I got these pretty folders several years ago when there was still a Hallmark store in New Castle. Thought they'd add cheer to my desk at work. Now that I'm retired, they will get new labels and be used for new projects, new ideas, new fun. And oh yes, I have a few ideas brewing.
For now though, daily life is centered on getting Brian through his illness and doing all I can as his support staff. He's feeling so much better today, and for that my day is made. He even had some special requests for foods that sound good today.
That is big news as he's had little to no appetite for over a week now. He just polished off a Chunky Sirloin Soup (a favorite of his that he hasn't asked for in a long time). Last night he said Wendy's chicken sandwich sounded good. That worked. Coming up on the Cronk menu in the days to come will be a vegetable and cheese omelette and toast; also chicken and noodles and a chicken pot pie!
While I picked up these supplies in the grocery store, I felt my spirits dance when I spotted this display of primroses. I told the floral employee that I simply had to have a photo. They are SO cheery!
And, a quick run to CVS, which Brian and I prefer calling by its oldie name, Hooks, just because we are nerds and think we're funny. I snagged these lights for Christmas 2021. We always need replacements and I prefer the smaller count than the massive strings. They were 90 percent-off, people. That's 49 cents a box in cash-register tape!
Have you been like me on a cleaning-out binge for months now? No? If you were, you might find interesting things lurking in the back of your Seller's Cabinet too. How about a stack of 16-year-old high school open house napkins? Why do moms keep such things?
Decided we may as well use them up. Brian said Sam might want them. I doubt that, but I did save back a short stack. Just in case.
What have you been up to on this SUNNY day? In the car driving home I found myself singing "Heavenly Sunshine." Anyone remember that old hymn? It's quite lovely. Miss the old church songs. That's why I have my own Methodist Hymnal.
Did the blog title fool you? Told you I wasn't discussing politics.
But what happened yesterday sent me to clean out my cabinet. Still not being political. My kitchen cabinet. In all the years we've lived here, I've never removed everything from this lower cabinet and cleaned the cabinet floor. Until yesterday. Then I did some reorganization.
All those baking pans -- square, round, bundt, cheesecake, large and small muffin / cupcake. Three pie plates, several cooling racks, two cutting boards and several serving trays. Now, I know what I've got, realize what I never use (but there's still possibility), and it's all in order. I stood back and surveyed the scene yesterday and declared it, "a work of art."
I love to organize. If I were a dog, I'd be a border collie. You'd think after all these months of extra home time, everything would be in perfect order, cleaned out, scrubbed tight. But no. Case in point, this cabinet (which has now come to order).
Organizing soothes me. It gives me control over something in life, even when other things are beyond my reach or impact. But the cabinet? It can suit me to a T.
Betty Giboney, who would be 108 this year, and who passed at 100, spent 40 (maybe more) years at The Courier-Times, retiring at 78. This, after a career as a professional dancer in New York City (she was a Roxyette--the name later changed to Rockette. She toured the country and appeared in movie dance lines. Then she worked at a NYC magazine.
After that, amazingly enough, she spent her career in rural Indiana covering 4-H and features, obits and whatever else needed doing. She famously (and seriously) told me that "New York City paled by comparison."
She was needed. She was treasured. She did good work. If you've got all that, plus a husband she adored and who adored her back, well, case closed. Who needs The Big Apple?
Betty and her husband traveled the globe. She once told me that much as she loved travel, she wished on occasion that they could have a staycation so she could do things like clean out the closets, which she never had time for. It was something she looked forward to in retirement (along with more travels including to Russia).
For many of us, there's something in our nature that craves putting things in order. Our affairs. Our closets. Our cabinets. Our souls.
I'm two weeks into retirement and I have plenty to do. This is my view at 8 a.m. today when I normally would be pulling into work. Do I miss hustling out the door? No.
Coming to you live from my favorite morning space, my writing chair. There's my second cup of coffee, daily planner, a couple of notebooks relating to specific projects.
This time of year, there are spectacular sunrises between 7:30-8 a.m. heading east.
But I like the ones from my writing chair.
Here I can quietly study, write, plan, and organize my day and upcoming projects.
How about you? Are you an organizer? Do you find it boring or comforting?
I haven't written a blog post in some time now.
Life has been coming at me pretty fast from the start of November until, well, it still is.
If you know me personally or follow my Facebook posts, you have an idea of what I'm talking about. 2020 was hard in so many ways, which I won't rehash month by month. But things took another bad turn in November when Brian was diagnosed with bladder cancer. There is a path forward, one we are in the thick of now.
We are nurtured and loved daily by so many people from all locations of time and space in our lives who send uplifting texts, emails, cards, calls and even a pie, a DVD set of Brian's favorite movie, a care package of gifts, a book about cancer, a cancer cookbook, and most of all, we will both tell you, so many promises of prayers on our behalf.
Due to our nation's division, one would think there are two banks of people in this country, each side in bitter hatred of the other. It hurts my heart. Hate is of Satan. When I'm actually AROUND people -- I see more kindness, extra measures of polite greetings and banter than ever -- and I well know I'm talking about people with deep political differences. Hate is a liar.
When we look each other in the eye, and not lash out with hurt and sarcasm and awful stereotypes on social media, we see each other as largely wanting the same things in life: Love, acceptance, security. Peace. Happiness. A voice.
I will not fan political flames. I have my own views, make no mistake. But one spark ignites an onslaught of rhetoric and link sharing that I cannot deal with, won't deal with. Not on my social media pages. I love people. I love them even when they think differently than I do. It is their right. It is my right. Let's just be kind. Let's have a cuppa something together and talk about our views in person. With a mask. Socially distanced. But not hurl them like weapons.
Life is really hard right now on all of us as we fret over our nation and our people. And those in our own homes with challenges.
Brian and I have sought light for the past couple months in so many ways -- spiritually, physically, and emotionally. We find it. The photo above? It's of the fake ficus tree in the corner of our dining room where the lamb-decorated Christmas tree sat for six weeks. Yesterday a friend from New Castle posted that she was thinking of getting a ficus tree and stringing lights on it. I took this photo and sent it to her. We're not the only ones seeking light.
Brian asked me the other day if we have plenty of candles for this winter. Little-known fact about BC, the guy loves scented candles. We burn them liberally all winter and sometimes in the summer too. I told him we had plenty, and he said, "Good. I'll need them."
Light in the darkness. Is it any wonder, I ask my Christian friends, that Jesus is called the Light of the World?
We're wired for light. And for loving one another.
So this is just a little hello. Peace be still, everyone.
I wish you light and Light this winter.
Orginally published in the New Castle Courier-Times.
By DONNA CRONK
KNIGHTSTOWN — It’s early Tuesday evening at Christ Fellowship Church, 4833 Ind. 109, north of Knightstown. Inside the building, lively Christmas music plays. Tables brim with school supplies and shoes, clothing and toys. Children and adult helpers are busily moving from one table to the next, filling plastic shoebox-size containers.
The reusable containers are destined for under-served children around the world in more than 100 countries who will open boxes loaded with small gifts.
The project is more than a random act of kindness, it’s an operation – Operation Christmas Child, (OCC) a ministry sponsored by Samaritan’s Purse.
Late October through middle November is crunch time, as the boxes are collected from individuals and churches throughout the land, and dropped at 4,000 locations throughout the U.S. to go on to global distribution.
Leads the county
Last year, Christ Fellowship Church filled the most boxes of any Henry County church with 233. Pastor Matthew Norman said the project is led by volunteers; Hannah Cordle in particular.
“It’s Hannah’s heart do do this,” he said Tuesday night.
Cordle, a Shenandoah High School and Ball State University graduate who is a chef at Primrose Schools in Fishers, is a children’s leader at Christ Fellowship, a church that she has been a part of nearly all her life.
She’s taken part in OCC for a long time and has led the project for three years at her church. She didn’t realize that the church was the highest contributor in the county until The Courier-Times told her.
Her reason for believing in the OCC project is this. “It spreads the gospel to the countries, to the children,” says Cordle. “Gifts are fun and all that but it’s temporary. It’s about them knowing the Lord and feeling loved.”
The number of filled boxes this church provides has increased on Cordle’s watch. This year’s goal, despite the challenges provided by COVID-19, says Norman, is to fill 300 shoeboxes.
Cordle explains how each box ideally contains a wow item (a bigger toy, for example), smaller toys, school supplies and a personal note. The boxes are filled with items appropriate to a given child’s gender and age with the boxes labeled accordingly.
Christ Fellowship’s technique is to view the project as a year-round endeavor, not merely a seasonal fall project. Cordle and her friends collect quality items for the boxes year-round when they go on deep discount.
For example, she found a great buy on cute sandals at a buck a pair. She spent $35 and saved $500 on full retail for the shoes. Another example is finding a buy on nice shirts for $1 each.
Cordle says it’s important to her that the children receive quality items. That’s where buys on seasonal-clearance sales come in.
A year’s worth of finds are collected, then spread out on tables as they were Tuesday when the church’s kids and parents arrive to enjoy a packing party.
A couple of the kids there commented. Said Kristian Tompkins, “I like helping children who are in need.”
Said Jackson Smith, “I like how we get to give people gifts that can’t have gifts.”
Pastor Norman said of the project, “It’s a good cause. We’ve been to Africa. We’ve seen where these boxes go.”
He explained how he would see a child who had never seen a crayon try to eat it before being shown how to use it, for example.
There are two local drop-off sites for individuals or churches to deliver boxes.
Both churches have various hours from Monday, Nov. 16 through Monday, Nov. 23. Call the individual churches for those hours.
They are: First Baptist Church, 709 S. Memorial Drive, New Castle, phone 529-2687 and New Testament Church of Christ, 752 W. Main St. Hagerstown, phone 489-5762.
All boxes dropped off at any of the collection sites will be collected by helpers outside the facilities, as COVID precautions dictate.
...Pack another box
Area Coordinator of Operation Christmas Child is Sue Bousman, 84, of Yorktown. She’s been serving in this role for 26 years. It’s been a ministry she and her late husband, Bill, enjoyed together, and her son plans to take it over.
“It’s been a passion of mine and my husband’s, especially his,” she says. In fact, instead of flowers for his funeral, people were asked to bring shoeboxes.
Last year, in the East Central Indiana district alone, 12,000 boxes were processed. They fed into the 10.9 million boxes that were distributed to children in more than 100 countries.
Bousman family members got together this year to remember Bill a year after his passing by having a packing party for OCC. Sue said 39 family members including Bill’s children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren came and packed 85 boxes.
Sue told her grandchildren, “Your grandpa would not want you to cry. He would want you to pack another box.”
I anticipate this day all year long. It's my birthday. But that has nothing to do with the much-anticipated day. The birthday part is merely coincidental with the truly exciting thing that happened today. I found my paper planner-calendar for next year.
Of course, next year is no ordinary year. It's 2021! It has a lot going for it without lifting a finger. Mainly, it's not 2020!
2020 has been ... let's see, how do I put this? Memorable? And here is the good it has done inside me: It has made me tremendously grateful for the great memories, including the incredible vacations we've had in recent years to such places as Washington, D.C., Boston, Hyannis, Minneapolis, New York City, Houston, and amazing, unique experiences within them all.
It has made me treasure my family and friends as I miss and can't wait to see them.
It has made me anticipate such seemingly simple tasks as putting up a new Christmas tree this year and cleaning out our attic. My heart is grateful. But it's also doing something else. It's yearning for a fresh start called 2021.
I have several years' worth of well-thumbed calendars and no two of them are alike. Some years I choose a tiny version that will fit smartly in even the smallest of the purses I carry. Others are so large and in charge, they need to be hand-carried outside the purses as one might an Egyptian princess. When I'm good and tired of pampering the princess, the next year I'll go back to the mini.
Last year's calendar is more scribbled-out dates and appointments than it is anything. It's fairly pristine and if it weren't for all the dates being wrong, a slight problem with a calendar, I could carry it again next year.
Today while on my errands, I decided to swing into Office Depot and peruse the calendars. There was a nice selection in a variety of sizes but when I spotted this little number, it was game over. The cover is a flannel-like-texture in gray, with a leather-like brown binding and a sturdy ring binder. There are two ways to handle the dates inside; one with a quick jot, and another for more extensive notes and details. There's lots of space for contacts and in the very back, a clear plastic envelope built right in, in which to place paperwork. Oh yeah, mine all mine.
Why don't I get with the rest of humanity and use my cellphone calendar, you ask? The simple answer is that I do not travel lightly through life. I tend to carry a paper trail of scribbled notes on the fly about the person I'm to interview, flyers, coupons, you name it. I can have an event inked in and the planner put away while Brian is still asking me if that is 2 or 2:30 and, where again? -- to putunch into his phone.
Here's to 2021! It will be a while before we flip the page, but when we do, I'm all set. More details to come ...
Originally published in the New Castle Courier-Times in August 2020.
by Donna Cronk
MIDDLETOWN — When DeWayne and Marta King decided to leave town life behind 20 years ago, they wanted to live in the country where Marta could create beautiful gardens.
They looked no farther than rural Middletown, next to their best friends Tom and Kathy Furnish. “They said, ‘Come and be our neighbors,’” recalls Marta.
The Kings, married nearly 41 years, purchased the 10-acre property and never looked back. Up went her dream home – a farmhouse-style house with a wrap-around porch and plenty of space outdoors to create dreamy gardens to go with it. DeWayne even crafted a walking bridge over a wooded ravine, and they have outbuildings and a greenhouse.
The couple got a bonus right away, as there were a bounty of huge, beautiful boulders to place throughout the landscaping. It had been a desire of Marta’s to have a big stone at their property’s entrance. Now one is there, displaying the property’s name – Indian Summer Hill.
For the past 20 years, Marta has operated her own business, Hand Tied Memories, creating floral designs for weddings. She loved the work, using wholesale flowers but also adding special touches from her own blossoming plants. She’s retiring in October.
Rooted in family
Marta’s love for gardening was learned from her Pendleton grandmother, the late Jewel Mercer, who had greenhouses, gardens and dairy farms. Marta lived nearby as a child, walking through the cornfield to get to Grandma’s house.
“My thing is the dirt, digging in the dirt, putting flowers together,” Marta says.
She recalls how people would pull into Grandma’s drive to see her beautiful peonies, and she in turn would give them handsful of the spring flowers to use in decorating graves.
Years later, Marta would inherit peonies. A lady she adored had beautiful peonies and following her death, Marta was gifted with the woman’s peony bushes – all 75 of them – which she dug up and moved.
In fact, if Marta could have only one flower it would be the Indiana state flower, the peony.
But there’s plenty of love to go around and other perennial favorites include iris, heliabores, butterfly bushes, lilacs, Russian sage, Trumpet flowers and more. She says while hostas are notable in gardening for their leaves, hummingbirds love dining on the small flowers the plants produce.
“I love planting anything that attracts pollinators,” Marta says. She has a patch of milkweed to attract Monarch butterflies, which it does; and she has tons of hummingbirds which she is certain return each spring. She said when they arrive, they hover around her as if to say they are back.
Not only does she love perennials, but container gardens which she uses liberally on her porch as they bloom to the overflow from their good care with good soil, fertilizer, water, sunshine and a doting gardener.
Marta’s love for container gardens results from her love for good design. She sees each container as having its own design, much like designing a vase bouquet of flowers or a bridal bouquet.
There are also hanging baskets with cascading Boston and asparagus ferns and many other kinds of flowers, and something that may be her favorite annual – red geraniums.
Marta loves the red geraniums in white boxes that are found on Michigan’s Mackinac Island and duplicates the look on her porch.
She also had three fairy gardens last summer, has a garden filled with miniature versions of plants.
In her genes
“It’s in my genes,” she says of her hobby. “It’s relaxing. I can just get lost out there.”
She recalls times when she was so happy to get home from work that she would set her purse down and get busy working in her yard until 10 or 11 p.m. and then wonder where she left her purse.
While some women want jewelry, Marta says she wants to go to the garden center. Husband DeWayne is happy for her.
“He said he loves the gardens because I love the gardens,” Marta said. “He’s very willing to run me anywhere to find a new plant. We also plan trips around botanical gardens.”
The couple has a pet dog, Madi, and overnight trips must include her. They have two grown sons and two grandchildren.
A few of the certified Master Gardener’s insider tips for gardening follow.
1. Proven Winner fertilizer is her go-to. She also recommends Espoma Organic products.
2. Marta enjoys her morning coffee while viewing her favorite YouTube gardening star on a six-day a week program called Garden Answer. She highly recommends it. Bonus: the show host’s gardens are in the same zone as Indiana’s.
3. Through the years, attending gardening seminars and hearing speakers provide a bounty of information. Marta says she is “just like a sponge” soaking up ideas and tips from the programs.
4. Along with her lavish outdoor gardens, Marta most always brings some of the bounty inside with fresh flowers on her kitchen table.
5. She recommends reading “Indiana Gardener’s Guide,” by Tom Tyler and Jo Ellen Meyers Sharp, and the magazine, Indiana Gardener.
6. Marta tells how to save geraniums from year to year. Dig them up; shake off the dirt; trim back the plants, place in brown paper bags and close the bags, store in the garage.
Six weeks before planting them in the spring, add soil in pots, the plants, and fertilize and water them, placing the pots in a greenhouse.
7. She has saved asparagus ferns for over 20 years. Cut them back even with the top of the containers they are in at the end of summer. Water lightly once a month, store in the garage with no covering, just the open pots, and come spring and summer, “They just pop.”
8. Marta also composts everything and recycles.
Note: A version of this column ran in the New Castle Courier-Times on Saturday.
by Donna Cronk
If you've followed recent columns, you know I'm in the midst of an extended home project. Because cleaning out our attic in one sitting is too overwhelming, we're doing it in slow motion.
That translates into one cardboard box, plastic tub, or prized relic a week. I find myself looking forward to that little jaunt up the ladder to see what memories are stirred.
Saturday before last, I delved into a container filled with memory clothes: A favorite blue sweater from high school that I wore to death; a junior-clothing, Brooks-store sundress worn to high school graduation; the "going-away" skirt Mom stitched for leaving our our wedding reception. (Those my age and older might remember the term "going-away" clothing.)
I can't fit into any of them and even if I could, I wouldn't. We parted company.
At the bottom of the tub was a Thom McAn shoe box. On the front in bold-black Magic Marker it read: Donna's tap shoes. I lifted the still-shiny patent-leather shoes and immediately, memories flooded in.
I never had a tap lesson in my life.
Half a century ago, the coolest girls in my hometown were Dixon Dancers, under the tutelage of dance teachers Rita and Joann. Surely those instructors were some sort of goddesses; so pretty, confident and capable of teaching those fancy dance steps. And the costumes! All tulle and fluff, sequins and silk, ribbons and ruffles.
My female relatives were Dixon Dancers, and each spring, Mom and I watched them sparkle in the annual dance review. Those sequin-studded costumes caught the light from a million directions as the girls bounced around the stage. There were square-dance and soft-shoe numbers, probably ballet and modern dance, but it was the tap-dancing that held me.
I loved the click-clack of taps hitting the floor, a sound you couldn't ignore if you tried. With every fiber of my being, I wanted to create those sounds from my own feet and put them to music.
The talent that filled that stage every year seemed as great to my young senses as that on the Dean Martin, Sonny & Cher and Carol Burnett variety TV shows of the era. Oh how I wanted to be not merely a Dixon Dancer, but a Dixon tapper!
It wasn't to be, as my parents wouldn't let me, despite classmate Starla Snyder's impassioned plea during Sunday school class for me to ask again about lessons. (Starla. Isn't that a perfect dancer's name?) But nope, it wasn't an option.
Neither was being a Brownie. I envied Christy Sweeney and her Brownie dress and beanie. She wore both on Mondays, if memory serves, prepared for those after-school meetings in the cafeteria. I missed out on the deep life lessons, but most importantly, on the refreshments and crafts.
I would have worn that uniform with pride!
My folks let me be in 4-H, and I suppose I made the most of that for the 10 years I maxed out my membership. Yet the yearning never waned to be a Dixon Dancer.
So I devised a DIY plan. I saved nickels and dimes (and I mean that in the literal sense as I got 15 cents for sweeping out and gassing up the school bus for my farmer-bus-driver dad). I also got a dollar a week for mowing the lawn; several bucks for the worst job of my life—picking up rocks in the fields for a couple weeks every spring. Summers meant odd jobs around the farm such as painting the white picket fence.
Finally, I had enough saved for a pair of authentic tap shoes exactly like those the Dixon Dancers wore. I walked right into Thom McAn and bought a pair. I must have been a fifth-or-sixth-grader. I didn't even need to prove that I was worthy of such a stately prize. Isn't America great?
If I couldn't be a Dixon Dancer, I could at least play one at home. I could also direct the variety shows my nieces and I put on where we sang songs from every genre we knew: "Put Your Hand in the Hand of the Man" (gospel); "This Land is Your Land" (folk); "The Charleston" (show tune, I guess); "If Ever I Would Leave You" (Broadway) or "Harper Valley PTA" (pop).
We combined song and dance with our own make-do costumes as well as my nieces' prized Dixon Dance wear. We invited neighbor kids over to view our shows. And of course, there was tap because I had to show off the shoes.
When I found the shoes in the attic, I immediately put them on. They were a little snug, but what's a cramped toe or two for the sake of performance art? So I clicked and clopped around the garage on that Saturday morning in my PJs, still relishing the sound of those taps.
Brian was inside the house, and I half expected him to emerge and ask what in the world was going on, that, "It sounds, oddly, like somebody tap dancing badly. I knew that wasn't possible!"
If he had, I might have broken into a rendition of "I Got You, Babe," and showed him my moves.
He would have thought I'd lost my mind. But I know the truth. I have a long memory lane.
I'm keeping the memories—and the tap shoes.
For the last 42 years, this little piece of (I suppose) 1950s luggage has been without work. It's been an outbuilding or attic accessory. But of course that's not why I've kept it. It's stayed with me because every time I see it, it reminds me of good times for the 20 years prior to these past 42.
This was the little traveling case into which I used to pack my nightie, toothbrush, hair brush and later makeup, along with a simple change of clothes for the next day. It was my overnighter to friends' or relatives' houses.
What it really was, I do believe, was the cosmetics' case in a luggage set. My folks had one or maybe two larger pieces that matched and I have no idea where they are now. I don't even know if they purchased the set or if was handed down from relatives who bought it for, say, a trip to Florida, or for some destination I'll never know about.
I was always a kid who liked to go, to have plans! I can't count the Friday-night sleepovers at my friend Cheryl's house. In elementary school we watched The Brady Bunch, then played with our Barbies until we couldn't change another outfit, and were about to drop over ourselves.
Everywhere I went in those golden days of youth, if I was staying, so was this travel bag. Tells you something about traveling light--one thing you'll never catch me doing now. Even if Brian and I are heading down to Indy or Carmel to see one of the kids, nine times out of 10, he's waiting for me to round up a stack of paperwork, a book I'm reading, a lesson I'm working on, a magazine, a Tervis full of iced water and maybe some other oddball object.
The travel case used to have a very distinct scent; the smell of fun! It no longer carries that; only memories. And that's why it's time to say goodbye. Now don't go and make this harder on me by saying what I could use it for, or store in it, or Pinterest it up, or learn to travel light and use it again.
You see, what I'm doing here is cleaning out our attic, one tub or box at a time, week by week. Brian and I found the idea of a one-day clean sweep of the place far too overwhelming. So instead, I told him about my idea to do it one container a week.
Today is week four. Last week my old prom dresses went. A friend wondered if I would give them to her for fabric to make doll clothes. Nope! They are far too faded and unfashionable. I parted with an old pair of my dad's work coveralls and another dear friend suggested I rescue them and use the fabric to craft a stuffed bear as an heirloom. Nope! I'd just fold the things back up, attach the idea to them mentally and --never do it.
I just need to say farewell to this sweet little memory companion. Now I've got the picture, and even the blog post. I still save many things. I just no longer want to save it all! I've reached a tipping point where there's more joy in the getting rid of than in the saving (and stacking, and putting away, and caring for or not caring for ...).
I'll carry it away one last time to the Goodwill.
For reasons that remain obvious, this COVID year has meant a good deal of time at home. I should be keeping a list of all the oddball jobs we've gotten done around here but the thing about having a house, or for that matter, a residence of any kind, means it's a never-ending battle to keep up with what needs done, let alone hit that list of wants.
So yes, some of our closets are tidier; some things have been gone through and donated such as a vintage sewing machine, or in the case of 40-something-year-old homemade prom dresses, trashed. Much remains to go through, especially in the attic, where such treasures such as those prom dresses (yes, sarcasm) lived for so long.
But because attacking the attic is overwhelming and there are all manner of sentimental, as well as practical, decisions to make, I have a new goal. Attics tend to be either hot or cold. Ours is not the easiest to access and even though I tell myself to beware of those beams, I still boink my head on one every time I'm up there.
I decided to approach the attack in a new way. Once a week, I will select one tub or box, bring it downstairs and decide what to do with the contents. This is week three. Brian even took part this week by bringing his childhood accordion downstairs. Don't ask me what will become of it. Figuring that out is on his list for this week and I will say, he's good about checking off the list.
You do find surprises when you tackle this sort of thing? I actually don't mind the chore because hey, what's one box? Even one full box?--in the scheme of things.
I solved a minor mystery. At my bridal shower 42 years ago, one of the sweet older ladies in the church congregation gifted us with a small painting. Her name was Gladys Rude, and she was well known in our community for her landscape paintings. We didn't have the funds or priorities back then to have such a gift professionally framed so I placed it in an inexpensive picture frame and somewhere along this 42-year journey, misplaced Gladys' handiwork.
For the life of me, I couldn't figure out what happened to it but in this week's edition of What We Keep, I found it tucked away in a box of miscellaneous keepsakes, half of which I tossed. But the painting? No way. I don't know that I'll frame it, but it looks pretty nifty propped inside our glass-front bookcase of my most treasured book titles.
I remember another handmade gift from that shower. There was a beautiful round braided rug made by the late Vivian Clevenger. We used it as a throw rug with little thought to it being a keepsake. It wasn't treated as such. It was made with rags from no doubt repurposed clothing. Truth is, if I'd kept it and washed it right, it would likely still be in service today.
There are other gifts from our wedding that are still used today. I think of the ultra practical yellow speckled plastic mixing bowl from the late Cleo Winters; an elegantly scalloped-edge aluminum tray with wooden handles from the shower committee (Pat Buell was on that committee and is still very much alive and well.) The late Dorothy Boggs gave us a set of place mats, napkins and napkin holders. The plac emats and napkins are gone but the wooden napkin holders remain. I still use the aluminum measuring cups and spoons from the late Barb Kaufman and the mixer from my SIL Linda Cronk remains in use when I need a hand-mixer for a boxed cake or muffins.
The surprises keep me going! Who knows what I'll find next week? A box a week, until it's done.
And now, an original Gladys Rude on display.
Member of The Greatest Generation hits the century mark
Reprinted from New Castle Courier-Times, by Donna Cronk. What better day to honor one of these amazing soldiers than today? It is my distinct honor to share these veterans' stories. Let us not forget how they saved the free world.
MIDDLETOWN — World War II veteran George H. Dunnington has a special birthday coming up, one that few experience. The Middletown resident will become 100 years old on Wednesday, July 8.
While unable to be interviewed by the newspaper, his family members Cheryl Spessert, Emily Spessert, Molly Spessert and Don Dunnington have documented his life and times in interviews through the years and provided their information to the newspaper.
Born in Slat near Monticello, Kentucky, Dunnington attended public school, finishing eighth-grade in 1935. He told daughter Cheryl Spessert in a written interview in 2001, “I quit school, that was the worst thing that happened to me ... I’d rather plow than go to school.”
His first job was farming sun-up to sun-down at $1 a day. Farm work continued, including a year in Iowa – for no pay.
“My biggest regret was that I never got a good education,” he told family.
In his teens, Dunnington moved with his family to New Castle. He worked in agriculture before getting on at Perfect Circle in Hagerstown. He lived in the New Castle area for years with all four of his children born in Henry County.
In the Army now – finally
Dunnington joined the Army in September 1942. He had tried to enlist several times but a crooked right arm from a factory accident kept him from acceptance.
Yet he wanted to go and kept begging officials to take him. Finally, he and another fellow said they should try again. This time, a doctor checked him and declared that his arm was “just right for an MI rifle.”
Dunnington told family, “I got the same arm shot up again when I got in there. I been shot a lot a places, a lot of times. Oh mercy. I got blowed up once with a bomb. It blowed my stomach apart. I been blown up from head to toe.”
Assigned to A Company of the 448 Anti-Aircraft Battalion, the soldier was trained as a gunner and became a company cook. His unit arrived in England in spring 1944.
His battalion arrived at Normandy on D-Day plus one where they supported the 35th Infantry Division. His gun crew served near the front line where they repulsed counterattacks and the liberation of Saint-Lo.
Also, the soldier was injured in the Battle of the Bulge and was evacuated to an English hospital. His injuries prevented his return to the U.S. with the 35th in September 1945, according to family.
He told family, “Being in the Army, that’s fun. When you’re in the war, that’s a different story. Man, I’ve had great big strong men lay down on the ground and cry. I said ‘Boy, get up out of the dirt.’ I said ‘We’re fighting a war.’ I never remember being scared ... I wasn’t smart enough to get scared ...”
The veteran says he escaped being killed many times. “I was pretty lucky I got out of the war as good as I was,” he says. “That old war, the funny thing to me, we went over there and we won the war. We was in the last battle, called the Battle of the Bulge, one of the worst battles there was …that’s when I was hurt and they rushed me to the hospital. The war was over when I was in the hospital. I didn’t get to come home with my boys…”
So many memories abound and paint a picture of varied experiences. He remembers surviving when his helmet was shot and he fell to the ground without injury. He also speaks of providing food to hungry French kids.
Dunnington shared with his family about a Christmas Eve in Paris during the war when the soldiers were put up in a hotel and enjoyed a massive feast. But during the night, they were spotted by Germans who blew up the hotel.
On Dec. 26 that year, he and other soldiers were taken to Bastone for two months of heavy fighting. That March, he fell on his elbow, which swelled and froze in position. At the hospital, he met a man from New Castle.
Dunnington went on to have surgery. During that time, he befriended a nurse who let him slip out and go gamble.
“They drank but I didn’t, so I really cleaned them out. I never wanted for money in London,” Dunnington told family.
After the cast was removed, he started cooking again for troops until November even though the war had ended in April.
Other memories include a terrible battle in the Argon Forest. The enemy heavily bombed their ammunition depot which fell on the soldiers. The force blew soldiers from their foxholes.
A war buddy, calling him by his nickname said, “Hack, we’ll never see New Castle again.”
But both escaped without injury. He recalls that he later learned his sister Ora prayed for him that same night.
“She knew I was in trouble and woke up her husband to join her in prayer. She busted a blood vessel in her head, and they found her in a pile of blood.”
Dunnington said if not for Ora, his brother Lloyd and his wife, “I always believed I wouldn’t have made it through the war.”
But he did make it, and he believed in the cause.
“That’s the reason I went. I don’t think any of the boys wanted to fight, but what are you going to do? Either we went there or they came here, and they were pretty close a time or two.”
Despite his injuries, he is yet to receive a Purple Heart. Paperwork had been destroyed and family is working on trying to secure the award for their hero.
After the war
Dunnington returned to New Castle in 1945, returning to Perfect Circle where he completed 23 years before transitioning to full-time Christian ministry in 1963. He became an evangelist and then pastor for congregations in Shirley, Muncie and Corydon.
He met Lucille after the war, marrying her on Aug. 29, 1947. They were married for over 53 years.
“She was a sweetheart, oh mercy she was a sweetheart,” he says of his bride. “She loved her family and oh dear, she loved her kids. She loved everybody. She couldn’t see no harm in nobody, never could …”
She passed away with Alzheimers in 2001.
The couple parented four children: Don (wife Jane) Dunnington of Oklahoma City; Gary (wife Kim) Dunnington of Indianapolis; Joy (husband Steve) Broad of Middletown and Cheryl (husband Robert) Spessert of Augusta, Georgia.
There are 12 grandchildren and 10 great-grandchildren.
Dunnington retired in New Castle in 1987 where he remained until moving in with his daughter Joy in 2016.
Son Don Dunnington says of his father, “Dad has modeled a deep faith and strong sense of personal integrity throughout my life. He emerged from a difficult background as a young man, was injured during the war and suffered other major setbacks along the way—yet built a strong and loving family and has lived a long life of service to God and others. I am grateful to be his son.”
The veteran became a Christ follower during a revival. “A lot of things changed in my life, it just turned around completely,” he said of his conversion. “But some of the hardest, hard men in the factory became some of my best friends. That’s all I want to do, see people get right with God. I’ve never lost that desire to this day, that’s what kept me going.”
For his birthday, family is asking for cards and photos from anyone who would like to send them. They will go into an album.
All four children will be there for his birthday and are making a memory blanket with all their family’s photos “so he can be covered in love when he sits in his chair,” says daughter Cheryl.
Greetings may be sent to George Dunnington, 4424 E. County Road 400 S., Middletown, IN 47356.