by jphilo | May 23, 2016 | Out and About
Last week. I went home again. Actually, I went to my hometown to participate in the presentation of the first Roger Hallum Memorial Scholarship. The scholarship was created to honor Roger Hallum, who led the LeMars Community Schools drama and theater department from 1969–1975. Erica Urban, a senior who will pursue a degree in creative writing at Grandview College, won the scholarship. During a delightful visit with her after the awards assembly, it was obvious she was the right recipient.
In addition to meeting Erica, I was able to spend a lovely spring afternoon with Mr. Hallum’s children, Randy and Kourtney. We stopped at the house the Hallums built during their years in Le Mars. We toured the church they attended, which happened to be the church I attended, too. And we stopped by the high school where Mr. Hallum worked his magic: his classroom, the Little Theater in the high school and the larger theater in the junior high school.
“Do you remember how we called your dad on stage after the last night of The Great Cross Country Race?” I asked Randy as we stood in front of the junior high stage.
“I do,” Randy said. “And I remember how reluctant he was to go up there.”
“That’s because he’d given us strict orders N-E-V-E-R to do that. But it was our senior year and our last show with him. We loved him too much to let him stay in the audience.”
I looked at the stage and saw Mr. Hallum, surrounded by his students, a forced smile on his face as he held up the tortoise and hare cookie jar we gave him as a cast gift.
“Dad had that cookie jar in his kitchen until he died,” Kourtney said. “And the director’s chair, too. He cherished both of them, and the scrapbook your Thespian troupe gave him, too.”
With those words, I was back on the stage. Seventeen. Wearing my hedgehog costume. Crying. Thinking that my relationships with friends and Mr. Hallum would soon end. That I would never see these people again. That they would never think of me again.
But Mr. Hallum thought of his students, just as his students thought of him over the decades. Our gifts graced his house and became part of his children’s memories. Our memories melded as we toured the town. At the scholarship awards program, Randy even wore a polyester suit in honor of his dad.
By the end of the evening, we were fast friends. It was hard to say good-bye.
Hard, but not impossible. Because that day I learned–thanks to a cookie jar, a director’s chair, a scrapbook, and memories–you can go home again when you’re heart’s been touched by a dedicated, talented teacher who cared.
by jphilo | Apr 8, 2016 | Out and About
Next week, I’m flying to McLean Bible Church’s Accessibility Summit. That upcoming event combined with mystery novel that’s my current work in progress makes this post from 2011 quite timely five years later. Before you read, you should know that the protagonist of the new series wears sensible shoes and underwear, contains her cellulite, and has absolutely no accent. At least not where I come from.
It Worked for Mrs. Pollifax
I am in Tyson’s Corner, Virginia (just outside Washington DC) for the Accessibility Summit at McLean Bible Church. To be accurate, the Summit begins later today, and I’m hanging out in the hotel business area because a new heater and AC unit is being installed in my room. My theory is that the CIA has hidden cameras in all hotel rooms in these parts, so they decoded my mutterings when the noisy heater woke me repeatedly in the night. Who says our government isn’t responsive?
The longer I sit here and people watch, the more glaringly apparent it becomes that I’m not in Kansas (yes, I live in Iowa, but please work with me) any more. Even though I read plenty of David Baldacci thrillers, Lisa Scottoline legal mysteries, Mrs. Pollifax CIA romps, and other fiction set on the East Coast to prepare me for this culture shock, it didn’t work. This midwestern gal is jaw-droppingly agog at the accents (this morning’s mix included British, Australian, Jersey, New York, and perhaps German), not to mention the fashion show that began in the Chicago airport yesterday and shows no sign of ending any time soon.
The most noticeable fashion statement thus far is the knee high, calf-hugging boots with three inch heels. Sported mostly by younger women who don’t yet realize “Bunion Builders” is the CIA code name for these boots, they look – well – really expensive, uncomfortable, and positively anti-midwestern.
The second most noticeable statement has been skin tight leggings, sometimes worn with bunion builders, sometimes under baggy, flowing shirts, and sometimes with short shirts and presumably thong underwear since no one had unsightly pantie lines. Apparently, fat jiggles are not considered unsightly in this neck of the woods. This is also anti-midwestern. In that part of the country, there are more fat jiggles per capita, but their owners tend to keep them well hidden.
I’m coping with the culture shock as well as can be expected. So far, I’ve resisted the infrequent urges to buy a pair of bunion builders, squeeze into leggings, or purchase thong underwear. Quite a feat of self-control for this midwestern, former school teacher who holds the door open for strangers, wears flat shoes and khaki pants, and knows better than to hug a Lutheran.
Just to be on the safe side, I’m making a list of anyone who looks like they work for the CIA, starting with the guys installing the heater in my hotel room. Once I get back home, I’ll mail it to the agency with an instructive note about how to make their spies blend in a little better, possibly by hiring midwestern women with sensible shoes, contained cellulite, sensible underwear, and absolutely no accent.
It worked for Mrs. Pollifax.
It could work for me.
Ya, shure, you betcha!
by jphilo | Mar 4, 2016 | Out and About
Five years ago this month, I survived an exciting adventure on a snowy night. This Fantastic Friday celebrates the anniversary of an evening when God made clear that my work here on earth is not yet done. Though much has happened–good and bad–in the five years since, I am still happy to be alive.
Happy to Be Alive
Today, I could be bummed because of last night’s thick, wet snowfall which put a damper upon spring’s steady progress. I could be grinchy and grumpy because daylight savings time kicks in this weekend and will make me wait an extra hour for the sunrises I crave each morning. I could lament the steady drain on our checkbook when car licenses, property taxes, and Hiram’s birthday all arrive in March, also one of the two most grey and dismal months of the year.*
But I’m not bummed.
I’m not grinchy and grumpy.
I’m not lamenting our meager checkbook balance or March’s parade of grey days.
Instead, I am happy to be alive this morning after a snowy, treacherous drive home from Clive last night.
The problem wasn’t that it was snowing hard.
The problem wasn’t winds and drifting.
The problem was a sticky, heavy, wet snow that made it hard to see the side of the road.
I was only going 35 when the car veered toward the shoulder. The bump caused the car to fishtail. It went across the road and almost into the ditch. Then it slid to the other side and almost into that ditch. When it finally stopped moving, the car was pointed south in the northbound lane. I moved into the southbound lane and found a place to turn around.
On the slow trip home, I passed one car being pulled out of the ditch. So I drove slower, thinking about how God chose to answer my frantic prayer as the car and the steering wheel spun out of control.
“God, be with me!” I said.
Whether I ended up in the ditch unharmed or injured,
Whether I made it through without a scratch or in the hospital,
Whether I lived or died,
I knew he would answer that prayer.
He would be with me.
Why did he answer by keeping me out of the ditch, without a scratch on me or the car? Only one explanation comes to mind. His purposes for me are not complete. He has work for me to do. So as the mundane duties of this day unfold, I am happy to be alive, uninjured, and able to to accomplish them.
I am happy to fold underwear,
happy to edit more chapters of my book,
happy to cook and wash dishes,
happy to agonize over what color to paint the bathroom,
happy to watch my husband create another remodeling mess,
happy to see the daffodils poking through the pesky, wet snow,
happy to be alive.
*November is the other one of the two most dismal months.
by jphilo | Feb 15, 2016 | Out and About
Snowstorms. Ground blizzards. Below zero temperatures. They’ve been the constant companions of Iowans for several weeks now. The bad weather makes me long for spring and look forward to summer.
But I’m looking forward to summer for another very good reason, too. Central Iowa’s very first Wonderfully Made Family Camp will debut at Hidden Acres Christian Center June 10–12, 2016. I’m part of a non-denominational planning committee that’s been meeting since October. We’re trying to make the camp a reality for kids with special needs who aren’t able to attend other summer camps, for their parents who need respite and pampering, and for the siblings whose needs are often put on the back burner.
Fareway (a regional grocery chain) has already committed to providing much of the food. A local businessman has given $25,000 for sidewalks so the camp will be wheelchair accessible. $3,000 of the $15,000 in donations has been raised so 35 families and the 1-on-1 volunteers who will accompany the kids to all daytime activities. Most importantly, though our advertising campaign has barely begun, 15 families have already registered for the camp. Obviously, the need for the camp is real.
Now do you see why I’m looking forward to summer? To tell you the truth, I’m also shaking in my boots because we were expecting–perhaps naively–only 1 child with special needs family. But many of the families have multiple kids with special needs. One family has 5. That’s right, 5. So we need more 1-on-1 volunteers than expected.
Which is what today’s post is all about–recruiting volunteers. Volunteers to accompany kids with special needs during the daytime hours. Volunteers to help the regular volunteers at the swimming pool, rock wall, horse barns, and elsewhere. All volunteers must be at least 16 years old, and they must go through background check and sexual offender screening. Volunteers with special needs or medical training (teachers, teacher associates, nurses, EMTs, doctors, therapists, etc.) are especially needed.
If you’re interested in volunteering, donating, or registering your family to attend camp, visit the Hidden Acres website. You can download forms there, too. Or leave a comment below, and I will get back to you as soon as I can to answer your questions.
by jphilo | Jan 29, 2016 | Out and About
This week’s Fantastic Friday post comes in the form of a poem written in January of 2012 when the weather was cold, the morning dark, the moon brilliant and full. The perfect antidote to the winter blues both then and now.
Light Stronger Than Darkness
In winter, the extra hours of darkness
Weigh upon my shoulders,
Press upon my eyelids,
Make me groggy and slow and stupid.
Still last week, when the moon was full,
And the air was winter-warm,
I took my camera into the darkness
As the sun waited patiently to start her day
Until after the moon went to bed.
The darkness was too thick
And my hands too shaky
To capture the glory of the moon,
And finally I quit trying,
Trudging home with shoulders bent,
Eyelids drooping in a darkness
That lingered until yesterday
When I finally looked at the pictures.
Disappointments, all of them but one,
Where the bright moon waited
In the blue-black sky.
Not behind bare black branches
As it was in reality,
But in front of them,
Eclipsing them,
Engulfing them in silver light.
Looking at the picture,
My shoulders straightened,
My eyes opened wide,
When I saw the truth.
Light is stronger than darkness,
Waiting patiently to be found by those who seek it.
by jphilo | Jan 15, 2016 | Out and About
State Highway 20 west of Camp Crook, three miles from the Montana border. State Highway 20 west of Camp Crook, three miles from the Montana border.
Iowa’s been in the deep freeze all week. This week’s Fantastic Friday post warmed hearts 3 years ago when this story of a tiny town with a big heart first went live, and I hope it does the same now.
Tiny Town, Gigantic Heart
Long time readers of this blog have been subjected to posts about Camp Crook, SD where the man of steel and I lived from 1978 after we graduated from college to 1985. This post subjects you to another story about Camp Crook. It boasts a population of about 62 and is not far from the McFarthest Spot in the contiguous United States. It is very remote town in one of the most sparsely populated counties in South Dakota. It’s a town full of cowboys and cowgirls, college and professional rodeo stand-outs, and people with gigantic hearts.
How gigantic?
I’m glad you asked. A recent article in the county newspaper, The Nation’s Center News, gives an idea. The article, Julia Davis Benefit Is An Incredible Event, describes a fundraiser held on Friday, December 28, 2012. Julia and her husband ranch about 10 miles south of Camp Crook. She’s also the secretary in Harding County’s State’s Attorney office. Julia has had surgeries throughout her life for a congenital hip defect. In 2012, surgeons in Denver replaced her hip joint with an artificial one. But Julia developed a stubborn bone infection, and the only course of treatment left was amputation of her leg at the hip.
So her friends organized the Julia Davis Benefit to encourage and support her.
The night of the benefit, the streets of tiny Camp Crook were double-lined with 250–350 vehicles. Over 500 people from South and North Dakota, Montana and Wyoming crowded into the Community Center for the pot luck supper and auction. Over 200 items were donated for the silent auction. During the live auction, ten spotters helped the auctioneers keep up with the bidding. The benefit was a tremendous success.
How successful was it?
I’m glad you asked. The people in this tiny town with a gigantic heart–where many of the same people raised $1500 to defray our son’s medical costs, a substantial sum in 1982–outdid themselves in 2012. The big-hearted people in the town we’re proud to have called home for 7 years raised over $73,000 for Julia and her family.
You read that right. $73,000.
I read the article in the paper and told the man of steel about it when he got home from work. His eyes grew large. He thought for a moment and then said, “There’s power in that place.” I nodded in agreement. Neither of us could keep the silly grins off our face during supper. And every time I think about the benefit, the silly grin comes back. But when I think of Julia, who’s leg was amputated on January 14, the grin fades and I begin to pray.
Oh Lord, wrap your arms around Julia and her family as she recovers and learns to walk and cope. May the gigantic hearts in that tiny town lift her up in the months and years to come. May your presence be the power in the place. Amen.
By the end of the evening, we were fast friends. It was hard to say good-bye.
Hard, but not impossible. Because that day I learned–thanks to a cookie jar, a director’s chair, a scrapbook, and memories–you can go home again when you’re heart’s been touched by a dedicated, talented teacher who cared.
