When life imitates fiction--or vice versa

Of all of my characters, Patrick O'Malley and Grace Johnson have to be my favorites. Many readers relate to them. I get a lot of people who ask me "Why did you pattern Grace after me?" These are people I have never met and I have no idea who they are or where they live. I usually just reply, "Grace is not really anybody, but she is a little bit of all of us."

Grace (a recent elderly widow) met her dilemma when her kids decided she shouldn't be alone in New York City, so they set the plans in motion to move her to a nursing home. In desperation, and not ready to hang it up for a long time, she went to her friend Patrick (a retired cop) to ask for his help. He took her to the Haven of Rest Homeless Shelter, where they not only accepted her, but loved her and hired her on staff.

We all know there are people who need to be in a nursing home, but it seems like sometimes it is just a cop-out of the kids taking care of their parents. Like they say, everything in life comes full circle. Parents who cared for children have now become parents who must be cared for by those same children. It is a humbling experience for "the old folks." All too often, it is easier to "stick them someplace" and thus salve their conscience. It used to be that families looked out for each other. It was quite customary for a grandma or a grandpa to live with one of their children and their families. My good friend, Martha Garvin (from Musical Memories) had a visit from her son, my opera buddy Brad, on their Thanksgiving program. I always enjoy Martha's program as she takes us down Memory Lane through a lot of the old hymns we grew up hearing and loving. That particular program, however, I think is my favorite. Martha and Brad reminisced about Grandma Reed living with them for somewhere around 15 years. Oh, the fun of listening to them talk about the special bond between Grandma and the entire family (including her son-in-law, George Garvin, Martha's husband). There is one difference in today's world which does explain some of it, I suppose. Back then most mothers were home being homemakers. Today's economy makes it necessary for many women to be out working, as it takes a 2-income life to survive just to pay the monthly bills. That would leave Grandma or Grandpa home alone, and many times that is an impossible situation.

What does really irk me is when it is obviously a way of escape. When I lived in Grand Forks ND, there was a woman in the nursing home whose son was a doctor at the adjoining clinic. He would go several times a week to see his patients, but he almost never went to see his mother. Sounds to me like he took the "Hypocritic Oath" instead of the "Hypocratic Oath."

As I read the Grand Forks Herald this morning, which I do almost every day to let me know what is happening "back home," I was met with this article: Mother is Evicted.  Yes, that figures into a big part of the plot of my Patrick and Grace Mysteries. Since St. Patrick's Day is coming up before too long, I'd like to invite you to read the first book in the series, In St. Patrick's Custody, which centers around St. Patrick's Day. As Patrick says, "Everybody is at least a little bit Irish on St. Patrick's Day."

I will soon post a teaser about the upcoming (4th) Patrick and Grace Mystery, so stay tuned.

Meanwhile, I miss not having my kids close enough that they can visit once in a while, but when you think about the fact that they might think my lifestyle is a bit off-the-wall (I am "retired," which basically means that I keep so busy that I got tired, then I got re-tired, then got re-tired yet again to the point that I've lost track of how many times I've re-tired) they might be tempted to put me away, and like Grace, I'm nowhere near being ready to slow down.

Christmas came early this year

Surprises! I love surprises! I hate surprises! Actually, I love the surprise. I just hate not being able to figure out what it is. So, it was with a bit of apprehension that I approached the “great adventure” my youngest son, Kevin, had planned for me.
Kevin lives in Chicago, about 500 miles south of Amberg, WI, where I live. He let me know a few weeks ago that I was to keep the weekend of Dec. 3rd open, as he was coming up to “kidnap” me for the weekend. I mean, how can you kidnap your own mother? Something seemed amiss, but I do trust him, so it was with great anticipation that I waited. He said it was my Christmas present, early, because he knew he would be very busy with his catering business closer to Christmas.
To make matters worse, he let several of my friends here in Amberg know what was planned, but none of them would spill a word. I should have known it would be a miraculous time. In the 3+ years since I moved to Amberg, I have never known the whole town to keep a secret. But, they were sworn to secrecy, and no amount of begging, pleading, or bribing would move them to divulge the secret.
Kevin finally did drop a hint. He said, “It is something you have wanted to do for a long time, but you have wanted to do it more in the last few years, but you have never gotten to do it and I am pretty sure you will never get to do it in Amberg.” Well, that narrowed it down to about a gazillion things.
My first instinct was to think that perhaps he had gotten tickets for an opera. I have always enjoyed opera music, but until I got acquainted with Brad Garvin, thanks to his mom Martha, that I really started to understand it and fully appreciate it. Brad is a bass/baritone opera singer at the New York Metropolitan Opera and has been my radio guest a couple of years on my “Marketing for Fun and Profit” program. His mom introduced us because he had a book he had written and wasn’t quite sure how to proceed with trying to get it published. (The book is With the Voice of Angels, a wonderful mystery set in the opera world in Chicago, where Brad got his start.) So the opera was something I have been trying to educate myself in. Kevin had seen several operas, including some in Italy when he was there. When he stayed with me for a couple of months last summer we watched several of the Met performances on PBS TV.
So, with that as my clue, I went to Google and sought operas at the places in Chicago for the weekend of Dec. 3. I came up empty handed. I guess I would just have to wait and see.
As the day approached when Kevin would arrive to whisk me away to the Windy City, I was all packed and rarin’ to go. As we headed south, he told me what the big event was. He had indeed gotten two tickets to a very special opera. It was La Boheme, but it was not in an opera house, but in the United Methodist Church in downtown Chicago.
Kevin had several other things planned too, but that was to be the high point. So our excursion began on Friday morning, when we left for Chicago. The weather was perfect for traveling. We decided to not stop to eat on the way, but to wait until we got to the city. When we arrived, Kevin drove around Lake Shore Drive. The Chicago skyline has to be one of the most beautiful in the world. It was about 4 o’clock in the afternoon, so the lights were just beginning to turn on.
The last time I was in Chicago was 1965! How could that be possible? Was I really that old? No, it had to be a mistake. I felt like a little kid in a candy shop. While many things had changed over the years, there were still many things I recognized and that felt like I was, in a way, going home.
We proceeded to the Loop downtown. I had forgotten how loud the El was when it rumbled overhead. I wanted to see Moody Church and Moody Bible Institute, where I had taken a summer literature workshop back in 1963. Kevin wasn’t sure where it was, but he said he would figure it out. Before we could say “Jack Rabbit,” Kevin said, “I think I turned left when I should have turned right.” No, his wrong turn was exactly the right turn, as there on our left was Moody Church. It looked exactly as I remembered it, with the exception of the addition of a Shell gas station in its back yard. So, Wrong Way Smith turned out to be Just Exactly Right Smith.
We went to a used bookstore, and I found a companion guide to La Boehme. I bought it, and had a chance to read it before the opera. I strongly recommend this, as it makes it so much easier to understand what is going on. The acoustics in the church weren’t the greatest for such a performance, and it was so much easier to follow when you couldn’t make out all the words, even though it was performed in English.
Some friends of Kevin’s were having an art gallery opening Friday night and they had invited me to bring some of my books along to set up at the opening. Have books, will travel! It was perfect. We visited with the artists and quite a few of the patrons who came to do the artwork. I was not selling any books, but I was meeting new friends, handing out promo materials, and just having fun. I honestly didn’t care if I sold a single book or not.
After a while, a man, I’d guess about 60, came in and talked to the artists. They introduced him to me as simply “Peter, the man in the studio upstairs.” He came over to look at my books. I asked him, as I usually do, what he likes to read. His reply was “The Bible and Mein Kompf.” I said that was a sort of a different choice. He said, “I read the Bible because I think it is true, and Mein Kompf because I think it probably isn’t true.” And did that man know the Bible! He could quote verse after verse. He said he especially liked the Psalms because David was so full of iniquity (sin) and so was he. Then he said, “Religiosity is really hard for me to understand.” I told him that is because religiosity is man messing with God, but that the Gospel is really easy to understand. Then I gave him the two basic verses that lead a person to God. “If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just to forgive us and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness.” The second one is “Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ and you shall be saved.” He asked, “And then what?” I said, “And then nothing! That is the entire Gospel in a nutshell. The tears started to roll down his cheeks and he asked me to pray for him to find his way to God, right then and there in the art gallery. I did, and he smiled and said, “I never knew I could feel like that. What just happened here?” Yes, there’s a new name written down in heaven, and it’s Peter! It was perhaps the best 20 minutes of the whole trip!
On Saturday, Kevin asked me what kind of food I wanted before the opera. One of my very favorite things is fried oysters, but you can’t find them in any restaurants up here. He did some hunting online and found a place that advertised all sorts of seafood, including fried oysters, so that’s where we headed. It wasn’t a fancy place, but the food was incredible. They don’t sell things by the meal, but by the pound, half pound, etc. Kevin got us ½ pound each of fried scallops, mini-crab cakes and the best fried oysters I’ve ever eaten in my life. It was right on the Mississippi River, so the scenery was just beautiful.
We drove around in the Loop to see the Christmas decorations. I guess the only sort of let-down of the entire trip was that I had fond memories of the beautiful window displays back when what is now Macy’s was Marshall Field’s. The windows were pretty blah compared to the way they used to be. However, that was such a minor part of it that it really was unimportant.
Then we headed to the opera. Kevin wasn’t sure exactly where it was, but he had a general idea. Soon he spotted three extremely tall steeples, and he quipped, “You think that might be it?” We went there and since it was a bit early, we waited in the lobby for the main doors to open. A family, consisting of a mother and father and their daughter, probably about 30 or so, came in and they were talking to each other. They had a very beautiful accent, so I finally asked them if they would mind if I asked them where they were from, telling them that I enjoyed listening to their accent. The man smiled from ear to ear. “We are Lebanese,” he said proudly. “Lebanese Christians.” He sighed deeply, then said, “You have no idea how good that feels. My brother was killed in Lebanon because he said that. Here in America I can say that I am a Christian and I do not have to be afraid of someone killing me or my family.” We talked a bit more, and I told him I was an “American Christian.” He and his wife both hugged me warmly and said, “Then you are our sister.” It was a precious moment. Soon the doors opened and we went inside, but during the intermission he came back to talk to us some more.
And the opera! Ah, it was a wonder! My very first ever live opera, and it lived up to all of my expectations—and more. It was the American Chamber Opera from New York. They didn’t have any props, but they didn’t need them. They didn’t have an orchestra, but they didn’t need one. They were accompanied by Jonathan Cambry, a pianist like none I’ve ever heard. I play the piano; he was a pianist. The entire opera was beyond description. If you get a chance, go to YouTube and listen to some of Mr. Cambry’s playing.
Kevin had told me that he wanted to take me to a jazz worship service on Sunday, but he got a call to cater a birthday party for a 90-year old man, so I told him to go ahead and do that. I stayed at the apartment, and it gave me a chance to get to know his four roommates better, so that was good. On his way home from delivering the food, he stopped and got a traditional Chicago pizza, which was wonderful.

He had a meeting that came up for Wednesday, so we decided to go home on Monday as we had originally planned, instead of waiting until Tuesday. We had good weather on the way home, except for about half an hour of rain and snow around Kenosha, Wisconsin. We stopped at Green Bay and ate dinner (some of you city slickers call it “lunch”) at Applebee’s. We splurged and split a piece of triple chocolate cake that was “to die for.”
Oh, one other thing, I walked more than I have probably walked in years, and climbed countless steps. I have had trouble with my knees for several years, but they are much better than they used to be. After Ivan died, the doctor told me I had basically just worn them out with all the lifting I did helping Ivan move from one place to another. He gave me an exercise routine that I do most mornings except on the weekend. I felt that they were getting much better, but this weekend proved just how much they had improved. It was truly an answer to prayer to be able to do what I did. Kevin said he was proud of me, but he was so good to slow down so we could walk together. He usually walks like he’s on his way to a fire, but he pulled back for his ma. It was much appreciated.
I slept on the sofa at the apartment, as Kevin’s bed is so low I knew I’d never get up if I got down on it. The sofa was pretty short. I kidded them, telling them that it was so short that it was the first time I’d ever felt like I must be really tall. It was good to be able to stretch out in my own bed last night.
So, I am home and Kevin is back in Chicago. It was perhaps the best weekend I’ve ever had, and one I will remember for the rest of my life. Brad (my opera singing friend in New York) told me to make sure Kevin treated me like a queen. He didn’t need to worry. There used to be an old TV program on, “Queen for a Day.” I felt like I was queen for the whole weekend.
I do have some pictures coming that Kevin took, and I will post them on my website in the next few days.

May you all have as wonderful a Christmas as I’ve had—and it isn’t even here yet!

It's the simple things in life

The question I am asked most often, about my books, is "Where do you get your ideas?" The answer is simple: from watching life and people. For example, A Christmas Dream started with an episode at a McDonald's. Who hasn't been to a McDonald's? It began with a marriage proposal, then went on (in my imagination and onto the pages of the book) to the people who gave their lives through "friendly fire" in Desert Storm. (I have a difficult time defining "friendly fire" in my mind, just like I can't reconcile there being such a thing as a "Civil War.")

Anyway, yesterday I went with a friend, Wendy Werner, to do a little grocery shopping in Iron Mountain, Michigan, about 30 miles from where I live. Wendy and I both belong to the "Rain Dancers" group that meets once a month in Pembine. It is a group of widows. I really didn't want to join the group when they invited me, as it took me more than 2 years after Ivan died before I could even say that word: "widows." The same was true with the word "died." I have reconciled myself with them now. However, the group is very lively, and while we all share one common loss, that of our spouses, we dwell on the positive. It is anything but a "pity party," which was what I feared it would be.

So, after the meeting, we headed for WalMart. Another one of those oh-so-ordinary places to spend a bit of time. I only had a few things to pick up, while she had a pretty long list, so I told her to take her time and I would wait for her on a bench at the front of the store.

As I sat there, a man, I would guess somewhere between 45-50 years old, came in. He was having a difficult time walking, so I was not surprised when he went over to one of the electric shopping carts. He sat on it, then greeted me. I made some comment about how nice it was to have the electric carts when you needed them, and he agreed. Then he drove off, but in about 5 minutes he was back. He backed the cart in beside me and we began to talk. I learned that he was a disabled Vet from Desert Storm. That led to my telling him about my good friend whom I have "met" through the Internet. He is also a disabled Vet, and about the same age, but from the Persian Gulf War, who lives in Oklahoma.

What a blessing it is to accumulate the wonderful friends we can find through a machine! Imagine what our ancestors would have thought of what we can do online. It would be as far-fetched to them as it was for kids in my era to read comic books about men on the moon. But we have lived to see it.

My friend in Oklahoma is Dr. Aubrey Love. Yes, that is his real name. (That's him pictured above.) When I told the man in Iron Mountain about him, he laughed. "Nobody has ever accused me of being a doctor of love," he joked. Then he reached into the basket on the cart and took out the two Snickers candy bars he had purchased. They were not in a bag, but he had the receipt for them in his hand in case anybody questioned him about them. He held one of them out to me and said, "You look like a person who would like to snicker sometimes," he said. I thanked him but declined, telling him that if I hadn't just eaten lunch I might have had a different answer for him. I didn't pay any attention to what he did with them, but when I got home, there was the Snickers bar in one of my bags of groceries.

I have e-mailed with Aubrey a few times today, as we usually do. When we were discussing which war he was in, he responded with not just the name of the war, but he said this: "It's like serving in 'black flag ops'; you were never there and it never happened, but the memories haunt you so and the scars are just as ugly."

I don't know for sure, but I would not be surprised at all if at least some of his injuries didn't come from that "friendly fire." At any rate, when you see a person of interest, take a few minutes to share a happy thought or two with them. You never know, it might just be the day-brightener they needed, or it might turn out to be a sweet experience for you too, with or without the Snickers bar.

Guess next time I send you a care package, Aubrey, I should include a Snickers bar in it!

A Musical weekend (Part 1)

I knew it was going to be a busy weekend, starting at 7 a.m. on Saturday when Kevin (my son) and I headed for the farmers' market in Menominee Michigan. I was armed with books, and Kevin with fresh luscious greens from his garden. It would be our second week there, so we knew more what to expect. Well, except that this Saturday was not only a work one, but there was some fun planned as well.
At the first Saturday we were there, a group of performers from the upcoming musical, Chicago, dropped in to offer a teaser for the show. They were delightful, and while Kevin and I had already planned to try to take in the show, we knew, after hearing them, that we didn't want to miss it. It was to be a two-weekend event at the Theatre on the Bay at the University of Wisconsin/Marinette, in the city across the lake, just over the bridge from Menominee. (See their visit on YouTube here. If you look real quickly you can see Kevin and me. We are right at the beginning of the video, the second booth over, by the light grey car.)

A short time before the performance, one of the singers had stopped by my table and we had a delightful conversation about books, writing, music, etc. He didn't identify himself as one of the performers, so it was with great glee that I saw that the nice looking young man I had been chatting with was indeed one of the main singers from the show. So this Saturday, we had our tickets in hand and we were really looking forward to it.

The farmers' market was quite successful, saleswise, so we made our way to Applebee's for a nice relaxing lunch after it closed. One of the most frequent questions I am asked about my writing is, "Where do you get your ideas?" My answer is always, "From life. I love to people-watch." One little incident can add that certain spark you need to make your book come alive. This was true at the restaurant. Sitting in the booth beside us were two young women and a mother of one of them, who was obviously about to get married. As they discussed the upcoming wedding, the bride-to-be laughed and said, "If the weather is bad, I'll just sit under the canopy and give everyone my royal wave." With that, she waved her hand in the air, looking every bit as delightful as the newlywed Kate. In a flash, their waitress came running. "What did you want?" They all looked puzzled. "I saw you wave for me," the waitress said, which sent all of them--and us--into fits of laughter. Yes, that will one day be in one of my books.

After we finished our lunch, Kevin suggested that we head to the Marina to just sit and relax for a bit. It was a beautiful day, with a light breeze, about 80 degrees, and there was a 100-mile race (of sailboats) underway. We headed to the boardwalk and sat on one of the benches lake-side. (It is on Lake Michigan.) The boats were beautiful as they passed by. There were many other boats docked at the pier. People were friendly, which to me is always a bonus. And then an old gentleman, who looked to be homeless, sat down on the dock, opened the loaf of bread he had with him and began breaking it up into little pieces and feed the ducks. I began talking to him and found him to be a delightful source of information. He had a Rubber Maid plastic wheelbarrow with him, which he used to collect cans. Another incident followed, with an elderly man in a yellow raincoat who appeared to be looking for his boat, much like I have done upon occasion when I couldn't remember where I had parked the car at a shopping mall, and watching him was like viewing an old Colombo show. But that's another story--one which will find its way before too long into a new Patrick and Grace Mystery. I even have the title: St. Peter on the Bay. Yup, I have it almost completely written in my head already. And it came from one day's observation of life in general and people specifically while we waited for the time to leave to see Chicago.

We headed for the Theatre on the Bay. It was the first time I had seen an off-Broadway musical. I have seen many of them as movies, but the thrill of being there and experiencing it in person was beyond belief. It was such fun to see the young man I had met as he played the lawyer, and to feel like I "knew him," even though ever-so-slightly. The performers were all top-notch, and if or when I get a chance to do it again, I won't hesitate for a second to get those tickets and make my way the 50 miles to Marinette. The sad thing is that I think the next one doesn't take place until November! Catch an interview with some of the characters, including my "new friend" Billy Flynn (aka Paul Okray) on YouTube. I did get a chance to talk to him after the program for a few seconds--and he even remembered me! I just love it when fate hands me a chance to rub elbows with "famous" people!
Our trip home was uneventful, other than passing a dead skunk on the side of the road. Even that couldn't dampen our spirits. It's a wonderful life! Now see the next post (below) for the rest of the story.

A musical weekend (Part 2)

This particular Sunday morning was full of expectations. I am usually the pianist at our little church in the woods in Northeast Wisconsin. Today would be an exception, for the most part. Our church has been actively involved with Don Shire, a trumpeter extraordinaire, for about three years. During that time I have gotten to know Don quite well. He was scheduled to be the minister today, in the absence of our regular minster, Dave Pompo, who with his wife Toni is in Brazil for a 6-week ministry trip.

Last year I got to play a number with Don. This year we were going to do another selection. We had e-mailed a couple of times on the plan. He suggested "He Lives!" in the key of concert B flat, with me doing a short intro, doing the first verse together, then me doing the second verse, then doing the third and final verse together, with me watching him carefully as he slows it down on the end of the chorus. It sounded pretty do-able. I practiced it some, and we were to meet a bit early so we could run through it once. It went pretty well.

I asked Don if he wanted to do the prelude and the offertory or if he wanted me to do it. He said he would prefer that I do it. I did the prelude I had practiced a bit, a familiar arrangement of "It Took a Miracle." When I finished it, the leader of the opening exercises came up and asked me if that was all I had. I said I guessed I could do another song, so I played "If You Want Joy, Real Joy, Wonderful Joy." I had only gotten past the first two or three notes when I heard Don's trumpet join in, from where he was sitting with the congregation. It was as if we had rehearsed it.

The first selection he played was our duet, and it went quite well--except for one minor detail. He had told me to watch him at the end, when he slowed down. He was up on the platform, and I was lower than he was, but the piano was still high enough that I could not see him at all. Still, we seemed to blend fairly well, and ended up at the same place at the same time.

Following the service, we had a fellowship dinner, so he got a chance to mingle with the regulars, then we headed for Crivitz, where it was our church's turn to spearhead the service at the nursing home. Don had graciously agreed to go along. We talked about the music and agreed that we would just "wing it" and play together. It would be a lot of the old familiar hymns from bygone days, which we both knew well. On most of them, as he told stories about different hymns from his life, he would leave it up to me to strike the key and play an introduction, then he would join in. Only once did I get in a key that was too high to sing as I played the second verse, so he asked me to lower it a bit, which I did. Then he told about his mother when she was very ill, shortly before her death, when she called him late at night and asked him to sing with her. He began to sing "Through it All." He acted a bit surprised when I began to play it; little did he know that is one of my favorite hymns.

During the program, he stopped and thanked me for my playing. He quoted Bill Pierce, a now deceased radio host I had listened to for over 50 years and a great trombonist, and whom I had e-mailed shortly before his homegoing. "Bill Pierce once told me that any musician is only as good as his accompanist. I have a wonderful pianist today. No matter what I play she can join right in, in any key." And he led them in a round of applause--for me! I was flattered, of course, but I was also humbled. I count it a great joy and privilege when God allows me to play with some of the great musicians I have been honored to accompany. Today was definitely one of those days. Don always says, when he receives applause, "Give it to Him." I feel the same way. I have been blessed to be able to entertain and (hopefully) inspire people through my music. If God gives us a talent of any kind, can we do less than use it for Him?

And this evening, after a very long but very good weekend, I turned on my very dear friend, Martha Reed Garvin, for her radio program, "Musical Memories." She was doing songs about holiness. It brought many memories for me, as she always does. I spoke to Martha on the phone this past week and we had a delightful time reminiscing about so many things, as we always do. It seems like we have known each other forever. I love it when "new friends" become almost immediate "old friends." Martha and my friendship is one of those.

When her program finished, I came to share these memories with all of you. But before I did, I popped a CD in my computer. It is Martha's son Brad's "Called Unto Holiness." Yes, you have heard me mention Brad here before too. He's that big tall handsome singer from the Metropolitan Opera who pops in at my radio program, "Marketing for Fun and Profit" and lets me join him in a couple of Christmas songs every year. Can it get any better than that?

Anyway, I hope there is a song in your heart tonight. Mine is full to overflowing.

Oh, and in case you want to get a taste of the fun, check out Don Shire, Martha Reed Garvin and Brad Garvin on You Tube. You can also see more about each of them on their websites: Don, Brad, and Martha. I know you won't be sorry you did.

Fun at the Bay

We (Kevin--my son) and I went to the farmers' market in Menominee Michigan on Saturday, me armed with books to sell and him with fresh produce from his garden. Hot temperatures were predicted. We were at least semi-prepared. After getting badly sunburned on two separate farmers' markets in other spots in the area, I broke down and bought one of those canvas canopies. It was a good investment. (You can tell we live in Small Town USA when somebody says during a phone conversation, "I hear you bought a canopy" and you ask them where they heard it, and they reply, "At the hardware store"!) Actually, with the wind blowing in off Lake Michigan, it was quite comfortable.

The good news is that I sold pretty well, and so did Kevin. We are going to do it again this coming Saturday. The following week we will be at a fund-raising event for the American Legion in Porterfield WI. Hopefully, we will hit some different folks.

One of the highlights of the trip to Menominee was meeting new people. One fellow rolled up to us in his wheelchair and we began chatting. His t-shirt was emblazened with "Schloegel's." I asked him if he was connected with the restaurant, which I had visited on one occasion when I was in Menominee with our pastor and his wife, and I loved the place. It is set right on the Bay, and the view was beautiful. The food was good too. He sort of grinned and said, "I own the place."

I had tried to get there with Kevin on one of our earlier trips there. My lack of knowledge of how to find anyplace around here is getting monumental. I can get lost easier than anybody I've ever met. (No, that's not bragging--just stating facts.) The weekend we went to a craft fair at nearby Four Seasons Resort (it's only about 15 miles from Amberg), Kevin followed my directions on how to get back home. He said he knew when I said to turn right, he should have turned left. Anyway, it was a beautiful day for a drive--which is how we ended up in Michigan!

Mr. Schloegel gave Kevin directions on how to find the restaurant. "Turn right and just stay on the road until you see it. No turns, nothing. It's just past Perkins." Well, could I help it that we had followed the road around the Bay before by going left instead of right?

That evening there was a concert right next door to the spot where the farmers' market had been (see photo above). The group that was performing was the "Dang-Its." It was a trio that played a fun mixture of blue grass, country western, and sort of old pop tunes. We got there in plenty of time to park right in front of the venue, so it was perfect. We watched as four police officers came up and pulled into the side street and parked their cars. There were a number of cars already parked there, and Kevin and I joked about how they would get out, since the cops pulled two long sawhorse dividers up so no one else could get in. The cops stood there, hands crossed on their chests, legs slightly spread apart, looking very serious. One of the cops was referred to by both the other officers and passersby as "chief." Well, it didn't take very long to see how they would handle one of the cars that wanted to exit. Two of the officers walked over to the sawhorse and went to pick it up and move it over out of the way. The dividing plank was obviously just resting loosely in the slots on the bases, as one of the officers went to pick it up--by the plank--and move it out of the way. Of course, the base dropped to the street, causing a loud "bang," and the action from there on was reminiscent of viewing an old Keystone Kops movie. Ah, but it was a great bit of entertainment for the end of a very good day!

Another highlight of the day at the market was a group of performers who stopped by to give a flash mob from the upcoming performance of Chicago at the Theatre on the Bay (at the U of WI in Marinette). Kevin and I had already decided that we wanted to see it, so as soon as we left the market we headed to Schloegel's and then off to get our tickets. It will be another fun day on this Sat., first at the market, then someplace for a nice relaxing meal, then to the theater for the evening. Does it get any better than this? I'm betting at least the restaurant and the theater will both be air conditioned. And the farmers' market? Well, there is almost always a nice breeze off the Lake and I do have my canopy!

Just to prove that life never gets boring around the Smith household, it was terribly hot yesterday, so after supper I decided to jump in and take a shower. Actually, my bathroom is so small that I can't really "jump" anyplace. It's more like I slither in. I've gotten my impersonation of Charo and her hoochie-koochie act down pat! I am, admittedly, a creature of habit. (As Patrick says, in my Patrick and Grace Mysteries, "Old habits die hard," which I hear is a wonderfully fun book--lol.) Anyway, I have a metal basket hanging in the shower which holds my shampoo and a bottle of wonderfully scented coconut/vanilla shower gel that was a Christmas gift. Well, not thinking about the fact that Kevin might have exchanged the order of the bottles, I uncapped the one that I thought was the shampoo and poured a bit of it onto my hair. Yup, you guessed it. It was the coconut/vanilla one. I probably have the sexiest smelling hair in all of Wisconsin this morning!

I hope you are all staying cool, wherever you are. Make it a great day.

Frustration beyond degree

To say that I am upset is grossly understating what I am feeling right now. My late husband served in the Korean War, proudly, on the front lines. He was, thankfully, not injured in service, but when he was disabled at the age of 64, he was able to draw a disability from both Social Security and the VA.
He passed away in January 2008. While I was able to draw on both his SS and his VA, the amount was cut in half. Now anybody with half a brain knows that two people can’t live as cheaply as one, nor can one live on half what two can live on. My rent, utilities, etc. went on as before. About the only thing that was reduced was clothing, food, his shaving gear, etc. However, I was grateful for what I received from both agencies.
For the entire time since he died up until Dec. last year, the amount SS charged for Medicare Part B was automatically deducted from my SS each month. Last Dec. when I applied for energy assistance in Marinette Co., WI, the case worker was surprised that I was being charged for the Medicare coverage. Due to my low income, she informed me, I should be eligible for a waiver so it would not be deducted. It was approved. However, a short time later I received a notice from the VA office in St. Paul MN that they were now going to reduce my monthly benefits in the same amount as the SS was adding.
I am a Christian woman. I have been a missionary all my life. It’s not often I feel like swearing, but this has me at the point where I am about ready to do so.
I just got off the phone with a man from the St. Paul VA office who was trying to explain why they were reducing my payments each month and that there was no way that the request for a waiver, based on hardship, would be approved. He said, “I understand how hard it is…” I said (pardon my French), “The hell you do! Could you live on $600 a month? I’d like to see you try it.” He said, “Well, there is nothing I can do about it.”

So, I am appealing to anybody that will listen here to see if you have any suggestions of how to get around this? Meanwhile, the cost of living goes up and my income goes back down. This is “the land of the free”? It sure doesn’t feel like Liberty to me right now.