de grace when I can’t look it up on dictionary.com. I don’t think I even have a hardcopy dictionary in the house anymore. I have become a slave to technology unable to relate to people who haven’t hopped on the technology bandwagon. I can hardly communicate with my children since my skills are still so rudimentary compared to theirs.. I am stuck in a time warp….can’t remember the old ways, can’t figure out the new ones. So I stamp my feet and feel frustrated and yes, realize I am a spoiled brat.

This isn’t what I expected to write about this week, but sometimes things happen in our lives that make us take stock.. My daughter made a comment when she was visiting me at Christmas about a certain young family who works three jobs and sacrifices some of the comforts of life to raise a family and to make ends meet. She was amazed at how hard they work. Many of her friends are very educated in fields where there is still work and the only problem they have is waiting it out for the highest paying job. I’ve often thought how beneficial it would be for my children to visit a third-world country to see how other people live, but I should have been making them look around themselves at what people in this country have to do to survive.. In fact, I should have been doing the same.

I don’t think my epiphany is going to change me much. I won’t go back to trying to write longhand because my writing has improved over the years with the use of technology. I will get my computer fixed or buy a new one if I have to. But maybe I will appreciate not having to sit on the floor to fold clothes a little more. Maybe once my computer is up and running I will marvel at how it has changed my life. Maybe I will count my blessings a little more. And perhaps I will learn to recognize other people’s efforts more. Instead of only lamenting when things are taken away, maybe I will appreciate them while I have them. That goes for the people in my life too. Thanks for the pedestals, Mike. But thank you more for the sacrifice you made to give them to me.

I ended up writing this column on my old laptop, and I will hand-deliver it on a thumbnail drive to Kerry Moser at the Journal since I can’t attach my laptop to a printer. She’ll have to scan it, run it through SpellCheck, and check for grammar since for some reason I can’t get the print big enough on this laptop to see what I’m typing. That Kerry—did you know she has been working at the Journal since high school? I wrote a column on her husband a while back. She and her husband are some of the hardest working folks I know. I kind of put her on a pedestal too.

Road trip! Road trip!

Grant County Journal Road Trip! Road Trip! Written by Janet Warren April 26, 2012 I spent almost half of April in Syracuse. No, not Syracuse, New York—Syracuse, Utah. If you don’t know where Syracuse, Utah is you are not alone. Most of the people who live in Utah don’t know where it is unless you mention it’s in between Ogden and Layton. Utah has an interesting layout. Here in Ephrata when you set out to go to the next town, you know when you arrive because there is a lot of farmland in between. In Utah, you never know what town you’re in because they all run together. And don’t get me started on their grid system of street layout—it’s the most confusing thing I’ve experienced. It’s not just the fact that I get lost easily—I never get lost driving in Chandler, Arizona where the grid system actually makes sense and is easy to follow. My sister and her family recently moved to Syracuse. My brother-in-law, Denny, is a manager for Gordmans department store, and they just opened up the Utah territory. So Mike and I took a road trip to Utah with our daughter, Jenni, and three grandchildren in tow. I love it when Mike goes on our little adventures because he likes to drive. We dropped a car off at the Spokane airport for him, and then he drove the 12 or 13 hours to Syracuse. Mike flew back to Spokane a few days later, because as he likes to point out—“Someone has to work,” and Jenni did the driving back home. I always offer to drive, but no one takes me up on it, except my sisters. I once drove my sister, Diane, from Reno, Nevada to Ocean City, New Jersey. This was before I had a GPS and we didn’t even get lost until we hit the New Jersey Turnpike. In my defense, who doesn’t get lost on the New Jersey Turnpike? My sisters and I are directionally impaired so the invention of the GPS changed our lives. But that’s another story. Jenni went on a little vacation to Costa Rica and the grandchildren stayed with the other grandma in American Fork, Utah. I have to share them sometimes. I spent a lot of time reading and relaxing and shopping at Gordmans. My sister, Sara, is one of my best friends so we always have good laughs. Our road trip back to Ephrata was a little longer. We spent the first night in Butte, Montana. Have you ever seen the 90-foot statue of Mary, Our Lady of the Rockies, on top of the Continental Divide in Butte? According to a website: “Our Lady of the Rockies is entirely nondenominational and was dedicated in 1985 to workers and women everywhere — especially to mothers. Butte was an area hard hit by copper mine closures in the early 1980s and this Madonna was believed to be one way to lift the spirits of the residents.” Bus tours to the statue don’t start until June, so we only got to see it through the zoom lens of Jenni’s camera. Our road trip continued to Spokane where I had a conference to attend. This is where the most memorable part of our journey occurred—something that still gives me chills. Our hotel was about a half mile from Riverside Park and we wanted Seth and Noah to ride the carousel. We walked and I got a little turned around (it’s that directionally challenged thing). Jenni followed me because even though she is not directionally challenged, she thought since I used to live in Spokane I might know where I was going. This was her first mistake. Anyway, we found ourselves on the end of the park where the Washington Power Company is and we had to cross some bridges over the Spokane River to get into the park. The rapids were amazing and Jenni wanted to get a picture of the twins on the bridge. She was fiddling with the camera and Seth sat down on a concrete ledge, just the perfect height for a 4-year-old to rest on. As I looked up, I realized the iron bars on the bridge were spaced so far apart, all Seth would have had to do is lean back and he would have fallen through to the rapids and rocks below. In times like this, things flash through your mind. I imagined him falling and Jenni going in after him. I know that’s what her instinct would have been. Her father-in-law was killed in Costa Rica when he became sick on a bridge. The limo driver let him out, he walked over to the side where he lost his balance and fell to his death. Jenni’s mother-in-law’s instinct was to go after him and the limo driver had to hold her back. Would I have had enough presence of mind to hold Jenni back? Or would I have lost my grandson and daughter that day? It still makes me cry to think about it. I know that people can become paralyzed with anxieties about things that could have but didn’t happen and I’m working through that. However, that evening while I was sitting in my conference at the INB Performing Arts Center, my mind kept drifting to how the night could have turned out so much differently. Spokane is about the have the wrath of a grandma unleashed upon them. I’m not going on anymore road trips for awhile. As I took a walk this morning in my quiet Ephrata neighborhood, I realized it was enough. I am glad I am home.

Give Me a B! Give Me an O! Give me an N! Give me a D!

Grant County Journal Give me a B! Give me an O! Give me an N! Give me a D! March 29, 2010 Written by Janet Warren Once upon a time, 36 years ago to be exact, I sat in an Economics 101 class as a freshman in college. I ended up dropping the class because, as an 18-year-old, I felt I may actually die of boredom if I remained in the class for the whole semester. Flash forward. My eyes still glaze over when politicians banter about their various economic policies that will save the world. The difference is that now I understand my life will be affected and that I had better stay awake, pay attention, and be more proactive. So what does this have to do with the price of rice in China? (Well, quite a lot actually, but let’s not go there). I’m going to talk to you about the Columbia Basin Hospital Bond special election that is coming up on April 17th. In an article published in the Journal on March 15th, Randy Bracht quotes Robert Reeder, the Columbia Basin Hospital Administrator: “Our hospital was built in 1957, and it’s reaching the end of its useful life,” said Reeder. This is personal, I was born in 1958. The hospital needs renovating, people! One great thing about writing an opinion column is that I don’t have to present the other side. I can be completely biased, which I am. I am biased because I don’t think I can retire in a city that doesn’t have a hospital, and that’s what Ephrata is looking at if this bond doesn’t pass. It’s not going to keep operating like it is now. As Susan Scheib, the Community Relations Coordinator for the hospital explained: “You can’t just keep putting a Band-Aid on the hospital. There comes a point where you have to fix it.” It is estimated that if this bond measure does not pass, the hospital will close within five years. The assisted living and long-term care facilities will also close as they depend on hospital dollars to operate. Most likely, the clinic will close as it will be difficult to keep and attract doctors here if support facilities of the hospital aren’t available. The hospital employs 141 full-time employees, making it a top employer in Ephrata. When these employees lose their jobs, Ephrata will feel the effects and they will be significant. I may not be an expert on the economy, but I am bright enough to know that eliminating 141 jobs in a city with a population of 7,500 will be devastating to Ephrata’s businesses and schools. Susan took me on a tour of the hospital so I could see for myself what passing the bond will do. At first glance, the building doesn’t look as old as it is because the hospital is kept impeccably clean. It’s hard to do that with such an old building which tells me the employees take pride in working there. What is apparent, however, is how crowded everything is. Especially the physical therapy department which basically consists of one room with a lot of equipment. There is a great demand for these services in Ephrata. If you have ever been there for therapy after a knee or hip replacement, your ballot will be one of the first to hit the mailbox. The lab is another area where people are walking on top of each other. This is the only department I have personally dealt with. I like my health care provider in Wenatchee, and when we moved to Ephrata I kept going to her. However, it’s more convenient for me to go to the hospital in Ephrata to get my lab work done. The phlebotomist, Jaime Bravo, is the only person on this planet who has consistently gotten blood out of my shy veins on the first try. I love him. The hospital bond voted on during the general election in 2010 narrowly failed, gathering only 59.2 percent of yes votes, instead of the needed 60 percent. That means, in terms I can understand, we missed out on updating our hospital because 30 people in Ephrata failed to mail in their ballots. We have an opportunity for a do-over. Perhaps the plans for the hospital in 2010 were a bit grandiose for Ephrata’s blood. The hospital board listened and pared it down. The details are in Randy Bracht’s article in March 15’s paper--please read it. My purpose in writing this column is to be a cheerleader for those 30 people whose ballots may have ended up in the trash. All my life I’ve heard “Every vote counts.” Poppycock. I voted for my candidate for president in the primary 2008 election via absentee ballot and he pulled out of the race before my vote was counted. But here’s a situation where we do need everybody’s vote. I know it’s scary to think about property rates going up and sometimes I wonder how I can keep pace with some of the other financial demands being put on me. I know most of you are in that situation, too. But Ephrata needs a hospital and it will affect your quality of life if the bond doesn’t pass. The citizens of Ephrata supported the community swimming pool and the schools. It’s time to step up to the plate and support the hospital. As my guru, Dr. Seuss penned for The Lorax: “Unless someone like you cares a whole awful lot, nothing’s going to get better. It’s not”.

February 23, 2010 Grant County Journal Whadda ya mean I’m not friendly? Written by Janet Warren Occasionally I get a comment from one of my readers that makes me smile. My favorite is from the lady who feels like she is sitting on a lounge chair at the beach catching up with an old, comfortable friend when she reads my column. I have had people tell me they feel like they know me even though they have never met me. I know my husband often jokes we have no secrets at the Warren house! I do believe if I ran for public office there would be nothing the opposing party could dig up on me—I have confessed to everything already. Well almost everything—there is something I haven’t told you and it came to the forefront this week when one of the police officers told my husband he didn’t think I was very friendly. “She never waves to us when we see her driving.” Truth be told, it kind of freaks me out that they know what kind of car I drive. But I was bound and determined to rectify my perceived unfriendliness so the next time I saw a police car, I started waving like a maniac. As it passed, however, I realized it had Sheriff written on the side and (although I may be wrong) I don’t think the deputies have a clue I’m the police chief’s wife. The Deputy politely waved back. Which brings me to the topic I have been mulling over this month. People, like me, who were raised in large communities often develop a heightened sense of emotional boundaries. I actually am a friendly person, which is why I write the way I do. You really do know me if you’ve been reading my columns. To me it is a way to connect with you without invading your space. You don’t have to look at me coldly if you don’t want to listen, just turn the page. On the other hand, Mike was raised in small towns in Oregon. He was 15 the first time he, a self-described country bumpkin, visited Portland. He remembers walking down the street, saying “hi, how are you” to everyone only to get ignored or dismissed with a stare. But Mike is a friendly guy and much of that comes from being raised in places where everybody knew his name. He fits in so well in Ephrata. He still walks down the street saying “hi, how are you” to everyone, but now the people he meets are as friendly as he is. I would say at least if he isn’t handcuffing them, but even that doesn’t seem to be the case. For those of you who don’t know, the police chief’s job is mostly administrative. Mike isn’t usually the first responder and he rarely takes someone to jail. He does, however, fill in when needed and his services were needed during the first Basin Summer Sounds he was working. He was the only one with a vehicle as the other officers were on bikes or involved elsewhere. There was a fight and one of the men was handcuffed and put in Mike’s vehicle to go to jail. As Mike started driving, he realized he had never booked anyone into the Grant County Jail and he said out loud, “I’m not sure where I’m supposed to take you.” The young man responded, “Oh no worries, I’ve been there lots of times, I’ll tell you what to do.” And sure enough, he directed him as to what door to go in, where to sign in, and greeted the officers at the jail. Another incident happened recently when two young men came into the police department to say their goodbyes to the police officers because they were going in front of the judge the next day to be sentenced. Somehow I don’t think things like that happen in larger towns. Sure enough, I read in the paper they went away to prison for a couple of years. I hope I don’t sound like I don’t want to be in Ephrata. Not so! I admit when I moved here it was a bit of a culture shock. I have had to loosen up a bit and consciously think that the person standing next to me in the grocery line would not think I was invading his privacy if I spoke to him. There are things I miss about living in a bigger city, mostly conveniences. There are things I do not miss, however, like traffic. Even when I am frustrated trying to get out of the Safeway parking lot onto Basin Street during the “rush 15-minutes” around 3 p.m. I am so grateful I live here instead of Denver or Seattle. I can even mail a package at the post office without standing in line for a half an hour. Mike and I felt like eating a pizza with a movie recently, so I called ahead to order it. I ordered a Barbeque Chicken Pizza, not realizing there was Canadian Bacon on it. When we arrived, we were told the Canadian Bacon was kept off of it because they remembered Mike is allergic to pork. When does that happen in an impersonal big city? The first week I moved to Ephrata, a bank teller wrote me a hand-written note apologizing for some slip up. My experience up until then had been that bankers don’t acknowledge mistakes, let alone apologize for them. I’m learning the small town ways so please be patient with me. If you drive a white car with a ski rack on top and a middle-age woman starts waving hysterically at you…well, it’s probably just me mistaking you for a police car.

Grant County Journal Road Trip! Road Trip! Written by Janet Warren April 26, 2012 I spent almost half of April in Syracuse. No, not Syracuse, New York—Syracuse, Utah. If you don’t know where Syracuse, Utah is you are not alone. Most of the people who live in Utah don’t know where it is unless you mention it’s in between Ogden and Layton. Utah has an interesting layout. Here in Ephrata when you set out to go to the next town, you know when you arrive because there is a lot of farmland in between. In Utah, you never know what town you’re in because they all run together. And don’t get me started on their grid system of street layout—it’s the most confusing thing I’ve experienced. It’s not just the fact that I get lost easily—I never get lost driving in Chandler, Arizona where the grid system actually makes sense and is easy to follow. My sister and her family recently moved to Syracuse. My brother-in-law, Denny, is a manager for Gordmans department store, and they just opened up the Utah territory. So Mike and I took a road trip to Utah with our daughter, Jenni, and three grandchildren in tow. I love it when Mike goes on our little adventures because he likes to drive. We dropped a car off at the Spokane airport for him, and then he drove the 12 or 13 hours to Syracuse. Mike flew back to Spokane a few days later, because as he likes to point out—“Someone has to work,” and Jenni did the driving back home. I always offer to drive, but no one takes me up on it, except my sisters. I once drove my sister, Diane, from Reno, Nevada to Ocean City, New Jersey. This was before I had a GPS and we didn’t even get lost until we hit the New Jersey Turnpike. In my defense, who doesn’t get lost on the New Jersey Turnpike? My sisters and I are directionally impaired so the invention of the GPS changed our lives. But that’s another story. Jenni went on a little vacation to Costa Rica and the grandchildren stayed with the other grandma in American Fork, Utah. I have to share them sometimes. I spent a lot of time reading and relaxing and shopping at Gordmans. My sister, Sara, is one of my best friends so we always have good laughs. Our road trip back to Ephrata was a little longer. We spent the first night in Butte, Montana. Have you ever seen the 90-foot statue of Mary, Our Lady of the Rockies, on top of the Continental Divide in Butte? According to a website: “Our Lady of the Rockies is entirely nondenominational and was dedicated in 1985 to workers and women everywhere — especially to mothers. Butte was an area hard hit by copper mine closures in the early 1980s and this Madonna was believed to be one way to lift the spirits of the residents.” Bus tours to the statue don’t start until June, so we only got to see it through the zoom lens of Jenni’s camera. Our road trip continued to Spokane where I had a conference to attend. This is where the most memorable part of our journey occurred—something that still gives me chills. Our hotel was about a half mile from Riverside Park and we wanted Seth and Noah to ride the carousel. We walked and I got a little turned around (it’s that directionally challenged thing). Jenni followed me because even though she is not directionally challenged, she thought since I used to live in Spokane I might know where I was going. This was her first mistake. Anyway, we found ourselves on the end of the park where the Washington Power Company is and we had to cross some bridges over the Spokane River to get into the park. The rapids were amazing and Jenni wanted to get a picture of the twins on the bridge. She was fiddling with the camera and Seth sat down on a concrete ledge, just the perfect height for a 4-year-old to rest on. As I looked up, I realized the iron bars on the bridge were spaced so far apart, all Seth would have had to do is lean back and he would have fallen through to the rapids and rocks below. In times like this, things flash through your mind. I imagined him falling and Jenni going in after him. I know that’s what her instinct would have been. Her father-in-law was killed in Costa Rica when he became sick on a bridge. The limo driver let him out, he walked over to the side where he lost his balance and fell to his death. Jenni’s mother-in-law’s instinct was to go after him and the limo driver had to hold her back. Would I have had enough presence of mind to hold Jenni back? Or would I have lost my grandson and daughter that day? It still makes me cry to think about it. I know that people can become paralyzed with anxieties about things that could have but didn’t happen and I’m working through that. However, that evening while I was sitting in my conference at the INB Performing Arts Center, my mind kept drifting to how the night could have turned out so much differently. Spokane is about the have the wrath of a grandma unleashed upon them. I’m not going on anymore road trips for awhile. As I took a walk this morning in my quiet Ephrata neighborhood, I realized it was enough. I am glad I am home.

Of Bloopers, Quests and Family

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’

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’.

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!

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.

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.

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.

'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.

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.”

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.

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.

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!