Dryer calls and dishwasher rumbles

Television shouts incessant noise

Old truck outside my window rumbles

Little girls harass those bratty boys


Underneath all, streams a golden tune

Music to relax my restless heart

Causes me to shiver, shake, and swoon

God’s simply blessing me with His art


I kneel before His glorious face

Feel His hands upon my troubled head

Wonderment cascades into my space

Gently eases a heart that once bled


Sounds that created tremendous pain

Now altered through God’s heavenly grace

Transform into a most welcome rain

While rainbows brighten glowering face


Nights and days with happiness are filled

Friendships bloom into colorful hues

God’s love now into my life is spilled

So no longer will I sing the blues

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Women Who Serve Their Country

A lot of emphasis has been placed on the #MeToo movement which brings awareness to the sexual harassment that women face in the workplace and beyond. It is a powerful movement becomes it brings to the forefront voices and concerns that previously went unheard.

Before this, women’s voices were heard through the suffragettes and then much later, by members of the women’s liberation movement which most people think began with the outspoken voices of individuals like Gloria Steinman.

During WWII women heard the call and responded. With so many working-age men serving in the military, necessary jobs were understaffed. In 1943 a Norman Rockwell painted a poster that was to entice to women to leave homes and do something to help the United States win the war. While Rockwell’s painting might have been the first, it was J. Howard Miller’s depiction of Rosie Riveter, wearing a red bandana and flexing her biceps accompanied by the words We Can do It! that inspired women to take on traditionally male jobs such as welding, riveting and construction.

The movement was not embraced wholeheartedly. A wave of women entered these fields in unprecedented numbers. According to, more than 310,000 women worked in the aircraft industry and a comparable amount worked in the munitions industry. Many men refused to work side-by-side women until ordered to do so.

A sterling example of the impact of these Rosies is in Richmond, California, at the site of Kaiser Shipyards to honor the Rosies who helped to produce 747 ships, more than any other shipyard in the United States. The shipyards worked twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. Over 90,000 employees struggled to assemble the ships, which were created in sections that were then lowered into place.

Women came from all over the United States to learn welding, riveting and various construction skills in order to build ships that were needed for the war effort. The call for help was so successful that the city of Richmond grew from a population of 24,000 to over 100,000 in just a few years.

Kaiser was a brilliant entrepreneur. He employed his own drafts people, many of them women, to replicate the mandatory designs for Liberty and Victory ships that moved soldiers and materials all over the world. In fact, large equipment such as jeeps were disassembled into segments and then crated. Once at the site, the equipment was rebuilt. In this way the holds could be crammed with materials.

He understood that these women were doing the same jobs as men, with the same level of training and under the same working conditions. Because of this, Kaiser paid the women the same wage. He also realized that many of the women had school-age children that needed a safe place to stay while their mothers worked. To alleviate the problem, Kaiser offered Child Care Centers at their industrial sites that were run by highly skilled teachers. The kids received an excellent education in safe environments. This was a novel idea at the time, and still would be considered such today.

Another benefit was health care.  Kaiser understood that more Americans were dying in Home Front accidents than on the battlefields. He knew that only healthy workers could meet his grueling demands and construction needs.

When workers got hurt on the job, because the nearest clinic couldn’t handle the explosion in population needing services, many hours of valuable time were lost. So Kaiser built a field hospital at the shipyard in 1942 that encouraged prepaid medical care at fifty cents a week. Two years later more than 92% of Kaiser employees were enrolled in the plan, which was the first of its kind in the nation. It featured group medical practitioners, prepayment and substantial facilities at a moderate rate.

Another problem was housing. Workers arrived to find no suitable place to live. Many slept in the all-night movie theaters and a huge number shared beds with at least one other worker. Because there were three shifts to work, someone could be in the bed during the morning shift, someone in the afternoon, and a third at night. Today we would find this unacceptable.

Rosies are slowly dying, and so there was a push to be recognized at the federal level. One Rosie began a letter-writing campaign. Every year, beginning with President Clinton, she wrote a letter asking for the government to do something to commemorate the service these women gave to the country.

After twelve years of writing, a letter finally arrived in Joe Biden’s mailbox. He arranged for Rosies to come to the White House for a special day. They were given a private tour, received hugs from Biden, and were astonished when President Obama spoke to them.

On a recent tour of the Richmond Park, we met four of the Rosies, who all shared their stories. They spoke of the call to serve, the desire to do something for their country. None of them had been employed before, so striking out on this journey was quite an adventure. Two of them became welders after overcoming the prejudice of the union that would not allow women to join. Without a union card, they could not work. Kaiser intervened and the rules changed.

The welders learned to set down seams vertically, horizontally and overhead. They said that overhead was the most challenging. To get to the place where the welding was needed, they crawled through eighteen inch square holes dragging their equipment along. It was dark and hot, but they persevered.

Another Rosie worked drafting blueprints. She enjoyed the work because she knew that if she missed an error in the design, the ship might not be sea-worthy.

Because there are so few Rosies left, we felt blessed to be with them and to hear their stories.

Image6If you get a chance to visit a memorial, stop by. It’s an amazing story.



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Making Do

When I was a kid, I was aware of the fact that money seemed to be a constant concern of my dad’s. He kept a budget that went out several weeks into the future that accounted for every payment, every bit of income, every spare dollar. He used the budget to make decisions that affected our welfare.

For example, we never went on big vacations. Too costly. However, we did visit relatives in Kentucky, Wisconsin, Indiana and Nebraska. Wherever we could find a floor to sleep on, there we went.

While I never felt truly poor, I did understand that there were things I didn’t have, couldn’t have, that other kids did.

Until seventh grade I attended a Catholic elementary school. We wore dark blue jumpers and white blouses. Before school began parents held a sale in which used uniforms could be purchased. Because I was overweight, my choices were limited to those outfits that some other, older fat kid had worn.

My blouses were never truly white and my jumpers were never dark blue. I stood out from the neatly dressed kids with their crisp new clothes.

I survived.

I remember when Barbie dolls hit the market. The girl across the street, my only friend, got a doll. I thought it was beautiful with its svelte body and long ponytail, neither of which I had. The dolls arms and legs moved and the head could turn from side to side.

I wanted on so badly that it hurt. But, according to my dad’s budget, there was no money.

I earned twenty-five cents a week allowance for doing assigned chores around the house. I argued that, if I did more work, all unassigned jobs outside my normal duties, I should be paid more. Guess what? No money in the budget.

I wanted a Barbie so badly that for weeks I saved every penny from my allowance. Thinking I had enough, I stuffed the quarters in my pocket when we went to the store. I beamed with pride and excitement. I was going to have a Barbie!

Imagine my disappointment when I discovered the true cost of a Barbie. My coins wouldn’t even make a dent in the cost. I would have to save for months just to get close to having one, and buy then it would be winter when we seldom went outside.

I was incredibly disappointed. In the aisle where they sold cheap plastic toys, I found a look-alike doll. Yes, the plastic was thin, almost opaque, but she resembled the real thing so closely that I thought the neighbor girl wouldn’t notice.

With resignation, I used my saved money to buy the imitation. At home I was given fabric scraps to fashion outfits for her. I spent hours in the shade of a tree in our backyard cutting and sewing. Eventually my doll had a variety of things to wear.

I took my treasures across the street.   The girl noticed immediately that my doll was not the real thing. She laughed, a cruel, heartless laugh of superiority. I went home with my face burning from shame.

I continued to play with the doll, but only at home. I made her more clothes, my stitiches getting better with each mew thing I crafted.

I learned an important lesson. While it’s nice to have the real thing, the actual Barbie and uniforms that no one had worn before me, it’s also possible to make do with what you can afford to have.

What I learned as a young girl I took with me into adulthood. When I could get to a markdown store, I bought groceries there for a fraction of the cost in a chain store. The items were just as good, albeit sometimes odd-shaped.

I shopped at thrift stores for clothes for me and for my family. Because of this we were always dressed nicely, even though sometimes the fashions were a bit out of style.

My dad taught me to only spend money that you had; an important lesson that continues to influence my decision-making today.

There is nothing wrong with making do. It’s something that people around the world do every day.

I can be one of those people who spend only what they can afford. But because my husband and I lived with our future in mind, we can also go on vacation to places that we’ve dreamt of seeing.

Making do was the foundation of my upbringing. It taught me to appreciate what I had even when there were things that I dearly wanted. I learned that fashions come and go, items lose popularity and are replaced with new things that everyone simply must have, but financial solvency is more important than going into debt. It has served me well.



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An Embarrassing Moment

In high school I studied Latin and then switched to Spanish when we moved to California. It was an easy change, probably due to the similarities in phonics.

When I enrolled at a community college, I again took Spanish. I started in one level, but the professor had me change to the highest level the college offered. It was still easy.

Next I transferred to the University of Southern California as a math major. For some reason, I had it in my brain that I would need to know Russian in order to read the latest in mathematical thinking.

During my sophomore year, thinking I had a good grasp of Russian after one semester, wanted to go to San Francisco to visit a Russian bookstore. Unfortunately my dad wouldn’t let me go on my own.

In the back of my mind I hoped that he would stay in the car. Nope. He insisted on going in with me. I roamed the aisles looking for something that I could read with little or no help from a dictionary.

While I was doing this, my dad stood by the register keeping an eye on the owners. He didn’t talk to them. Not one word. Instead he gave them the evil eye if they so much as took one step toward me.

Once I realized what was happening, I grabbed a newspaper and bought it. The owners tried to engage me in conversation. I understood what they were saying, I knew the proper response, but I couldn’t get my mouth to form the words. Instead I looked at them with tears forming in my eyes, paid the bill and scurried out.

My dad smirked as we walked to the car. He told me that the trip was a waste of his time and his gas. He said that I couldn’t speak or read Russian. That I had demonstrated that in the store.

I couldn’t blame him because I had behaved like an idiot. It made me mad, however, to hear the tone in his voice and to understand the underlying message beneath his words. It wasn’t just that I had behaved like an idiot, it was that I was an idiot.

When I got home I went to the room I shared with my sister and opened the paper, expecting to be dumbfounded by the words. I wasn’t. Sure, there were some I didn’t know, but for the most part, I could read every article and get the jist of what was being reported.

I flew home with the paper in my lap. Normally my row mates would try to engage me in conversation. Unwanted attention that both humiliated me and threatened me. I didn’t know the purpose of the conversation. Was it to lure me into an unsavory relationship?

The man next to me leaned over, brushing his shoulder against mine, and made some comment that didn’t deserve a response.

I opened my Russian paper, making sure he could see the print, and read. He left me alone.

The next time I flew home, I brought that paper with me and repeated my performance. It worked. In fact, as long as that paper lasted, it freed me from unwanted advances.

Even though I was proud of that paper and the power it held, I never forgot standing in the store, my dad’s smirk and the hurtful words he said on the way home.

While I had many embarrassing moments, this one ranked up there among the highest.

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Change is Coming

When you’re sixteen, summer is the absolutely worst season of all. Unless you have money. With dollars in your pocket you could do almost anything, go almost anywhere and hang out with your friends.

The problem was that Andrew Nesbitt had no money, few friends and nowhere to go. He had no cell phone, no Internet and no cable TV. That left almost nothing to do except complete the endless chores that his mom assigned: mow the grass, wash the windows, clean your room, take out the trash. Boring.

He tried to find a job, but because of a depressed economy, no one was hiring teens when they could hire adults for kids’ pay. He was even willing to cut his shoulder-length hair if a future employer demanded it, but still no offers.

That meant endless days of reading or playing with his annoying younger sister Angela who he had to babysit for free.

One day as he huddled in his room reading a sci-fi novel that he’d checked out from the library, the doorbell unexpectedly rang.

His mom had strict rules about opening the door, but Angela beat him and so had it wide open, staring at an unusually-dressed woman holding a tall staff in her right hand.

“Who are you?” Andrew asked as he brushed his hair behind his ears.

“Your transport,” the woman said.

“Transport?” Angela asked. “Where are we going?” She leaned against her brother’s side, wrapping her arm around his slim waist.

The stranger stared into Angela’s blue eyes. “To Maru Island near North Carolina.”

Andrew, questioning the sanity of the peculiarly dressed woman, attempted to close the door, but her sandaled foot was firmly planted in the way. “We’ve vacationed many times in the Outer Banks. No Maru. You’re lying,” he said.

The woman grabbed Angela’s arm and pulled her onto the porch. “You’re coming,” the woman said. “You’re needed.” The woman’s body fizzled as if it was disappearing. Before she was completely gone, Andrew grabbed his sister’s free arm and held on.

The three of them were sucked into a vortex of swirling lights and screeching sound. It was difficult to breathe and took all of Andrew’s concentration to bring in enough air to stay alive. He worried about his sister. Were her lungs strong enough to withstand the pressure?

When Andrew’s feet touched solid ground, the swirl of colors and sounds abruptly ceased. His first thought was Angela. He tucked her against his side and asked, “Are you okay?”

She nodded.

What Andrew found odd was that although he was scared, Angela was not. A huge grin lit up her face, her cheeks were flushed and her eyes sparkled. “Look, Andrew,” she said. “We’re in the middle of a very strange village.”

They stood on a cobblestone street lined with odd-shaped cottages. No roof was flat, no windows aligned, no sides straight. And no two doors matched.

Some doors were circular with no windows. Some had one window at the top. Some doors were square and others rectangular, but the rectangular ones had the long sides parallel to the ground. Very weird. And all buildings were exactly the same height. No two-story buildings, no steeples, no towers.

“We must hurry,” the woman said.

Andrew stood firm. “Who are you and what you want with us?”

“I am Qutari, the shaman of Maru. Hidden inside one of these houses is a talisman that will stop the decay that is seeping into the heart of the city. Our mages have tried to no avail. They have decided that only non-magical beings can ferret out the talisman because of some kind of blockage. That’s why you’re here.”

“How do you know we’re non-magical?” Andrew asked.

Qutari tapped her nose. “I can sense magic. Both of you have none. But you have smarts. It’s been predestined that you are the ones who will save the city. Now, come. We will search until we find the talisman. Step up to the first door.”

Angela approached a powder-blue rectangular door. Just as she prepared to knock, the door opened. Out wafted wonderful smells of baking. “Chocolate chip cookies,” Angela screeched as she hurried inside.

Indeed, standing behind a speckled blue counter stood a tiny old woman, an apron tightly tied around her waist. She picked up a tray of still steaming cookies. “Have one, my pretties.”

As Andrew reached for his favorite flavor of cookie, Angela stopped him before his fingers came in contact. “No,” she said with wide-opened eyes. “There’s something wrong.”

The old woman cackled, sending shivers down Andrew’s spine.

Qutari leaned close to Angela and whispered, “Is it the cookies?”

Angela nodded, a terrified look on her face. “I sense danger,” she said as she tugged Andrew out of the kitchen and onto the tiny street. “Can you remove the danger? To keep others safe?”

Qutari lifted her staff high over her head and brought it crashing to the ground. A great earthquake shook the house into rubble. “Done.” She led them to the next house, one with a circular door. “Go inside.”

Andrew knocked and then as before, the door swung wide open. Inside a middle-aged man dressed in dark blue overalls sat in a comfy chair, book in his lap, smoking a pipe.

“Welcome,” he said with a sneer. “Have a seat.” He pipe pointed to an empty sofa.

Andrew tightened his grip on his sister’s hand and stood stock still. “Why?” he said. “What do you want with us?”

The man laughed a rather eerie sounding noise. “You want something from me,” he said.

Andrew looked about the room. His eyes locked on a wooden box on a shelf just behind the man’s head. “What’s that?” he asked.

“My treasure box. It belonged to my wife but now it’s mine.”

As Andrew picked up the box, a strange tingling traveled up his arm. He put it back on the shelf. “There’s something wrong with this.”

Angela took it from his hands and opened it. Inside was an old-fashioned skeleton key that was a bit tarnished. She said, “This might be what you’re looking for.”

Qutari said, “Tell me what you think it might do.”

Angela held the key against her forehead. She scrunched her eyes and her breathing slowed. She stood transfixed for what seemed to Andrew like ten minutes.

He ran his hand over his sister’s messy brown hair. “Angela, speak to me.”

In a voice that wasn’t hers, words poured out. The gravelly voice said, “Give the key to Qutari and get off the island as soon as you can.” The key fell to the floor, Angela’s eyes opened and then she reached for her brother’s hand. “Let’s get out of here,” she said.

Qutari tucked the key into a leather satchel that fell nearly to her hips. “Well done,” she said once the threesome was outside. “You found the talisman. But there’s a problem.”

Andrew sighed. “What do you need from us now?”

“To find the lock that the key opens.”

“No,” Andrew said. “You only wanted the talisman.”

Qutari shook her head as she ushered the children down the street. “I said that you had to solve a problem. Well, you got the key, but now we need to know what the key opens. Solve that and I will take you home.”

A stiff breeze ruffled Andrew’s short-sleeved shirt. He wrapped his arms around his body for warmth. Angela did the same. “I’m cold,” she said. “I wish I had a sweatshirt.”

Qutari banged her staff against the cobblestone street and two sweatshirts appeared before their feet, one dark blue in Andrew’s size, one bright red in Angela’s. The kids slipped them over their heads and then the trio proceeded down the street.

“We don’t have to go in every house,” Qutari said. “Let’s stand before each one for a few minutes. Close your eyes and allow your senses to speak.”

They stopped in front of a house with a red tile roof that slanted sharply to the right. A red door stood open and a sharp smell of rotting food floated about. “Something’s dead in there,” Andrew said. “We shouldn’t go in there.”

At the next house, one with a slanted green door, Angela nodded. “This might be the one. Look at the lock. It’s old-fashioned, just like the key.”

Qutari hesitated. “No one locks their doors here. But you can check.” She handed the key to Angela, who, after first trying the knob and finding it locked, inserted the key and turned. The door opened.

The sounds of children crying filled the air. Qutari entered first after telling Andrew and Angela to wait outside. Within minutes Qutari came out with at least a dozen kids of all ages trailing behind.

“You did it!” Qutari said. “You found our children! They’ve been missing for weeks.” A grin lit up her craggy face. She banged her staff on the ground and two men appeared wearing tan robes. “Our children have been found thanks to the young people. Please, take the kids home.”

The men led the children down the street. Some of the kids were Andrew’s age. They either clutched a toddler to their chests or tightly held the hand of a crying youngster. Some of the kids followed on their own. All of their faces were smudged with tears and their clothing was dirty. All of them smelled as if they hadn’t washed for a long time. They were thin and walked as if to a slow waltz, barely lifting their feet off the ground.

“I will take you home now,” Qutari said as she grabbed Andrew’s arm. “Hold on tight,” she said as they entered that same swirling tunnel from before.

When they settled on solid ground, Qutari bowed before the kids. “Thank you for your help. Those kids will be given a nice warm bath and some healthy food and then returned to their families.   We will be forever grateful to you.”

Qutari pulled two amulets out of a pocket of her robe. She handed one to Andrew, the other to Angela. “If you ever find yourselves in trouble, put these around your necks, close your eyes and allow my image to come to your minds. I will come.”

Angela wrapped her arms around Qutari and hugged her tightly. “Thanks for allowing me to help,” she said.

Andrew shook Qutari’s hand. “Me too,” he said. “It was fun. I’d go back to that village any day.”

Qutari pounded her staff against the ground and disappeared.

The two kids went inside. Instead of turning on the television, they sat together on the sofa and talked. One thing they agreed on was that their normal boring day and suddenly become one-of-a-kind.

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Taking Care of Me

I really like going to the gym. Even at my heaviest, I went to the gym five times a week, at a minimum. Sometimes I went every day. Sometimes I skipped a Sunday, especially when I had to clean bird cages.

When I first joined a gym I went after school, but I found that challenging. I’d come home tired and wanting alone time, but because I had a gym membership, I felt obligated to go. Once there, I’d relax. And I’d feel proud that I had changed clothes and made the effort.

A year into that membership I started getting up at 4:00 AM to be at the gym by 4:15 when it opened. I’d exercise for an hour, then come home and get ready for work. Again, I felt proud of myself. After all, this meant sacrifice, right? But I am a morning person, so it worked.

After my first knee replacement, it was hard getting back into that morning routine. In fact, it took months before I could do much of anything except ride a bike and use some of the weight machines. Mike would drive me to the gym, then come back in an hour to get me. It hurt, but exercise loosened up my knee and made it function properly.

After some investigation I discovered that the gym in the town where I worked opened at 6:00 AM. I could sleep in a little longer, eat breakfast, feed the birds, then leave. There I walked in the water. Back and forth, back and forth, getting in as many laps as I could. Then I would shower and dress for work, teach all day, feeling proud of myself.

I lost weight. And gained weight. Each time I had surgery or broke something or a knee fell apart, I’d gain weight. Then I’d return to the gym as soon as I could and lose weight, but never as much as I had gained. It felt like I was a hamster in a wheel, spinning around and around and going backwards.

I joined Weight Watchers. That helped. I loved the expectations because they were reasonable and doable. I lost weight. In fact, altogether about thirty pounds. I gave away my too-big clothes and gleefully bought new.

But then another surgery, weight gain, bigger clothes. I was caught in a cycle that seemed to have no end.

The one consistency in my life was exercise. Every day that I could, I was at the gym. I walked in the water until my knee was strong enough and then I swam. I’d go to my gym nights and weekends. I kept my weight under control and even lost a few pounds.

Last year I was told that I needed surgery but the surgeon would not operate until I’d lost a considerable amount of weight. That was my motivation.

Interestingly enough, my exercise routine has not changed. I swim up to five days a week. I work with weight machines at least two. I use the elliptical and stationary bike at least two.

Since I’ve been retired I go out walking with my husband every day, except when it’s raining.

And I love it all. I love swimming. I feel sleek and powerful in the water even though I am not the fastest swimmer. But once I start, I don’t stop until I’ve swum a half mile. At the end, I feel tired, but proud.

When I am using the machines, I get embarrassed because of my floppy arms, but I push and pull over and over, knowing that what I am doing will make me stronger. And I feel proud.

On the elliptical and bike I challenge myself to up the ante by increasing friction and moving longer. It’s tiring, but it feels awesome.

Every single time I exercise, I smile. I am doing it for me. All for me, and that’s what makes it so special and meaningful.

When I had small kids, I did things for them. When I was a stay-at-home mom, I did things for Mike as well. I cooked and cleaned and shopped because I loved taking care of my family. I loved being with them and watching them grow physically, emotionally and mentally.

I took care of many dogs and cats and eventually birds. I did it out of love. They loved me back, which felt great. Well, maybe the birds didn’t love me, but they “talked” to me when I spoke to them.

I still have responsibilities at home, but Mike has shouldered many of them since he retired. I no longer grocery shop or cook or wash dishes or run the vacuum or push dust around. We share responsibility for the cat, but the birds are mine.

What I do have is time for me, and while there are many ways that I divvy up that time, a good portion still goes to exercise. I eagerly put on the right clothes and head out. I look forward to going, knowing that after lunch, my usual time, is dedicated to taking care of me.

We all need to do that. To set aside portions of every day that belong to us. Time when we do what we want to do, not what we need to do or are expected to do.

If you haven’t done that yet, give it a try. It’s amazing how wonderful you’ll feel.

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Lonely Heart

When you are by my side

My heart glows with happiness.

You and I are one,

Have been for many years,

But more so recently.

And so when we are apart,

I am not whole.

Half of me is missing,

Vanished. Disappeared.

As if magic has erased your caring,

Your tender touch, your loving.

Even though I know you are not far away,

You are not here, by my side.

My heart aches for you.

It is lonely until we are reunited

And then all is well again.

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