Category Archives: grandfather

Jan19

The Mid-January Landscape

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The Mid-January Landscape

“In winter … temporarily abandoned by my suddenly frigid lover, the garden.” ~ Margaret Roach 

I love my perennials, herbs, and flowers during the warm growing season. The dread of the winter months in Missouri has lessened as I have learned to love staying indoors, too. Time slows down, and I slow down to read and write. This week included a few afternoons to do just that. Besides, some of my green friends come indoors with me for four or five months. My poem “The Neighbor’s Tree” is started on Thursday afternoon while sipping on a cup of Earl Grey tea, watching the birds at the feeders, and gazing at the colorful sunset. I finished the poem when we gathered in Kansas City with family for another indoor weekend. Our granddaughters made valentines for Papa and me. The children did carpet sledding in the living room rather than snow sledding as single-digit temps started our days this weekend and will continue this coming week. A message from the 8-year-old was left in the bedroom we stayed in, “remember do good things”. Out of the mouths of babes. The mid-January landscape dressed in glistening snow was a beautiful sight during our travel eastward to home this afternoon.

The Neighbor’s Tree
The neighbor’s tree this wintry late afternoon
reaches upward to the gray-blue sky, the sun
spotlights its rough-barked limbs outlined in white.
The squirrels scurry back and forth
on a quest for more seeds and nuts
as the light creeps into the evening.
Pinks and purples fill the once blue sky
as shadows dissipate, dimness surrounds,
dusk gently blankets the snowy hillside.
The obscurity, ambiguity, then a glowing light,
the sun’s rays concentrate as a flashlight, 
a January twilight is on the horizon.
Then night takes over minute after minute
with subdued moments leading to a hush,
the songbirds utter quiet rest in their nests.
The neighbor’s tree this late evening
is a perch for this night’s chatty barred owl,
“Who cooks for you? Who cooks for you all?”
Anna Marie Gall - January 18, 2025

“Remember do good things.” ~ Elise Gall

“One kind word can warm three winter months.” ~ Japanese Proverb

Sep2

Blue Vignettes

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Blue Vignettes

September came beautifully this past weekend. A granddaughter eager to have time with her Papa; the Japanese Festival at the Missouri Botanical Gardens with blooms, dragons, dragonflies, butterflies, and friends; a donut, tea, and coffee breakfast at the park with our son, daughter-in-law, grandsons and granddaughter loving time with her cousins; a drive through the countryside and country porches with vessels of late summer blooms along with a stop at our state capital with a sky so blue. Shades of blue vignettes provide a calm for this Labor Day weekend. Engraved words, “labor is the great producer of wealth” at our state capital remind me that wealth is not just money, but also the bountiful nature, family, and friends in our lives. We are a blessed people. Take care of what God has provided.

“You will enjoy the fruit of your labor. How joyful and prosperous you will be!”

~ Psalms 128:2

Oct22

The Countryside and Sycamores

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The Countryside and Sycamores

On Saturday I left home mid-morning to travel about an hour north to Pike County. I had the inkling to enjoy autumn’s superb weather when I heard the weekend forecast. I could have perused the boutiques on historic Main Street or shopped until I dropped. But I wanted to be outdoors. Dean’s mother passed away on October 6 with her burial in St. Joseph, MO last weekend. At last week’s funeral, I reminded myself that it was time for a visit to my parents’ gravesite just outside of Bowling Green, MO. Both my parents and grandfather died during the month of October as well; 11 years, 9 years, and 3 years ago.

The countryside was beautiful, yet I felt a sadness for this occasion. The colors of the leaves and harvesting fields distracted me from my somber mood, but my purpose for this autumn drive was not missed. I took the scenic route following along the Mississippi River. I forgot about all those little towns with speed limits at 30mph. It was enough for me to slow down and refocus for the next leg until the next village. The river that author, Mark Twain wrote about is so wide in many places in Lincoln and Pike Counties. Between the trees I could see it sparkle like diamonds in the sunlight. Although, the many stand-alone sycamore trees caught my attention the most. Even the hillside cemetery had a sycamore.

I said a prayer, asked for forgiveness for some unkind words I recalled I said to my parents many years ago. Some memories were from childhood and others as an adult. Likewise, as memories flood my mind of unkind words my father and mother said to me, I forgive each of them. Those memories help explain my own behaviors as a person. No reason to repeat history with negative words. Simply, be kind to others.

On way back home, I stopped in Clarksville, MO to use the restroom and stretch my legs. I had hoped to grab a sandwich. Not many eateries to choose from, but a clean restroom was a must. A riverside bar & grill had patrons there. A dozen Harleys were parked outside along the curb. I am not a biker, but hoped they welcomed all. The restroom was clean, and the patrons enjoying their food and drink. I love a good grilled sandwich, so I stayed. While eating a delicious chicken club sandwich at the Clarksville, MO bar & grill, words flooded my thoughts, so I wrote them down. Here is the poem:

Sycamores

Scattered hills breathe sadness.

Sadness as they overlook the valleys.

Valleys of withering grasses and emptiness.

Emptiness except for the stand-alone, century old sycamores.

Sycamores with peeling, white-painted bark.

Bark that seems to come apart at the seams.

Seams covered with crimson red sumac vine.

Vines that kept those years together.

Together during the bitter and sweet seasons.

Seasons are many that fill our lives.

Lives interwoven with faith, hope, love, disappointment, grief.

Grief over ill health, blank dreams, and abandoned promises.

Promises made with good intentions.

Intentions distracted with stressors and others’ disregard.

Disregards are many by hurting or hurtful people.

People everywhere breathe sadness.

Sadness dissipates as they look up to the Heavens.

Heaven’s Divine nature made a canopy of colorful leaves.

Leaves are many of those stand-alone, century old sycamores.

Sycamores that still stand alone near the scattered hills.

Feb22

Feathery Life

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Bonnie Raitt. 2005. Credit Sam Jones.

My mother and I went to the movies this afternoon.  The young man scanning our purchased tickets was quite friendly, shared what day it was. National Margarita Day and Sweet Potato Day!  He subscribes to the DailyHolidayBlog and says everyday is a holiday and celebration.  The movie we saw said the same.  We viewed the new movie version of Little Women, Louisa M Alcott’s book. What a wonderful movie.  A reminder of the simpler things in life.   “The power of finding beauty in the humblest things makes home happy and life lovely,” Louisa M Alcott shared in one of her books. I love that era when this book was written, the late 1800’s as well as into early 1900’s.  The photo with the mother holding the baby is my grandmother with her firstborn, my father taken in 1936 at the former farm and estate of a prominent businessman in the St. Louis area where my grandfather worked.

So Bonnie Raitt and Stevie Nicks tunes played while I prepared dinner this evening at Deanna’s Cottage.  I had the fixins for cranberry mimosas, not margaritas in the house.  No sweet potatoes either, but made an egg casserole.  I played around with my new craft supplies.  I bought a couple of 75% discounted journals to embellish with collage art.  Repurposed items will be used.  This will be another creative outlet for me using words, color, and textures to express my heart.  Feathery words and designs plague my mind all the time.  Paisley prints and feathers swirl in my head while birds sing and nests perch on branches of leaves.  I will share my new art form with friends and family and post photos on this blog as I come along in the collage crafting.  Look for a new page coming soon.

 

Feb9

Waste Not Want Not and the Hydrangea Tumbleweed

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My Sunday morning pancake making came with a comic note from any neighbor’s perspective, I am sure.  While Dean slept in I made my from-scratch pancakes using an overripe banana left in the fruit bowl.  You know the saying, “waste not want not”.  While cooking the pancakes, I checked the bird feeder.  The song birds and squirrels  have managed to empty the feeders in a matter of two days. It didn’t snow overnight, just cold and rainy this February morning.  Well, those pesky squirrels are hanging all over the bird feeders and has the big one twisted open.  I got our ammo out, the spray bottle of water and open the door to shoot at the squirrels.  They hate it, yet will feed on the bird seeds in the rain!  Maybe a BB gun would more effective, but may scare the neighbors.

As I spray a stream of water their way, the squirrels scatter. One goes around to the hide on the other side of the house and the other runs towards the street. In the corner of my eye I see a tumbleweed going into the street between our car and the neighbor’s car. That tumbleweed is the bloom I clipped yesterday and added to a red wire basket setting on the front porch.  I try not to waste anything, including the dried blooms left on our hydrangea bushes.  They make great fill-ins for floral baskets.  The wind must have blown it out of the basket.  Oh, I smell burnt pancake and run back into the kitchen!  Just a little too charred to suit me, but Dean will eat it. Waste not want not, you eat what is served, right?

I bundled myself with a warm robe before going out into the elements to rescue the hydrangea tumbleweed from the wind and rain.  The rescue was a success!  I shoved it back into the wire basket with a little more force and returned to more pancake making.  Dean awakes to the aroma of semi-burnt pancakes and sausage.  No, the smoke alarm did not go off to awaken him.  As I tell him my morning adventures he selects the YouTube playlist of Gene Autry as well as Sons Of The Pioneers version singing Tumbling Tumbleweeds …

See them tumbling down,
Pledging their love to the ground!
Lonely, but free, I’ll be found,
Drifting along with the tumbling tumbleweeds…

We talk of our childhood memories of burnt meals.  This morning pancakes came close to the charred pancakes Grandpa and Great-Uncle Lloyd made for the whole family when going to the family farm in Franklin County.  Dean recalled similar stories of his childhood.

 

Nov15

Back When

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The “Christmas Trees For Sale” sign in the store front window caught my attention.  Fresh pine scent, the friendly “howdy” greeting, footsteps on the squeaky wood-planked floor, and the jingle of the door bells as I enter and close the door into the little gift shop … each liven my senses … bring me to back when.  A little pony-tailed blonde-haired girl.  Cannot wait for the holiday season, Thanksgiving, Christmas Day, and New Years.  But all the events leading to those wonder-filled holidays.  Baking, decorating, crafting, wrapping, and for me living on a tree farm, setting up the pine trees to sell.  Always Thanksgiving weekend my Dad and Grandpa brought in a truck and trailer overflowed with fresh cut Christmas trees.  Scotch pine, white pine, and spruce trees planted, trimmed, and cared for by Dad, and any family members looking for some extra $$ pitched in.  My siblings and I included.  We would play hide-n-seek in the pile of cut trees until there were no more to set-up.  Snow, ice, or rain, it did not matter. Wholesome fun. We had the time of our lives back when.

 

A weekend away in Branson, Missouri for early Christmas shopping and a membership inquiry with a vacation club for more of these empty nest long weekends and longer week dream vacations.  Dean and I are local shoppers, whether in our home town of St. Charles, Missouri or while on vacation.  There is something down-to-earth about brick & mortar and mom & pop shops.  Branson has the downtown landing and tourist attractions, but take us where the locals shop, eat, and play, please!  Nostalgic Dicks 5 & 10, Main Street Flea Market, the Classy Flea, and the Farmhouse Restaurant … Back when the Nativity was in every shop, home, and city hall.  The holidays included real pine rope trimmings with bright red velvet bow wreaths and pine cones.  Back when that fresh field-cut Charlie Brown tree was dressed with hand-sewn ornaments, Shiny Brite glass balls, and a collection of heirloom from Germany or England, wherever your family originated from.  Back when home-baked breads were served at every meal with a home-jarred fruit preserves, and your favorite sugar cookies piled on a plate or in a large jar for the eating any time.  But not too close to your mother’s or grandmother’s home-cooked dinner, “not to spoil your appetite”.  The house smelled of a fresh pot of chicken & dumplings.  I imagine my father’s Christmases in the 1940’s.  Filled with joy to have his father, my Grandpa Earl back home from the war.  Grandma Anna doting over the menu preparations.  Two or three simply wrapped presents with his name “Marty” on the tags under the tinseled Christmas tree.  Back when is close to my heart at this present moment in the guest bedroom of our 1940’s house.  My family has been blessed with fond memories and we will make more.

 

Jun14

Our Midnight

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Our Midnight.  Midnight was the extended Bates and Gall family pet and everyone’s friend. His vivacious, contagious spirit made you laugh and love life.  Midnight loved his Dean, and the special attention Dean gave him.  He loved people.  He loved our kids and grandkids, “his kids”.  He loved the many friends and family who visited our home. Whined and cried with happiness when any one came to visit “him”, of course.  He loved his Elisabeth, stayed at her side after every chemo treatment until she was back on her feet.  He loved the morning ritual of seeing Libby and Brendan onto the school bus.  He loved crockpot dinner and Chinese carry-out nights.  He loved his evening walks especially those that included a DQ ice cream cup.  He loved going out to “the farm”.  Midnight loved lakes and creeks, and chasing  after all the waterfowl that lived in them.  But he hated thunderstorms.  Major anxiety raced his pounding heart except oddly for those he embraced outside.  One of my fondest memories was being on the boat dock of cabin #2 at Valhalla Resort on Island Lake in Minnesota.  The thunderheads rolled in above the lake so abruptly like the cap-size waves that July evening.  Midnight and I faced the storm together while missing our Dad who passed away too soon to enjoy that evening with us.  We ran together for shelter once the lightning strikes began. And that story reminds me of the time Dean, Midnight, and I ran for the shelter from a tornado overhead while at the farm and greenhouse.  The whirling winds rocked our van just inches from the creek.  I think all three of us had a few more gray hairs after that adventure!

Our Midnight passed away on Monday, June 11.  And yes, this is our Midnight’s eulogy. Our 13-1/2 year old Labrador-flat coat retriever mix was 115 years old in human years.  It came suddenly, the vet said his body gave way to old age.  Midnight lived and loved 5 generations of the Bates/Gall family.  He was given to my Grandpa Earl and Grandma Paula as a Christmas gift in 2004.  Puppy love with huge paws.  Grew into a 90-lb adult dog, too much for my elderly grandparents to handle.  In turn my Dad adopted Midnight, trained him to be an excellent waterfowl retriever.  This pet came to live at the 99 Jane house with Dean and I after my father passed away 5-1/2 years ago.  Sometimes a crowded house, but always had room for our Midnight.  For a few days Midnight lived with Dean’s parents when we all were displaced from our home after the main water line flood.  One night our dog stayed with a kind family after he wandered off through an unlatched gate, no thanks to the contractor during our house addition.  Oddly enough, this family lived one field over from where I grew up on the tree farm in St. Peters.  Our handsome Midnight had been dubbed “Nerm” and “Hercules”, and I cannot explain why.  Our easygoing dog co-existed with 5 different house cats during his time with us.  Beyond tolerable, he was sociable to his feline companions especially during the late evening cat treat time all gathered in Dean and I’s bedroom every night.  He made a few doggy friends … Nasa, Mokie, Jesse, Bleu, Beatrice, Barry, Daisy, Gus, Molly, Parker, Roman, another Molly, Shawnee, Peyton, Ellie, Eddie, Max … learned to accept or avoid the young whipper-snappers as he became an old man dog.

Midnight is greatly missed, our hearts feel an emptiness yet privileged to have known him and feel his love.  Our Midnight.  We will always love you.

 

Mar10

March Is Mad

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March is mad. It seems to be mad at the world with its destructive tornadoes earlier this week and dive-bombing temperatures this weekend after spring was introduced weeks ago. The below freezing temps continue for 6 days, not just one night. And snow in the forecast!

I had my early spring sprouts emerge from the organic soil of the raised bed at least a week ago. Dean and I went to the farm last night between the spring showers and by lantern light we covered the vegetable bed with a plastic tarp. This bed is inside the screen house, so the baby plants just need an extra layer of protection the next few days. See what happens. Gardening is definitely one science experiment after another.

March is also the month to celebrate a few birthdays. Today, my father was born 81-years ago. He is no longer amongst us on earth, but they must celebrate birthdays in heaven! Happy Birthday, Dad!  Hope you are celebrating with Grandpa and Uncle Lee!  I miss you dearly!  I hope you are proud of your family and what we are in our lives presently. That makes me happy to think you are. You must know about your granddaughter fighting a battle with cancer. I have asked for prayers and for the angels to watch over her. You and God must hear these supplications daily, hourly. Thank you for listening. In God’s hands…

Dec3

My Own Backyard

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The last day of November was warm with a brisk wind to scurry about the colorful leaves. I walked the streets in Clayton to do some banking and grab a bite to eat on my lunch hour. The wind whipped from the west and changed directions several times that hour.  The tell-tale sign of changing seasons.  A mild autumn is quickly going into winter-like weather this week.  The weekend forecast includes snow flakes, and colder than normal temperatures next week. “Each year is a parable begun in stillness, and chill, of bare ground warmed with spring life returning, then bursting, buzzing, peaking in summer, and issuing a final flare in autumn, to subside in another winter’s seeming nullity,” author Stephanie Mills writes in her book Epicurean Simplicity.

Preparations for the winter season may not be a necessary stack of firewood in my suburban lifestyle. I remember as a child  the excitement of my family’s annual New Year’s Eve stay at the one-room cabin my father built on the family farm in Franklin County, Missouri.  The simple shingle covered dwelling probably no bigger that 500 square-feet had no bathroom or electricity, but a wood stove for its heat source.  My father and Grandpa would cut down old trees on the 100+ -acre farm and split wood throughout the autumn season in preparation for deer hunting trips and these winter weekend visits to the family farm.  My current preparations include sweaters and boots being pulled from the depths of the closets as well as my epie pin and antihistamine stowed in my purse for the next 4 months. An allergy to cold air and water is not easy, but is not the worst a person would have to deal with.  Thank goodness for gas heat.

And now I focus on my own heart matters for today.  Simplicity. “Try to see the beauty in your own backyard to notice the miracles of everyday life,” religious leader Gloria Gaither says. I would say that is great advice.  Perennial thoughts and ways, appreciating what you have now, and making do.  Simple, thankful, authentic, resourceful.  I am intrigued by the choice of voluntary simplicity as I further my research  for an enrichment class to teach at my work place.   There are authors, activists, and societies devoted to this way of thinking and lifestyle.  Choices made such as local community versus global; homegrown versus mass produced; renovate or upcycle versus disgard; a 3-generation home versus having separate homes; public transportation, carpooling, or riding  a bicycle versus commuting to work with one’s own vehicle everyday; hand-crafted versus manufacturer made; purchase local versus big brand, slow food versus fast food, and the list goes on.  As author and ecological activist Stephanie Mills states“bigger has not turned out to be better.”  I like the change back to some old ways and traditions.  What does simplicity mean to you?  How have you made simplicity a lifestyle choice?  I would love to hear.

 

Jul28

Summer Connects

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In a world with ever changing values and technology, some things remain the same. Kinship, old mountain towns, and summer lakes. Most of the time you can depend on all three.  Family is family. Most of us are connected if not by blood, in some other fashion to each other no more than 3 times removed. We connected to Joe, owner of this small town bar & grill and a new eatery called the Galloping Goose Cafe while in Rico, Colorado.  He is a visionary for this town.  Not sure if I could go back 4 decades, but the brief week we had in the old mountain town cabin took Dean and I to the simplicity of our childhood years.  And we loved it.  In search for WiFi a couple of times to get connected to our urban civilization to post photos and reserve a hotel room for our travels back home, other than that we lived without any electronics and screens.  Dean and I resorted to reading, writing, napping, cooking, bird watching, photography, and walks.  We return to our full-time employment with government entities that overwhelm with procedures, projects, policies, and politics.  Cannot escape it in the evening with the political conventions being aired. So here is to wonderful July 2016 memories with family in the old mountain town and near the summer lake.  I will keep reading, writing, … making more memories and connections.