Much Ado...

God promised to provide for widows and the fatherless [Ansel Adams story]

2011-02-03T22:49:00.000-08:00

In the months following Bob's passing away, years ago, I began sorting through his collections of memorabilia, and discovered a large flat bag containing a fancy portfolio full of black and white photographs. I vaguely remembered seeing it when we were first married, and had put it on his closet shelf with his other stuff. I probably haven't looked at these photos in 55 years.

The silk binder looked pretty fragile now, and the papers separating the photos looked like old-fashioned "sepia tone" was used to make things look antique. But on closer look, I saw that each photo was signed in pencil, below the right corner. I could barely make out, "A. Adams".

Then, I recalled that Bob had won a camping trip to the Sierras, when he was an Eagle Scout, back in our high school days, somewhere in 1944 or '45. This set of Ansel Adams' prints was part of the prize, perhaps a gift from his own parents, or from his Uncle Alan who was an avid photographer, and who tried to encourage Bob in his interest in photography.

We carted this portfolio to all the houses we lived in after settling down in California in 1952, following two and a half years on the east coast. We never considered its value. Only one or two of our children ever saw the photos, so the portfolio was pretty much forgotten.

We were familiar with using the internet to gauge the value of items for sale and had sold a few of Bob's things on eBay. My son John checked on the sale of Ansel Adams Parmelian Prints of the High Sierras and found that just one signed print had recently sold for several thousand dollars. And here we had the entire portfolio of 18 signed prints. It was made in 1927. At most, 150 sets were ever printed.

We had heard of CLARS on TV, a huge auction house in Oakland, CA. It offers free appraisals every Thursday. Those years ago, John and I drove up there (a little over an hour) and sat in the waiting room with a lot of other people carrying odd-looking packages and/or antique looking framed pictures, and small furniture. Eventually, a young woman called us in to show her what we had. She used white gloves to turn the pages. I was impressed. She used a computer to check out the value of our item, and she discovered which photos had recently sold. If we were to have them sell the portfolio, they would be keeping it there. This was all new to us, and we wanted to think through options, so we brought it back home.

That week, I told the group of ladies with whom I meet for weekly Bible study, how I realized that God was keeping His promise to provide for me, as the "widow and the fatherless" ... perhaps through Bob's prize given to him so long ago.

Last week, after we saw a Clars ad on TV again, I said to John that we should take it back up there. John emailed Clars a few days ago, telling them that we would be bringing in an Ansel Adams item and wanted to give them a "heads up" so they could alert whoever might be the right person to meet with us. He got an email back from Rick Unruh. He told us to ask for him when we arrived. So, instead of driving early to try to beat the crowd, we leisurely drove up, walked in, and informed a worker to tell Rick we had arrived, and then we joined the crowd of folks with their suitcases and bags of items.

Soon, a gentleman worked his way over to us, introduced himself as Rick, and graciously worked us through the group of folks with their odd parcels, past the "out front" tables where appraisers sat opposite individuals with their items, and took us to a quiet area around back where a table awaited our arrival. We then learned that he was the Director of Fine Arts.

He put on white gloves that I had brought. As he turned the pages, we could see that he was obviously impressed. He told us that he had never seen one of these portfolios. He was thrilled to be holding one in his hands. He had studied art and art history as a young man, and knew what he was looking at.

We wanted time for people to read about it or be notified of it. They have auctions once a month, in fact, one coming up this weekend. Now, May's auction would include some higher end art pieces. We agreed that May struck us as the auction to go for. It would provide ample time for advertising and reach a better audience.

He went over the contract for us to sign. He placed the portfolio in an acetate envelope (it looks like clear plastic and is acid-free and will help protect the set).

Rick was excited about the story of Bob's receiving this set as a prize, and let me write the story.

He says he loves to have wonderful, old and famous paintings surrounding him, as he does there at Clars, so he feels they are his for a little while. It gave him much pleasure to see this portfolio. John and I were reminded of the words of the stamp collector in the movie "Charade" with Audrey Hepburn and Cary Grant, when he returns the valuable stamps after the little boy had sold them by mistake: "Well, I am satisfied. For a few moments, they were mine. That was enough."

They are only "things."

Thank you, God for providing for me, though perhaps Bob never realized what he had on his shelf.

What's in YOUR closet?

2009-11-12T16:47:00.000-08:00

When I received the beautiful brochure inviting me to attend the Grand Opening of Scott Garland's new gallery in Old Town Monrovia, CA, I didn't dream of going to it.

But, I went on the computer and invited all my art loving friends and relatives in Southern CA, to go see my son David's collection of portraits, being featured along with two other artist's works, at this new gallery in Monrovia. All three, and the gallery owner, had been classmates at Art Center College of Design in Pasadena, in the late '70s. This would be a reunion.

Then, my niece, Elena Page called, and said, "Doris you've got to be there! You're the MOM of one of the featured artists!" (Her husband, the late Raymond Page was a fantastic painter of seascapes especially, and she said he was always encouraged and refreshed by relatives and friends who attended his shows). She had gone on the computer and made plane reservations for me, so all I had to do was say yes. Well, why not?

No one else knew I was coming. We giggled as we thought of how surprised David would be when we walked in.

She picked me up Friday, at the Long Beach Airport, in a rented cute little PT Cruiser! What fun. (She didn't trust her old classic car on the freeways of L.A. anymore).

We had a nice salad in her charming condo in North Laguna, and spent the evening talking about all the fun things we were going to do for the next three days. Beginning with getting my nails done... which I have never had done before. Crazy! So, after a good breakfast the next morning, we took a quick walk in her neighborhood, seeing the rugged coast, and a cove popular with scuba divers. Beautiful homes, and gardens surrounded us.

Then we headed to South Laguna to her favorite Viet Namese nail shoppe. What a treat to have this sweet young lady trimming and doing all the unglamorous work of getting my nails to match in length and shape.

Then back up the coast, we stopped at her favorite consignment shop to enjoy showing each other stuff we liked, but didn't have to have. My favorite thing was an oil painting of a rural Indonesian scene... but I want to learn to paint one myself sometime. Her favorite thing was a red pottery pitcher, but she already has one. We decided on lunch from a hole-in-the-wall place which hands you your purchase in a plastic bag to take home with you. It was the best blackened salmon with a salad of strips of yellow bell pepper, red strips, red onions, chunks of mango, and fresh greens, with an avocado dressing. Absolutely fantastic.

When it was time to get ready, I asked Elena to help me choose between an all black outfit I had brought, and a casual beige one. She thought that the all black one would not detract from the paintings in the gallery, and I hadn't thought of that! So, a quick change, and we were off, making it to Monrovia in record time, because evidently, everyone in L.A. was at a football game. We were the first ones there. I greeted Scott Garland, owner of the gallery, whom I hadn't seen in 30 years, and he recognized me, and was pleased that I was there to surprise David.

With guests arriving until it was wall to wall people, it was easy to hide behind Elena who is tall. Then, I saw David and Teresa and Lauren come in. They worked their way through the crowd, ng friends, and heading our way. When David saw his cousin Elena, he was really surprised, and asked how she knew about this event. "Your Mom sent out an email..." Teresa saw me, her mouth dropped, and her eyes popped wide open. I put a finger up to my lips hoping she wouldn't give me away. Then, I popped out from behind Elena, and David burst into laughter and hugged me and asked how I got there. The rest is history. We did it! We carried it off!

Other family and friends who came were Jeannie and Dave Johnson, (a niece); and Laurel and Jim Howat, another niece, and their daughter Kathleen; Patrick and Amy Oden, my grand nephew and his bride, an old friend from David's high school days, Jana Scott who had come from the football game, and my son John's friend, Paul Morgan and his wife Cynthia, also from the game.

One whole wall was of David's paintings, and he dubbed it The Darrow Wall. The opposite side was works by the other artists. Scott's paintings were in the rear room, where he does his office work. Someone got a photo of the four classmates together, and I hope they'll send that to ACCD to show the freshmen class what they could look like in 29 years, IF they take care of themselves.

It was a wonderful evening. I am glad I could honor my son by being at his "game."

The rest of the weekend...

Well, it was relaxed. We talked so long at breakfast that we didn't go to church. We drove to San Clemente, down by the wharf, to meet David and Teresa and Lauren for a pizza lunch in a little open air cafe. Perfect weather, in early November, and gorgeous view of the ocean. We talked so long at lunch that the sun went down, and they had to hurry to get Lauren to her job near her home.

Back in North Laguna, we played with Elena's computer the rest of the evening, reading David's and John's blogs, just to get her acquainted with what these guys are like. I loved showing off my kids. It was a fun few days, with a very special niece, who knows from experience about losing her mate and ALL the hard things I have gone through in the last four and a half years. I am so grateful to her and for her hospitality, making it possible to attend this gala event in David's life.

Two are missing... but not lost

2007-11-21T18:42:00.000-08:00

While looking for something else, I stumbled upon this photo this afternoon.

In "Back to the Future" (the movie) remember when "Marty" was at the "Enchantment Under the Sea" school dance, and he looks at a snapshot of himself with his sister and brother, and they are beginning to fade out of the photo?

That's what I can imagine with this Christmas 2002 photo. Two are now missing, though we know they are not lost. They are undoubtedly enjoying the finest music, and celebrating the happiest "time of their lives," perhaps even dancing! I wish for you, the same confidence in your future. KNOWing is even better than hoping.

About, what a DASH!

2007-10-09T15:38:00.000-07:00

When life down here is over, all that is left is a pair of dates.

January 6, 1952 - September 29, 2007 for instance.

But that little DASH between the dates, represents birth, growth, faith, education, work, love, engagement, marriage, home, family, life and death.

Oh, what a DASH that was, for my first born, Janice Irene.

You can read all about her DASH in the tribute written by her Prince Charming, Dan Geist:

Obituaries
Janice Irene Geist (January 6, 1952 - September 29, 2007)

Janice Irene (Darrow) Geist
Born - January 6, 1952, Philadelphia, PA In The Presence of Her Savior – September 29, 2007, Tigard, OR
1 Corinthians 15:10a – “I am what I am by the grace of God.”
Janice (Jan) was truly as her name implies God’s Gracious Gift. Janice Irene Darrow was born on Epiphany in 1952 to parents Bob and Doris Darrow. Her birth date falls on the traditional celebration of the wise men bringing gifts to the infant Jesus. How appropriate for one whose life came to be characterized by bringing gifts of love and service to her Savior.
While still an infant, Jan and the Darrow family moved to the Southern California beach community of Playa del Rey. There, the family added a daughter, Joanne, and a son, David. It was during those early childhood years that Jan made the most important decision of her life. At age four, she put her faith in God’s Son, Jesus Christ. Jan herself would have the experience of being able to see her own children make the same decision as young children.
Bob, Jan’s father – an engineer/high tech salesman – moved his growing family to Mountain View in Northern California to take a new position. In Mountain View the youngest member of the Darrow family, John, was born. While in Mountain View, Jan attended elementary school, and the family joined a growing church led by Pastor Ray Stedman at Peninsula Bible Church in Palo Alto. Everywhere the Darrow family went they made lifelong friends in their open and inviting home. Many visited the Darrow home to experience friendship, hospitality, and wise counsel.
Later, Bob’s work took the family to Costa Mesa in Southern California. There, Jan attended Teewinkle Jr. High School and completed two years at Estancia High School. Through the witness and influence of Jan and her family, several of Jan’s friends from that era also came to share her faith.
Once again the family moved, this time, to occupy Bob’s childhood home on the sandy bluffs of Playa del Rey, with its commanding vistas of the Southern California coastline and its beautiful sunsets. Almost daily as the sun dipped in the western sky, Jan’s mom could be heard throughout the house exclaiming “Look at the sunset!” Jan’s love of the beauty of God’s creation was nurtured in a home where it was never allowed to become mundane. Of course, living at the beach also included living with thick, frequent and hair-frizzing fog. During her illness Jan came to describe fog as “God’s favorite weather report.” She learned that it is in the fog of life that we truly learn to trust God to guide us.
The house on the bluff was the center for Good News Clubs, Young Life events, Bible studies, family pranks, water fights, and hospitality that included bringing home college friends after Jan’s graduation from Westchester High School in 1970.
In 1970, on the third day of school at Biola College (now Biola University), Jan met her future husband of 32 years – Dan Geist of Portland, OR. Although they met in September, it wasn’t until May 1971 that they began to date.
Dan soon became one of the many friends who experienced the Darrow family hospitality at their beachside home. As he and Jan grew in their relationship, Dan became a regular in the Darrow home. Phone calls, Jan’s occasional trips to campus (she had taken a year off from attending school), and Dan’s weekend stays with the Darrow family provided the time to grow their relationship. It was on March 4, 1972 that Dan first told Jan “I love you” – a day they would celebrate the rest of Jan’s life. The code, “143” (1 = “I”, 4 = “Love” and 3 = “You”), became their way of signaling by voice or hand sign their love for each other.
Jan returned to school for one more year. Then, on November 28, 1974, she and Dan became engaged, and their marriage followed seven months later on June 28. The newlyweds moved immediately to Portland, OR, where Dan began his teaching career. Prior to fulfilling her lifelong ambition of being a mom, Jan worked at 3M Business Equipment Bureau in Southeast Portland teaching customers how best to communicate visual presentations using overhead projectors. Her personality, artistic creativity, and communication skills allowed her to effectively instruct teachers, secretaries, and CEOs in her classes.
In 1977, Jan and Dan moved to their current home in Tigard, OR, which – through Jan’s designs and the building/remodeling skills learned by Dan and the Geist children – became a comfortable gathering place for the kind of openness and hospitality that Jan had experienced in her childhood. Aaron Daniel came into the family in 1979 followed by Annaliese (Annie) Aimee in 1982 and Andrew John Allen (AJ) in 1985. As a young mom, Jan took time to have fun with, enjoy, and teach her precious charges. She always kept an ear open to wise advice that would nurture her marriage and her children. The family, “Team Geist,” as she would say, was a safe place for the whole family where there was fun and camaraderie without meanness and sarcasm. The growing climate nurtured by Jan and Dan, added to by spiritual truth, other important like-minded adults, and most importantly God’s Grace resulted in three wonderful, meaningfully productive adult children and are joined by Aaron’s delightful wife Alison (Kelley) and Annie’s loving husband Matt Beghtel.
Even as a busy mom Jan made time to give to the life of her church and other believers at Grace Point Community Church (formerly Tigard First Baptist). Caring for newborns, teaching toddlers, working with high school students, leading AWANA clubs, set- painting and costuming for children’s productions, face painting for special children’s events, helping on work crews during church expansion projects, singing on worship teams, leading women’s Bible studies in her home, cooking for youth retreats, and editing the church’s newsletter all captured her energies at some point from the moment she began attending in 1980. Jan’s penchant for always having a camera at her side to record all phases of a project or event led to her being called “The Mamarazzi.” Many people from the church benefited and stayed close after having been touched by Jan.
Where her kids were involved, Jan threw herself into their activities, particularly in their schools. Editing school newsletters, volunteering in classrooms, building and painting sets for high school productions, as well as sewing costumes for the same all left her impression on the lives of the young people in her children’s lives. Her firm, yet winsome ways captured the friendship and respect of her children’s friends as well as that of the many children who experienced childcare in her home.
In the midst of her busy life, there was always an art or craft project being produced by Jan. Most of her work has been sold or given away to grace the homes of others. Hand-painted glass Christmas ornaments, miniature acrylic paintings of wild flowers, water- color landscapes and whimsical flowers, calligraphy, quilts, painted clothing, and photo note cards are just some of her works. (See her paintings online at http://darrowart.com/paintings/jangeist/) (Contribute to the showing of her work online at http://www.darrowart.com/blog/). The beauty of God’s creation – so much, always enamored her so that no matter what medium she used to capture that beauty, it was always an expression of thanks and appreciation to Him for His Creation.
Jan discovered cancer in 1998, but hid it and didn’t “turn herself in” until 2000 (read her story in her own words at http://phoons.com/o/ReluctantSailor.pdf and http://www.phoons.com/blog/images/divineWrestlingMatch.html ). During the period from 2000 to 2007, Jan’s journey with cancer is a story filled with God’s grace. Yes, there was pain, loss, and regret. But it was also a time of forgiveness, renewed faith, trust, energy, and an avenue for ministry. Jan was often the comforter and encourager to her “chemo buddies.” She would ask, “What flavor of cancer do you have?” and sit back and listen and then share her own fallen story overcome by God’s ability to bring peace, grow faith, and allow a U-turn in her life. She did this with a gracious spirit sprinkled with a heavy dose of humor. During hospital stays her nurses would teasingly fight over who would get to take care of Jan. Even during this period it was not uncommon for her to listen to the needs of others and then pray for those in addition to her own. Her regular prayer was to say “Lord, make me more like you and less like me.” That prayer was ultimately answered when she stepped into the presence of Jesus Christ on Saturday, September 29, 2007. Jan’s father, Bob Darrow, preceded her by just over two years.
Jan’s children and husband all played a vital role in caring for her during the last few months of her life and especially during her hospice care. Jan couldn’t have been prouder of or more thankful for her family. Friends from her childhood in California as well as her vast network of Oregon friends expressed their care for Jan and her Geist and Darrow families during her cancer battle from 2000 to the present.
Surviving Jan on this earth are husband Dan of Tigard, OR; son Aaron and wife Alison of Portland, OR; daughter Annaliese Beghtel and husband Matt of Portland, OR; son Andrew of Tigard, OR; mother Doris Darrow of Sunnyvale, CA; sister Joanne Huddleson of Colorado Springs, CO; brother David Darrow of Carlsbad, CA; and brother John Darrow of Sunnyvale, CA.
We’ll miss you till we see you,
Dan and the kids
======

As I said to Janice after her wedding, just before she and Dan left on their honeymoon,
"It's been a pleasure having you in our home, Mrs. Geist."

Now, I can picture her dancing with her Daddy in celebration of their new life....eternal, in the Heavens.

History repeating itself...

2006-11-15T22:23:00.000-08:00

At this time last year, I was packing for a trip to Colorado Springs, to spend the Thanksgiving holidays with my daughter Joanne and Scott. John was going with me. The odd couple.

We each had our own experiences, and in spite of bitter cold, enjoyed hiking, walking, sight seeing, shopping, eating in quaint cafes, attending church, visiting with relatives, and watching videos (bundled in wooly throws). Joanne felt compelled to make three kinds of pie for Thanksgiving, and another kind for the evening after, when my cousins came over to visit. No wonder I could hardly bend over to pull my boots on.

Oh, maybe just a tiny slice of each one...

This time, I'm traveling alone. Not my choice. But it is "my new normal." I will be cared for by the One Who says He will be my husband, and Father to my Fatherless children. I am not afraid. He has never failed me. So, Lord willing I'll be seeing Pikes Peak by tomorrow evening.

Nicest thing to ask someone is...

2006-10-12T16:09:00.000-07:00

"How was your trip?"

If you asked me, I would tell you all about it. My long time friend Anna, who is also alone, invited me to go with her to Solvang, CA for a week at her Time Share. She had never been there before, and Bob and I had been there many times. The trip coincided with the weekend of MY 60th High School Class Reunion, in Playa del Rey, CA. So, I invited her to go with me to that, and we would do some sight-seeing around L.A., and maybe even visit some of my family down there.

A gracious invitation came from my friend Letty, to stay at her house if I was coming to the class reunion. Letty and I go all the way back to 2nd grade, at Machado Grammar School, on the same campus as Venice High School where we graduated (her, #1 in academic standing, Bob #2 and me #34) in 1946. She graciously invited both Anna and me. We found her house, a mansion really, in Bell Canyon, by dark that Friday. She was out for the evening, but told us to make ourselves at home. That was not difficult.

Here's Anna in one of Letty's guest rooms

On Saturday morning, Letty fixed us a scrumptious breakfast, then drove us to the reunion. Anna became my willing photographer. It was so much fun recognizing guys and gals some of whom I haven't seen in 55 or 60 years. All of them knew Bob, so each had a word of kindness and sympathy for my loss, and a hug. This reunion was more about "surviving" than about what we had accomplished in our lifetimes. We were just grateful to be there. The reunion committee did a great job of planning. The catered food was excellent, there was plenty of time to talk and share photos of the old days at Venice High, and to renew friendships. There was a moment of silence and prayer as we remembered those who had already died. At least 14 of us were there, out of a class of only 87, the first class to graduate at the end of World War 2.

Front row: Doris (Oden), Letty (Derus), Gloria (Davis), Rosemary (Rosenhouse), Sophie Marcus, Margie (Larson), Marvin Rubin, Lyla (Trump) and Shirley Stayton.

Back row: Shirley (Young), Don Pierce, Gordon Williamson, Dan Skidmore and Don Desfor.

On Sunday, Letty took us to visit The Getty art museum in L.A. What a thrill to see paintings done in the 13th and 15th centuries. It's a wonderful place. Beautiful architecture and grounds.

Later she took us to downtown L.A. to see the new Disney Concert Hall. She doesn't have a high regard for the design... she likens it to a plane crash!

Disney Concert Hall

In the evening, we invited ourselves to attend Mass with her, where we heard really wonderful 4-part music and listened to the Word of God.

In the morning, Letty again fixed us a huge breakfast, and then sent us on our way to our next adventure. We stopped in Simi Valley to visit the Ronald Reagan Museum and Library and spent a wonderful 4 or 5 hours there. The biggest surprise to us was to discover that the Presidential plane, Air Force One, is housed there in a grand new addition to the buildings, built since Bob and I visited there just a few years ago.

We got to go on board. What stories of international importance could be told by those walls?

We arrived in Solvang at the Time Share on time, but that's another whole BLOG.

Scattered...

2006-10-04T10:40:00.000-07:00

In July this year, I invited my nearly 90 year old sister in law, Charlotte, to drive to Oregon with me, for my granddaughter Annie's wedding. We drove up the coast of California, stopping for a picnic near the "Drive Thru" Redwood tree, and a rest stop at the Ben Bow Inn where Bob and I always had our picnics. Wonderful memories for me.

Then, on through the Avenue of the Giants, cool, shady, quiet forest of Redwoods for miles and miles. We stopped near a large marker, "BOLLING GROVE" and a sign that pointed toward "Eel River...13 miles." There were three huge Redwoods in a semi-circle near the road, with lovely ferns growing all around. There, I scattered Bob's ashes, as we had cheerfully decided years and years ago. Now, all you who pass by... please remember the good times!

Charlotte had already gone through this experience, so was a great comforter. We traveled on, making it all the way to Eugene, Oregon the next day where we celebrated 4th of July with my sister Rachel and Wil and their son Paul and his son Will, who would be coming to the wedding.

Another day, we had a reunion kind of lunch including my sisters Rachel and Mary.

The wedding was a delight as you can imagine, beginning with my son John playing the piano beautifully, the wedding party coming down the aisle to Rachmaninoff's 18th variation on a theme from Pagonini... or the theme from the movie "Somewhere in Time." Dan brought his darling daughter Annie down the aisle to the theme from "Anne of Green Gables." All my children were gathered there, Janice, the mother of the bride, Joanne and Scott came from Colorado Springs, David and Teresa came from Carlsbad, and my heart was full. My brother Paul and Mae came all the way from Hacienda Heights. The only ones missing were my brother Andy and Jeannette.

Matt and Annie Beghtel

Charlotte and I stayed for a week full of fun, and sight-seeing trips with Jan and Dan. Terrific hosts, and wonderful cooks. We came back home via the coast again, as the weather had turned to record heat inland. I wondered what it would feel like, passing by the spot where I'd scattered Bob's ashes...

But he was NOT there.

Chester and Blue...

2006-06-29T17:50:00.000-07:00

My sweet neighbor and friend, Marilou, had a gentle way with people, and animals (especially cats) and birds. Maybe it was in the way her voice changed to a higher pitch, whenever she saw Chester, a cat we passed on our daily walk. He had arthritis or some other debilitating ailment, but he couldn't resist her call. He would get up slowly, have to catch his balance and begin to hobble towards us. Every step looked painful. But he would lean up against her legs, and wait for her to rub him all over, and tell him how sweet he was. Then, Chester felt obligated to give Dennis and Bob and me some attention. But it was always Marilou who got his attention first. She'd pick him up and he'll curl up in her arms like he was hers forever.

Then, there was the Blue Jay. She'd tell me about having her first cup of coffee and half piece of toast, and sharing the toast with the bird. She said he would eat it right out of her hand. So, now I am taking over the task of feeding "Blue" the Jay, as many as three times a day. I wonder if "Blue" misses her, too? He comes to my patio window and looks in at me, and waits. He knows. And I even coaxed him into the room, by dropping the seeds while he watched. There has to be a Spiritual lesson in there somewhere.

Something about "Why do you worry? Don't you know that your Heavenly Father cares for the sparrows, and YOU are of much more value than a sparrow."

Grandmother's gift...

2006-06-12T18:12:00.000-07:00

My mother's mother was Grandmother Kramar. Tiny, sweet, starched-apron clean, shiny silver hair smoothed into a bun, a lover of everything God made. A woman of prayer and gratefulness. A cheerful spirit.

She influences my life even today. When we spent vacations with her, she taught us how to "irrigate" her garden. And we learned the names of some of her favorite flowers and shrubs. Lemon Verbena, Pepper Trees, Weeping Willows, and Cecil Bruenner Roses.

I wanted to have a garden like hers. Bushes and trees, and flowers so close to each other that you have to be careful where you step. Crammed together so that you can't even see the earth. A shady bower just like hers.

Just a few hundred more plants, and I'll have it. Well, maybe.

For years I have wanted a Cecil Bruenner Rose... like Grandmother's. Hers was on the fence between her yard and the side street.

To have a climbing rose, you must have an arbor... which Janice designed with Dan two summers ago, and built for me the same day. On my birthday this year, John bought me the rose bush and planted it by the arbor.

So, in sweet memory of Grandmother Kramar, here's my Cecil Bruenner Rose.

Right above me...

2006-06-01T08:12:00.000-07:00

I don't know what anyone else thinks about hearing voices, and I don't care. All I know is what I heard.

I was cheerily driving alone, to a Memorial Day event to be held in Saratoga. I had the windows part way down, as the sun was warm that morning. My tape player automatically started playing the tape that was already installed. It was Steve Amerson, singing "All who believe, show that you know Him..." And I sang along when I could remember the words.

At a break in the music, I heard Bob's voice say quietly "I am above you..."

I glanced around at the traffic, and for anyone on the sidewalks. No one was even close.

That was the third time I have heard Bob's voice. First time was here in my Family Room. I had just laid down for a nap, and heard him say loudly, "DORIS!" And I sat straight up and responded, "Yeah?" It made me laugh outloud.

The second time was when John and I went to Colorado Springs to visit Joanne and Scott. I was standing in front of their refrigerator, looking at the collage of snapshots on the door, especially enjoying seeing the ones of Bob and me. I heard Bob say again, "Doris!"

I looked around to see if someone else had called me. Joanne was doing laundry in the laundry room. And she would have called me "Mom." John was downstairs in the guest room asleep, and he wouldn't have called me "Doris." I walked out into the hall and looked upstairs to see Scott standing there. (Ah, that would be a simple explanation. He calls me "Doris.")

I asked, "Did you call me?" "No," he said. Hmmm.

A few weeks later, I phoned Scott, and asked him if he was "pulling my leg" just to see what my response would be. And he told me again, that no, he hadn't called me.

Now, I listen very carefully.

Always talk to strangers...

2006-05-29T18:10:00.000-07:00

For several years, Bob and I have attended the Memorial Day program at Madrona Cemetery in Saratoga, California. Until last year.

Today, I went by myself. I wore my new navy blue sweater with the American Flag woven on the front of it, a gift from Janice and Dan for Memorial day. They know how I love the Red, White and Blue.

The program was excellent, with hundreds attending. The high school band played, and the high school choir sang, even using Sign Language in unison. A young soldier spoke (even though he is a 20 year vet, he was YOUNG!) And a minister prayed. And while the band played on, little boys and girls in Scout uniforms laid laurel wreaths on every grave of every Veteran of WW1, WW2, Korea, Viet Nam, and the Gulf. It was very touching. Taps played. People stood at attention, some helping the older ones to their feet. Men removed their caps.

Afterwards, I noticed a fellow with a cap on that said "Viet Nam Vet" so I reached out my hand and thanked him for serving. He got teary eyed. His wife stood with him. She said, "That's why he wears that cap."

Here's to the survivors of those wars, and to my new friends, Delmar and Ellen Wrensch.

I ran into old friends, John and Peggy Kimball, and introduced them to my new friends. Conversation about Viet Nam was lively as John had served there in 1965. "Let's go to lunch," I suggested. So, we all went to a Chinese restaurant, and I asked for a table for 6.

Ah, then I remembered. There were only 5 of us.

Bob would have talked to these strangers.

Close shave...

2006-05-27T08:07:00.000-07:00

We had been working for several weeks on our rental property in Sacramento, sleeping in sleeping bags, on borrowed army cots, eating lunch out of a styrofoam cold-keeper, and having breakfast out at our favorite place, BROOKFIELD'S Restaurant. Good coffee, hot oatmeal with bananas, raisins, brown sugar and cream.

The hostess, Patrice, and waitresses began to know us.

One morning, I noticed that Bob forgot to shave. I couldn't believe it. First time in 40 years of marriage, that he hadn't shaved. Honestly.

While he was gone from the table for a few minutes, I told the waitress, "I'll give you a dollar if you'll say to Bob, "Did you forget to shave this morning?"

She was too shy, but coaxed Patrice into doing it.

When Bob came back, she came over and stroked his face and exclaimed, "Did you forget to shave?"

He was SO embarrassed. But he laughed, as I told her it was the first time in 40 years. I slipped her the dollar.

A year or so later, we were back in Sacramento, and went to breakfast at Brookfield's. Patrice was still the hostess, and she gave us each a big hug. Then, she told us this story:

Recently a couple had come into the restaurant whom she thought was US. She walked over to them, stroked the gentleman's face and asked him if he forgot to shave? The man was surprised and the woman was shocked, and Patrice was embarrassed, and it wasn't us!

Jelly Bothers Me...

2006-05-25T23:02:00.000-07:00

That was the title of a BLOG written before there was any such thing as a BLOG.

Today, I was sorting a boxful of old letters and cards, to mail them to my son David. I found that they went back to his first days in college... February 1977. Coincidentally, today he wrote a BLOG about his "envelope art, " and here I was, mailing him several of his original ones.

But in the box, mistakenly, was this "blog" about Jelly, written by his brother John... in May 1986.

Jelly bothers me...

Last night was another bad experience with jelly. I tried to make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. No, that's wrong. I tried to put jelly on some buttered bread. Yeah, that's right. Anyway, the bread was fresh out of the bag and I spread an even layer of butter on it. Cold butter is a great water repellant, but more than that it is highly resistant to jelly. But jelly is stupid anyway. When I try to get jelly out of the jar with a knife, I have to slice it into pieces and shake the jar upside down. I did that and got these large chunks of shiny jelly on my bread. ThenI tried to spread it. That was stupid. You can't spread jelly when it is big like that. So, I chopped at the jelly until I had a bunch of little jelly lumps, each equally as stupid as the original mass they came from. If I tried spreading the jelly flat, it would all glide over the butter to one side of the piece of bread. So, I had to move it around very carefully and sort of leave it in one spot and hope that it wouldn't stray to some other zone of the bread. But there is always one stupid section of the jelly that decides it is going to go off the edge of the bread onto something it is hard to get off like highly trafficked areas in the kitchen, or the web between the ring finger and the pinky fingers of the left hand. I don't know how it gets there, but it is stupid. And another thing: It never helps to try to lick it clean because that just gets your whole finger sticky. Then, when I finally ate the thing, I found out I put too much butter on and I couldn't taste the jelly.

Another challenge is the peanut butter and jelly sandwich, which is gray if you make it the way I do. Obviously, I'm not going to make a sandwich with peanut butter on one half and jelly on the other. I have vivid memories of pulling such sandwiches out of my lunch sack and finding the jelly all over the inside of the sandwich bag. The sandwich bags are called Glad Bags. My solution to this is to premix the jelly and peanut butter, although this is pretty stupid too, because for the first 5 to 10 minutes, the jelly and the peanut butter stay on opposite sides of the knife and the jelly always creeps up the handle of the knife and gets my right hand and my steering wheel sticky. But the result is that the jelly is trapped in that great stuff peanut butter, a substance that is probably used by the military in midflight fuselage repair, and the mixture won't budge once applied to bread. But a night in the Fridge will turn the stuff gray, so it probably isn't marketable.

But is is a good way to get revenge on jelly.

Another loss...

2006-05-20T09:25:00.000-07:00

All the roses are in bloom, and the irises are at their glorious best. What a show! John planted half a dozen little Sweet Williams for Mother's Day, for which Janice had given him the money. Not only in my new back yard garden, but he added blue delphinium and something called Mllion Bells in the front Cosmos plot as well. And last year's birthday Cosmos are 10 or 12 inches tall and blossoming. A beautiful blend of blues, lavenders, purples, magentas and an occasional peach-colored iris. Wonderful combination.

Mother's Day for me was quiet and relaxed, with phone calls from each of my children, and a grandchild. Brunch out with lady friends from church, and a quick fast-food supper with John before watching a favorite TV show with him made my day.

But for my dearest neighbor friend, Marilou Boilard, it was to be her last Mother's Day. She and Dennis had just driven the 400 miles from Barstow, California, the last leg of their journey. They had been on a vacation trip to New Mexico for two weeks. I looked forward to hearing all about it when we took our next walk.

Marilou and I have been walking three miles together (with several other ladies in the neighborhood) for over 15 years. Then, as the group dwindled, because of moves, or ill health, we walked with our husbands. Dennis and Bob became fast friends as we four made the same circuit every day. Then, Bob was called Home and that left Marilou and me to walk together. We sometimes sang hymns, or songs from the 40's together, as she had most of the words memorized. We often talked of our faith in the Lord. Last June, she and Dennis felt the urge to come visit us, and arrived just minutes after Bob had died, and so they were here to comfort me. They came in and she knelt by his bed and prayed, and they both wept with me.

Sunday evening, she thought she had indigestion, but when the pain became severe, Dennis took her to the emergency hospital. Doctors determined that it was her heart, and even though a life-flight helicopter was called to take her to Stanford Hospital for surgery, she couldn't be stabilized for the flight, and passed away. My heart is broken for Dennis. I know just how he feels. I had months to prepare for my loss, but he had no warning. This year they were going to celebrate their 50th Wedding Anniversary, and had already sent out special notices for the occasion.

She was the consummate house keeper, and I never saw anything out of order in their home. She was a terrific cook and baker, did excellent stichery, and decorated beautifully. I believe that she was the faithful Proverbs 31 woman, and "that her husband praises her 'in the gates' and that her children rise up and call her blessed." Mother's Day is a fitting closure to her time on earth.

I will miss her friendship.

His eye is on the sparrow...

2006-05-18T16:50:00.000-07:00

While having my morning coffee, a few days ago, I watched the birds at the bird feeders on my patio. They push and shove and flutter their wings as a threat to any other bird trying to get a place in line on the perches. They scatter more seed onto the cement below, than they get by all their fussing. Most of the ground feeders are busily gathering their breakfasts in the meantime.

One day, I noticed a crippled sparrow. One foot was missing, and his tail feathers went slightly ascew. He hopped a few steps, pecked a seed, then had to rest, by "letting himself down" like a mother hen fluffing herself over her chicks. Then, he'd raise himself on his one good leg, and hop to another choice seed, and repeat the peck and rest process. He probably was glad for those up above him who were providing his scattered meal for him. He may have even been thankful. Who knows?

This morning, I saw him again. I wept. To think that this poor crippled sparrow, knew where to find good food, even though he didn't know who was providing it. And because he had wings, he could fly just like all the other birds. He flew up to the bird bath and helped himself to a good drink before flying away.

I am learning ever so slowly that my Heavenly Father up above me is mindful of my wounds, nearly crippled by losing my Other Half, and He has given me wings to fly to Him for comfort and refreshment just as often as I remember to go where He leads me.

No, never alone...

2006-04-30T21:37:00.000-07:00

When I was a little girl, I shared a bedroom with my sister Rachel. She was invited to spend a week with our Grandmother one summer, which meant that I had to sleep alone, and I was afraid of the dark. My Mom came in to comfort me, and told me that if I had Jesus in my heart, I would never be alone, and wouldn't be afraid anymore. I was about six years old, and I remember turning over onto my tummy, and with my face in the pillow, I asked Jesus to come into my heart.

Last night, was the first night I have slept alone in my house, since Bob died ten months ago. My son, John has been staying with me, but is out of town for the weekend, visiting his sister in Oregon. I wondered how I would sleep.

I slept well. I wasn't afraid of the dark. Jesus had come in to stay when I invited Him in. He told His disciples "I will never leave you or forsake you."

I was NOT alone.

My life is on hold...

2006-04-17T17:29:00.000-07:00

With everything I own scooped up and shoved into boxes and stacked in the garage, I feel like my life is on hold. This computer will be moved to a location somewhere in the kitchen.

Boxes line the walls in the dining area of the kitchen, and a love seat rocker is against the other wall. The kitchen table is reduced to its smallest size and placed in front of the ovens, with barely enough space to open the refrigerator door. A chest of drawers and a big desk are added to the space where the table belongs. John will put his mattress on the floor in the remaining space and sleep there Thursday night. His chest of drawers is in the garage. He can shave and wash up at the stationary tub. Brrr.

All the rest of my furniture will be set outside under the patio roof. Hope it doesn't rain. I have invited myself to sleep overnight at my neighbor Kay's, who graciously agreed.

Then, the floor people will come and refinish the hardwood floors I wrote about in my blog on shag carpeting. If they can get it all done in one day, we can begin to live here again. A water-based finish is going to be used, so there won't be any fumes to avoid. I wonder how long it will take me to find whatever I was looking for...

In my former life...

It's Friday, but Sunday's comin'

2006-04-14T17:30:00.000-07:00

He is no longer here, for He is risen! What words of comfort on this Good Friday afternoon, when sorrow filled the hearts of the believers on that first Good Friday. We KNOW that Resurrection Day is coming, but they didn't. They thought they had lost their only saviour. But we KNOW it was only a temporary loss. They mourned. But we are ready to celebrate.

Happy Resurrection Day, all you who pass by.

The photo of my Night Blooming Cereus was taken last summer. The plant looks wierdly limp, and shows little sign of life all year. Then one evening the buds mature, and during the NIGHT the flower comes to life, opening a tiny hole that you can look into and see the intricate design. Then it unfurls and spreads to about 7 inches across. Big as my hand opened wide. No one would see it unless they believed me. No one would notice it's fragrance unless they were told to sniff the air. It's like resurrection. You gotta believe it, or you won't see it.

What's in YOUR bucket?

2006-04-11T18:26:00.000-07:00

When we set up our family trust, I thought everything was taken care of, but today I found out from my financial advisor that it's like buying a BUCKET and then having to run around and find all the things that have to be put into the bucket. I had sent him a notice that we wanted to put our IRA's into it, last March. But somehow, that got overlooked. So, today, we went to a notary and got it done. Yea.

So, be warned. Just because you pay $500. or $5,000. for a trust, all you may be getting is the BUCKET.

When John sent everyone on my email address list a notice about my birthday last year, with a request that they bring me a 6-pack of COSMOS plants from a local store having a sale, our financial advisor got the same request.

When the doorbell rang, I couldn't believe it, when I saw him standing there in three-piece suit and tie, with his teen-aged daughter, with armloads of COSMOS plants. What a funny sight. He didn't know Bob was so sick, but I brought him in to the family room, where Bob's hospital bed was set up, and they laughed and talked and shook hands, and said their goodbyes, with some mist in their eyes.

Today, he asked all about each of my kids, and took time to talk about Bob. What a treat to do business with a friend.

My bucket runneth over.

It makes me feel so young...

2006-04-08T07:46:00.000-07:00

Here it is TAX season, and the Empty Nesters group at church were partying last night with about 50 folks who should have been home filling in their forms.

The hosts used TAXES as their theme for decorating, and for the menu. Little money trees on each table held tiny envelopes with "Eternal Revenue Service" for a return address. And little Monopoly-sized folding money was attached to the trees. Gold-covered chocolate coins were scattered about. The place mats were copies of one of the IRS forms, over a green sheet of paper. The menu was printed out.

For instance,
CPA appetizers... were Cashews, Peanuts, and Almonds.
Greenback Salad- delicious mixed greens and asparagus

Miserstroni Soup- wonderful homemade stuff
Poor Boy sandwiches (meat balls on a hot-dog bun) with sliced cheese
Coined relish (Sweet and hot pickled coined carrots and veggies)

and for dessert...
Pay Dirt (an absolutely delicious whipped cream pudding with layers of crushed Oreo creme-filled cookies.)

Favors at each place setting were "PAY DAY" candy bars.

John was invited to come and play the piano for a hymn sing. But first, he wanted suggestions for songs around the theme.

"Jesus Paid It All," "Take My Life and Let It Be," "I Surrender All," "Nor Silver, Nor Gold... ," and I suggested "Three Coins in the Fountain," but it didn't fly.

People really enjoyed the food and the fellowship, and sang heartily while John played old familiar hymns. Everyone said it was the best hymn sing-along yet. John even asked me to join him on a piano duet. So, we played a rousing rendition of "The Assurance March." Some folks even knew the words to that.

Wonder why I hang around with all these old folks?

It makes me feel so young...

Rosa, where's my Coke?

2006-04-01T08:22:00.000-08:00

Through Bob's last weeks, I was privileged to be his care-giver. Everything from coaxing him to "take another bite" to brushing his teeth for him.

On that last Saturday in June, I phoned the Hospice volunteers. My back wouldn't let me do the usual lifting, and I decided I needed help with his bath.

Nurse Rosa came. Tiny, strong, Spanish-speaking gal from Peru. She pitched in to help give Bob his bath, and change his sheets. I had already washed his face and hands, and shampooed his hair. I had already shaved him, and slathered his "Stinkum" (after-shave) on his face. While she gently lifted each leg, she slowly swung it up and down, like a pendulum. It was good for circulation, she told me.

It was a warm morning, and Bob asked if he could have some Coke. (I had gone out the week before and bought $65.00 worth of juices, flavored waters, and soft drinks, hoping something would taste good to him.) So, I was happy that he wanted some Coke. I fixed it up with ice, and a bendy straw, and he sipped it, giving little satisfied sounds. Then, I'd set it on the table, and help Rosa with his bath.

In a minute or two, he said, "Rosa, where's my Coke?"

She chuckled. And took the blame for putting it down.

It took two hours for his bath that day. Rosa was in no hurry as she slathered him with skin lotion, and rubbed his heels and elbows. She is a Christian, and showered her gentle kindness on Bob. She kept calling him, "Dear."

And every once in a while, Bob would "demand" again, "Rosa, where's my Coke?"

It makes me laugh to think of it.

Wait for the money...

2006-03-28T21:44:00.000-08:00

I'm a fairly new user of EBAY, but with a lot of help and encouragement from my son John, I've sold enough items to earn a BLUE STAR after my name. Whoop de doo!

John wanted to help me sell some of my dishes, which have been tucked away in the lower cupboards for years. We tried selling the big punch bowl set, and the antique China tea set, but without success. Then, he helped me photograph those popular rectangle glass party trays with matching cups from the '40's, and put them up for auction on Ebay.

A gentleman in Oregon was the only one who bid on them so he won the auction. Much too low for the value I had in mind. He immediately asked for an invoice. Oops. I didn't know how to send an invoice. I wrote him a note through Ebay, and told him I was new at this, and would let him know what the amount should be.

He wrote back cordially, and said he was new at this, too, so would wait to send the check.

John helped me figure out the invoice thing, and we sent it off via the internet. Then, he and I packed the 31 dishes, and the 25 cups into four good-sized boxes.

In the meantime, I was planning a trip to visit my daughter in Oregon. At the last moment, I decided I would just DELIVER the four boxes, and not have to take all that stuff to the post office. It would save the buyer money, and save me the trouble of shipping the boxes.

Well, that trip got X'd, because of all the snow in the very mountains I would have to travel. So, John brought the boxes back in the house, and repacked them into three boxes. One was huge, and very heavy. But, it was within the limits at the Post Office. So, we mailed them, then and there. Another OOPS. It's better to wait for payment before sending the buyer the items.

We wrote to the buyer and told him they were on their way, and please send the money.

No more correspondence.

We prayed, asking God to put it on the heart of the buyer to send us the check.

Each day brought no check.

John wrote. I wrote.

Then, John phoned the number at the business address we were given. The gentleman was out sick, we were told.

After another week, John proceeded to get Ebay involved, for "non payment."

He also wrote the Chamber of Commerce in that city, to check and see if the business actually existed.

Yes, it was a real shop, and open.

Today, nearly a month and a half after selling the dishes, we received a money order for the amount we had said, with a note from the buyer... he and his family had been very sick, and he was sorry he couldn't send it sooner.

My faith is restored.

On a Scale of 1...

2006-03-25T06:26:00.000-08:00

A friend noted that I have lost weight since Bob died. She asked me, "How much have you lost?"

"About 173 pounds."

When the swallows come back...

2006-03-19T08:36:00.000-08:00

Some folks remember this day as Saint Joseph's Day. Others remember that this is the day the swallows return to Capistrano... every year for hundreds of years without fail.

But I will always remember it as the day I gave myself to the love of my life, Bob Darrow.

How do you celebrate an anniversary when one of you is gone? Is there a rule, or a book to tell you how? Is there a right way and a wrong way?

I guess that in remembering, there is honor, and celebration.

I think I'll go buy a Baby Ruth candy bar. That's what we had to eat on our wedding night.

And I'll check the news to see if the swallows returned on schedule.

Now it's 12:42 PM and I ate my candy bar on the way to church, and I checked the news. Yep. They arrived.

Wearing o' the green....

2006-03-17T09:19:00.000-08:00

Here's to Auntie Margaret, born on Saint Patrick's Day, 1901, and as Irish as could be.

Proud of her heritage, and proud of her birthdate, most of the gifts given to her on her beirthday were GREEN, of course. Green gloves. Green scarves. Green hankies.

And she loved green goblets, green tableclothes, and green Depression Glass dishes.

Bob was her only "downline." So, this is what we inherited from that sweet little red-haired Auntie Margret. Happy Birthday up there, Auntie.

March forth!

2006-03-04T08:22:00.000-08:00

When we were kids, riddles were popular on the playground. This one stuck in my mind, since it comes around every year. "Which date is a command?"

Maybe the Lord is speaking to me through that simple command. Don't mope around, Woman. Get up and wash your face, and get going. Bob is NOT coming back. So, make things new, and enjoy the years you have left. Enjoy the people he brought into your life, especially the four Bob gave you. And their spouses. And their kids, and their spouses, and their kids.

Gotta go wash my face.

A new great-grandchild is on it's way. Don't want him to catch me moping.

Shag's gotta go...

2006-03-01T18:43:00.000-08:00

There is a Proverb that says, "A wise woman builds her house, while the foolish one tears it down." Right now, it looks like a foolish woman lives here.

All these years, we have had moss-green shag carpets throughout the house. Yesterday, four men from my church came as volunteers, and pulled up the carpet and pads and hauled them out, and washed and dried the beautiful hardwood floors which were hidden underneath. They will come in a few weeks to remove the bedroom carpets, as well. Until then, it looks like we are either moving in or moving out. Books are piled everywhere, and the furniture is temporarily displaced.

While we are at it, why not paint? Our friend Tom really wanted to paint one wall a different color. OK, green. That's my favorite color. It's even better without the old green shag carpet.

Monday the 27th

2006-02-27T08:26:00.000-08:00

Eight months ago today on a Monday morning, Bob startled awake, and whispered quickly, "Amen! amen! amen!" I asked him if he was praying, or was he answering Someone? He couldn't answer me. I told him, if he was being called, he could go. And a tear rolled out of his left eye. I gently wiped it away. His attention was on two areas above him. He looked to the right, then to the left, then back to the right again. His eyes were focused and watching. Soon, he gasped his last breath, and was gone.

There hasn't been a day since he died , that I haven't wept for my love. Not morbidly, but in loving memory of a gentle man who loved me. I miss that sweet guy. I miss his kisses. And his arms about me. I miss the daily routines that kept me sane. Get the coffee. Turn on the radio to hear Chuck Swindoll. Turn on the computer, and check for e-mail. We did all these things together... for so many years.

The hardest thing to accept, is, he is NOT coming back.

In the right hands

2006-02-01T18:22:00.000-08:00

About the first week of the new year, I remembered that 50 years ago five missionaries were killed by Auca Indians, in Ecuador. We heard the news from a friend who was involved with Mission Aviation Fellowship. One of the five men killed was pilot Nate Saint, a member of MAF. It was on January 6th, our oldest daughter's fourth birthday. She remembers how a feeling of dread hung over us after that phone call. The missionaries were missing. It wan't until later that they were confirmed dead by the authorities.

When LIFE Magazine came out with a two page spread of the five widows sitting around a kitchen table, hearing the details of the killing, I cut the article out, and saved it in a folder in the file cabinet. Every article about this event that I came across, from that day on, I filed away in that folder. Reader's Digest, MAF magazine, King's Business, newspaper articles, Guide Post, and so on, all the way up to 1998.

I got out my file folder and showed the papers to my son John. I asked him what he thought about selling the papers on EBAY. Afterall, I am 77, a widow, and need to clear out all the paper stuff I have stashed all over the house. I wanted to get it into the hands of someone who would appreciate it.

I photographed a few of the articles, and he helped me upload them with my story, and we offered the whole folder for $0.99 as a beginning to the auction. (He pointed out that if I begin LOW, it actually costs me less). Someone bid on it right away. The auction was going to go for seven days.

In the first few days, it rose from $0.99 to a few dollars.

One lady contacted me through Ebay service, asking if we could give a "Buy it Now" price. We wrote back, no, that Ebay's rules are that once there are bids on an item, the sale must go on, with no changes. She was hoping to buy it, as her daughter just married the grandson of Nate Saint last summer, and she wanted to get the articles as a gift for him. That sort of story really tugs at my heart. I was wishing there was a way to help her win the auction.

Another bidder wrote to me, telling me the story that Roger Youdarian, one of the five men killed, was her father's brother. She was about 9 when the event happened. She remembered when she was 5 years old, they went to the dock, in Southern California, to see Roger and his family off for South America. She loved being around him.

Her father had saved all the articles about his brother, and put them in a suitcase. When he had to have a care-giver come take care of him, the care-giver threw out the suitcase, and other things she thought he no longer needed, and eventually ran the man into bankruptcy. So, for over ten years, this bidder had been looking in antique and collectible stores, for the 1956 LIFE Magazine article in particular.
I found that out, by asking her how she found my ad on Ebay.

Now, in the meantime, announcements on the radio and TV told about a new documentary film coming out based on the true story of the Waudani Indians spearing five missionaries. It turns out that the word Auca is a derogatory term, meaning "Naked Savage." Now that the Indians have believed the gospel of Jesus Christ, they are no longer savages, and are no longer naked. The new film is titled "End of the Spear."
So, John suggested that we wait a week before uploading my "item," so there would be more interest in having it. And we changed our title to get rid of the word Auca, and include the words End of the Spear. The sub title was, "Including the 1956 LIFE Magazine report."

This past weekend, we went to see the movie. It was excellent, and the portrayal of the brutal Indians was horrifying. The child actor was excellent, as he portrayed Steve, the little son of the pilot Nate Saint. Steve narrates the film, and actually does the flying of the little plane in all the flying scenes.

Our auction began to climb. That afternoon, I took a nap, and John came and woke me up saying there were only three minutes left. The selling price began to double. We watched it double and double again.

The lady who won the auction, is the one who had been looking for the LIFE magazine for over 10 years. After we shipped the package to her, she wrote that it had arrived safely, and was excited to find that there were many articles which they had never seen. Her mother was reading one of the articles right now. I am glad these got into the right hands.