CHAPTER SEVEN

Here is a follow up to the previous post. It may cast some understanding of my true love. This is a letter written to Betty about three week before my first heart attack.

11/2/57
Dearest One:
How can time, which flies so fast in other areas of life, go so slowly when I anticipate your return? Why is it that each days tomorrow is so slow in fading into this petty pace from day to day? Why is it that when the heart longs its satisfaction is found only in the sensual pleasure of holding your loved one in your arms and feeling the soft caresses of her lips? Why is it that a house which seems too full with the children suddenly takes on the aspects of a cavernous tomb when they are away?
I love you, I long for you, I desire you-- hurry, O wings, and bear her home to me! Hurry, O flight, and span the space and time that we who are thus apart may find our wholeness together!

The day is like my heart. The heavens cry their tears and the greyness speaks to my desolateness without you. Bear up - be brave - and yet how could I have let you go and how could I do otherwise. With hardly a letter to hold to my heart -- hearing from you only through packages - and quickening to your love I sit in longing just to hear your breath --I lie in wait for the other side of the bed to give in to you knowing that I too will then hold you in my arms.

News? What news? The world has come to a virtual stand still while you are gone. Hasten, O hasten home, my love that we who are thus apart may find our wholeness together!

Love, Jim

She had returned just before the heart attack. She had suffered a miscarriage of twins in June of that year and was taking some time off from managing a family to be with her family in West Virginia. The twins, a boy and a girl did not survive and are buried in Woodville, MA.

CHAPTER SIX

I've delayed long enough to write the next chapter of this Blog. Recent news has made it a bit easier. As Pastor of the Woodville Baptist Church I was a member of a committee looking for a replacement of our organ. One of the members was the mother of a young man who had had a clinical death during surgery. As a Psychologist I counseled the lad in cooperation with his family doctor. When we came back from one of our visits to evaluate a used pipe organ at another Church I took the lady home and I truly don’t remember how or why it happened, but I kissed her “goodnight”. The next visit when I left her at the door she commented, “You kissed me the last time.” That began a strange relationship which led to a lot of “smooching”, etc. The etc. was largely her driving to Newton and taking me to a baseball game at Fenway Park, or to a movie. On the way home we would stop and “neck” a while. There was no indication that our behavior would go beyond that level. Actually I kept telling myself that this behavior made me love Betty even at a deeper level. The last time we were together was when Betty was visiting her Mother after the twins had died. That would be in June 1957. They were fraternal male and female. They survived less than a day being about 3 month premature. When Betty went into labor the aforementioned lady drove us to the nearest hospital at Marlboro, MA. I preached the next day and found out after the service that the twins had not survived. Neither of us ever really saw them since they were in intensive care from the moment of birth. The Funeral Director in Hopkinton provided a casket for the two of them and a friend who pastored the Congregational Church agreed to conduct the funeral. A member of my Church let them to be buried on a corner of his family plot in Woodville. I’ll never forget this beautiful gesture of A.E. Stone. A friend from Seminary was Pastor in Marlboro and was able of visit Betty.

After she came home from the hospital Betty was able to go visit her family in West Virginia. Just before she returned I had one last “date’ with the other woman. This one led a bit further than ever anticipated, but not to bed. The Fall Semester was under way. I was taking a full schedule at Andover Newton and a class at Harvard with a noted Biblical Scholar, Paul Tillich. In November 1957, just after I had turned 33 years of age, I had a massive heart attack. I was at a Deacon’s meeting at the woman’s house when the traditional pains in my chest an left arm began. Some of the people there thought it was Hong Kong Flu, but knowing my family history I insisted they call a doctor. The diagnosis was heart. Since one of the Deacons ran the ambulance service I was taken to Framingham Memorial Hospital and received first class care at this leading cardiac care hospital. I continue to believe that God interceded in my life at that point although the other lady was the one who most often drove Betty to visit. She later visited us in Montana some years after her husband had died and she had a job which brought her west. We had a good visit. She was killed in an automobile wreck shortly after that visit.

My basic prayer in the hospital was for forgiveness, and that I might live to see my children grow up. God is good. I saw them all through high school and college. AND there were three more. They have grown up as well, are though college. five of the seven are married and have families. And at 85 I have 2 great granddaughters. My deepest sorrow is that Betty is not here to share this joy with me. And I am fortunate that Pete, unmarried, has moved in with me and takes care of the "heavy" stuff.

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER Five

So we got to Massachusetts and Betty got in the care of a good doctor. I soon got a call to a small village church in Woodville. This area is a part of Hopkinton. which is where the Boston Marathon starts. It is also in Middlesex County of Paul Revere fame.

My first year was not particularly eventful. I commuted the 20-25 miles each day and on return home was often able to stop in Framingham and visit a sick parishioner. Woodville was a close knit community and I soon knew most of the people and also learned a vital lesson. Do not talk ill of another. He or she is probably related to the other.

The first Summer I took a course in Clinical Pastoral Training. Betty took the kids and went to visit her family in WV since I would be living in Boston for the program at Massachusetts General Hospital. It was sometime during this program that i felt that the lead Prof. and i had entirely different ideas as to the nature and cause of mental illness. That is why I decided to major in Theology rather than Psychology. I therefore studied primarily with Nels Ferre and Samuel Miller. As soon as the Summer program was over I headed to Ceredo, WV to visit and to bring the family back. My main memory of that trip is getting to New York City, parking the car in front of Riverside Baptist Church and taking the subway to Times Square. On the way back I took the wrong line and landed in Harlem. I remember walking through Riverside Park to get back to the car where I slept that night. The walk through Harlem and the Park was fortunately uneventful.

Dr. Ferre was to speak at my ordination after my Senior Year. Actually I had a heart attack during my Junior year (more about that later) so spent a fourth year finishing my degree. The Seminary agreed to support my ordination the summer before i completed the degree. A part of this was because my brother, Bill, a Navy Chaplain, was stationed in the area and this would allow him to take a part in the Service.

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FOUR

We had bought a small four door Ford in 1954. We left Davenport, IA mid-summe 1955 for Massachusetts. We drove to Taylor, MI where brother Norman was then living with Grace and my first nephew, Clarence Moses. We stayed with them for a day or two and then crossed over to Canada. We drove east to cross back over to the US at Niagra Falls. I had been there before when visiting Canada on a High School Band trip. Betty had never seen the Falls before. We then crossed NY State to Massachusetts. My first cousin and her husband were serving a Church with a large parsonage near Boston so we stayed with them for a few weeks until I obtained a student Pastorate in Woodville, MA. Woodville is a village in Hopkinton where the Boston Marathon begins. I was to serve this Church for four years. Cousin Alice and Hugh Smith would later become ABC Missionaries. After graduation from seminary we relocated to Jersey City. But I get ahead of myself. A medical doctor was on the staff at Andover Newton. Betty had had some “spotting” on the way. I contacted Dr. Elia. He chastised me for not seeking help along the way, but took her as a patient. When the baby was due to be born we determined that she should be induced since the doctor was in Boston and practiced at Mass Memorial Hospital. Woodville was 45 miles out. He examined her and told us to go into town and come back later. He delayed the procedure so that David was born two years to the day from brother Jimmy’s birthdate. I think they tended to think of themselves as delayed twins. David is the only sib who felt led to speak at Jimmy’s memorial service.. During the final pregnancy Betty was spiking her blood pressure and the Dr. suggested induction. Since it was already late October Betty suggested that Pete be born on his Grandmother Clarkson’s birthday, Oct. 26. So it was done. So there were children born in WV, IA, MA, NJ and MT. Then we stopped moving. I’ll deal with Seminary and health matters later.

Chapter Three

Chapter three - the Blog continues. After our marriage we lived in Huntington at the “old home place.” Mother had left the house to our one sister. It had been subdivided for an apartment upstairs so we were able to live there rent free and look after things including an apartment on the back which Dad had had built for our oldest brother. He wa no longer there. We had not been married many months before my bride sidled up to me after a visit with the doctor and with some animation said, “We’re going to have a baby.” Ken was born in late February. We were married April 14th the previous year - you do the math.

After Ken a born it occurred to me that if I was to get any place as a College teacher I’d better get a Ph.D. In the third year at Marshall I was admitted to Penn State and granted a fellowship in the Speech Education department with the understanding that I would eventually be working on the doctorate in
Clinical Psychology. Betty and Ken stayed with her parents in West Virginia for most of that year. We did managed to buy a house in Bellefonte, PA in the summer of 1950, but I was not admitted to the Ph.D. program in Psych so it was necessary to move on. Brother John was working in Iowa and knew that they were looking for a Psychologist at a couple of children’s homes. I met the man in charge of that program and became Clinical Psychologist at the Annie Wittenmyer Home in Davenport and the State Juvenile Home in Toledo, IA. Both were for “dependent and neglected children.” IAWH had kids from birth to late teens. Many of them were placed in homes as foster children. The Home at Toledo to mostly late childhood and adolescents who were often pre-delinquent. I was able to pick up some extra cash by giving personality tests for some local Psychiatrists.

Living in the Mississippi River country with farms and fields galore it wasn’t long before I was having trouble with hay fever. The other thing that gave me trouble was my earlier intention to give my life in service to the Church and Christ. By the fourth year I was sleeping sitting up in a lounge chair since my who system closed off when I laid down. Antihistamines didn’t do much good, and was increasingly being led to make the decision to go to Seminary. I was convinced that God was working on my to make that decision. After exploring possible Seminaries it seemed that Andover Newton was the place to go. That had a strong Clinical Pastoral training program. When I finally decided that Seminary was a must I talked it over with Betty. By this time we had Ken, Ann, and Jim; and David was in utero. Her only response was, “You’d better take me with you.” And that’s the way it has always been. Chapter four later.

Personal History continued

A nephew, also ordained, reminds me that I failed to mention an older brother, Don, who also was ordained. I'll catch up to that. After being drafted in April 1943 in spite of vision in only one eye and a prosthesis in the other, I served in the Army Air Corps for just over seven months when the Commanding Officer at Hamilton Field, CA called me in and asked if I would accept a discharge. Since Dad had died that summer and Mother was home with a young teen ager (brother Lee) it seemed appropriate to go home. As the Major said: "You only have vision in one eye." Funny the Draft Board didn't notice that! I didn't tell Mother that I was heading home. Instead I took the train from San Francisco to Washington, DC to visit my high school girl friend who was working there as a Secretary. We had dated through most of the 11th and 12th grades and at one point during the DC visit we visited a Baptist pastor to discuss the possibility of marriage. I have been forever thankful that that didn't happen considering the woman I did marry some years later. Brother Don was dating Judy"s older sister, Garnett and she eventually became my sister-in-law.

I re-enrolled at Marshall College, and was nearly finished by the time twin brother John was discharged. It seemed appropriate that I stay an extra year so that we might have some time together before I went off to Seminary. I decided to take a Master's Degree in Psychology. Near the end of that period I was invited to join the faculty at Marshall and teach beginning Psych. Now the story gets complicated.

I was very active in the W.Va. Baptist Youth Fellowship through College and conducted workshops throughout the State. I was also President of our Association of BYF. Sister took a job as Director of Christian Education at the Church in Kenova, a town in the neighbor Association. in the Summer of 1948 she set up a summer camp for youth in that Association at Camp Mad Anthony Wayne. She asked me to help in planning recreation. A young lady, who was also a Marshall graduate in Home Economics was the chief cook. I had known her some through previous BYF situations. Her family called her Betty. To me she was "Harriet Elizabeth". On the last day of the Senior High portion of the Camp I was dancing with a pretty little red head when this Cook came out of the kitchen in apron and with flour on her face and "cut in." Since she was president of her Association we talked about some joint activities of our groups. I invited her to come to Huntington one Sunday evening; have supper with us at Grandmother Taylor's (a weekly event) and go with me to meet with the youth group at my Church that evening. Before we left the house my Aunt Bertha leaned up to me and said: "Jim, we like her." Well, we had the Church event and then I took her home to Ceredo. A small town about 15-20 miles from my own home. I stayed a while, we talked, we chased a fire engine to the next town to a lumber yard fire, came back to her place, talked some more, and then taking her hands I look straight into those lovely eyes and said: "You are going to marry me, aren't you?" We kissed and that was sealed. The next day I left for Summer School at the University of Cincinnati. That was near the end of July 1948. We were married in April 1949. A marriage that lasted over 56 years until her untimely death in December 2005.

For a Blog this has gone one long enough. More history to come.

A bit of personal history

10/26/09 Yesterday (Sunday) I was in Church as usual. Our Pastor often calls for those who wish to join in prayer. It’s the kind of thing I grew up with - except that format was usually done at the mid-week Prayer Service. As I sit, barely hearing those who pray aloud (I know, I know. God hears them) I frequently will pray silently. I don’t feel comfortable praying aloud since I was Interim Pastor of this congregation of nearly two years.

Yesterday I began to think about my Christian heritage. What has it been which makes Sunday Worship so much a part of my life? Somehow, about the 9th grade, I felt a real “call” to Christian ministry. From that point on education became more important to me. But back to the heritage. My father and mother were very active in the local church. Dad was both Superintendent of the Sunday School and Chairman of the Board of Deacons. He was highly respected and there was never any move to replace him. Mother sang in the Choir and also taught in the Sunday School and at Vacation Bible School. Dad’s father had the Taylor Bible Class for many years at his Church. He was highly respected there.

When I was in High School my sister and one brother both entered schools for Christian service. Bill went to Crozer Theological Seminary and Dorothy Ann went to the Baptist Missionary Training School. Examples were being set. Long before that, however my Great Grandfather, John Andrew Mitchell Petit, was a Baptist Minister, and he was the founding Pastor of a number of Churches. He died young so I never knew him, but I still have memories of sitting in Church Sunday mornings with Grandpa Petit and him giving me a penny to put in the offering plate. This was in the 1930’s - depression time.

So there we have it. A rich spiritual heritage of immediate family plus Christian forebears. It needs to be said, however, that even though I planned to go to Seminary all through College other matters entered in and I didn’t get to Seminary until 9 years after I got my BA degree. Maybe more later.

Follow-up

This morning I got a call from my Broker in regard to a Corporate Bond I bought a couple of years ago. It is with Citi Group for $5,000. It hasn't been worth that since I bought it at a premium. It HAS paid regular dividends so I haven't worried to much about it. Now the outfit wants to convert the value to shares. I told Darlene to just cash it in and transfer to funds to my bank account with Valley Federal Credit Union. I had just been in the Office to talk with her earlier this week to make arrangements for dividends from several municipal bonds to be transferred to the account, and to make sure that when I am "gone" that any funds remaining in my IRA will be transferred to the Jim and Betty Taylor Scholarship Endowment at Rocky Mountain College. We established that before Betty's death as an Annuity from which I get a quarterly check. It will become an unrestricted scholarship fund at my own death. The dividends from the Munis will pretty much take care of property taxes in the years to come. As they come due the children will receive the value in order of age and due date.

As I suggested to someone the other day: Now that I've taken care of everything in case of death I'll probably live another 10 years. I see my primary care physician next week. I'll check with him about that.

Preparation time

Several weeks ago I suggested to a friend at Church that I'd call him and set up an appointment to discuss matters. Jared is a Funeral Director and very active in the life of First Baptist. When I served as Interim Pastor for nearly two years Jared made sure that my picture went up in the gallery of past Pastors. It hadn't occurred to me that I "belonged" there, but I had served a previous 6 months years earlier and I guess that my time served was at least as long as some "regular" guys.

Anyway I finally got around to that conversation today about final arrangements. He was more ready for the visit that I was, and was prepared to make a record so that when the time comes the Funeral Home will know how to proceed. We agreed that my ashes would be placed in the same urn with Betty. The niche is paid for and expenses will only involve preparation, etc. He asked about military service and I explained that I was drafted in spite of blindness in one eye. About 7 1/2 months later after duty in North Carolina, Colorado, and California I was granted an honorable discharge (for the convenience of the government) for the same physical deficiency. That means that while there will be no military presence at the funeral there will be a flag for some member of the family. Probably Paul since he is the only one who has a military record - U.S. Marines.

After the previous noted conversation with the Trustees of the Taylor Family Trust, and this visit with the Funeral Director I can now sit back for a long life having made Final Preparations.

Always something new

I've been watching football one way or another most of my life. This afternoon I watched a Pittsburg player who had just received a pass fumble the ball in he end zone. A linesman nearby recover the fumble in the end zone. The ball was placed on the one yard line for the next play. It seems that only the player who fumbles the ball is allowed to recover it if it crosses the goal line. Anyone on the opposing team can recover. I had never seen the action before and was surprised that the guy who recovered the ball was not credited with a touchdown. Live and learn - even at 84 years and 51 weeks.

Dinner time

As noted earlier, son Ken is in town for a meeting of Public Health personnel. Daughter, Annie. came by last evening after a meeting in Hardin, MT. She needs to get her windshield replaced. It was father's (that's me) privilege to take them out to supper at Jake's with son Pete as waiter. We all ate sensibly and then pretty much went our separate ways. It is always good to get the "kids" together and listen to them catch up with each other. That way Dad also knows what's been going on. While three of my children are far, far away in Oregon and Texas, and one dead of cancer in 2006, I do get to see the other three more often since they are Montanans and, of course, Pete is living with me and looking out after the old man. It was a good evening.

Significant Talk

Eleven years ago Betty (wife) and I had a meeting with a Lawyer and established an Estate Plan. We didn't have a lot, but we did own a house and had some investments, including IRA's. It seemed appropriate to lay out some plans about what to do when we were gone. We determined to name our oldest and youngest sons as co-trustees to manage things when both of us had died. Both live in Montana and both were unmarried at that time. They are still single. I was in my mid-70's, already much older than my father and older brothers at their deaths. The assumption was that I would die before Betty. Didn't happen. She died nearly 4 years ago at age 80. I will be 85 in a couple of weeks.

Today I had that talk with the successor trustees that many elders are reluctant to have with their children. Ken was inn town for a meeting so I picked up up and with Pete we talked about the Estate and my suggestions about what should be done when I am dead. (I've had by-pass surgery twice - the last time in October 1980; a stent placed in a coronary artery in 2006; have a CT scan showing a closing of my aortic valve with a lot of stuff around it which could very well go to my brain if surgery was done. There is also a minimal Abdominal Aortic Aneurysm. As I told the sons. the talk today was "just in case". I feel pretty good a this time and am taking things easy. I fully understand the nature of my health and have signed up for "Comfort One". This, in Montana at least, means: "Make him comfortable and do not resuscitate". Again, I have no anticipation that this might happen soon. I simply felt that the TALK should be done and that the 'trustees' should be acquainted with my computer programs.

Lost Symbol II

I've finished. A gripping read and I fell for all of the false leads. After the "mystery" is pretty much solved there is still the question of Robert Langdon's lack of faith. The story point out that many members of the Masonic Order are not men of traditional religions, but that they are men who believe in some "higher power". I was reminded of on of the most faithful attenders of my Student Pastorate who was a Mason. He would not become a member of the Baptist Church because he did not accept Christian faith. He told me once that he did believe in God and he wanted people to know that about him at least.

One phrase toward the end struck me as particularly pertinent these days. Katherine Solomon, Noetic Scientist, says: "Small minds have always lashed out at what they don't understand." It made me think of such persons as Rush LImbaugh, Glenn Beck, Ann Coulter, and the T-Party crowd shouting out there disrespect of President Obama and the current Health Insurance discussion. One can only hope that the House and Senate will find a realistic outcome to this major problem.

The Lost Symbol

I got this one last week from Amazon for my Kimble. It is a fascinating and compelling read, but at this point I'm only about 60% through. The first chapter talks about a secret ceremony inducting a man as a 33rd degree Mason. There was a mention of the Masonic leather apron which made me recall a part of my father's last rites. There was the traditional Christian service, but he did have on his leather apron. Dad was very much involved in Masonry as Secretary of his Lodge. Such societies have never had any appeal to me.

Dan Brown's tale goes on about a sacred pyramid which presumably contains the way to holy mysteries. I find the story fascinating because much of the action so far centers in the U.S. Capitol and the National Cathedral. I have had he privilege of exploring each. Many years ago, before our Nation became paranoid, I was able to explore the lower levels of the Capitol unescorted. There was the original Supreme Court chambers, and many other historic places. I certainly was aware of any deeper recesses which Brown speaks of. I also went up the hill to visit the National Cathedral and explored the various "chapels" unescorted. Some were being used for services at that time. It is a magnificent building.

I guess one of the joys of reading nowadays is that my age and travels give me some deeper understanding of the literature. For example, most the John Jakes' Kent Family Chronicles were set in places I've lived or visited or in a history which was a part of my own family history.

I have no problem in recommending The Lost Symbol for you reading pleasure.

Monday??

Well, Pete and I usually take stuff to the local Food Bank which people at the Church have contributed on the first Sunday of the month. We did it today (Tuesday) since yesterday was Labor Day and few there were who were working. At Church this past Sunday we had a combined service with both we traditionalists and those who consider themselves to be "contemporary". The choruses, guitars and drums don't do it for me so I go to the 9 o'clock service. Actually IT doesn't do much for me either since the Pastor's sermons would fit well into a Sunday School setting - 4 points and 30-35 minutes. No choir, and I believe that he prefers it that way. Anthems take up his time.

So the combined service was designed in order to have "dinner on the grounds" for lunch. It was worth the change. The only problem seemed to be that people who brought dishes for the Luncheon did not bring cans, etc, for the Food Bank. There was just one bag of stuff plus what we took ourselves. The Congregations typically does better than that. Billings is constructing a very large building to house the local Food Bank. This outfit provides a very important and much needed service to the community.

Generation rumination

I woke up this morning thinking of my own history. That is, the number of generations in the family I have been a part of. I have strong memories of my Dad’s parents: Alfred Burman Taylor and Ora Arminta Chapman. He was born in 1857 and she was born in 1861. I have memories of the Civil War through their contacts as youth. Grandfather Taylor’s father, Moses, was born in 1814. My father, Clarence, was born in 1884. He was married to Lulu Belle Petit in 1907. To this union 9 children were born with 7 surviving to maturity. I have on file a copy of Dad’s draft registration for WW I although with a family he did not serve in the military. My memory is that he sold War Bonds as a part of his war effort. A part of these ruminations dealt with the fact that I served as a pall bearer for Grandfather Taylor's funeral at the age of 15, and was notified of my father’s death while serving in the U.S. Air Corps at the age of 18. At some point I wrote a brief poem: “Six stalwart sons, they bore their father’s bier, and from each eye there fell a silent tear.” Something more about “two had hoped to see him once again” but I don’t recall the closing line. That would be twin brother, John, and myself. I thought of this three years ago when his brothers plus a first cousin were pall bearers at Jimmy’s funeral.

So there are three generations: Grandfather, Father, and self. Not long after marriage to Harriet Elizabeth Clarkson I heard these excited words from her: “We’re going to have a baby.” That would be the first of 9. We raised 7 of them to full adulthood. Twins ( a boy and a girl) were premature and did not survive more than 24 hours. Those 9 would be the 4th generation. 5 of 7 married and we have a dozen grandchildren - generation 5. Two of them are currently married and have daughters. Arianna Elisabeth was born Oct. 8, 2008 and Sophie Harriet Elizabeth was born 12/16/2008. Voila! Generation 6 covering at this date (9/4/2009) 152 years. And with the Great Granddaughters carrying their Great Gramma’s name there is evidence of how important she was to her grand children. 1At the age of 84 (6 weeks shy of 85) I believe that this historical background gave me a deeper appreciation of John Jakes’ series of novels - The Kent Family Chronicles which dealt with early American History.

Memories

Every once in a while I look at the family picture taken as we celebrated a lot of October birthdays and anniversaries on October 8, 2005. Betty (the wife) and Jimmy (son) were still living, and we had a glorious celebration with all the family and many extended family. Betty died shortly after in December of leukemia, and Jimmy died from a lung cancer he had been fighting for a number of years the following August.

I have spent most of this morning listening to a couple of CD's nephew Mark made at the time of our birthdays in October (mine on the 15th hers on the 16th), and in late November in the Hospital. (Less than a week before her death.) I listen to these recordings from time to time just to hear that beautiful well modulated voice, and to hear her chuckle and at times laugh uproariously. I often think of that voice when I have to listen to some female TV announcer with a high pitched nasal twang.

I can listen now without to much grief, but I do miss her. Just today I noticed how many blooms are on the roses in front of the house. I can't bring you a rose, my dear. "Oh, relax," I hear her say. "I can see them from up here. They are lovely," And last night I noticed the single bloom on one of her African Violets. A single bloom just as she was the single beauty in my own life. I love you, dear, and I miss you still.

Reading

I've been enjoying my Amazon Kindle reader. So far I've been able to read Moby Dick, Misquoting Jesus, 100 Years of Solitude, and Undres Me in the Temple of Heaven. I'm beginning to read "The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao" which was suggested by Christopher (grandson). I got the Kindle toward the end of June. The most frustrating part of it is that it list percent read, but no page numbers. I did learn the "search" technique the other day so if I know what I'm looking for it can be found. I'm sure there is a lot more about it I will find out, but at the present it does provide a "lightweight" source to hold and read. Some older books can be downloaded for 99 cents. Others have cost me $9.99. Two of my children gave me Amazon Gift cards for Father's day. There is still some money left in that till. Any suggestions for good reads?

Dances With Wolves

Instead of turning off the TV tonight after the evening news and Jeopardy I looked at the schedule and decided to watch Dances With Wolves. I'd seen this when it first came out, and remembered that it was pretty much set in territory I'm familiar with. Costner plays an Army officer who is assigned to a wilderness post. When he gets there it is vacant. There is a Sioux tribe nearby and he eventually makes friends with them, and pretty much abandons his post since no one else ever shows up. He learns Lakota and eventually meets up with a "white" gal who has been adopted into the tribe. She is in mourning and cannot accept any expressed interested from Dances With Wolves until her adopted father (the Chief) says that she no longer has to mourn. To shorten my point they marry and he returns to the Post to recover his journal. It is now fully occupied by an advance group preparing to attack Natives. They take Dances With Wolves hostage, but are essentially wiped out by Sioux who come there to rescue their friend. Dances With Wolves decides that he had better leave the tribe as the US soldiers will be looking for both him and the tribe. He talks with his wife about her choice. She essentially says that he has made the choice and that "my place is with you." Here's the point: When I decided that I must leave Iowa and go to Seminary in Massachusetts I talk with my dear wife about this and all she said was, "You'd better take me with you." It is easy to see that I truly related to that part of the movie.

I can also recommend it as well worth watching.

Farmer's Market

Saturday morning is when the Billings family gets together for breakfast and visit. This is typically at brother John and Jean's place. Today (8/1/09) we gathered here for sourdough waffles. My starter needed to be "started" for renewal, and everyone seems to enjoy the waffles. In addition to John and Jean, Mark and Rosanna and their dogs were here. This gave me a chance to show-off my new Kimble. It got a good workout. I had set the sourdough Thursday afternoon so it had a chance to renew well. I put some pecan chips in, but for the most part they were to small to be noticed. Next week I'll be going over to visit with Ann and Bill. Pete will be west of town (Molt) participating in the NAMI bike ride raising funds for the National Association for Mental Illness.

Right now I'm doing the dishes and washing the sheets off my bed. They are silky and won't stay on. I wake up in the middle of the night with no cover save the PJ's. The blanket has slid off to the floor and then the top sheet. I'll put the old ripped cotton one on now. Betty repaired the rips many years ago. It stays!