A Dreary Sunday Turn-Around

I don't do well on overcast, dreary days. I always thought that I was immune to such "nonsense" that lack of sun can affect your mood or disposition. I always thought that I was "bigger" than that; who gives in to such a thing??? Not me. Well, then again, yes me. Today was just such a day in central Illinois. And, yes, I did read about the snow storm covering the east coast, but never mind that; I am here under a windy, blustery, cold, overcast rainy day, and right after lunch, and up until 2:30, I was under the covers hoping the day would just go away. But then, I had one ace in my pocket, if I could motivate and muster the energy to get up and out the door to attend an afternoon concert on the campus of Illinois Westley University which was titled, "Love Songs Over All the Earth...Unifying Humanity through Music, Poetry and Art. Well, I got myself there and oh, the joy of it all!
The program talked about the extraordinary powers of music to calm;to shape emotions; to perswade our minds and hearts to beauty's end. When we add the universal and supremely powerful emotions of Love to the extraordinary persuasive power of Music, we have a potent mix to which virtually everyone can respond.
Songs of love were played by the most wonderful violinist I have ever heard, with piano accompaniment, while different masterpieces by famous artists were featured from overhead projector. Along with this, there was a vocalist and poetry readings, all with the theme of love.  Love drew me in; the music soothed my soul and the day turned out well.

Halloween Costumes

                       Doll made by my sister Maureen (all recycled items)

An advertisement in my newspaper this morning invited people to come to the Ag. Coop Exchange to learn 101 tips for sewing. Oh how I could have used this when my children were little, especially when it was close to Halloween. I am one of seven children and Halloween was one of our favorite days of the year! All that candy!!! We also had a mother who was a good seamstress, very artistic and imaginative. She could whip up a costume, with the help of her children,  in a heartbeat, and did every year for each of us. Back then, there were no ready-made costume stores; you had to create your own if you were to be seen  in your neighborhood on "All Hallows Eve," pillow-case in hand, going door to door for treats.Around this time every year, my brothers and sisters would sit at the table over dinner and discuss what they were going to be on this frightful night in our young lives. My mother's sharp attention would help to steer the conversation towards something she (we) could either sew up, or create. It was usually my brother John who had the wildest ideas, and often Mother had to discourage him from wanting to be a donkey or a horse, i.e. Then, when we were ready, the Conlan kids would go out en mass, the oldest looking after the youngest, always taking her hand. This would have been my sister Chris. We would go as ghosts, witches, cowboys (cowgirls, my favorite), princesses, exotic, scary creatures, goblins, T.V. characters or cartoons all of which Mother helped to create. Back home with our stash, we would spread out our "loot" across the living room rug trading back and forth for the kinds of candy we liked the best. I always had to watch my two brothers very carefully during this period of exchange. For me, as a kid, Halloween was the best! But as an adult, and mother of two, it was the worst! I was clearly not my mother; I neither sewed nor had her keen imagination and artistic touch. And, even then, there were no Costume stores from which to simply buy an outfit. So, off my children went, year after year, in something created and put together by us...whatever we could come up with at the time, and though I was not my mother, we did not do too badly, even though the weeks before almost gave me hives. The thing we could always count on, however, was that no other kid had their costume; it was a unique creation and one of a kind. Somehow, even with all the angst, I think it was better.
As you can see above, my sister inherited my Mother's artistic talent. Wouldn't this make a great costume???

LETTERS, A LOST HISTORY

One of the yearly traditions at my private girls' school was to write a letter to my parents each year at Christmas time, thanking them for all the things I appreciated about them. The devoted Sisters of Notre Dame de Mure would have us practice writing these letters in our best cursive handwriting until they were satisfied that the letter looked beautiful, neat and readable. Only then were we allowed to pen the final copy in ink. These were treasures (from five daughters) my mom and dad savored for years, and I found many of them after Mother and Dad were gone.
Ah, the joy of receiving a real letter these days; going to the mailbox and taking out an actual
 hand-written note from a sister, brother or a friend. 
One historic correspondences of the past were the letters sent between Thomas Jefferson and John Adams who wrote to each other over the years often disagreeing with each other bitterly, but who, through these letter, became fast friends by the end of their lives, both dying on the same day. It was these letters that made them friends. If you read these letters, you will see the historical significance contained in these communications where we are able to see into the minds of these famous men who created and shaped the nation. They depict the human side of history, expressing how these men thought and felt. Letters of the past are one of the major research tools used by schorlars to know famous people of the past, and we have much to learn by reading what they thought and felt.
But today...who writes letter today? When I was in Africa for two years with the Peace Corps, I wrote many letters home, not only to my Mom, Dad and Grandfather, but also to my brothers and sisters. Today, I have all those letters because my Dad, in his wisdom, had them typed and bound. They are a complete history of my time in Africa, and what a joy they are for me to read today. But, best of all, I also kept the palethra of letters sent to me by all of them, which is a two year history of their lives, and often the craziness of growing up in a large Irish Catholic family in Cincinnati, Ohio. I am now in the process of typing these letters and sending them, one per day, to my siblings and we are all laughing out loud remembering some of the histarical moments as they
transversed through high school, college, marriage, leaving home and having babies. I am including a part of one of these letters from my Dad so that you can see how much fun we are all having.
Letter from Dad: June 18, 1965
"Of course, the big event is John's wedding to Carol. Maureen (sister) arrived Thursday a.m. and I met her with Chrissy (sister). The airlines dropped her bag off in Cleveland. It arrived next day. Meantime, Maureen had to buy new dresses to wear. Again, on Thursday, Ginny (sister) had collision with Tom's (brother) car. Ginny not seriously hurt. Car demolished. Can sell for junk only. Like "our" fire,*we are grateful that Ginny wasn't hurt. No insurance on Tom's car. I arrived home about 5:30 p.m. and heard fire sirens approaching. Someone had started incinerator (my grandfather) and it had malfunctioned. It smoldered instead of burning. The whole house was smoke-filled. The same fireman arrived with the same array of equiptment. The Fire Captain admired our house decorations and then spent two hours cleaning the incinerator. The same insurance adjuster was on the phone next morning. We had house mist sprayed before company came. This all happened the night of rehersal dinner.  (Dad was referring to a recent incident that had brought the firemen to our house shortly before this time.)
How will people know of us in the future? How will our grandchildren and their children understand "our days?"More importantly, how will they know what we thought and what we felt ? They won't unless we tell them.

Putting Up Tomatoes Again

TODAY IS THE DAY THAT I WILL SPEND "PUTTING UP TOMATOES." I AM READY WITH MY JARS, LIDS, FRESH TOMATOES AND GREEN PEPPERS FROM THE FARM.  A DAY'S WORK THAT WILL LAST A WINTER. TO SEE THE WHOLE PROCESS, GO TO PREVIOUS ENTRY, "PUTTING UP TOMATOES." WHERE I SHOW PICTURES AND TALK ABOUT THE PROCESS.

Message

October 12, 2011
Good morning, and tis a beautiful morning here in centeral Illinois. Just wanted to share with you that, for some reason, the most RECENT BLOGS that I have written are not coming up first on my BLOG page. If this is also true for you, look at menu to your left to find the most recent entries. Picture above is sunset over Lake Michigan from my sister's deck where we have been privalaged to see many of these.

Harvest in Central Illinois, 2011

I love the Fall; I particularly love it at Harvest Time in central Illinois. All the farm machinery has been oiled and made ready, and now, it lumbers down country roads heading for the fields for the harvest. Cars, vans and trucks give them the "right of way" without even a toot of their horn; after all, some the these $150,000.00 combines take up the whole road! Today is a perfect Fall Day.

Plenty of sunshine, but also a slight breeze coming across the fields along with the furious dust kicking up behind the machine that is picking off 6-8 rows of corn or soybeans on each round. There is something wonderfully symmetrical about rows of corn and soybeans; the process all transversing along such perfect strait lines...music to my preordained orderly soul. Today, we have our grandchildren with us (4 & 7) and it makes me wonder what those "young eyes" must be thinking as they climb aboard this monster machinery, every bit five times their height. They do not seem to be afraid as their Dad hoists them up the steep steps and places them in the "cab" next to their Uncle Philip for a ride in the "BIG RIG."

Ben (4) is the first to ask his grandfather (Popo) where all the corn is going? "Here, there and everywhere," answers his grandfather. These crops feed the people of the world." What a simple question to jog my thoughts to the magnitude of that question and answer. We help feed the world from our tiny spot here in central Illinois. Wow! And yet, so many go unfed. Such an abundance here in the field, but such hunger here and around the world. We need to do better. Why don't we have a purpose like "no child left behind" to make sure that no child goes hungry. I'm for that; how about you?

THE JOY OF SHARED HISTORY

Two years ago I had the joy of celebrating a milestone birthday with my High School classmates, and most recently, I reunited with the Peace Corps Volunteers I spent two years with in Tanzania, East Africa. What is it about a shared history, I wondered, that connects us for life, as I walked into the room of Peace Corps Volunteers I hadn't seen in 47 years, but instantly felt close to....
The first thing that came to my mind is that we all had done something profound together, and, at times, something hard where we supported and encouraged each other. We agonized over stuff; laughed deeply together, and "held each other's hand" during tough moments. In many ways, we survived together. Like army buddies, there is a depth of feeling for each other that cannot be penetrated.
Two (although there were many) moments in my shared history come immediately to mind; one, the love and support I received from my High School classmates when a "silly" prank got me into deep water with the good nuns of Notre Dame de Namur. When we all get together, everyone still loves telling this story! We all agonized over my fate together. In Africa, I dodged several serious "bullets" with the help of my Peace Corps buddies and am still here to write about it. Life and death situations shared together certainly connects us! In Colorado during the 80ies, what connected me to my neighborhood girlfriends in Homestead Farm were the joys and traumas of growing up together, trying to become adult-like and becoming parents when all we really wanted to do was party! To this day, I know that those friends helped raise my children and I helped raise theirs.
I have moved away from each of these special groups and as I get older, it becomes harder and harder to have in my life, these kinds of extraordinary, special groups; there just isn't the time to develop the history. For this reason, I will always rejoice when in their company, and be a little sad when they are gone.