Thursday, December 27, 2007

December 20, 2007

HELP WITH SANTA?

A letter came to me, by way of Elizabeth, who received it from Susie. Seems Susie's kids are asking a few questions concerning Santa that Susie would like help answering. Susie says, " Hi Girls! Help! Any advice you can give would be greatly appreciated as I sit on the hot seat! Here are some interesting questions my kids wrote down when I asked them to write on note cards all their questions about Santa ..."


MATTHEW

Why is there a santa?
How does santa know egsakley what I want?
How can santa read your mind?
How does santa know witch preasent gos to witch house?
Does santa have a sister?
Why is his name santa?
What is his best Elv's name?
What is santa's favorite TV show?
Why does he go down the chimney and not the front door?
Why does he have raindeer and not dogs or something?
What's santas favirt raindeer?

Maggie:
How does santa fit down the chimney?
How does he keep all the toys in one bag?

Bennett:


What is the most comen toy for children?
What are raindeers favorite animal friends?
Have raindeer been extinced exeped for santa's?
Does everyone in the world know about santa?
Does santa know all his elfs names?
Does santa's wife have any brothers or sisters?
Does santa make some gifts too?

Ho HO HOOOOO

SUSIE

***

Tim wrote putting in his two cents worth ... with some interesting advice ...

Santa started out as a saint in Turkey giving toys secretly on kids doorsteps. He had to expand his operation and go world wide so he moved to the North Pole and hired Bernard as his head Elf. He just knows when kids are naughty or nice. Time slows down on Xmas Eve so he can cover all the kids that need him. He can be a shape shifter when he goes down a chimney and can expand dimensions to fit his needs.

HistoryChannel link might helphttp://www.history.com/minisites/christmas

Click here: Biography of Santa Claus

***












Sunday, December 16, 2007

Elizabeth, you asked me to write and tell you how I met your father. This is how it happened.

WHEN CAROLE MET LARRY


My late husband, Basil Anthony Lanzoni, D.D.S., died of leukemia December 26, 1968. He had just turned 38, October 3, 1968. Suddenly, I was a young widow of 31 with four young children.

My sister, Nancy La Flamme was in the Peace Corp, serving in Afghanistan and was due to fulfill her term at the end of December. She was going to take a few months and travel before returning to the States. I knew these were her plans so when Bas died, I asked my family not to tell Nancy so it wouldn’t interfere with her plans … but they did notify her, and Nancy decided to come home on the first plane available. It was a good thing she did as the plane she would have been on the following week crashed. Thank God she decided to come home when she did.

The Peace Corp pulled many strings to get her home, as it was the holidays and flights were jammed. They got her on a plane that landed in New Jersey where a helicopter was waiting to fly her in to New York to make the next connection for Du Bois, PA, by way of Pittsburgh. Miraculously, she made all her connections and was home in record time. I was so relieved to see her. She stayed with me after the
funeral. I don’t know what I would have done without her. It was comforting to have her with me, after everyone left, staying with me in my cold, mouse-infested unfinished house, with four fatherless children, in the middle of winter, on the snow-covered slippery slopes of Mt. Vista in Brockway, Pennsylvania. The weather couldn’t have been worse. We had to light the fireplace downstairs to keep warm and I kept my baby, Tim, in his snowsuit during the day.

The night Bas died, coming home from Presbyterian Hospital in Pittsburgh, PA with his brother, Paul Lanzoni, it sleeted all the way home. The roads were treacherous. I can’t remember a more miserable ride anywhere, except on the way to the hospital with Bas very ill, laying over my lap in the back seat of Paul’s car, driving through a terrible blizzard. Bas refused to go in an ambulance.

Going back a few nights to Christmas Eve, I called my sister Joey that afternoon and asked if it was possible for her and her husband, Mike, to come to be with my children and have Christmas for them. I knew it was a great imposition, but God bless them, they dropped everything and headed for Brockway, PA. When they arrived in Pittsburgh, they could not get a flight to Du Bois, PA because of severe weather. The shuttle was not operating so they took a bus. And what a trip it was. They were the only two on the bus and had the driver in tears telling them the story of why they had to get to Brockway to have Christmas for the children whose father was dying and whose mother could not be with them. The driver told them not to fear, that he would get them there … and he did … in spades! The people who lived along the winding road up Mt. Vista watched as this huge bus slowly made its way up the snow covered slippery road in horrible sleet and windy weather. They could not imagine what was going on. No bus ever climbed this hill ... ever! The bus got as far up as he could go and Joey and Mike had to trudge through knee high snow drifts to get to our house at the top of the hill.

To go into more detail would take a book to tell, but one thing I must tell is that, believe it or not, the plane Joey and Mike were supposed to get crashed after take off. Nancy and Joey almost were in plane crashes because of what had happened to us this Christmas. Unbelieveable, isn't it? Someone up there was watching out for us. Well, on with the story ... Joey and Mike finally got to the house and let Auntie, who was caring for the children, go home for a much needed rest. They found all the Christmas stuff I had hidden away. I had even stuffed the socks. I had everything ready since October, as I had no idea what would happen to Bas and if he would even be here for Christmas ... but I had to get Christmas together for the kids as anything could have happened at any time.

We almost made it through Christmas, but as Bas was decorating the shrubbery outside he became ill and had to come in and lay down. I was in the middle of decorating our huge Christmas tree, that was standing in the middle of the room so we could decorate all around it ... then we would push it back toward the wall and anchor it with wire. We were making ornaments out of pine cones and the kids were stringing cranberries and popcorn and making paper chains. I hadn't gone for the big Christmas grocery shopping yet and now with Bas getting sicker, I couldn't leave him to go to the store. So when Joey and Mike came, they had to make due with what they could find in the cupboards.

A friend brought up a frozen turkey, which they thawed and cooked for the kids, stuffing it with wild rice they found in the cupboard. The only thing was, I had baked apple pies for Bas a few days earlier and they had run over in the oven. I had Easy Off spread on the oven and had no time to clean it before making the emergency trip to the hospital. They did not realize the oven was spread with Easy Off and, being a new bride and inexperienced cook, Joey cooked the turkey in the oven and wondered why it did not smell like turkey should smell while it was cooking ... but that is another story. They ate it. No one died. And the kids had their Christmas, happy to be with Aunt Joey and Uncle Mike. I was much relieved to know that Santa had made it to our house. I will never forget Joey and Mike’s good deed as long as I live. Never does a Christmas pass that I do not remember, in detail, every minute of that terrible Christmas. But I have gotten way WAY off the path of the story I am supposed to tell. Back to how I met Larry.

Following the funeral, it was Nancy who dragged me out of bed and told me to get myself together, that my children needed their mother. She even called the hospital and enrolled me in a refresher course. I went shopping for uniforms and shoes, got my cap and cape out of storage and cleaned and starched my cap, found my nurses watch and pin and bandage scissors and went to work for the first time in 13 years.

The refresher course helped; we had much hand on instruction and observed and practiced procedures. I even served in the delivery room and watched a woman give birth, thinking, “Wow! I’m done with that. I’m glad it is her and not me.” [Ha! Ha! Two years later, when delivering my Elizabeth, I thought of that day. But, contrary to what I said, I was very glad it was I, as the day Elizabeth was born was one of the happiest days of my life.] But I’m getting ahead of myself.

I worked hard 10-hour days. The nuns were kind and let me come in later than usual so I could get my children off to school [I had no one to help do that after Nancy left] I would work the floors, mostly med-surg until the shift changed, then I was sent to a small ward that housed diabetic patients suffering with amputations, emotional problems, and senility. Some days I was sent to the psychiatric ward when they needed help. I would come home exhausted. I had little quality time to spend with my children; it was bath time … then bedtime and the routine started all over again.

The evening before I met Larry, I was driving home from the hospital, totally exhausted, and came upon an injured deer sitting in the center if the road, who had just been hit by a car. I parked until the police came and watched the poor deer suffering, unable to do anything to help. I couldn't stop crying.

I drove into Brockway and headed for St. Tobias. I didn’t think the church would be open this late, but to my surprise, it was. I walked to the front of the church, feeling lost and alone. It was dark with just the vigil light burning and a few candles. I sat in the front pew and bawled, so despondent, I didn’t know how to help myself, or what I could do to improve my life. All seemed so lost. Life was so hard. I had to pull myself together for the children. I prayed, placing all my problems in God’s hands, pleading for help … not for money … or promotion … just for the strength I needed to face each day, for Him to help me improve my attitude so I could face what I had to face and help my children. I stayed longer than I had planned and worried about the kids having to get to bed. Auntie had delivered them to the house that night, because I was going to be so late.

On the way up Mt. Visa, I couldn’t believe my eyes. What was happening tonight? There, in the middle of the road, was an injured opossum, bleeding, not quite dead. I considered running over it to put it out of its misery, but I couldn’t make myself do it. When I got home, I called the Game Commissioner, broke into tears, and asked them to come and help put the little opossum out of its misery. They, of course, did not come … they must have thought I was a pathetic, hysterical, out-of-control woman. How ridiculous to think the Game Commission would come to tend to a dying opossum, like, busy as they are, they could drop everything and rescue every animal that was hit by a car? The next morning, on their way to the bus, the kids saw the injured opossum; still sitting in the pool of blood … and it was still alive. They were horrified and sobbing. Susie was beside herself. One of their friends ran in and got his father, who came out and said he would take care of it, which he did after the kids got on the bus.

The next day was Friday, my day off. The phone rang; it was the hospital asking me to come in to help in ICU. One of the nurses was sick and it was illegal to run the ICU clinic without three nurses … and they only had two. I said ‘no’ as I did not have a sitter for Timmy. A few minutes went by and the phone rang again, litterly begging me to come in. I called Auntie, who was already tired from the week watching my kids, but she was a dear and consented to watch Timmy another day and told me to bring him over.

By
this time, it was 9:30 AM or so and the hospital had already been without that third nurse in ICU for almost 3 hours. I donned my uniform and hurried to the hospital and headed for ICU. I was somewhat apprehensive, as I had never worked in ICU before.

When I arrived, ICU was filled to capacity. I had the quickest orientation to ICU possible. They assigned me routine things to do and morning care etc. One of my patients, a cardiac patient, was a Mr. Jac Beighey. I gave him morning care and tried to get his airway to stay in place, but Mr. Beighey was perspiring and the tape would not adhere to his nose. I kept trying and he was sweet and very patient. I kept calling him Mr. Bayhee. He was too sick to correct me. He just smiled sweetly, as I kept replacing the annoying tape that kept slipping down his nose.

On the hour, family members were allowed to visit the patient, one at a time for five minutes. Mr. Beighey’s wife, Martha, came regularly, and if it was not her turn, she stood outside the ICU door trying to gain more information from hospital personnel coming and going in and out the room. Martha alternated visits with a male member of the family about my age. I noticed him smiling at me and ‘giving me the eye’.

Then in came the nun, and asked me what Mr. Beighey’s [pronounced BeeHee] heart rate was. I thought to myself … oh my God … so that’s how you pronounce it. Why that man must be that Larry [Bee Hee] who my friends Sheila and Jay Broberg have been wanting him to call me and ask me out, the Larry ‘BeeHee ' who visited them in Califormia once a month. I didn’t know what to think. Now that I knew who he was, I tried to stay out of sight as much as I could when he came in the room.

When Larry traveled back and forth to California, he would stay at the Brobergs house. The Brobergs were my good friends and Larry’s as well … but we didn’t know the Brobergs at the same time. Larry worked with Jay at Brockway Glass Company. Shiela and Jay bought our old house on Mt. Vista and Bas and I became good friends with them. When Larry traveled to California once a month, Sheila kept after Larry to take me out, that she thought we would like each other. To get Shiela off his back, he told her he had tried to call me but that I was never home to take his calls and had no answering machine. On one of his trips, he even went so far as to infer that he had seen me a few times, which he hadn’t, but Shiela believed him and kept writing to me saying how happy she was that we had met and were probably having great times together.

After I realized he was deceiving Shiela about our meeting, it made me angry. I thought, 'who does he think he is? If he calls, I am not going out with him.’ But, I was curious about him as he was a popular bachelor about town and Shiela said a ‘great catch’ … and it had been a long time since I went out with anyone over 4 1/2’ tall. It would be nice to go to dinner and have an adult conversation with someone. I was interested but I was also very vulnerable. I had children to care for and could not be frivolous. They needed me and I was all they had. I thought about it, and knew if I ever dated anyone, he would have to like my children. If he didn’t, there would not be two dates.

When on break, I headed toward the Coffee Shop. As I came out the door Mrs. Beighey would follow me asking me a million questions about her Jac. I told her she had to talk to her Doctor, as I was not allowed to give her this information. It was for the Doctor only. She followed me into the Coffee Shop and asked if she could join me. I said, ‘Of course,’ and she proceeded to ask me questions about my life.

She said she thought I knew the people she had just visited in California … The Brobergs, that the Beighey family had just returned from visiting them. Shiela must have talked to Martha about me because she asked, “Were you married to a dentist from Brockway who was a friend of the Brobergs?” It was ironic! She told me how close her son, Larry, was to the Brobergs and that I really should meet him. I said I really had to get home, that I had to relieve the sitter and put my children to bed. She said it would only take a minute and led the way to the Waiting Room Lounge where Larry was sitting, reading the newspaper.

When he saw me, his face went from a big smile to a most puzzled expression. He looked like ‘the cat that swallowed the canary’. He KNEW, now, that I was the one the Brobergs had been trying to get him to call, and he knew he had colored the truth to them, that I most likely knew he did that, and didn’t know what to say to me. After lying to Shiela about seeing me, I thought he deserved to suffer some embarrassment, however, I couldn’t help finding it rather amusing. I thought he deserved to be embarrassed after deceiving my friends. So, it really was Larry’s mother who introduced us. [God bless her) I talked with them for a few minutes and left. FINALLY I had met the notorious Larry Beighey, the most eligible bachelor in town. I knew he was terribly embarrassed. Then I knew that flashy silver Corvette I kept seeing parked in front of the hospital was likely HIS car.

I was sent to ICU on assignment. Every day after that, Larry or his mother would follow me into the coffee shop. Martha to pump me for information, and Larry ‘playing it cool’, pretending he wanted to buy something … sneaking peeks at me out of the corner of his eyes … then nonchalantly leave.

One night, before I went shopping for my kid’s vacation clothes, I stopped at the hospital to pick up my check and to see my niece who had just had an operation. When I checked ICU to see who was on duty, I noticed Mr. Beighey’s bed was empty. I thought he had died. I asked the nurses. They said, “Oh no! He is doing better so we moved him upstairs to a regular room.

”I had taken care of Mr. Beighey several days and had grown fond of him and was very happy to hear he had improved enough to be moved upstairs. I went up to see him to tell him so. And who was there, sitting in a chair beside his father’s bed, but Larry. I was embarrassed. I was not in uniform or working on that floor, and he knew it. I worried it may have looked like I was tracking him down … I was not … I don’t think … although it was a pleasant surprise to see him there. I made my visit short, said my goodbyes and headed out of the room and quickly down the hall.

I heard someone call, “Hey! Wait up!” I looked behind and it was Larry, trying to catch up with me. He said, “Would you like to have a drink?” I said, “I think the coffee shop is closed.” He said, “I don’t mean coffee in the coffee shop, I mean a REAL drink … at a bar. Will you go? Where would you like to go?”

I thought to myself, ‘Why not? It would be nice to have a drink with him.’ “How about the Pine Inn?” It was quiet and in the middle of the week, I didn’t think anyone would see me. Why did I feel uncomfortable about having a drink with someone? I was available and single. It was all right if I dated. But having been married for so long, eleven years, and two years in mourning, I did not feel single and did not know if I was ready for dating. So, he climbed into his silver Corvette and I hopped into my white Jeepster and followed him to the Pine Inn, which turned out to be closed. He pulled alongside me and said, "Follow me." He drove to the Holiday Inn, which was a new popular spot at the time.

We walked in, sat in a booth and it seemed I knew everyone in the place. They were craning their necks to see whom I was with, and I excused myself to call my baby sitter. She was so excited about my ‘date’, she said to take my time, that if it got late, she’d sleep on the couch. And it is a good thing she did, as I had a wonderful time. Larry and I clicked right from the start, just like the Brobergs thought we would, and I didn’t get home until REAL late.

When I arrived home, Larry called to see if I was home safely. I liked that. And the next morning, he called me during his coffee break at work and asked me to lunch. He said he had to deliver something to Brookville and would I like to have lunch with him at the Gold Eagle? I was thrilled, and called a friend who said she would watch Timmy until I got back. And we went, and we had Club Sandwiches, and I knew this was the start of something grand.

And it was. We saw each other every day after that, unless he was traveling on business, and then I was there waiting at the airport when he came home. We were married that December 11, 1970. My family said, ‘I found the needle, not in the haystack, but the world.’ And I did.

Shortly after our marriage, Larry started adoption proceeding for the older four children. We all became Beigheys. Two more beautiful daughters were to follow within 20 months … and the Beigheys went from a family of 6 to a family of 8 in all.

When Larry had a class reunion, shortly after our marriage, he got the award for the one whose life was most changed, the youngest baby, and the most kids. And our marriage worked out beautifully. And that was 33 years ago.

THE END

Note: This was written four years ago. Now our children are all grown. We have eleven grandchildren … 9 boys and 2 girls … and Skip has just married a lovely woman who has 2 children, a girl in college and a young teenager, in high school … so with our new additions, we can claim 13 grandchildren. We just celebrated our 37th Anniversary, Dec. 11, 2007. We are still together, still in love, and plan to stay that way for many more. We are blessed! Life is good!

Tuesday, December 11, 2007

GREAT MESSAGE FOR US ALL

WHAT A GREAT MESSAGE FOR US ALL

Here's to T-bone steaks, yellow roses and friendship. Written by a new widow. Please read this and then reread it. Especially the last part.

I walked into the grocery store not particularly interested in buying groceries. I wasn't hungry. The pain of losing my husband of 70 years was still too raw. And this grocery store held so many sweet memories. He often came with me and almost every time he'd pretend to go off and look for something special. I knew what he was up to. I'd always spot him walking down the aisle with the three yellow roses in his hands. He knew I loved yellow roses.

With a heart filled with grief, I only wanted to buy my few items and leave, but even grocery shopping was different since he had passed on. Shopping for one took time, a little more thought than it had for two. Standing by the meat, I searched for the perfect small steak and remembered how he had loved his steak. Suddenly a woman came beside me. She was blonde, slim and lovely in a soft green pantsuit I watched as she picked up a large pack of T-bones, dropped them in her basket, hesitated, and then put them back. She turned to go and once again reached for the pack of steaks. She saw me watching her and she smiled. "My husband loves T-bones, but honestly, at these prices, I don't know."

I swallowed the emotion down my throat and met her pale blue eyes. "My husband passed away eight days ago," I told her. Glancing at the package in her hands, I fought to control the tremble in my voice. "Buy him the steaks. And cherish every moment you have together." She shook her head and I saw the emotion in her eyes as she placed the package in her basket and wheeled away.

I turned and pushed my cart across the length of the store to the dairy products. There I stood, trying to decide which size milk I should buy. Quart, I finally decided and moved on to the ice cream. If nothing else, I could always fix myself an ice cream cone. I placed the ice cream in my cart and looked down the aisle toward the front. I saw first the green suit, and then recognized the pretty lady coming towards me. In her arms she carried a package. On her face was the brightest smile I had ever seen. I would swear a soft halo encircled her blonde hair as she kept walking toward me, her eyes holding mine.

As she came closer, I saw what she held and tears began misting in my eyes. "These are for you," she said and placed three beautiful long stemmed yellow roses in my arms. "When you go through the line, they will know these are paid for." She leaned over and placed a gentle kiss on my cheek, then smiled again.

I wanted to tell her what she'd done, what the roses meant, but still unable to speak, I watched as she walked away as tears clouded my vision. I looked down at the beautiful roses nestled in the green tissue wrapping and found it almost unreal. How did she know? Suddenly the answer seemed so clear. I wasn't alone. Oh, you haven't forgotten me, have you? I whispered, with tears in my eyes. He was still with me, and she was his angel.

MY PRAYER

THANKFULNESS


As I age, I think more about my life in a different way and more about what I am experiencing now, and wonder what my future holds.

For most of this past year, my sister, Nancy, has been confined to a hospital or nursing home. She had wonderful care in the hospitals but when time to enter a nursing home, she had no choice of a nursing home due to the high cost of her medications; she was at the mercy of those who would admit her. She became totally dependent on the staff, some of who treated her with kindness and respect, others who were uncaring and disrespectful, an incompetent staff who frequently ignored her bell, kept her waiting for medications, had eratic hours that interfered with Nancy's necessary therapy or treatments or made her wait for her insulin before meals while her food got cold.

Their incompetence caused Nancy much frustration, even regressed the progress she made, but she did not complain as much as most of us would have. She lost much of her vision due to diabetes and had to adjust to this horific loss all while enduring many major illnesses. She did remarkably well and tolerated her illnesses with dignity and patience offering little complaint. Even though I am an RN, it opened my eyes to those who are confined to hospitals and nursing homes and at the mercy of understaffed, overworked, sometimes incompetent staff.

As I think of all these things, I pray and tell myself every day to be thankful for what I have and who I am.

Even though I may complain if I have to get up early for an appointment instead of nestling in my bed a little longer and am pressed to get up and moving, I am grateful, Lord, that I can hear the alarm or my husband's voice calling me. There are many who are deaf.

Even though I keep my eyes closed against the morning light as long as possible. Thank you, Lord, that I can see. Many are blind.

Even though I huddle in my bed and put off rising to face my morning aches and pains, I thank you, Lord, that I have the strength to rise. There are many who are bedridden.

Even though the first hour of my day is hectic, it used to be when my children were young and getting ready for school and the toast burned and tempers short, but now it is my fault my morning is hectic, as everything I do is more difficult, simple things that I took for granted, like my shower, etc. I move slower and am unsteady on my feet and need help dressing. I cannot do many things that I used to do and it is annoying and frustrating for me and for others around me. Still I thank you Lord, for my family and for waking up each morning with my husband nearby and my son with us. There are many who are lonely.

Even though our breakfast table never looks like the pictures in magazines and the menu is at times unbalanced. Thank you, Lord, for the food we have. There are many who are hungry.

Even though the routine of my writing can be difficult, I thank you Lord for the opportunity to work. There are many who have no job or when they retire are bored. I am never bored. I am grateful that I can see and use my computer, and thank God, mentally sound. I no longer can do all my housework alone but I have wonderful household help, and my husband and son are invaluable help.

Even though I grumble and bemoan my fate from day to day and wish my health was better, I think of how fortunate I am that I at least have the means to take care of my health and have people who care about me to help, and that I am fortunate to enjoy a comfortable life style with an oceanfront winter home and in summer a lake home. So many others do not have the means to help themselves or loved ones to care for them.

I thank you, Lord, for my great country and my fellow Americans, for our brave men who have fought the many wars to keep us free, I thank you for my freedom to speak, to practice my religion, to live in this great land. And I pray for all those in need, who are suffering, who have no homes or food or loved ones, who live in a world of fear and pain, with little hope. I pray for guidance for our President and world leaders and those responsible for keeping us free. I pray for peace throughout the world.

I thank you, Lord, for my life.

Saturday, December 8, 2007

AUTHOR, BETTY SMITH



BIOGRAPHY OF BETTY SMITH, AUTHOR
OF MY FAVORITE BOOK, "A TREE GROWS IN BROOKLYN"


Welcome to the life of Betty Smith. No published biography has been written about her. I have posted my research here on the internet so that everyone can have access to information about her life. I hope some day someone will take this beginning and make it into a full biography.

In a way, A Tree Grows in Brooklyn itself is Betty Smith's biography. When reporters asked her, as they often did, whether the book was "true," she had a stock answer: she said it was "not as it was, but as it should have been." I never realized the significance of this statement until an AP high school student (J. Zeise) wrote to me and said that she looked up the word "true" in the dictionary and one of the definitions was "such as it should be." Smith couldn't tell the reporters that the book was true because she was being sued by relatives, so instead she found a different way to say that it - she herself probably went to the dictionary, found the definition, and had a good laugh every time she used it with reporters.

That is not to say that all of the details are true - she changed the ethnicity of her family from German to Irish (because she published the book during WWII) and made other changes. But the details are a "slice of life" that accurately portrays the sort of life that many American immigrants had during the early 20th century.

About this Dissertation
Betty Smith published the American novel A Tree Grows in Brooklyn in 1943. I wrote this dissertation for The City University of New York Graduate Center in 1994. In the intervening 50 years, few people have researched Smith, although many are interested in her life and her work. I am publishing this dissertation online so that more people can learn more about Betty Smith and perhaps carry this work further.

To do the research for the dissertation, I spent quite a bit of time at the archives of the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. That is where Betty Smith, who grew up in Williamsburg, Brooklyn, moved to, and that is where she wrote her best-selling novel. I also interviewed her daughter and others who knew her.

Since I wrote this dissertation at a time when digital media was not widely used, I did not collect images while I was doing the research. However, since then some readers have sent me images and I will include three here that will give you a fairly good idea of what she was like:

The organization of this site is not chronological. - the biographical and publishing material are separated, so it cannot be read like a narrative. The part of this website that most people will be interested in is the Biography. This part of the site is split into the years of her life. Other than the biography, the main chapters of this dissertation are as follows:

Publication of A Tree Grows in Brooklyn in 1943: An account of Betty Smith's interaction with Elizabeth Lawrence at Harper & Brothers, describing how the novel was edited and changed.

Literary Context in American Literature: The place of A Tree Grows in Brooklyn in the canon of American Literature with critical dialogues regarding women's and working-class literature.

Tomorrow Will Be Better, Maggie Now, and Joy in the Morning:Smith's three novels written after A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, none of which achieved critical acclaim (although Joy in the Morning was made into a movie).
Bibliography, citing works and sources.

Carol Siri Johnson © 2003
Contact: carol@ringwoodmanor.com

Friday, December 7, 2007

GUILTY OR NOT


A defendant was on trial for murder. There was strong evidence indicating guilt, but there was no corpse. In the defense's closing statement the lawyer, knowing that his client would probably be convicted, resorted to a trick.

"Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I have a surprise for you all," the lawyer said as he looked at his watch. "Within one minute, the person presumed dead in this case will walk into this courtroom. " He looked toward the courtroom door.

The jurors, somewhat stunned, all looked on eagerly. A minute passed. Nothing happened.

Finally the lawyer said, "Actually, I made up the previous statement. But, you all looked on with anticipation. I therefore put to you that you have a reasonable doubt in this case as to whether anyone was killed and insist that you return a verdict of not guilty."

The jury, clearly confused, retired to deliberate. A few minutes later, the jury returned and pronounced a verdict of guilty. 'But how?" inquired the lawyer. "You must have had some doubt; I saw all of you stare at the door." The jury foreman replied, "Oh, we looked, but your client didn't."
WRITING

Reasons why the English language is so hard to learn:

1) The bandage was wound around the wound.
2) The farm was used to produce produce.
3) The dump was so full that it had to refuse more refuse.
4) We must polish the Polish furniture.
5) He could lead if he would get the lead out.
6) The soldier decided to desert his dessert in the desert.
7) Since there is no time like the present, he thought it was time to present the present.
8) A bass was painted on the head of the bass drum.
9) When shot at, the dove dove into the bushes.
10) I did not object to the object.
11) The insurance was invalid for the invalid.
12) There was a row among the oarsmen about how to row.
13) They were too close to the door to close it.
14) The buck does funny things when the does are present.
15) A seamstress and a sewer fell down into a sewer line.
16) To help with planting, the farmer taught his sow to sow.
17) The wind was too strong to wind the sail.
18) After a number of injections my jaw got number.
19) Upon seeing the tear in the painting I shed a tear.
20) I had to subject the subject to a series of tests.
21) How can I intimate this to my most intimate friend?

Let's face it - English is a crazy language.
There is no egg in eggplant, nor ham in hamburger;
Neither apple nor pine in pineapple.
English muffins weren't invented in England or
French fries in France.
Sweetmeats are candies while sweetbreads, which aren't sweet, are meat.

We take English for granted. But if we explore its paradoxes, we find that:
-quicksand can work slowly,
-boxing rings are square and
-a guinea pig is neither from Guinea nor is it a pig,
-writers write but fingers don't fing, and
-grocers don't groce and hammers don't ham?

If the plural of tooth is teeth, why isn't the plural of booth beeth?
One goose, 2 geese. So one moose, 2 meese?
One index, 2 indices?
Doesn't it seem crazy that you can make amends but not one amend.
If you have a bunch of odds and ends and get rid of all but one of them, what do you call it?
If teachers taught, why didn't preachers praught?
If a vegetarian eats vegetables, what does a humanitarian eat?

Sometimes I think all the English speakers should be committed to an asylum for the verbally insane. In what language do people:
-recite at a play and play a recital
-ship by truck and send cargo by ship, and
-have noses that run and feet that smell?
How can a slim chance and a fat chance be the same, while a wise man and a wise guy are opposites?

You have to marvel at the unique lunacy of a language in which:
-your house can burn up as it burns down,
-you fill in a form by filling it out, and
-an alarm goes off by going on.

English was invented by people, not computers.
It reflects the creativity of the human race, which, of course, is not a race at all.
That is why, when the stars are out, they are visible, but when the lights are out, they are invisible. And finally, why doesn't "buick" rhyme with "quick"?

HUMOR

My friend with a great sense of humor, Fred Foy, sent this 10/4/03

MOUSE BALLS

I don't know how they wrote this with a straight face/ This apparently was a real memo sent out by a computer company to its employees in all seriousness. It went to all field engineers about a computer peripheral problem. The author of this memo was quite genuine. The word is that the engineers literally rolled on the floor! (Especially note the last couple of sentences.)

Re: Replacement of Mouse Balls.

If a mouse fails to operate or should it perform erratically, it may need a ball replacement. Mouse balls are now available as FRU (Field Replacement Units). Because of the delicate nature of this procedure, replacement of mouse balls should only be attempted by properly trained personnel.

Before proceeding, determine the type of mouse balls by examining the underside of the mouse. Domestic balls will be larger and harder than foreign balls. Ball removal procedures differ depending upon the manufacturer of the mouse. Foreign balls can be replaced using the pop off method. Domestic balls are replaced by using the twist off method. Mouse balls are not usually static sensitive. However, excessive handling can result in sudden discharge.

***



Upon completion of ball replacement, the mouse may be used immediately. It is recommended that each person have a pair of spare balls for maintaining optimum customer satisfaction. Any customer missing his balls should contact the local personnel in charge of removing and replacing these necessary items. Please keep in mind that a customer without properly working balls is an unhappy customer


***

Thursday, December 6, 2007



THE PERFECT DRESS

Ladies - let us hope we are always as smart as this mother of the bride


Jennifer's wedding day was fast approaching. Nothing could dampen her excitement -- not even her parents' nasty divorce. Her mother had found the PERFECT dress to wear and would be the best-dressed mother-of-the-bride ever! A week later, Jennifer was horrified to learn that her father's new young wife had bought the exact same dress! Jennifer asked her to exchange it, but she refused. "Absolutely not. I look like a million bucks in this dress, and I'm wearing it,” she replied.

Jennifer told her mother who graciously said, "Never mind sweetheart. I'll get another dress. After all, it's your special day."A few days later, they went shopping and did find another gorgeous dress. When they stopped for lunch, Jennifer asked her mother, "Are you going to return the other dress? You really don't have another occasion where you could wear it."


Sheila just smiled and replied, "Of course I do, dear. I'm wearing it to the rehearsal dinner!"


Now, I ask you - What woman wouldn't love this story!
WOMEN’S SUFFERAGE


VOTING

A short history lesson on the privilege of voting.The women were innocent and defenseless. And by the end of the night, they were barely alive. Forty prison guards wielding clubs and their warden's blessing went on a rampage against the 33 women wrongly convicted of "obstructing sidewalk traffic." They beat Lucy Burn, chained her hands to the cell bars above her head and left her hanging for the night, bleeding and gasping for air. They hurled Dora Lewis into a dark cell, smashed her head against an iron bed and knocked her out cold. Her cellmate, Alice Cosu, thought Lewis was dead and suffered a heart attack. Additional affidavits describe the guards grabbing, dragging, beating, choking, slamming, pinching, twisting and kicking the women. Thus unfolded the "Night of Terror" on Nov. 15, 1917, when the warden at the Occoquan Workhouse in Virginia ordered his guards to teach a lesson to the suffragists imprisoned there because they dared to picket Woodrow Wilson's White House for the right to vote. For weeks, the women's only water came from an open pail. Their food—all of it colorless slop--was infested with worms. When one of the leaders, Alice Paul, embarked on a hunger strike, they tied her to a chair, forced a tube down her throat and poured liquid into her until she vomited. She was tortured like this for weeks until word was smuggled out to the press.

So, refresh my memory. Some women won't vote this year because--why, exactly? We have carpool duties? We have to get to work? Our vote doesn't matter? It's raining? Last week, I went to a sparsely attended screening of HBO's new movie "Iron Jawed Angels." It is a graphic depiction of the battle these women waged so that I could pull the curtain at the polling booth and have my say. HBO will run the movie periodically before releasing it on video and DVD. I wish all history, social studies and government teachers would include the movie in their curriculum. I want it shown on Bunko night, too, and anywhere else women gather. I realize this isn't our usual idea of socializing, but we are not voting in the numbers that we should be, and I think a little shock therapy is in order.
It is jarring to watch Woodrow Wilson and his cronies try to persuade a psychiatrist to declare Alice Paul insane so that she could be permanently institutionalized. And it is inspiring to watch the doctor refuse. Alice Paul was strong, he said, and brave. That didn't make her crazy. The doctor admonished the men: "Courage in women is often mistaken for insanity."

SENIOR CITIZEN CLASS REUNION



CLASS REUNION of a 68 YEAR-OLD LADY

I had prepared for it like any intelligent woman would. I went on a starvation diet the day before, knowing that all the extra weight would just melt off in 24-hours, leaving me with my sleek, trim, high-school-girl body. The last many years of careful cellulite collection would just be gone with a snap of a finger. I knew if I didn't eat a morsel on Friday, that I could probably fit into my senior formal on Saturday.

Trotting up to the attic, I pulled the gown out of the garment bag, carried it lovingly downstairs, ran my hand over the fabric, and hung it on the door. I stripped naked, looked in the mirror, sighed, and thought, "Well, okay, maybe if I shift it all to the back..." bodies never have pockets where you need them.

Bravely, I took the gown off the hanger, unzipped the shimmering dress and stepped gingerly into it. I struggled, twisted, turned, and pulled and I got the formal all the way up to my knees ... before the zipper gave out. I was disappointed. I wanted to wear that dress with those silver platform sandals again and dance the night away. Okay, one setback was not going to spoil my mood for this affair. No way! Rolling the dress into a ball and tossing it into the corner, I turned to Plan B: the black velvet caftan.

I gathered up all the goodies that I had purchased at the drug store: the scented shower gel; the bodybuilding and highlighting shampoo and conditioner, and the split-end killer and shine enhancer. Soon my hair would look like that girls in the Pantene ads. Then the makeup -- the under eye "ain't no lines here" firming cream, the all-day face-lifting gravity-fighting moisturizer with wrinkle filler spackle; the all day "kiss me till my lips bleed, and see if this gloss will come off" lipstick, the bronzing face powder for that special glow... but first, the roll-on facial hair remover. I could feel the wrinkles shuddering in fear.

OK - time to get ready...I jumped into the steaming shower, soaped, lathered, rinsed, -shaved, tweezed, buffed, scrubbed, and scoured my body to a tingling pink. I plastered my freshly scrubbed face with the anti-wrinkle, gravity fighting, “your face will look like a baby's 'butt' face cream. I set my hair on the hot rollers. I felt wonderful. Ready to take on the world. Or in this instance, my underwear.

With the towel firmly wrapped around my glistening body, I pulled out the black lace, tummy-tucking, cellulite-pushing, ham hock-rounding girdle, and the matching "lifting those bosoms like they're filled with helium" bra. I greased my body with the scented body lotion and began the plunge. I pulled, stretched, tugged, hiked, folded, tucked, twisted, shimmied, hopped, pushed, wiggled, snapped, shook, caterpillar crawled, and kicked. Sweat poured off my forehead but I was done. And it didn't look bad. So I rested. A well deserved rest, to . Oh no. I had to go to the bathroom. And there wasn't a snap crotch. From now on, undies gotta have a snap crotch. I was ready to rip it open and re-stitch the crotch with Velcro, but the pain factor from past experiments was still fresh in my mind. I quickly sidestepped to the bathroom.
An hour later, I had answered nature's call and repeated the struggle into the girdle. I was ready for the bra and remembered what the saleslady said to do. I could see her glossed lips mouthing,
"Do not fasten the bra in the front, and twist it around. Put the bra on the way it should be worn--straps over the shoulders. Then bend over and gently place both breasts inside the cups." Easy if you have four hands. But, with confidence, I put my arms into the holsters, bent over and pulled the bra down ... but the boobs weren't cooperating. I'd no sooner tuck one in a cup, and while placing the other, the first would slip out. I needed a strategy. I bounced up and down a few times, tried to dribble them in with swinging. Finally, on the fourth swing, pause, and lift, I captured the gliding glands. Quickly fastening the back of the bra, I stood up for examination. Back straight, slightly arched, I turned and faced the mirror, turning front, and then sideways. I smiled, "Yes, Houston, we have lift up!" My breasts were high, firm and there was cleavage! I was happy until I tried to look down. I had a chin rest and I couldn't see my feet. I still had to put on my pantyhose, and shoes. Oh ... why did I buy heels with buckles? Then I had to pee again. I put on my sweats, fixed myself a drink, ordered pizza, and skipped the reunion.

STORY


THE GRAVY LADLE

John invited his mother over for dinner. During the meal, his mother couldn't help noticing how beautiful John's roommate,
Julie, was. She had long been suspicious of a relationship between John and his roommate and this only made her more
curious.

Over the course of the evening, while watching the two interact, she started to wonder if there was more between John
and the roommate than met the eye. Reading his mom's thoughts, John volunteered, "I know what you must be thinking, but I
assure you, Julie and I are just roommates."

About a week later, Julie came to John and said, "Ever since your mother came to dinner, I've been unable to find the beautiful silver gravy ladle. You don't suppose she took it, do you?"

John said, "Well, I doubt it, but I'll write her a letter just to be sure." So he sat down and wrote,

Dear Mother,
I'm not saying you "did" take a gravy ladle from my house, and I'm not saying you "did not" take a gravy ladle. But the fact
remains that one has been missing ever since you were here for dinner.
Love,
John

Several days later, John received a letter from his mother, which read:

Dear Son,
I'm not saying that you 'do' sleep with Julie, and I'm not saying that you 'do not' sleep with Julie. But the fact remains that if she were sleeping in her own bed, she would have found the gravy ladle by now.
Love,

Mom

STORY


This story was sent to me by a good friend, Mae Sobczak 2003

MASTERCARD WEDDING


This is a true story about a recent wedding that took place at Clemson University. It was in the local newspaper and even Jay Leno mentioned it.

It was a huge wedding with about 300 guests. After the wedding at the reception, the groom got up on stage with a
microphone to talk to the crowd. He said he wanted to thank everyone for coming, many from long distances, to support them at their wedding. He especially wanted to thank the bride's and his family and to thank his new father-in-law for providing such a lavish reception.

As a token of his deep appreciation he said he wanted to give everyone a special gift just from him. So taped to the bottom of everyone's chair, including the wedding party, was a manila envelope. He said this was his gift to everyone, and asked them to open their envelope. Inside each manila envelope was an 8x10 glossy of his bride having sex with the best man. The groom had gotten suspicious of them weeks earlier and had hired a private detective to tail them.

After just standing there, just watching the guests' reactions for a couple of minutes, he turned to the best man and said, "F--- you!” Then he turned to his bride and said, "F--- you!” Then he turned to the dumbfounded crowd and said, "I'm outta here." He had the marriage annulled first thing in the morning. While most people would have canceled the wedding immediately after finding out about the affair, this guy goes through with the charade, as if nothing were wrong. His Revenge ... making the bride's parents pay over $32,000 for a 300 guest wedding and reception, and best of all, trashing the bride's and best man's reputations in front of 300 friends and family members. Do you think we might get a MasterCard "priceless" commercial out of this?

Elegant wedding reception for 300 family members and friends......................................$32,000.
Wedding photographs commemorating the occasion..........................................................$3,000.
Deluxe two week honeymoon accommodations in Maui.......................................................$8,500.
The look on everyone's face when they see the 8x10 glossy of the bride humping the best man..........Priceless.
There are some things money can't buy, for everything else there's MASTERCARD.




FORGIVENESS
1. The best way to get even is to forget.
2. Feed your faith and your doubts will starve to death.
3. God wants spiritual fruit, not religious nuts.
4. Some folks wear their halos much too tight.
5. Some marriages are made in heaven, but they ALL have to be maintained on earth..
6. Unless you can create the WHOLE universe in 5 days, then perhaps giving "advice" to God isn't such a good idea!
7. Sorrow looks back, worry looks around, and faith looks up.
8. Standing in the middle of the road is dangerous. You will get knocked down by the traffic from both ways.
9. Words are windows to the heart.
10. A skeptic is a person who … when he sees the handwriting on the wall, claims it's a forgery.
11. It isn't difficult to make a mountain out of a molehill just add a little dirt. 1
12. A successful marriage isn't finding the right person- It's BEING the right person.
13. The mighty oak tree was once a little nut that held its ground.
14. Too many people offer God prayers, with claw marks all over them.
15. The tongue must be heavy indeed, because so few people can hold it.
16. To forgive is to set the prisoner free, and then discover the prisoner was you.
17. You have to wonder about humans, they think God is dead and Elvis is alive!
18. You'll notice that a turtle only makes progress when it sticks out its neck.
19. If the grass is greener on the other side of the fence, you can bet the water bill is higher.
20. And last but not least- God gave the angels wings, and He gave humans CHOCOLATE.
YOU ARE RICHER TODAY IF YOU HAVE LAUGHED, GIVEN, OR FORGIVEN

MIMI & ME FAVORITE RECIPES


MIMI AND ME FAVORITE RECIPES

A traditional French soup that was a staple in the La Flamme household ... a delicious carry over from Grandma Ballard and our French Canadian heritage. A comfort soup. Delicious! Filling! Satisfying! No particular recipe is used; each family has their own recipe resulting from the original recipe passed on in the family throughout the generations, each adding their own touch. This is my recipe. I LOVE this soup. It is much like my mother’s, who taught me.

Note: One can make as much pea soup as desired by adding more water, broth or beer and adjusting the seasonings. If using a small whole ham, like a picnic ham, after simmering it, trim off fat and remove the meat. Set it aside to add to the soup later. Put the bay leaves in a tea ball when cooking, to keep them from getting lost in the soup. This recipe makes a sizable amount. It is a favorite of mine.

SPLIT PEA SOUP

1 lb. lean bacon diced … OR … 2 ham steaks (lean) diced (not as fattening with lean ham)
OR use a sm. ham OR may use a ham bone etc.
2 med. onions, chopped
1 bunch celery, chopped with leaves
2 [1 lb] packages dry split peas (green)
4 c. chicken broth or vegetable broth
5-6 carrots, diced
1 capful-dried marjoram
4 bay leaves (wrap or put in tea ball)
1 capful thyme
1 capful summer savory
¼ c. lemon juice
1 T. Bouquet Garni* or Herbs de Provence
2 T. parsley
3 tsp. garlic powder
1 T. Lawrys Seasoned Salt
2 T. sea salt
1 T. cracked pepper
1 c. white wine or sherry OR 1 can of beer
1 stick unsalted butter [Optional]

*Bouquet Garni equals pinches of basil, rosemary, thyme, parsley, and oregano

Optional: If meat is very lean, may add 1 stick butter for more flavor, otherwise the juices of the ham OR bacon provide plenty of flavor.

Rinse peas well. Set aside. Spray bottom of a lg. stockpot with olive oil spray. Brown celery and onion in a T. of butter, unless using bacon, then brown in the bacon drippings. If using ham slices and need more liquid, add a little broth. Add rest of broth; then ham. If using a ham, add enough water to cover ham … about half of lg. stockpot. Add the split peas, celery and carrots. Add seasonings, beer or wine and lemon juice. Bring to boiling; reduce heat. Cover (optional) and simmer for 1 hr. or more until peas are cooked. Stir occasionally. I usually simmer for much longer … about 2hrs. You can make as much as you want by adding more broth or water and adjusting seasonings. If using a sm. whole ham, remove and cut off meat. Save to add to soup. Either discard the bay leaves or put the leaves in a tea ball when cooking for safe keeping. Some like to put the soup through a sieve or mix in a Cuisinart. I like it best like it as is. Bon Appetit!

Definitely, for many years. an old family favorite.

MY COOKBOOK MIMI & ME


MIMI’S CHERISHED MEMORIES

For many years, my children begged me to write down my old family recipes … and for many years, I did jot them down … and stuffed them in drawers, used them for bookmarks, scribbled them on scrap paper, clipped them from newspapers and magazines, and piled them in boxes and plastic bags. Many favorite recipes I’ve adapted from my large cookbook collection that I buy and read like novels. Many recipes were given to me by word of mouth, handed down from generation to generation, mother to daughters, friends and neighbors. Most are of my own making. Soon after I learned to cook a decent meal, I experimented with my own recipes. I adapted most menus from watching my Mom, other family members, TV shows, girl talk, magazines, and newspapers, whatever. Thus, over the years I have accumulated thousands of recipes. I have boxes of clippings filed away … most of the time I ‘wing it ‘… except for baking when I must follow a recipe more closely.

Food has always been a big part of our life. We never lacked for food, even during the ‘lean times’ like during WWII when we were very young kids and foodstuffs were rationed. Somehow my folks found a way to keep us fed, clothed and shoed … and with a roof over our heads. Mom could make a pound of ground meat last for several ingenious meals … the same with a chicken. First boil it … use the broth for soup, the meat for a meal and the leftovers for sandwiches. Then she would boil the bones and make more broth. Mom was a genius at making something tasty out of practically ‘nothing’.

During the food rationing, we went without frills, like candy and gum, butter, sugar and chocolate. I remember my folks yearning for real coffee, complaining about having to drink chicory coffee. Gasoline was only for necessities. We chewed our wad of bubble gum for a whole week, sticking it on our bedpost overnight, just like in the song. We had our Victory garden, as did most of the town, and grew our own vegetables. We were lucky to have a grandfather and two uncles who owned a grocery store and butchered their own meat, so we managed to have some meat to eat. When they received their quota of chocolate or gum, they would put one piece aside for each of us kids, but were careful not to give us more than our share … as every kid in town was waiting as patiently as we were for their treats and my Grandfather and uncles saw to it that all children had their share.

When someone died, the sexton ran the old church bell and my Mom would send us to the market for a soup bone to make soup for the grieving family … many times her soup was well under way before she knew who died. It was what people in Linwood, MI did for each other. If sugar was scarce and someone needed something for a special occasion, they shared their portions for birthday cakes, or evenings of fudge making or taffy pulling.

Food was always a topic of conversation in our big family. It was, “What are we having for Christmas, Easter, Thanksgiving, the Fourth of July, New Years, for the company coming next weekend … for a birthday party, a special occasion, Sunday dinner, whatever … life was centered around talk of FOOD. And there was always room for anyone who stopped by to join us at our table. Mom made our meal ‘stretch’. She even found enough food to feed the bums that jumped off the boxcars of trains passing our house. She often found them sitting on our doorstep, almost as if they knew they would get a hand out from the kind lady in the little white house with green shutters … and they did. Mom said she thought there was some coded mark on our house that told them they were welcome and would be fed.

My father thought my Mother was the ‘World’s Best Cooker’. He’d still be eating a meal when he would ask Mom what we were having for the next one. I can still see him sniffing around the Thanksgiving turkey when Mom opened the oven to baste the cheesecloth covering our big bird. Dad could hardly contain himself when eyeing his favorite drumsticks. He got one and my brother got the other. Me? I LOVED the browned crispy turkey skin best. Mom always enjoyed a wing, my sisters had the white and dark meat and my Grandma La Flamme, by choice, loved ‘the part that went over the fence last’ as she put it … and oh how she enjoyed it. I can still see her sitting at the table, savoring the fatty goodness, while we kids looked on, confused, wondering why Grandma would choose such a strange piece … YUK!’

We all love good food. It is considered one of life’s greatest pleasures. When I was a kid, I was downright skinny … oh those were the days! Mom tried to fatten me up with fortified milkshakes with eggs whipped in. I hated to drink milk, ever since a farmer squirted milk from a cow’s teat directly in my mouth. It was so warm … I gagged and ever since, I disliked milk … and it got worse when my Mom made me drink warm milk when I was very ill with measles and delirious with fever. YUK! But it was a rule in our house, we kids had to have a glass of milk with each meal … so I would plug my nose and swallow it down, unless I could bribe my little sister, Nancy, to drink it for me, if I promised her a nickel or let her follow me around with my friends.

Mom’s cooking was known far and wide. Lots of ‘good cookers’ my Dad called the women in our family. Everyone had his or her specialties. My aunts were all wonderful cooks. Each had special meat dishes, desserts, breads, wild game, but of them all, to me, my Dad and brother and sisters, Mom was the ‘best cooker’ of them all.

Food was a big part of our French heritage … and it still is. Our holidays are FEASTS! Most of our families have great cooks, as are many of their children and spouses. All my children are good cooks … some cook extremely well. When I married Larry, there were more good dishes his mother, Martha Beighey, and Grandmother Sallie Vestal brought into family meals. As the children grew, married and had families of their own our extended family grew and produced even more new recipes.

We all can cook, some like to better than others. I confess I am getting a bit tired of compulsory cooking after having to feed my big family of six children and a hungry husband three meals a day for all those years. I do enjoy cooking when I feel like cooking. I love eating out, but we all agree that there is nothing like a good home-cooked meal. So I still do a lot of cooking … when I want to … when I feel like it.

Most of our big family meals are done in the summertime when Larry and I move from Amelia Island, Florida Up North to our lake home at Hubbard Lake, Michigan. All of our children come with their families to visit. We have two places at the lake … one the old family cabin, 'The Shack’, which has countless memories for all of us since we began going there in the early 1940’s. Now it is remodeled, [upscale rustic is how my son, Tim, describes it] … with the luxury of running water, laundry facilities, a shower, toilet and fully equipped kitchen … actually it is very cozy and convenient with a dormitory that holds many.

Our lake home, Mighty Oaks, is very comfortable with all the facilities. We have a wonderful time at the lake and do much cooking for a lot of people. My two sisters live there, one permanently and the other’s family has a place directly across the lake from us and spends much time there in summer and winter. We enjoy boating, water skiing, fishing. Everyone joins in cooking. We have bonfires, skits with campfire programs, boat rides, jet skiing, canoeing, hiking, snowshoeing, camping, swimming, tubing, there is always a lot going on, not to mention biking, playing bocce, croquet, softball, lots of board games, card games, etc. but the thing everyone likes to do the most is … EAT! And we certainly do our share of that! We are learning to eat a little healthier, even taken to whole-wheat pasta and brown rice, which I never thought I would learn to enjoy as much as I do now … even like it best. We eat much less red meat and more fish and poultry, whole grain cereals and breads, lots of fruits and vegetables. Got to admit, just as we do at our home, Spyglass, on Amelia Island, while at the lake we enjoy eating out, but the best meals are right at home by our grills in our own homes and on our own decks and porches … with family.

I had a great time getting all these recipes together. There were many little stories about food I wanted to include and there was not room in the recipe section so I made a Notebook Section to include the tidbits I wanted my family to know and remember. Do not hold me responsible if I have not explained the recipes well. Many of my recipes are ‘by-guess-and-by gosh’ [that’s how my Mom described them] recipes that I try to recall … or emulate. Some are from recipes I’ve used for years, some fancy, some not so fancy, but all of those entered are among my favorites. I hope you will all try them and enjoy them as much as we do. My brother, Richard, said they were all, “Scrumptious! Simply Scrumptious!”

I wish to thank all who offered recipes and to my family for their loving encouragement. I dedicate this effort, especially to my Mother, who taught me so much. And a big grateful thanks to my husband, Larry, who helped tremendously with the many details and editing it took to create this labor of love. I love you all. Bon Appetit!

Carole La Flamme Beighey
Author
CBeighey@aol.com


THE WADDODLES OF HOLLOW LAKE OVERVIEW


The Waddodles of Hollow Lake

A series of books about a widowed raccoon mother who courageously raises her family alone on a lake in The Great Northern Wood.

“Harriet cradled her twin sons in her arms, thinking of her husband, Theodore, battling the blizzard cold and alone. Petrified, they waited for him to return, praying he could find enough food to keep them among the ‘Survival of the Fittest’…for one more day.”

The death of a parent can devastate a child. I know. My four children (ages two-eleven years) experienced this devastation when they lost their father in December of 1968.

We were stranded in a blizzard, the day after Christmas, in an unfinished house with little money when my husband died. Anxious how we would manage without him, too young to understand, the children asked, “Why my daddy?”

Feeling lost and alone, our hopes and dreams shattered, I struggled to find a way to explain his death to them. How could I make them understand? Comfort them? Make them realize he was gone forever? How would I reassure them life would go on; that we would find the courage to live without him…that they would be happy again? I searched for books to help them adjust, and found few. So I began writing one…for them …for me…for the countless suffering children who lost a parent.

Children need help to understand their sorrow. When they read the series The Waddodles of Hollow Lake and understand how well the Waddodles cope with Theodore’s death, they will feel encouraged and know they are not alone. With faith restored, hope renewed, they will know they can endure their devastating sorrow; that they will feel happy again.

We spent the summer following my husband’s death at my brother’s humble cabin on Hubbard Lake in the Michigan Great Northern Wood. Every night we watched a young raccoon mother and her babies feeding at our stump. My children related to the fatherless raccoon family; watching them cope made it easier for them to accept their own loss. This inspired me to write my series through the eyes of animals instead of humans, thus The Waddodles of Hollow Lake was born.

In many ways Harriet Waddodle is me; my children are her children. Through the series of books the Waddodle children learn to adjust to their loss, relocate to a faraway home, change their lifestyle, make new friends and cope with family problems as many children experience, even welcoming a new father and more babies into their lives.

“Cradled in Harriet’s arms during the blizzard, Theodore Waddodle gave up his earthly life and passed into eternity. Before he died he made Harriet promise to, ‘Always look forward, Never behind.’”

Over the years, after working as a registered professional nurse and raising six children, the Waddodle stories evolved into a series. Because death is a depressing subject and difficult for children to deal with, I felt the need to address this subject knowing many children face this problem daily.

Though The Waddodles of Hollow Lake: Law of the Woodland may stimulate feelings of sorrow when a parent dies, humor is interwoven throughout the series. The stories are upbeat, warm, amusing, moral, adventurous …even mysterious. Many characters have endearing, humorous personalities.

The Waddodles and their friends are real to me. They behave like animals but reason like humans. Children will laugh and cry along with the Waddodles sharing the family’s good times and bad.

I hope all who read these books will enjoy them as
much as I enjoyed writing them. Thank you…and ‘Always look forward, Never behind.’

Carole La Flamme Beighey February 2002

FOLLOW YOUR DREAMS


POSTED BY LARRY BEIGHEY FROM HIS BOOK, "A DROP IN THE BUCKET."


Follow Your Dreams


My wife is a remarkable person. What she has accomplished at this point in her life makes any of my accomplishments pale in comparison.


Her first husband died the day after Christmas, leaving her with four children, ages two to nine. She was 30! Besides her own grief, she still had to cope with explaining the loss of their father to these four small children. They just couldn’t understand what had happened to their father. When was he coming back?


While vacationing at her brother’s lake cabin in Michigan’s northern woods, she watched a mother raccoon and her babies feeding nightly at the stump outside the kitchen window. The idea came to write her stories through the eyes of animals, believing it would be less painful for children to relate to their loss.


Carole had a dream about writing but could never imagine how she would find the time, especially after marrying me and having two more children … six children under the age of 11.


It was a great idea, but when would she ever find the time?


One Saturday afternoon, I told her that I was going to take the six kids out for about three or four hours and that she should do whatever she wanted.


When I returned home, I found that she had sat down at a typewriter (there were few personal computers in those days) and had written 30 pages of her book, The Waddodles of Hollow Lake. That was 31 years ago.


By sneaking a few minutes here or there – or staying up half the night after everyone had gone to bed – she typed away.


In 1986, we bought a personal computer and after a few quick lessons, Carole learned how to use a simple word processor. Soon, she was proficient in using the computer and had moved up to the most advanced word processors.


That was 1500 type-written pages ago.


She has now had three books published in the series, The Waddodles of Hollow Lake, and has written enough draft material for 5 or 6 books. (http://www.waddodles.com/)


What started out as a dream has turned into a reality! It just proves the point that if you set your mind to something, you can find a way to get it accomplished, despite difficult odds and situations.


Remember to “follow your dreams” and as Theodore Waddodle, one of the raccoons in Carole’s books says, “Always look forward, never behind.”