Busy Sixteen

Only Sixteen

Tell us all about the person you were when you were sixteen. If you haven’t yet hit sixteen, tell us about the person you want to be at sixteen.


(Another rerun I haven’t written to before. It’s a conspiracy.)

So.  When I was sixteen, I was a junior in high school.  I was rejoicing because I didn’t have to take gym any more.  It was the only thing that kept me from a 4.0, and I thought that was totally unfair.  Still do. I just wasn’t an athlete.  I tried hard, but it was never enough.

I had a two-year-old brother. My sister had left for college, and my mom was sick often, so I had a lot of experience in the care and feeding of a male infant and toddler. That experience stood me in good stead a few years later when I started having my own brood.  I was never nervous about handling a new baby.

I loved school.  We lived in a small farm town in southern Minnesota, where my dad was the pastor of a little Baptist church. I enjoyed my classes, and did well. Physics was a struggle that year, and I’ll never know how I pulled a decent grade because I never understood most of it.  I did learn how to figure out what formula applied to what annoying problem. I think our teacher was really good, but he just couldn’t light a fire under me for his subject.

I was in the school choir, which I loved.  I also worked on the school newspaper, and I was on the layout staff for the yearbook.  This was back in the day before computers, so layouts were done by hand, with pictures, rulers, scissors, and glue. Same with the paper. You typed your piece on a manual typewriter, and you had to know how to justify margins and all that stuff. I was the first page editor, so it was my job for two years to go down to the town’s newspaper office and watch the printer set up the page the old-fashioned way, with little metal letter blocks, ink, and a roller.  It was fascinating, and I never got tired of watching his hands fly over his tools. He was amazing.  Then I got to proof the page, and watch it come off the print machine.  I loved the smell of the fresh ink and new paper.

Let’s see.  I also participated in speech competition, known as Declamation back then.  I competed in storytelling, debate, and extemporaneous speaking. Loved it.  Did pretty well.

My greatest love was the piano.  I didn’t have lessons because that just wasn’t in the budget.  I’d taught myself to play when I was about ten.  When we moved back to Minnesota, an older retired piano teacher offered to take me on for free. I was thrilled.  I walked over a mile to her place each week, played for her, and walked back home. She introduced me to music I’d never thought I could play. That was a true highlight for me.

On a more personal level, I’d already been through my first boyfriend and the inevitable breakup.  He lived in Oregon.  We moved to Minnesota. After shedding the appropriate number of tears and sighing my way through the trauma, I recovered quite nicely and met a couple of new guys that kept my attention. Isn’t it amazing how we think we’re going to die, and then, Surprise!  we get over it and continue to grow up 🙂

A major event that year, 1963:  November 22, the assassination of John F. Kennedy.

All right, I’m sure you’ve had enough by now.  Kind of fun to reminisce.  Sixteen was a good year for me. So was seventeen, and eighteen. . . .just pick one.  I’ve had a blessed life.

This song was still pretty popular in 1963:



Write a post about any topic you wish, but make sure it ends with “And all was right in the world.”


Linda clicked on Daily Prompt at 8 a.m.  Nothing.  She clicked again at 8:02 and 8:05.  Nothing. Phooey. She typed off a quick note of frustration and went about the business of getting ready for her busy day.  There may not be time to write a response to the prompt today, and missing that part of her morning routine would definitely cause the sky to fall.

By the way, I saw it again yesterday.  I don’t remember where.  Someone wrote, ” And I’ll defiantly do it again.”  She meant definitely. If anyone can explain to me how that particular error is so common, I’d defiantly appreciate it.

Sorry.  English teacher popped up for a minute there.  I just smacked her back down.

Anyway, in the process of getting ready, Linda popped into the study and clicked the daily prompt button and VOILA!  There it was.  Half an hour late, but at least the pieces of fallen sky were rising back into place.

So she rattled off a response, not worrying too much about whether or not it made any sense. She tagged it and categorized it and even found a  picture for it. Then she did the pingback. Done. 

All was right in the world.


But the pingback isn’t working. Sigh.

Crazy Busy

We all seem to insist on how busy, busy, busy we constantly are. Let’s put things in perspective: tell us about the craziest, busiest, most hectic day you’ve had in the past decade.


In the past decade?  Really, you expect me to remember that?  I mean, I have trouble remembering last WEEK!  There are 3,650 days in a decade, right?  And I’m supposed to pick out my busiest, craziest day.  

How about today instead?  I write two blog posts most mornings, here on my writing blog, and here.

Then I need to finish cleaning the house, because my son is coming up today to help his dad with some things and then we’re going to celebrate his 39th birthday. A couple of good, old friends are coming over to help.  I have an apple pie to make, a chicken to roast, salad and vegetables to prepare.

I also need to to pay some bills, clean up my desk (again) and get some laundry under control.  There will be a quick trip to the store, although my husband may take care of that for me.

It may not seem like much to some of you younger souls out there who still have a passel of kids to take care of, maybe a job outside your home, and so on.  Been there, done that. I suppose my busiest days were when my four kids were all in junior high/high school, all involved in extra-curriculars, and my husband was on the road a lot while I worked full-time as a teacher. Yeah, those were busy years.

The thing is, as your body slows down, the work load tends to slow down to accommodate that. I’m 67 now, and so thankful I don’t have to keep up that hectic pace of 25-30 years ago.

And thankful that I can still do all I need to do; I can still work at a job I love, still take care of my own home, still be involved with family and friends.

Busy is a blessing.  Be thankful.


Normal? What’s That?

Back to Life
After an especially long and exhausting drive or flight, a grueling week at work, or a mind-numbing exam period — what’s the one thing you do to feel human again?


Just had a very busy long weekend. I wouldn’t call it grueling, just very busy and mostly in a positive way. We had the grandkids on Friday and Saturday, and that was just fun. We don’t do this terribly often, and I’m always reminded why God made it so the young women are the moms of little kids. I had four of my own, and I don’t remember being that tired after just two days. They’re extremely well-behaved, not a problem in any way. They’re just busy 🙂

Sunday we were privileged to hear David Gibbs of the Christian Legal Association speak in the morning church service. Wonderful sermon, clearly spoken.

Yesterday, Monday, Terry and I drove out to Gettysburg. About ten years ago, several other women and I formed a very tight bond over the internet.  I’d met two of them face to face, but never had met Judy.  We’re spread all across the country, and it’s not easy to get together.  We met Judy and her husband in Gettysburg, and had a long lunch while we enjoyed seeing each other face-to-face for the first time. Perfect weather, good company, good food, good times. 

But it’s a 2 1/2 drive there, another 2 1/2 hours back, and I was very tired. A good tired, but still.  I’m not a kid any more. 

For me, the one thing that sets me back to rights is my own bed, my own pillow, and a good book to fall asleep to.  Luxury. bed

I don’t ask for much 🙂