In light of the voting restrictions happening across the country today, I recall my Dad taking me to register to vote in 1956. He instructed me that not only would there be a written test, but our particular registrar had oral questions I would be asked. I understand that was left to the individual polling rules. All of which was to keep African Americans from voting.

Don’t take my word for this. Look up the voting rules for the 50’s and 60’s. Again, as soon as there is a movement for more freedoms by minorities, there is a movement to thwart it…such as Jim Crow laws, segregation, etc.

I will probably lose a great many of my followers, but in my 83 years of life, I just want us to recognize our history..our whole history. The greatness of this country is not diminished by recognizing our warts as well as our beauty. Our treatment of Native Americans, Japanese Americans, African Americans, and minorities in general, is not something to hide and not talk about, but to be brought to light and vow that it will never happen again.

That is the America I want my grandchildren to inherit. My Country ‘Tis of Thee, Sweet Land Of Liberty.

Our bed-time ritual was a joint venture with Bill and I, consisting of book reading and getting one of them to say that her favorite book was.”Old Black Bitch” instead of Witch. Always closing bedroom doors with at least two identical voices shouting, “Daddy, don’t shut the door too MANY!” Which would send him into peals of laughter, and he left the doors ajar.

Some little girls would get a ride into town for supplies at Stickleys or the Farm Bureau, and Bill would return them to me saying, “She talked non stop all the way in and back!” There were water battles in the milking parlor, there was halter training their heifers for the fair, there were ballgames, and vacation trips all over the country with one little girl riding behind her Daddy’s back in the motor home talking of “cuts and fills” on the roadway. There were musicals and college move ins and move outs, and weddings and grandchildren, and He was there.

Little girls sat in the back yard with a ball and glove waiting for him to come in from the barn to throw a few balls with them. I never saw him refuse even though he had spent about 15 hours working. If perhaps they had a small snafu in life, the first words out of their mouths was” Don’t tell Daddy.” Not because they feared him, but they never wanted to disappoint him. Unconditional love was his way of dealing with the herd of females in his life.

There are a thousand and one stories I could tell. But what all this means in my daughter’s lives, is that He was always there. In the moments of joy and a moment or two of deep sorrow, He was there. So Father’s Day is just one more day to remember. I will close with his reply to those people who kidded him about having all girls. Bill’s reply was, “If God thought we needed another man around our house, He would have sent one!” Amen, Bill, Amen.

You may recall the Lily Tomlin movie called The Incredible Shrinking Woman in which a housewife poisoned by her household cleaning chemicals, shrank to minute proportion. So I am warning my children, your Mother is shrinking!

Weight and height wise, I am slowly disappearing! I expected the weight loss, but what the heck is going on with my height ? With blood sugars a little high, I have been watching my sugar intake, and that resulting in some weight loss.

One of the phenomena of aging is that each day brings a surprise to our physical makeup, and leaves us shaking our heads over new aches, a new wrinkle, a new age spot, a new allergy, all of which we knew might happen one day, but not today

Pardon the personal grousing, but as I pulled up my pants this morning to keep from walking on the hems, and flipped over the waist band until time I could hem them up, I thought to myself, “shrinking, Ellen, shrinking, but still incredible, thanks be to God.”

Most musicians know the term “ear worm”. That’s when a musical tune or phrase gets stuck in your head and plays over and over in your ear!!

Last night we had choir practice, and trying to sleep, tunes we practiced played over and over in my head. One was the spiritual, “ Ain’t Judgin No Man For The Life He Leads”. The other was the song, For Everyone Born, by Shirley Murray. For a real message of inclusion, you might want to look it up. The phrase, repeating with each stanza is A place At The Table.” My nighttime revelry sent my mind swirling to the thought and the idea of what our world would be like if “everyone created”had a place at our table. A seat at your political table, your church table, and most of all a place at your personal, cherished, family table.

Thank you ear worm. This morning, setting my table where everyone born is welcome!,

Just had a “rite of passage” this morning …not a ceremonial one, but one that has become a yearly spring occurrence that always brings with it a remembrance of home and childhood. All my brothers and sisters remember with pleasure the search and reward of finding the elusive morel mushroom.

There was real skill in the hunt, and once you found a source, you guarded it with your life, or so the legend goes. My Mother was the expert in all of this and I will divulge some of her secrets for this early spring crusade. Her advice was, go where the MayApples grow , on eastern facing slopes, with rotting trees lining the earth, particularly apple trees.

I have not gone on this venture in some years now, but a dear friend brings me some every spring. I won’t reveal his name as that might give away his secret cache! But just know how much I love him as I sear those delicacies in butter and toss them on cube steak with gravy dripping down over warm noodles and my chin in this spring ritual!

Hope you like the picture of our dear patriarchs in Hawaii! One picture showed Dad with his pants rolled standing in the surf, and you could see he still had on his long underwear!

Thinking of family reunion and summer trips and all that those memories mean to this family, I am going to cheat a little and repeat parts of a blog I wrote some time ago that I called “Things.” It pretty well pictures how we brothers and sisters grew up and my apologies to you who have read it. So here it is!

One of my daughters expressed to me, something like this, “ Mom, “things” have never been important to you, have they? You didn’t have a lot of things growing up, did you?” I just smiled. True, as society thinks, I didn’t have “things”, but oh what I did have. First of all, I had a home where happiness was not measured by what you had, but by what you had to share. Our home became on many occasions a food bank, a sanctuary, a repository of help in health and business advice for that small bit of real estate at the foot of Massanutten Mountain that society had forgotten.

We had a pristinely clean and orderly home. We had a yard full of flowers and grape arbors, and two vegetable gardens that filled our table and our bellies. Things!! If a thing was needed, it was for the comfort of our family, like a furnace to replace wood stoves. Indoor plumbing and electricity that changed our lives forever.

Things!! Not so many…just enough. We should all be blessed to have just enough.

I just have to make a further comment on the “whistling” blog that I wrote the other day. My sister Nancy, during our weekly time together, told me something that I forgot about a whistling women. She reminded me of the old “saying”…. probably originating in Scotland in the 1700s. When she recited it, we both laughed that we had heard it as children without taking offense at it. Some people saying it was from the Bible, which is not true, but tells us much about the position of women throughout history.

Here is the saying, “A whistling women or a crowing hen are never good for God or men.” In other words, a women must be silent, and are compared to a freak of nature where a female fowl would dare crow like it’s male counterpart. Seems like today, with the NCAA discrepancy favoring the men’s team accommodations, we haven’t come too far since the 1700’s. I’m still whistling.

I think I need to say that my writings have in most parts been letters to my family, and if some of you enjoy them too, I am happy. Such a one is this letter.

Yesterday, I must have talked a half hour or so to my sister, Mary, in Florida. The first words from her were “I was just thinking about you and wanted to see how you are!” The most beautiful words anyone can hear, I believe.

What then occurred was a trip back to childhood with laughter, a few sober moments as we recalled the death of our brother in WW2. But mostly, how blessed we felt to have siblings to love and older sisters who helped us become who we are.

So, this morning on my walk, I was still there in remembrance mode and found myself whistling! No reason, just whistling on a brisk sunrise walk. I smiled as I recalled that such a thing was my demeanor as a child, I was usually, singing, humming, or whistling as I went about my day….I remember my Mom leaning over me in a “sick” bed and whispering in my ear, “ I know when my songbird stops singing, she is sick!”

So, just another letter to my children. If I quit whistling, you will know I am sick!!!

I had a good visit from my daughters on a weekly zoom meeting, as they are called. This has been our practice for the past months, when seeing each of us in person was not wise or almost impossible.

Nothing earthshaking, but satisfying in so many ways, as stories flow of mostly my grandchildren, or job challenges, or some quirky memory from childhood. And my heart and head are once more sated with the joy of family

I have no concept of how, worldwide, this pandemic has affected families in so many adverse ways, but I hope we have all gained a realization of how important relationships are.

Yesterday we talked of weddings, pregnancies, basketball scores, internships, travel plans, inoculations, test schedules, bunnies, and one confession of a childhood kitten debacle! Just enough information to send this matriarch smiling as she pulled the covers up to her chin and snuggled down feeling Zoomed!

Spending the weekend with two daughters, three grandchildren,and one beautiful long haired dachshund, named Hazel, brightened and warmed my soul on a cold winter weekend. Having gotten both COVID vaccine shots, and with other people un-compromised, a bit of social mingling was welcome.

Someone asked me how I felt after the vaccine shots, and the only thing I could say was that I felt less vulnerable! Being mentally healthy needs that release , I feel. It was strange to have my children come in my house masked, and social distancing themselves, or cringing when encountering unmasked people out in public. Not good for my mindset.

I pray that more and more people get that release. I am still wearing my mask, still washing my hands, still wiping down surfaces with sanitizers, but it’s amazing that the horror of a pandemic infection is not the first thing that comes to my mind.

Lessons learned: More hand washing to continue, more diligence with vaccines against health threats, more self reliance appreciated, more insight into what is important in life and what we can do without, and absolute resolve to embrace the people in my world who are essential to my identity and well being .