Word Walks

Spoonfuls of sugar

2012-01-04T00:17:00.000-06:00

You can read the first post about our trip to Germany HERE.

August 2, 2011 - Arrival in Germany

Frankfurt am Main / Hofheim / Laufdorf

We have arrived. The plane pulled in at 10:10 a.m. intoFrankfurt am Main, one of the busiest international airports in Europe. Wede-planed quickly and proceeded to have our passports stamped, and thenfollowed all of the signs to Baggage Claims. John noticed that most signs werein both German and English. “I think I’m going to be just fine,” he announced.He was relieved, as he speaks no German, that language will not proveto be a barrier.

We met my Aunt Doris and Uncle Herbert shortly after rolling our baggageout Gate 5. When we saw their tiny Peugot 206 SW, we were somewhat concerned whether our full-size suitcases and carry-on luggage would fit, but witha little tilting, turning and stacking, we were on our way to our nextdestination, Hofheim.

Left to right: Judy, Aunt Doris, John

Interestingly, most German towns and Länder (states) have a unique coat of arms. Below is the one for Hofheim.

Hofheim, a picturesque little suburb of Frankfurt with rolling hills andtwisting streets, is where my aunt and uncle have two lovely friends namedAngela and Harald. Technically speaking, Angela is my aunt's cousin. She and Harald are a lively, healthy couple in their 80swho became friends with my father on his previous three trips to Germanyin 2003, 2006 and 2008. They were excited to meet us, and welcomed uswith a handshake and a hug at the same time. For me it was immediate immersion in the German language. Angela speaks Hochdeutsch (High German), which is the typical German spoken and written in school, but Harald speaks a strong local dialect of German, which for the most part I was able to decipher.

Left to right: Harald, Angela

We spent the better part of theafternoon with the couple, enjoying their hospitality and Angela’s marvelous culinaryskills. To our surprise, Harald gifted us with an album filled with photos of my father's visits with them. Since my father passed away just this past July 6th, we found this to be an incredible kindness.

Left to right: Angela, Aunt Doris, Harald, Dad

Harald, who is an avid photographer, mentioned that the last photo in the album is a recent one and that he was sure we would recognize it. Amusingly, he caught our plane in flight as it was approaching the airport in Frankfurt, which is about 12 kilometers (7.5 miles) south of Hofheim. Apparently his house is right beneath the flight path of trans-Atlantic flights like ours!

We ate a light afternoon Mittagessen (noon meal) that is typical for Germans, consisting of homemade soup andflavorful hard rolls.

Left to right: Aunt Doris, Harald, Judy, John

Later it was time for Kaffeeklatsch (coffee break),when we sampled Angela’s marvelous home-baked treats, consisting of Berliner(jelly-filled doughnuts), Kaffeekuchen mit Kirschen (coffee cake withcherries), a Schokoladensahnenrolle (cream-filled chocolate roll), anddelicate, chewy Florentine (also known as lace cookies) made with almonds, sugar and honey that melt inyour mouth before you can swallow each bite.

Left to right: Judy, John, Angela. The Florentine cookies are in the center of the table.

We enjoyed very much our tour of their home, which was builtin the early 1900s. I was surprised to hear that Angela and Harald maintain thebeautiful landscaping pretty much themselves. Harald, who is a masterful woodworker, has made much of the cabinetry throughout the house. His tools areorganized in a workroom that would be the envy of any professional. I suspectthat much of the energy that Harald enjoys is the result of the fact that heswims 26 laps of a pool three or four times a week—an indoor pool, I might add,that he built with his own two hands.

On our way to my aunt and uncle's home in Laufdorf (which translates literally as "running village"), my Uncle Herbert stopped in front of an interesting restaurant featuring a nautical theme, which he was certain would interest John, a former U.S. Navy officer. At this point John and I were so sleepy from both food and our flight, that I am not sure either of us could tell you whether the restaurant was under construction or completed, but the photo below suggests the former.

After our visit, John and I weren’t sure we would have roomfor supper, but around 9:00 p.m. we did manage to squeeze it in. In Germany itis typical to eat a heavier meal around noon (similar to an American dinner,but smaller), and a smaller meal in the evening called Abendessen (larger than a typical Americanlunch). An afternoon coffee break with a slice of Kuchen (cake) is also common. We aren’t quite sure at this point how to enter what we eat into ourWeightWatchers® log, but we figure that if we watch our portion sizes, we shouldbe okay.

Leaving for Germany

2012-01-02T23:09:00.000-06:00

This past August my husband and I journeyed to Germany, a trip that was 32 years in the planning. We visited for a month, staying with relatives from my father's side of the family. For the first two weeks, we resided with my uncle and aunt in south central Germany, while the remainder of our visit was in northern Germany with my cousin and his wife. Please feel free to join us as I re-live our travels in this and continuing posts.

August 1, 2011

Des Moines, Iowa to Frankfurt am Main, Germany

5:30 p.m. CST

John’s friend, John C., picked us up at 1:00 today, takingus to the airport in Des Moines. We took United Flight 6048, a United ExpressEconomy flight that involved sitting in an airplane too small to accommodatecarry-on luggage. Nervously, I watched my carry-on suitcase slide down theconveyor rollers from the boarding ramp to the plane, hoping that the suitcasecontaining my laptop would not crash to the ground. Later, though we were toldthat you could take only a handbag or small backpack with you to put under yourseat, I noticed that other people who were nervous about their laptops pulledthem out of their carry-on luggage and put them on their laps. I don’t blamethem, and think I will do the same on the return journey.

We landed what felt like a half hour later in Chicago (butwas really longer), and proceeded to our gate, where we were told that we stillhad about 20 minutes before our flight would begin boarding. We were invited totake advantage of the Red Carpet hospitality room, which is available topassengers like us who are flying Business Class. That is where I am writingnow. It is so much more quiet here than at the gate, where many people waitingto board cannot even find a place to sit. Refreshments, other than alcohol, arefree of charge. John and I had a cup of cool, refreshing water, shared a cup ofdried fruits and nuts, and ate some fresh baby carrots. Nice! We took the timeto leave David a voice mail message saying good bye, and to call John’s mom tolet her know that we arrived okay in Chicago.

We just heard the loudspeaker announcement, letting us knowthat our flight is getting ready to board, so I will resume this narrativelater.

10:00 p.m. CST

It is now 7:00 a.m. in Germany, but we are only about threehours into Flight 940 aboard a Boeing 747-400. I am taking the time to jot downa few impressions before I try to get some shuteye, since it will be aboutanother five hours before we land in Germany, where it will be 10:00 a.m.

This is the first time that John and I have ever flownBusiness Class, and let me say that I would not hesitate to fly this way againon a trans-Atlantic or any lengthy flight. The seats themselves are amiracle—fully cushioned, wide, and adjustable. You can actually lay the seatdown flat for sleeping and are provided with a pillow, blanket, bed socks andeye mask to keep out the light. Many of the passengers are already recliningafter a wonderful dinner consisting of a center cut of smoked salmon loin,seasonal mixed baby greens, herbed Boursin® rotisserie chicken with apomegranate glaze, along with stir-fried sugar snap peas and carrots, and awhole grain roll. Delicious! The steward welcomed us by name, and service isreally excellent.

There are three columns of seats in Business Class, whichoccupies part of the upper tier of seating in the plane. You know those windowsthat you see close to the top of a Boeing 747? Well, that’s where we are. TheEconomy Class passengers are actually seated below us. When we boarded theplane, we entered one door of the plane, and Economy Class passengers enteredanother. From left to right, the first two passengers face the rear of the plane, the ones in the middle column (four seatsacross) face the nose of the plane, and the two far right seats facethe tail.

Each passenger has a personal viewing screen where you canwatch a movie or select a television program, check out information about theplane’s itinerary, or listen to music. When the pilot makes an announcement,programming pauses, but beyond that you have uninterrupted time to spend withyour personal entertainment system. I browsed through the various categories,but in the end decided that sleep would be more productive than seekingaudiovisual leisure, since we will be spending an entire day with my UncleHerbert and Aunt Doris before we can go to bed seven hours later than we wouldnormally dive beneath the covers.

2:30 a.m. CST

I woke up about a quarter of an hour ago, feeling a bitgritty-eyed but otherwise okay. I guess I’m excited about getting our first dayin Germany started. I can hear the stewards and stewardesses clinkingsilverware, plates and drinking glasses in preparation for breakfast; in fact,some people have already been served while I take a few minutes to freshen upin the bathroom, washing my face, brushing my teeth and reapplying makeup. One of the items we were provided, when we boarded the plane, was a zipper pouch filled with personal care items, including a toothbrush and toothpaste. Breakfast, like dinner just a few hours ago, is excellent, consisting of aplate filled with fresh fruits, orange juice and a tasty croissant.

The plane will land in about 90 minutes, so we’re gettingexcited. John is more tired than I am, since he slept for only an hour and 15minutes.

© 2011 Judy Nolan. All rights reserved.

Spass muss sein!

2011-09-17T13:11:00.000-05:00

My father, Joe, was 81 years old when he passed away this past July 6th after a prolonged battle with lung cancer. He left behind four children and six grandchildren, all spread through the U.S. in Wisconsin, Washington, Kentucky, Oregon, and Iowa—and a brother and many other relatives in Germany. He was preceded in death by my mother, Margarete, by my baby brother Michael, by his parents, and all of his siblings but one.

Joe grew up in Oberhausen-Sterkrade, Germany.

Born in Germany, Joe was only nine years old when World War IIbegan. Like many children whose parents were concerned about their safety, hewas sent south to the Alps until the worst conditions were past. There hisadventurous spirit encouraged him to don his Lederhosen and climb high enoughto pluck an Edelweiss flower that he pressed between the pages of his boyhoodphoto album. Naturally athletic, his favorite youth sports included soccer andhand ball.

Joe (left) and his friend clutch their Edelweiss flowers.

A thirst for new experiences caused Joe to board the S.S.Washington on June 22, 1951 from Hamburg, Germany to sail to the U.S. He was 21years old when he arrived in New York on July 2^nd with only twosuitcases and an eager smile on his face. His sponsor was his Uncle Joe in ElmGrove, Wisconsin.

He met the love of his life, Margarete, at a restaurant where shewas waitressing. They married in 1954 at Camp Fort Leonard Wood, Missouri,where Joe served in the Sixth Armored Division. It was through his militaryservice that he earned his U.S. citizenship. Joe felt a deep sense ofpatriotism for his adopted country. He was proud to be a Charter Contributor toThe Statue of Liberty Ellis Island Foundation.

My parents, both from Germany, became naturalized American citizens.

Over time, Joe and Margarete discovered a mutual appreciation forclassical music, ballroom dancing and singing, which they enjoyed at aGerman-American club called Harmonie. To some extent, these interests were anextension of Joe’s musical ability. As a teen, he and his friends formed a bandin which he played the drums. During the early years of his marriage, he playedan accordion. One Christmas when he was in his 70s, he bought himself anelectronic keyboard, and for a while during his stay at The Courtyards atLuther Manor, he was a member of the bell choir.

Joe dances with his sister, Hedwig, during a visit to Germany.

Joe was fascinated with technology from the time he arrived in theU.S. to the day he died. In 1958 he began taking flying lessons for hiscommercial pilot license and flew Cessnas; he continued to fly during hisretirement years. In his 60s, he began building his own two-seater plane, andwhen he was 70 years old, Joe bought himself his first computer and taughthimself how to use it.

My brother, Mark, and I admire the plane our father flew.

His earliest jobs in the U.S. took advantage of his tool-and-diemaker skills at Kearney & Trecker and at Globe-Union in Milwaukee,Wisconsin. Following his military service he began attending Milwaukee Schoolof Engineering, but left to seek full-time employment when Margarete becamepregnant with their first child. Later, when his growing family moved toCalifornia, he supplemented his education with electrical engineering coursesfrom Cerritos College.

Eventually Joe advanced to management positions at Weiser Lock insouthern California, and S-B Manufacturing Company, General Stamping andStoelting in Wisconsin. At S-B Manufacturing, where he was the plant manager,he often designed creative gifts for retiring employees made from Christmastree stands and other items that the firm manufactured.

Joe designed the standing figure from Christmas tree stands and screen door parts.

During the last yearsbefore retirement, Joe ran his own tool rental business. He also completed aBriggs & Stratton small engine repair course by correspondence, whichenabled him to do lawn mower and snow blower repairs—in many cases free ofcharge for his neighbors. While residing at The Courtyards at Luther Manor, heworked in the wheelchair repair shop.

Around the house, Joe was the ultimate do-it-yourselfer. Heinstalled ceiling fans and kitchen appliances such as the dishwasher, oven andstove, re-keyed locks, and added a three-season patio room to the house. Joeeven created his own aquariums from scratch for goldfish he raised. Hetransferred the fish to a back yard pond he designed, and added a fountain.

My father always had a project on the backburner.

Joe liked to live his life according to what he called the threePs—patience, perseverance, and participation. He employed all three qualitiesin youth leadership roles as he became involved in his children’s activities:Mark and Rick’s Cub Scouts, Rick’s Indian Guides, and Monica’s IndianPrincesses. He took sailing lessons with Judy and Mark, and snowmobile safetyclasses with Rick and Monica. He taught all of the children how to play chessand Canasta during grade school, constructed a detailed 3-D castle with Mark,and helped Judy thread her first sewing machine. He came home from work to getMonica’s hand out of the kitchen mixing bowl, and taught Rick how to clean thefirst fish he caught. He played with a pet parakeet and tussled with the family dog. The entire family looked forward to Joe’s Sunday morningwaffle-baking marathons.

Before my sister, Monica, was born, my father enjoyed couch time with (left to right) Mark, Rick and me.

My father snapped this photo of his four children the first winter after we relocated to Wisconsin after living in southern California for 4-1/2 years (clockwise, beginning in the upper left corner): Judy, Mark, Rick and Monica.

My father kept Tony, one of a series of parakeets the family kept, in his workroom.

When I went to college, the family acquired Happy, a West Highland Scottish terrier.

Joe was proud of all his grandchildren, took pride in theiracademic and athletic achievements, and loved sharing stories about them withhis visitors. He enjoyed playing with his grandchildren as they grew up.

Joe bicycles with his granddaughter, Kat.

Our son, David, and Opa enjoy a tender moment.

My sister, Monica (next to my dad), visited my father last year with her daughters (left to right): Janelle, Bethany and Adrienne.

Margarete and Joe enjoy a visit from their Washington granddaughters (left to right), Kris and Kat.

Among the more recent highlights of his life was a cross-countryRV trip he shared with his brother Herbert and sister-in-law Doris to visit allof his children and their families. He visited Herbert and Doris in Germany,and accompanied them on a trip to Rome, where he was part of the Pope’saudience. He attended the wedding of his niece Regina and husband Daniel inGermany, and not even a year ago danced with his granddaughter Adrienne at theChicago wedding of grandson David and his wife Penny.

Granddaughter Adrienne dances with "Opa" at our son's wedding.

Volunteering was as natural to him as breathing. For 11 years, Joedelighted in teaching religious education to 7^th graders at St.Agnes Parish in Butler, Wisconsin. “They don’t know if they’re fish or fowl,”he used to say, “and I find that refreshing.” Because algebra and trigonometrywere a daily part of his work day, it was easy for him to volunteer to tutoradults in math, which he did as part of an adult literacy project. He deliveredmeals for the local Aging and Disability Resource Center, and volunteered forthe Wisconsin Nursing Home Ombudsman Program. For a while at Luther Manor, heran the audio-visual equipment when the first-Friday-of-the-month Mass wasbroadcast throughout the residential community.

Joe is recognized for his service as Volunteer Ombudsman for the Wisconsin Nursing Home Ombudsman Program.

Joe fought a valiant battle against various forms of cancer duringhis lifetime, following four simple rules:

Eat when you’re hungry.
Sleep when you’re tired.
Always find time to laugh
Be hopeful.

He had a prodigious store of jokes he liked to tell, and retainedhis sense of humor despite the challenges of his illness. “Spass muss sein”(you gotta have fun), he would tell everyone. Joe didn’t like to be rushed, soit was not unusual to hear him say, “We’ll cross that bridge when we come toit.” He has crossed the Eternal Bridge now to be with his Father, where he willno doubt continue to tell jokes.

Joe returned to the Alps in recent years to visit boyhood haunts.

There and back again

2011-09-16T22:48:00.000-05:00

It has been almost 2-1/2 months since my father passed away, and about 2-1/2 weeks since my husband and I returned from a month-long visit to Germany, where we visited my father's side of the family. We survived jet lag twice—and my back, suffering from a herniated disc, is on the mend, too. I guess you could say it's time for us to reestablish our regular routines, but we're not sure yet what normal means.

My father suffered from lung cancer that spread to his brain, and eventually to his bones. No one who has not had this disease can say he or she knows what this feels like, but just the same, my husband and I walked the journey with my father from the time he became unable to care for himself at home and had to move into assisted living, to the time he lost the ability to walk, sit, and speak to his loved ones. It took 18 months for him to gradually lose his independence and to learn how to accept help—and it took us just as long to learn how to provide that assistance appropriately. It was a journey for all of us, filled with many lessons. We learned about hope, trust and acceptance, and we are still learning.

In the mail today arrived a bereavement counseling newsletter with a new lesson. The newsletter discussed the importance of being able to differentiate between grief and mourning, and the necessity to mourn a loved one's loss in order to heal. Grief is defined, the mailing pointed out (according to Dr. Alan Wolfelt in his book, Healing Your Grieving Body: 100 Physical Practices for Mourners), as "a constellation of internal thoughts and feelings we have when someone loved dies. Grief is the weight in the chest, the churning in the gut, the unspeakable thoughts and feelings." John and I felt grief before my father died, to be honest. Before my father's last day ever arrived, we felt we were losing pieces of him until in the end, our roles were reversed; he was like an innocent child who didn't understand why things were so difficult, and we were like his parents, trying to provide comfort.

John and my father enjoy a quiet moment.

Dr. Wolfelt describes mourning, on the other hand, as "the outward expression of grief. Mourning is crying, journaling, creating artwork, talking to others about the death, telling the story, speaking the unspeakable." In other words, in order to heal, we must also mourn.

Our trip to Germany was a necessary part of our healing journey. Thirty-two years ago, when John and I first got married, we promised each other we would one day visit my father's side of the family. I had been to Germany before, both as a young child and as a teenager, but this was going to be the trip that created adult memories for both of us. And so it was. We visited with relatives who knew my father when he grew up during World War II Germany, and with others who met my father decades later, after he became a naturalized American citizen. All of us reminisced about old memories and shared new stories with each other. We shed tears, but we laughed as well, traveling "there and back again" as we helped each other to mourn, and thus to heal.

In my next post, I'll share with you some stories about the man who was my father . . . and in the future, after I go through the thousands of photos I took overseas, I'll share with you our trip to Germany. Come back soon!

Dad treats Judy and John to a harbor cruise on their 25th anniversary

Cold winters recall vivid memories

2011-02-11T11:51:00.000-06:00

As far back as I can recall, February has always been the coldest month. This fact was reinforced on our most recent road trip to Milwaukee to visit my father, who lives in a care facility. It was the week after the Midwest was socked by blizzard-like conditions. On either side of the road, snow stretched and sparkled in the sunlight as far as the eye could see. The temperature, which dipped below zero, caused my husband to dread every refueling stop, where he had to take off his gloves to grip the cold metal of the gas pump nozzle. When he climbed back into the driver's seat, he blew on his hands to warm them up. Every time we walked across a parking lot, the crisp snow crunched beneath our feet.

February, the coldest month of the year, is also the time when we celebrate warmth—warm feelings for friends and family, that is. School children collect Valentines from classmates in decorated bags and boxes, opening up the envelopes and hoping there are treats to accompany the cards. I recall grade school parties celebrated at the end of the day, when one of the mothers brought home-baked pink-and-white frosted cupcakes. Mostly, however, I remember the time we took in class to make Valentines for our mothers . . . strange, however, that we didn't think to do the same for our fathers!

As young children, winter was not just a time for playing in the snow. Of course, we did plenty of that, too. My brother and I used to go ice skating when the creek froze, he with his hockey skates and me with my figure skates. I really did not skate well, but that was not the point. Clambering down the snowy bank to skate on the uneven ice, and making it through the chilly afternoon without complaint, was a rite of passage. After cavorting outdoors, my mother had hot chocolate waiting for us, with milk she warmed up in a pan. She stirred in spoonfuls of powdered chocolate, topping off the drink with marshmallows.

The snowman in our schoolyard was invariably so big that it took a group of older boys to roll and then stack the giant balls of snow. You could see the blades of grass poking up through the trampled snow because so much of it was invested in that snowman. A snow fort took an entire week to build, and once the snowballs started flying, the bodies weren't far behind. And there was nothing as wonderful as carving a slippery slide with booted feet on the snow-covered asphalt playground. You took a running start, and then slid as far as you could on what essentially became glare ice. It was miraculous that we did not end up with broken bones.

When I started second grade, my family relocated to southern California, but then returned to Wisconsin in time for sixth grade. It is odd to think about it now, but I don't remember much about those winters spent in California, possibly because one season seemed to blend into another. The first winter after we returned to the Midwest, I recall that my teacher allowed me to come in early from recess to warm up my hands at the sink, since I was not accustomed to the cold. "Use lukewarm water," she warned me, "otherwise you'll burn yourself."

I don’t know how many people can say they learned how to ride a two-wheeler in their basement during the winter, but I can remember tilting on my bicycle seat as I adjusted to my training wheels. I rode slowly on the concrete floor, circling around the metal pipe in the laundry room and skirting the edge of the cinder block walls. When it was too cold or dark to play outside (which was often), we played board games and spread out jigsaw puzzles on the floor, put on puppet shows for our parents, and played cards. Ours was the world of black-and-white television, when there were few programs for children. I can count on one hand the cartoons we regularly watched: Mighty Mouse, Popeye, Felix the Cat, Underdog, and Rocky & Bullwinkle. We occupied ourselves in other ways, building towers and houses with very plain Lego® bricks that could not hold a candle to today’s themed sets. We read stories about the children who lived on "What a Jolly Street" in 365 Bedtime Stories, and we colored endlessly in coloring books and on blank sheets of paper. My brother and I peopled our Lego® world with paper dolls, girls for me and boys for him.

I remember countless blizzards, growing up in Wisconsin, when schools closed. One time I had to walk home from school when it closed mid-day. My girlfriend and I stopped at a bridal shop to warm up, where the manager gave us dress bags to wear as head scarves, since we were foolish enough to show up at school with no hats or gloves. We drank coffee to warm ourselves up, even though I detested the stuff. Still do, as a matter of fact!

There was one junior high winter that I spent in Germany, staying with my aunt and uncle and studying at a Gymnasium (pronounced gim-NAH-zee-oom), the German equivalent of high school. I don't remember that the winter there was as cold as in Wisconsin, but I do recall visiting a cousin and sharing her bedroom that was so cold we slept with hot water bottles at our feet in the feather beds. In the morning, there was ice on the inside of the window. I’ll never forget how sick I was, either, when I returned home after my stay in Germany. My mother threw me a homecoming party without realizing I had the mumps, and later had to call all the guests to warn them that they could be next.

Every February 6th, my parents celebrated their anniversary, usually at home. As a matter of fact, I don’t remember that my parents ever left us with a babysitter. When I was older, my mother worked first as a school crossing guard, then later directed traffic at a busy intersection in the "village." My father cut newspapers every evening for her, and layered them inside her boots for warmth. My mother was petite, just five feet and two inches tall, but she wouldn't let anyone tell her she couldn't shovel the snow on the driveway or chop the ice at the foot of it. She was strong-willed and ran the household on a strict schedule. On Saturdays, when we came home from evening Mass during the winter, my mother had a homemade navy bean soup waiting for us, along with hot, buttered hard rolls.

Those early winter family memories, frozen in time, eventually gave way to adult ones. I remember the time my friend from California boarded a Greyhound bus to visit me. She had never experienced snowfall, and couldn't wait to throw herself into the snow and spread her arms wide to make her first snow angel. She snapped photos of my neighbor, who was snow blowing his driveway, and gamely agreed to board a Badger Bus in tundra-like weather to visit the University of Wisconsin campus in Madison. I don't know know what we were thinking—with the wind chill, the temperature felt like a negative sixty-four degrees!

That was a typical Wisconsin winter, however. One time I visited my future in-laws in north central Wisconsin, and it was so cold that the oil in my car froze, preventing the engine from turning. John's father simply covered the car with a blanket like a baby, shifted the car into neutral and pushed it into his garage, plugging in the block heater to thaw things out.

When my husband and I married, he was a Naval officer who was stationed on the West coast. The first winter after we relocated back to the Midwest, it was apparent we didn't yet have our winter feet beneath us. My husband bought bottles of Pepsi and forgot he had stored them in his car trunk overnight. In the morning, of course—you guessed it—the fluid had frozen and expanded, and the bottles then exploded. What a mess! Our son was 3 years old at the time. What struck him most about winter was the abundance of wildlife; he would follow the tracks in the snow from the squirrels and chipmunks, rabbits and birds.

You wonder sometimes why anyone would live in a climate where the electrical lines can snap from the weight of ice or snow, where you can be without electricity or heat four days in a row. You wonder why anyone would move into a new house in the dead of winter. And you begin to think that people are mad when they drive their children to oratorical contests during a blizzard, or to show choir competitions 2-1/2 hours away when it's sleeting. But then there's the other side of winter, too, when you wake up late in the morning to discover that your neighbor has cleared your driveway of snow. Hoarfrost lines the tree branches with snow so beautiful it makes you race for your camera. There is nothing like sitting in front of the fireplace when it's snowing, curled up in an afghan with a book in your lap. Winter is a time to sit in front of the window and write long, newsy letters to family and friends, reflecting on the memories being created.

We created our own memories this trip, visiting my father in Wisconsin who is not well. His room overlooks the park where we children used to play, near the private airport where my father used to fly a Cessna. He cracks his window open, even in the cold, for a breath of fresh air and the chance to hear the sounds of winter. He is, after all, a Midwesterner.

The gift of discovery

2009-12-18T22:43:00.005-06:00

If you were to ask me to name the best Christmas gift I ever received, I'm not sure I could answer that question. My husband, on the other hand, recalls a powerful bazooka-type air gun that he and his brother found beneath their tree one winter. His arm draws back in joyful memory as he mimes the action of that once-upon-a-time toy. For me, however, the birthday and Christmas packages blur together, with no single gift standing out as better than another.

I do recall that I especially liked to receive books, and that books were familiar friends that greeted me nearly every Christmas. No doll or stuffed animal could compare to the power of the written word. Inevitably I played school with my “students”—an activity related, no doubt, to my love of reading. Reading, language, school, books—they all represented doorways to learning and discovery. That is still true today.

As an adult, I am excited each year when my husband gifts me with a copy of The Best American Short Stories and The Best American Essays. I am excited about reading a dictionary; when my husband and I visited Amelia Island a little over a year ago, I was delighted to discover a 42-year-old copy of The Oxford Dictionary of English Etymology in a lovely two-story bookshop.When we first got married and dragged a U-Haul trailer from Wisconsin to Coronado, California, where my husband was stationed as a Weapons Officer aboard the U.S.S. Blue Ridge, books filled most of the trailer space—and the bookcase in our one-bedroom furnished apartment occupied most of the living room. Thirty years later, one bookcase has grown to fourteen, with more books and magazines spilling over into crates and baskets in every room.

In retrospect, perhaps the greatest gift that my parents gave me each Christmas holiday was a means to feed my curiosity about the world. Although I may not be able to journey to every corner on the earth (although my parents did send me to Germany for a few months during junior high to experience life across the proverbial pond), through the written word I can become acquainted with different cultures and languages, various traditions, beliefs and perspectives, and an amazing diversity in history and geography. I don't think you can put a price on the value of discovery . . . this, then, is the best Christmas gift I ever received.

That first pumpkin pie

2009-11-20T20:59:00.005-06:00

With Thanksgiving just around the corner, I've been thinking about how our family traditions have evolved. My husband, who is several generations removed from his European ancestry, brought to our marriage the assumption that you eat turkey, mashed potatoes, vegetables, and pumpkin pie for dinner, and also that the afternoon and evening are spent in front of the television set, eyes glued to a slippery football and hands glued to snacks. "Sounds like the American Dream to me," says John.

As a first-generation American whose parents were born in Germany, however, my family treated Thanksgiving very differently. First of all, Thanksgiving is known as Erntedankfest (a thankful celebration of a successful harvest) in Germany, and is not really a family holiday at all. It is typically celebrated at the end of September (when it is celebrated at all) with a church service, possibly a daytime procession ending with a coronation (Erntekrone, or harvest crown), and maybe a musical gathering at church, accompanied by dancing and food. There might also be a lantern procession (Laternenumzug), and perhaps another evening church service, followed by fireworks. Football? Sports? They pretty much don't enter into the picture.

The above picture of my paternal grandmother (visiting from Germany), my younger brother and I will give you an idea how Thanksgiving in my family was celebrated. We dressed in our Sunday best, and while the Thanksgiving Day parade marched on the black-and-white streets of Television Land, we piled into the family car to attend Mass at the local church. My mother, meanwhile, stayed home to prepare a noon dinner. We ate egg drop soup, turkey, dumplings and a vegetable. Instead of pumpkin pie, we had Jello or Kuchen (cake). No football games for us . . . we played board games when we were younger, and Canasta as we grew older. Midway through the afternoon, we took a Kaffeeklatsch break, which consisted of coffee and cake for my parents, and milk and cake for the children. And when evening came around, we all enjoyed open-faced sandwiches on thin, dark slices of Pumpernickelbrot.

When John and I first married and he learned that I had never baked a pie, in fact never ate pie at my parents' house on Thanksgiving or any other day, he volunteered his baking expertise. That first Thanksgiving (and his pumpkin pie) were memorable. He floured his rolling pin and shaped the dough for the pie crust, added a pumpkin filling and slid the pie tin into the oven. A little while later, however, instead of the sweet smell of a much-awaited dessert, the smoke alarm went off and the stink of burnt sugar wafted through the house. It turns out that John had unknowingly substituted powdered sugar for flour, with disastrous results. These days we buy our pumpkin pie at the local grocery store, mostly for John's sake, since I have still never baked a pie, and mostly, I don't eat it. So much for meshing customs from two families!

In the early years of our marriage, my husband enjoyed the typical Thanksgiving football fanfare, but apparently this is a game that is better appreciated when you watch it with someone who understands the rules. That wasn't and still isn't me. I certainly don't mind if John watches football, but I'm more likely to have my nose buried in a book while sitting in the same room. In a word, I'm not a very good cheerleader. As the years passed, John began seeking an afternoon Thanksgiving activity we both could enjoy. So, gradually, Thanksgiving afternoons instead became times when we played board games or watched movies. And in the evening, we enjoyed open-faced sandwiches on baked rolls.

To be sure, we spent our share of Thanksgivings at both of our parents' homes. When we lived too far away on the West coast to visit--and before our son was born--we celebrated with friends who were just as inept in the kitchen as we were. But as empty nesters today, we have gained a few cooking skills and can serve decent Thanksgiving fare to our son and his fiancee. We eat too much food, watch movies and play games, and eat some more. That eating part, at least, is like the typical American Thanksgiving. And it turns out that our son's fiancee likes pumpkin pie, so these days John is learning a new skill: how to share. "Sounds like the American Dream to me," I say.

© 2009 Judy Nolan. All rights reserved.

The best Halloween ever

2009-10-09T22:03:00.004-05:00

Fall has always been my favorite time of year, not because of Halloween, but because of the outdoor sights, sounds and smells of the season. The leaves cling to the branches in a kaleidoscope of colors—burnt orange, burgundy, gold and olive. When they waft to the earth, they create crisp piles through which young feet (or older ones!) like to shuffle. When you stroll around the block, you inhale the pungent chimney smoke rising into the air from the logs in your neighbors’ fireplaces. And if you’re lucky, you’ll also catch the deer at dusk, nibbling the sweet stems from summer’s remaining day lilies.

To me, Halloween marks the end of fall and hails the entrance of winter. Both here and in Wisconsin, where I grew up, Halloween is often so cold that you can see you breath mist as you traipse from door to door. Children wear long johns or sweat pants to keep their legs warm, hoping they won’t have to hide their costumes beneath coats or jackets. In our family, you went trick-or-treating when you were in kindergarten or first grade, and then you gave out treats at the door as you grew older. My brother Mark, like Peter Pan who did not want to grow up, had a rubber gorilla mask he donned one year while he attempted to scare our little visitors.

In any event, our family’s Halloween nights were for the very young. When I was 16 years old and announced to my parents that I wanted to host a costume party, I think everyone was ready for a change. My friend Pat, a talented artist, volunteered to design paper wall decorations and helped me hang them. My mother and I planned the menu and set a festive table, and my father and brother set up an acoustic system for a haunted house in the basement. Crepe paper streamers and spider webs were hung everywhere, along with lanterns. Everyone brainstormed activities. And, of course, we purchased prizes for all the guests.

When the big day arrived, everyone was appropriately dressed. There was Donna as Mr. Donut, Debbie the Barefoot Nurse, Pat the Rat, Bev the Washer Woman, Nancy the Pumpkin, Serenella the Indian, Luwanna and Teri as the Black and Pink Panthers, Sue the Farmer, Donna the Belle, and Marcia as Mickey Mouse. I guess I was the Queen of Hearts; regretfully I have no photos of myself, since I was the photographer. Before long, the foosball and checker tournaments were in full swing. In the darkened laundry room, my friends and I sat in a circle and joined hands for a mock séance, giggling nervously when pre-recorded shrieks and spooky sounds were piped into the space. I recall at least one silly skit that was performed. We played Pin the Bone On the Skeleton, bobbed for apples, and generally made fools of ourselves.

Today I wonder if the Halloween of 1972 is so memorable because it differed so greatly from most other trick-or-treat nights, or simply because it was so much fun to plan together as a family. That year, however, it was the best Halloween ever!

© 2009 Judy Nolan. All rights reserved.

First stitches, first steps

2009-09-25T02:49:00.004-05:00

My first Simplicity half-apron and gray kettle cloth jumper are decades behind me, but I still recall many of the items on Miss Banovich’s 7th grade sewing supplies list: seam ripper, seam gauge, measuring tape, pins, fabric scissors, sewing machine needles, thread, and a couple of clear plastic bobbins. Interestingly, it was my father—not my mother—who helped me collect these items. In fact, I still have my first sewing basket, a rather humble-looking box in gold-flecked white vinyl that dates back to the 1970s.

My mother, whose brief foray into sewing included a set of unevenly cut yellow curtains that she hoped no one would remember, did not enjoy sewing. She was horrified, in fact, when she returned to Germany to visit her mother, and those curtains were hung in a window in her honor. With relief, she passed on to me the darning egg in her sewing basket to mend my father’s socks, along with a stack of trousers that needed to be shortened for the summer. She was my sewing cheerleader, but it was my father with whom I held discussions about how to thread our Sears Kenmore sewing machine. These days my father wishes he knew what happened to that old Kenmore, but I think it’s likely my mother gave it away when I went to college and bought my own Brother machine. She is no longer with us, so I guess that will remain her little secret.

The garments I sewed and the events of those early years are connected like buttons sewn on a sweater. My boyfriend (who became my husband) was a midshipman at the University of Wisconsin-Madison, so every winter and spring during college, I sewed a floor-length gown for the Navy R.O.T.C. balls we attended together. Likewise, I made some of the dresses I wore as a sales clerk while working at Gimbels Department Store during college. And when John and I married, I made my own bridal gown and veil.

In the early years of our marriage, we lived in southern California, where John was stationed as a Naval Weapons Officer. When we moved to the West coast, the sewing machine and cabinet—and all of my fabrics and notions—occupied a significant portion of the space in the U-Haul we rented, along with my numerous books. Eight years later, when our son was born, a Pfaff sewing machine had replaced the Brother, and I sewed many of David’s play clothes.

Today my sewing machine no longer occupies a corner of a bedroom or living room, but sits in its own dedicated space: a sewing room. Of course, that’s not the only place in our home where I create—John says that wherever you find horizontal surfaces is where you'll find my work—but it is nice to have a home base, of sorts! My sewing room is where my Pfaff Creative 7530 sewing machine resides, inside a solid oak Parsons cabinet.

This is also where I write. I love my Mission-style writing desk.

The closet holds quilting rulers and templates, specialty sewing tools, interfacing and stabilizers, and boxes of sewing supplies.Fabric is another story . . . no space in this room!

Along one wall is Dolly (my dress form), who wears a half-finished apron. I like to “dial her down” so that I can imagine what I might look like if I lost some weight!

In a corner of the room stands a chest of drawers for needlework supplies. Next to it is a small couch where I like to do hand sewing, or browse through how-to publications.

Projects are always spilling out of my sewing room into other rooms because my working space is no bigger than a child’s small nursery. Still, this is where many of my Etsy products are created. In short, it’s a cozy place to ponder, poke at fabrics, and produce!

© 2009 Judy Nolan. All rights reserved.

Time capsule: from punch cards to iPhones

2009-09-02T16:53:00.004-05:00

Forty years ago on September 2, 1969—when I was just beginning junior high school—Internet pioneer Len Kleinrock led an Arpanet experiment in which essentially meaningless data was passed through a 15-foot gray cable linking two UCLA computers. Arpanet, or the Advanced Research Projects Agency Network, was actually a military experiment, although Kleinrock and his team hoped there eventually would develop an open network for the free exchange of information. Less than a month later, the first two letters of the word “logon” were exchanged between two computers at different sites—UCLA and the Stanford Research Institute in Menlo Park, California. By the end of the year, the Arpanet network had extended to a third site, the University of California-Santa Barbara.

By the time I was in high school during the early 1970s—largely unaware of the beginnings of a technology I am using today to write this blog post—the first computer programming classes were being offered at my school. While I sat through advanced German, chemistry and Honors English classes, Ray Tomlinson introduced the @ symbol for e-mail addresses belonging to other systems, or what we call domains today. When I graduated in 1974 and began attending college at the University of Wisconsin-Madison, Vint Cerf and Bob Kahn developed a communications technique called TCP, which allowed multiple networks to communicate with each other. This, then, was the true beginning of the Internet. But I was still ignorant of its existence, although my boyfriend (now my husband) shared some of that early excitement (and frustration) as he sifted through stacks of punch cards in the wee hours of the morning in the computer science building across from Rust House, the co-op where he resided.

When I graduated from Mount Mary College-Milwaukee in 1978 with a degree in English and communication, I worked at a publishing company. The accounting department had just begun using a Wang computer to process its work, but I was still typing my daily correspondence on an IBM Selectric typewriter. I was thrilled, in fact, to be able to choose typefaces beyond the traditional Pica and Elite because of the interchangeable golf ball-type elements that made this possible. Of course, those metal golf balls often cracked because of metal fatigue! The president of the company would slide a flexible black plastic belt off his Dictaphone machine and pass it to me, marking with a wax pencil the spot where he had finished recording his dictation. He was a thrifty man who was convinced we would save dollars by layering sheets of stationery and carbon paper, and wrapping them around the typewriter platen to make copies, rather than wasting the toner in the Xerox photocopy machine one floor below me. When the head of the accounting department told the president that one day I would use a computer for correspondence, he scoffed at the notion. Today that same publisher maintains multiple Web sites, and I daresay the Selectrics have been retired.

Fast forward to the early 1980s, when the business sector exploded with increased applications of computer technology. Electronic typewriters with a small amount of built-in memory were popular. Exxon launched its “office of the future” campaign, and sold such products as the Qyx word processor and the QWIP fax machine. I worked for a commercial-industrial real estate developer at the time. He bought a Qyx and literally fused it to my mahogany desk with a heat application to prevent theft. I wonder what became of it! We both walked across the street to use the QWIP at the nearby data processing facility to transmit facsimile messages via a telephone modem. The typewriter stored the equivalent of about 3-6 letters, and I can still hear the ka-CHUNK-ah of the paper-wrapped fax cylinder as it rotated during message transmission. You needed to use a photocopy of your message, since the paper was sometimes rather dog-eared by the time the message was sent.

Clunky dedicated word processing machines and personal computers were not far behind electronic typewriters. By 1983, such names as IBM, Hewlett-Packard, Lanier, Xerox, CPT, Wang, Sun Microsystems, Apple, Compaq, Brother and more populated the market. My husband and I lived in California, where new developments in computer technology were everyday happenings. As a software support training specialist, I was part of the office automation world, encouraging my clients not to fear the use of a monitor, CPU (central processing unit), keyboard and daisywheel printer. I saw the entrance of the dot matrix, laser and inkjet printers. I still remember gaining access to Vandenberg Air Force Base and NSWSES (Naval Ship Weapon Systems Engineering Station, pronounced “nemesis”) in Port Hueneme, California, where I drove from site to site, providing CPT training support to civilians and military personnel. We were excited about each new technology advance, and celebrated the entry of Harvard Graphics, Ventura Publishing and WordPerfect software into the market. When it was announced that the CPT Phoenix could be partitioned to support both its own software and that of the IBM-PC, we were amazed. When the CPT SRS (Shared Resource System) that could share one hard drive between multiple word processors was introduced, we were thrilled. This was also when a domain system for the Internet was proposed, followed by the use of such suffixes as “.com,” “.gov,” and “.edu.”

By the early 1980s, people began using the Internet for personal use. CompuServe served the e-mail, e-commerce and gaming industries. Remember Atari? I can recall the first Commodore 64 computer that John and I owned. We bought a small television set to use as a monitor, and slid single-sided 5-1/4 inch floppy disks (back when disks actually were flexible) into a standalone rectangular disk drive. These were the days of Zork, a text-based interactive fantasy game that has since evolved into a graphic-based version. Not long after our first computer purchase, we became the proud owners of our first PC-clone, the XT. Since that day, our household has never been without at least two computers in the house!

When our son was a preschooler during the early 1990s, we began using the computer—much as others did—to pursue leisure interests. We had relocated to central Iowa, and I longed to share with others my passion for sewing, quilting, needlework and crafts. GEnie (General Electric Network for Information Exchange), an ASCII text-based system developed in 1985, was perfect for my purposes. It sported a round table (RT) posting system that enabled you to send electronic messages to an interest group. The messages were later read offline. I can recall swapping patterns and tips, and participating in quilt block exchanges. GEnie gave way to Prodigy, a system which purported ease-of-use for inexperienced computer users as its biggest advantage, and finally to AOL, which at one point was one of the largest online subscription services, but today is a company in transition, as it has many competitors.

Since those early days of the Internet, when governmental and academic use were most prevalent, the Internet has likely expanded beyond what Len Kleinrock originally envisioned. While much information can openly be shared, other information is locked behind doors, available only for a price, or through a secure password. People with no programming or coding background (such as myself) can communicate, sell and educate ourselves via e-mail, file sharing, blogs, photos, videos, online shops, social networks and much more. But at the same time, others can abuse the Internet with pornography, e-stalking, viruses, terrorism—and the list continues.

Today’s tots slide a mouse across a pad or their fingers across a touch pad long before they read, while their older teen siblings and 20-somethings tote electronic notebooks in their backpacks and messenger bags. They text messages, send photos, share videos, and surf the Net on their iPhones at all times of the day. It’s not surprising that they might expect “old people” (in their 30s and 40s!) to be less technically proficient than they are—and in some cases they are correct—but those in their 50s and beyond share a historical perspective about how the Internet began. Happy birthday, Arpanet!

If you are interested in learning more about the history of the Internet, you may wish to visit the following sites:

“As Internet turns 40, barriers threaten its growth,” Anick Jesdanun, Associated Press Technology Writer
“CPT Corporation,” Binary Dinosaurs: Tracing the History of Home Computing From 1972, Adrian Graham
“History of ARPANET,” Michael Hauben
“Histories of the Internet: A Brief History of the Internet,” Internet Society (ISOC)
“Internet Creators Didn’t Foresee Today’s Web,” AP Online Video Network
“Key milestones in the development of Internet,” Associated Press

Painting the proverbial blog walls—again!

2009-08-30T21:22:00.005-05:00

Here we go again! I’ll admit that I enjoy change, and also that color affects my creativity and productivity. I was very proud of myself a couple of posts ago, when I learned how to manipulate the HTML code in my blog to create three columns instead of two, how to produce a banner, and how to manipulate the colors of the elements. It was a good learning exercise, but . . . I have decided that I really would prefer to be surrounded by flowers and by my favorite color, blue, when I write. It just feels right.

This afternoon I visited the Cutest Block on the Block to see how well my “living room” needs could be met. To my delight, I discovered a wide range of backgrounds from which to choose, with easy-to-follow instructions. It took very little time to adjust my blog. However, a note to the wise—if you have selected anything other than the Minima template (one of the basic Blogger templates), you will find it’s worth your time to pre-select that template before you use one of the Cutest Blog on the Block backgrounds. This site provides both 2-column and 3-column backgrounds, as well as some banners, buttons, blinkies and other extras. At some point I will probably re-create a banner, but for now I just want to get used to the new look.

What do you think?

© 2009 Judy Nolan. All rights reserved.

Down the rabbit hole

2009-05-01T13:10:00.011-05:00

. . . or making sense out of Jabberwocky . . .

I received a letter in the mail this week from ABC Office Supply [name withheld]--one which I'm sure many of you also received if you have an ABC credit card. The letter stated that after May 13th, I will no longer be able to use said plastic payment method for purchases of any sort. I received an apology for any inconvenience this might cause me, an expression of appreciation for my business, and a coupon for 10% off my next purchase in the next month-and-a-half. The letter also provided a toll-free phone number if I had any questions about this matter.

I said to myself, "Hmm. My bill is paid online, on time, all the time, and I've never been late, so what's going on?"

Let me state up front that you should never invite me to call you if you don't really want to talk to me. I called the toll-free number.

After punching various numbers (9 for if it's Tuesday, 6 if you're of the female persuasion, 2 if you really think you're going to get an answer, 1 to return to the main menu, and finally 4 to talk to someone who's alive), I finally reached Bunny, a courteous (if somewhat dim) customer service representative.

Bunny: Thank you for calling ABC Office Supply. How may I help you?

Me: Well, I received this letter in the mail that I didn't understand, and was hoping you could explain it to me. The letter said to call this number if I needed an explanation.

Bunny: What did the letter say?

Me: The letter said that after May 13th, I can no longer use my ABC credit card for purchases, but no explanation was provided.

Bunny: Would you mind if I put you on hold for a couple minutes while I look into this?

Me: Of course not. Thank you.

Bunny [3 minutes later]: Are you still there, Ms. Nolan? I'm sorry this is taking so long.

Me: Oh, that's all right. I'm sure you're doing your job.

Bunny [3 minutes later]: I'm sorry to keep you waiting. My computer is really slow. You say you can't use your credit card?

Me: Well, actually there is no problem in using the credit up until May 13th. But after that, I no longer can do so.

Bunny: When did you first learn that you can't use your credit card anymore?

Me: Today. I got a letter in the mail.

Bunny: What did the letter say?

[I read the entire letter to her, including the signature block, wondering when Bunny will stop me. After all, these people are paid to answer questions quickly.]

Bunny: Will you excuse me for a minute or two?

[I read my e-mail while Bunny looks for the computer screen that tells her how to answer my question.]

Bunny [3 minutes later]: Are you still there, Ms. Nolan?

Me: Yes.

Bunny: I'm sorry about the wait. My computer is really slow.

Me: That's okay, as long as you find the answer to my question. [What I'm actually thinking is that if she doesn't answer my question soon, I'm going to excuse myself to go to the bathroom.]

Bunny [3 minutes later]: I'm really sorry. My computer is still being really slow.

[Really?]

Me: Okay, I'm still here.

Bunny [3 minutes later]: I'm still waiting for my computer. In the meantime, would you mind answering a question?

[I'm thinking, "Sure, let's get this show on the road."]

Me: Okay.

Bunny: Did you try to use your credit card?

Me: No, not lately.

Bunny: How do you know it won't work?

Me: Actually, it works just fine. It will work just fine until May 13th, when the letter I received said I can't use it anymore. What I'd like to know is why not, since I pay my bill on time, and always have.

[I'm wondering whether she wants me to read the letter again. I'd be happy to comply.]

Bunny: Oh, that's very good. Can I ask you another question?

Me: Sure.

[I really have to visit the bathroom now.]

Bunny: Do you ever check your credit rating?

Me: Yep. Every six months. No problems to report.

Bunny: I'm really glad to hear that, Ms. Nolan. That's really very good. I really want to tell you about this program that--

Me: Thanks for sharing, but I check my credit report for free, and there's no problem. By the way, that's not what I am calling about.

Bunny: Oh. That's really very good. [She pauses.] Did you hear that ABC Office Supply is closing?

Me: Why, no. I hadn't heard that. You mean the stores are going out of business?

Bunny: Well, no. Not exactly.

Me: I don't understand. When you tell me the stores are closing, that means they won't be around, and that you're losing your job. Are you going to be out of a job soon?

Bunny: No, not exactly. What it means is that they're closing. You can still make payments to your account, though.

Me: I'm sure I can, too, if there's an amount due. How about if we get back to that letter and my question? How's that computer screen of yours coming along?

[I'm thinking to myself that we're really not getting anywhere today.]

Bunny: I'm still waiting for my computer screen to come up.

Me: You know, I really appreciate your trying to answer my question, but apparently your computer is not cooperating, and you don't know the answer. How about if you transfer me to a supervisor who probably has a little more information about this?

Bunny: Okay. Thank you, Ms. Nolan. If you ever need assistance in the future, don't hesitate to call 1-800-DUMBBUNNY because we really appreciate your business.

[Really?! Dumb Bunny transfers me to her supervisor, surprisingly quickly.]

Supervising Rabbit [grumpily]: What's your question?

Me: I received this form letter in the mail from the Executive Vice President and Chief Merchandising Officer of your company, telling me I can't use my credit card after May 13th.

Grumpy Rabbit: Uh-huh.

Me: Do you want me to read the letter to you?

Grumpy Rabbit: I know what it says.

Me: The letter said to call you if I had questions. So, I'm calling.

Grumpy Rabbit: What's to question?

Me: Well, the letter had no explanation, and it said to contact you for one. I pay my bills on time, and always have. Is there a new policy in place that I'm not aware of?

Grumpy Rabbit: It's nothing personal. Nobody can use their card.

Me: Do you represent ABC Office Supply or 123 We Charge You Maximum Interest?

Grumpy Rabbit: 123.

Me: Thank you, sir. You just answered my question. Apparently 123 is ending its credit card arrangement with ABC, and that's why I will not be able to use my card after May 13th.

Grumpy Rabbit: That's correct.

Me: Well, sir, that's the answer I was looking for. I sure wish that's what I had been told in the first place, or you wouldn't be talking to me. Just a suggestion--why don't you inform your call centers about this fact so that you don't have to take these kinds of calls? The person I talked to before I reached you was very courteous, but she was clueless. She told me ABC is closing.

Grumpy Rabbit: We'll take that into consideration the next time.

Me: Thanks for your information. Have a good day.

I finally go to the bathroom, wondering whether I should laugh or cry. What I want to know, however, is when a door is closed. Really closed.

© 2009 Judy Nolan. All rights reserved.

Revamping your blog's appearance

2009-03-09T17:25:00.001-05:00

Those of you who follow this blog will notice it has a new look. After spending the last couple of days converting it from a two-column format to three columns, and creating a banner for it, I have renewed respect for individuals with specialized coding knowledge. I know just enough HTML to be dangerous (mostly to myself!), so this conversion was not easy for me.

Many of you have already customized your Blogger templates, but I'm certain there are many out there who are novices just like me, waiting to make the "jump" for fear you will forever ruin your blog's appearance, and have to start over again. While I am no expert, I'm going to describe some steps I took and some resources I used to help me customize the design of my blog. If I can do it, you can, too!

Get acquainted with your template. Most Blogger users take advantage of one of the 16 style sheets, or templates, that are available when they start their blog. This is a good starting point. All templates allow you to click and drag your "Page Elements" to new locations. You can also add and subtract widgets (Web gadgets such as counters, quote-a-day posts, temperature converters, lists of useful links, and much more) using "Page Elements." By selecting "Fonts and Colors," you can modify your typeface, change the color of hyperlinks and your background, and more. The "Edit HTML" tab represents the guts of your template. Never make changes to it without a backup in place! From this tab I learned that the Scribe template I am using was designed by Todd Dominey back in 2004. If you don't like the template you are using, you can switch to a different one using the "Pick New Template" tab; you can even preview your blog's potentially new appearance first. "Monetize" allows you to earn income from ads placed on your site. To get to all of these options, visit your blog's Dashboard, and select Layout.

Make a backup copy of your template. Before you make any changes to your template, save a backup on your computer. This way, if you make changes that don't work, you can always go back to a previous version of the template.

Consult an expert. No, I don't mean you should pull out your pocketbook and plunk down a chunk of change to hire someone to modify your blog (although it's nice if you have that option; I don't). But I do think it's helpful to consult resources that enable you to build on the template you have, instead of reinventing the proverbial wheel. To help me convert the two-column Scribe template into three columns, I found the Tips for New Bloggers blog tremendously helpful. In the right side bar are multiple lists of the most commonly-requested modifications made to blogs. From the left side bar I learned that only 5% of Blogger users select the Scribe template, while 38% of users prefer the Minima template, likely because the latter is easier to modify. Still, the blog addressed most of my questions. Thanks to Liv of The Filigree Garden, who designs beautiful Web sites in her spare time, I also was able to tweak the list styles in my template. Liv referred me to HTML Dog, which bills itself as "The Best Practice Guide to XHTML and CSS." I found the information on this site to be straightforward and easy to follow.

Give your blog a facelift. When I converted my blog to three columns, it become apparent that my two-column, text-only banner needed to be replaced and given a facelift. An easy way to design your own banner is to upload a photo to the photo-sharing site called Flickr, where you can take advantage of its image editing software to customize a banner. I used Picnik to crop an existing photo, add text and borders, and size the banner to fit my blog. Yes, you can use any image-editing software you prefer, but I found Piknik to be intuitively easy to use, powerful and fast. Just make sure that the image you use is one that you own.

The above four steps don't really reflect the hours that went into customizing the appearance of this blog, but they certainly represent how I got started. Next on my agenda is going through the tutorials on HTML Dog. Hopefully the next revision of this blog's appearance won't take quite as long the next time!

© 2009 Judy Nolan. All rights reserved.

I've been tagged!

2008-10-03T11:18:00.023-05:00

This morning I was "tagged" by Myfanwy, a Welsh friend whose two shops, Sassa Lynne and Paper Patches, you'll find in the handmade goods marketplace at Etsy.com. Being tagged means you're charged with revealing six facts about yourself that most people don't know, and then tagging six other people who need to do the same thing. In that spirit, here are six tidbits about myself that you may be interested to know.

Although both of my parents were born in Germany, and I speak the language fluently, I learned the language in school, not from my parents. When my parents became naturalized American citizens, they insisted that we speak English at home. The exceptions were when they wanted to keep secrets from the children, and of course that's all the incentive we kids needed to learn German! Long before my parents realized it, we understood what they were saying.

My interest in foreign languages, in general, is what led me to meet my husband. My long-term plan was to become a United Nations translater by using the U.S. Army's excellent language schools as a stepping stone. As a result, I enrolled in the Army R.O.T.C. program at the University of Wisconsin my freshman year. Subsequently, I got involved in the tri-military exhibition rifle drill team, which is where I met John, who was in the Navy R.O.T.C. program. I left the Army program after a semester (not really a good match for me), while John was eventually commissioned as a Naval weapons officer. We married 5-1/2 years after we met. And that original desire to become a translater? Well, for many years I taught German in my community to elementary talented and gifted students. Today one of those students is a homeschooled high school student who meets with me weekly for continuing German instruction.

I'm a late-blooming poet. I published my first poem at the age of 45, after swearing that I could not write verse. Never say never!

Sitting on my bookshelves is an English-Norwegian dictionary. If I could choose anywhere in the world to travel, I'd love to visit Norway. The history, the geography, the diverse cultures (the Saami in the north, for example), the art and music, history and mythology--everything fascinates me.

I never had time during any of my formal schooling to take art classes. Perhaps that is why I make up for it as an adult, continually seeking ways to express myself with my hands. On my list of "things to learn" is the art of making the lucet cord. The lucet is a horn-shaped braiding tool that is believed to date back to the Viking and medieval periods of history. The cord that is produced with this tool is flat, flexible and very strong. Once upon a time it was used for lacing, making drawstrings for bags, hanging things from belts, and also for making decorative edging. Sailors used lucet cord for ropes at one time. Around the end of the 19th century, lucet cord was replaced by commercially-produced cording.

I wrote my first book when I was 12 years old. The book, Divided Planet, was well into its 20th chapter when I stopped writing it. I don't remember why I stopped, or even where all those handwritten pages are, but I do remember the passion that inspired it. How wonderful to not be inhibited by the Hidden Critic that accompanies any writing I do today!

Where are the life-long learners?

2006-01-31T11:51:00.007-06:00

“If the smart, fun, passionate, life-long learners weren't at university, then where on earth were they?” writes jo_jo in “How I Found My Purpose: Chapter 5.” (http://www.overexcitable.blogspot.com/).

We always hope to find those life-long learners in the academic environment, but sometimes encounter arrogance and pretense instead. There’s the woman who will tell anyone who listens that she has a Ph.D., which means she’s an Authority in Her Field to whom we must pay heed, yet she is closed to new ideas, or to others’ way of thinking. Then there’s the entrepreneurial shop owner who dropped out of undergrad school but is learning about marketing the old-fashioned way: by doing it. I don’t mean to denigrate school over work experience, or elevate one type of learning over another. Goodness knows I have both. But I think life-long learning is all about attitude.

Let’s think about people we know who represent the best practices in life-long learning.

An 82-year-old man practices his trumpet for an hour a day. He used to be a high school band teacher, but these days he fills his days with visits to the senior citizen center, where he learns new skills such as how to turn on a computer, compose an e-mail message, and surf the Internet. He and his wife have been judging youth essay contests for years, encouraging young people to examine their beliefs by writing about them cogently and creatively.

A mother whose family lives out in the country homeschools her children, despite the fact that she never earned a college degree. Her children play the piano with passion and persistence, encouraged by her support. When she’s not feeding her chickens or milking the cows, she’s planning a lesson. The children march along a path, collecting leaves for a science journal, act out an adventure from a story the family has read, or reenact a Victorian tea.

Decades ago, a tool and die maker immigrated to this country, returning to the high school classroom so he could learn to speak English. He took courses in electricity and small motor repair, eventually opening up his own equipment rental and repair business. He volunteered to teach faith classes to middle schoolers, reading classes to adults, and tutored his own children in math. Retired, he is now learning everything he can about computers and photography.

She is the mother of a gifted daughter, probably gifted herself, but she never calls attention to herself. She has a teaching degree, but has never taught in a standard classroom. Instead, she has mentored young people, developing a popular after-school technology program, and has coached a creative problem-solving team. She works for no one and everyone, providing computer consultation services, for which she is entirely self-educated.

Life-long learners are open to change, but beyond that can adapt to changing circumstances. They seek out answers aggressively, but most importantly, they generate their own questions, and locate their own sources. They manipulate the answers they receive into words they publish, businesses or products they produce, or into lessons they generate for others. They are passionate about learning, but require no degree, pedigree or certification to justify the acquisition of knowledge.

Where do we find life-long learners? In the supermarket aisle, the stitchery shop, the kitchen, the factory . . . and even the university! It’s all about attitude.

© 2006 Judy Nolan. All rights reserved.

Why "Word Walks?"

2006-01-28T20:31:00.003-06:00

"There is always one moment," Graham Greene says, "when the door opens and lets the future in." Actually, I suspect there are many moments in our lives that define the paths we take and the opportunities we encounter down the road.

As a nine-year-old, I remember announcing rather pompously to my classmates that I was going to become an author. Today I'm 50 years old, and you won't see my name on the cover of any book. The sense of wonder about words that I felt as a child, however, is still there. In every walk of life, I have found ways to embrace my love of language: writing news releases for a trade magazine publisher, composing incentive travel proposals, editing aerospace engineering proposals and reports, instructing adults how to use a computer, introducing grade schoolers to German, producing a newsletter and maintaining a Web site for Destination ImagiNation team managers. And, yes, I've even published a few poems in a Midwestern poetry anthology. The title of this blog, "Word Walks," reflects my lifelong love of language and the fact that this online journal is yet another way to explore it.

So, what else is this Midwestern girl about? I'm married, have one son--a first-year college student--and spend a lot of time doing curriculum planning for after-school enrichment classes for talented and gifted grade schoolers. Besides reading books and writing poetry, I dabble in needlework, sewing and crafts--especially making hand-crafted cards. My guess is that there are others out there with similar interests, so I'll enjoy reading your blogs as I add entries to my own!

© 2006 Judy Nolan. All rights reserved.