tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-86441672910285449142024-03-06T01:04:03.435-08:00Small Town WriterPictures of life, snippets of conversations and commentary about everyday, small-town living.Ros Demareehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09657642686620517943noreply@blogger.comBlogger17125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8644167291028544914.post-38721932638254491862012-08-18T06:55:00.000-07:002012-08-18T07:01:50.357-07:00Eagle Tower, gas chamber, Taco Bell<i>My son, Christopher, is in basic training until Nov. 2 at Fort Benning. (He's the one pulling down on the large round thing in the photo.) I'm sharing his letters home for all those who have said they want to follow what he's doing. </i><br />
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Aug. 5, 2012<br />
Hello everyone,<br />
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Friday marked the end of Week 1 of basic training. I'm now a third of the way done with Red Phase as well.<br />
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Monday we did an obstacle course but it was the kind where you're given different items and you have to take them across obstacles over water. Our next day we did a crawling-under-barbed-wire-in-mud-type of obstacle course, and it was raining so we were drenched, muddy and sandy. And then we had to march 3 miles home so that gave us a good taste of infantry life.<br />
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The next day we got to repel off Eagle Tower. What that is, is a huge, 80-foot wooden tower that you repel off, and that was a lot of fun but scary on that initial step over the wall. Friday we went to the gas chamber. Before I explain, the videos do it no justice as to how much the chamber sucks. So when you walk in, you have your gas mask on but you feel the gas irritate the back of your neck. That irritation starts then to feel like someone pouring boiling water down your neck. The drill sergeants then have you life up your mask and say your last name and last four social digits. They do this so you can put the mask back on and properly clear it. They then have everyone take their masks off completely, which brings that boiling feeling to your whole face, your eyes and lungs. After proceeding out the door and breathing fresh air you return back to normal. It's not as bad as it sounds. I just don't want to do it again.<br />
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Finally Saturday we had a 2-mile run and we started MACP (pronounced Mack-Pee). It stands for Modern Army Combatives Program. We got to wrestle other people in our platoon and I did very well.<br />
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On another note, though, today is Sunday, which is nice because there's no PT (physical training) so you get a chance to relax and write some letters. Thank you for the lengthy letters. It's an awesome feeling receiving mail.<br />
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You asked what a typical day here is like. You wake up at 4:30 a.m. (except Sundays at 5:30, which honestly now is sleeping in). First formation is around 5:15. We then do 1.5-2 hours of PT, come back and change, then eat breakfast. After that we do our training for the day, come back to evening chow or dinner then we clean the outside areas up, then our barracks. I didn't mention lunch but we get that, too. If we're lucky, we get some personal time; it's usually 10-15 minutes. When I get more personal time I will write more. Let everyone know, too, to write me. We don't have to do push-ups for mail or anything so the more the better. It's not too bad overall here but it can be pretty stressful so mail is nice.<br />
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I've decided that when I graduate the first thing I've doing is going to Taco Bell. Once we're back in Indiana I really want to go to El Camino. For some reason Mexican food sounds constantly appealing to me.<br />
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Also, so you have it in writing: If the oil needs changed on my car, use Pennzoil <u>Ultra</u> 5w-20.<br />
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That's everything I can think of for now though so I hope everyone is doing well at home. Time is flying by here. I miss home but I'm doing great. Take care. I love you!<br />
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ChristopherRos Demareehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09657642686620517943noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8644167291028544914.post-63598041308551947082011-05-14T13:52:00.000-07:002011-05-16T05:49:08.647-07:00Weaver is uncommon thread in synthetic world<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Linda Adamson’s Arcadia store is as colorful as a painter’s palette. </span><br />
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<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUEylPurqxyBI9NWd9GfrgywKCBSI30sC5pZM6bDGqIcjjKhPgRZpFos6RD57SKNyEP5pSzSK767TCs5XwpE2Nnq2BWzVOUJ1pe0KtHQvv4VbDwYDoRU1ctVQLawirXFDL7IuaPTI9PIY/s1600/Linda+Adamson.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUEylPurqxyBI9NWd9GfrgywKCBSI30sC5pZM6bDGqIcjjKhPgRZpFos6RD57SKNyEP5pSzSK767TCs5XwpE2Nnq2BWzVOUJ1pe0KtHQvv4VbDwYDoRU1ctVQLawirXFDL7IuaPTI9PIY/s320/Linda+Adamson.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: Arial;">Neat rows of large spools, tightly wrapped in fibers of nearly every conceivable hue, line the shelves of her </span><a href="http://tabbytreeweaver.com/"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Tabby Tree Weaver</span></a><span style="font-family: Arial;">. If you ask how many kinds of fiber her shop carries, Adamson’s eyes twinkle and she grins broadly, simply saying, “lots.”</span></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">She becomes almost lyrical rattling off a long list of the kinds of fibers she sells, including ones made from corn, soybeans, bamboo and tencel, which is made from wood pulp, then processed so it’s like rayon. Some of the wool she sells comes from Louie, a sheep she boards in nearby Sheridan.</span></div><br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“What you won’t see here is synthetic,” she adds. “I’m a natural fibers person.”</span></div><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Natural” is an apt description for Adamson, as well. She’s easy going and in her element at the shop. As she demonstrates weaving or spinning, her hands move with the artistry of a harpist, her fingers gently plucking and placing each strand. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But the most charming part of visiting the shop is getting to talk with her.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Whether it’s a long conversation or a quick chat – although I’m not sure she ever offers anyone less than 15 minutes of her time – Adamson is engaging as she talks about weaving and dying yarn. She’s passionate about her art and her adopted hometown. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A nurse by education and a former ophthalmologic technician by practice, Adamson learned to weave because she was sewing her own clothes and “I didn’t want to look like everyone else,” she said, so she decided to make her own fabric.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It’s an ongoing education.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“However you’re using fiber – weaving, knitting, etc. – you can never learn all of it so you’re forever going to stay young with it,” she smiled and philosophized.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">She loves teaching her art and her life’s goal is “to leave as many new weavers behind me as I possibly can.”</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Spend a few minutes with her in Tabby Tree Weaver, and you just might be the next one in the growing line of weavers behind Linda Adamson.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><em>This post includes excerpts from “Handmade Businesses, Homemade Success,” a story originally published in the April-May edition of <a href="http://hamiltoncountybusiness.com/show_article/96/">Hamilton County Business</a> magazine.</em></span>Ros Demareehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09657642686620517943noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8644167291028544914.post-92051016006935999782011-05-13T12:17:00.000-07:002011-05-13T12:17:22.707-07:00Girl Up gives life to dreams<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Some of the world’s hardest to reach adolescent girls are being touched by <a href="http://www.girlup.org/">Girl Up</a>, a United Nations Foundation campaign. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"></div><br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE9GeTs9hmn2k6ejHFAZWc1mP1C-Q6itDTao0HO8MzchrVV3cdKxzUYhspJ37CJVpLJW4n1TkWt5XmfyqfPKcDidCGmTjSl8TDm4QqDZH0xjJplWY2H-EXRQo4jjA0xRjKsdSzuF_1yQ8/s1600/girlafesto.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; height: 340px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; width: 243px;"><img border="0" height="320" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE9GeTs9hmn2k6ejHFAZWc1mP1C-Q6itDTao0HO8MzchrVV3cdKxzUYhspJ37CJVpLJW4n1TkWt5XmfyqfPKcDidCGmTjSl8TDm4QqDZH0xjJplWY2H-EXRQo4jjA0xRjKsdSzuF_1yQ8/s320/girlafesto.png" width="160" /></a>Girl Up emphasizes that girls are bright, talented and full of dreams, according to its website. But too many girls can’t live those dreams because they can’t go to school, aren’t healthy and don’t live free from violence. One in seven girls in developing countries, for instance, is married by the time she’s 15. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">My daughter got marginally involved in the campaign and showed me its <a href="http://www.girlup.org/get-involved/girlafesto.html">Girlafesto</a>, an empowerment poem, today. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">It’s a wonderful piece to share with young girls that you might know – or even to keep handy for a reminder to yourself.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
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</div>Ros Demareehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09657642686620517943noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8644167291028544914.post-28053511649030234182011-05-10T07:54:00.000-07:002011-05-10T07:54:03.710-07:00We're in this together, Jack<div style="background-color: transparent; border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; color: black; overflow: hidden; text-align: left; text-decoration: none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjonjiDSNjRj-Cmgr1F-5ZZ4dze2qsKB1HqH7W3pSmrpIkWhzysvUlFzRqyK7MJmzf_z5JEjQ3kBujbQ0G6qQTTJhDvxjMt8sNjiJuZEjeMLyUGl1kF9ypTBO4OHXbzi1ZTITCnCvk_slQ/s1600/walking+feet.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjonjiDSNjRj-Cmgr1F-5ZZ4dze2qsKB1HqH7W3pSmrpIkWhzysvUlFzRqyK7MJmzf_z5JEjQ3kBujbQ0G6qQTTJhDvxjMt8sNjiJuZEjeMLyUGl1kF9ypTBO4OHXbzi1ZTITCnCvk_slQ/s1600/walking+feet.jpg" /></a> <div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 14pt;">The plan was simple, clear-cut and fail-safe.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 14pt;">Set the alarm for 30 minutes earlier than I needed to get up. Check. Lay out sneakers and clothes in the bathroom. Check. Go to bed Monday night thinking, “I’m going to start walking again tomorrow.” Check.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 14pt;">I love walking. My spirits soar when I’ve put in a couple of miles. I feel accomplished, invigorated, ready to take on the world. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 14pt;"><br />
That first step, though, the one that plants my foot on the bedroom floor – killer!</span></span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 14pt;">Fast forward to this morning.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 14pt;"></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 14pt;">The alarm went off, the snooze button got hit. The alarm went off again, the snooze button got hit again. The alarm went . . . well, you see the pattern. It was classic Scarlet O’Hara, “I’ll think about that tomorrow.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 14pt;"></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 14pt;">Oh, I did get exercise this morning. There was that full-body thrust out of bed<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>when suddenly it was time for the get-ready-for-school routine to begin. (Wake my son, let the dog out, call my son a second time, make coffee, escalate to Angry Mom voice, feed the dog, ramp up to Very Angry Mom, . . . again, you see the pattern.) <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 14pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 14pt;">I’m a highly organized person – my calendar is color-coded, for heaven’s sake! Not too many years ago, I was responsible for getting five community newspapers to press by deadline four days a week. I’ve raised two children successfully (if you don't count their difficulty getting up) and can multi-task with the best</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 14pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Forget about what you used to do,” fitness guru Jack LaLanne advised in an Esquire piece. “This is the moment you’ve been waiting for.” </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 14pt;">OK, here’s the plan: Set the alarm, set out the clothes, think about walking as I fall to sleep. And tomorrow – no using snooze control. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 14pt;">Wish me luck, Jack. You're invited, too, Scarlet.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
</div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 14pt;"></span></div></div>Ros Demareehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09657642686620517943noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8644167291028544914.post-65573649107083010372011-05-08T09:44:00.000-07:002011-05-08T09:44:18.305-07:00Learning Mom's family recipe<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Dorothy Voige was an accomplished woman. Few things made my mom happier, though, than cooking or baking for us.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Once when she was making Christmas dinner while everyone else was enjoying each other’s company, she said she wouldn’t have it any other way. A good meal was her gift to the whole family, she explained. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Years later, I learned how cooking for us fed her soul.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Mom was struggling to fight a second round of cancer. She wasn’t giving up, but the cancer was winning. She ate almost nothing, had no feeling in her fingers and toes, and her jaunty stride had dissolved into a slow, clumsy step. She needed a cane just to get around their small home.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">She got a craving for scones and said she’d tell me how to make them. I got everything out as Mom inched her way to the kitchen to orchestrate the process.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I sensed her spirits lifting as she told me how much of this or that to use. When the ingredients were ready to mix, Mom put her cane on the counter and thrust both hands deep into the big cream-colored bowl, ostensibly to show me how to do it.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Her pale fingers, nearly the color of the bowl, grabbed the ingredients like a claw machine and patiently massaged them into dough. As I watched each pull and tug, color returned to her hands. For those few golden moments she was my mom again, not a cancer patient, making a delicious gift to her family.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Cleaning up the kitchen, I spotted her cane on the counter. She’d gone back to the living room on her own, and I wanted to think it was a sign of victory.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But it was not. Those scones -- the best I’d ever had -- were the last thing Mom made for me.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Less than three months later, she slipped away peacefully at home. Her suffering was over but my dad was inconsolable. He couldn’t understand why his wife of nearly 61 years was gone.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I flashed to that Christmas conversation and what I’d seen happen two months earlier while making those scones. “You know what I think?” I said to Dad. “She had to go first so the table will be set and dinner will be ready when we get to heaven.”</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It took me a long time to realize that Mom’s cooking was about much more than feeding her family. Every time she stirred up something, she nourished us with a very special love. </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span>Ros Demareehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09657642686620517943noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8644167291028544914.post-31089678116471444742011-05-07T07:52:00.000-07:002011-05-07T07:52:41.357-07:00Post time to finish, Hoosier Derby is night of fun<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"> <br />
Sweet Lips Lucy won the sixth race last night at Sagamore Golf Club. Friday’s big winners, however, were the Hamilton County seniors that <a href="http://www.mealsonwheelshc.org/">Meals on Wheels </a>will be able to feed due to the generosity of Hoosier Derby Party guests and sponsors.<br />
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Everywhere you turned in the clubhouse, people were having a good time. They cheered wildly for the likes of Dixie Doodle, Explosive Joy and Salty Maud at the virtual horse races, placing Derby Dollar bets on the next race as quickly as they scooped up winnings from the last. <br />
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<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaEYL9d26XMxwlN0lSpP-0UlL2nHTKq_FTntKLnScVLmuA3513MDNTfvEO7-uekw7IrxEHzzLiXI4WyiLTqMVUctvTiHECOXmfMGbz-uhIGpoxkiExnBdezqJNZQX_2EmO5fYDDQheRwc/s1600/Band+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; height: 227px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; width: 319px;"><img border="0" height="240" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaEYL9d26XMxwlN0lSpP-0UlL2nHTKq_FTntKLnScVLmuA3513MDNTfvEO7-uekw7IrxEHzzLiXI4WyiLTqMVUctvTiHECOXmfMGbz-uhIGpoxkiExnBdezqJNZQX_2EmO5fYDDQheRwc/s320/Band+2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">The Steve Elliott Band provided some great music, whether you wanted to sit and listen or engage in conversation with a background of show tunes, jazz and popular music from not-so-long-ago days. The dinner buffet was as delicious as it was tempting, and the complimentary mint juleps were a perfect Southern touch.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Two additions to the Derby, MoW’s second, were the popular <a href="http://www.fishfacephotobooths.com/">Fish Face Photo Booth</a> and a silent auction where a wide variety of treat-filled baskets gave guests the opportunity to walk out the door with a unique souvenir.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu-R4A7Gh8RmHEkvxfyZ5NCnbcyOBK97IJ5bom67Xhcj0yMkuJNMDx4Jh4DIIOd8iEuqKEc1YuRTSKMwNvrzHNqzBdlqMHSQo2oHB0flVOcDBIK7XsUVmN7YpV45HVEiD0s22y3omD0N0/s1600/Crowd.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu-R4A7Gh8RmHEkvxfyZ5NCnbcyOBK97IJ5bom67Xhcj0yMkuJNMDx4Jh4DIIOd8iEuqKEc1YuRTSKMwNvrzHNqzBdlqMHSQo2oHB0flVOcDBIK7XsUVmN7YpV45HVEiD0s22y3omD0N0/s320/Crowd.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">When you talk about unique, though, you’ve got to talk about the hats. Britain’s royals had nothing on these creative partygoers. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">It was one night – one wonderful night of fun and fundraising for Meals on Wheels – where an uncovered head was out of the ordinary. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
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</span>Ros Demareehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09657642686620517943noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8644167291028544914.post-1543662222466920662011-05-05T15:19:00.000-07:002011-05-05T15:19:54.723-07:00Track down some fun at Transportation Museum<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Hearing “All aboard!” ignites my imagination.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuf9NqC1YxAjzd3BXh6tTtl3vI-gyGb0_d0wmswoMwsdlVG2Eig_jgAbE3BPoaARUHqClk707cEKRE_I-YmLbDH6cJ_yyR_nWwo34pubNh5QbM3W3vE6tlfixU5OkbdGu3KJ26eEIihPI/s1600/Santa+Fe+Super+Chief.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; height: 174px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; width: 178px;"><img border="0" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuf9NqC1YxAjzd3BXh6tTtl3vI-gyGb0_d0wmswoMwsdlVG2Eig_jgAbE3BPoaARUHqClk707cEKRE_I-YmLbDH6cJ_yyR_nWwo34pubNh5QbM3W3vE6tlfixU5OkbdGu3KJ26eEIihPI/s1600/Santa+Fe+Super+Chief.jpg" /></a>Trains always remind me of a trip with my mom when I was a preschooler. I think we boarded in Cleveland, and I’m guessing Madison, Wis., was our destination. I know we were headed to her hometown in Belmont, Wis.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
While the itinerary isn't memorable, the ride certainly was. On one leg, we were on the Santa Fe Super Chief -- the "Trainof the Stars" because of all the celebrities who traveled it from Chicago to California -- and the cars were brand new. I can still picture the colors, lines and shapes of the southwestern-inspired decor in the coaches.</div></div><br />
Mom had to come looking for me when I went to the restroom and didn’t return to my seat. I’d somehow stumbled upon the lounge car and was talking to a very nice man. I didn’t recognize him, but my mom did. He was a network TV reporter, and he was often on the news that followed “American Bandstand,” which my mom watched while she ironed.<br />
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<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">In Central Indiana, you don’t have to travel long distances to enjoy the train. The <a href="http://itm.org/">Indiana Transportation Museum</a> offers short runs and themed excursions throughout its season, which opens Saturday and continues through the end of the year.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">My favorite trip – I’ve taken many since my husband is an active ITM volunteer and member of the board -- is <a href="http://itm.org/events/dinner_diner.htm">Dinner on the Diner</a>. You board the restored, 1930 Cross Keys Tavern dining car, finding crisp white linens, fresh flowers, stemware and polished silverware on each table. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div>Each of the four courses is served at a leisurely dining pace. The evening I rode, the food was top notch in presentation and taste. After dessert was enjoyed while on a trestle bridge overlooking the White River, we got treated to volunteer Brian Henke singing and strumming train songs on his guitar. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOCgJKnKuMWJXZ08Znpo4lFCLGF94BhozTy0MQ3IbEq9yVmj8-tirBs10ozVSUha73OSKVHjef9fRRb76ABdbaFJZnac_gm0Ly8dILP9EDtSLGJY13zuZuFmB4ja3aIYcVX-dLa3PoS0M/s1600/Dinner+on+Diner.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; height: 159px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; width: 259px;"><img border="0" height="150" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOCgJKnKuMWJXZ08Znpo4lFCLGF94BhozTy0MQ3IbEq9yVmj8-tirBs10ozVSUha73OSKVHjef9fRRb76ABdbaFJZnac_gm0Ly8dILP9EDtSLGJY13zuZuFmB4ja3aIYcVX-dLa3PoS0M/s200/Dinner+on+Diner.JPG" width="200" /></a>ITM schedules rides that suit all ages; you’ll often overhear – or be part of – train stories that bridge generations as passengers chat. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">There are destination rides, including ones to Tipton for pizza or a movie; experience rides, such as the popular caboose rides between Forest Park and downtown Noblesville; and event rides, such as Polar Bear Express at Christmastime or the Pumpkin Train in the fall. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">If you haven’t been on an ITM ride, I highly recommend you make 2011 your year to ride the local rails. Maybe I’ll see you there!</div><br />
<em></em><em>What train trips do you remember taking or would like to take?</em><br />
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</div>Ros Demareehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09657642686620517943noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8644167291028544914.post-72246356740058793962011-05-04T11:40:00.000-07:002011-05-04T11:40:47.073-07:00Lower the dropout rate, change the communityIt would be easy for many people to learn about a teenager being charged with burglarizing homes and just shrug it off, shake their heads in dismay or chalk it up to “a kid being a kid.”<br />
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Fortunately, Joan Isaac isn’t like many people.<br />
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Joan, Hamilton County’s area director for <a href="http://uwci.org/">United Way</a>, is a take-charge advocate for people in need. When she sees a problem, she acts, while others just react.<br />
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After reading a news story about the teen’s arrest, she started questioning what social services could have been in place to short-circuit the crime. What does Hamilton County lack, she wondered, that could make a difference in someone else’s life.<br />
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“The status quo is unacceptable,” Joan wrote in her <a href="http://issuu.com/s/2Vc">Current in Fishers</a> column about stopping crime before it starts.<br />
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She cited some sobering statistics from the United Way of Central Indiana website: <br />
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● One in three children is born economically disadvantaged, with limited access to quality early learning. <br />
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● Kids who fall behind in reading and math are at higher risk of dropping out. <br />
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● Only two-thirds of area ninth-graders will graduate in four years. <br />
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“Changing the dropout rate can change our entire community and, as a result, reduce future human service needs,” she wrote. <br />
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UWCI’s Ready to Learn, Ready to Earn program has made great strides in a short time, according to its website. Assessments following more than 500,000 books being given to preschoolers through 6-year-olds, many of whom live in economically challenged neighborhoods, indicate the kids are entering school better prepared to learn than they were before the program. <br />
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United Way credits its public awareness campaign in neighborhoods with significant need for raising kindergarten attendance on the first day of school from 64 percent in 2008 to 93 percent in 2010.<br />
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Through enhanced math instruction in a group of schools, sixth-graders showed improvement in the state math assessment, with one school more than doubling its pass rate in that grade. <br />
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Much of this work is focused on two Indianapolis neighborhoods, but Joan’s column reminds us that “Crime and poverty don’t stop at county lines. . . . we must invest in early childhood initiatives in our whole region to remain a vibrant community, to attract and retain employers.”<br />
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Support education efforts, she urged in her conclusion, to give our youth “the best possible options in life.”Ros Demareehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09657642686620517943noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8644167291028544914.post-51617650981895409412011-05-03T11:28:00.000-07:002011-05-03T11:28:35.449-07:00Come to the party, for folks like JoeI don’t know a lot about Joe.<br />
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<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">He’s quiet and lives all alone in a house that defines the word “spartan.” So spartan, in fact, that I thought I had the wrong address the first time I visited. There was no car in the garage, and no furniture in his living room. The house appeared to be abandoned until I spotted a portable TV on an old aluminum cart in the dining room and a few clothes hanging on a line in the front bedroom.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOo1TDHPPw3A-jkkmkGQUL4u9UV8nQWLk4QnTkVlV6xE0Mr8-PCqE1eX16FqGieHAmjRJ78C2Xrl3jwPDVBKW8Ks9uLrxScU6x-HmU1tJCIicFQ_lHg4_tTjg7tdB79UkKYxQJrdSB0io/s1600/MoW+illustration.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOo1TDHPPw3A-jkkmkGQUL4u9UV8nQWLk4QnTkVlV6xE0Mr8-PCqE1eX16FqGieHAmjRJ78C2Xrl3jwPDVBKW8Ks9uLrxScU6x-HmU1tJCIicFQ_lHg4_tTjg7tdB79UkKYxQJrdSB0io/s320/MoW+illustration.jpg" width="258" /></a>Joe is soft spoken. I’ll bet his voice was once a rich tenor but now a raspy hoarseness disfigures its high pitch.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">The tall, slow-moving man also is one of very few words. I often wonder if that’s because he doesn’t have much to say or if it's because he has few opportunities to talk with other people.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">I see Joe every Friday, and he’s always dressed in clean khakis and a neat, buttoned-up shirt. I often comment on how much I like the sporty baseball cap with a Burberry-like plaid front that he wears regularly. In a gentlemanly gesture, he’s greeted me at his garage door throughout the winter and wet spring so I don't have to navigate a snowy or slippery walk.</div><br />
Joe is the first person on my weekly Meals on Wheels route, and he’s a primary reason I’m going to the <a href="http://www.mealsonwheelshc-blog.org/2011/03/10/may-6-hoosier-derby-party-silent-auction/">Hoosier Derby Party</a> on Friday, the eve of the Kentucky Derby. <br />
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The fundraiser – open to all – will help Meals on Wheels provide hot, nutritious food to seniors, disabled and homebound people in every Hamilton County community when they can’t afford groceries or make their own meals. <br />
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MoW's vision is to end senior hunger by 2020, and the challenge is great. Indiana ranked 12th in the nation for food insecurity among seniors, according to a <a href="http://www.mowaa.org/Document.Doc?id=193">2009 study </a>done for the Meals on Wheels of America Association. Currently MoW delivers about 200 meals a day here; with the county’s graying population, we on the board and staff know the demand is going to grow dramatically in coming years.<br />
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Imagine. The cost of one $50 ticket to the Hoosier Derby party – which is going to be a fabulous night of virtual horse racing, complimentary mint juleps, music, fellowship and bourbon tasting -- would pay for two weeks of meals for a senior. That person might live in your neighborhood, go to your church or even be a member of the family. <br />
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The party begins at 6:30 at Sagamore Golf Club. Reservations can be placed with the Meals on Wheels office, 317-776-7159, but walk-in guests and donations are welcome, as well. <br />
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The evening is going to be fun for me. Its proceeds are going to be a lifeline, though, for folks like Joe.Ros Demareehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09657642686620517943noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8644167291028544914.post-75994425765551150002011-05-02T19:28:00.000-07:002011-05-02T19:28:44.744-07:00Kids’ make sense when given dollars<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0mZv2N0xmZTRiltJqFehzbMdXIgRT4ZrtBmzCP7yl7eDett2I2N8dYEFJ4GqHyTh-DkWcxW2nYwHIwRmzb7uUhx7L8nfrJ3mvQcKHxiVY61QV8rnMwmCVppvzJbKJuD1Ca-zqTm75hic/s1600/Philanthropist+donating+money.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0mZv2N0xmZTRiltJqFehzbMdXIgRT4ZrtBmzCP7yl7eDett2I2N8dYEFJ4GqHyTh-DkWcxW2nYwHIwRmzb7uUhx7L8nfrJ3mvQcKHxiVY61QV8rnMwmCVppvzJbKJuD1Ca-zqTm75hic/s1600/Philanthropist+donating+money.jpg" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">Some kids I met on Sunday confirmed a suspicion I’ve been harboring the past few years. I’ve been thinking/hoping the generation growing up in the recession will be good money handlers as adults. </span></div><br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">I was involved in a workshop with about 25 preschoolers and elementary students, and I asked them, “If I gave you $5,000, what would you do with it?”</span></div><br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">“My school is going to close, so I’d give it to them to keep it open,” said one girl. The school is closing because a new one is being built, but still, I wished decision-makers could’ve heard her </span></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">idea.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">“I’d buy food for people who come to the church pantry,” said one young philanthropist, while another wanted to build a house for a homeless family. </span></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">When the kids’ answers were presented to their parents, “save it for college” evoked universal smiles and several sighs of relief. </span></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">I was a good saver when I was a kid, always found enough money to buy gifts for my family. But I don’t remember thinking about people being hungry or homeless, and I didn’t start a college fund until my children were born. I’m sure I never thought about trying to bail out my school district, which had to shut down for six weeks because voters rejected a tax levy. </span></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">Maybe, just maybe, building better savers and sharers is the silver lining of the downturned economy’s cloud.</span></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><em><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">How would you use $5,000? </span></em></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br />
</span></div>Ros Demareehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09657642686620517943noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8644167291028544914.post-90903687882322209632010-12-21T18:58:00.000-08:002010-12-22T05:43:50.573-08:00To you: Love, joy, hope, peace and life It’s a good thing gift wrap was made from sturdy paper when my brother and I were kids.<br />
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We were gift tag stalkers and package shakers.<br />
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Whenever we saw our name on a present under the Christmas tree, we had to shake it, pick at the corners and try to lift the edge of the seam to get a glimpse of what was inside. If we’d had an X-ray machine, I’m sure we would have used that.<br />
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But one year that stopped. Not because we’d grown up – when it comes to Christmas, who ever grows up? – and not because we were finally listening to our parents’ plea to, “Quit shaking the packages.”<br />
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It stopped because our mother didn’t use gift tags that year. We didn’t know which gifts were ours until Christmas morning.<br />
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The next year, my brother didn’t tag gifts, either, and then my dad and I quit using them. And yes, there were times when the giver forgot who the gift was intended, so Bill might get a skirt, and I might get a dress shirt. But that just added to the fun and made Christmas morning more memorable.<br />
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God doesn’t tag His gifts, yet we always get something to cherish or sustain us. Talent and treasure. Humor and health. Food and breath. Quiet and laughter.<br />
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Best of all, we get His greatest gift, His love.<br />
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For God so loved the world that He gave His one and only Son, that whoever believes in Him shall not perish but have eternal life.<br />
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That tiny baby, born in a manger, brings love, joy, hope, peace and life – here and in eternity -- to you. To me. To everyone.<br />
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What an amazing gift, and no tag needed.Ros Demareehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09657642686620517943noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8644167291028544914.post-12602667417247367112010-12-16T11:23:00.000-08:002010-12-16T11:23:48.226-08:00Antarctica trip brings true adventure<span style="font-size: large;">The Drake Passage isn’t for the feint of heart.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">It’s 500 miles of open sea where the Atlantic meets the Pacific. The closest land is South America or Antarctica. Even travel brochures acknowledge that the passage is known for having the stormiest water in the world, making it an adventure to cross anytime.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">But my brother, Bill Voige, says that bucking high waves is worth every rise and fall when you experience Antarctica.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">He was one of 88 Americans who boarded the Clelia II Nov. 30, hit a heck of a storm Dec. 7 and left this landlocked Hoosier wondering if I’d see him on dry land again. The 290-foot cruise ship rocked, pitched and creaked all along its southbound trip. Here’s how Bill described the wild trip down, and the even wilder one back north:</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">“On the way down, the Drake lived up to its reputation. Think of the most severe turbulence you’ve ever experienced on an airplane and then imagine it going on continuously for three days and nights.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">“But the trip back was even more exciting. For on that leg of the journey, we encountered a storm of breathtaking ferocity: 35-plus foot waves and 50-knot winds. To add to the excitement, during the storm a 2.5-foot section of deck railing broke loose and crashed through one of the windows of the ship’s bridge. The resulting onrush of water, wiped out our radar and most of our radios.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">“Fortunately, we were able to use one remaining low-power radio to contact a nearby National Geographic cruise ship which pulled alongside and used a cannon-like device to shoot an additional radio to us. But we were still without radar, which made navigation somewhat risky. At one point, we were told the safest maneuver was to turn into the storm and use the engines to essentially ‘tread water’ until the storm broke, which might take three long days.”</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">It didn’t take three days, but watching the video that the Explorer crew shot could make you queasy as the ship crashes violently against waves, gets pummeled with water, and is tossed from starboard to port.</span><br />
<br />
<iframe class="youtube-player" frameborder="0" height="390" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/w9e5xTdG_3M" title="YouTube video player" type="text/html" width="640"></iframe><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">While the storm made the trip an international media spectacle, the two days passengers spent in Antarctica were nothing short of spectacular.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Bill compared the weather to a beautiful winter day in Virginia’s Shenandoah Valley, where he lives. The sky was clear and blue, with temperatures in the 30s. (Ironically, the coldest day of the entire trip was Dec. 13, when Bill landed at Dulles International Airport in Reston, Va.)</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">The ship made four landings, giving passengers an intimate look at penguins, seals, birds and glaciers. The penguins have no fear of people, so they would get two or three feet from the thrilled tourists, most of whom were in their 60s and 70s; the oldest was 85 and the youngest was a man in his 50s who was traveling with his mother.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">The International Association of Antarctica Tour Operators regulates tourism in Antarctica, and it has some very strict rules:</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">>>Only one cruise ship can be there at a time.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">>>No more than 100 passengers and guides can be on land at any given time.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">>>Garments must be vacuumed before going on land to ensure that no seeds from other continents are introduced to Antarctica.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">>>Visitors must pass through disinfectant stations leaving and boarding the ship. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">>>Water can be taken onto the land, but no food of any kind.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">>>Penguins always have the right of way.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">No souvenirs can be taken, not even a rock, but -- and this was my biggest surprise -- there is a gift shop on Antarctica. It’s at a British scientific station, which uses the proceeds from sales of post cards and T-shirts to help fund the work done there.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">When the Clelia II arrived in Ushuaia, Argentina, the ship was met by ambulances, fire engines, reporters, camera crews, and official representative of the British government, sent to see if they could be of assistance to two British expedition leaders.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">The passengers, however, “weren’t exactly suffering,” Bill said. They were finishing dinner -- lobster, steak, champagne and baked Alaska.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Due to the complications encountered, Overseas Adventure Travel rebated some of the ticket price for this trip and credited each passenger $2,000 for another. Bill has already decided he’ll use it to visit Thailand in the spring.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Hey, aren’t there tsunamis there?</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><strong><em>I’d like to think I would make the crossing to see Antarctica if the opportunity arose. How about you? If not Antarctica, what adventure would you like to take?</em></strong></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
<strong><em></em></strong></span>Ros Demareehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09657642686620517943noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8644167291028544914.post-75663863161593465642010-12-04T18:30:00.000-08:002010-12-04T18:58:05.295-08:00Building character, 6 minutes at a timeI’ve become a fan of the Hamilton Heights wrestling program.<br />
<br />
It surprises me to write that because wrestling is as far from my peace-loving, non-confrontational psyche as the Arctic Circle is from Antarctica.<br />
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If you’ve never been to a meet, trust me when I say there can be more twists, entanglements and which-way-is-up holds in a 6-minute match than you’d see at a weeklong contortionist convention. <br />
<br />
Yet, after spending approximately 15 years chastising my nearly 17-year-old son against rough housing, I now find myself yelling, “Sweep his legs.” “Flip him over, Christopher.” “Hold him down.” <br />
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Let me tell you: Soft, teenage flesh makes a heck of a slam when it hits hard rubber. I can’t help but wonder how a wrestler’s knees feel when he gets thrown to the mat after being lifted shoulder high into the air. My knees hurt in empathy all the way up in the bleachers.<br />
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Invariably, that’s when my eyes squint, my face grimaces and I mutter a parental “ooooo,” no matter what school the far-flung wrestler represents. <br />
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I’m not the smartest wrestling mom, mind you. In fact, the matches make about as much sense to me as advanced calculus. (Who am I kidding? Make that basic calculus.) <br />
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I rarely know who’s winning until the ref raises one boy’s arm. And it wasn’t until “my” third meet that I learned how to read the scoreboard. I’m starting to recognize <em>when</em> points are scored – still no idea <em>how</em> points are scored -- and I do know that when the ref slaps the mat and one side of the gym starts clapping, it’s a pin. <br />
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I also know that the boys work extremely hard to prepare for their matches. Practices can be exhausting. Coaches Rick Willoughby and Jason Reecer are respectfully demanding. Together, they’re working to build strong bodies and smart wrestlers. <br />
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There’s a camaraderie and solidarity among wrestlers that I haven’t seen in other sports. As each boy wrestles individually, HHHS teammates are on the sidelines, watching every move, encouraging loudly and cheering proudly. <br />
<br />
Wrestlers have to shake off their losses or savor a win quickly when their match ends. After they get a job-well-done high five from each teammate, it’s time to focus on encouraging the next wrestler to do well. There’s no place in wrestling for sulking. <br />
<br />
It might take years for me to understand the sport of wrestling, but I already know the point of Heights’ program and why it appeals to a pacifist. As these coaches train warriors, they're building the character of peacemakers. <br />
<br />
<em>Athletics are a valuable part of a child’s development. Add your comments about what benefits you, your son or your daughter has reaped from sports.</em>Ros Demareehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09657642686620517943noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8644167291028544914.post-65972535434435092982010-10-25T07:30:00.000-07:002010-10-25T07:38:44.875-07:00Dad's trick becomes my treat<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">My dad approached life with exuberance and always liked a joke.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">He never seemed to mind when the joke was on him. Many times, in fact, he encouraged it.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Sometimes a joke misfired, as one did on a Halloween night in the 1960s. But Dad didn’t let that stop him from making people smile and giving all he had. It’s a lesson I try to embrace and teach my kids.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">We were living in Perry, a typical small town in northeastern Ohio. He and Mom were doing what they did every Halloween: handing out Hershey bars from a wooden bowl. When it wasn’t holding the Halloween stash, it was our mixing bowl for salads, so it was deep and pretty big. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span> <br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">About midway through trick-or-treat hours, a young boy inched up to our door by himself; his parent stood watch just off our porch. The boy clutched his bag, already so heavy with goodies that he struggled to maneuver it up two small steps. He peered out his mask with great expectation and said, almost in a whisper, “trick or treat.”</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">It was an Americana set-up, and Dad decided he’d go for a laugh.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">“Look, Dorothy,” he said to my mom. “This little boy brought us candy.” Then Dad plunged both hands into the bag and pulled out gobs of the evening’s sweet loot. Lollipops and bubble gum clung to chocolate bars and marshmallow confections. It was the little boy’s treasure, possibly the rewards of his first trick-or-treat outing. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">He was horrified watching it all be taken away.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">So was my mom. “Bill,” she scolded as the boy’s look of delight morphed into dismay, “what are you DOING?”</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Dad stuffed the purloined candy back into the boy’s bag, all the time trying to assure him that he was kidding. Not convinced that was working, Dad then dumped the entire bowl of Hershey bars into the bag, too.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">The trick-or-treater grinned and found lightness to his walk down the steps and driveway. Dad turned to Mom with a hapless satisfaction smeared across his face, reminding me of Stan Laurel. No words were needed; the look itself said, “There. I fixed everything.” </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span> <br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">But as usual, my mom had the Oliver Hardy-like last word: “Now,” she said, grabbing the empty bowl from my dad, “WHAT are we going to give all the other trick-or-treaters?”</span> <br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span> <br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">I’ve tried to mimic Dad’s exuberance and teach it to my kids. I acknowledge that sometimes being high-spirited will trip you up, but advise them not to let the occasional slip slow them down. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span> <br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Is it just me, or would this world be better if more people dipped down deep, even if only one night a year, and gave everything from their bowl? </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span>Ros Demareehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09657642686620517943noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8644167291028544914.post-41319086176307768402010-09-16T07:05:00.000-07:002010-09-16T07:05:00.147-07:00Blood drive draws Colts cheerleaders to HHHS<span style="font-family: Arial;"></span> <span style="font-family: Arial;">Students Against Destructive Decisions -- the SADD Club -- at <a href="http://hhsc.k12.in.us/hhhs-index.asp">Hamilton Heights High School</a> has made some rewarding choices.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">When members rolled up their sleeves to conduct a spring blood drive, all they wanted to do was boost the <a href="http://www.indianablood.org/donating/Pages/default.aspx">Indiana Blood Center's</a> supply. They did that, and they wound up winning the Colts Blood Drive Challenge, which will bring Indianapolis Colts <a href="http://www.colts.com/sub.cfm?page=cheer_home">cheerleaders</a> to Arcadia to cheer for an hour at a game.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Even better, by winning that challenge, the school has been entered into another competition where it could win $10,000 for a program of the students' choice.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">The SADD Club, sponsored by School Resource Officer Brad Osswald, promoted the drive, lent muscle to set up tables and chairs, and registered donors. The students recruited 135 classmates, teachers, staff, parents and community residents to donate.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">With 179 seniors enrolled, Heights was the smallest among the five schools invited to be part of the challenge, said Osswald. In comparison, McCutcheon, the largest in the challenge with 438 seniors, had 26 donors.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Make no mistake: school-based drives help people who need blood, no matter the number of donors. Nearly 20 percent of the blood center's annual donations are given at high school drives, according to the IBC website. Last year, 184 high schools hosted 555 drives. Combined, they drew a whopping 34,548 units of blood.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"High school students are wonderfully generous and civic-minded," said Chris Crane, IBC recruitment manager, in a news release. "It is a generation that cares about making an impact and does so without expecting a thank you. (Giving blood) is an anonymous donation to a patient in need. Knowing that seems to be all the students need to hear."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Odds are, though, that the HHHS students also will like hearing Colts cheerleaders rev up a Husky crowd and team. Osswald is working on those arrangements, hoping to have the women come to homecoming on Oct. 1. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">To win the new challenge, Heights must host fall and spring blood drives. The dates haven't been set, but the SADD Club is aiming for early November for the fall one. Watch the HHHS daily announcements, which are posted on the </span><a href="http://hhsc.k12.in.us/hhhs-announcements.asp"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">school's website</span></a><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">, for more details. </span>Ros Demareehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09657642686620517943noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8644167291028544914.post-42917187891537102122010-09-05T18:09:00.000-07:002010-09-05T19:44:08.192-07:00Thank you, Mrs. Volz<span style="font-family: Arial;">I can't forget something that Lynn Heinzman said after his wife, a much-beloved teacher's aide at Hamilton Heights Elementary School, died suddenly in 1995.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Lifted by the outpouring of support after her tragic accident, Lynn said he didn't think Peggy knew how much she'd done for her students. I remember wondering if a teacher as well-liked by students and parents as Mrs. Heinzman didn't know that, how could any teacher?</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">The answer was obvious: Parents need to tell them. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Too often, we forget or let the opportunity pass us by. Sometimes it's hard to see a teacher's effect right away. That certainly was true in our family, as signs started appearing in the spring but the indelible mark one teacher made on my son wasn't apparent until recently</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">As the crocuses bloomed, Christopher began injecting dinner conversations with morsels about discussions in his sophomore English class. Not a lot of explanation, but still a surprise from the young man who preferred eating in silence to talking about school.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">When trees flowered, his comments budded, telling what he'd added to the discussions and what others had said.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">I heard something I could hardly believe when we were feeling summer's heat. Christopher quickly answered "English" when my brother asked, "What was your favorite class this year?"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">English? Really? Just a few months earlier his answer might've been, "the last one of the day."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">As his first week as a junior wrapped up, Christopher made me see the signs as clearly as if he'd turned on the neon when he said, "I'm going to see Mrs. Volz."</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Joy Volz was his sophomore English teacher. She had encouraged him to speak out, but more importantly, she listened to what he said then gave feedback to his comments. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Mrs. Volz had inspired this teenager to become a student.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Before this school year was 5 days old, Christopher was buying a binder to organize his papers. Homework was getting done every night, and it was in the binder, by the door, each morning. At dinner he was talking about most of his classes, and he recommended that I read his recreational reading book. Labor Day weekend, he vowed to show his history teacher -- who he also had in freshman year -- that he's "learned to be a student."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Thank you, Mrs. Volz, for engaging Christopher in class. Thank you for not just letting students talk, but listening to their viewpoints and respecting their perspectives. Thank you for chipping away at a hardened "I don't care" attitude to release an "I will do this" commitment.</span>Ros Demareehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09657642686620517943noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8644167291028544914.post-13095627869950152010-08-08T16:10:00.000-07:002010-08-08T16:10:02.577-07:00Best phone call everI saw it coming months before July 9, 2009, so I wasn't surprised when I got called into a private office at The Indianapolis Star and was handed my walking papers.<br />
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Saddened, but not surprised.<br />
<br />
I've wobbled daily, sometimes hourly, since then -- giddy with anticipation after applying for jobs that seemed a hand-in-glove fit, brooding when I heard nothing except an unnerving silence from prospective employers. <br />
<br />
But unemployment has given me something precious: the chance to seize opportunities that I didn't when I was a 9 to 5 (or more realistically, 8 to 8) worker. <br />
<br />
One of the biggest opportunities has been having time to volunteer.<br />
<br />
I wanted to be a Meals on Wheels volunteer for years. I wanted to be part of an organization that ensured that older or homebound people in the community get at least one nourishing meal and hear at least one person say hello each day. I thought I couldn't possibly do that while I was working (I could have -- easily), so within days of my layoff, I signed up to deliver meals.<br />
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Best phone call I ever made!<br />
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I don't know if my knock at the door makes any difference to the 8 to 10 people on my route. I don't know if they look forward to their hot meal. I don't know if they close the door and walk away thinking their day just got brighter. <br />
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I do know that the people on my route make a difference to me, that I look forward to seeing them each week, even miss them when I'm off or they stop using the service. I know that my day gets brighter every time I step out of the car and walk to their doors.<br />
<br />
Marie and I talk about how her family's deep roots in the community are intertwined with my husband's family roots, and she often mentions someone I know from my reporting days at the Daily Ledger. Edsel's smile is wider than his arms can reach; the sparkle in his eyes burns a bright spot into my day. Mary Jo's favorite color is red; I know that from all the times she's complimented the jewel red color of my car. Don likes to tease me about the meals, often asking if I brought steak that day, and his brother Jim welcomes me into their home as if I'm carrying filet mignon on gold-plated service. <br />
<br />
Unemployment is a journey, and my destination isn't yet identified. Along the way, though, I'm learning that providing a meal, sharing a story, getting a smile or just chatting about things like favorite colors can be very, very rewarding.Ros Demareehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09657642686620517943noreply@blogger.com3