For My Dad

My dad lost his battle with cancer last year on October 11.  This is for him.

For you, Dad

What I miss the most is not the pomp and circumstance, not the special moments.  I loved the special moments, of course.  But I miss the routine.  The ease of the daily routine.  Breakfast with the newspaper.  Coffee.  Talking about the world, the government, taxes.  Sitting at that table, with him in his chair, and just being.   Not in a hurry.

  

Or, walking the dogs.  Or, going to the store.  Or the way he would always take a bag of trash with him on his way out.  Or the way he’d come in the front door on his way back from the Y, clean and scrubbed, in his sweat pants and carrying groceries.  Something he’d found for us.  Poptarts for the kids.

I miss sitting in front of the TV with him.  I don’t watch TV, but with him, it was a shared activity.  So much nonsense.  We’d laugh together.

I miss his humor, his kindness, his counsel, his pride, his strength, his devotion, his history, his intelligence, his perception, his courage, his generosity, his very presence.  I miss his laugh.  I miss his handwriting—firm, strong, confident – it was a script that spoke volumes about the man.   I miss his kiss on the cheek and the way he’d watch my car until I was out of sight.

I miss that he always did what he said he would do.  Always.

My Dad is gone one year.  He was an inspiration by virtue of his courage.  He fought for life to the end.  He fought for me to the end.  Because he was first and foremost, my dad.  He was my hero.  And so, I miss him.  Terribly.

But I know when I look into the mirror, that he is there, reflected in the light in my eyes.  He is in my kids, a surprise glimpse I get now and then that causes me to catch my breath. 

I think of those talks over morning coffee or while walking dogs and I smile.

But I still miss him.  I always will.

Love to Sew!

Here I am in my mother of the groom dress in rosy pink satin.   I made it myself from two patterns.  Comfortable, easy and fit to me.   It was a truly wonderful day!

A Good Lesson / A Good Life

Here are ten important things for any good lesson.   I suppose, "lesson," could be used metaphorically.  Maybe these thoughts could work for any day in our lives, and all of those days taken together-- our lives--- show what we have learned.  Just a little philosophy for a sunny day in fall.

A Good Lesson

1. Is relevant. It links to what was done the day before, connects to what will be done in the future. It is part of a continuum of learning that makes sense to students.

2. Is presented in a systematic way. Anything is easy when broken into parts. It is up to the teacher to break it down and then put it back together for (and with) the students.

3. Gives time for kids to use the concept themselves. First, the concept is modeled and drilled, then it is available for the kids to “run” with.

4. Has ongoing assessment---question / answer, exit pass, partner work, quick write and check, speak and check, etc.

5. Has some surprises. Leaves kids excited about what awaits them the next lesson BUT has some predictability so that kids can understand what is expected of them.

6. Always instructs. Always teaches something new. 

7. Spirals. Should mix in the new and old. Each concept or vocabulary word is like a lego: not much on its own, but once understood, able to be used to build again

and again. 

8. Piques curiosity. Encourages students to further investigate on their own. 

9. Is primarily in the target language with the teacher taking care to mostly use

vocabulary the students understand and mix in new words here and there. 

10. Garners respect from the students. They know when they are learning and when the teacher is putting it all together in a professional way. When the teacher cares, the kids care.

A Wedding is a Beginning ...

     How fitting it was that my son’s wedding was on a fall day enveloped in crisp air and kissed by a slanting golden light that bathed everything in softness.  It was a perfect day.  The day, the time, and the moment.

      It was perfect in how it played out.  The musicians were practiced, the soloists adept, even the mothers, I and Paula, my motherly colleague, played our roles well.  But it was the little things that made it most perfect to me.  The bride glowed, the minister knew them and connected, with them and with the congregation.  My mother had a flower and a special escort.  The chocolate favors melted on my tongue and made me smile.  The groom was gallant.

      And so now I think back.  It is hard to remember a wedding verbatim, especially if it is the wedding of someone dear.   But I remember the feelings:  pride, joy, serenity.  And those feelings will be always with me.

       In tribute to mothers, and families and brides and grooms, I’d like to open the blog for the next few weeks.  Share what you loved most about a special wedding.  I’m eager to hear your thoughts!  MH

Chapter Two

2

Broken Morning

     Sherry opened her eyes.  Soft blue light was beginning to filter into the bedroom.  She turned her head to check for Parker’s small tousled head of hair.  His head was almost entirely under the covers, just a lock or two poked out.  He had wandered into her bed during the night, something he often did.  Sherry eased herself out of bed, pulled on a cotton robe, and checked her watch.  Five o’clock.  Did he come in last night?

     She closed the blinds on all the windows to encourage Parker to sleep in and tiptoed out to the kitchen.

     The scene was static and unbroken.  No briefcase, no tie tossed on the sofa table or black socks balled up on the rug.  The glass-topped coffee table had one glass of wine, half drunk, just where Wills had left it.

     With a quick nervous movement Sherry tucked her hair behind her ears.  What was not there was causing something deep down in the recesses of her stomach to begin to bubble.  Craig had not made it back.  She ran to the door just to be sure.

     She opened it.  The silky wet cool lake air hit her in the face with a soft caress.  Sherry had always loved the air at the lake.  Full of life-giving oxygen, she would say.  Full of energy.  Now it made her shiver.

     Her car, a squarely clunky SUV, sat alone in the driveway.  Its black shininess reflected the intensifying light.

     She shut the door and stood with her back to it, heart racing.  Something was wrong.  Craig would be here.

     She closed her eyes for a moment and pictured him.  She had met him six years ago.  At work.  Sherry had married the boss.

     How excited she had been to land the job.  An accounting graduate, Sherry did not want to move far away.  She liked Yellow River, despite its tiny size and provincialism.  It was home.  And after her father had been diagnosed, she couldn’t leave.  Not then.

     So she met Craig Ross.  Five years her senior, smart, driven.  Craig was an Ohio boy, a suburban boy, who loved boats and bucks he told her.  He wanted a job that was fun every day.  He wanted to build boats.

     He had impressed her that day not with his dark good looks and intense brown eyes, but with his energy and his vision.  Sherry was not a dreamer; she liked getting things done.  Craig could do the dreaming for them both.

     Sherry came abruptly back to the present.  She looked at her watch.  Five-thirty.  She made a cup of coffee in the microwave, grabbed her cell phone, and opened the sliding door to the expansive deck.  She had to do something.

      The lake was smooth and still like a huge plate of silver glass.  Birds chirped with abandon.  It promised to be a beautiful day.  A thirty-foot speedboat, pontoon, and 17-foot sailboat, a fleet of Boat Company boats, bobbed on the water.  Kayaks, canoes, and skidoos were stored nearby.  The Ross cabin was a lake lover’s paradise.

     She took a sip of the too hot liquid and burned her tongue.  Tears filled her eyes.  She let one course its way down her cheek.

     She checked her watch again.  Five forty-five.  She picked up the phone and dialed.  “Mom?”  Her voice was strained, foreign sounding.

     Carol Kneifer had been stirring milk into her morning coffee when the phone rang.  “Sherry?  What is it, honey?”

     “It’s Craig.”

     “Is he sick?”

     “I don’t know.” Her voice broke.

     “What Sherry! What is it?”

     “I don’t know where he is.”  She started to talk, stringing her sentences together in a flat monotone voice, feeling strangely as though she were watching herself talk on a movie, or on the news.

     Carol listened to the sequence of events.  “Honey, call Dan.  He’s the company lawyer.  He’ll know what to do. You can trust him you know.  You haven’t been so sure about the others.”

     “Do you think it’s too early?”  The sun was the color of an egg yolk and moving higher into the sky.  It was six o’clock.

     “He’ll talk to you.  Call him.”

  

     Anne was in bed when the phone rang.  She was in her second trimester and was feeling good, but tired.

     She pulled the covers up over her head when the ring pierced the silence of her bedroom.  Air-conditioned air made the room comfortably cool in the huge Victorian house.  She tried to snuggle back down under the covers but curiosity overcame her.  Who calls at six on a Saturday?   Anne doubted that even her in-laws, Renata and Carl Stillman, were awake this early.

     She pulled on a zip-front duster and ran her fingers through her shoulder-length red hair.  Then, suppressing a yawn, she made her way down the back stairway to the kitchen.

     “O.K.  Back up Sherry.  Exactly what did VanHorn say?”

     Sherry?  Anne fingered the handle of the coffee mug she had picked up. She would drink her morning orange juice in the mug.  It was the next best thing to drinking coffee.  Well, she told herself that anyway.

     Dan stood, back to her, at the kitchen phone.  He was writing on a notepad.  “O.K.  I’ll call Howard and get back to you.  Try not to worry Sher.”  Dan hung up.

     “What was that about?”  Anne held her orange juice mug between her palms.  She was carefully curious.

     “That was Sherry.  Sherry Ross.  Have you met her?”  Dan almost looked embarrassed.

      “Noooo.  You know I haven’t met her.  Why is she calling you at dawn?”

      “I don’t know.  Well I mean I know, but I don’t know what the real explanation is.”  Dan grinned.  “Sorry, but that confidentiality thing gets in the way again.  Gotta go see Lou Howard at the police station.  Hang tight, I’ll be back.”  He grabbed his keys and made his way out the door.

     Anne patted her tummy.  “I do a bit too much hanging these days.”  She sighed and sat at the oak table in the large airy kitchen.  The sun was already filling the rooms from the east, getting ready to make its circuitous trip around the south and west facing windows in the course of the day.  Anne sipped her juice and traced the pattern of the wood grain on the table.  Sherry Ross.  Dan’s high school flame.  Calling him at dawn on a Saturday.  What did she make of that?

     When Sherry got Dan’s call she was ready.  She grabbed her keys, Parker still in his pajamas, and Katie, changed, fed, and strangely quiet, and walked out the door.  She left a note on the kitchen counter.

     “Wills, I’m running to the local police station to fill out a report.  We need answers.  You know where everything is.  If you hear from Craig, call me ASAP.  Here’s my cell number.”

     

Should Night Come. Due out soon! Chapter One

Sherry thinks she has the perfect life, handsome husband, beautiful children, financial security, until one day she gets the call that changes everything. Sherry learns to manage change and to live with danger until danger finally catches up with her too. Should Night Come, a mystery/suspense novel, tells of Sherry’s struggle to save her business, her company and her sense of self. This is the sequel to Night Walks Softly.

Should Night Come,  the second Yellow River novel, available  on Kindle, Barnes and Noble, google books and smashwords.  Here is chapter one.   2.99 at all websites listed.

1.

Lost

     “What do you mean you still don’t know where he is?”  Sherry Ross tapped her fingers on the steering wheel with her free hand as she sped down the highway.  She had been driving for an hour and was almost there.

     “I told you Sherry, I can’t get a hold of him.  He did not board the plane.  The rental car is still out.  And as far as I’ve been able to determine, Jason took a later flight and should be landing shortly.”  Gordon VanHorn rubbed his balding head and adjusted his glasses.  How did she expect him to keep track of her husband, or his boss for that matter?  Jason, the Vice President of Sales, always made his flights.  Not Craig Ross.  Who knew where he could be?

     Sherry’s eyes went to the review mirror.  Katie, the baby, was already asleep. Long eyelashes floated over her rosy cheeks like feathers.  On her head a halo of golden fuzz shimmered in the light.  Parker, four years old with sandy hair and dark shiny eyes, was paging through a book with intense interest.

     She relaxed her shoulders and smiled.  Of course Craig hadn’t checked in with Gordon.  Why would he?  “OK Gordon.  Sorry to bother you. If you talk to him, you’ll tell him I left without him?  That I’m planning to meet him there?”

     “Yes, Mrs. Ross.”  He grimaced and glanced at the clock.  Month-end.  He could have been finishing reports in the time he had spent doing phone errands for the president’s wife.

     “Bye, Gordon.  Enjoy the weekend.”  Sherry clicked the cell-phone off.  So Craig was tied up.  When wasn’t he?  The Boat Company was his passion.  He had started it from scratch and made it into a thriving internationally recognized brand name.  He’d be at the lake for the reunion.  After all, it was his family.

     She looked back again at the children.  What perfect kids, she thought.

     The sun was soft now, preparing its descent into the high sturdy corn stretching as far as the eye could see on both sides of the highway.  Green corn, blue sky, flat ground.  August in Indiana.

     She checked her watch.  Seven-thirty.  Twenty more minutes of driving.  Sherry made a mental list of all she had to do.

     There was a lot.  The reunion had been her idea.  “Let’s invite your family for a weekend,” she had said to Craig.  They’ll love the lake, the boats, the atmosphere.  The kids will play with their cousins.  A family thing, she had thought.  Let’s do a family thing.

     They did not see the Ross family much.  Craig’s parents lived in Ohio.  Not far really, but far enough to make a visit seem to Sherry like a grand excursion, especially with the little ones.  Craig’s sister lived in San Francisco where she worked as an attorney, parented two strong-willed pre-adolescent boys and grabbed a moment of free time when she could.  And Craig’s younger brother Wills lived wherever the wind blew him, it seemed.  Now that was Chicago, and his passion was graphic design.

     Wills!  Of course!  Sherry nodded and gripped the steering wheel more securely.  Craig probably drove over to get Wills before heading for the airport.  Wills was entirely too artistic to rent a car.  That explains everything.

     She leaned forward and looked back again at the children.  Parker had fallen asleep too, hair lopped over on one side, book still open.  Sherry turned off on the exit, made two more turns, and pulled up the driveway at their Lake James cottage.

     Cottage was a bit of a misnomer for the Ross’s summer home.  Seven bedrooms, a forty-foot wide great room with cathedral ceiling and floor to ceiling glass, state of the art kitchen and wine cellar, and full walk out basement.  Weekends on Lake James were hardly roughing it.

     Actually, the Ross’ lake cottage was much more elaborate than their home.  Sherry had wanted a home with character, but not ostentatious.  That, she thought, would never do in Yellow River, the town where she had lived all of her life.  So their house was large, on a wide, secluded wooded lot, but it was thirty years old.  Sherry insisted on buying the house that the president of the defunct Indiana Valve company had built for good public relations.  After all, Craig believed in Yellow River.  How fitting he should live there instead of in near-by Fort Wayne.

     “We’re here guys.”  Sherry hated to wake them.  But they needed baths, and stories and a bit of wiggling and playing before bed.  At least they had eaten before leaving.

     She opened the door and put her hand on Parker’s forehead to move his hair aside.  He stirred.

     “I wondered if anyone was coming.”

     Sherry jumped and turned around.  Parker’s eyes opened wide.  “Uncle Wills!”

     “Wills?  Aren’t you with Craig?”  Sherry’s heart pounded in her chest.  She glanced around, no car.  Maybe Craig had dropped him off and gone for groceries?

     Wills’ dark hair was shoulder-length and he had the beginnings of a beard.  He reached out to give a high-five to Parker.  “No,” he frowned, “should I be with Craig?  We didn’t talk about that.”  Wills never knew for sure what his plans were so it was possible he screwed up.  He frowned.

     “How did you get here then?”  Sherry released Parker from his car seat.  She handed Wills two bags to carry in.

     “A friend dropped me by on his way to Detroit.  I have no idea how I’m getting back.  Now why did you think Craig was picking me up?”

     Sherry unstrapped Katie and put her over her shoulder.  “These little ones will sleep anywhere.”  The seven-month-old burrowed her head into her mother’s shoulder.  “I’ll need to wake her for a bit though.”  She was talking to herself, making her list, her plans.

     “Sherry?”  Wills looked down at her and furrowed his brow.

     “Sorry, Wills.  It’s just that I’m so surprised that Craig hasn’t called.  He planned to meet me at home.  We were gong to drive up together.  He was so excited about this weekend.  I can’t believe anything would have come up.”

     They walked together down the curving driveway toward the entry.  The setting sun made the prisms in the leaded glass door sparkle.

     Sherry shifted the baby onto her hip and unzipped her purse, phone still in hand.  She found her keys and handed them to Wills.  “Could you?”

     Wordlessly he opened the door.

     Sherry walked into the kitchen to check the answering machine.  A message.  She pushed the button.

     “Sherry?  Craig?  It’s mom.  We are so thrilled.  Be there tomorrow at noon.  Riley wants you to know she’ll be there around three.  Best flight she could get, I guess.  See you.”

     The tape stopped and rewound.  That was it.

     Sherry walked to the great room, grabbed a quilt off a nearby chair and spread it out on the rug.  She put down the baby.  She noticed the reflection of the setting sun on the break that trailed a lone skier on the lake.  Red, yellow, and pink hit the otherwise silver water.  A hawk glided by on the horizon and landed in a tree near the shoreline.  Otherwise, the lake was quiet, a calm belying the storm of people who would be arriving for the weekend.

     Sherry sighed and put her hands in the back pockets of her jean shorts.  She had just gotten into them, had just lost that final five pounds of baby weight.  She had worn them for Craig.

     “Want me and Parker to unload?”  Wills’ face was clouded with concern.  He hesitated.

     Sherry nodded.  “I’ll make us a glass of wine when you’re done.  I have everything ready really.”

     Wills turned to go back out.  “Come on buddy.”  He patted Parker on the head.

     “It’s just,” Sherry continued, “that I know something is wrong.  I know he would have called.”

     Wills and Parker were already out the door.  Sherry was talking to herself.  She stood still and watched as the night prepared to come down on the lake.

The County Fair

     The county fair begins this week and for those of you who may not be planning to go, I'd reconsider.  I don't really know how county fairs work in states outside the Midwest.  Maybe they are better, bigger, more interesting.  If so, then run don't walk to your county fair, because here in the Midwest, they are great fun!
     First, they are as much a part of summer as fireflies, popsicles, sprinklers and sunscreen.  Just as a barbecue on the patio or a concert in the park mark summer, so does the county fair.
     I love everything about the fair.  The dairy cattle barns with gigantic black and white cows with swishing tails and low strong "moos" to complain about the heat, it being dinner time, or just because.  The horse barns where seeing how the young riders decorate their giant pets' stalls is as entertaining as seeing the horses themselves.  In one barn, a few weeks ago in Indiana, we were amused to see an enormous horse with his head right in front of the oscillating fan, moving his giant velvet muzzle to follow the cool breeze.  He was no dummy!
     I love the chickens and seeing the hens with one or two or three eggs in their pens, and the rabbits in all shapes and sizes, all quiet and cute and wiggling their noses in greeting.  I enjoy the goats, sometimes trying to eat the pen itself, and the hogs.  Although to me they are "pigs" and not "pork bellies" and are infinitely too cute to consider eating.  And smart.  Once while walking through the hog barn, I saw an enormous pig open his pen and escape! Well...
     I love the 4-H projects.  It is amazing to see what kids choose to sew, what they decide to research, and how many different ways they can cook.  Projects called "pocket pets," "laundry," "sewing for others,"  all of these pique my curiosity and leave me wanting to know more.  Could I get a superior ribbon in laundry?
     In the home arts area, I leave humbled.  Pickles, jams, relishes, all perfect.  Cake decorating and table-settings show impressive levels of skill, creativity and care.   I enjoy seeing the knitting, the quilting, the needlework, thinking that if I only had the time, I too could do all that.  And I am quite sure that I probably could not.
     Perhaps most of all, I love the food.  Is there anything that sums up summer more than fair food?   Elephant ears, onion rings--the big, greasy, delicious kind, roasted corn on the cob, funnel cakes, lemonade made with a whole lemon right in the cup?   My favorite?  The 4-H milkshake, served by a team of hard-working young people volunteering for their cause.  Seeing these kids work together and how much they care about a quality product, leaves one thinking that despite what today's newspaper headlines may indicate, there is still something quite right about the world.
     The only thing I do not like about the county fair is that it signals the final days of summer.  With the harvest and the completion of projects and of another year of 4-H, summer is about to fade into fall.
     But I'll think about that another day.  For now, I encourage all of you to attend one of the very best things about the Midwest.  It's inexpensive and will remind you of the connection we all have to the farm and to doing for ourselves.  Visit a county fair.  And eat an elephant ear for me!