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!

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.

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.”

WADDODLES LAW OF THE WOODLAND SYNOPSIS

A blizzard is raging. Trapped in their rock den, overlooking Hollow Lake, The Waddodle Raccoon Family is freezing and starving. Harriet is pregnant, expecting babies in the spring. Her husband, Theodore, struggles daily to locate enough food to keep them alive. After several near-death failures to locate food, Theodore must compromise his principles and raid Old Mr. Grump’s garbage cans.

Infuriated, Old Mr. Grump lays a trap for Theodore, tempting him with fresh meat. After tasting a few morsels, Theodore trudges homeward, toting the rest of the tainted meat for his family. When almost home, he collapses near his favorite pine.

Near the rock den, The Ruffin Twins are howling and whining, tormenting the Waddodle family. When Theodore is late, Harriet prepares her sons, in case their father does not return, teaching them about "The Law Of The Woodland" and "Survival Of The Fittest."

After much soul searching, sensing Theodore needed her, Harriet decides to look for him. Leaving strict instructions for her frightened sons to stay covered and not to leave the den under any circumstances, she gathers her courage, and in spite of her advanced pregnancy, trudges forth through the blizzard in search of Theodore, with the starving Ruffins howling and prowling nearby.

Harriet encounters many harrowing experiences as she battles the blizzard during her search before finally discovering Theodore buried deep beneath the snow beside his favorite pine. Heroically, he struggled to stay alive to warn his family about the poisoned meat. Until he dies, Harriet cradles him in her arms to comfort him.

But where can she bury him with the ground frozen? She chose a temporary grave in the stump where Theodore had her bury the poisoned meat. With help from her "strength," Harriet finds the courage to tell her sons the devastating news of their father's death and reveal to them Theodore's parting words and his dying wish was for them to be happy.

Harriet promises her sons that through faith, courage, and love for each other, they will survive if they follow Theodore's wise advice, to "always look forward, never behind."

Lonely and pregnant, Harriet and her devastated sons struggle to survive the winter and endure frequent encounters with their enemies, Jake and Rudy Ruffin and Old Mr. Grump, his double-barreled shotgun and blood-thirsty hounds, Rufus and Brutus.

At long last, spring arrives. Harriet's devoted neighbor, Scitter Chipmunk, visits daily along with Clara and Zoe, who offer the Waddodle Family their undying love and support, helping them to adjust to their tragic loss.

Slowly, the ground thaws. It is time to bury Theodore safely in the earth. Teddie and Freddie search for the perfect burial spot. Clara, Zoe, Teddie and Freddie dig Theodore's grave. Harriet and Scitter gather adornments to decorate it as a memorial in his honor. Reluctantly, shovel-shy Percy Chipmunk tries to help dig, but proves useless, getting in the way of the doe's sharp hoofs, and ends up injured by Clara’s flying clumps of dirt. All the women, except Percy’s wife, are aware Percy is not sick but "hung over" from a night of carousing with "floozies" and sucking on beer caps in The Dump.

Scitter pampers Percy, which annoys the doe. Clara and Zoe vow to intervene with Scitter, on Percy’s behalf, to help guide her alcoholic husband back to health and encourage him to mend his 'wandering ways'... or else. Clara and Zoe send The Waddodles to the brook, while they prepare the grave for burial and transport Theodore's body from the stump to his earth grave. Clara and Zoe bury Theodore, beneath his favorite pine.

Everyone returns to the gravesite. Harriet is too overwhelmed to speak. Clara takes charge of conducting the funeral service. Prayers are said and eulogies delivered. Percy shocks everyone by delivering the best speech they have ever heard. He leads them in song, singing The Woodland Anthem.

After the boys fall asleep, Harriet visits Theodore's grave, and buries the poisoned meat in the earth. Unexpectedly, her labor begins. Luckily, Clara and Zoe, sensing Harriet needed them, returned and stayed to help with the delivery of the babies. Scitter came to baby-sit.

Freddie helps Clara construct the birthing bed. Teddie rubs Harriet's back and times her contractions. Both boys pace nervously, waiting in the rock den for news of the births.

As Harriet’s delivery approaches, Clara grows frantic. Aware she overstated her birthing skills, she now worries whether she can measure up to the task. Her nerves get the best of her and she throws a 'conniption fit', issuing orders fast and furious to everyone, upsetting Zoe and Scitter and the boys, especially Freddie. Zoe suggests that Clara go off alone to compose herself.

Finally composed, Clara returns to apologize to Freddie. She shocks him when she reveals her secret to him, that she feels inadequate. Freddie thinks Clara can do anything. He calms and encourages her, helping to restore her confidence. They patch up their differences and become each other's "Rocks."

The babies are delivered safely. Harriet expected two babies but, to everyone’s surprised delight, delivered triplets. The third delivery is a difficult breach delivery. Finally, when all the healthy triplet girls arrive safely, everyone rejoices, except Freddie, who wanted brothers.

When Harriet reveals to Freddie that his father had two fine sons and wanted baby girls, Freddie quickly adjusted to the idea and struts proudly, showing off his sisters to Scitter.

Harriet named the triplets Adalaide Clara, Bithia Zoe, and Cecelia Scitter, after her dear friends, which delights them. The girls will be called Addie, Bitzi and Cissy, until older. Now that Teddie and Freddie are big brothers with more responsibility, they decide they want more mature names and ask to be known as Ted and Fred instead of Teddie and Freddie.

The boys pick violets for their mother, knowing Theodore would bring her violets if he were here. They lay violets on his grave, and present Clara, Zoe and Scitter with bouquets, bringing them to tears. Harriet believes Theodore's spirit is near, guiding her sons to bring her violets.

After watching their sisters nurse and asking many questions, Scitter hustles the happy brothers inside so Harriet can rest. Clara and Zoe take turns standing guard day and night over 'their family'.

Grateful for her healthy children, Harriet, though missing her husband, reminds her friends that life is good. She falls asleep smiling, holding Theodore's violets in one arm, nestling his babies in the other, looking forward to a promising future, vowing to follow Theodore's wise advice, to 'always look forward, never behind'.

For the time being, all is quiet and peaceful at East Bay, on the shores of Hollow Lake.

WADDODLE SERIES OVERVIEW

SERIES OVERVIEW

A series about the trials and tribulations of a family of raccoons in the Great Northern Wood … targeted for pre-teen children.

STORY LOCATION

A dense virgin Great Northern Wood of white birch, evergreens and hardwoods surrounding Hollow Lake. Running brooks feed the clear, spring-fed lake. Territories include East Bay; West Shore; The Rock Den; Theodore’s Pine; The Chipmunk’s Hollow; Old Mr. Grump’s Cabin; The Cedar Swamp; Pine Forest; The Grassy Meadow; The Gravel Pit; The Ravine; Billy Buck’s Dam; The Grassy Knoll; The Dump; The Stump; 'The Shack'; The Mighty Oak; The Brook; and the Shores of Hollow Lake.

MAIN CHARACTERS:

The Waddodle Raccoon Family:

Theodore: [Father] Strong, brave, honest, devoted to his family and his woodland
Harriet: [Mother] Pregnant, caring, loving, devoted wife and mother
Teddie: [Twin Son] Dependable, obedient, strives to achieve
Freddie: [Twin Son] Adventuresome, fun loving, mischievous.

Triplet Daughters: Born the spring following Theodore’s death.
Adalaide Clara ‘Addie’ … Fun-loving, kind
Bithia Zoe ‘Bitzi’ … Generous, patient
Cecelia Scitter ‘Cissy’ … Musical, comical


WADDODLE FRIENDS

Whitetail Doe: Clara and Zoe: Devoted friends of the Waddodles. Known as “The Newspapers”. Live in The Grassy Meadow. Inform neighbors of woodland Happenings. Offer protection, help police the woodland and assist the Waddodles, offering love and support.

Clara: Beautiful, bossy, ‘take-charger', persnickety perfectionist.
Zoe: Lovely, docile, sweet, a pacifier.

The Chipmunks: Scitter and Percy: The Waddodles good friends and neighbors.
Scitter: Percy's trusting wife; one of Harriet's best friends, good-natured, personable, amusing.
Percy: Shovel-shy, vain, intelligent. An alcoholic 'carouser', addicted to beer-cap-sucking in The Dump. Annoying, troublesome. Wants to reform, but fails consistently. Prone to periods of depression.

WADDODLE ENEMIES

Old Mr. Grump: Grouchy hermit. Hump back, sinister. Only human on East Bay. Totes a double-barreled shotgun. Torments woodland wildlife, especially The Waddodles and Clara and Zoe. Main target is Theodore Waddodle who is forced to raid Grump’s garbage cans during the blizzard.

Rufus and Brutus: Old Mr. Grump’s bloodthirsty hounds who 'coon hunt'.

The Ruffin Twins: Jake and Rudy: Mean, wily red foxes who endlessly torment The Waddodles.

Jake: Most hateful and leader of the two. Abuses brother.
Rudy: Petrified of his brother, Jake, but follows Jake’s lead.

Mr. You-Know-Who [Phantom name] for the notorious black bear: Big Casey: The most fearsome of all enemies. Sick, mean, mad with pain, rumored to be rabid. Torments the entire woodland.

LIFE IN LINWOOD

We lived in the small village of Linwood, Michigan, on a corner lot on Center Street, right next to the Linwood Recreation. My father was a barber and had his shop kiddy-cornered across the street next to the Linwood Hotel.

It was the early 1940's. My sister, Nancy, was born and WW II was in progress. The United States entered the war when the Japanese surprisingly bombed Pearl Harbor in the Hawaiian Islands where we had bases and ships in port. Many people died there. Back home, times were hard. People were enlisting and off to war. The town emptied of its young men who used to frequent The Linwood Recreation next door. When a relative decided to sell The Recreation, my father purchased it and began adding on an addition for a home. The Recreation was not the run-of-the-mill pool room, it was family oriented with a juke box, pin ball machines, ice cream, a popcorn machine ... pop and lots of fun and laughter. The older kids hung out there and many adults came, both men and women. Business slowed down some now that many of the boys left to join the military and fight our war.

Before the addition was completed, we moved into our new home. It was a humble home as building materials were not readily available while the war was on. We had an outdoor privy while we waited for our toilet and sink to be installed. Wood was at a premium and we had only light lavender paper stretched across the walls dividing the 6 small rooms ... a kitchen, living room, 2 bedrooms, laundry room, bathroom. [Later, the rooms were plastered by a good friend, Johnny Pelky, but that was a long time coming.] By the time the men came to plaster, the paper walls were torn and uglier than before from poking our fingers through it and making the holes larger and larger. I was eager to be rid of all the torn paper.

We did have a room attached to our house that separated our home from The Recreation. We called it the Middle Room. It is where my father stored the supplies for the store. It did have a public restroom. Our upright piano was in this room, my mother's push treadle sewing machine, a coal stove, an antlered deer head hung over the piano, later my mother had a dryer tucked behind the door going into the kitchen ... but that, too, was years and years later. The Middle Room gave us a little extra room and we used it a lot to play. The only telephone for the house and store was located here. The room was furnished with a few comfortable chairs and a few wicker pieces my mother loved ... and atop the wicker table stood a colorful Tiffany's style Victorian lamp with tassels hanging from the light switch. In an alcove off the main room was a section used for stacking soda pop bottles for the store. We also kept our dog blanket and Trixie's dog dish next to the stove. The room was filled with memorabilia and interesting bric-a-brac artifacts that Mom collected and had no place in our small home to store them. Everything we had no room for seemed to end up stashed in the Middle Room.

The Middle Room was painted a light pea green ... not too cheerful, but Mom said it was a relaxing color. She loved the colors green and yellow. Our kitchen was bright yellow with dark green counter tops, the living room pale green, the bathroom was tinted pink, the folks bedroom a restful pale green and all us kids, three of us at the time, my brother, Rich, who had a daybed and my sister, Nancy and I slept together in a double brown iron bed in the blue bedroom. There wasn't enough room to install a bedroom door so for years we slept in a bedroom with no door, which was fine as we could get more heat from our oil burner in the living room with the door open. [Years later, when my little sister, Joey, was born, she took my place when I went off to nursing school ... until then, it was necessary for her to sleep on a cot in my parents bedroom ... not an ideal situation, but it was the best my folks could afford. Also, while I was away at school, my folks built an addition to their living quarters, adding on a good size living room with a fireplace, another bedroom, and a lovely screened-in porch.] Many mornings I woke up so cold I would run into the living room and Dad would help us dress with the clothes he placed across our stove to warm them. One of the nicest memories I have is my father sitting me on his lap and rubbing my feet to warm them before he put on my socks.

Mom would be in the kitchen cooking breakfast, either oatmeal, cream of wheat, scrambled eggs and toast or pancakes, if she had time. Ovaltine, a chocolate crystals we stirred into our milk was a regular, as was hot cocoa when it was cold outside. We all had the daily dose of cod liver oil and a multiple vitamin. On the radio we heard Squeaky and Sputters, Eddie Arnold singing, news reports, or Happy Hank singing his birthday song, "I know a girl who has a birthday today, I know a boy who has one, too ...". Mom would braid my hair in pigtails, always neatly pulled tight ... shiny clean. Mom rinsed our hair with vinegar to get all the soap out and make it shine. We got teased by the other kids that our pigtails were pulled so tight, we looked Chinese ... and that we smelled of vinegar ... at least until we had our hair washed again. We didn't care what they said, we knew we looked fresh and clean. Mom would always tie colorful ribbons on the end of our braids. She kept us all neat and clean ... taught us table manners, insisted we respect all adults, and reminded us that The Blessed Virgin was watching over us which encouraged us to always behave ... and of course we all knew our Guardian Angels were right with us to protect us at all times.

We were a proud family, well behaved, and deeply loved. We put on our winter coats and galoshes, mittens and scarves and we walked to school along the sidewalks that followed Center Street. It seemed a long way then but in reality it was only about 1/4 of a mile. We only got driven to school if it was raining.

When school was out for summer, Mom would always have a hired girl to help out with the housework so she could work in the store while Dad barbered in the shop that he had built in connection with The Recreation. My parents worked long hours. Later, after selling the pool tables, juke box and pin ball machines ... they converted The Recreation into a dairy bar/lunch counter ... sold greeting cards, newspapers and magazines, ice cream and some clothing ... and carried a line of Feather's baked goods brought in from Bay City. It was more like a General Store. Later, my folks bought out the local drug store from Jenny Yakel and moved it into our building ... now selling patent medicines, all sorts of drug store fare except prescriptions. We had no pharmacist. My brother, Richard, began his college studying pharmacy, intending to return to our store when he graduated but he ended up teaching elementary school when he received a full scholarship from the Ford Foundation with the understanding that he would have to study teaching. So our Drug Store never did have a pharmacist ... but we had everything else ... and still ran the dairy/lunch counter. We had many coffee guzzlers daily, sometimes coming in twice a day, morning and afternoons sort of their social life. During the big smelt runs, hundreds of smelt fishermen descended on the whereabouts of Linwood and my folks would keep the lunch counter open all night ... and I worked all night. [One night I was so exhausted I dropped a bowl of hot chili in the lap of one of the sportmen. It was embarrassing but he was a gentleman about it and of course my folks did not charge him for his late night snack ... and my father helped clean him up, heard the smelt were running good and sent him back on his way fishing with a smile on his face.]

Linwood Beach was the place to go at one time. Many lovely cottages lined the shore. Years ago well-to-do families would come, by train, for the summers and return to the city for the school and winter season. The Beach had a pavilion with big bands playing where dances were held and people came in by boat and train from Bay City, Saginaw, and Midland. It still is a lovely beach and many of the original cottages remain with their original families. Many have remodeled them, restored to their original condition and some are just the same as they were in the beginning ... well tended and loved, and Linwood Beach still remains a lovely place to own a second home ... although more and more people are making Linwood Beach their permanent residence.

One Christmas in the 40's when we still owned The Linwood Recreation

I was about eight years old when we had a December with no snow. It was nearly Christmas. Every kid in town was worried how Santa would get to us. The village streets were bare ... the grass bare ... not a snowflake fell the whole month of December. I was not only worried, but I was sad. Here it was Christmastime and it didn't feel a bit like Christmas. Dad and Mom were late picking out our Christmas tree. When it came, it seemed ages before it was fit to decorate. Dad, a Christmas tree perfectionist, was busy cutting holes in the trunk and redistributing branches to cover the bare spots. The Christmas tree was a big deal at our house. Mom loved the tree, as did we all. After Dad was satisfied he'd covered all the bare spots, he covered one or our pool tables with a tarp, set the tree in a stand ... put it atop the pool table and lifted each of us kids up on the table to help trim the tree.

My father was fussy about the decorations and we all liked the icicles, taking great pains to hang them one by one so they hung gracefully from the branches. Dad was bigger on stretching cotton over the branches to make it look like snow. The ornaments were special and each had a story. My favorite was the soft little brown teddy bear that was one of the first ornaments they bought for the tree when my brother was a baby. There were beautiful hand blown glass violet and aquamarine bells that had been on every tree that I remembered. I wanted to put some of them on ... and when I picked one up, it fell and broke and I was devestated and cried forever it seemed. Initially, Dad gave me a sour look, but later, hugged me and said that maybe I had better stick with the ornaments that weren't so fragile. I never forgot that incident. Every time I decorate a tree I think of that broken bell.

Anyway, there was still no snow on Christmas Eve. As usual, a bunch of us went Christmas caroling in the neighborhood and returned home for hot chocolate and Christmas cookies. It was time to prepare for midnight mass. Our house was unusually quiet. Mom and Dad had closed the store and were resting up before going to church. It had been a busy week and up until I left for caroling, Mom was still wrapping gifts.

We all went to Midnight Mass together, leaving early about 11:00 as Midnight Mass was always well attended at St. Anne's and although our church was large for a small town, it would be crowded ... by the time mass started, there would be standing room only. As we approached the church steps, Mother saw how sad I looked and asked me what was wrong. "It's Christmas, Carole. You should be happy."
"I know, Mom. I am happy, but I am disappointed that it is not snowing. All the little kids are worried about Santa arriving."
"Not only the little kids," Richard said. "You look a bit concerned yourself."
"I am concerned as to how he'll get here but, like always, I'm more concerned about how he will get into our house. We don't have a big enough chimney for him to crawl down. How does he get in?"
"We don't really have a chimney at all, just pipes from the oil burner," Richard said.
"Santa has all kinds of transportation, kids ... airplanes ... trucks ... not only reindeer and a sled," Dad reminded them "Remember, just the other night Santa was checking and left his big red truck on our lawn."
"Yah, right, Dad," Richard said.
"That was Gene Sauve's Gasoline Truck, Dad. He was filling our oil tank. We knew that even though he tried to scare us by tapping on our windows and pretending he was Santa Claus." Claus."
Dad smiled. "Just pray for snow then, kids."
"I'm praying hard," I said. "I've been praying for snow all week."
Christmas Mass, as always was beautiful. The Adult Choir sang and the Children's Choir, which Nancy and I belonged to. It was hot in church with our winter coats on and by the time the long line of communicants finished, they were hot, tired and ready to go home.
All I could think about was seeing our Christmas tree, and sitting curled up on the couch in front of it and just watching it. When we opened the doors to leave church, I gasped! Looking up, I cried, "Look Everybody! It's snowing! It's a miracle!"
"See, kids. Your prayers were answered," Mom said, smiling. "Now Santa will get here for sure."
Happily they headed for home where Dad and Rich would eat oyster stew and the rest of us would have a piece of Mom's famous meat pie with cranberry sauce. They laid out a snack for Santa ... Christmas cookies and milk with a little bowl of sugar for the reindeer. Then it was time for bed and sweet dreams of Santa flying through the air while the snow fell paving his way to deliver his toys to all the boys and girls. It would be hard to sleep tonight as we listened for the reindeer to land on our roof and hoping Santa would find his way in.

MY PERSONAL THOUGHTS

You may wonder why I have so many pieces about soldiers and the war in my blog. It probably stems from my childhood, growing up during WW II and listening to all my family's daily discussions of the war. It was prime news at our dinner table. Several relatives of my family were involved in that war. Many in our town were serving. Some came home; some did not. Some came home ill or injured. It took its toll on everyone in my hometown. And I will never forget it.

Many windows in the homes proudly displayed stars depicting they had a member of their family in service, dead, missing or wounded. Every day, we kids made our trip to check the Honor Roll next to our Post Office to see if there were any new stars by the names of our boys, meaning they were dead, missing or wounded. People laid flowers under the Honor Roll. The church bell tolled when bad news was reported. We children took our turns at school scouting the sky for suspicious aircraft ... usually a younger child [K-5] paired with one of the upperclassmen [6-8]. My father served as a blackout warden. My mother worked with the Red Cross.

A favorite teacher, Mrs. Blue, with her perfectly groomed upsweep hairdo with a faint blue tint, sat proudly pumping out patriotic songs on the old oak organ every school morning and again when the kids paraded through our room on the way to the lunchroom. Mrs. Blue didn't believe in wasting a minute ... having to teach four grades in one room, she had not a minute to waste. We had our music class while singing to the students as they passed back and forth for hot lunches. We all sang at the top of our voices, showing off, thinking it was great fun.

We had a small country school ... only three rooms for K-8 but we had everything we needed, including a great hot lunch program with great cooks who catered to the students ... even bringing in mid afternoon snacks such as peanut butter and honey balls rolled in cornflakes or apples ... sometimes milk or orange juice. Not all schools as small as ours had a hot lunch program. If we had all our work done, we were allowed to go to the kitchen for an hour and help the cooks prepare for the following day, by peeling potatoes, buttering bread, etc. Our parents took good care of us to see that we were well fed. Our town was not wealthy financially. For some of the children, this was the only hot meal they received all day.

The hot lunch program was a wonderful addition to the school but the addition I remember the most was when I came to school and found we had inside bathrooms with flush toilets and running water in sinks and drinking fountains in each room. The year before, when in Kindergarden, we had to use an out house, which was a scary place to me, as when using it one day, a mouse ran across the floor.

The boys favored wearing leather air helmets with chin straps, high top boots with a pocket for a jackknife, knickers, camouflaged shirts and pants, the metal hats worn by the infantry marching in combat; everyone pledged the Allegiance with respect. The boys played war, the girls played Army nurses.

We went to the store with our coupons and tokens and bought what we could during the rationing. Chocolate and bubble gum were at a premium, as was coffee, sugar and butter. Victory gardens were everywhere, some sharing gardens with neighbors. We were allowed only two pairs of shoes a year ... and for growing children, that is tough. When our shoes got too small, my father would cut out the toes ... when they got holes in the soles, he cut out cardboard innersoles and lined them to try and keep out the dampness. No one complained about the shortages ... they shared what they had and were thankful for what they did have knowing many throughout Europe and Asia and other countries were without. We saved our paper and tied it in bundles and my brother wheeled it to school in our red wagon. We saved our tin cans, squashing them flat ... any iron or rubber ... it all went to storage. I still have my certificate for all the paper I saved during the war in my scrapbook.

WW II music was special, some of the best music of my lifetime ... romantic and wonderful ... the big bands played; the movies depicted what was going on during the war. Every movie had a newsreel, unlike today, there was no television news. We saw Hitler, Tito and Mussolini on the newsreels. I was petrified seeing Hitler raging his 'Heil Hitler' .. his looks frightened me. I had nightmares as a child picturing the Germans or the Japanese breaking into our house and taking my family away ... or worse.

One boy from our town, Donald Friedinger, died on the beaches of Normandy. When I visited there, I saw his name engraved on the American Memorial and have a video of it. My brother and I, who remember D-Day, looked over the clifts and wept, wondering how our men had the courage to climb those trecherous clifts, know when they reached the top they would be facing the German guns aiming directly at them. One man I knew when living in Pennsylvania lost his eye during the Normandy invasion. A boy from my home town was shot down over the Baltic Sea during the Korean War and was never found. One of my cousins was shot down in France early in the war and was a prisoner of the Germans throughout the war. He went in the army with dark hair and came home totally white. Two of my cousins who served in the islands occupied by the Japanese came home with malaria that surfaced on and off throughout their lives. Another was thrown overboard in a naval attack and spent several long hours in the ocean before being rescued. Yes, ... that is just a few of the soldiers, sailors, marines, coastguardsmen and national guardsmen from our hometown who were affected during the wars. Our town paid a tremendous debt for their courage in battle and we are all very proud of them.

One of the nice things that came out of that era was the patriotism of the people everywhere. We were all in this together and we all pulled together to win the war. That is why America is so great ... it is the people who love her and fight for her that made our country the greatest country in the world. I wish our people today would follow the same message the people exhibited during the big war ... WW II. I will never forget those days. They made an indelible impression on me. It instilled in me my great love and admiration for our country. Our teachers instilled in their students the feelings of patriotism. My father flew the American flag over our store every day of the week and took it down every evening. When I think of my dad, that is one way I remember him best ... raising and lowering his flag and shoveling the great amounts of snow we had as a kid ... and always working so hard. And my mother, too. She loved the kids in our home town and they loved her. When they went away and came home from school or the service, they all came to see 'Aunt Anne'. When the Mexicans came in the summer to pick the pickles and sugar beets, they traded at our store remembering the kindness and fairness my parents showed them. My mother stood for more than one little Mexican baby's baptism.

When I see a serviceman, I thank him for his service. If it weren't for men like him, I would not be here in this great country living the free life I enjoy ... and neither would you. When you see one, let him know he is appreciated. That is the least we can do for the sacrifices they have made for us. The family erected a flagpole in the Memorial Park by the bay to honor our brave men; a memorial donated in memorandum of my brother, who had great respect for our armed services and served in the National Guard and taught in the Guard for the duration of his duty.

I love my country. GOD BLESS AMERICA! GOD BLESS US ALL! GOD BRING PEACE THROUGHOUT OUR WORLD.

MEMORABLE EVENTS

Subj: SPACE SHOT ... WHAT A MAGNIFICENT SIGHT!
Date: 12/4/00
From: Spyglass Amelia Island, FL

Dear Family and Friends,

I just have to share this with you.

The other night, I think it was Thursday, maybe Friday, we heard Kennedy Space Center was conducting another launch. We were at our place, Spyglass, at Amelia Island, FL. Lift off was to occur in the evening around 9:00 PM. When the announcer on Fox News mentioned it was time for lift off, Larry and I went out on our lanai to watch, hoping to catch sight of it.

At first we saw only a big flash of fire. It looked like it was almost right down shore on the beach. (We couldn't believe how close it seemed, as we are approx 100 mi from Kennedy Space Center) We weren't sure, yet, if it was the shuttle.

But THEN it began rising. It looked VERY BRIGHT...YELLOWISH-WHITE … with a long tail, but it didn't seem to be going THAT fast ... and it seemed to be coming RIGHT AT US! (Optical illusion, of course, as we are still here to tell about it, tsk tsk) It kept coming, almost like it was following the shoreline ... closer … and closer … RIGHT TOWARD US!

THEN it veered upward and began to climb and climb, leaving a long trail of fiery flames in its path … but all the while, we didn't hear a thing. Somewhere it must have dropped the rocket, but we didn't see that, or if we did, we didn't realize we saw it. We watched it climb upwards until it was out of sight. And WHAT A SIGHT IT WAS!

I have seen 'lift offs' from our porch before, during the day, when all I could see was a trail of white smoke ... but THIS LIFT-OFF WAS SPECTACULAR … the biggest fireworks I have EVER seen.

GOD! How beautiful of an experience that was! How privileged we were to witness it ... and so vividly. Thank you USA Space Program. Thank you for making this possible ... and please bring our astronauts home safely.

Today, after the shuttle landed, I saw a picture of the astronauts outside the craft ... looking like floating balloons in their space suits. It is a MIRACLE ... this Space Travel. And to think I could watch it right from my own porch. MY! How far this country has come. To think that we can actually go to Space and walk on the moon. UNBELIEVABLE! Completely unthought of as a child. And this is only the beginning! What awesome sights will our grandchildren experience? We can only imagine!

Awesome,

Carole Beighey

A TRIBUTE TO MY BROTHER

A copy of the tribute to my brother that I was asked to write for the National Pickle Festival booklet , the year they honored him for the many years he spent making the Linwood Centennial Park a reality and for initiating the organization of the National Pickle Festival and presiding as Chairman of the Pickle Festival Parade every year until he died.


RICHARD LEONARD JOSEPH LA FLAMME 1935-1999

CELEBRATING FORTY YEARS AS LINWOOD’S SCOUTMASTER

“The value of giving lies not simply in the amount given but in the sacrifice it requires and the love that prompts it.” - taken from The Moral Compass by William J. Bennett

Born and raised in Linwood, Michigan, Richard La Flamme is a loyal, patriotic 'Linwoodite' who has lived here his entire life. He proudly states, "I've been many interesting places ... but even France, Canada, Boston, New York, Philadelphia, Washington DC, California, Pennsylvania, Montana, Georgia and Florida don't compare to Linwood, my home town. I'll never leave here."

Concerning his childhood, he says, "Linwood was the best place for a child to grow up. Kids had everything we needed ... lots of good friends; Saginaw Bay to fish, swim, canoe and skate; the Tab and Rhine ditches to play 'war' and 'jungle' in; lots of great places to picnic, bike ride, play ball and 'Kick The Can.' We had a good school with great teachers, the 'Free Shows', and we could Trick-or-Treat safely at every house in town. We knew everyone and everyone knew us. We looked after and cared for each other. What more could a kid want? I wouldn't trade places with any kid ... anywhere."

Richard experienced the 'boom days,' when Linwood was a bustling village where farmers came to shop and bring crops to the Chickory Plant and Elevator. His parents, Leonard and Anne Ballard La Flamme, owned La Flammes Drug Store and Barber Shop on Center Street, across from the old Post Office. His grandfather and uncles owned Ballard's Grocery Store, the Linwood Hotel and the Linwood Lumberyard. These were busy establishments, especially during the summer season when the beach people came to reopen their cottages on Linwood Beach.

Soon the malls invaded, drawing business to the cities. Though many stores closed, Richard's faith in his town never faltered. Through the good and bad changes, he remained faithful to his people, believing in them, forever seeking new ways to improve his beloved community.
Richard worked hard all his life, not only around the store, but he peddled three newspaper routes, mowed lawns, baby-sat, shoveled snow and did whatever he could to help earn his keep.

Following graduation from Central Michigan University, after long days of teaching in the Zilwalkee School (near Saginaw), Richard unselfishly remained home to help his folks run the family business, which had fallen on hard times. Always generous with his time, he honored and lovingly cared for both his parents until they died. After his brother-in-law died, leaving his oldest sister widowed with four young children, he served as a 'substitute father' during the summers they spent in his cabin at Hubbard Lake.

As soon as he was old enough to join the troop, Richard became a Boy Scout; he loved scouting from the very beginning. Soon after he joined, he heroically saved a friend from drowning in the Kawkawlin River while on a camping trip. Ironically, Richard's biggest disappointment during his childhood involved scouting. His troop won the highest First Aid Award in the state, affording them an opportunity to compete nationally. Sadly, the troop couldn't raise enough money to send the Linwood Boy Scouts to Chicago to compete for the championship title. This great disappointment still brings tears to Richard's eyes when he speaks of it. "I know our Linwood Troop could capture the highest First Aid honors in the country, now we will never know." But they continued to take many First Place Awards in First Aid for many years. During Richard's teen years, he helped his Scoutmaster lead his troop.

"BE PREPARED" is the Boy Scout motto and Richard practiced it well, preparing himself to take over the troop when his Scoutmaster stepped down. Year after year, he kept the Boy Scouts interested by making the meetings informative and fun to attend; he took them on canoe trips, held Klondike Derbies, went camping, taught Indian Dancing, had cookouts and campfires, and took them every summer to Bear Lake to Boy Scout Camp.

It wasn’t long before Richard earned the Silver Beaver Award, the highest honor in scouting, presented to him at a Banquet at the Bay City Consitery in his honor. Many Scouts have learned much and become better citizens under Richard's direction and dedicated service in scouting. He is proud of his troop; they bring him much joy, satisfaction and honor. Proudly, he has helped thirty-seven young men achieve their Eagle Scout awards. Several more are 'waiting in the wings'. Recently Richard celebrated forty years as Linwood’s Scout Master.

The Linwood troop canvases for countless charities by holding Bike-a-thons, Can-a-thons, Unicef and Muscular Dystrophy drives, just to name a few. It's the Boy Scouts whom the community depends on to clean-up after festivals and community functions and park activities; it's the Boy Scouts who conduct 'Litter Pick-up' days to improve the looks of their town and cemetery ... you name it, the Boy Scouts come prepared to help.

Though scouting takes much of Richard's time, he tirelessly devotes many hours to other community projects. He was among those instrumental in helping to make Linwood Centennial Park become a reality, through funding from The Linwood Pickle Festival. The park now has picnic pavilions, ball diamonds, a lighted tennis court, a refreshment stand, playground equipment and toilet facilities.

For many years Richard chaired the difficult task of raising funds and organizing the Linwood Pickle Festival Parade, [he works from the minute one parade ends to the start of the next parade] on a very limited budget. When contributions are low, he prays and perseveres; somehow he always courageously manages to put together the best parade and entertainment his meager budget can afford.

Because of Richard and those devoted to Linwood's progress, the village has sidewalks stretching clear to the bay with benches to rest upon and flowers adorning the pathway. Decorative flags fly proudly along Center Street. American flags are raised every holiday. Because Richard and devoted 'Linwoodites' work diligently to achieve their goals, a park with a paved parking lot, War Memorial and picnic tables with benches are near completion near the park by the bay. Welcome signs, north and south of Linwood, greet visitors when approaching the village.

For almost forty years, Richard taught elementary school, mostly in Zilwalkee, until his retirement five years ago. He was a teacher who 'went that extra mile' for his students, taking them on Field Trips, filling his room with fossils and science projects, making teaching exciting and interesting. At the end of the school year, he took his classes to camp for three days. Students and fellow teachers praise his efforts. One August, a mother of one of his students brought some of his students all the way from Saginaw to visit him on his birthday, along with a beautiful cake to show their appreciation.

What Richard treasures family gatherings, devoted friends, neighbors and 'helpers'. [His family adore him and call him 'The Pickle King']. He's comforted by his peaceful home filled with mementos, the birds nesting in his trees, his gazebo and hot tub. [His nephews and nieces lovingly tease him, calling him 'Uncle Rich By Tdoes Richard value most besides his beloved town and Boy Scouts? His deep faith and devotion to God, his pride in St. Anne's Catholic Church, where he served as an altar boy for many years. His love of country (he served with the National Guard) ... his freedom and the American Flag. "This is the greatest country on earth," he says, with a lump in his throat, as he watches the Flag and veterans pass during a parade, or when the band strikes up The Star Spangled Banner.

Richard treasures family gatherings, devoted friends, neighbors and 'helpers'. [His family adore him and call him The Pickle King']. He's comforted by his peaceful home filled with mementoes, the birds nesting in his trees, his gazebo and hot tub. [His nephews and nieces lovingly tease him, calling him 'Uncle Rich By the Ditch'.] He takes pleasure in small town activities and its charming characters. For a 'little bit of heaven away from home,' you'll find him at his peaceful cabin at Hubbard Lake, MI, near Alpena.

A history-geography buff, Richard is an expert on Michigan history. He 'tears up' hearing "Michigan My Michigan". Dixieland Jazz, Judy Garland singing ,Over The Rainbow, and the song from Pinochhio, When You Wish Upon A Star, the poem The Village Blacksmith, Hiawatha, travels, sports, TV, movies, concerts, fishing, parades, antique shops, flea markets and craft shows are passions of his.

Special moments are savored, like sitting in his easy chair before the fireplace reminiscing about 'old times', soaking in his hot tub and eating, especially 'Mom's baked beans, meatloaf, scalloped potatoes, spaghetti, fish and chips and a good homemade pot of soup. Occasionally, he'll sneak a dessert, favoring hot fudge sundaes, ice cream cones and a good piece of 'most any kind of' homemade pie. St. Anne's fish and chicken dinners and homemade donuts excite him and he loves cooking campfire meals such as his famous Hobo dinners and barbecue chicken.

He enjoys watching wildlife and is soothed by gazing at the stars, listening to the rain fall or a rustling brook, seeing a sunrise, a sunset or a rainbow, hearing the roar of the ocean, enjoying the peaceful solitude and smell of the woods and lakes. He's a 'crack' Trivia Pursuit player ... Jeopardy player, too, if he was a little quicker with the 'clicker'.

Richard is a happy contented man who strengthens his soul by fulfilling his needs through devoted service to others; he genuinely feels love for his fellow man, takes’ time to comfort a friend, and always finds goodness in others.

Although he lives alone, Richard decorates his house for every holiday with his collection of nutcrackers, stuffed bunnies, antique toys and appropriate holiday decorations. He smiles a lot and has a wonderful sense of humor, although his corny jokes can often drive one to 'distraction'. He enjoys singing and can carry a tune with enthusiasm; he even hits some good solid notes, providing he sticks to camp songs and refrains from singing the difficult oldies such as Old Man River or Danny Boy. He is writing his childhood memoirs, which he plans to complete when he can find the time.

Richard's family loves his goodness and admires his enjoyment in celebrating life. Many in the community respect his intelligence and dedication to duty; his Boy Scouts appreciate his devotion to them. Richard gives of himself without the slightest thought of return. He knows who he is, but like everyone, he appreciates a wave of the hand, a pat on the back or a 'thank you' for a job well done.

Many people have benefited from knowing Richard. He will leave this world a better place for having known him. He gives to his community the best he has to give. Surely, in time, the best shall come back to him and he will reap his just reward ... for Richard La Flamme is a Success ... and "God will see his goodness."

-Carole La Flamme Beighey

Afterward:

Not long after this, in 1999, he finished his book, "A Robin's Winter". He was in the midst of putting it all together when he died unexpectedly in July of 1999. My husband, Larry, and I finished assembling it and had it published. I know Richard would be very proud to see his book in print.

Sadly, he didn't see it nor did he see my Waddodle Series published, or my husband's book, "A Drop in a Bucket" or my daughter, Anne's book , Saving Lives and Saving Money, that she helped Newt Gingrich write along with a co-worker.

Richard's funeral was beautiful, one of the largest Linwood has seen, with flags lining the street in his honor because of his loyal dedication to his communit. His scouts all turned out, serving as honor guards. His neices and nephews carried his casket. The herse carried him through his beloved village, passed his home, down to the bay where the herse turned around and headed for Kawkawlin, where Richard was buried in Calvary Cemetery, alongside his parents and grandparents.

He would be proud of the flag pole erected at the Memorial site by the bay, contributed with Richard's funds to honor the many brave men and women who sacrificed so much and served our country from this area ... and also for the many new tents, cots and equipment purchased for his Scout Troop, including sizable fund to contribute to the building fund to house the boy scout trailer and scouting equipment. The large American flag flying proudly over the Memorial near the bay is a constant reminder of the man who loved Linwood with his whole heart.

Yes, my brother was a big success in life and left an indeleble mark on his community. He was loved by family and friends and exhibited a fine role model for many of the boys he led. He earned the respect of many. When going through Richard's drawers, we found letters from former scouts thanking him for the direction he gave them and crediting him for helping with their success. Surely, God will see his goodness and he will reap his just reward.

OUR FIGHTING MEN: AMERICA'S HEROS

OUR FIGHTING MEN

A letter sent by a friend, Teri Sweatman 4/26/2004 from her nephew, 2nd Lt. Andrew Sweatman, USMCR ... newly commissioned 2nd Lt in the Marine Corps ... all 4 of the Sweatman grandsons are in the military for the moment, something their Grandma Sweatman is VERY proud about! Andrew has just started TBS at Quantico, VA.

The Military
The average age of the military man is 19 years. He is a short haired, tight-muscled kid who, under normal circumstances is considered by society as half man, half boy. Not yet dry behind the ears, not old enough to buy a beer, but old enough to die for his country. He never really cared much for work and he would rather wax his own car than wash his father's; but he has never collected unemployment either.

He's a recent High School graduate; he was probably an average student, pursued some form of sport activities, drives a ten year old jalopy, and has a steady girlfriend that either broke up with him when he left, or swears to be waiting when he returns from half a world away. He listens to rock and roll or hip-hop or rap or jazz or swing and 155mm howizzitor. He is 10 or 15 pounds lighter now than when he was at home because he is working or fighting from before dawn to well after dusk. He has trouble spelling, thus letter writing is a pain for him, but he can field strip a rifle in 30 seconds and reassemble it in less time in the dark. He can recite to you the nomenclature of a machine gun or grenade launcher and use either one effectively if he must. He digs foxholes and latrines and can apply first aid like a professional. He can march until he is told to stop or stop until he is told to march.

He obeys orders instantly and without hesitation, but he is not without spirit or individual dignity. He is self-sufficient. He has two sets of fatigues: he washes one and wears the other. He keeps his canteens full and his feet dry. He sometimes forgets to brush his teeth, but never to clean his rifle. He can cook his own meals, mend his own clothes, and fix his own hurts. If you're thirsty, he'll share his water with you; if you are hungry, his food. He'll even split his ammunition with you in the midst of battle when you run low.

He has learned to use his hands like weapons and weapons like they were his hands. He can save your life - or take it, because that is his job. He will often do twice the work of a civilian, draw half the pay and still find ironic humor in it all. He has seen more suffering and death then he should have in his short lifetime.

He has stood atop mountains of dead bodies, and helped to create them. He has wept in public and in private, for friends who have fallen in combat and is unashamed. He feels every note of the National Anthem vibrate through his body while at rigid attention, while tempering the burning desire to 'square-away' those around him who haven't bothered to stand, remove their hat, or even stop talking. In an odd twist, day in and day out, far from home, he defends their right to be disrespectful. Just as did his Father, Grandfather, and Great-grandfather, he is paying the price for our freedom.

Beardless or not, he is not a boy. He is the American Fighting Man that has kept this country free for over 200 years.He has asked nothing in return, except our friendship and understanding. Remember him, always, for he has earned our respect and admiration with his blood. And now we even have women over there in danger, doing their part in this tradition of going to War when our nation calls us to do so. As you go to bed tonight, remember this shot. A short lull, a little shade and a picture of loved ones in their helmets.

"Lord, hold our troops in your loving hands. Protect them as they protect us. Bless them and their families for the selfless acts they perform for us in our time of need. Amen." Of all the gifts you could give a US Soldier, Sailor, Coastguardsman, Marine or Airman, prayer is the very best one.

TOUCHING CHRISTMAS STORY

My friend, Lois Miller, sent me this beautiful, touching Christmas story about a family falling on hard times. 1/4/2004

THE BIG WHEEL

In September 1960, I woke up one morning with six hungry babies and just 75 cents in my pocket. Their father was gone. The boys ranged from three months to seven years; their sister was two. Their Dad had never been much more than a presence they feared. Whenever they heard his tires crunch on the gravel driveway they would scramble to hide under their beds. He did manage to leave $15 a week to buy groceries. Now that he had decided to leave, there would be no more beatings, but no food either. If there was a welfare system in effect in southern Indiana at that time, I certainly knew nothing about it. I scrubbed the kids until they looked brand new and then put on my best homemade dress. I loaded them into the rusty old 51 Chevy and drove off to find a job.

The seven of us went to every factory, store and restaurant in our small town. No luck. The kids stayed crammed into the car and tried to be quiet while I tried to convince whomever would listen that I was willing to learn or do anything. I had to have a job … still no luck. The last place we went to, just a few miles out of town, was an old Root Beer Barrel drive-in that had been converted to a truck stop. It was called The Big Wheel. An old lady named Granny owned the place and she peeked out of the window from time to time at all those kids. She needed someone on the graveyard shift, 11 at night until seven in the morning. She paid 65 cents an hour and I could start that night.

I raced home and called the teenager down the street that baby-sat for people. I bargained with her to come and sleep on my sofa for a dollar a night. She could arrive with her pajamas on and the kids would already be asleep. This seemed like a good arrangement to her, so we made a deal. That night when the little ones and I knelt to say our prayers we all thanked God for finding Mommy a job.

And so I started at The Big Wheel. When I got home in the mornings I woke the baby-sitter up and sent her home with one dollar of my tip money-fully half of what I averaged every night. As the weeks went by, heating bills added a strain to my meager wage. The tires on the old Chevy had the consistency of penny balloons and began to leak. I had to fill them with air on the way to work and again every morning before I could go home. One bleak fall morning, I dragged myself to the car to go home and found four tires in the back seat. New tires! There was no note, no nothing, just those beautiful brand new tires. Had angels taken up residence in Indiana? I wondered. I made a deal with the local service station. In exchange for his mounting the new tires, I would clean up his office. I remember it took me a lot longer to scrub his floor than it did for him to do the tires.

I was now working six nights instead of five and it still wasn't enough.Christmas was coming and I knew there would be no money for toys for the kids. I found a can of red paint and started repairing and painting some old toys. Then I hid them in the basement so there would be something for Santa to deliver on Christmas morning. Clothes were a worry too. I was sewing patches on top of patches on the boys pants and soon they would be too far gone to repair.

On Christmas Eve the usual customers were drinking coffee in The Big Wheel. These were the truckers, Les, Frank, and Jim, and a state trooper named Joe. A few musicians were hanging around after a gig at the Legion and were dropping nickels in the pinball machine. The regulars all just sat around and talked through the wee hours of the morning and then left to get home before the sun came up.

When it was time for me to go home at seven o'clock on Christmas morning I hurried to the car. I was hoping the kids wouldn't wake up before I managed to get home and get the presents from the basement and place them under the tree. [We had cut down a small cedar tree by the side of the road down by the dump.] It was still dark and I couldn't see much, but there appeared to be some dark shadows in the car-or was that just a trick of the night? Something certainly looked different, but it was hard to tell what.

When I reached the car I peered warily into one of the side windows. Then my jaw dropped in amazement. My old battered Chevy was filled full to the top with boxes of all shapes and sizes. I quickly opened the driver's side door, scrambled inside and knelt in the front facing the back seat. Reaching back, I pulled off the lid of the top box. Inside was whole case of little blue jeans, sizes 2-10! I looked inside another box: It as full of shirts to go with the jeans. Then I peeked inside some of the other boxes: There was candy and nuts and bananas and bags of groceries. There was an enormous ham for baking, and canned vegetables and potatoes. There was pudding and Jell-O and cookies, pie filling and flour. There was a whole bag of laundry supplies and cleaning items. And there were five toy trucks and one beautiful little doll.

As I drove back through empty streets as the sun slowly rose on the most amazing Christmas Day of my life, I was sobbing with gratitude. And I will never forget the joy on the faces of my little ones that precious morning. Yes, there were angels in Indiana that long-ago December. And they all hung out at the Big Wheel truck stop.