Thanks

When I was a better person (read younger, less tired, unburdened by dirty clothes, smelly kids, and my inevitable lack of meal planning), I would send a thank you card to someone every day of November leading up to Thanksgiving. Well, that hasn’t happened for quite some time, although I often remember the effort, spurred by a sermon of Rev. Phillip McClendon.

Now, usually about the third or fourth day of November I start thinking about things and people I’ve been thankful for throughout the course of the past year. Here are a few that struck me recently.

*Voting: not just the freedom to vote for whomever I wish, but the ability to stand in line with friends and neighbors in a church basement in Neosho, at 6:15 in the morning, joking and laughing, unconcerned about who we’ll all cast a ballot for – simply glad we’re there, with the only danger being the simple lack of caffeine from treading out so early.

*Dental floss – don’t ask my why, but recently I was challenged to consider the origins of dental floss and by golly it just got me. I couldn’t live without floss and am thankful there are plenty of varieties available on about any stores’ shelves.

*A couple of folks I worth with – Wendy, who always laughs at my jokes and provides plenty of very clever humor herself. Between the two of us, we bewilder the engineers, especially when we collapse in laughter at our own jokes not being able to move until we catch our breath. The other co-worker is Gary, the little brother I never had. We have an ongoing competition- who can be the biggest yes-man/woman. I’m currently losing He is my superior in this effort.

*The election night music they use to play on KBTN radio. I can’t help but hum that tune to myself on any election night. You know the tune – they played it right before they would go to Dave broadcasting from the Newton County Courthouse or from whoever was broadcasting from McDonald County. When you heard the music you knew to turn up the radio and listen for the precinct counts. I ran into Dave Winegardner Tuesday evening, right after I had been humming the KBTN election night jingle on my way home, but forgot to tell him thanks.

*My AlphaSmart writing pad. It’s a small portable keypad/word processor I bought off Ebay for under $50. I can type on it from the comfort of the recliner, in the car, from bed, on the back deck, anywhere. Then plug in a USB cable and my text is sent to our computer. I like low-tech.

Most importantly thank you to everyone who’s commented on this column. You’ve made my week, my day, and my year. And thank you to all Big Al’s Rotary buddies who always make sure he’s adequately ribbed over that week’s column. We’ve had some very good laughs.

Trains - Operation Lifesaver

Growing up, we didn’t have neighbors across the street. We had train tracks. My dad worked at B. F. Goodrich in Miami and we lived fairly close to the plant. I’m not sure if the tracks carried material into and out of the BFG, but in my mind they’re connected.

The train engineers would wave as the trains moved by while my sister and I played in the front yard. Hearing their horn and the roar as they went past was one of the ways I marked the time of my childhood days, pleasantly absent of a wristwatch.

Even now, living in Neosho, we live near the tracks. The railroad bridge and line that runs behind Griffith Motors is close to our house. I love watching the trains cross overhead as we drive on the roadway beneath. I even like hearing the crazy, early morning whistles of the train that every few weeks pull through town around 5 a.m.

Our kids love trains as well. The top shelf of our large family bookcase is specially set aside for the Box Car Children books. Each one dated on the title page with the day and year each of our children finished reading it.

This week at work, we’re observing Operation Lifesaver, a time devoted to raising awareness about railroad crossing safety. I’m crazy competitive, love to come in first whenever possible. This is one time that I’m not too thrilled with our standings.

For the entire state of Missouri, 20% of all railroad crossing accidents occur in Jasper and Newton counties. And understand this – those individuals involved in these accidents are primarily in their 30s and 40s – not the distracted teens and early 20s I had originally assumed.

Each and every day, I try to cram more and more appointments and errands into my day. I often fail to take into consideration the “flex” time I’ll need just to get from one spot to the next. Railroad crossings and no place to be running behind and trying to make up a little time; there’s a reason why school busses come to a complete stop at all crossings – it’s smart to stop and look. Be safe before you cross.

Throughout this week we’ll be taking reporters are some short rail trips, letting them see first hand the number of times motorists try to beat the trains here in Neosho and some other locations in the two county area. I know from visiting with many of you that read this column that we’re all juggling more balls in the air than we can some days count; today’s our day to add travel time into our planners, allow for the occasional train to cross your path. Take the opportunity to relax and count your blessings as you safely wait at the crossing….and be sure to wave.

Grandpa Marble

Here's this weeks Neosho Daily column. Wanted to share with all the "fam".

It’s poignant that for the past couple of weeks I have shared memories of my grandfathers, and this week my kids lost one of theirs.

Big Al’s daddy, Don Marble, passed on exactly one week ago. He was a great man. Well renowned for his preaching, his teaching and his incredible dedication to his church and his family. It doesn’t even scratch the surface to say that his life counted, that he had purpose. As one of the many ministers shared at his funeral service “Brother Marble was a people builder.”

We lost count of the number that attended the visitation – at least 500. There were shuttles to the church for the service, so many wanting to attend and pay their respects.

About this time last year I wrote a column about one of the twin’s buddies Sam Williams. Sam was riding in honor of Don in the annual MS bicycle ride. Part of that column included the following:

Don Marble is strong. He was strong when he was in the National Guard – one of the proud 203rd. He was strong when he worked at Rocketdyne, helping to put Neosho’s name on the map. He was strong when he juggled a family, a small business, and a fledgling church. He was strong when he worked tirelessly to start a mission to the Tarahumara Indians of Mexico, which now serves the spiritual, educational and medial needs of hundreds of families.

Most importantly he is strong when he prays. Maybe he’s the quintessential “prayer warrior”. “Be specific” is what he always says when I call asking for prayer. He’s learned to cut to the chase. Go for the gut. Pray honestly. Pray strongly.

Sam…you’re riding for the twin’s grandfather who has MS. He’s also their grandfather who proudly served his country, helped build rockets that went to the Moon, owned his own business, started a church, and began an outreach program to some of the poorest people in Mexico.

He has MS, but MS has never had him.

It was a source of pride to all of us that MS never did get him. It was a heart attack that ended his time here on earth.

Only time can tell what a lasting impact the last few days of stories, pictures, preaching and sharing will have on our kids and the other grandchildren. They are part of a great legacy and each one carries part of their “poppa’s” determination, wit, and spirit.

They also carry memories of a grandfather that gave them rides on his motorized wheelchair, played dominoes with them, prayed without ceasing for their well being. What a legacy indeed.

Ist Large Y Hurdle Completed

Today was the 3 mile Walk Across America event - part of the Spud to Stud program. So far so good.

I have amusing experiences finding running shoes I like - told the poor kid working the shoe section that I was over 40, over weight, trying to run again after a 10 year hiatus and that the cheap shoes I currently had on were allowing me to jar my teeth loose....deer in the headlights stare from the kid. Bless his heart - he then asked me what my favorite color was....unbelieving stare from me. Oh boy! I repeated the old, large, teeth jarring speech again and he tossed a couple of boxes at me and ran for his life.

I'm usually near the back of the pack. I've also noticed that I'm the official "sweater" of the class. I hear sweat is good for you. I should be incredibly healthy for as much as I've perspired this last few weeks.

Tomorrow's a new milestore - walk 5 miles, run 5 miles....say ugly things under my breath as a gasp for breath and hope no one is watching....repeat 4 times.

1st Spud Night Complete

Completed the first night of the spud to stud program at the YMCA. So far so good. Jay and Jenny H. are going to be great instructors/motivators.

Tonight was a 20 minute walk, followed by stretching. Each other day this week we add an additional five minutes to the walking time.

There were a lot of people in attendance tonight. I was impressed. It looks like the youngest two are in their mid-teens, while the oldes I'm pretty sure was commenting "if this grandmother can get out there and try it - you can too".

It looks like some gentle yoga is in order early tomorrow morning, or these stiff legs will be communicating a sob story.

Lulu writes and sweats

Several years ago I wrote a children’s book. I shopped it around a little, and although it got a smidgen of attention. No publishing house ever picked it up. The main character’s name was Lulu Grace. I love the name Lulu and always notice it when used in literature, the old comic strip, etc.

A couple of weeks ago I ran across an ad by the athletic outfitter lululemon athletica. The ad is basically a bunch of sayings in a crazy mumbo-jumbo layout. You’re forced to pay attention and read the affirmations one by one. I found a few that were very appealing and that I’m working toward incorporating in my daily life.

“Do one thing a day that scares you.” This statement is in the largest font and the boldest typeface. All right, here’s what I’ve decided to do. I signed up on the National Novel Writers Web site committing personally to write 1667 words each day during the month of November. That’s very scary.

The good thing about that National Novel Writers experience is that there is no self-editing for that first 30 days. You simply write. I’m jotting down ideas and working out characters. It will be a good test of my personal commitment to see if I can at least pull off the daily writing. I’ll trust the words to find themselves.

Another good affirmation on the ad is “Sweat once a day to regenerate your skin.” If you’ve just gotten to know me over the last couple of years you would be shocked to know I was once much smaller in body size and actually would run for exercise with Big Al. So…I’ve signed up with the YMCA for their “Spud to Stud” program which starts August 27, literally taking major couch potatoes like myself and over a 10 week period working with them so that they can run a 5k. I’m sure I couldn’t run 5 feet today, but I’ll let you know how this turns out in November.

Probably my favorite lululemon ad statement reads “Successful people replace the words ‘wish’ ‘should’ and ‘try’ with ‘I WILL’”.

Here I go (obviously still reeling from the empty next syndrome with the first fledgling) … I WILL write a book and I WILL run a 5K.

I’ll attempt to provide a humorous dialogue on my writing and sweating – maybe not always in that order - on this blog. It should be a hoot!

No Where To Hide

I feel like I did when the boys were very small and they would want to shadow me on my every move....except tonight they know I'm trying to do a little last minute birthday shopping on the Internet.

Every where I turn there are two sets of eyes following me. It's pointless anyway. They're smarter than I am and they'll probably just pull up the history files on the computer to see where I've been searching.

Last year was a birthday gift disaster. Apparently I was suffering from some sort of "mom" disease where I couldn't tell how grown-up they were or assumed they were. This year, Big Al and I conducted some serious planning as to what should go on the birthday list.

There's added pressure with this being the first "teen" year.

Keep your fingers crossed. We still haven't decided what the celebration will entail - most likely paintball and grilled steaks.

School Supplies

The boys turning 13 in a couple of weeks, I think I finally have the basic back to school shopping under control. For me it takes entering the list of supplies into my Palm Pilot, creating a check off list that can be narrowed down each an item is purchased.

I keep track of the school supply circulars, then one Sunday afternoon, when I’m in a pretty good mood. I head for the store.

Here’s the key part of this plan. I almost always don’t take the boys. They can be no where near for this to be a quick, painless experience. Trust me, all they do is add an air of panic to an otherwise pleasant day. With each pack of pens, binder, or tissue box tossed in our cart, I hear, “How many more days until school starts?” “Are you sure we really need to buy this stuff?” “Summer can’t be over…it just started!”

An hour of that and I’m ready to panic myself.

This year the school supply shopping was a breeze. What was tough was buying clothes for the boys. We’ve learned during certain growth cycles in their lives it’s silly to buy long pants, since they’ll only look like “boy capris” in a week. So we decided to stick with long shorts, meaning for them nothing that hits above the knee.

Apparently my clothing tastes and having me outside the dressing room are embarrassing. Big Al was the fashion consultant this year, while I hung out a safe distance away.

The more I think about it, summer can’t be over yet. Enjoy your last couple of days while you can.

Up $95

The empty nest syndrome was in full swing this afternoon. Big Al and I headed to the Casino.

Mind you, the boys were way happy to have their sappy, doting, overly interested parents out of the house for a couple of hours. They had experienced just about enough of our overt attention in lieu of missing their big sister. It was time for major junk food and video games.

I first tried the horse track screens, but my very elaborate betting idea - name of the jockey, plus name of the horse, multiplied by the colors the jockey wore (I bet the most if they were wearing orange, pink, purple - or really big if it was a combination of the three). No duh, but this "method" proved really dissapointing.

It wasn't too long before I was bored and up strolling through the cavernous structure. It's impossible to keep track, from my perspective, of how many slot machines there were on the main floor.

Somewhere near the back cashier stand, I ran into my neighbor and friend Donna. She coached me on the penny slot machines (won $42) and the video poker (won $53).

It was good way to burn a couple of hours, but even now, four hours later, I can still smell the cigarette smoke on my clothes and hair. Time for a shower, then to clean up the dinner plates, after the steak dinner I bought with my winnings.

Unbelievable

It's simply beyond me tonight that Sis has moved away to her first apartment. I've always joked that I wouldn't be the one experiencing the empty nest syndrome, but this afternoon I just sat in her room and cried.

She's so excited.

The University of Central Missouri is a great school.

She'll be playing for a super softball team.

We're just all going to miss her so bad.

Her Dad and I both know this is it....she'll never come home to live for an extended period of time. Both of us - once we moved out after hight school - we were gone. That's just the way things are.

Even Fez the wonder puppy is a little blue this evening. We've all been doting on him like crazy - new toys, new dinner choice, but he can tell something's different. He's a two-woman-kinda dog...and I'm only half of his adoration.

Stillness in Motion

One of the people I miss most from Crowder is Bob Ensor the music instructor. His office was near mine. More importantly the airconditioning vent from his office fed directly into mine. It was my pleasure to listen to him practice piano.

Bob just put together a CD "Stillness in Motion". It is magical.

Think of the hardest, busiest, most stressful day you've had at work. You just can't wait to get home and unwind. This is the music to unwind to.

He's posted excerpts of the music at his Web site.

www.thetaoofpiano.com

Go check this out. You will feel better after you do - promise.

Great Grandpa Column

I'm a sucker for any writing about wonderful grandparents. Cody Thorn, Neosho Daily News sports writer really hit a homerun in tonight's paper.

http://www.neoshodailynews.com/sports/x379990124/Is-there-crying-in-baseball

Cody is everywhere. In fact it would be easy to think he's a twin - it seems impossible that he can be at so many events in one day...and go to college....and have a life!

Check out the column. Then if you're blessed enough to still have a grandparent living, give 'em a call. You'll be glad you did.

Some pics

Fez the wonder puppy

Ocho Rios, Jamaica....our favorite spot, after Neosho

Sis and "the boys"

Fast silence

We headed up a few miles on MO 71 this morning to get pictures of the solar cars on their way to Kansas.

There were people standing beside the road, near overpasses, anywhere they could get a good look.

Once the first car popped over the horizon, we were joinning with everyone else - hooting and pointing. The kids in the support vehicles seemed just as excited, honking their van horns and waving back.

The only thing missing was the sound from the race vehicles. I had forgotten until today that they are completely quiet except for the sound of the tires on the pavement.

After a weekend of war movies with the pre-teens, the silence got my attention.

No pollution. No noise. Could be good.

Very kiwi

When the boys were little, they couldn't say "scary". It sounded like they were saying "kiwi". Since then anything that shouldn't be scary, but is....is kiwi. Even though it is only July, once my birthday rolls around, then for as long as I can remember, summer is on a downhill slide, followed ever too quickly by fall.

I just signed up for the National Novel Writing Month experience, held annually in November. The goal is to commit to yourself that you'll write every day from November 1 - November 30. You "win" if you finish with 5o,000 words written.

One of my most favorite books "Water for Elephants" by Sarah Gruen, was a National Novel Writing book experience. I have been overwhelmed for months by her writing skill and her ability to touch into something so deeply - where she had previously had absolutely no personalf frame of reference.

We'll see where November takes me. I've been noting all the funny little quirks about life's simultaneous opposites - maybe there's an idea in there somewhere.

The Bond of the Laundry Room

Currently we have four friends who are in their late 30s or early 40s and who are all pregnant. For a couple of these ladies they’ve adopted but before had not previously been able to conceive, while the other two have each given birth once.

All of them are fun to talk with – visiting about the surprises and extra tests that come with being a mom over 30. I was thinking today about our delivery day and how 99% of the time I would do the complete day over again. You know how you always hear that the fear and pain of the day quickly fades in a mother’s mind. And soon, she’s ready for that next baby.

Well – I was the big baby with the spinal block and I never felt any pain. Didn’t plan to. I too was over 30. It was a Monday. The delivery room television set was locked to the O.J. Simpson trial. My ankles were the size of soccer balls. The last little bit of personal self-centeredness I could possibly relish for the next 18 years would be a small tube of plastic dripping painkiller directly into my spine. And I boldly asked for it at the first twinge of discomfort.

So, I don’t have the shared pain of birthing bonding experience, but the bond I do share with all mother’s I know is the fear and the agony of the laundry room.

What is it with teenagers and their clothes?

I’ve been observing for the past couple of weeks since Sis returned to the house from the dorms and the best I can determine is she makes three, sometimes four, wardrobe changes a day.

First, there is the just got out of bed but don’t want to be seen in my pajamas and some cute guy could walk by outfit (notice she hasn’t realized she’s home); followed by the time to go to work at my very cool summer job ensemble; not to be overshadowed by the just returned home from job need to go out and see who’s home from school look; and the ever popular and oh so comfortable lounging around the house checking out what’s on pay per view number.

I want you to understand that all four, of her “looks” each day are adorable. I can’t even remember having a fraction of the clothes she has when I was her age. In honesty I think I’m having a wee bit of trouble wrapping my head around the fact that I’m in my mid-40s and will never have the energy, the looks, or the disposable dollars to pull this one off again personally.

The other day a friend of mine at work stopped by my desk with a large department store bag full of dress shirts and casual slacks her son refused to wear. She had heard me talking about how big the twins had grown this year and assumed they were probably close to the same size.

Yep. She was right. That evening we had a little GQ fashion show in the living room.

Now I have three teenagers making multiple wardrobe changes daily. I haven’t seen my laundry room floor in a week. Forget oil futures. I’m buying some Proctor & Gamble shares today and stocking up on laundry detergent.

For the love of Lois, Anne and Grandma Goldie

A couple of weeks ago, I made it through a day I had alternately been preparing for, anticipating and dreading for over a year. Last summer Buzz Ball had asked if I could be ready as a “fill-in” speaker if one of the other scheduled speakers had to drop out for the 2007 Missouri Press Association Conference. It was Buzz asking and he had graciously done so much for me the past several years I couldn’t say no.

Well the speaker was able to make it, but Buzz asked if I could plan to speak this year, June 12th. The topic was “The Care and Feeding of your PR Rep.”

I adore newspapers. It’s true; I wait at the edge of the driveway each morning at 4:30 a.m., for that “other” paper. I’m the first to read the Daily each afternoon. To speak to a room full of newspaper editors was scary. But I finally decided to honor the women who taught me about working with newspapers. They were Lois Bush, Anne Cope, and my grandmother Goldie.

When I first moved to Neosho, I was 21 and a complete know-it-all. I’m sure I thought I was going to set whatever PR world on fire. I planned to move here temporarily, stay three to five years, then head back home to Oklahoma and work in Tulsa or the City.

One day Lois, former Neosho Daily News society editor, and I had a disagreement over the phone. I can’t remember what it was about, but I’m certain my youthful arrogance was to blame. Without raising her voice or becoming nasty, Lois let me know, in no uncertain terms, that I needed her a lot more than she needed me. I hung up in a huff, and then it must have been a divine head-bop, because I came to my senses, hopped in my car and drove straight to the Daily office. I don’t remember what was said, except that I apologized profusely and Lois graciously accepted. From that day forward she was exceptional at mentoring me in respecting the paper’s deadlines, responsibilities and countless priorities.

Anne Cope, sister-in-law to Lois, and the Daily’s editor for most of my time at Crowder, was the best at feeding the insatiable appetite of the reader. She never let me settle with a partial story or fail to follow-up on a promised update. My personal victories were when I could successfully and/or quickly provide her with requested information. Anne taught me to always look for the rest of the story and to work as a connector with the story and the reporter, not as a gatekeeper between the paper and the company.

My Grandma Goldie was movie star pretty. She loved jewelry, leopard print, and chocolate! She loved to be out on the world. She was always looking for a community event to attend, a restaurant to try, or a movie to catch. As long as I can remember she read multiple papers a day. Even as she passed her 90th birthday, she kept up with her papers. Every few days she would call to ask if I had read a certain article. Newspapers were her connection to the world. The stories in each issue were her chance to stay involved.

If I could mentor someone just starting out in public relations, I would remind them to respect the newsroom like Lois; search for the details and look for the rest of the story like Anne; and write for my grandmother and all the other Goldies out there. They’re going to love reading about what you and your company are doing.

Holds Upon Happiness

I read a recent newspaper article that outlined the many disasters and downfalls currently impacting our country. The writer described the many problems facing society and how those situations affected the psyche of individuals involved.

Some people are hunkering down, stockpiling food, loading up ammunition and getting ready for a tough haul. Some are blaming everyone from politicians to foreign interests for their woes.

I heard an interesting express this weekend in Sunday School. Larry Perkins asked the class if when viewing situations, were we “the glass is half full” people or were we part of “the glass is half empty” crowd. Amusing enough, he said he had always viewed the particular scenario as simply “half”. It is what it is.

Here’s my Pollyanna-PR-chick spin on the world today.

Sure, I would like for gas to be cheaper. I can remember the 70s gas lines and I have no interest in sharing that experience with my children. But there’s no reason why six of us who live in Neosho and work in the same office building in Joplin always drive six separate cars every day. Recently we’ve started car pooling and it’s made the short daily trips and the long-haul runs to the middle part of the state much more bearable.

Food prices are higher. Combine the high cost of eating out with the gas it takes to get to the restaurant and that means we’re cooking at home more these days. Allow me to clarify. Its summer, which means Big Al is grilling more these days. He’s a master in the backyard chef realm and I’m more than happy to share the daily cooking schedule.

The weather has been at best a drag this year and at worst deadly. I am an absolute baby when it comes to tornadoes. The recent spring storm that leveled Pump & Pantry, went over our neighborhood, but spared our roof. I am in awe and absolute respect for the families who have weathered the storms and the subsequent devastation. We are blessed to live in a community that so quickly responds to and takes care of their friends.

I heard the following quote as part of a workshop I attended today on ethical decision making. “It is well to have as many holds upon happiness as possible.” Jane Austin

Here are a few of my current “holds upon happiness”:
Walking Fez at dusk just as the fireflies start their glowing liftoffs
Bing cherries
Fireworks
Diet raspberry lemonade
A great summer book
The smell of freshly cut hay
Attending a T-ball game at Morse park
Test messages from Sister saying she’s o.k.
Watching the boys play trampoline basketball
Long, “change the world” conversations with friends

I’ve experienced everything above, now that we’ve hunkered down and started to watch our pennies. Life can be scary. Life can be beautiful. They both exist as two of the “it’s just half” examples of the glass. I’m grabbing hold of my happiness while I can.

Mama Irene

We spent this past weekend watching Sis play in one of the last tournaments she'll have as a Lady 'Rider. Since she was a little girl she's played softball. This may be surprising to Coach Arthur but Sister didn’t pick Crowder because of the softball program. Since she was five years old she’s always said she would attend Crowder. That’s because from the time she was five she loved Mama Irene’s (Irene Cooper) hamburgers.

One of the ways I’m certain I’m growing older is that I never miss reading the obituaries or the Dear Dr. Gott column. I check my latest mid-life malady against those listed in the Gott column, count myself lucky when it’s something I haven’t experienced yet, grimacing when I read something I dread experiencing.

The obituaries are something all together different. I love to see pictures of elderly ladies when they were young, the 40s glamour head shots are so pretty. I read with pride the gentlemen’s military or career histories. Easily I imagine the “dash” for these people – the space between the year they were born and the year they passed… the “—“.

Too often the words used in obituaries don’t even begin to sum up the wonderfulness of the person they honor. When “Mama Irene” passed away this winter her obituary listed “food service administrator” as her occupation. That doesn’t even begin to describe it. She fed countless students and faculty. She fed their stomachs. She fed their hearts. She fed mine.

I’ve always been a klutz, but never more so than when I was pregnant with twins. It was hard for me to walk across a room without tripping, front heavy with two babies, I fell off ladders in the museum, I slipped on icy sidewalks. Mama Irene would have none of it. She insisted on bringing lunch across the street to my office whenever the weather was iffy that winter.

Over the years she employed many friends and family. It was always hard distinguishing who was part of the family by blood. We all so wanted to be part of her brood. Her table was always near the entrance to the buffet line. She kept an eye on the warming trays, watching over the cash register, and was always ready to share a cup of coffee and simply listen.

I often celebrate our 20 years of friendship by using a crystal vase she had given me as a gift when I left Crowder. I enjoy selecting the largest, brightest bouquet I can find. Everyone who steps into our house comments on the vase, the lovely flowers. With each compliment I get a chance to praise and remember Mama Irene.

It's easy to picture Irene, now a guest herself, seated at a heavenly banquet table, a gracious lady who’s resting after devoting her life to helping God fill up countless others.

Leave it to Jan

I may not have mentioned it on this blog, but I’ve been on a simplification kick this past year. We’ve even narrowed down the areas which we support financially. Crowder always tops the list, as well as the Multiple Sclerosis Society. Being a former Girl Scout leader, I’m forever sympathetic to the young girls selling cookies door to door.

Sometimes it’s the person organizing the fundraising effort as much as the worthwhile cause that gets me involved. That’s why I found myself in the position recently, stack of white pledge cards in front of me, calling YMCA members to make a donation to the Strong Kids Campaign. Apparently, I can’t say “no” to Jan Griffith and I most likely wouldn’t even if it were possible.

Jan has bailed me out of more organizing faux pas and near disasters than I can shake a day-planner at. As she once so delicately stated it, “Lori, I have been very good to you.” And she has.

Jan took the Crowder Wreath auction and birthed it from a quirky little idea into a social event. She has woven her laughter and good nature into countless charitable efforts across Neosho. Now I should point out that I would probably be involved with helping right now – even if Jan weren’t involved…it’s just a lot more fun when she is.

If you have kids or grandkids chances are at one time they’ve been involved with the Southwest Family YMCA. It has been such a large part of the boys’ lives that I can’t really remember it not being here.

Logan and Dexter are “Y-rats”. They know the place like the back of their hand. They’ve spent summers in the day camp, schools-day-out time, taken swimming lessons, flag football, basketball, and all-night lock-ins…the works. Recently they’ve graduated to a YMCA level they have been looking forward to for a long time. They completed their weight room initiation, which is a big deal for any young men just months away from being teenagers. They’re now able to come and go from the weight room and boy, are they driving me nuts making sure I get home on time to drive them out there.

All the programs I mentioned above haven been run in style. During Day Camp the guys took awesome trips to different locations each week; their team sports were always very competitive and highly instructional. None of these efforts are free to operate. There’s always a cost involved, but the YMCA, much to their credit, doesn’t turn anyone away due to financial constraint.

The Strong Kids Campaign helps fund the programs so every kid has a chance. It doesn’t take much to make a difference. Even $5 or $10 can help a young child have an enjoyable, athletic, happy day when the school is observing a long weekend.

If you’re a Southwest Family YMCA member and you received your campaign letter in the mail, send a little something back. You’ll have a ball trying to guess which kid you blessed they next time you stop by to swim or walk the treadmill.

And if you’re trying to raise money, decorate for a party, or pick out the perfect paint color give Jan a call, she would be happy to help. Just tell her Lori said so.

Joe's is no Joke

Big Al insists that I am prone to exaggeration, a possible byproduct of working in public relations for over 20 years.

Apparently, only twice in our marriage has my heartfelt endorsement of an eating establishment been on target. The first instance was many years ago when describing the cheese enchiladas at Armando’s Restaurant in Grove as “the best anywhere”. The second recently when we had lunch at Eskimo Joe’s in Stillwater, Oklahoma.

Eskimo Joe’s bar and grill is synonymous with Oklahoma State University (OSU). Located only a block from campus, it is popular with students and faculty alike. No doubt many students over the last three decades have spent enough time there to have qualified for an academic minor in “joesology”.

My first apartment at OSU was next door to Joe’s. It was the top floor of an old two-story home that had been divided into apartments. Even with the windows and doors closed it was hard to shut out the sounds of students either free of studies or simply blowing off their responsibilities stopping in for a hamburger and to listen to Blues music.

I’ve often stated that in my mind I still view the world as a young adult, somewhere around 21 – 23 years of age. It was interesting to be in a town that was so influential to me at that pivotal age while at the same time cheering on Sister - at nearly the same stage in her life.

Eskimo Joe's opened July 21, 1975. That same day, sales began for their wildly popular t-shirts, featuring Eskimo Joe and his ever faithful canine companion Buffy. The interior of Joe’s hasn’t changed too much in the 20 years since I was a student. The floors are still wooden; the tables are still tall with high stools. The ceilings are still stamped tin and antique advertising posters and OSU memorabilia remain splashed across the walls.

“This is exactly how I pictured it,” said Big Al, followed by his pronouncement, not entirely unjustified, that I often paint my descriptions with an overzealous verbal paintbrush.
After we ate lunch the boys scanned the Joe’s clothes, each picking out a new Eskimo Joe’s t-shirt that like all twin-clothes at our house, were similar in color, while still maintaining their individual style in design.

They were fascinated reading the “history of Joe’s” and curious how two guys could open a little burger joint that would turn into the Eskimo Joe’s phenomenon it has become. I think the answer is that they were enthusiastic, used teamwork to their advantage, and never once thought about failure.

I’m always reading something new, this week it is the inspirational book “You Can’t Send a Duck to Eagle School.” It is all about finding what your good at and sticking to it. Also, for managers it provides lessons in picking the right people for the job. Good customer service, full of enthusiasm, is a skill that not everyone is good at but it's what's made Joe's famous.

Wired Tight

I don’t think I’ve shared this yet but I’m a big zero in the pain threshold department. I've been limping around the house all evening, complaining about my sore feet following a couple of hours in heels this evening at a function. (What a baby!)

I asked for a spinal block at the first quiver of childbirth. The nurse asked me if I was “in labor?” I replied, “No…and I don’t plan to be.”

I’ll fuss over a hangnail for hours. Every purse, every piece of luggage has an antibacterial/pain relieving ointment tube strategically stashed away for emergencies. I’m like Elaine in the Seinfeld episodes where she’s sure there some secret message for all the doctors stuck in her medical file. My note would read “big baby.”

Subsequently, I am very impressed with tough people: people who live with chronic pain, who finish marathons with every muscle aching….women that give birth naturally! I wrote a few weeks ago about my new hero in the tough guy department, my nephew Blake Henry.

Blake was at high school baseball practice a month or so ago, when he and a fellow teammate collided while both attempted to catch a fly ball. Blake is pretty tall and the other kid was a bit shorter, so when they both smacked into each other the top of the other kid’s head slammed into the bottom of Blake’s jaw.

It was pretty obvious that both boys were hurt, but nobody was going to quit practice that afternoon. When Blake left the field he wasn’t feeling any better and the front of his shirt was red with his own blood.

The ER was busy and there was no way to tell how bad his injuries were, so he waited for a while before he was seen. A couple of x-rays later it was clear that Blake’s jaw was broke in two places!

This kid finished practice with his face in pieces. He never asked to come out. That’s tough.

In the very early morning hours of the next day he underwent surgery to repair the breaks. For the next three to four weeks he’ll have to function with his teeth wired shut and screws in his jaws. Here’s the kicker: all of this on very little pain medication. It was too big of a risk that he might become ill on the medication and be in further danger with everything wired closed.

Blake was the first family member to take to me when I began attending family events. He was just barely walking and would wobble over to me, turn around and then slowly back up so he could sit on my lap. We were buddies from that first afternoon.

When I visited him in the hospital following surgery it was with arms full of every car and sports magazine available in the gift shop. I told him how he was the toughest person his Uncle Alan or I knew.

He ended up only have his jaws wired for a couple of weeks.

He's so active and his metabolism is revved so high that he needed to eat - real food...not just protein drinks. He was dropping weight too fast and needed more nourishment.

I'm thinking about Blake and his pain threshold as a nurse a paper cut and pad around in house slippers. At least some of the folks are tough in this family!

Call 'em all honey

We have a new male vs. female argument at the Marble household. It revolves around my use of the word “hon”…as in thanks “hon” appreciate it “hon”.

For clarification purposes I should note that the men in my home do not object to me calling any of them “hon”. They are also only mildly belligerent when I call Fez-the-wonder-puppy “hon”. No. They save their “hon” badgering for when I use it to refer to waitresses.

That’s right. I call women I do not know “hon”. (I call men/waiters I don’t know “bud”.)

Maybe its part of the public relations game that makes me very uncomfortable when I can’t remember someone’s name. Even when it is a member of a restaurant’s wait-staff I feel the need to use their first name…and use it often.

Many times when we eat out, the waiter or waitress is a former student at Crowder or someone I know from parent events at Central School. If I can’t remember their first name it starts driving me nuts. I invariably call them “hon”…which then drives Big Al and the boys up the wall.

In fact, a couple of months ago, they bet me money that I couldn’t go the whole meal without calling the waitress “hon”. Am I competitive – you bet. Always ready to add to my Brighton jewelry collection – you bet. I was game.

Five minutes later I’m calling her “hon” after she brought some more tea. I lost. Lost my pride and had to endure the jabs and ribbing throughout the rest of the meal.

You know it’s a weird thing. I don’t mind if a woman calls me “hon”, but if I guy said it (who wasn’t family) I would think they were either condescending or odd.

Maybe its just one of those nurturing, wonderful, caring things about being a girl or maybe I’m a nerd.

Either way. I would rather be called “hon” by someone who obviously couldn’t remember my name, but wanted to be nice. Than addressed as Lori by some snobby chick. How about you?

Mrs. Foree

I’m pretty sure every kid has had a teacher that they were sure was not from this planet. The type you learn to expect in college…a little eccentric, very vocal with their beliefs, constantly pushing the envelope asking the class to consider topics a little bit broader than what was originally expected. My junior high science teacher, Mrs. Foree, was that teacher for me.

Anytime the weather gets out of whack like it has this past week, my sisters and I look at each other and whisper “Mrs. Foree”. We use soft, breathy, scared voices you hear in horror movies, when the heroine is getting ready to be killed by the mutants. We whisper because we’re scared that the teacher we all laughed at in junior high was right.

Before global warming was cool, before green was something bigger than a color, there was Mrs. Foree. She ruled over her Oklahoma classroom. She loved rocks. Her lab counters were littered with piles of rock. Big rocks. Big rocks that she would chuck at you if you weren’t paying attention. Throwing rocks was something all the kids knew to expect when it was their turn to sit in Mrs. Foree’s class. And for the most part they only came hurling at you when you were caught not paying attention to her theory on the seasons.

Basically she declared that in a very short time we wouldn’t have any more seasons. No more spring. No more fall. We would simply transition from one harsh summer to the next brutal winter in a day or possibly even during the same day. It was Mrs. Foree that I thought of yesterday morning when Fez, the wonder-puppy and I walked outside at 4:30 a.m., for a morning walk and retrieval of that “other paper”. I thought of Mrs. Foree because I was dressed in long pants, a sweatshirt, heavy coat, gloves and a hat – pretty much the same outfit that I wore the evening before when the two of us patrolled the hill looking for renegade squirrels. The temperature Monday evening was around 30 degrees, with a light rain. My winter weather gear was perfect for those conditions.

Yesterday morning, I felt like a pop-tart in a toaster oven standing outside in my front yard, cooking in all those clothes with a rather balmy 60 degree breeze gently blowing across my nose – the only part of my face exposed to the “elements”. Mrs. Foree was right, I thought. By the time I reached my office at 7:30 a.m., the temperature had dropped into the low 40s. We were back to winter in less than two hours.

I don’t know what happened to her or even if she’s still alive. But I’m never going to consider the weather the same way I once did…and I may just take up juggling…rocks, big rocks.

Grandpa Marble

(I originally wrote this in honor of my father-in-law Don and during the annual MS bikeathon held each fall.)

Every day there’s a worthy cause that could benefit from some donation. Most times its easy to pull out some dollars from my wallet and donate to whatever need is presented.

But it’s nice to make larger contributions when possible. A long time ago Big Al and I focused our non-church giving to include Crowder College and the Multiple Sclerosis Society.

My father-in-law, Don Marble, has battled MS for over 30 years. Even after decades of pounding by this incessant, baffling disease, his body still shows evidence of the Marble stature and strength that I’m beginning to see in the twins.

It’s easy to give money. We’re two people with good jobs who are healthy and sane enough to realize how incredibly blessed we are. It’s something entirely different when the one working for a cure is 12 years old and riding his bicycle 40 miles a day to get in shape for the MS ride.

Sam is one of the twin’s football teammates, and last year he asked if he could ride in the MS event in honor of Big Al’s dad. We couldn’t say yes fast enough.

This year Sam asked again, and I thought it appropriate to say thank you to Sam with this column as well as offer a little insight into what type of man he is honoring with his effort.

Don Marble is strong. He was strong when he was in the National Guard – one of the proud 203rd. He was strong when he worked at Rocketdyne, helping to put Neosho’s name on the map. He was strong when he juggled a family, a small business, and a fledgling church. He was strong when he battled a mysterious illness that finally was diagnosed as MS. He was strong when he worked tirelessly to start a mission to the Tarahumara Indians of Mexico, which now serves the spiritual, educational and medial needs of hundreds of families.

Most importantly he is strong when he prays. Maybe he’s the quintessential “prayer warrior”. “Be specific” is what he always says when I call asking for prayer. He’s learned to cut to the chase. Go for the gut. Pray honestly. Pray strongly.

Sam…you’re riding for the twin’s grandfather who has MS. He’s also their grandfather who proudly served his country, helped build rockets that went to the Moon, owned his own business, started a church, and began an outreach program to some of the poorest people in Mexico.

He has MS, but MS has never had him.

So, ride strongly Sam because a strong man’s prayers, and tons of gratitude, are riding along with you.

Girl Myths

The boys’ favorite show is Myth Busters. I’m not sure but there maybe could be an entire MythBusters channel. It doesn’t matter if I’ve been watching a show for a long time….actively engaged, talking back to the TV set, etc., if I get up, if only for a second, the minute I return to the family room the show MythBusters is blaring away.

I’m also pretty sure there are only five episodes of MythBusters. Why would they need to create anymore? If a whole bunch of guys are willing to watch the same explosions, the same flames, the same MacGyver reminiscent experiments over and over…more power to them.

Last week I caught a ride to Joplin with a coworker and we were enjoying a couple of seconds of silence from our early morning chat-fest when the bell on her low gas indicator binged.

“Dang,” she said, “now we have to get gas. I heard the bell. If we had still been talking it would have rang, I would have missed it and we would have made it fine to work. But now we have to stop.”

We laughed when I related that my “GirlMyth” recording a low gas tank was seeing the gas tank icon on my dash glow yellow. I swear I could drive another 100 miles…running on fumes, if only I hadn’t seen the light.

This got me to thinking about other GirlMyths I know well. Here goes. Let me know if you have some I’ve failed to mention.

GirlMyth #2 – You can cram anything, and I do mean anything, down your garbage disposal. As long as you ram it down there fast and especially important is that you’re husband cannot be home during the event. (So far, so good. I’m about 127 to 1 on having this one work. It’s just that the one failed attempt was a little expensive.)

GirlMyth #3 – In the winter it really doesn’t matter how long you let the hair on your legs grow. Simply walk with confidence and wear dark pantyhose. I’m relatively sure everyone will think you’re just sporting some awesome textured hose.

GirlMyth #4 – Drippy faucets, running toilets, squeaking brakes will miraculously heal themselves if you only ignore them long enough. (It helps if the offending appliance is in a room where you can shut the door.)

GirlMyth #5 – A happy meal and a diet Coke = 0 calories. (This is one of my personal favorites.)

GirlMyth #6 – Those once infamous, hard to miss tabloid-screaming headlines regarding spontaneous combustion are actually very easily to explain cases of midlife hot flashes combined with extended pantyhose use. (See #3)

GirlMyth #7 – Any illness can be cured with Benadryl. At the very least, you or they will sleep well and thereby miss the constant sniffing and hacking.

Maybe next season the MythBusters guys will take on one of my seven wonders of the girl world. That is if they think they can handle it.

What's up?

I'm a frustrated writer. I would actually love to have a career writing or be a back up singer for James Taylor.

I can't sing.

I do have a column though in the Neosho Daily News, my hometown newspaper. Family members and friends have sometimes remarked that they heard they were mentioned in my column but failed to see the paper that day. This is an effort to get my columns out there to others.