Family Tree

Just swinging from branch to branch on the family tree: Gee, Aunt May and Uncle Joe are also my first cousins once-removed since Grandma Minnie married brothers. And look here: My great-grandfather Ernie married cousins. Hey, and didn't this grandfather marry sisters? And what the hell are these cousins doing? They can just stop it right now! And---whoa! I think I just slipped from the family tree. Yep, my ass is definitely on the ground. OUCH!

Living Locash

Yes, I am retired. And I'm living locash. What does that mean?

The LoCash Cowboys have defined it:

"LoCash is a way of life. It doesn’t mean you are poor or have no money. It just means that some of the best things in life are free – or LoCash. It’s remembering who you are and where you came from."

Song to Annie

My Saddest

WHERE?

Who, what, when, how, and why have never confused me as much as the question WHERE. Most of my life's questions have started with WHERE: Where am I suppposed to be? Where do I go from here? Where do I find the answer? Where are we? Where do you want to go? Where is the justice? Where is love? Where did that come from? Where in the world are you? Where's mine? Where is God? . . . Where are my car keys?

Starting Again

Eight months ago, I started a BlogSpot titled "Dancing with the Broom." I didn't get very far. I posted there ONCE--Jan 6, 2009. After that I stopped. I didn't just stop blogging--I stopped living. I shut down. After years of taking care of three sons and two sets of parents, working, delivering far too many eulogies, and more, I crashed WHAM into a great wall of depression. And my soul screamed, "ENOUGH!"

I realized that I didn't want to live the way I was, and I certainly didn't want to die that way either. I prayed. I went to counseling. I got the right meds. I rested. I made decisions. The biggest decision I made was to leave my teaching career of 33 years. I decided that Mr. Rogers had to go so that Mark could take time to live. Now I loved being Mr. Rogers. I loved teaching. And I was really good at it. I put my heart and soul into it. Perhaps that was my mistake: I put too much of myself into it. I cared so much that it became very painful. Mr. Rogers had to go.

Fortunately, I had made smart financial decisons over the years which enabled me to say goodbye to teaching. And now here I am, starting again, and enjoying a sweeter life. Meanwhile, here is the one post from my orignial BlogSpot . . .



Dancing with the Broom
My wife wouldn't just sweep with the broom; she would dance with it too. She found the joy in each living minute. I have taken the lesson of my wife's dancing with the broom to face the enormity of her loss. I turn on the music and "dance" through the many tasks of the day. Sometimes I glide; sometimes I trip. But these are my steps


Tuesday, January 6, 2009
Starting Again

I haven't done any personal writing for a while. I feel a need to start again. (Thanks, Bret, for introducing me to this blog site. Sometimes we all need a little nudge.) I feel a need to vent, create, explore. Perhaps I can do those things here.

At the moment, I'm feeling very reflective. I need to collect some of my past writings and place them in one spot and review them. I need to study them, consider them, to see where I've been, so I can gain a better sense of where I am and where I seem to be heading.

And so, for a little while, my postings here will be pastings of earlier writings: my attempts at dealing with the loss of Annie, my wife and the mother of my three sons. I need to know that I've made some progress over the past four and one half years. At this moment, I feel as raw and lost as ever. My heart is still broken.

Five Years Ago This Morning

Written July 6, 2009

Five years ago this morning, I went to the hospital to give Annie her
bath. I did not know it would be her last.

The night before, Annie had expressed concern to me that the
hospital had not given her a bath. The staff had given her a bowl of
warm water each of her two days there, but she had been too weak to
do any more than wipe her face. I was shocked that the hospital had
not been bathing her. Didn't they see how weak she was?! I swore
to her that I'd be at that hospital every morning to give her a
bath. She smiled, and the worry left her face.

Five years ago this morning was a special time for Annie and me. I
gently, but thoroughly washed her from head to toe. Annie always
loved to be rubbed; and so, she enjoyed each attention I gave. "Oh
that feels so good," she kept saying. "Thank you for being here."
There was no uncomfortableness between us. We had 20 years of love
and trust.

After her bath, I showed her that I had brought her perfume to her.
I dabbed some on her. She smiled.

Later that afternoon, I learned the truth. And afterwards, I went
home to tell each of our boys, one by one, that "Mommy isn't going
to make it." I remember thinking that those were the worst moments
of my life. I was wrong. The worst moments came the next morning
when I had to tell my two younger boys that "Mommy passed away."
(But somehow they already knew--the night had whispered the truth.)

I'll be thinking of you this morning, Dolly. I'll remember those
sweet moments we shared five years ago, the last morning of your
life.

And I'll remember the evening too, when family and friends gathered
around your bedside, when I held your hand and whispered to you over
and over, "It's okay, Dolly. Everyone is here. Everyone is safe.
It's okay, sweetie. You don't have to fight any more. It's okay to
rest, to let go. We all love you so much! It's okay. It's okay."

I'll remember, Dolly. And I'll find comfort in the words you
inspired Jonathan to write:

My boys were with me. The one on the left was holding me; the one on
the right was patting my hand. I was busy listening to them talk to
me in soft voices.

I was looking at my boys and not at the hospital room around me.
Someone tapped me on the head. I thought it might be the nurse.
Then I sensed something odd. It wasn't the nurse who tapped. It
was God. "Not now," I said. "I'm fighting hard. There's work still
here to do."

"Your time is now," He whispered. "So say a quick goodbye." I wasn't
ready, but I had no choice. I did as He instructed. I peeked in and
left.

I guess it can't be helped that I left all of you so suddenly. Did
you see the birds at the windowsill suddenly scatter into the
night? Will it make it easier to know that one of them was me?

And one was Grandma, and another was Grandpa. And the rest were
others I have known. They all came to Elwood to escort me on
home.

Did you see the one cardinal flying low? Yes, that was me!

Family and friends, don't mourn for me too long. Get on with life.
Take care of things. Be brave and proud.

I'll surely miss you everyone
About that I will not lie
But as long as you remember me
I will never die.

Remembering Annie

FIVE YEARS LATER . . .

In remembrance of Annie Taylor Rogers: wife, mother, daughter, sister, aunt, niece, cousin, friend.

Dec 27, 1960 - July 7, 2004

Annie was a custodian evenings at the local middle school, and she loved her job. The superintendent of the schools shared this story at Annie's funeral:

"Her enjoyment of life was illustrated one evening when my wife and I were walking the hallways of the school complex. As we neared a corner, we could hear lively music. When we turned the corner, there was Annie dancing with her broom handle. She smiled, somewhat embarrassed, and gave friendly greetings."

I have taken the lesson of my wife's dancing with her broom to move through the enormity of her loss. Each morning, I face the many tasks of the day with music, and I dance through each task. I think of Annie, and I get my work done. And my three sons are the better for it.

"Work like you don't need the money,
Love like you've never been hurt,
And dance like no one's watching."



For my wife Annie, I delivered the following eulogy, July 9, 2004:


"Welcome"

"Come Gather On Our Porch"

"Friends are the riches of this home
And love is its blessing"

These are just a few of the messages that decorate our home and yard, messages left by Annie.

Twenty years ago this summer, Annie and I started dating. When she first visited my apartment, she was not impressed. She looked around and shook her head. She stared at my empty walls and impatiently asked, "Where are all your pictures? All of your decorations?"

"This is it," I replied. She left. But then she came back with a hammer, nails, and some pictures. And the pounding began.

I had a small apartment, and so it didn't take too long for Annie to fill my walls. After that, what else could I do but buy a house with more walls---and, of course, marry the girl.

After we were married and after all the walls of our house were filled, Annie started spending time in our yard. "Come out and play," she would often shout to me.

"There's nothing out there to see," I would shout back. And it was true. There was nothing out there but grass. No trees. No flowers. Nothing.

What did Annie do? She grabbed a shovel and went to work. Soon there were trees, flowerbeds, and rosebushes. And later there were birdhouses and birdbaths and birdhouses and statues and birdhouses and lanterns. And there were birdhouses-or did I mention birdhouses already?

Again, Annie shouted to me, "Come out and play." I did go out long enough to see the Pride-Award sign that the city placed in our front yard. Then I went back inside. "Come outside," she shouted at me.

"There's no place to sit," I shouted back. Soon the back porch had a roof and lawn furniture. And Annie finally got me outside.

Stepping out into Annie's world was like that moment from the movie THE WIZARD OF OZ when Dorothy opens the black-and-white door to reveal a world of brilliant color.

And so, for these past many years, I've been living in OZ. I've been easing down that yellow brick road with Dorothy, Lion, Scarecrow, and Tin Man--and Toto too.

My Dorothy of course has been Annie. All that the fictional Dorothy thought about was HOME. So it was with Annie. But Annie didn't just think about HOME, she made our home. She devoted herself to creating a beautiful world for her boys.

And who are her boys? Let me introduce them:

First, we have the LION--better known as Jonathan. But our Jonathan is not a cowardly lion. He has his mother's courage. For several seasons, he went out on wrestling mats and faced opponents bigger and stronger. And as a young cub, he had the courage to go out and mow yards and create a business for himself.

Next, we have SCARECROW--better known as Benjamin. Benjamin makes us proud by using his brain. He makes good grades. And he amuses the family with his quick wit and clever stories.

Finally, we have TINMAN--better known as Cameron. Like the fictional Tin Man, our Cameron does his share of squeaking. (But Benjamin usually gives him a squirt of oil and all is well again.) Also like the fictional Tin Man, our Cameron has a big heart. Cameron is a giving, loving spirit. He demonstrates his mother's generosity and compassion, and he has been my rock these past few days.

Lion, Scarecrow, and Tin Man--these are Annie's boys. These have been her companions on her journey down that yellow-brick road.

And of course others have accompanied her. We can't forget TOTO: Through-out her years, Annie has opened her door and arms to several canine friends: Muffy, Thornton, Jessie, Sassy, and Missy. Annie has taught her boys the joys of adding a dog to the home.

A recent addition to Annie's world has been Glenda the Good Witch, better known as Natalie. Natalie has been a helper and an encourager these past months. She has been a blessing for the entire family.

The other day, a scene ran through my mind. The scene was from THE WIZARD OF OZ: The Wicked Witch while riding on her broom sky-writes the words SURRENDER DOROTHY. The citizens of Emerald City look up and begin asking, "Who's Dorothy? Who's Dorothy?"

I can answer that question. I am the Wizard of Oz, and so I know who Dorothy is. ANNIE is Dorothy. Annie is that brave girl who didn't surrender to the Wicked Witch. She battled that Wicked Witch--for 10 long months.

On Annie's last day at home, it rained. I was standing on the back porch looking up into the eastern sky. Suddenly there was a break in the clouds and sunlight came from the west. Soon a rainbow formed. "Thank you, God," I said. Suddenly I was aware that Annie was on the porch with me. She didn't say a word. She quietly came up beside me and put her arm around my waist. The two of us stood there looking up at the beauty. This was Annie's final gift to me.

In the days to come, I will be enjoying the backyard garden that Annie created. And of course I will be searching for rainbows and waiting for Annie to once again place her arm around my waist.

I believe that love never leaves.

Cleaning

I have big day of cleaning ahead of me. It causes me to think back to a piece of writing I did a few years back:



"Cleaning" by Mark Rogers
written Oct 3, 2004

Part 1 Cleanest House In Elwood

With our anniversary coming up, I've been recalling the early days with Annie. Like most newly-weds, Annie and I had our share of disagreements. Whenever we got angry back then, we had the same response: we'd start cleaning the house. We'd scream & scrub, swear & sweep, damn & dust, and pout & pick-up. Well, during the first few months of our marriage, we had the cleanest house in Elwood!

Whenever family or friends would enter our oh-so-clean house, many would laugh and ask, "Did you two have another argument?" And of course by that time, Annie and I would be so proud of our oh-so-clean house that we'd hug in celebration of our joint work. As the years passed, our house was never quite as clean as during those first few months. Annie and I just didn't argue enough. LOL We traded a clean house for a comfortable home.

Part 2 The Dolly Touch

During our dating days, I started calling Annie "Dolly." And the name stuck. Annie liked being called Dolly. Like I thought, she too thought that she was as cute as a doll. LOL

She signed all of her notes and cards to me with "Love, Dolly." And some of you may recall that Annie's email address was marksdolly@hotmail.com (Mark's Dolly). Indeed, she was my Dolly. (That's why the yellow ribbons on her funeral spray said "Mom" and "Dolly.")

For many years, Annie was a stay-at-home Mom. Whenever I would come home from work, the house would look and smell wonderful. I would remark, "Oh, it's the Dolly touch!" And Annie would giggle at my comment. But there was truth to my words. There was something magical that Annie did with our home. I never could figure it out.

Whenever Annie was away--either shopping, visiting, or having a baby, I would clean the house, and it would look nice, but not as nice as when Annie did it. I just didn't have the Dolly touch. I still don't.

Family and friends visit these days and say, "Oh, Mark, you're doing a wonderful job keeping up with the house!" I smile and thank them and am truly glad that they see that I'm trying to do right by the boys. But at the same time, when I look around, I don't see the Dolly touch. I miss the Dolly touch.

Part 3 "The bustle in a house"

For many of my teaching years, I've taught American Literature. After Annie died, a particular poem (by Emily Dickinson) kept popping into my mind, "The bustle in a house:"

The bustle in a house
The morning after death
Is solemnest of industries
Enacted upon earth,--

The sweeping up the heart,
And putting love away
We shall not want to use again
Until eternity.

After a person dies, there is work to do. And it indeed "is solemnest of industries." The night Annie died, after everyone had left her hospital room, I had the sad job of gathering up her belongings: her clothes, sandals, and purse, and her flowers, newspaper, word-search book, gum, and more. Next came the sad job of answering a lot of questions from the hospital staff. Of course, the
next morning, I had the tasks of making arrangements with the funeral home and with the cemetery. Thank heavens, I was not alone! My sis was right by my side, step by step.

Meanwhile, my sister's wonderful children looked after my boys. They took them shopping for clothes, and they treated them to lunch and a Spider-Man movie. Cameron commented not long ago, "The day Mommy died was one of my saddest days. But it was also one of my happiest days. I got to have so much fun with my cousins."

A few days after the funeral, the boys and I sat down together to talk. "Please don't get rid of any of Mom's things," requested Jonathan.

"Jonathan, some things have to go. The house is going to change. But I promise I will go slowly. You guys probably won't notice most changes." I've kept my promise. Bit by bit, room by room, I've made changes--slowly.

Almost all of Annie's closet is gone. (I've kept a couple of outfits.) All of her bathroom articles are gone--except her perfume. (I like to get a little whiff of her once in a while.) For several weeks, I kept Annie's bathrobe hanging on the hook on the bathroom door. I told the boys, "If you're ever really missing Mommy, put on her robe. It'll be like getting a hug from her." A few weeks ago,
I finally gave the robe to Annie's mom. I told her the same thing I had told the boys. She was very grateful to get Annie's robe. Her eyes filled with tears, and she hugged the robe close to her.

I've given a lot of Annie's Boyd's Bears away to family and friends. (I want to share Annie, not hoard her away.) I have more of Annie's belongings to give away--but it will happen slowly, as I promised the boys.

Last week, Benjamin told me that his friend Aaron commented to him that our house had changed a lot in the last few weeks. "I hadn't really noticed," Benny said, "until Aaron started pointing things out. Dad, you've done a really good job of not being obvious."

Slowly, Benny, slowly.


Part 4 "She Works Hard for the Money"

Annie's job at the Elwood Middle School was cleaning. When she would come home late at night, tired and aching, I would sometimes rub her shoulders and say, "She Works Hard for the Money!" (Title of a favorite Donna Summer song)

"Yes, I do," Annie would reply. And she was telling the truth! One teacher said that the women's restroom was never shiny until Annie arrived on the scene. And after Annie had to go on sick leave, the teacher sighed, "Well, the restroom is back the way it used to be before Annie." Besides restrooms and classrooms, Annie was responsible for the school gym. Both the school's principal and athletic director agreed that the gym was at its finest during Annie's tenure.

Bless her. She gave 'em the Dolly touch!


Part 5 "A Mother's Work Is Never Done"

I always considered myself a modern man, one who empathizes with women and listens to what they are saying. I also always considered myself a modern husband, one who helps his wife with household duties--even when Annie was a stay-at-home Mom, I helped with the cooking,cleaning, shopping, and laundry--always careful not to over-step the boundaries and invade her space, not always an easy task.

I also always considered myself a modern father, one who is active in caring for the children--after all, I changed dirty diapers, got up for early feedings, gave baths, wiped away tears, carved pumpkins, pulled teeth, helped with homework, signed report cards, and was present at school functions. I always felt that I was an all-round modern guy, one who understands women and their world.

I was wrong.

My world was always next to Annie's world, but it was never the same world. Now that Annie is gone, I've inherited her world. I now step between two worlds. There is comfort in stepping into Annie's shoes and walking her mile. When I'm cooking supper, or washing the dishes, or folding laundry, I feel close to her. I feel like I'm taking care of her interests, her boys and her home. I feel like I
am loving her. And a certain amount of joy comes from that.

But something else happens when I'm walking Annie's mile: I feel what she felt. It's bittersweet. Yes, there's the satisfaction of taking care of one's family, but there is the sadness of being alone in the enormity of it all. A mother understands that her work is never done. And she worries. When I'm taking the boys' shirts out of the dryer and straightening them onto hangers, I worry about the boys. Are they safe? Are they happy? Am I doing right by them? Do I matter? Am I making a difference for them?

Deep within a mother's heart, there is a lonely pain.

I never understood why Annie would quietly pick up after the boys. I would always bark orders and make the boys clean up their messes. I still bark orders. But now, I also quietly clean up after my guys. I'm alone in my worry for them. And I hug their dirty shirts while sorting the laundry for the washer.

Deep within a mother's heart, there is a lonely pain.

A Brother's Love

A Brother's Love
by Mark Rogers
Sept 5, 2004

The other day, Cameron and I noticed the beautiful mums for sale at Harvest Market. We decided Mommy needed some. So, yesterday I bought two planters of mums--one yellow and one rust.

Today (Sept. 5), Bev and Corbin joined Cameron and me as we drove out to Annie's grave with the mums. Just as we arrived, Bev said, "Oh, look! Someone has put a birdhouse in Annie's tree."

"Not someone," I replied. "Terry did that. I just know he did. He had mentioned a few days ago that he wanted to hang a birdhouse for Annie on her tree. And he apparently has."

"Isn't it pretty?" remarked Bev.

"It's just perfect," I said. And it is. It's a little yellow birdhouse with green and rust trim. It hangs on the branch just above Annie.

Terry has always been a wonderful big brother to Annie. But this big brother's love for his baby sister has been particularly beautiful to behold this summer. During June, while I was teaching summer school, Terry (and Kay) drove Annie to Noblesville every day for her radiation treatments. And neither Terry nor Kay wanted to take any money for doing it.

When Annie went into the hospital this past July, Terry and Kay were right there. During one visit, Terry placed his hand on Annie and prayed over her. I can't describe the beauty of the scene, but I was quite moved by it. I know that God was there. Such peace came to me while Terry prayed.

Terry also brought a vase of roses from his garden to Annie. Two of the roses were yellow, and Annie was at peace only when she could see the two yellow roses. (Bev and I made the mistake of turning the vase once. Though difficult for her to talk, Annie soon communicated very strongly to us that she wanted her vase placed so she could see those two yellow roses.)

I can't remember which hospital visit it was, but Terry came wearing a white cap with "USA" printed on it. Being the gentleman that he is, Terry removed his cap as he entered the building. And when he came through the door of Annie's room, Annie immediately spotted the cap and exclaimed, "Oh, you've brought me a new hat!"

"Yes, I did," Terry replied. And without hesitation, he handed over his cap to his little bald sister. And he left the cap with her and never asked for it back. Annie proudly kept the cap displayed on her hospital table.

Annie always felt safe and loved when her big brother was around. And so it was no wonder that during her final hours, she called out to "Bud" as plainly as ever.

At Annie's funeral, Terry stood up and delivered a beautiful eulogy that honored his sister. He ended with, "I loved my baby sister."

Didn't he though! And he still does. The birdhouse is the latest testimony to a brother's love.

Before I end, I have to mention that July 28 is Terry's birthday. The boys and I wanted to make sure that Uncle Terry received a birthday bag of goodies this year. Included in the bag was a certain
white "USA" cap that Annie was so proud to own.

Wear it in good health, Terry!

First Date

Annie and I had our first date with one another 25 years ago: August 2, 1984.

On our drive over to Ball State to see a musical, we happily
discovered we both liked Motown music. And we were both happy to
discover that the other didn't mind that we smoked.

After Act I of the musical, we decided to leave. We weren't
enjoying the show that much--we were both happy to discover that we
could be honest with one another about what we liked and didn't
like. (I bought tickets for that show because a former student of
mine was starring in it.)

I asked Annie where she'd like to go in Muncie. She wanted to go to
Red Lobster. I figured we were going there for a drink or two and a
light snack. Boy was I wrong! When Annie received a menu, she let
the orders fly. This girl was going to EAT. (I'm glad I had money
in my wallet.) And she enjoyed a few whiskey-sours. The girl could
drink too!

After we left Red Lobster, I took Annie to my sister's. Eight-year-
old Jenny-Mack in particular was fascinated by Annie. Annie's voice
was gone at the time, so she had to whisper. (When she tried to use
her voice, it cracked and faded.) Jenny was worried about Annie,
and she got right up on Annie's lap. Next, Jenny was fascinated by
Annie's colorful clothes and her jewelry. I remember Jenny sitting
on Annie's lap and playing with Annie's bracelet. Marla and her
family really enjoyed meeting Annie.

We left Marla's pretty late. When I pulled the car into Annie's
drive, my headlights caught two figures sitting on the front
porch. "That's Mom and Dad," Annie whispered. I could see that
the father had a can of beer.

"Oh, crap!" I thought. "I've kept her out too late, and now I'm
going to hear about it from her parents."

Annie and I walked up to the front porch and were greeted with
happy, friendly voices. "Would you like a beer?" asked the father.
I accepted the offer. As we sat on the porch with the parents, I
learned that the father worked 2nd shift and had arrived home just
minutes before Annie and I had. (So he wasn't waiting up because I
had kept his daughter out too late.) Anyway, the four of us enjoyed
a late night chat on the porch.

Our first date was fun, and we both knew we wanted to see more of
each other. But then I was in-love with Annie the day I met her.
She was beautiful, bubbly, funny, and friendly. She was so engaging
that I couldn't help but fall in love.

Spark

Spark
i am a spark
in the sweep of cosmic wind
a tiny drop of salty sea
stretching legs on the drier end

i am the living thread
in Gea's bold tapestry
the double helix of history

i am Creation's eyes, ears
nose, tongue, and skin
appointed keeper of universal kin

i am Whitman's grass
i am Shakespeare's stage
i am the dinosaur
lost to newer age

I Believe . . .

When I look up at the stars,
I believe I am small.

When I look down at the dust,
I believe I am brief.

When I look around at others,
I believe I am common.

When I close my eyes,
I believe a voice tells me that I matter.

And so, I try.

Dancing with the Broom

My wife wouldn't just sweep with the broom; she would dance with it too. She found the joy in each living minute. I have taken the lesson of my wife's dancing with the broom to face the enormity of her loss. I turn on the music and "dance" through the many tasks of the day. I celebrate the joy of the now. And my three sons are the better for it.

Talking to Tim

Tim was my student aide at least two of his four years of high school, and he was a student of mine in at least three different classes. This past school year, Tim and I both left Tri-Central. He graduated, and I retired. Tim joined the Navy, and I embraced the sweet life.

Tim is now stationed in Groton, CT, the sub-marine capital of the world. He and I are keeping in touch, and I have a picture of Tim in his uniform in a small frame-magnet on my refrigerator. Lately, I noticed that I've been talking to Tim--or at least his picture on my fridge anyway. Call it crazy if you will, but here are some of the comments the picture has received:


Morning, Tim. Whatta ya want for breakfast?

Damn, are we outta milk again?

Would you let the dog out please? I'm busy.

Hey, mind your business. I will eat what I damn well please!

Why don't you play a tune, Tim--or did you forget your guitar?


What are you lookin' at, dumbass?!

Are you gonna help with these dishes or not?

Answer the phone, Tim. My hands are wet!

Heard any good jokes lately?

I wonder how everyone is doing over at good ol' Tri-Central.


Now where in the hell are you stationed? I keep forgetting.

Do you know where my glasses are?

What day is it?

It would be nice if you could put away some of these groceries!

Oh, I don't wanna cook supper. You're not hungry anyway, are you?


Okay, who left this half-eaten sandwich in here?!

How come I haven't seen you on facebook lately?

I am so pissed! You wanna know what I just stepped in?!

What time is it?

What's the dog barking at?


Oh, I think I splattered a little mustard on you there! Sorry!

I need coffee! Now!

Damn, I was your age just a day or two ago.

Why is all this stuff on top of the refrigerator?

How are you doing, Tim?


Thanks for serving our great nation, Tim.

God bless you, Tim

Stay safe, Tim.

Love you, Tim.

G'night, Tim.

Maeve Is Coming

At Amazon.com, I just ordered Elizabeth Cunningham's three volumes of the Maeve Chronicles, featuring the Celtic Mary Magdalen. The three titles should arrive Sept. 11. I look forward to diving into a series.

I wonder if I will be just entertained or both entertained and enlightened. The series has excellent ratings at Amazon. And a blogger I follow says Cunningham's writings saved his life. September 11 will tell the story--or at least, BEGIN the story.

Counting Blessings

I'm the father of 3 sons and a teacher of 33 years, now retired. I have 3 grandchildren, and another on the way. Both my parents are together and have been my neighbors for the last 24 years. I treasure my one older sister and her 3 children. I'm always counting blessings.