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’.
Friday, December 23, 2011
Saturday, November 5, 2011
One Line Can Make the Difference
Grant County Journal
One Line Can Make the Difference
October 27, 2011
Written by Janet Warren
Halloween used to be my favorite holiday. I’ve been wondering lately why I haven’t been getting ready for it this year. Sure, I started wearing my Halloween socks the beginning of October, but around here that could mean I have school spirit. I started using my Halloween tablecloth and got my witches hat out of storage (just in case). I always have to buy mini pumpkins for decoration, and put my autumn wreath on the door. But that’s it this year. I thought maybe I’m a little lacking in the Halloween spirit because my grandchildren live far away. I imagine if three-year-old Seth was here running around with his eye patch shouting “Shiver Me Timbers!,” I’d whip up a batch of Halloween sugar cookies . Then it hit me. I’m not so excited about Halloween this year because I’m on a diet.
No black and orange m&ms for me this year. No caramel corn, no chocolate, no donuts and cider. I’m one of those weird people who really likes candy corn—but only the orange, white and yellow ones. My friend Connie introduced me to candy corn mixed with peanuts last Halloween. Thanks to her I have a new tasty treat I have to give up this year. I’ve been off sugar for a couple of months now, so I’m not even craving the stuff physically—it’s the emotional craving. I know, it’s pathetic…a holiday based on sugar. I had to get my mind off of it, so I am concentrating on another love of mine. Creepy literature.
Edgar Allan Poe’s The Tell-Tale Heart may not be the best short story, but it is my favorite. One of the main things in good literature is that a story is SHOWN, not TOLD. As the character tells us that he is not insane, Poe brilliantly shows us that, yes, he is.
"TRUE! nervous, very, very dreadfully nervous I had been and am; but why WILL you say that I am mad? The disease had sharpened my senses, not destroyed, not dulled them. Above all was the sense of hearing acute. I heard all things in the heaven and in the earth. I heard many things in hell. How then am I mad? Hearken! and observe how healthily, how calmly, I can tell you the whole story."
What a great first paragraph! Many times when I decide if I want to read a book, I’ll read the first line and the last line. Here’s Poe’s last line:
"Villains!" I shrieked, "dissemble no more! I admit the deed! -- tear up the planks! -- here, here! -- it is the beating of his hideous heart!" The character gives himself up to the police because he hears the beating of his own heart and in his madness is sure the heart of the old man he killed and buried beneath the floorboards is still beating.
Here’s another one by William Faulkner—“A Rose for Emily.” "When Miss Emily Grierson died, our whole town went to her funeral: the men through a sort of respectful affection for a fallen monument, the women mostly out of curiosity to see the inside of her house, which no one save an old man-servant--a combined gardener and cook--had seen in at least ten years."
There is an amazing amount of information in that first line. I was going to give you the last paragraph, but I want you to read the story and the last line would be a spoiler. The great thing about Faulkner’s writing is that you never would have guessed what happens between the first and last lines. Creepy!!!
I’m not sure why my favorite stories are about insane people. The Yellow Wallpaper by Charlotte Perkins Gilman shows a woman’s descent into madness by the gnawing of a bedpost and the faded wallpaper around the room. She doesn’t TELL you the story, she SHOWS it to you.
I’m leaving the Halloween theme now (as well as the insane people subtheme), and if I was a better writer I’d be able to SHOW you that and not just TELL. That’s why I’m taking an online writing class. I am always looking for ways to improve my writing. It doesn’t have a deadline which means I may never finish it, but I am loving everything I’m learning. I needed a project to work on throughout the class. When I moved here two years ago, I met an amazing woman—Kitti Potter. I knew bits and pieces about her life story, and decided I would really like to use it as my project, maybe even write a book. I interviewed her for hours and then I interviewed her husband, Ron. I worked for days to come up with a great first line. I never did, but I came up with a pretty good middle line. "I saw him driving out of a parking lot. Our eyes locked and I could see the sadness. I had broken him. A feeling swept over me, one that I didn’t recognize. Then it hit me. For the first time in my life, I cared." Finally, after many weeks of frustration I called my friend in Oklahoma who is a writer. After telling her what I was attempting, she said, “You know you have chosen the hardest kind of story to tell, don’t you? There is no way you can write it without fictionalizing some of it. You can’t stay true to the story because you can’t get in your friend’s head.” I might be able to TELL this story, but I wouldn’t be able to SHOW it. I understand now. I can’t write this story because it’s not mine to write. I hope Kitti will write it. It’s a beautiful story of love, redemption, and human spirit. You can use my middle line if you want, Kitti, and maybe I can help you come up with a great first one!
One Line Can Make the Difference
October 27, 2011
Written by Janet Warren
Halloween used to be my favorite holiday. I’ve been wondering lately why I haven’t been getting ready for it this year. Sure, I started wearing my Halloween socks the beginning of October, but around here that could mean I have school spirit. I started using my Halloween tablecloth and got my witches hat out of storage (just in case). I always have to buy mini pumpkins for decoration, and put my autumn wreath on the door. But that’s it this year. I thought maybe I’m a little lacking in the Halloween spirit because my grandchildren live far away. I imagine if three-year-old Seth was here running around with his eye patch shouting “Shiver Me Timbers!,” I’d whip up a batch of Halloween sugar cookies . Then it hit me. I’m not so excited about Halloween this year because I’m on a diet.
No black and orange m&ms for me this year. No caramel corn, no chocolate, no donuts and cider. I’m one of those weird people who really likes candy corn—but only the orange, white and yellow ones. My friend Connie introduced me to candy corn mixed with peanuts last Halloween. Thanks to her I have a new tasty treat I have to give up this year. I’ve been off sugar for a couple of months now, so I’m not even craving the stuff physically—it’s the emotional craving. I know, it’s pathetic…a holiday based on sugar. I had to get my mind off of it, so I am concentrating on another love of mine. Creepy literature.
Edgar Allan Poe’s The Tell-Tale Heart may not be the best short story, but it is my favorite. One of the main things in good literature is that a story is SHOWN, not TOLD. As the character tells us that he is not insane, Poe brilliantly shows us that, yes, he is.
"TRUE! nervous, very, very dreadfully nervous I had been and am; but why WILL you say that I am mad? The disease had sharpened my senses, not destroyed, not dulled them. Above all was the sense of hearing acute. I heard all things in the heaven and in the earth. I heard many things in hell. How then am I mad? Hearken! and observe how healthily, how calmly, I can tell you the whole story."
What a great first paragraph! Many times when I decide if I want to read a book, I’ll read the first line and the last line. Here’s Poe’s last line:
"Villains!" I shrieked, "dissemble no more! I admit the deed! -- tear up the planks! -- here, here! -- it is the beating of his hideous heart!" The character gives himself up to the police because he hears the beating of his own heart and in his madness is sure the heart of the old man he killed and buried beneath the floorboards is still beating.
Here’s another one by William Faulkner—“A Rose for Emily.” "When Miss Emily Grierson died, our whole town went to her funeral: the men through a sort of respectful affection for a fallen monument, the women mostly out of curiosity to see the inside of her house, which no one save an old man-servant--a combined gardener and cook--had seen in at least ten years."
There is an amazing amount of information in that first line. I was going to give you the last paragraph, but I want you to read the story and the last line would be a spoiler. The great thing about Faulkner’s writing is that you never would have guessed what happens between the first and last lines. Creepy!!!
I’m not sure why my favorite stories are about insane people. The Yellow Wallpaper by Charlotte Perkins Gilman shows a woman’s descent into madness by the gnawing of a bedpost and the faded wallpaper around the room. She doesn’t TELL you the story, she SHOWS it to you.
I’m leaving the Halloween theme now (as well as the insane people subtheme), and if I was a better writer I’d be able to SHOW you that and not just TELL. That’s why I’m taking an online writing class. I am always looking for ways to improve my writing. It doesn’t have a deadline which means I may never finish it, but I am loving everything I’m learning. I needed a project to work on throughout the class. When I moved here two years ago, I met an amazing woman—Kitti Potter. I knew bits and pieces about her life story, and decided I would really like to use it as my project, maybe even write a book. I interviewed her for hours and then I interviewed her husband, Ron. I worked for days to come up with a great first line. I never did, but I came up with a pretty good middle line. "I saw him driving out of a parking lot. Our eyes locked and I could see the sadness. I had broken him. A feeling swept over me, one that I didn’t recognize. Then it hit me. For the first time in my life, I cared." Finally, after many weeks of frustration I called my friend in Oklahoma who is a writer. After telling her what I was attempting, she said, “You know you have chosen the hardest kind of story to tell, don’t you? There is no way you can write it without fictionalizing some of it. You can’t stay true to the story because you can’t get in your friend’s head.” I might be able to TELL this story, but I wouldn’t be able to SHOW it. I understand now. I can’t write this story because it’s not mine to write. I hope Kitti will write it. It’s a beautiful story of love, redemption, and human spirit. You can use my middle line if you want, Kitti, and maybe I can help you come up with a great first one!
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
Hey Soul Sisters, I Miss Ya!
Grant County Journal
“Hey Soul Sisters…I miss ya!”
Written by Janet Warren
September 22, 2011
Sometimes sisters get a bad rap. In Greek Mythology, the Moirai, otherwise known as The Fates, were born to Zeus, the God of Fate, and Themis, the Goddess of Necessity. They are most often depicted as three hags who control every person’s destiny through a thin thread attached at birth. Clotho spins the threads of life, Lachesis allots the length of the yarn, and Atropos does the final cut. Snip, snip, you die.
Disney’s version of Cinderella isn’t anywhere near as graphic as the Grimms Brother’s version. The Halloween décor has been for sale at Wal-Mart for months, so I’ll give you a taste of the macabre. The stepsisters in the Grimms’ version cut off pieces of their feet to get them to fit in the glass slippers in order to trick the prince. The prince is alerted by birds who are attracted by the blood and peck out the eyes of the wicked stepsisters. They are forced to live out their lives as blind beggars while Cinderella marries the prince and lives happily ever after.
How about the spinster sisters, Martha and Abby Brewster, in Arsenic and Old Lace (1944)? They are two kind, sweet women who go about doing good deeds by killing lonely old men to put them out of their misery. “For a gallon of elderberry wine, I take one teaspoon full of arsenic, then add half a teaspoon full of strychnine, and then just a pinch of cyanide,” Martha explains. She and Abby discovered it tastes much better in elderberry wine than in tea.
As I said, some sisters get a bad rap. But not my sisters.
My sisters make me laugh. And I’m not talking ha ha, I’m talking rolling on the floor, trying not to pee my pants kind of laughing. When we are all together, our children have to brace themselves to see a side of their mothers not often seen. It wasn’t always that way—in fact I would say my sisters and I weren’t particularly close while we were growing up.
My friend, Sandra’s younger sister always borrowed her clothes and stretched out the pants (remember the polyester pant era?)
My niece Brittany’s identical twin, at age four, felt the pain when Brittany broke her arm even though they weren’t together. They still have that kind of connection. I wonder if identical twins have less sibling rivalry than other siblings—that would be an interesting topic to research.
I was seven years younger than my sister Diane and followed her around relentlessly, even wanting to sleep with her. She says I made her pre-teen years hellish. I don’t remember that, and don’t believe it. Moi?
I do, however, remember I was really mean to my sister Sara, three years my junior. When we had ice cream, I would eat mine down to the cone and then force her to trade with me since she still had half of hers. She used the word “probably” a lot. I would mock her every chance I got—“probably, probably, probably,” I taunted. She recently wrote this: “Sisters are there for each other, they play tag team on a moment's notice when other family members are in need, they are there to laugh with, cry with, get through the difficult times together, rejoice in the good times. Sisters are a gift." I think Sara has forgiven me.
I can hear it now from some Ephrata sisters: “Sure you get along with your sisters. You don’t have to live with them in the same small town.” You may be right. My sisters are spread out across the country…Diane is in New Jersey, Sara in Colorado, Valene in Nevada, and here I am in Washington. We’ve never lived close to each other as adults. I’d like to think we would enjoy each other as much as we do now if we all lived in close proximity. But I may never know the answer to that. What I do know is that having a sister changes you whether it is for better or worse.
In my “Leave it to Beaver” upbringing, I never faced many of the horrific things sisters who grew up in abusive families dealt with. I have spoken to sisters who have lived through unimaginable things and many of them form exceptionally strong bonds, especially when they have had to depend on each other to survive emotionally. Those bonds formed while in the belly of the whale cannot be broken.
“Sibling relationships--and 80 percent of Americans have at least one--outlast marriages, survive the death of parents, resurface after quarrels that would sink any friendship. They flourish in a thousand incarnations of closeness and distance, warmth, loyalty and distrust. Asked to describe them, more than a few people stammer and hesitate, tripped up by memory and sudden bursts of unexpected emotion.” ~Erica E. Goode, "The Secret World of Siblings," U.S. News & World Report, 10 January 1994
By the time you read this column, the four Fullenwider sisters will be together in Nevada, along with our brother Dave, who through a cruel twist of fate is forced to spend his life sandwiched between two sisters on either side. We’re coming together to observe and make some serious decisions about our mother, but I’m pretty sure we’ll wedge in some fits of laughter.
“Hey Soul Sisters…I miss ya!”
Written by Janet Warren
September 22, 2011
Sometimes sisters get a bad rap. In Greek Mythology, the Moirai, otherwise known as The Fates, were born to Zeus, the God of Fate, and Themis, the Goddess of Necessity. They are most often depicted as three hags who control every person’s destiny through a thin thread attached at birth. Clotho spins the threads of life, Lachesis allots the length of the yarn, and Atropos does the final cut. Snip, snip, you die.
Disney’s version of Cinderella isn’t anywhere near as graphic as the Grimms Brother’s version. The Halloween décor has been for sale at Wal-Mart for months, so I’ll give you a taste of the macabre. The stepsisters in the Grimms’ version cut off pieces of their feet to get them to fit in the glass slippers in order to trick the prince. The prince is alerted by birds who are attracted by the blood and peck out the eyes of the wicked stepsisters. They are forced to live out their lives as blind beggars while Cinderella marries the prince and lives happily ever after.
How about the spinster sisters, Martha and Abby Brewster, in Arsenic and Old Lace (1944)? They are two kind, sweet women who go about doing good deeds by killing lonely old men to put them out of their misery. “For a gallon of elderberry wine, I take one teaspoon full of arsenic, then add half a teaspoon full of strychnine, and then just a pinch of cyanide,” Martha explains. She and Abby discovered it tastes much better in elderberry wine than in tea.
As I said, some sisters get a bad rap. But not my sisters.
My sisters make me laugh. And I’m not talking ha ha, I’m talking rolling on the floor, trying not to pee my pants kind of laughing. When we are all together, our children have to brace themselves to see a side of their mothers not often seen. It wasn’t always that way—in fact I would say my sisters and I weren’t particularly close while we were growing up.
My friend, Sandra’s younger sister always borrowed her clothes and stretched out the pants (remember the polyester pant era?)
My niece Brittany’s identical twin, at age four, felt the pain when Brittany broke her arm even though they weren’t together. They still have that kind of connection. I wonder if identical twins have less sibling rivalry than other siblings—that would be an interesting topic to research.
I was seven years younger than my sister Diane and followed her around relentlessly, even wanting to sleep with her. She says I made her pre-teen years hellish. I don’t remember that, and don’t believe it. Moi?
I do, however, remember I was really mean to my sister Sara, three years my junior. When we had ice cream, I would eat mine down to the cone and then force her to trade with me since she still had half of hers. She used the word “probably” a lot. I would mock her every chance I got—“probably, probably, probably,” I taunted. She recently wrote this: “Sisters are there for each other, they play tag team on a moment's notice when other family members are in need, they are there to laugh with, cry with, get through the difficult times together, rejoice in the good times. Sisters are a gift." I think Sara has forgiven me.
I can hear it now from some Ephrata sisters: “Sure you get along with your sisters. You don’t have to live with them in the same small town.” You may be right. My sisters are spread out across the country…Diane is in New Jersey, Sara in Colorado, Valene in Nevada, and here I am in Washington. We’ve never lived close to each other as adults. I’d like to think we would enjoy each other as much as we do now if we all lived in close proximity. But I may never know the answer to that. What I do know is that having a sister changes you whether it is for better or worse.
In my “Leave it to Beaver” upbringing, I never faced many of the horrific things sisters who grew up in abusive families dealt with. I have spoken to sisters who have lived through unimaginable things and many of them form exceptionally strong bonds, especially when they have had to depend on each other to survive emotionally. Those bonds formed while in the belly of the whale cannot be broken.
“Sibling relationships--and 80 percent of Americans have at least one--outlast marriages, survive the death of parents, resurface after quarrels that would sink any friendship. They flourish in a thousand incarnations of closeness and distance, warmth, loyalty and distrust. Asked to describe them, more than a few people stammer and hesitate, tripped up by memory and sudden bursts of unexpected emotion.” ~Erica E. Goode, "The Secret World of Siblings," U.S. News & World Report, 10 January 1994
By the time you read this column, the four Fullenwider sisters will be together in Nevada, along with our brother Dave, who through a cruel twist of fate is forced to spend his life sandwiched between two sisters on either side. We’re coming together to observe and make some serious decisions about our mother, but I’m pretty sure we’ll wedge in some fits of laughter.
Sunday, September 4, 2011
The Times They Are A-Changin'
Grant County Journal
“The Times They Are A-Changin’”
Thursday, August 25, 2011
Written by Janet Warren
Come senators, congressmen
Please heed the call
Don't stand in the doorway
Don't block up the hall
For he that gets hurt
Will be he who has stalled
There's a battle outside
And it is ragin'
It'll soon shake your windows
And rattle your walls
For the times they are a-changin'.
These lyrics were written by Bob Dylan 47 years ago, sung at the beginning of his career when you could still understand his words. His song, Times They Are A-Changin’ became an anthem for civil rights and anti-war movements in the late 1960s. It shook a lot of people up at the time, but now the lyrics make me melancholy. They are as relevant today as they were in 1964, except now our windows are shaking and our walls are rattling.
When I first started writing my column, Just Sayin’, almost a year ago (yes, it has been that long—the first one was published September 27, 2010) I wrote this: “I want to write about the good things and the good people of Ephrata. I might write about some of the bad, but the ugly, not so much. You can always get your ugly somewhere else.” I’ve held true to that premise; I have tried to put a positive spin on people and situations. As depressing as things get around us in the world, there is always room for laughter, fun, and sometimes plain frivolity so I decided to do a little changing myself.
I want to change the name of the column. I was listening to a spot on the internet from August, 2009, where political comedian Jon Stewart blasted a segment on CNN entitled Just Sayin’. He said, “They report the news like I think—when I was a 12-year-old girl.” Hmm, that was two years ago, so that 12-year-old would now be 14. I don’t have a 14-year-old girl living in my home anymore, but I used to be a 14-year-old girl and I also raised two daughters. I have experienced eye rolling from both sides of my retinas. Here’s what I imagine the conversation would be if my daughter was 14: (Preceded with a very loud sigh and rolling of eyes) “Really, mom—Just Sayin’? Can’t you come up with something less lame? That is so 2009.” I admit it, my imaginary 14-year-old got to me. Then I read an article entitled “It’s Rude! It’s Crude! It’s Stupid! Just sayin’, by Scott Simon. Simon says (Yes, that is the name of his column): “Saying, ‘I'm just saying,’ puts a fire escape onto the end of a sentence. It lets you express a stern — even rude — opinion, but not really. You're just saying. It invites the listener to discount what we've just heard, even as we're reeling from it.”
What if Bob Dylan had written lyrics like: The line it is drawn, the curse it is cast, the slow one now will later be fast. Just sayin’.
I posted a status on facebook (so there, you bratty imaginary daughter—I am using social media, doesn’t that mean I am keeping up with the times?) asking my friends for ideas for a new title for this column. I got a lot of good ideas. My favorite was from my friend Denise. She suggested “Bits from the Basin.” I liked that, but I shortened it to “Basin Bits.” I made the mistake of saying it fast three times and got “Bison Chips.” From there a haunting song from my childhood kept creeping into my mind about pioneer children gathering buffalo chips for fuel.
I’ve covered a variety of topics in my 46 columns (posted on www.justsayinephrata.blogspot.com), and written about some really great people I have met. My column is about first impressions. It’s an opinion column; I haven’t always kept it light, but I have tried to keep it positive. I wrote about Dorothy Bair and her sense of humor, I wrote about breast cancer awareness, the civil air patrol, and women’s suffrage. I wrote about the line dancing grannies and the red hat society ladies. I wrote about Shirley and Joe Reilly—Shirley asked for the community’s prayers that a kidney/pancreas transplant would be forthcoming for Joe. I called Shirley to check up on Joe and prayers were answered. Not only did Joe undergo a double transplant—he is doing remarkably well. Thank you Ephrata from the bottom of their hearts. I wrote about a lot of exceptional people, including my father when he passed last month.
Thank you for letting me into your homes with my column. I’m not sure I’m ready for too much change. I’m going from every week in Monday’s paper to once a month in Thursday’s paper; that might be enough change for now. I’ll leave the name the same until I can think up a better one. After all—“What’s in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.” Just sayin’. Nah—it’s gotta go. I’ll work on that.
“The Times They Are A-Changin’”
Thursday, August 25, 2011
Written by Janet Warren
Come senators, congressmen
Please heed the call
Don't stand in the doorway
Don't block up the hall
For he that gets hurt
Will be he who has stalled
There's a battle outside
And it is ragin'
It'll soon shake your windows
And rattle your walls
For the times they are a-changin'.
These lyrics were written by Bob Dylan 47 years ago, sung at the beginning of his career when you could still understand his words. His song, Times They Are A-Changin’ became an anthem for civil rights and anti-war movements in the late 1960s. It shook a lot of people up at the time, but now the lyrics make me melancholy. They are as relevant today as they were in 1964, except now our windows are shaking and our walls are rattling.
When I first started writing my column, Just Sayin’, almost a year ago (yes, it has been that long—the first one was published September 27, 2010) I wrote this: “I want to write about the good things and the good people of Ephrata. I might write about some of the bad, but the ugly, not so much. You can always get your ugly somewhere else.” I’ve held true to that premise; I have tried to put a positive spin on people and situations. As depressing as things get around us in the world, there is always room for laughter, fun, and sometimes plain frivolity so I decided to do a little changing myself.
I want to change the name of the column. I was listening to a spot on the internet from August, 2009, where political comedian Jon Stewart blasted a segment on CNN entitled Just Sayin’. He said, “They report the news like I think—when I was a 12-year-old girl.” Hmm, that was two years ago, so that 12-year-old would now be 14. I don’t have a 14-year-old girl living in my home anymore, but I used to be a 14-year-old girl and I also raised two daughters. I have experienced eye rolling from both sides of my retinas. Here’s what I imagine the conversation would be if my daughter was 14: (Preceded with a very loud sigh and rolling of eyes) “Really, mom—Just Sayin’? Can’t you come up with something less lame? That is so 2009.” I admit it, my imaginary 14-year-old got to me. Then I read an article entitled “It’s Rude! It’s Crude! It’s Stupid! Just sayin’, by Scott Simon. Simon says (Yes, that is the name of his column): “Saying, ‘I'm just saying,’ puts a fire escape onto the end of a sentence. It lets you express a stern — even rude — opinion, but not really. You're just saying. It invites the listener to discount what we've just heard, even as we're reeling from it.”
What if Bob Dylan had written lyrics like: The line it is drawn, the curse it is cast, the slow one now will later be fast. Just sayin’.
I posted a status on facebook (so there, you bratty imaginary daughter—I am using social media, doesn’t that mean I am keeping up with the times?) asking my friends for ideas for a new title for this column. I got a lot of good ideas. My favorite was from my friend Denise. She suggested “Bits from the Basin.” I liked that, but I shortened it to “Basin Bits.” I made the mistake of saying it fast three times and got “Bison Chips.” From there a haunting song from my childhood kept creeping into my mind about pioneer children gathering buffalo chips for fuel.
I’ve covered a variety of topics in my 46 columns (posted on www.justsayinephrata.blogspot.com), and written about some really great people I have met. My column is about first impressions. It’s an opinion column; I haven’t always kept it light, but I have tried to keep it positive. I wrote about Dorothy Bair and her sense of humor, I wrote about breast cancer awareness, the civil air patrol, and women’s suffrage. I wrote about the line dancing grannies and the red hat society ladies. I wrote about Shirley and Joe Reilly—Shirley asked for the community’s prayers that a kidney/pancreas transplant would be forthcoming for Joe. I called Shirley to check up on Joe and prayers were answered. Not only did Joe undergo a double transplant—he is doing remarkably well. Thank you Ephrata from the bottom of their hearts. I wrote about a lot of exceptional people, including my father when he passed last month.
Thank you for letting me into your homes with my column. I’m not sure I’m ready for too much change. I’m going from every week in Monday’s paper to once a month in Thursday’s paper; that might be enough change for now. I’ll leave the name the same until I can think up a better one. After all—“What’s in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.” Just sayin’. Nah—it’s gotta go. I’ll work on that.
Tuesday, August 2, 2011
Children Are Like Starfish
Grant County Journal
Children Are Like Starfishes
August 1, 2011
Written by Janet Warren
I have often wondered what makes us choose our paths in life. After years of reflection, I’ve come to the conclusion that little, perhaps inconsequential things at the time, turn us toward the paths we take. There is not one path, but a series of paths we choose, and the reason we choose them is because we are building on prior experiences. When I look back on my own life, my hindsight is clear. I spent the first six years of my life in southern California, and the ocean still beckons to me. From ages six to eleven, I looked at the base of Mount Olympus from my kitchen table, and now I feel like I’ve come home when mountains surround me.
I spoke with two people recently about a decision their families made—adoption; international adoption to be specific. When I spoke to Mindy Wall about the decision she and her husband Darryl made, I understood that experiences she had as a child made her more open to the direction her life has taken. “I always knew I wanted to adopt,” Mindy said, “because when I was 14, my stepfather adopted me. He was so kind to me and changed my life, and I wanted to do the same for a child.” After three biological children (Spencer, Mitchell, and Ethan) it became apparent Mindy shouldn’t have any more, and what had been a thought began to become reality. Because they had dealt with some special needs with one of their sons, Mindy and Darryl felt equipped to adopt an older child with special needs. Their first adopted child came from Russia. When Mindy and Darryl saw a video of Nik he was singing and they fell in love. Both Mindy and Darryl have music degrees and music is a big part of their lives. A year after seeing that video, Mindy and Darryl celebrated Nik’s fifth birthday in the Russian orphanage right before they brought him home. Nik was born without a right hand and has only two fingers on his left hand. Mindy said, “We didn’t want our kids to grow up with a handicapped mentality. We wanted them to know they were capable and able to do anything they set their minds to. Nik (now 15) is a phenomenal soccer player as well as an amazing piano player.
With four sons, ages 9, 7, 5 and 3, the Wall’s decided to build their dream home in Ephrata. The adoption thought kept at them, and they decided to add a sister from China to the mix in 2006. The money didn’t come as easily this time, but the Walls pressed forward to adopt a 2 ½-year-old girl with atresia/microtia, which means she has no ears or ear canals. Once again, the Wall’s provided every opportunity for a normal life to their child, whom they named Alaina. Her nickname in China was LuLu, and she was called that for the first year of her life because she responded to it.
Life hasn’t been easy for the Walls, but it has been quite an adventure. They ended up having to sell their dream home to get out of debt after the second adoption. Mindy says it was a very hard decision and she still misses her house every day. However, she says, “Our kids have all along been our priority.”
After Alaina, the Walls felt their family was complete. That is, until Alaina out of the blue started to pray for a sister. “Where’s my sister,” she asked. “I have brothers, but no sister.” She began making comments about wanting a sister from China because girls in China don’t have any ears. Mindy tried to explain to her that some girls in China do have ears, but out of a series of what could be called coincidences by the uninitiated, the Walls are preparing to adopt a girl from China, the same age as Alaina, with the same medical condition. (Try explaining to Alaina now that not all girls in China are earless). They aren’t sure where the money will come, but a way has always been provided. The little girl’s nickname is LeLe. LeLe and LuLu, both with no ears…don’t tell me that was a coincidence. The Walls will scrimp and scrape to bring LeLe home. A yard sale at the corner of Mocliff and Loma Place will take place beginning at 9 a.m. on August 13. Darryl and Mindy are working on a musical CD to sell as an adoption fundraiser. It should be ready by Christmas.
What about the Tucker’s path to adoption? Matthew Tucker, who is an associate pastor at First Baptist Church, and his wife, Candice, brought home their son Agezu, age 3, from Ethiopia last month. Matt’s path began when he was a kid in the mid-80s. He remembers seeing images of Ethiopian children on TV and wishing his family could bring a starving baby home. He thinks it is a bit ironic that he brings his son home in 2011 when Ethiopia is on the verge of another drought. However, there were a lot of other things that happened between then and now.
Matt and Candice started out their life together wanting children. They assumed they would have many, but after two biological births and a number of miscarriages, both of them decided their family was going to be something different than they had imagined. Candice’s sister, Leah, is a missionary in Hungary. She told the Tuckers about the gypsy babies—babies left in the street in a country where prejudices against gypsies make them into less than human. Both Matt and Candice were touched to the core by the stories of gypsy babies, but it is very difficult and very expensive to adopt from European countries. When Matt found out there is somewhere around 147 million orphans in the world, he began to feel it didn’t matter where they adopted, they all needed help. “I wasn’t trying to make a statement,” Matt said. “It’s kind of like the story with the starfish.”
One day a man was walking along the beach when he noticed a boy picking something up and gently throwing it into the ocean. Approaching the boy, he asked, “What are you doing?” The youth replied, “Throwing starfish back into the ocean. The surf is up and the tide is going out. If I don’t throw them back, they’ll die. “Son,” the man said, “don’t you realize there are miles and miles of beach and hundreds of starfish? You can’t make a difference!”
After listening politely, the boy bent down, picked up another starfish and threw it back into the surf. Then, smiling at the man, he said: “I made a difference for that one.” (Original story by Loren Eisley).
So, the Tuckers approached their sons, Timothy and Trice. “Do you want a brother or a sister?” Matt asked the boys. After a moment’s consideration, Timothy said, “We need a catcher, let’s get a brother.” Little did they know at that very period of time, their brother was being born in Ethiopia. Three years later, the Tuckers brought home Agezu, a small, beautiful boy whose only problem seems to be that he was starved for the first two years of his life. It’s time for Agezu to play catch up, and before you know it he’ll be playing catcher.
This column will move to the Thursday edition, once a month, probably the fourth week, maybe the third…we’re still trying to work that out.
Children Are Like Starfishes
August 1, 2011
Written by Janet Warren
I have often wondered what makes us choose our paths in life. After years of reflection, I’ve come to the conclusion that little, perhaps inconsequential things at the time, turn us toward the paths we take. There is not one path, but a series of paths we choose, and the reason we choose them is because we are building on prior experiences. When I look back on my own life, my hindsight is clear. I spent the first six years of my life in southern California, and the ocean still beckons to me. From ages six to eleven, I looked at the base of Mount Olympus from my kitchen table, and now I feel like I’ve come home when mountains surround me.
I spoke with two people recently about a decision their families made—adoption; international adoption to be specific. When I spoke to Mindy Wall about the decision she and her husband Darryl made, I understood that experiences she had as a child made her more open to the direction her life has taken. “I always knew I wanted to adopt,” Mindy said, “because when I was 14, my stepfather adopted me. He was so kind to me and changed my life, and I wanted to do the same for a child.” After three biological children (Spencer, Mitchell, and Ethan) it became apparent Mindy shouldn’t have any more, and what had been a thought began to become reality. Because they had dealt with some special needs with one of their sons, Mindy and Darryl felt equipped to adopt an older child with special needs. Their first adopted child came from Russia. When Mindy and Darryl saw a video of Nik he was singing and they fell in love. Both Mindy and Darryl have music degrees and music is a big part of their lives. A year after seeing that video, Mindy and Darryl celebrated Nik’s fifth birthday in the Russian orphanage right before they brought him home. Nik was born without a right hand and has only two fingers on his left hand. Mindy said, “We didn’t want our kids to grow up with a handicapped mentality. We wanted them to know they were capable and able to do anything they set their minds to. Nik (now 15) is a phenomenal soccer player as well as an amazing piano player.
With four sons, ages 9, 7, 5 and 3, the Wall’s decided to build their dream home in Ephrata. The adoption thought kept at them, and they decided to add a sister from China to the mix in 2006. The money didn’t come as easily this time, but the Walls pressed forward to adopt a 2 ½-year-old girl with atresia/microtia, which means she has no ears or ear canals. Once again, the Wall’s provided every opportunity for a normal life to their child, whom they named Alaina. Her nickname in China was LuLu, and she was called that for the first year of her life because she responded to it.
Life hasn’t been easy for the Walls, but it has been quite an adventure. They ended up having to sell their dream home to get out of debt after the second adoption. Mindy says it was a very hard decision and she still misses her house every day. However, she says, “Our kids have all along been our priority.”
After Alaina, the Walls felt their family was complete. That is, until Alaina out of the blue started to pray for a sister. “Where’s my sister,” she asked. “I have brothers, but no sister.” She began making comments about wanting a sister from China because girls in China don’t have any ears. Mindy tried to explain to her that some girls in China do have ears, but out of a series of what could be called coincidences by the uninitiated, the Walls are preparing to adopt a girl from China, the same age as Alaina, with the same medical condition. (Try explaining to Alaina now that not all girls in China are earless). They aren’t sure where the money will come, but a way has always been provided. The little girl’s nickname is LeLe. LeLe and LuLu, both with no ears…don’t tell me that was a coincidence. The Walls will scrimp and scrape to bring LeLe home. A yard sale at the corner of Mocliff and Loma Place will take place beginning at 9 a.m. on August 13. Darryl and Mindy are working on a musical CD to sell as an adoption fundraiser. It should be ready by Christmas.
What about the Tucker’s path to adoption? Matthew Tucker, who is an associate pastor at First Baptist Church, and his wife, Candice, brought home their son Agezu, age 3, from Ethiopia last month. Matt’s path began when he was a kid in the mid-80s. He remembers seeing images of Ethiopian children on TV and wishing his family could bring a starving baby home. He thinks it is a bit ironic that he brings his son home in 2011 when Ethiopia is on the verge of another drought. However, there were a lot of other things that happened between then and now.
Matt and Candice started out their life together wanting children. They assumed they would have many, but after two biological births and a number of miscarriages, both of them decided their family was going to be something different than they had imagined. Candice’s sister, Leah, is a missionary in Hungary. She told the Tuckers about the gypsy babies—babies left in the street in a country where prejudices against gypsies make them into less than human. Both Matt and Candice were touched to the core by the stories of gypsy babies, but it is very difficult and very expensive to adopt from European countries. When Matt found out there is somewhere around 147 million orphans in the world, he began to feel it didn’t matter where they adopted, they all needed help. “I wasn’t trying to make a statement,” Matt said. “It’s kind of like the story with the starfish.”
One day a man was walking along the beach when he noticed a boy picking something up and gently throwing it into the ocean. Approaching the boy, he asked, “What are you doing?” The youth replied, “Throwing starfish back into the ocean. The surf is up and the tide is going out. If I don’t throw them back, they’ll die. “Son,” the man said, “don’t you realize there are miles and miles of beach and hundreds of starfish? You can’t make a difference!”
After listening politely, the boy bent down, picked up another starfish and threw it back into the surf. Then, smiling at the man, he said: “I made a difference for that one.” (Original story by Loren Eisley).
So, the Tuckers approached their sons, Timothy and Trice. “Do you want a brother or a sister?” Matt asked the boys. After a moment’s consideration, Timothy said, “We need a catcher, let’s get a brother.” Little did they know at that very period of time, their brother was being born in Ethiopia. Three years later, the Tuckers brought home Agezu, a small, beautiful boy whose only problem seems to be that he was starved for the first two years of his life. It’s time for Agezu to play catch up, and before you know it he’ll be playing catcher.
This column will move to the Thursday edition, once a month, probably the fourth week, maybe the third…we’re still trying to work that out.
Monday, July 11, 2011
'Til We Meet Again
Grant County Journal
‘Til We Meet Again
July 11, 2011
Written by Janet Fullenwider Warren
I watched my father die last Tuesday. Actually, I went out in the hall as I was giving my sister a progress report on the phone. When I came back in the room, I knew immediately he was gone. It was an agonizingly slow process, but the last hour was filled with peace. He was in pain, heavily medicated, breathing rapidly. It was a difficult thing to watch—until the last hour. Then it became surprisingly sweet and peaceful. The caregiver came in to give him his last dose of medicine. “Do you feel the change in the room?” she asked. It went from anxiously waiting to a feeling of heaven being near. He started to breathe very slowly, sometimes stopping altogether, only to resume with a small gasp. And then one time he didn’t start breathing again.
I was chosen by my family to write my dad’s obituary. You know me, I get long-winded sometimes. I kept the obituary to a little over 500 words (my columns are usually 1,000 words). When you’re paying by the line, however, 500 words can add up to $511. Can you imagine? (Check out Reno Gazette Journal, rgj.com/obituaries). But 500 words wasn’t enough to tell people what I wanted to tell them about my dad. Lucky for me, I have a captive audience in my hometown, so I will tell you some of the stories about my dad that I didn’t put in his obituary. For example, the time in high school when my 110 instamatic camera didn’t work. My dad could fix anything and I figured he could fix the camera too. “Well, I can try, but don’t be upset if I break it.” He unscrewed it and springs went flying all around the kitchen. My father uttered a very rare sentence in our home—“I think it would be cheaper to buy a new one.”
Frugal was my father’s middle name; in fact, he would die again if he knew how much we spent on his obituary. Yet when it came to helping his family he was very generous. When Dad lived in Spokane, Washington, my sister Diane lived in Reno, Nevada. Diane had just gone through a divorce (you might think this is a common theme in our family, but Diane and I are the only ones who were ever divorced. My parents were married for 68 years). She was feeling overwhelmed with taking care of herself and her young son. My dad called her up and said, “Diane, I have a couple of airline tickets from Reno to Spokane sitting around with your name on it. Would you and Jeffrey like to come for a visit?”
My father was very handsome. Diane remembers when she was 11 years old, dad took her on a daddy-daughter date at our church. My mom made Diane a corsage and my dad a boutonniere. Diane remembers looking up at my father and thinking he was the most handsome man in the world. She was so proud to be with him that night.
My sister Sara remembers riding in the hills of Sparks, Nevada with my father on motorbikes. I tried once, but I didn’t like it. Sara was also the only daughter Dad ever let drive his motorhome.
For many years, my father was the only man in my life I could trust. After my divorce, he was a rock for me. I knew he loved me when I felt my life was falling apart. Because of my father’s example of loyalty, truthfulness, and integrity, I didn’t lose faith in marrying again. I knew there were men like my father out there and I was able to recognize those traits in Mike when I met him. I really did marry my father in some ways. My sorrow is that Mike and my dad didn’t have thirty years together. Both my dad and Mike think work is fun—they would have had so much fun together!
My nephew, Jeff Neuweiler spoke at my father’s funeral. Jeff is the oldest grandchild, and he had a very special relationship with my father. I had held it together pretty well up to this point, but Jeff’s words about his grandpa touched me deeply. When Jeff moved away from home, my father told him that in any given situation if he would “do the right thing” he couldn’t go wrong. Four words changed my nephew’s life. This was the same advice dad gave to all of us and it is my father’s legacy. My dad always tried to do the right thing.
My dad sang a song over the generations to us and to our children. Two months before his death, trying to get a reaction out of my uncommunicative father, Diane and I sang this song to him. He began to wave his arms to lead us. The day before dad’s funeral my niece Jill found herself singing his song all day. Before my father’s casket was closed for the final time, the family and some close friends had some private time. I asked my brother and sisters to join me in singing dad’s song. My sisters knew I was going to do this, but my brother, Dave, was surprised. But you know, he remembered all the words and he was the best at doing the hand motions.
Up in the air, Junior Birdman,
Up in the air, upside down.
Up in the air Junior Birdman,
Keep your nose right to the ground.
If you hear the great commandment
That the planes are made of tin
Then you’ll know that Junior Birdman
Has turned his boxtops in.
Over and out Junior Birdman. You will always be my hero.
‘Til We Meet Again
July 11, 2011
Written by Janet Fullenwider Warren
I watched my father die last Tuesday. Actually, I went out in the hall as I was giving my sister a progress report on the phone. When I came back in the room, I knew immediately he was gone. It was an agonizingly slow process, but the last hour was filled with peace. He was in pain, heavily medicated, breathing rapidly. It was a difficult thing to watch—until the last hour. Then it became surprisingly sweet and peaceful. The caregiver came in to give him his last dose of medicine. “Do you feel the change in the room?” she asked. It went from anxiously waiting to a feeling of heaven being near. He started to breathe very slowly, sometimes stopping altogether, only to resume with a small gasp. And then one time he didn’t start breathing again.
I was chosen by my family to write my dad’s obituary. You know me, I get long-winded sometimes. I kept the obituary to a little over 500 words (my columns are usually 1,000 words). When you’re paying by the line, however, 500 words can add up to $511. Can you imagine? (Check out Reno Gazette Journal, rgj.com/obituaries). But 500 words wasn’t enough to tell people what I wanted to tell them about my dad. Lucky for me, I have a captive audience in my hometown, so I will tell you some of the stories about my dad that I didn’t put in his obituary. For example, the time in high school when my 110 instamatic camera didn’t work. My dad could fix anything and I figured he could fix the camera too. “Well, I can try, but don’t be upset if I break it.” He unscrewed it and springs went flying all around the kitchen. My father uttered a very rare sentence in our home—“I think it would be cheaper to buy a new one.”
Frugal was my father’s middle name; in fact, he would die again if he knew how much we spent on his obituary. Yet when it came to helping his family he was very generous. When Dad lived in Spokane, Washington, my sister Diane lived in Reno, Nevada. Diane had just gone through a divorce (you might think this is a common theme in our family, but Diane and I are the only ones who were ever divorced. My parents were married for 68 years). She was feeling overwhelmed with taking care of herself and her young son. My dad called her up and said, “Diane, I have a couple of airline tickets from Reno to Spokane sitting around with your name on it. Would you and Jeffrey like to come for a visit?”
My father was very handsome. Diane remembers when she was 11 years old, dad took her on a daddy-daughter date at our church. My mom made Diane a corsage and my dad a boutonniere. Diane remembers looking up at my father and thinking he was the most handsome man in the world. She was so proud to be with him that night.
My sister Sara remembers riding in the hills of Sparks, Nevada with my father on motorbikes. I tried once, but I didn’t like it. Sara was also the only daughter Dad ever let drive his motorhome.
For many years, my father was the only man in my life I could trust. After my divorce, he was a rock for me. I knew he loved me when I felt my life was falling apart. Because of my father’s example of loyalty, truthfulness, and integrity, I didn’t lose faith in marrying again. I knew there were men like my father out there and I was able to recognize those traits in Mike when I met him. I really did marry my father in some ways. My sorrow is that Mike and my dad didn’t have thirty years together. Both my dad and Mike think work is fun—they would have had so much fun together!
My nephew, Jeff Neuweiler spoke at my father’s funeral. Jeff is the oldest grandchild, and he had a very special relationship with my father. I had held it together pretty well up to this point, but Jeff’s words about his grandpa touched me deeply. When Jeff moved away from home, my father told him that in any given situation if he would “do the right thing” he couldn’t go wrong. Four words changed my nephew’s life. This was the same advice dad gave to all of us and it is my father’s legacy. My dad always tried to do the right thing.
My dad sang a song over the generations to us and to our children. Two months before his death, trying to get a reaction out of my uncommunicative father, Diane and I sang this song to him. He began to wave his arms to lead us. The day before dad’s funeral my niece Jill found herself singing his song all day. Before my father’s casket was closed for the final time, the family and some close friends had some private time. I asked my brother and sisters to join me in singing dad’s song. My sisters knew I was going to do this, but my brother, Dave, was surprised. But you know, he remembered all the words and he was the best at doing the hand motions.
Up in the air, Junior Birdman,
Up in the air, upside down.
Up in the air Junior Birdman,
Keep your nose right to the ground.
If you hear the great commandment
That the planes are made of tin
Then you’ll know that Junior Birdman
Has turned his boxtops in.
Over and out Junior Birdman. You will always be my hero.
Thursday, June 23, 2011
Our gift to the wet side
Grant County Journal
Our Gift to the Wet Side
June 20, 2011
Written by Janet Warren
Bob and Shannon Criss have always worked as a team. Both of them moved quite often as children, and they wanted their own children to have the opportunity of being raised in a single community. Shannon was born in Ephrata, moved away, and then returned the last two years of high school. Bob ended up in Ephrata when he was in high school. So when they married and had their first child, Steven, they decided Ephrata was a good, safe community in which to raise their children. The Criss family—Bob, Shannon, and 6-month-old Steven—moved to Ephrata 22 years ago. Shannon had recently begun her teaching career and taught for a year in Puyallup. She was hired at Grant Elementary School by Dan Martell, who was the principal of Grant. She taught 5th grade for seven years before moving to Ephrata Middle School. While she was there, the District purchased Parkway and Shannon moved there to teach 6th graders. She then moved on to the District Office where she was in charge of curriculum and federal programs. The chance to become a principal came in October of 2005. Shannon had come full circle, landing in the place she had begun but now as principal of Grant.
Shannon has a philosophy that every five to seven years you need to shake things up a bit, which is very sound reasoning. Not only do people benefit from change, but the programs they are involved in benefit from new ideas and new perspectives. As Shannon explained, “There’s something out there calling for me.” She and Bob have finished raising their children; their son Steven is in his last year at Eastern and daughter Megan was a 2011 graduate from Ephrata High School. “We did what we set out to do,” explained Shannon, “which was to raise our children in this small community. We feel we did a good job. We lived our lives for our children—you do the softball, you do the 4H. You do what your kids do. Now what do we do? We’ve got a honeymoon, a new beginning.”
There are exciting changes in store for the Criss family. Shannon was hired as the superintendent for Winlock School District, a district of about 750 students. They have never aspired to live in a big city, but Bob and Shannon will live an hour away from Portland, an hour away from Seattle, an hour from the ocean, and an hour from skiing. But best of all, they will live 92 miles away from their daughter who will attend University of Washington in the fall. Bob has his own business as a real estate appraiser so he can work anywhere, and being an allergy sufferer, the thought of no sage and no dust is particularly appealing. In preparation for Winlock, Shannon bought a raincoat and she was given an umbrella and boots as gifts. Apparently Winlock is very proud of the fact that they are the highest elevation (500 feet) in Lewis County so they don’t get quite as much rain as other places in the county. Shannon will miss her five-day-a-week walk up Beezley Hill. “It clears my head,” she said. On clear days, however, Shannon will be able to walk out of Winlock High School and see Mount St. Helens in front of her and Mount Rainier over to the side. With terrain like that, I believe she will find another hill to climb.
Good educators are always reading and the top of Shannon’s reading list right now is “The Six Secrets of Change—What the Best Leaders Do to Help Their Organizations Survive and Thrive.” It must feel good to read a book like this and realize you already know some of those secrets. Number one is “Love Your Employees,” and it is clear that Shannon has done just that. Lisa Wiersma, Nancy Hustad and Eli Garcia work in the front office and as Lisa said, “You don’t often find an office that can run as cohesively as ours. It is more like a family. Shannon has been an example of compassion, kindness and going above and beyond.” Shannon hopes to take a little bit of Ephrata with her. For sure, she and Bob will join the Lions Club which has been a big part of her life here in Ephrata.
The Criss family is gearing up to become part of the Winlock “Home of the World’s Largest Egg” community. She and Bob will attend Egg Days next week. A fiberglass egg 12 feet long, weighing 1200 pounds is the town’s calling card and has had a version of the egg displayed since 1923. Winlock was the second largest egg producing town until the 1950’s, but the egg theme stuck. A new Egg Queen will be crowned during Egg Days. The Egg Day Committee is trying to contact past Egg Day Queens to attend this year’s Egg Day Celebration. Winlock is honored to have Egg Day Queen of 1938, Joyce Wise Senechal, attending this year. Mrs. Senechal celebrated her 97th birthday on February 23, 2011. These are the things that keep small towns alive.
Shannon is looking forward to learning new things like clam digging and kayaking, although she will miss Ephrata and the friends she has made here. “How do you thank people who have been so instrumental in your life?” Shannon asked. As long as Shannon has Bob by her side, however, she and the rest of the family will be fine. “Bob is my advocate and my strong support system. I couldn’t do what I do without my best friend along.”
Lisa Wiersma summed up Shannon’s leaving best: “Anybody can be replaced in a job, but you can’t replace a person in your heart…she’ll leave a hole, and she will be missed.”
Our Gift to the Wet Side
June 20, 2011
Written by Janet Warren
Bob and Shannon Criss have always worked as a team. Both of them moved quite often as children, and they wanted their own children to have the opportunity of being raised in a single community. Shannon was born in Ephrata, moved away, and then returned the last two years of high school. Bob ended up in Ephrata when he was in high school. So when they married and had their first child, Steven, they decided Ephrata was a good, safe community in which to raise their children. The Criss family—Bob, Shannon, and 6-month-old Steven—moved to Ephrata 22 years ago. Shannon had recently begun her teaching career and taught for a year in Puyallup. She was hired at Grant Elementary School by Dan Martell, who was the principal of Grant. She taught 5th grade for seven years before moving to Ephrata Middle School. While she was there, the District purchased Parkway and Shannon moved there to teach 6th graders. She then moved on to the District Office where she was in charge of curriculum and federal programs. The chance to become a principal came in October of 2005. Shannon had come full circle, landing in the place she had begun but now as principal of Grant.
Shannon has a philosophy that every five to seven years you need to shake things up a bit, which is very sound reasoning. Not only do people benefit from change, but the programs they are involved in benefit from new ideas and new perspectives. As Shannon explained, “There’s something out there calling for me.” She and Bob have finished raising their children; their son Steven is in his last year at Eastern and daughter Megan was a 2011 graduate from Ephrata High School. “We did what we set out to do,” explained Shannon, “which was to raise our children in this small community. We feel we did a good job. We lived our lives for our children—you do the softball, you do the 4H. You do what your kids do. Now what do we do? We’ve got a honeymoon, a new beginning.”
There are exciting changes in store for the Criss family. Shannon was hired as the superintendent for Winlock School District, a district of about 750 students. They have never aspired to live in a big city, but Bob and Shannon will live an hour away from Portland, an hour away from Seattle, an hour from the ocean, and an hour from skiing. But best of all, they will live 92 miles away from their daughter who will attend University of Washington in the fall. Bob has his own business as a real estate appraiser so he can work anywhere, and being an allergy sufferer, the thought of no sage and no dust is particularly appealing. In preparation for Winlock, Shannon bought a raincoat and she was given an umbrella and boots as gifts. Apparently Winlock is very proud of the fact that they are the highest elevation (500 feet) in Lewis County so they don’t get quite as much rain as other places in the county. Shannon will miss her five-day-a-week walk up Beezley Hill. “It clears my head,” she said. On clear days, however, Shannon will be able to walk out of Winlock High School and see Mount St. Helens in front of her and Mount Rainier over to the side. With terrain like that, I believe she will find another hill to climb.
Good educators are always reading and the top of Shannon’s reading list right now is “The Six Secrets of Change—What the Best Leaders Do to Help Their Organizations Survive and Thrive.” It must feel good to read a book like this and realize you already know some of those secrets. Number one is “Love Your Employees,” and it is clear that Shannon has done just that. Lisa Wiersma, Nancy Hustad and Eli Garcia work in the front office and as Lisa said, “You don’t often find an office that can run as cohesively as ours. It is more like a family. Shannon has been an example of compassion, kindness and going above and beyond.” Shannon hopes to take a little bit of Ephrata with her. For sure, she and Bob will join the Lions Club which has been a big part of her life here in Ephrata.
The Criss family is gearing up to become part of the Winlock “Home of the World’s Largest Egg” community. She and Bob will attend Egg Days next week. A fiberglass egg 12 feet long, weighing 1200 pounds is the town’s calling card and has had a version of the egg displayed since 1923. Winlock was the second largest egg producing town until the 1950’s, but the egg theme stuck. A new Egg Queen will be crowned during Egg Days. The Egg Day Committee is trying to contact past Egg Day Queens to attend this year’s Egg Day Celebration. Winlock is honored to have Egg Day Queen of 1938, Joyce Wise Senechal, attending this year. Mrs. Senechal celebrated her 97th birthday on February 23, 2011. These are the things that keep small towns alive.
Shannon is looking forward to learning new things like clam digging and kayaking, although she will miss Ephrata and the friends she has made here. “How do you thank people who have been so instrumental in your life?” Shannon asked. As long as Shannon has Bob by her side, however, she and the rest of the family will be fine. “Bob is my advocate and my strong support system. I couldn’t do what I do without my best friend along.”
Lisa Wiersma summed up Shannon’s leaving best: “Anybody can be replaced in a job, but you can’t replace a person in your heart…she’ll leave a hole, and she will be missed.”
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