Wednesday, August 31, 2011
Peace Is Possible-Mattie J. T. Stepanek
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
He Is So In Our Hearts He Could Never Be Gone...
I spent most of the evening before his funeral service preparing the eulogy I was to give in his honor. When I walked through the doors of the Finegan Funeral home in Alpha, NJ I was shaking and didn't think that I could speak.
Buddy was a member of the fraternal organization, Freemasons and when his fellow members finished with their service it was my turn to speak. I prayed for God to calm my nerves, and give me the strength to honor my truly wonderful older brother. I honestly do not remember walking up to tho podium, but I did. Once I looked out into the packed funeral home, and saw the many familiar faces who all loved my brother and were there to honor him, I felt completely calm and at peace.
I spoke of a man who was often known for his wonderful sense of humor, family dedication, and a loyal friend to all who had the joy of knowing him. I remember a father who trudged through a blizzard snow storm on Christmas Eve from High Street to Seventh Avenue in Alpha to retrieve the bicycles he had assembled earlier at his parent's home. When I was a Brownie Leader in Alpha, my assistant's husband told me how he remembered seeing Buddy walking passed his home with a bicycle under each arm. How he epitomized fatherly love and dedication in it's purest state.
I remembered watching my brother do the limbo in our family run luncheonette which sat on the corner of Third and East Central Avenues in Alpha during the sixties. He would tease his three sisters, and we took it in stride. His sense of humor and timing were right on the mark, and he missed his calling as a comedian. Instead he devoted 45 years to Ingersoll Rand Co. in Phillipsburg, NJ as a machinist. He also was in a partnership with our father in Dunwell Tool and Machine.
He met his wife Joan at the Villa Roller Rink when he was 16, and she was 15. When he passed away on June 14, 2004 they had been married for over 43 years. They built their home on Vulcanite Avenue with the help of his sons, and father-in-law Stanley. He was so proud of his beautiful home, and family.
Buddy took great pride in the many accomplishments of his three sons, and got to see two of them go to college, and the other start a successful commercial greenhouse growing business. He often talked about how Frank Sinatra spoke at his son Craig's graduation from Stevens Institute of Technology, and how the revered Senator Wayne Dumont got extra tickets for Craig's grandfathers, and godfather to attend the ceremony. He and his wife flew to Ukraine to attend the lavish wedding celebration when Craig married his beautiful bride Luda. He so admired Craig's sacrifice of leaving a very high paying job as a Chemical Engineer to join the Peace Corps.
At his funeral several of his friends got up and spoke about their wonderful friend Buddy who will be sorely missed by all. At the end of my eulogy I said the following:
I am standing upon the shoreline.
A ship at my side spreads white sails to the morning breeze and starts for the blue ocean. It is an object of beauty and strength and I stand and watch it until at length it hangs like a speck of white clouds just where the sea and sky come down to mingle with each other.
Then someone at my side says, "There! It's gone!"
"Gone where?"
"Gone from my sight, that's all". It is just as large in mast and spar and hull as ever it was when it left my side; floating peacefully to it's destination. And just at that moment when someone at my side says, "There! It's gone!" there are other eyes watching it's coming and other voices ready to take up the glad shout, "Here it comes!" So is my brother Buddy passed over to the loving arms of our parent's and the God who made us all.
Happy Birthday in Heaven dear brother Buddy, you are so in our hearts, you can never be gone.
Sunday, August 28, 2011
Port Clinton, Pa, no Mayberry, no Port Clinton...
 |
| The shelter where Appalachian Trail hikers often spend a night or two |
Port Clinton is a sleepy little town tucked into the Blue Mountain range of the Appalachian chain of mountains. In fact the Appalachian Trail leads down into the town where hikers often get a meal and rest in a shelter before heading on their way.
My daughter Jennifer and her family settled into Port Clinton about a year ago, and fell in love right away. The Little Schuylkill River runs through Port Clinton too. Along its banks are trees and shrubs, and on the south side of its banks runs the Reading and Northern Railroad tracks, right on up to the Reading and Northern Railroad offices and round house.
When I see their facility from Rt. 61 the sight of the old fashioned water tower conjures up memories of the 1960s sitcom Petticoat Junction.
The Barber shop is a place for the locals to gather and play guitars and sing. They head there just after picking up their mail across the street at the Post Office where the postman personally hands each person their mail each day. Only don't show up between Noon and 2PM as the post office closes for two hours. Very often Appalachian Trail hikers have packages of supplies delivered to this post office, and they pick them up when they pass through Port Clinton during their 2181 mile hike.
There is a little boy that my daughter met the first time she went in for her mail, and he has red hair and freckles like Opie Taylor. He was stopping by the post office for some of the candy the postman gives away on a daily basis. We often comment that Port Clinton is really Mayberry. Since my daughter moved to Port Clinton she has gotten to know most every neighbor. It is a very friendly little town. Along with those nice neighbors there are a few honored inhabitants of this quaint little town, an albino deer, and a wild peacock that has roamed the mountainside of town for several years. Don't worry about him, as the neighbors make sure he is fed, and looked after.
Saturday, August 27, 2011
"The Flash" No this is not a blog on menopause...
Re-Post from Welcome To My Morning...
Previously I had written about L.M. Montgomery, and her book Emily Of New Moon. 
I began reading it yesterday while Maggie was napping. I had an epiphany while reading a passage in the very first chapter. The following is an excerpt from that chapter:She must not forget how the tip of the trees on the hill came out like fine black lace across the edge of the pinky-green sky. And then for one glorious, supreme moment, came "the flash"...It had always seemed to Emily, ever since she could remember, that she was very, very near to a world of wonderful beauty. Between it and herself hung a thin curtain; she could never draw the curtain aside but sometimes, just for a moment, a wind fluttered it, and then it was as if she caught a glimpse of the enchanting realm beyond-only a glimpse-and heard a note of unearthly music.
Perhaps Emily's "the flash" was once described in Greek Mythology as The Muses. They were known as goddesses who inspired the arts, and the creative process. I prefer to think that it is a sudden inspiration from God to translate the beauty of HIS creation onto canvas, paper, and in song. God uses us to spread HIS word through the creative arts, and in turn bringing a pure joy to the soul of the creative vessel.
This passage from Emily Of New Moon reminded me of the August 25, 1991 entry in my writing journal. The entry:
This evening at approximately 7:00PM Jamiann and I traveled to Point Pleasant, PA. I decided to stop by the foot bridge that spans the Delaware River between Point Pleasant and Bull Island. There was a full moon and its reflection sparkled on the river water like thousands of tiny little mirrors. It was such a breathtaking sight, the kind for which poems are written, or a masterpiece painted. I then suddenly noticed that the railings of the bridge were covered in webs intricately spun by hundreds of spiders. Although I may have been frightened, I felt joy and calm. The webs also reflected the moonlight and looked as though they were spun in glass. It was as if the spiders had front row seats in an elaborate theater of the unending showing of one of God's most wondrous of plays.
That was it my "the flash", And then for one glorious, supreme moment, came "the flash"...and I was very, very near to a world of wonderful beauty. Between it and myself hung a thin curtain; I could never draw the curtain aside but sometimes, just for a moment, a wind fluttered it, and then it was as if I caught a glimpse of the enchanting realm beyond-only a glimpse-and heard a note of unearthly music.
I will be eternally grateful that GOD has brought the prolific works of E.M. Montgomery into my life. I was first drawn to her writing through Anne Of Green Gables. When pondering my new found relationship with the late L.M. Montgomery and using the words of her character Anne with an E, "We are kindred spirits."
Thursday, August 25, 2011
He Gave Me Jennifer
when I would spend
most every night-
engrossed in deep thought
of a meaningful poem that
I could write.
Now I spend each and every
precious hour-
with a dear sweet child who is as
innocent as a Spring flower,
that blooms into life, to make
my heart gay,
after the harsh and cold weariness
of a long winter day.
She has brought me a happiness
that could be brought by none other.
Now I know how to need, feel, and love
like a mother.
my dear sweet child
who is as beautiful
as in the Springtime
the Flocks that grow wild-
that bloom into life to
make my heart gay
after the harsh and cold
weariness of a long winter day.
I wrote this on February 20, 1975
On Sunday, August 25, 1974 at approximately 8:00 PM, I was watching the Disney Daniel Boone television show starring Fess Parker when I began to feel labor pains. Later on the pains were much stronger and closer together, so my now ex-husband Ron and I headed to Easton Hospital in Wilson Borough, PA. At that time we had lived on E. Central Avenue in Alpha, NJ.
Early the next morning Dr. Bisset ordered an X-Ray to see why I had not dilated enough to give birth, as the labor pains had been so strong and close together. At around noon time I was told that I was being wheeled up to the operating room and they were performing an emergency C-Section.
I gave birth at 1:23 PM on August 26, 1974 to a baby girl. Later in the week a cleaning lady told me that my sisters Irene, and Ruth Ann were jumping up and down and screaming when they heard the news. Up until that time we had three nephews and there were no nieces. I named her Jennifer after the actress Jennifer O'Neal, and her middle name Marie was the same as my mother's middle name.
The following few days were the scariest of my life. Immediately after returning to my room, I could not move my body, I felt paralyzed. Once that wore off, and I was helped to the bathroom, I bled profusely. Two days later I had to have a blood transfusion. I developed a fever that escalated to 104.6, and the nurses gave me an ice cold alcohol bath for a total of thirty minutes.
I did not get to hold my new baby girl for six days. I wanted to breast feed so I had to pump my breasts. The IV infiltrated and my left arm blew up like a balloon, and was extremely painful.
On September 1, 1974 I was able to return home with my new baby girl. My sister Ruth Ann spent the next few days with me. I can remember feeling inadequate and scared. I shared my feelings with Ruth Ann, and she agreed. We both were apprehensive about caring for this precious new life. We did it though, with tender loving care. The day her umbilical cord fell off and bled a little , we definitely freaked out. I called the doctor who said it was normal.
One day in February of 1975 when Jennifer was almost six months old I had an epiphany while changing her diaper. It suddenly occurred to that one day she would no longer need me to care for her. I felt like there was a hole in my heart. It was at that moment that I sat down and wrote the above poem for my lovely little daughter.
The harsh winter day that I speak of in the poem, was my marriage to Jennifer's father. I had a horrible marriage to a philandering alcoholic who spent every penny on his obsessions. He verbally abused me whenever he had the chance. It was the most horrible five years of my life, and giving birth to Jennifer was the only event that made this marriage have purpose. Caring for Jennifer, and giving and receiving her love made life bearable.
Throughout the years to come, we have had our ups and downs, the same as most parents and children. She has since given me three beautiful grandchildren who always bring joy to my life. A few years ago she went to school to become a Phlebotomist, and loves this line of work. GOD certainly knew what a joy a child would be in my life when HE gave me Jennifer.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY JENNIFER! Mommy loves you!
Home Grown Tomatoes -Re-Post From Welcome To My Morning
My daughter's mother-in-law Pat gave me a couple of her home grown purple tomatoes. Today I had a delicious tomato sandwich, just two slices of white bread smothered in mayonnaise and three thick slices of purple tomato, sliced diagonally. I like the tomato to be right from the garden, not from a fridge. I want it to be room temperature, and oh so yummy.
That is one of the best percs of late summer, all those nice fresh home grown tomatoes. Here he is, John Denver, singing Home Grown Tomatoes.
My dad loved to grow tomatoes, and beef steak were his personal favorite. Once he taped some to a vine he kept going all winter long in the garage, and took a picture. He sent that picture to my Uncle Charlie in Florida, who thought that Dad actually had tomatoes on his vine in the garage all winter long. Uncle Charlie would continually comment on the way Bud grew tomatoes in his garage all winter long, and I never had the guts to set him straight.
Uncle Charlie grew tomatoes in the winter in his Florida garden, after he moved there from Oxford, NJ. He would always say that although he had tomatoes twice a year, "There is no tomato like a Jersey tomato." He said that the New Jersey soil had just the right amount of acid to grow the best tomatoes in the world.
This idea was confirmed by a comment that my sister Ruth Ann and her husband Tom heard from the late entertainer Don Ho singer of Tiny Bubbles.
While on one of their trips to Hawaii several years ago Ruth Ann and Tom had the pleasure of meeting Don Ho. When they spoke of the fact that they were from New Jersey, Don Ho went on to tell them a story. He said that when he was much younger and in the US Armed Services he went home with a fellow soldier to his home in New Jersey. While he was visiting there he ate New Jersey tomatoes and he said that while he had traveled the world, he never had a tomato as good as those that are grown in New Jersey. Wednesday, August 24, 2011
Not The Wrath Of A Loving Father
However, we do need to take heed to our Lord's advice in making better choices that affect our very existence. God needs to be leaned on more in making those choices through prayer. I get upset when my daughters make poor choices as did my mother when I did. However, neither I nor my mother would set a tornado, flood, earthquake, or tsunami on our children.
I believe in God the father of all and I believe in Jeremiah 29:11: 'For I know the plans I have for you,' declares the LORD, 'plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.'
Fear is spread throughout the Internet, and in the media. Throughout history the "Fear of God" has turned more people away from him, than toward him. GOD is LOVE. There is no reason that FEAR should be in the explanation of LOVE.
I John 4:18 "There is no fear in love; but perfect love casteth out fear: because fear hath torment. He that feareth is not made perfect in love."
When I read the Bible, I have seen much good advice to live by, even when I did not want to listen. We are all children in the eyes of the Lord. We are HIS Children, and HE wants what is best for us.
"This is how God showed his love among us: He sent his one and only Son into the world that we might live through him. This is love: not that we loved God, but that he loved us and sent his Son as an atoning sacrifice for our sins. " 1 John 4:9-10
How to Handle Your Emotions: Anger, Depression, Fear, Grief, Rejection, Self-Worth (Counseling Through the Bible Series)
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
Shake, Rattle, and Roll, and Nuclear Power Plants
Well, today we got a little preview of Shake, Rattle, and Roll! I was the first to joke about it with a few comical Facebook posts. But the reality is that it could have been a very, very bad experience for everyone in the Eastern USA. Just in my own immediate area of less than a 100 mile radius there are six nuclear power plants. It only took one melt down in Chernobyl, Ukraine, or Fukushima, Japan to create a wasteland in the affected areas.
Today, Mattie Stepanek's mother Jeni reported books had fallen from her shelves in Rockville, Maryland, and in the nearby city of Reading, PA the Penn Street Bridge received a crack that caused it to be closed according to a report from the Reading Eagle online news. The Internet news reported evacuation of the Pentagon, and in Washington D.C. the closing of the U.S. historical monuments.
I think we lucked out this time, but I sure hope the Nuclear Regulatory Commission takes the
threat of earthquakes very seriously, and takes every precautionary measure possible to avert multiple disasters, the likes that have never been experienced before. Sunday, August 21, 2011
Barefoot Days
Another excerpt from my book, My Ominous Adventures At True Blue Farm, The Secret Behind The Mirror:
His name was Sam and he played the drums in a band. His band played the vaudeville circuit. As we sat there rocking Sam began to sing his version of a popular song. He not only sang but also played the accompaniment on his hands. He spit into the palms of his hands and clamped them together and squeezed them back and forth as if he were playing an accordion.
As he squeaked out a funny little tune with his hands he sang; “Oh barefoot days when we were just a kid.” ”Oh Barefoot days, of all the things we did.” ”We’d go down by shady brook, with a bent pin for a hook.” ”We’d fish all day an’ fish till night” ”But the darn ole fish refuse to bite.” ”And how we’d slide down some ole cellar door.” ”We’d slide, an’ slide, until our pants got tore.” ”And then we’d go home an’ stay our bed, till Mother got busy with the needle an’ thread.” ”O boy, what joy, we had in barefoot days.”
Sam went on to tell me Al Wilson and James Brennan two famous songwriters had written Barefoot Days. They had written songs between the years of 1875-1923. Barefoot Days became popular when Al Jolson who was accompanied by the three Wainwright Sisters on banjos performed it for the Musical Bambo when it toured the USA.
He entertained me all afternoon telling comical stories and making silly sounds. It was just before dinner when a black car rolled down the lane. Two men stepped out and came toward the porch. Immediately Sam had a look of apprehension come over his face. One of the men went into the house and the other stayed on the porch and stood next to the door.
©2006 by Diane Dunwell-Hoffman
All rights reserved. This book is registered with the U.S. Library of Congress ISBN: 1-4137-9770-9 (softcover) ISBN: 978-1-4489-2487-5(hardcover)
Saturday, August 20, 2011
Peace Is Possible-Mattie J. T. Stepanek
Passing along this post from my friend, Mattie's Mom, Jeni Stepanek:
Friday, August 19, 2011
Re-Post Silly Songs My Mother Taught Us...
* This blog was first posted on August 25, 2009 on Welcome To My Morning. I re-posted in honor of my younger brother who will be 50 this weekend. He loves the song about the duck!
When we were little our mother who loved to sing, and she sang many funny little songs to us. One of these was Mairzy Doats. She never explained that she was singing mares eat oats, and does eat oats, and little lambs eat ivy. I always thought it was a just a silly bunch of jumbles up crazy words, but I always loved when she sang it.
At first glance the song's refrain, as written on the sheet music, seems to be meaningless:
- Mairzy doats and dozy doats and liddle lamzy divey
- A kiddley divey too, wouldn't you?
- Mairzy doats and dozy doats and liddle lamzy divey
- A kiddley divey too, wouldn't you?
However, the lyrics of the bridge provide a clue:
- If the words sound queer and funny to your ear, a little bit jumbled and jivey,
- Sing "Mares eat oats and does eat oats and little lambs eat ivy."
With this aid, the refrain is quite easily comprehended, and the ear will detect the hidden message of the final line: "A kid'll eat ivy too, wouldn't you?"
The song was written by Milton Drake, Al Hoffman, and Jerry Livingston in 1943. Milton Drake's daughter came home reciting a English nursery rhyme. According to this story, Drake's four-year-old daughter came home singing "Cowzy tweet and sowzy tweet and liddle sharksy doisters." (Cows eat wheat and sows eat wheat and little sharks eat oysters.)
Another song she would sing was one of fractured lyrics. The song was Chattanooga Choo Choo, and she would sing it this way, "Pardon me Roy is that the cat who chewed your new shoe?" Another of the fractured lyrics songs was Let Me Call You Sweetheart, and she sang it this way, "Let me call you sweetheart I'm in love with your machine, let me hear you whisper that you'll buy some gasoline, keep your headlights burning, and your hands upon the wheel. Let me call you sweetheart, I'm in love with your automobile"
Some of the other songs she sang were endearing to her children, such as Good Night Irene, and My Buddy. She sang them to my sister Irene and my brother Buddy. She had a pretty voice, and it was truly wonderful growing up in a home with a mother who sang.
Then there were the silly ones she learned from a family friend Donald Ebersol. My Mother Bought A Chicken and it wouldn't lay an egg, so she poured hot water up and down its leg, oh the little Chickie squawked, and the little Chickie begged, and the little Chickie laid a hard boiled egg. The other one Donald taught her was, My Mother Bought A Chicken and she thought it was a duck and she threw it on the table with its feet sticking up, then she slammed it on the floor and kicked it out the door and she never bought a chicken for a duck any more. These were sung to the tune of Turkey In The Straw.
I have carried these songs with me my whole life through, these precious silly little songs our mother sang to us, and I hope to pass them on to the next generation.
God sent his Singers upon earth
With songs of sadness and of mirth,
That they might touch the hearts of men,
And bring them back to heaven again.
~Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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