Guest Blog

I am guest blogging this week with Kathleen Kaska, talking about how we were inspired to write mysteries and about our protagonist, Agapé Jones. Read about it here:

http://www.kathleenkaskawrites.blogspot.com/2012/07/mystery-trivia-tuesday-who-is-this-guy_31.html

Answer the questions and win a book!

 

Moving Adjustment

My ‘favorite niece’ Carrie recently asked me to share some advice I had given her when she made her first big move across the country. Her friend is anticipating relocation soon and is anxious about it. So here are some suggestions gleaned from a number of moving experiences:

ORGANIZE BEFORE

Moving is hard enough without being unable to locate the toilet paper or light bulbs the first night in your new home. So I created a system for managing all our stuff. (And we’ve ALWAYS had a LOT of it!)

Label each box as you pack it. Get some colored stickers and designate a different color for each room. (For several of our moves we have actually had floor plans of the new places. We made copies and put the designated sticker on each room. When the movers arrived at the new place, we’d posted a copy of the identification on the front door. It made the move go much smoother. Especially in our move to Japan where we didn’t speak Japanese and the movers didn’t speak English!)

Number each box. Once you’ve decided on the color designations, add a number. The first kitchen box would be K-1. The first Master Bedroom box might be MB-1. The first box for the next  bedroom might be B2-1. Etc.

Make a list for each box. As you pack each box, make a list of exactly what you put in it. Put a colored sticker on the list and write the box number on it. Copy the list. Then put the copy in the box before you seal it and keep the original in a folder or on a clip board for reference once you arrive.

Place the furniture. If you have a dimensioned floor plan, you can do what Larry did when we moved to Japan. The consummate engineer measured each piece of furniture, then made cutouts so we could place each piece on the floor plan. (Today he would probably do the same thing in Visio.) We taped the layout to the door, and the movers knew exactly where everything went.

EARLY DAYS

For the first six weeks or so, you’ll be busy with settling in and getting to know your new location. This is the honeymoon phase. It will feel a bit like a working vacation.

The Japanese have a great tradition I’d suggest. Don’t wait for your neighbors to greet you. As soon as you can, take them a little gift (cookies, a little plant, something from your home area—whatever reflects your interests). Introduce yourself and your family. (In Japan, the gift to your established neighbors was usually a roll of paper towels or bathroom tissue. Not personal, but it broke the ice!)

If you have children, you’ll have less trouble making friends. Generally, your kids will do so for you!

You will have planned for the big changes, but the little ones drive you nuts. You need something in a hurry and have no idea where to find it. In your old town, you’d know exactly where to go. Now you don’t.

Join a church or other religious institution. “Shop” for one until you find the perfect fit. Join a civic group or other organization where you can make friends. (Our church in Kobe was our lifeline during our stay there. Shortly after we arrived, a cap came off my tooth. The folks at the church told me exactly where to go. Otherwise, I’d have had no idea. Of course, I got lost finding the place the first time, but that’s a story in the book.)

THE HONEYMOON ENDS

Around six weeks following the move, you will wake up one day and realize it’s for real and it isn’t just a vacation. Be prepared! You may experience a bit of depression or anxiety.

If you’re prepared for it, you’ll manage much easier. Unfortunately, we were the first ones to relocate to Japan, and I thought I was ready for the funny farm. Seriously. I thought I was going crazy.

I finally read a book on the expat experience and realized what I went through was in fact, normal. Subsequent conversations with others who had lived abroad confirmed it. This is the most important part of your adjustment, and you’ll manage much better if you know it’s coming.

It is the time to do something you really enjoy. Treat yourself to a day at the movies, long walks in the park, etc. But don’t berate yourself. Be gentle. Talk about your feelings with others. Take care of yourself.

With email, IM, Facebook, Skype, etc. you will be more in contact with those you left behind. So reach out to them. Just hearing a familiar voice and seeing a missed face can remind you that you’re not completely alone.

THE CRASH

Somewhere around six months, however, comes the big crash. In Japan, mine came about four and a half months after our arrival, but we had been out of our house in California for nearly six months. I had a complete meltdown. I cried. I moaned. I said I just couldn’t do it for one more day. I was frantic. I felt cut off from everyone and everything in an alien world where I couldn’t even communicate.

Email and telephone didn’t help. (No Skype then.) I just wanted my old life back!

If I had known it was coming, I might have dealt with it better. But I didn’t. (We were the first ones there, remember.)

Fortunately, we were scheduled for a holiday trip home. After we returned, I realized that it wasn’t really so difficult.

The next arrivals began to experience the same anxiety, frustration, anger, etc. shortly after we returned. That’s when the light bulb went on. I started to see a pattern. And I informed all the rest to watch for it. A number of times, team members would slam into my office saying , “You know that six month ‘thing’? Well, I’m there. I’m going crazy!”

I’d talk them through it and assure them it would pass. Sometimes it took several conversations.

Others would become hermits. Because I recognized the signs, we made a point to take them a pizza or get them out of the house for a little break.

A short vacation or trip home to see family is the best cure. Just sharing the feelings with others who have been through it can help immeasurably.

I remember greeting a friend at church shortly before we came back for our vacation when I was at my lowest point.

“How are you doing?” she asked.

“I HATE this place,” I answered.

She laughed. “We all feel that way from time to time. You’ll get over it.”

Her reaction was perfect. I didn’t need or want sympathy or to just be told it would get better. She said just what I needed to hear, which was that I wasn’t crazy!

After about a year, some people really start to feel at home in their new surroundings. That didn’t happen to me in Japan, but I know several friends who were reluctant to leave when the time came, including that friend from church.

MOVES ARE HARD

Even if you have professional movers and lots of support and help, you are being uprooted from your familiar environment. You may be leaving family for the first time. And you will be leaving friends.

But, in hindsight, our moves enriched our lives and exposed us to so many wonderful places and new people we’d never have known otherwise. Heck, our move to Japan even resulted in our first book!

Have you ever made a major move? What advice helped you the most?

I Don’t Believe in Ghosts – Well, Maybe

From ghoulies and ghosties

And long-leggedy beasties

And things that go bump in the night,

Good Lord, deliver us!

~ Old Cornish Prayer ~

“I don’t believe in ghosts.” That’s how my new book, Ghost Writer begins. My character, Nan Burton, adamantly insisted she didn’t believe. That is, until she was confronted with the noisy one living in her house.

I, on the other hand, do believe in ghosts. We had one living in our first house. Not a person, however. Ours was a cat.

Shortly after we moved in, I woke up on occasion with the sense of something walking across the foot of our bed. It felt like a small animal. I’d never owned a cat, but this didn’t feel like a dog, so I suspected a beastie of the feline persuasion.

After a couple of months, Larry and I both woke at the same time.

“It’s the strangest thing,” I started. “It felt like a cat has been walking across the bed during the night.”

“I’ve felt it, too,” was his matter-of-fact reply.

“Thank God! I thought I was going crazy.”

We speculated for some time about the cat, but he (or she) continued the nightly rounds.

Several months later, the woman who had grown up in the house stopped by. We showed her what we’d done to the house. She was very complimentary and told us stories about growing up there.

Just before she left, she asked, “Have you seen a cat around?” She went on to describe the cat, including what he like to do and where he liked to hide in the house. She mentioned that he’d patrol the house at night, his route taking him across each of their beds. Unfortunately we had to tell her that we hadn’t seen any animals resembling hers in the neighborhood.

“He disappeared the day my folks were moving. We came back and left food and left our contact information with all the neighbors, but we never found him.”

Her parents were the original owners and had lived there for seventeen years. The house had been on the market nearly a year before we bought it. So any chance of locating the cat seemed pretty remote by that time.

We assured her that we’d keep an eye out, and she left.

A few weeks later, we realized that we no longer felt the cat walking across the bed.

“I wonder if it was the former owners’ pet. Maybe he was just waiting for them to come back before he could move on,” I said to Larry.

“Hmm, maybe,” he said.

A couple of years later, we adopted a stray kitten who appeared on our front porch. Like our ghost, our cat was nocturnal and roamed the house at night. We always kept our bedroom door closed, but in the morning when our daughter opened it, he’d take a stroll across the bed. And it felt just like the ghost cat.

How about you? Do you believe in ghosts? Have you seen any? Felt any? Sensed their presence? I’d like to hear your experiences.

World's Most Expensive Flag - continued

Once again, Larry joins me for the update to last week's blog on the World's Most expensive Flag.

Previously my wife, Lorna, blogged about my owning the world’s most expensive flag.

It’s true. Some forty years ago, just after we moved into our first house, a person came to the front door selling American flags for some worthy cause. I don’t remember what the cause was, but I’m sure it must have been worthy.

A twenty-five dollar donation and I became the owner of the flag, complete with mounting bracket, and two-piece aluminum pole topped with a nifty genuine plastic eagle. I reasoned, we didn’t have a flag and needed one for the house. It was a weak moment, I must admit.

On our next trip to the local drug store, Lorna pointed out the identical boxed flag sets on sale for $2.95. And for the past forty years, she has reminded me of my extravagance on every holiday: every Presidents Day, Fourth of July, Memorial, Labor, Veterans Day, etc.

Because of the expense, I have endeavored to take very good care of my prized flag, carefully storing it at night and bringing it inside in inclement weather. And it’s lasted for more than forty years, far longer than just any old $2.95 flag deserved. Still, over the years it had become somewhat faded and thin in places.

Now, I have sad news to report. Yesterday evening, July third, I was shocked to see that the extended wing of the genuine plastic eagle had caught and ripped a one-foot gash parallel to, and between the twelfth and thirteenth stripes. Unfortunately, the material has become too thin and worn to accept sewing back together. I must conclude its time has come. It will need to be replaced.

I put it out on July 4, 2012 for the last time. I figured it deserved one last day in the sun before being officially retired.

I went on the Internet to discover the proper way to dispose of an American flag. Here’s what I found on USA flag site (usa-flag-site.org) and The Flag Keepers (flagkeepers.org).

There are several ways in which you may give your American flag the proper retirement without showing disgrace to this great country. If you would like to dispose of the flag yourself then the most fitting way is to hold your own, private ceremony. The U.S. Flag Code states, "The flag, when it is in such a condition that it is no longer a fitting emblem for display, should be destroyed in a dignified way, preferable by burning." After your flag has been burned, the ashes should be buried. If you cannot burn and bury the flag yourself, Flag Keepers will retire your flag in a proper and respectful ceremony for a price. Or several other organizations that will retire your flag are: VFW, American Legion, Boy or Girl Scouts of America, and Marine Corps League.

Since I’m not personally into burning flags and burying ashes, I will contact the Marine Corps for proper retirement.

Also while I’m on the subject of flags, I have a story told me by my cousin-in-law, Ron Walker. He was Director of National Parks from 1973 to 1975.

During his tenure as director, a park ranger was killed in the line of duty. Ron immediately directed that all National Park flags be lowered to half-staff. About twenty minutes later, his phone rang.

“Ron,” the voice said. “This is President Nixon.”

“Yes Mr. President” Ron quickly responded, all the while thinking. Why is the president calling me personally?

“Ron,” the voice continued. “I was just wondering why the flag on the White House is at half-staff.”

Then Ron remembered. The White House is also a national monument, and therefore subject to park rules. He explained the situation to the President.

“Fine,” Nixon responded, “I just wanted to know. Proceed.”

He hung up, and Ron breathed a sigh of relief.

While I have treated this blog lightly and with humor, there is a seriousness to it. My old flag itself is merely a piece of cloth, and dye, and stitching. It is not my country. It is a symbol of my country. Honored for what it represents, not for some magic or inherent value. The new replacement flag will be just as much a symbol and just as honored as was the old one. However, the old flag has been part of our family for so long, through bi-centennials, 911, births and deaths, and all the other events of our lives, both good and bad, for the past forty years. As I fold it up for the last time, I’m reminded of standing on a hill before my father’s flag-draped coffin and hearing the sweet tones of a lone bugle playing "Taps."

The World’s Most Expensive Flag – With the Genuine Plastic Eagle

Since Independence Day is coming again, we’ll be hanging out our flag once more. Actually, we’ve been doing it since we bought it a couple of months after we moved into our first house in 1970. Someone came to the door selling flags, and Larry bought one for twenty-five dollars. He said it was for a good cause, but he couldn’t remember which one.

The next day I went to the local drugstore and saw the same exact flag on sale for $2.95. Ever since, I’ve called it “The World’s Most Expensive Flag with the Genuine Plastic Eagle.”

Of course, we’ve flown it on every patriotic holiday since then, and often for an entire weekend or longer.

On the old house, it flew from a holder on the porch post. It was really convenient because we could stand on the porch, reach around, and drop it in the slot. However, on this house, Larry mounted the holder between the windows on the second floor. That meant we either had to use a tall ladder to get to it from the outside or open the nearest window and lean out to get the post into the holder.

When we returned from Japan in 2001, we replaced all our windows with vinyl-clad energy-efficient ones because the old ones had aluminum frames, and many would no longer open due to damage from the salty sea air.

The stucco then required repair, so we removed all the termite-ridden wood siding and trim at the same time. After the house was tented and the repairs were made, Larry installed a new flag holder between the upstairs windows. The new holder doesn’t hold quite as firmly as the old one, but it works. And opening the window and hanging out is still required to install the flag. (We took one of the screens off as soon as the window was installed, and it remains on the floor behind the sofa to allow for quicker flag access.)

On September 11, 2001, I was very grateful to have had the world’s most expensive flag in the house. I put it out that day to show our love for our country and the solidarity we all felt. Many of our neighbors also displayed new flags, purchased for the occasion, during the ensuing days, but ours was first.

The old flag may be a bit faded now, but it has been well cared-for over the years. Larry reminds me that we’ve had it for forty-two years, and it’s still going strong. So maybe he didn’t pay too much for it after all when the cost is amortized. And, after all, it does have a genuine plastic eagle!

Tribute to a Great Lady

On September 1, 1990, Wilma Sehnert died. I was asked to speak at her service. She lived two doors down from us in Alhambra and became our second mother. Here’s what I said that day:

There’s hardly a significant event of my youth that Wilma was not part of. Looking back, I can remember the beautiful woman with the dark, shiny hair, the ever-present bangs, the warm twinkling eyes, the mischievous smile, and that contagious, throaty laugh.

I remember scorching summer afternoons before the advent of air conditioning, where the only breath of air was expelled from our seared lungs, and the only hope of relief lay in the Sehnerts’ backyard under the shade of a tree in the few inches of cool water contained in Dan’s small wading pool. And I remember our childish amusement when our mothers dared to share our little oasis of comfort. And amidst it all was Wilma—bringing sweat-frosted glasses of lemonade and iced tea. She refilled the little pool as fast as we emptied it with our games and always made us feel as though she enjoyed our play as much as we did.

I remember days which, with the magic of time, have taken unto themselves a sort of mythic unreality. Were we ever really that serene? Was life ever that pure and untouched?

During those lovely summers of our innocence, our families took turns hosting neighborhood potluck suppers. The Grahams, Sehnerts, and our family rotated these weekly events. But I remember the evenings at the Sehnerts with particular fondness. Perhaps it was their wonderful patio, which my dad helped build. At one end was an edifice of brick—a magnificent structure which was the equivalent of today’s outdoor kitchen. On the nights of the potlucks the built-in barbeque was put into service. During our play, however, it might be used as a walled fortress or a mountain to be climbed or a bunker.

Perhaps I remember best the quiet times after our meal when ancient grey-covered songbooks with yellowing pages would be passed around and the singing began. I can recall falling asleep to the strains of “Show Me the Way to Go Home,” “Alexander’s Ragtime Band,” and “Good Night Irene.” The latter may have been Wilma’s favorite, as I can’t recall a single time when it was skipped. Or perhaps I remember it best because of her enthusiasm in singing it. While she may have lacked a bit in technical ability, she made up for it in enthusiasm! Sometimes Laura Lee Graham or my mother would add harmony, and the sweet sound of those female voices still rings in my memory.

I remember the wonder of the first television I ever saw—in the Sehnerts’ living room. At the center of a massive wooden cabinet was a small, slightly blurred screen on which real people moved and talked! The Hollywood Christmas Parade was an annual tradition. We kids sat on the floor as close to the set as our parents would allow and watched the parade. Don would build a fire in the fireplace, and in the background was Wilma, serving up mugs of delicious steaming hot chocolate. Sometimes there was also popcorn or cookies. It was the official beginning of the holiday season for many years and a memory my brother and I both cherish.

I remember Wilma during the hard times, too.

She was there for Mom, too. She was the first one at the house when Mom got the news of my father’s death, and was a constant fixture for the following weeks and months. She took care of us kids and saw to it that we had a second home to go to if we needed it. My brother, Ron, and I counted on that assurance and probably took advantage of her generosity far too often.

One of the most vivid pictures in my recollection is of Wilma dragging Dan’s little wagon, filled to overflowing with good food, up the street to our house each night after my dad died when I was seven. She’d arranged with all the neighbors to prepare the dishes, and then delivered these feasts herself.

Since Mom didn’t drive, Wilma was generous about taking us wherever we needed to go and helped her practice driving.

Since there was no money in our budget for extras, I had to pay for my own bicycle: the enormous sum of sixty dollars. (To me at ten-years-old, it might has well have been a thousand!) Wilma was there again. She invented excuses to have me run to the store for her so she so she could tip me more than was required when I returned. She ‘hired’ me to help her clean her house and overpaid me for the job. (When I was older, I realized that she probably had a cleaning service and didn’t really need any help.) I don’t know how much of that bicycle was purchased through her generosity, but I do know that without her, I never would have gotten it!

During my high school years, she was there for me, too. I remember once when a particularly important occasion arrived (so important that the particulars have escaped me) and as always, there was no money in our tight budget for a new dress. I had nothing close to appropriate in my wardrobe. But Wilma loaned me one of her dresses. It was a favorite of hers and mine. I can picture it clearly: white pique cotton with a V-neck, tight bodice, low back, and flared skirt. I felt like a princess wearing it! And I was frightened throughout the evening of soiling it.

She saved me the night of my senior prom, too. A girlfriend had offered to do my hair and makeup the afternoon of the dance. By the time she left my house, my hair looked like a huge rat’s nest and I was hysterical. Mom did the only sensible thing she could think of: she called Wilma. Still sobbing, I went to her house where, in a very short time, she transformed the disaster into perfection. She styled my hair into a sleek and sophisticated French twist with wispy bangs and fragile curls in front of my ears. Then she added her own lovely hair band of tortoiseshell, to match my hair, studded with rhinestones. It looked as though someone had sprinkled stars in my hair. She redid my makeup, and when she was through, I felt like Cinderella with my very own fairy godmother.

As I grew older and moved away from the neighborhood, I didn’t see as much of Wilma as I probably should have. But I always knew she was there. We met several times for lunch, and I’d stop by if I was visiting my mother.

She was always such a constant in my life—rock-solid and dependable. When I try to picture the world without her, I know that much of its sparkle and energy would be dimmed. What a bright light she was to so many of us!

She took in all of us strays and gave generously—of her possessions, but mostly she gave of herself. She was never easy on us. Quite the contrary. She expected the best from each one, and we did our best not to disappoint her.

One of her most memorable phrases to us kids was, “come on, you can do it!” And, although I know it would embarrass her terribly to hear it, much of what I learned about the kind of love they tried to teach in Sunday school came not from that source but from the example she set. Through her faithful and constant acts of selfless love, I observed what commitment and unconditional love were all about.

Love is a verb, and Wilma put it clearly into action. Those acts of love are very real and precious to each of us who was blessed to be a recipient of them and had Wilma touch our lives.

Visiting the Past

Not long ago, we had occasion to drive through Arcadia, California, the city where we’d lived for seventeen years. We bought our first home where we raised our daughter there in 1970. Fortunately Larry’s cousin purchased the house from us and still owns it, so it remained in the family. That alone made it easier to leave.

We ate breakfast at one of the restaurants we’d enjoyed when we lived there. At that time (twenty-five years ago), the population was primarily white-haired seniors. On our recent visit, however, the place was packed with young families of several ethnicities. It felt good to know that the area was once again alive and that a new generation would be growing up there.

Many of the familiar stores and other businesses were gone and replaced with newer ventures.

FIRST HOUSE

Driving by the old house was an exercise in nostalgia. It looked fresh and well-maintained. Of course, the roof line is different than when we first moved in. A fire in 1980 required replacing the original. We decided to go for a full gable on the front. The yard has also been completely replaced. The tree roots had lifted the brick entry so that it had become dangerous. There is now a nice railing around the porch and a new front door.

     1970    

     2012

HOME TOWN

The same afternoon, we found ourselves in Alhambra, the town where we’d grown up, so we decided to drive down Main Street to see what it looked like now. We were surprised that several of the old businesses remained. Since they were family-owned establishments and we had moved away many years before, we were delighted to see them.

We also drove to the neighborhood where we had both lived. All the houses looked well-preserved, and most had additions, including the ones we had been raised in. They were very small to start with, so the addition of more square footage was no surprise.

CONCLUSIONS

It was fun visiting the past, and we were grateful for the time spent in both locations, but we were also very happy to return to our current home in Dana Point. We adore the neighborhood, the neighbors, the proximity to the beach, and the house itself.

Have you ever gone back to places you’ve lived in the past? How did it feel? What did you learn?

Word(s) of the Day

At a recent women’s retreat, we were given an opportunity to be alone and consider how we were feeling that day. We were to define that emotion in one word. However, being a wordsmith, I couldn’t limit it to one word. Instead I came up with three:

CONTENT

The day before, as part of a book study, we had discussed contentment and discontent. I realized that especially since we’ve retired, I’m truly content with my life.

I love my home, my family, my neighbors. I’m living a life I couldn’t have begun to imagine when I was young and very poor. We’ve visited places all over the world that I’d only read about and never expected to see. We’ve had experiences far beyond my wildest dreams.

And we’ve managed to retire together with enough financial security to allow us relative peace of mind.

Many friends are suffering from various debilitating physical ailments. We are both in good health, adding another reason for contentment. Larry surfs nearly every weekday, and I walk two miles each morning with friends.

We are still active mentally as well. We continue to write, both together and apart. Larry published his book, Lakeview Park, last December. My new book, Ghost Writer will come out this summer. And we have several more currently in the works.

BLESSED

I feel truly blessed to be surrounded by people whom I adore, and who love me in return. We have been active in the same church family for many years. Those relationships are our emotional and spiritual safety net.

We are blessed with a wonderful, loving family. And that is truly a gift.

We live in Paradise, otherwise known as Dana Point, California. Our neighbors watch out for us as we do for them. In a time when most people are transient, we’ve lived in the same place for twenty-five years with nearly all the same people. We know our neighbors as good friends.

GRATEFUL

I was born in the most prosperous and free country in the world. And I get to live in one of the most beautiful places in that country in a large, beautiful home.

I’m wrapped in the love of friends and family, all of whom are close and treasured

I was actually able to retire, despite spending many years as the filling in the ‘sandwich generation.’ That’s more than many baby boomers are able to do. And I get to spend a lot of time just hanging out with Larry, my soul mate and best friend.

I get to write books, both together with Larry and separately. I love writing and appreciate having something constructive and pleasurable to do in retirement.

Unlike when I was working, I can now spend more time doing for others. For instance, on Mondays, we go to Del Obispo Terrace, the assisted living facility where my mother spent several of her happiest years. We sing and share with the residents. These people are truly an inspiration, and we always feel blessed to be able to spend time with them.

Larry and I are both healthy and active and expect to continue to be so going forward.

Is it any wonder that I start each day with a prayer of thanksgiving?

How about you? What is your word of the day?

Betty Crocker Homemaker of Tomorrow

 

I've rarely mentioned it... Actually, for many years, it was a joke and a little bit embarrassing.

In school, I was "the smart one." I was a life member of the National Honor Society, won a couple of scholarships, concentrated hard on the academics, and made outstanding grades. I designed the emblem for our high school’s senior sweater and had my picture in the paper often during my senior year.

So how did I also win the Betty Crocker Homemaker of Tomorrow contest?

My friend, Marie Mazetta, was a homemaking student. When they announced that there’d be a test for the Betty Crocker Homemaker of the Year, I had no intention of entering. But Marie wanted to, and she didn't want to go alone. So I finally agreed to go with her.

It was a multiple-choice test, and I really thought I'd blown off the answers. I was the first one finished, and I left. The part I hadn't counted on was that I'd been doing most of the household tasks for years: cleaning, shopping, budgeting, etc.

No one was more shocked than I when my name was announced as the winner!

I received a cute little gold pin and a certificate. And I thought it was a hoot!

However, about fifteen years ago, I decided to wear the pin to work to show it to someone, and I lost it. I hadn't realized how much that silly thing meant to me until it was gone. After searching for several years, and finding several that looked the same but were a larger size, I finally located another on eBay and purchased it.

The 'new' one is now back in the shadow box where I'd kept my original one, and my world seems complete once more.

Silly, the things that seem to define you. I never recognized that this award, another in the long string of awards I've won over the years, actually mattered to me. Perhaps, it was because it was so unexpected. Perhaps it was because it demonstrated a different skill set than I was normally recognized for. But, for whatever reason, that silly little pin became more precious as the years went by.

I ran across the ‘wrong’ ones one day shortly before Christmas a couple of years ago and realized that I knew women who embodied the values measured by the competition: “family relationships, spiritual and moral values, child development and care, health and safety, utilization and conservation, money management, recreation and use of leisure time, home care and beautification, community participation, and continuing education” (Copied from the Betty Crocker website http://www.bettycrocker.com/community/forums/27/32621.) My sister-in-love and two nieces had truly created homes where friends and family gather, where children are welcome, where nurturing and love can be found.

So I decided that each of them should have one of those little pins to remind them of what a special gift ‘homemaking’ is and how much I loved and admired them for doing so for their families.

Isn’t it strange how things we thought were unimportant take on significance as we get older? Is there anything in your life experience that has become more important in later years?