Introspection on Blogging

If there is a new word of this particular decade that sums up life, I would have to say "BLOGGER" or "BLOGGING' is probably up close to the top of the list. With something like 50 million bloggers, it is not a unique craft, a unique idea, and probably, there's not a new topic not already written about. Even sites that don't consider themselves being blogs, but rather news sources, are probably still in the blog category. They just know how to fancify their site and earn money while doing what they love to do. Write.

I started blogging 2 1/2 yrs. ago and I did it earnestly, with passion, and often. Like a good sex life, I suppose. But then I thought I would take it to the next level. I started writing for two on-line sites. One is found at www.stlfamilylife.com and the other is www.townandcountry-manchester.patch.com. I stopped finding time to write just for me. Between having 2 kids, a husband and 4 pets, trying to balance home life with writing life, something had to give. It was my blog sites.

Contrary to what some people may believe, I don't get paid. It's all just a way to get what I like to write about more exposure than the few followers that I have. Instead of having dozens of people reading my work, I have hundreds. I like those odds. But here is the thing. At some point I had hoped to turn them into paying gigs. I've gotten some good feedback from my published articles, which are sometimes informative, and other times, just entertaining. But nobody wants to pay you for your work.
I am not complaining. I appreciate the opportunity to get that experience. But after a year and a half, I feel like I am running out of good topics, or feeling the pressure to produce articles on a weekly basis--and not always feeling very appreciated in the process. Editors are quite honest about wanting to pay as little as possible for their contributors. If I had 'discovered' my passion for writing even a few years ago, I might have been able to make this a paying job.

So I have taken a leave from writing on a weekly schedule and I want to start blogging again. Just for me. On whatever topic tickles my fancy. Most likely I will turn my attention to my other blog site, which is found at www.bonsheart.blogspot.com, which I encourage you to check out if you haven't. I write about my mom's history, which is a gut-wrenching, unique, and yet beautiful, story of her life. Both as a child and as an adult. She passed away 4 years ago and it's a great way to keep her memory alive. There is a lot I don't say about her. There is a lot of pain in the 17 months leading up to her death that I won't ever share in public. Way too personal. But she is part of a history that is literally dying. She would have been 74 this week. Having been part of the post ww2 genocide, she would be among the youngest of the survivors of this era. Rather like there only being 8 survivors left of Pearl Harbor attack--or the last Titanic survivor dying.In another decade there may be no more Russian Red Army genocide survivors from the mid to late 1940's. Very sad.

While I am not giving up on writing for the other sites, I hope to get these two blogs up and running more frequently again, because I do have a lot to say. And the forum to say it. Maybe it is better if it is on my personal website and not edited by someone who may not like me mentioning God or Jesus.

Thank you to my regular followers, and for all the strangers who happen to stumble upon my blog. I wish I had more comments on my plethora of posts so I could get feedback. More followers would be nice, too. Just to know that there are 'regulars' out there who genuinely find enjoyment from my posts.

So thank you, readers, for, well, reading my work. And I hope to see a lot more of you in 2012. You will definitely see a lot more of me in 2012 as well.

A Celebration of Veteran's from my Present and Past

A few years ago, Mr. Mike Schultz, a fifth grade teacher, wanted to create a "Remembrance Wall' that celebrated relatives within the school's community who has in the past or is currently serving in any branch of the military.

Mr. Schultz served in the United States Navy Reserves from 1993 to 2003, completing two weeks of training each year at Navy bases in California, Thailand, and London, England. In addition, his daughter Sarah is an MP in the United States Army.

While stationed at Fort Carson, Colorado, Sarah is currently completing her second deployment to Afghanistan. His son Patrick serves in the United States Navy as a Cytological Technician and recently transferred to Fort Gordon, Georgia. During his time at Ft. Gordon, Patrick will be deployed occasionally to work aboard submarines.

Continuing his vision of honoring and remembering those who have served our country, Mr. Schultz began organizing and serving as Master of Ceremonies at the school's Annual Veteran's Day Assembly.

Fathers, mothers, sons and grandfathers gathered and were honored at the ceremony this past Monday. As I attended this year's 2nd annual event, it occurred to me in my short-sightedness that my personal knowledge of Veterans, past or present, was very limited.

My dad Roger voluntarily enlisted as a United States Marine Corps reservist from September 1958 to September 1964. He was prepared to be sent to active duty, but never was despite the Vietnam War and the Bay of Pigs Invasion in Cuba overlapping his reserve duty. While my dad will certainly talk about his life as a Marine, he always seems to make a distinction between active and reservist duty, never really wanting to be referred to as a Veteran. And yet that is exactly what he is.

However, my dad's Olsen family history has a long legacy of active military men. My grandfather Edward was one of 11 children, ten sons and one daughter. Of these 10 sons, 6 of them served during World War 2. With a 24 year span of the 11 births, two of the sons were too old to serve (including my grandpa Edward), one was too young at the time, and one was physically handicapped.
They appeared in a July 1944 article in the Round Lake Beach town in which they lived, being given accolades for their dedication in serving our country. Olaf, Sr., born 1908, served in the United States Navy; George, born 1909, and Harold, born 1911, served in the United States Army Air Corps.; Iver, born 1913, was in the Quartermaster Division of the United States Army; Art, born 1917, served in the Merchant Marines (Art's son Brian also served in the United States Navy from 1965 to 1969); and finally, Everett "Boze", born 1922, served as a United States Marine.

My great-grandma Jennie, proud mother of the six sons serving in the military, had a flag bearing six stars outside her home in recognition and honor of the great sacrifice her family was making for our country. All six men returned home safely from war.
Each of these 10 brothers (and one sister) has passed away; the youngest son known as "Hap" dying most recently in February 2008. I did not have a personal relationship with any of my great uncles or Great Aunt Hazel.

Still, it is an honor to be related to them and to know that many of my great uncles served and sacrificed to help make our country the wonderful place it is today. This legacy continues through all the servicemen and women who are still actively serving today to preserve our freedom, making a personal family sacrifice and, sadly, sometimes sacrificing their own lives in the line of duty.
On this Veteran's Day, please take time to acknowledge our military men and women, past and present. Thank them for what they have done for us. But most of all, remember them.
As quoted by Dan Lipinski "On this Veterans Day, let us remember the service of our veterans, and let us renew our national promise to fulfill our sacred  obligations to our veterans and their families who have sacrificed so much so that we can live free."

Tribute on the Death of Bil Keane

Bil Keane, creator of The Family Circus cartoon, died at age 89 of heart failure in early November. His wife Thel died in May of 2008, after celebrating 60 years of marriage. Today they are once again reunited, but leaving behind their five children, who were the inspiration behind the characters Billy, Dolly, Jeffy and PJ.

It is today that I mourn the loss of not only an inspirational cartoonist, who lived out his life as ethically as he drew it, but I mourn the loss of a friend. My relationship with Mr. Keane began in 1979, writing a fan letter to him at the tender age of 12. He wrote me back, to which I sent another letter.

After that second letter, his wife wrote me a personal note and enclosed with it two personal limited edition copies of books that were out of print. He personalized the inside of each book to me. As a young girl, this was beyond my wildest dreams that a man I admired so greatly would take the time to acknowledge his biggest fan.

The relationship did not stop there. We stayed in yearly contact. At Christmas, instead of a traditional Christmas letter, he would send out a Christmas calendar, personally penned to me. His only daughter Gayle, the inspiration of "Dolly", also personally contacted me about the various memorabilia that was available for sale.

Over several years I collected mugs, figurines, ornaments, posters, plaques, plates. And, of course, every book. She personally held a stock of whatever had been created in storage for me to make sure it was available to me as I could afford to buy them.

In 1987, over Spring Break, my mom and I flew out to Arizona to meet the Keane's to celebrate an early 21st birthday. Gayle and my mom had conspired with Mr. Keane to arrange it.  He picked us up at our hotel and drove us back to his home and his studio in Paradise Valley, Arizona. He pointed out that Erma Bombeck lived just down the street but was not in town at the time. Otherwise, he would have introduced us.

After spending the day with me he wondered who actually had more knowledge of the strip--me or his son Jeff, who would later become his partner. He did not want a 'fan club' but said that if he ever changed his mind, I would be the President. He considered me his #1 fan.

After treating us to lunch at his favorite cafe, we parted for a few hours before inviting us to come to the Ice Capades with him that evening, where he was receiving a "Good Skate Award" by Olympic athletes Kitty and Peter Carruthers. My favorite part of that evening was that he asked me to hold his award while he signed autographs.

Thel snapped many pictures of me and Bil during his autograph signing. We snuck out shortly after the awards ceremony as not to be mobbed at the end of the show. I felt a little like a celebrity myself. As a final birthday present, he told me to pick out my favorite cartoon and he would send me the hand-drawn original. To this day, it is proudly framed in my family room.

As a wedding present, he sent us a personalized cartoon congratulating us as a married couple, and welcomed the birth of our son Adam with another personalized cartoon.  In 2001, I arranged to come out to Arizona again, but this time with my husband and son. Thel delighted in Adam. I delighted in the joy of being in the Keane's presence again. It was a 'once in a lifetime' experience that I enjoyed twice.

His generosity was endless. He was a Godly man, who lived out what he drew. And his wife Thel was as delightful as the man himself. She was witty and intelligent. The quiet strength behind his success, I like to think. My favorite moment of that trip was following Mrs. Keane into the kitchen to serve dishes of Breyer's Butter Pecan ice cream for the 5 of us. She asked me to get the bowls and napkins, while she served us. An ordinary moment made extraordinary. They were like family.

My husband and I had hoped to make one more trip out to see him after the birth of our daughter in 2004. But I knew he was in his 80s and I was not sure that it would be appropriate to invite ourselves over again. Communication waned a bit over the last decade. I spoke to both Gayle and Jeff on the phone after learning that their mom had passed away. Gayle shared with me then that their dad's health was declining as well.

Bil Keane lived a rich and wonderful life. He had all the same joys and sorrows, love and heartache as the rest of the world. But despite his 'celebrity' status, he was not one to seek out publicity. He was just a "Daddy', who loved "Mommy", "Billy", "Dolly", "Jeffy" and "PJ". And we loved him.

I have memories that would fill a book but instead it fills my heart. Remembering a great man, who raised a wonderful family. Thank you, Bil Keane, for enriching my life and leaving behind such a great family legacy. I will miss you more than I can put in words. Bless you, Bil Keane. Bless you.

What was Lost was Found: Who was Lost is still Lost

When I think back to that last Sunday in July, it isn't my 11 year old son's baptism that comes to mind. Although it was a glorious day, one filled with God's love, faithfulness and pride as a parent--certainly worthy of its own blog--it is over-shadowed by an internal conversation I had with myself later that night.

As on most Sundays, I wore my silver cremation necklace. It is a necklace that I wear on a regular basis, especially on the days where I am missing my mom--whose ashes it contains. The 4th year anniversary of her death was quickly approaching and wearing my cross during that particular season of my life has always brought comfort, where words might otherwise fail. And for whatever reason, I miss my mom on Sundays more than any other day of the week.

But on this Sunday, as I removed the necklace from around my neck and hung it back into my jewelry case, I made a mental note that it would be at least another week before I would wear it again. The kids and I were taking a week long trip to visit friends, while my husband stayed behind to work and take care of our pets. He was preparing for one of his regular trips overseas and the additional, uninterrupted work time would help him; while a little get-away was just what the kids and I needed. That internal dialogue included the fact that I knew the necklace would stay behind. Too precious to accidentally lose or misplace while traveling. I was leaving it safely behind. Or so I thought.

About 4 days after returning from our trip, I reached for my necklace, which was a day shy of the 4th year anniversary. It was missing. Piece by piece, I emptied my jewelry box of each hanging necklace. Determined that it should be exactly where I remember hanging it, I was instantly reduced to tears. There were few pieces of jewelry that held sentimental value, but this was one of them. I was unusually careful with it.

Calling my husband that morning at work, he confirmed that I had not left it laying out during our vacation; he had not seen it or done anything with it. It was then that I knew it had been stolen.  And here is where it gets complicated.

Because I knew Tony would be working long hours, we had friends and neighbors lined up throughout the week during the day to take care of Snickers and give him potty breaks and some play time. They had access to our house. However, during that same week, another person who we trusted was allowed in the house and had the same access to my jewelry. In my heart, I knew it was stolen by that trusted person. In the interest of privacy and not vilifying that person, I will not name them by name. Herein known as 'him' or 'he' only, my story continues.

The news was devastating. Occurring on the wake of a painful anniversary was dealing with the hurt, frustration and anger I felt that someone close to us could be so bold as to steal from me. Grieving for my mom was replaced by grieving for the loss of an irreplaceable piece of jewelry. Tony and I briefly talked about pressing charges, but we knew that in the interest of doing a thorough investigation, police would have to also speak to our friends and neighbors whom we had charged with caring for Snickers. It was not fair to them to be 'suspects'. We needed to handle this privately.

Tony lovingly confronted 'the suspect' with the disappearance of this jewelry and was met with a reaction of disgust and anger that we would 'accuse' him. He expected an apology from me when the necklace was found. In the interest of making sure that I had not made some monumental error, a day later I spent 5 hours in our bedroom looking for the necklace. I literally tore the room apart. From taking the mattress and box springs off the bed, to removing every piece of clothing in every drawer; unfolding all the extra sets of bedding in storage under our bed. We moved every piece of furniture from against the wall. No stone was left unturned. It was definitely gone.

One last time I emptied my jewelry box. It was then I noticed a second piece was missing. Like some cruel joke, I could not believe that another cross had been taken. One that my mom had given me the Christmas 10 years before her death. She had been given the cross at her own catholic confirmation in Schalding, Germany, while living in a refuge camp in 1949. They would immigrate to the United States the following year.  This 62 year old cross did not have a chain. It sat solitary in a ring holder, next to another cross I had purchased for myself years earlier. That one was untouched.

Just two days after discovering the cremation necklace gone, one day after the anniversary of her death, I am hit with the confirmation that the disappearance was not neglect or carelessness on my part; they were indeed stolen. And both pieces irreplaceable--a part of my mom's memory and life. I remember sitting there dazed; trying to comprehend that not only had they both been stolen, but they were the two most precious pieces of my limited jewelry collection.  Ironically, my pearl necklace and earrings were still there. My diamond earrings untouched. Certainly he did not know the sentimental value of what he took. It was just a cruel twist of fate that he was drawn to the unique pieces that were associated with my mom and the timing of it all.

My loving husband contacted all the area pawn shops within nearby proximity of where the person of interest lived. Sending an e-mail with a picture of the necklace (off the website from which it was purchased) and a picture of whom we presumed would hock them, we hoped that the necklace and/or person would be identified.  It took probably 10 days but then we received an e-mail. The cremation necklace was located, the seller of said necklace postively ID'd. The bad news was that the necklace had already been sold. The good news? The owner was able to get the cross portion holding the ashes back from whom he had sold it. The silver rope chain was gone, however. As for the 62 year old cross, he said I could look through what he had acquired in the previous month and I was encouraged to retrieve my items free of charge. With no picture, he did not know if the gold cross was still in his shop.

With my husband now already on his business trip, I ventured to the upscale jewelry pawn shop on my own that Monday morning. With emotions too strong for words, I reclaimed the cremation cross, holding it tightly--thankful for the kind pawn shop owner who took the time to do the right thing. He could have said that it had already been sold and he was unable to get it back. But he didn't. He presumably lost money by retrieving it for me. But his generous heart did not stop there. Before me lay about half dozen gold crosses. Immediately, I was able to rule out the ones that were not my mom's. But I hesitated. There was one that I was 99 percent sure was hers. But honestly, I could not say with 100 percent certainty it was the one. Crosses were dime a dozen, often hocked; easily purchased. Still, I continued to hold the cross and question if it belonged to me. "Take it", Albert said (his name changed for privacy) "If you walk away without it, you'll regret it. If your heart is telling you it's yours, then it is. Don't second guess it." With tears in my eyes, I thanked him for helping me out.

Still, having those back in my possession did not 'fix' everything.  The one who stole it lied to us--not once but twice. After reclaiming them, Tony called him back. Told him we found the items and he had been ID'd. He still denied it. Just like Peter denying Christ three times by the time the rooster crowed, this person was caught red-handed and yet still had the hutzpah to claim innocence. My heart broke.

Perhaps a day later, this person called Tony again, while he was still away on business. In a tearful apology, he finally confessed his guilt. Apologizing to Tony, but not to me was a slap in the face. He had assumed that since we were rich and he has nothing, we would never notice those pieces missing. As if his lack of work ethic and productivity in life justified stealing from us. It did not matter that we trusted him in our home despite a strained relationship in the past. Tony extended grace and accepted his apology but said the right thing to do was to apologize to me.

It has been a month and that apology has not come, nor will it ever, I'm sure.

Which is why I feel burdened enough on this dreary Sunday afternoon to write about this experience. At first I felt violated. How much had he cased our house, looking for 'hockable' items? Or did he go straight for the gold and silver? And how to do I forgive when he hasn't asked for my forgiveness? Several other more pressing situations have happened since the disppearance of the two crosses, which deflected from the importance of his betrayal. In the grand scheme of things, I got my valued jewelry back. No harm was done. Still, I'm finding myself angry again. Where is the apology that he would have expected from me?

For me, the relationship is severed. And this person will have no further contact with my two children. The relationship he has with Tony is more personal. How much damage was done for him is not for me to say. Or for me to judge. All I know is that Tony and I agreed he will not be allowed in our home again--or near our kids again. Ever. Not without a God-breathed, time tested and trued change of heart and mind and soul. And the kind of life-changing authentic apology that you know comes from a changed person.

The Bible calls me to forgive. After looking at his past, I can see why he ventured down this ugly, law-breaking path. I can see why his life lead to this point.  But for my healing alone, I need to reach a point of forgiveness. But I will not forget. And I will not be so naive to think that at this point he realizes the depth of what he did wrong. He is not sorry for the fact he stole. He is sorry that he got caught, and harmed his relationship with Tony.  His apology was never about the act of stealing--or the violation against me. No reparation has truly been made in my eyes. He is Godless and heartless.

The cremation cross sits without a chain in my jewelry box. Whereas I used to wear it several days per week, I cannot look at it without pain and hurt. I visualize him stuffing it carelessly in his pocket, offering it for a price to Albert. Another woman wearing the cross that holds a piece of my mom. It's tainted now. Somehow I need to work through this by finding another unique chain and wearing it again. But right now, the thought brings me pain, which outweighs the comfort and the closeness I felt by wearing it.

I grieve today for what he took from me. Maybe this sounds ultra-dramatic and I'm making a big fuss over nothing. Perhaps no one can relate. But it's truly the way I feel. But the Bible tells us in Matthew 10 that we are to take up our cross and follow Jesus. So when I look at the crosses that were taken from me, I need to remember the cross that was given to me by his sacrifice on the his cross that was for my salvation and to forgive me of my sins. And maybe one day that person will understand what pain he caused and accept the free gift of forgiveness. From Jesus. And from me.

Adam and Elise's Acting Debut starring JESUS

Both my kids were asked to take part in an on-stage discussion about their visit to a local nursing home. Because their stage presence was professional, they were later asked to be in an all-church video to solicit volunteers for our summer long VBS program known as Passport.

What they quickly learned is that a 3 minute video takes an hour and half to film; and preparing to know their lines ahead of time took quite a bit of a commitment, too.

As a parent, I can say that this is one of my proudest moments. Both my kids rocked the video and made us proud to represent the church--and believers in Christ.

My blond children are easy to identify. Elise is in the aqua blue t-shirt and her brother Adam is wearing red sporting some long locks as he approaches middle school.

Milestones in My Son's Life, Milestone in Parenting

I have always loved the quote by Elizabeth Stone "Making the decision to have a child is momentous. It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking around outside your body." In regards to parenting, no truer words have ever been spoken.

The truth is that my heart is no longer my own. I check on my kids moments before I go to sleep at night and they are my first thought in the morning. The truth is that everything I do in my life is a reflection of them, and their physical and emotional well-being are always foremost in my mind.
Each day is spent cherishing the moments I am creating for them and with them, trying not to look back in regret or look out too far in the future.

At least that was the way I felt until recently. This year is flying by incredibly fast and before I was prepared for it, the school year ended. Not just any school year, but my son's last one at the elementary level. And this new reality hit me hard and unexpectedly one morning. My son is a tween and his middle school days are upon us. And there is no turning back. Parenting Adam has been a joy. For the most part, he has made parenting easy for me. We have an easy, mutually respectful relationship, but as I see him approaching those dreaded teen years, his independence from me is a challenge.
I know that God has only given me my children for a time. He has given them to me to raise up for Him and to raise them to be loving, caring, responsible adults. God never intended for me to have them under my care forever. He has only given me the here and now; and if I'm lucky, lots of tomorrows. Still I felt stuck in the grief in the chapter of this part of his life coming to a close; afraid of what the tomorrows may bring. I did not know how to come out of the grief I was feeling. Then God gave me answer in a way I never expected.

Adam is a competitive, level 5 gymnast. His coach had given him the deadline of May 26 to conquer his fear of doing a back flip on the trampoline, unassisted. It was a skill that would be necessary to continue his growth. On May 26 I walked my tearful, fearful son into practice to talk with his coach Jack. "Adam can do the skill." Jack told me. "But he wants me on the trampoline spotting him. I want him to do it by himself."

So I did my best to encourage my son, knowing that no words would guarantee that he would take the leap of faith to conquer the fear. And I stood out of his sight and watched him perform the back flip over and over with his coach nearby spotting him. In a final desire to encourage him I announced my presence in the room and said "Adam, you own this. You OWN it! You are nailing it every time. You can do it. You can!"

It took until later that evening but Adam did the back flip on his own. And he did it over and over. He came home that night so proud of himself for facing the fear and doing it in spite of the fear. But it was the words that he said that spoke to me. "Mom, Jack told me I could do it but it was you, Mom. It was your encouragement that made me know I could do it. And I did!"

I said a prayer of thanks as I took my son in a bear hug and congratulated him. The teen years will have the ups and downs of life. No doubt it will be filled with a lot of moments where I am in the background of his life. But me and Adam? We're gonna be just fine!

Getting Back to the Basics

It was the end of May and it was the last week of school. I had my days planned out. It all came down to the final 5 mornings without children underfoot. I had my plan...but then God had his. God always wins.

We have lived in the same neighborhood for nearly 7 years. In those years we have been fortunate to rarely experience the loss of electricity.  Except we lost power that very first morning of the 'final five' in all the busy craziness that is the end of school. And, life as I knew it, stood still.

The impact was felt immediately by my 6 year old daughter Elise. She had an Internet Webkins party scheduled to take place at 12:30 p.m. The outage began at approximately 12:25 p.m., just as I went to log her in. I had even changed my plans around to make sure we were home in time for her virtual pet party. Thankfully, she giggled at the irony of the timing.

And then we stared at each other in silence. What now?

What has the world come to that we have no telephone, no Internet, no television, no air conditioning and we feel completely and totally out of touch. We piddled around the house until the storm passed and the sun began to shine again, giving us a little more natural lighting indoors.

So we played. We played like two 6 year olds. Elise got out her favorite board games that rarely get taken off the shelf. And we played with her cat and dog park, making up silly pet names and fun imaginative scenarios. And we talked. As I was playing with her it reminded me of why I had become a parent in the first place. We lose so much in the busyness of our lives that we forget about engaging and investing in the lives of the people we love.

The fact is that I have been struggling for the last several days with the fact that my son Adam is leaving elementary school at the end of this week. He is moving onto bigger and better and newer. His childhood is nearly over as he enters the tween and teen years. While I knew that I had a 'to do' list that had to be done, I also knew that soon enough it will be my daughter making that same transition and these stolen moments together will be fewer and farther between, too.

But God gave me at least one more impromptu moment with Adam. While my 'plan' was to watch one of Oprah's finale shows when he got off the school bus, the better plan was to play one more board game with the three of us, and then to read with Adam as we work our way through the seventh and final installment of the Harry Potter series we've been reading together in the last year.

But, alas, the power was restored, which meant it was time for me to meet my writing deadline and for the kids to enthusiastically re-engage with the television. Still, this afternoon reminded me that technology is not always best. Sometimes it's about getting back to the basics.