Going to the Lake

LAKE LAS VEGAS
ACCUSTOMED, CEREMONIOUS

Dinghy to the Rescue
Miss the boat? We meant to do that!

What happened? Looks like someone got the time wrong for boarding the dinner cruise! Gerry should not have listened to me. Oops, too late! Luckily, a kindly stranger has come to our rescue and is ferrying us out to the recently departed lake cruise so that we catch up with our friends and relatives. My Cousin Brent couldn't resist the photo op, and I couldn't stop laughing.

It was the perfect occasion for one of my favorite summer songs, these lyrics especially:
"Going to the lake . . .
me n' my mistakes,
yeah but that's okay . . .
going to the lake . . . "
Thanks to Andrew Robert Palmer for this upbeat sing - along - in - the car, sing - along - in - the - boat sort of song. It brings on an endless summer Beach Boys sense of nostalgia, except it's not the ocean -- it's the lake, which is definitely a better fit for some of us!

Beyond the narrator's carefree charm and good cheer, the lyrics include a thoughtful message of optimism in the face of change and transition. Even more existential is the takeaway of self - forgiveness. Hey, my mistakes are a part of me; they've made me who I am; they're going with me to the lake. Yeah, but that's okay, right?

Lake Las Vegas

To the Lake!

Going to the lake
going to the lake
going to the lake
going to the lake
going to the lake
going to the lake
no matter what you say
you might just need a break

Going through a change
going through a change
going through a change
going through a change
seems like I'm always
going through a change
and I ain't actin' strange
there's not a lot to say

Woo-ooo uh-huh
[a few times]

End of the day
man the sky is grey
jump on the highway
me n' my mistakes
yeah but that's ok
in fact I'm feeling great

Going to the lake
going thru a phase
and I just can't wait
going thru a change
and I'm on my way
me n' my mistakes
speeding by landscapes
flowers on the hill about I-88

Music & lyrics by Andrew Robert Palmer
from the album Andrew Robert Palmer, released May 1, 2019
posted with author's permission
all rights reserved

Note from Andrew: "Sometimes you just need a break from it all, but you are way way far away from the lake coming home from work and the weather sucks; so, you just sit in traffic and write a little tune in your head."

From the same album:
"American Souls" ~ featured previously on this blog.
See / listen to more ARP albums: Parlour Punk & Big Whoop
When it comes to summer nostalgia, no mention of any visit to any lake is complete without E.B. White's trip down memory lane:

"Summertime, oh summertime, pattern of life indelible, the fade proof lake, the woods unshatterable, the pasture with the sweet fern and the juniper forever and ever, summer without end; this was the background, and the life along the shore was the design, the cottages with their innocent and tranquil design, their tiny docks with the flagpole and the American flag floating against the white clouds in the blue sky, the little paths over the roots of the trees leading from camp to camp and the paths leading back to the outhouses and the can of lime for sprinkling, and at the souvenir counters at the store the miniature birch-bark canoes and the post cards that showed things looking a little better than they looked. This was the American family at play, escaping the city heat, wondering [about] the newcomers at the camp . . . It seemed to me, as I kept remembering all this, that those times and those summers had been infinitely precious and worth saving. There had been jollity and peace and goodness. . . . Peace and goodness and jollity." from "Once More to the Lake" (1941)
by E. B. White (1899 – 1985)

A Night to Remember
"Peace and goodness and jollity."

P.S.

"But the great fact in life, the always possible escape from dullness, was the lake. The sun rose out of it, the day began there; it was like an open door that nobody could shut. The land and all its dreariness could never close in on you. You had only to look at the lake, and you knew you would soon be free."

from The Professor's House (1925)
Willa Cather (1873 – 1947)
Next Fortnightly Post
Saturday, August 14th

Between now and then, read
THE QUOTIDIAN KIT ~ Red Tank Top
my shorter, almost daily blog posts
www.dailykitticarriker.blogspot.com

Looking for a good book? Try
KITTI'S LIST
my running list of recent reading
www.kittislist.blogsppot.com

Viva la Revolution

VINTAGE CROCHET
ACCUSTOMED, CEREMONIOUS

Vest made back in the 70s by my Grandmother Adeline Carriker;
scarf by my mother Mary Carriker
Bonus: Red, White & Blue for the July Holidays!

Earlier this month, Gerry and I needed costumes for a 70th Birthday Party with a 1970s theme, to be held over the 4th of July. Luckily, I still have an assortment of these crocheted vests that were all the rage during my junior high through college years. Just in case anyone suspects that only nerds wore crochet back then, take a look at all these groovy options -- even for guys! Crazy times! My mom and grandma must have worked overtime, crocheting nonstop to keep us girls in style. I'm pretty sure that my sisters and girl cousins and I had some version of practically everything on this page! (Not my brothers, however! They weren't that hip! Haha!)

The nice thing about the all - American 4th of July color scheme is that it means you're all set for Bastille Day as well -- the crocheted vest, the red, white, and blue twinkle lights, the miniature Eiffel Tower. Apparently, even George Washington observed the occasion of French Independence as well as our own, being the proud possessor -- thanks to the Marquis de Lafayette -- of the confiscated Key to the Bastille! Who knew?!

The sad thing about July 14th this year, after seeing the White House stormed on January 6th, is that somehow Bastille Day just doesn't feel as fun as it used to. There has to be a better way than storming!

Still, it's only right, on this blog of literary connections, to observe the day with a poem in honor of Paris, by one of my favorite poets and lifelong friends, who has written so beautifully of Paris:

Proust's Way: July 1991

Across the street from our hotel
and down a block or two, a door
opens onto a courtyard where Marcel
may have stepped upon a rough flag-
stone that triggered a host of things
he never knew he would recall.

Walking by the door, we recall
Guermantes's way and the count's hotel,
Swann's folly and all sorts of things
still existing beyond the door.
On evenings as we pass, the flag
of France is taken down. Marcel

is resting in his room. Marcel
remembers us while we recall
exactly what he said the flag-
stone summoned forth. At our hotel
we don't exactly close the door
on the chance he may be right: things

past have a way of making
now seem a bit more real. Marcel
seldom ventured beyond his door
in later years. Total recall
was obsession and love. The hotel,
on the 14th, displays its flags

for the troops of Desert Storm, flags
that have seen stranger things
than Bush at Mitterand's hotel.
At night not far from here, Marcel
sat in Square Louis to recall
better days. The mind is a door

that opens to many bells, a door
that swings on memory. A flag-
stone once caused Marcel to recall
involuntarily the things
that were his world and ours. Marcel,
we owe you more than a hotel

door labeled where he wrote. The things
that flag our minds are mute. Marcel,
no total recall in our hotel.

by American Poet Jim Barnes (b 1933)
in Paris: Poems by Jim Barnes

******************

Click to read more Bastille Day poems

Additional Bastille & Independence Day Posts
from previous years:

Bastille Day: Is There A World You Long To See?
Two Poems for Bastille Day
Eagles is Freedom
Carriker Barrel
Viva la Revolution

No More Forever
Andrea Dworkin
Liberté, égalité, fraternité!
If I Had a Hammer
Happy Bat - stille Day!
At Pere Lachaise
[with Victoria Amador & Steven LaVigne]

Independence Day 2009
Resident Alien
Red, White & Blue Pie
Who Needs Fireworks?!
May God Bless and Keep the Upstart Americans
Loving America the Al Franken Way
American Tune
Practice Pysanky, Practice Resurrection, Practice Revolution
I Pledge Allegiance

We managed the 70s and the 4th all in one outfit!

Accessorizing

Arriving in Style!
By land or by sea!

Thanks to Magan's Crochet Corner for giving expert advice when I inquired about the possibility of somehow turning all my old vests into an afghan. Magan advised to leave them as they are: "Crochet is having a comeback!" She was right! Thank goodness I resisted the temptation to unravel what turned out to be the perfect partywear! If you save something long enough . . . it might become cool once again!

In addition to vests, my mom specialized in large crocheted afghans, several still in use today by various members of the family; and Grandma Carriker made the best crocheted wagon wheel pillows, sadly all worn out.

Next Fortnightly Post
Wednesday, July 28th

Between now and then, read
THE QUOTIDIAN KIT
my shorter, almost daily blog posts
www.dailykitticarriker.blogspot.com

Looking for a good book? Try
KITTI'S LIST
my running list of recent reading
www.kittislist.blogsppot.com

Uncle William Birkinbine Miller

A GENTLEMAN AND A SCHOLAR
~ BORN 160 YEARS AGO TODAY ~
ACCUSTOMED, CEREMONIOUS

William Birkinbine Miller
June 28, 1859 - November 8, 1893

Uncle Will's Funeral Flowers
Cause of death: colon cancer at age 34

Uncle Will was the eldest brother of my Great - Grandmother Anna Mary Miller Heidemann (1862 - 1923). Anna Mary's little daughter -- my Grandmother Rovilla (1891 - 1966) -- was only 2 years old at the time of Will's death, yet, through the decades, she became the keeper of his memory, passing on to my mother and me the remaining souvenirs of his short life and literary temperment. Though Will had long "gone from all touch," Rovilla kept his "unseen presence within the borders of day" (William Soutar).

First among the tokens
is this small New Testament,
a present from Will to Anna in 1879:

1879

On the back page, he has written:

"Wm B. Miller is my name
Kleinfeltersville is my dwelling place
Richland is my station
Remember me if this you see
When I am far away and gone
My bones laid low in the grave
With a tombstone o'er my head and feet.
Sandville
March 14th 1879
To My Sister Annie M. Miller"
Fans of James Joyce surely remember when Stephen attends Clongowes Wood Boarding School, and a classmate named Fleming writes in Stephen's geography notebook:
“Stephen Dedalus is my name,
Ireland is my nation.
Clongowes is my dwellingplace
And heaven my expectation.”

~from A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man
It never occurred to me, when first studying Joyce, that Stephen's little book rhyme had a been in use for decades by generations of previous school - children, including my own ancestors!

Additional Souvenirs:

Above and below, Rovilla has noted
-- in her own beautiful cursive script --
these samples of Will's signature and handwriting

Fragments of Poetry

In her sorrowful poem of resignation, "Dirge Without Music," American poet Edna St. Vincent Millay (1892 - 1950) describes the extent of loss we have no choice but to endure when a loved one dies:
"A fragment of what you felt, of what you knew,
A formula, a phrase remains,—but the best is lost.

The answers quick and keen, the honest look, the laughter, the love,—
They are gone. . . ."

Contemporary comedian Bill Maher
puts it this way:

"Earth is a time share;
we can't all be here at the same time;
That's just the way it works."
So true. The fact is, even if William Birkinbine Miller had lived a long life, his path and mine on this planet would have been very unlikely to cross, considering that we were born 98 years apart. Yet, here's the thing, "a formula, a phrase, a fragment" does indeed remain. Thanks to Will's handwritten inscription, I see a quirky sense of humor, a brother who loved his sister, and a handful of place names whose significance I can pursue further if I wish.

Thanks to a page torn from his English literature notebook over a century ago, I'm lucky enough not only to see Uncle Will's very own handwriting but also to know a few of his favorite romantic poems, though not necessarily his intention: studying for a test, memorizing for a recitation, creating a Valentine, proposing marriage to Aunt Emma? Or maybe just like me, he loved making connections!

1. from Tamerlane ~ Nicholas Rowe (1674 - 1718)

Selima, Daughter of the Emperor:
So when some skilful Artist strikes the Strings,
The magick Numbers rouze our sleeping Passions,
And force us to confess our Grief, and Pleasure.
Alas! Axalla, say—dost thou not pity
My artless Innocence, and easie Fondness?
Oh! turn thee from me, or I die with blushing.

Axalla, an Italian Prince:
No—let me rather gaze, for ever gaze,
And bless the new-born Glories that adorn thee;
"From every Blush, that kindles in thy Cheeks,
Ten thousand little Loves, and Graces spring,
To revel in the Roses" . . .

2. To His Mistress, Objecting to Him ~ Robert Herrick (1591 - 1674)

You say I love not, 'cause I do not play
Still with your curls, and kiss the time away.
You blame me, too, because I can't devise
Some sport, to please those babies in your eyes;
"By Love's religion, I must here confess it,
The most I love, when I the least express it."
Shall griefs find tongues; full casks are ever found
To give, if any, yet but little sound.
Deep waters noiseless are; and this we know,
That chiding streams betray small depth below.
So when love speechless is, she doth express
A depth in love, and that depth bottomless.
Now, since my love is tongueless, know me such,
Who speak but little, 'cause I love so much.

3. The Lady's Yes ~ Elizabeth Barrett Browning (1806 - 1861)

"Yes!" I answered you last night;
"No!" this morning, Sir, I say!
Colours, seen by candle-light,
Will not look the same by day.

When the tabors played their best,
Lamps above, and laughs below —
Love me sounded like a jest,
Fit for Yes or fit for No!

Call me false, or call me free —
Vow, whatever light may shine,
No man on your face shall see
Any grief for change on mine.

Yet the sin is on us both —
Time to dance is not to woo —
Wooer light makes fickle troth —
Scorn of me recoils on you!

"Learn to win a lady's faith
Nobly, as the thing is high;
Bravely, as for life and death —
With a loyal gravity.

Lead her from the festive boards,
Point her to the starry skies,
Guard her, by your truthful words,
Pure from courtship's flatteries."

By your truth she shall be true —
Ever true, as wives of yore —
And her Yes, once said to you,
SHALL be Yes for evermore.

[4.] The final stanza, as written out by Uncle Will is actually the opening stanza of another poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning:

"A Man's Requirements": "Love me Sweet, with all thou art,
Feeling, thinking, seeing;
Love me in the lightest part,
Love me in full being."

****************

Happy 160th Birthday Uncle Will!
What a privilege it is to honor your request from so long ago:

"Remember me if this you see
When I am far away and gone . . . "

The Miller Family

My Great - great Grandparents
Henry Wise Miller
(May 27, 1834 ~ October 29, 1915)
&
Elizabeth Birkinbine Miller
(February 28, 1938 ~ March 28, 1925)

& their children, standing back row L to R:

Alice Elizabeth (1866 - 1946), Henry Kitzmiller (1860 - 1933),
William Birkinbine (1859 - 1893), Anna Mary (1862 - 1923),
between his parents is the youngest, Jacob George (1870 - 1936)
& not pictured is eldest sister Celestial Rebecca (1858 - 1936)

Next Fortnightly Post
Wednesday, July 14

Between now and then, read
THE QUOTIDIAN KIT
my shorter, almost daily blog posts
www.dailykitticarriker.blogspot.com

Looking for a good book? Try
KITTI'S LIST
my running list of recent reading
www.kittislist.blogsppot.com

Signs, Symbols, Souvenirs

BUNTING ON THE FRONT DOOR
WHERE ALL'S ACCUSTOMED, CEREMONIOUS

Happy Flag Day!
~ As seen on Amazon ~

"Within the operation of the souvenir, the sign functions not so much as object to object, but beyond this relation, metonymically, as object to event / experience. The ribbon may be metonymic to the corsage, but the corsage is in turn metonymic to an increasingly abstract, and hence increasingly 'lost,' set of referents: the gown, the dance, the particular occasion, the particular spring, all springs, romance, etc.

" . . . the souvenir . . . will still exist as a sample of the now - distanced experience, an experience which the object can only evoke and resonate to and can never entirely recoup" (136).

from On Longing:
Narratives of the Miniature, the Gigantic,
the Souvenir, the Collection
by Susan Stewart [previously]

Sorting through my grandparents' belongings, I felt the truth of Stewart's words when I came across dozens of funeral ribbons. Many of them are inscribed, in my grandfather's handwriting, with names, dates, and other small notations pertaining to the deceased. In the case of these memorial ribbons, the "lost referent" is so much more than the particular event. Every ribbon evokes not only a long - ago funeral, wake, or graveside service but also the entire life span of each and every loved one represented. Truly, as Stewart observes, the souvenir in this case can evoke but never recoup the distant experience of a completed human life.

In her essay "Language and Thought," American philosopher Susanne K. Langer (1895 – 1985) provides this insightful distinction: "The difference between a sign and a symbol is, in brief, that a sign causes us to think or act in face of the thing signified, whereas a symbol causes us to think about the thing symbolized':

"To us who are human, it -- i.e., 'purely sign using' -- does not sound very glorious. We want to go places and do things, own all sorts of gadgets that we do not absolutely need, and when we sit down to take it easy we want to talk. Rights and property, social position, special talents and virtues, and above all our ideas, are what we live for. . . . because we can use not only signs but symbols.

"A symbol differs from a sign in that it does not announce the presence of the object, the being, condition, or whatnot, which is its meaning, but merely brings this thing to mind. . .symbols . . . call up . . . a conception of the thing they 'mean.'

" . . . Because we have not only the ability but the constant need of conceiving what has happened to us, what surrounds us, what is demanded of us . . . our hopes and fears . . . Our whole reaction depends on how we manage to conceive the situation . . . we must construe the events of life." [emphasis in original]

This is what the dried flowers and ribbons do; they "bring to mind" the deceased, and the loss, and the passage of time. Beyond reminding us of the day of mourning, they help us conceive what has happened to us and those around us. They represent our hopes and, particularly in the face of death, our fears. Langer says that "what we cannot conceive is chaos, and fills us with terror." To restore order, we construe a narrative of death and remembrance. In addition to what we can remember (or not), every souvenir ccontributes to that narrative. All the funeral mementoes, prayer cards, program leaflets and newspaper clippings are samples, symbols of the dearly departed.

In Jennifer Saint's recent novel Ariadne, the character Dionysus beautifully conveys his understanding of human mortality. Despite his power and immortality, he wonders, just as we do:

"Why mortals bloomed like flowers and crumbled to nothing. Why their absence left a gnawing ache, a hollow void that could never be filled. And how everything they once were, that spark within them, could be extinguished so completely yet the world did not collapse under the weight of so much pain and grief. . . . I have felt the gaping wound and the bruised, ragged edges of grief. I know that human life shines more brightly because it is but a shimmering candle against an eternity of darkness, and it can be extinguished with the faintest breeze" (176 - 79).

I fanned the collection of funeral ribbons into a colorful arc and perceived them not as signs, referring "to actual situations, in which things have obvious relations to each other that require only to be noted" but as symbols, referring "to ideas, which are not physically there for inspection, so their connections and features have to be represented" (Langer, emphasis added). Thanks to the writing of Susan Stewart, Susanne K. Langer, and Jennifer Saint, I was able to see each preserved ribbon as the souvenir of a shimmering candle, a shining spark of human life that had been dear to those before me, whether I knew them or not.

[For more from Langer, see Safe Home & Dreamscape]

Next Fortnightly Post
Monday, June 28

Between now and then, read
THE QUOTIDIAN KIT
my shorter, almost daily blog posts ~ Hello Vaca! ~
www.dailykitticarriker.blogspot.com

Looking for a good book? Try
KITTI'S LIST
my running list of recent reading ~ Ariadne ~
www.kittislist.blogsppot.com

Transportation Has Undone So Many

I had not thought death had undone so many.
T. S. Eliot ~ from The Wasteland

GRIEVOUSLY UNACCUSTOMED, UNCEREMONIOUS

Notation on the back, in my mother's handwriting:
"Aunt Bessie's & Dick's DeSoto, hit head - on
between Glenrock & Douglas, Wyoming
Both killed instantly ~ August 16, 1956"

from the CDC Childhood Injury Report

"Injuries due to transportation were the leading cause of death for children.
The highest death rates were among occupants of motor vehicles in traffic.
There were also a substantial number of pedestrian and pedal cyclist deaths among children.
Combining all unintentional injury deaths among those between 0 and 19 years, motor vehicle traffic–related deaths were the leading cause.
The leading causes of injury death differed by age group.
For children less than 1 year of age, two–thirds of injury deaths were due to suffocation.
Drowning was the leading cause injury death for those 1 to 4 years of age.
For children 5 to 19 years of age, the most injury deaths were due to being an occupant in a motor vehicle traffic crash."

**********

The sadness of these statistics,
calls to mind the response of novelist
Alice Hoffman, when asked at an interview,
"Yet we don't wish for tragedy, right?"

"We don't have to wish for it! Terrible things happen out of the blue. We become the people that we are because of the tragedies that we experience, but that is not our whole story, just a piece of it."

**********

Lest we forget . . .

Great Grandfather Heidemann
Great - great Uncle Henry Heidemann
Great Uncle Harry
Great Aunt Bessie
Dick
Cousin Gary
Cousin Chase
Uncle Leonard
Jean S.
Scotty M.
Kenny H.
Jeff O.
Clarence F.
Sue S.
Steve H.
Joan E.
Cindy S.
Gail B.
Pete M.
Michele
Lee's cousin Earl
Leslie's son
Earl's nephew
Sherry's boyfriend
Betty (Conductron)
Bob T.
Brooke D.
Somayah
receptionist (ND)
4 students (ND)
2 students (UK)
secretary's 2 children & mother (ND)
Stephen's son George K
Carolyn B.
Marton's advisor
Jeanne's brother
friend of A & S
cousin of J
Terry's brother - in - law
Steve's sister
Christian B.
Evette

. . . and others . . .

RIP

**********

And to conclude,
a couple of In Memoriam tunes from Kansas:

People of the South Wind

There are some who can still remember
All the things that we used to do
But the days of our youth were numbered
And the ones who survive it are few

Oh, I can still see the smiling faces
When the times were so good
Oh in the all familiar places
I'd go back if I could

To the people of the south wind
To the people of the southern wind
To the people of the south wind
To the people of the southern wind

Well it's a hard thing to face the music
But it's somethin' everybody's got to do
So I hope that I can always remember
All the crazy times we had to go through

Now it's a dream that is slowly fading
Oh I don't want it to go
All of the memories are evading
And I want you to know

It's the people of the south wind
It's the people of the southern wind
It's the people of the south wind
It's the people of the southern wind

Now we've traveled all across the oceans
And we've seen what there is to see
But I guess it's not the proper solution
'Cause it's all about the same to me

Now I look back and it makes me wonder
Why we just couldn't see
All of the battles we fought and won there
Oh I wish that I could be

With the people of the south wind
With the people of the southern wind
It's the people of the south wind
You're the people of the southern wind

It's the people of the south wind
It's the people of the southern wind
It's the people of the south wind
You're the people of the southern wind

It's the people of the south wind
You're the people of the southern wind
It's the people of the south wind
You're the people of the southern wind

*********

Dust in the Wind

I close my eyes
Only for a moment and the moment's gone
All my dreams
Pass before my eyes with curiosity
Dust in the wind
All we are is dust in the wind

Same old song
Just a drop of water in an endless sea
All we do
Crumbles to the ground, though we refuse to see
Dust in the wind
All we are is dust in the wind

Now don't hang on
Nothin' lasts forever but the earth and sky
It slips away
And all your money won't another minute buy

Dust in the wind
All we are is dust in the wind
Dust in the wind
Everything is dust in the wind

~ Lyrics to both by Kerry Livgren ~

*********

See also: Handful of Dust, Sunset & Evening Star.
and Descent Into Kansas

Next Fortnightly Post
Monday, June 14

Between now and then, read
THE QUOTIDIAN KIT ~ Descent Into Kansas
my shorter, almost daily blog posts
www.dailykitticarriker.blogspot.com

Looking for a good book? Try
KITTI'S LIST
my running list of recent reading
www.kittislist.blogsppot.com

Sunset and Evening Star

RESURRECTION LITURGY
ACCUSTOMED, CEREMONIOUS

In my Father's house are many mansions:
if it were not so, I would have told you.
I go to prepare a place for you.
And if I go and prepare a place for you,
I will come again, and receive you unto myself;
that where I am, there ye may be also.
~ John 14:2-3 (KJV) ~

My mother Mary (1931 - 2020)
with her father Paul (1895 - 1983) and middle-brother John (1932 - 1983)
~ November 1981 ~

My mother's funeral service is one of the many across the world that was held belatedly this year. For the past decade, Mother's Day has seemed to work better than Thanksgiving or Christmas for our family reunions, even during the year of COVID. Despite the pandemic, we all met up in Southeast Kansas to visit my mom's for Mother’s Day 2020, and she died a month later, on June 15, 2020. So Mothers Day 2021 seemed an obvious choice for the service, especially since it didn’t really seem safe to plan the service any sooner, with all of us traveling from various locations.

Mary Elisabeth Lindsey Carriker
January 21, 1931 — June 15, 2020

Earlier Tributes on blog & facebook

A long-time resident of Caney, Mary was born on January 21, 1931 in Peru, Kansas, to Paul J. and M. Rovilla Heidemann Lindsey. She attended grade school in Peru, high school in Caney (Class of 1948), and college in Bethany, Oklahoma. She worked for Foster Petroleum, Phillips Petroleum, and Continental Can Company for several years before marrying Willard M. Carriker, also of Caney, in 1960.

Willard, Mary, and their six children lived for a year in Mountain Home, Idaho, before settling in Neosho, Missouri (1962 - 1967) and in the St. Louis area (1967 - 1984), where Mary worked in human resources for several companies and Willard worked in quality control for McDonnell Douglas. They returned to Caney for retirement in 1984.

All of her life, Mary loved to read and write and play the piano. Upon returning to Caney, she played for both the Church of the Nazarene and the United Methodist Church. She completed an Associate of Arts degree in 1995 at Coffeyville Community College, volunteered for the high school debate team, and delivered Meals on Wheels.

Aaron wrote: "Mom was an avid arm-chair traveler. She loved to sit and look at maps and reminisce about trips she'd taken or talk about trips she would like to take. Or look at a map and follow along as you told her about a trip you'd taken. She also liked to compare old road maps to new ones, to see how much things had changed over the years. Another of her hobbies was star-gazing. She loved to go out and look at the stars and point out the different stars and constellations."

Mary is survived by her children David (Marion) of Independence, Peggy Rosenbluth, Bruce, Kitti (Gerry McCartney), Diane (Tom Burrows), and Aaron (Pam); nine grandchildren: Hans (Chantel) Carriker, Jerrod (Amanda) Rosenbluth, Daniel Rosenbluth, Anna (Joe) Lesher, Sara Carriker, Ben (Cathleen) McCartney, Sam McCartney, Aaron Burrows, and Jessica Kimbrel; fourteen great - grandchildren, and many loving nieces and nephews.

She was preceded in death by her husband Willard (in 1987) and their infant daughter Hope (in 1964); also her brothers Dwight, John, and Earl; her son - in - law Ron Rosenbluth, and grandson - in - law Dave Kimbrel. Mary's memorial service was held on Monday, May 10, 2021.
Memorial contributions can be made to
The AWOL Humane Society of Independence
P.O. Box 290
Independence, KS 67301
www.independenceks.gov/230/Animal-ControlAWOL-Humane-Society

****************
I know that my redeemer lives,
and that in the end he will stand on the earth.
And after my skin has been destroyed,
yet in my flesh I will see God;
I myself will see him with my own eyes —
I, and not another. How my heart yearns within me!
~ Job 19:25-27 (NIV) ~
Music Video Tribute
The Holy City ~ sung by Larry Ford

For we know in part and we prophesy in part. But when that which is perfect has come, then that which is in part will be done away.

When I was a child, I spoke as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child; but when I became a man, I put away childish things. For now we see in a mirror, dimly, but then face to face. Now I know in part, but then I shall know just as I also am known.

And now abide faith, hope, love, these three;
but the greatest of these is love.
~ 1 Corinthians 13:9-13 (NKJV) ~

****************
I am Resurrection and I am Life, says the Lord.
Whoever has faith in me shall have life, even though he die.
And everyone who has life, and has committed himself to me in
faith, shall not die for ever.

As for me, I know that my Redeemer lives
and that at the last he will stand upon the earth.
After my awaking, he will raise me up;
and in my body I shall see God.
I myself shall see, and my eyes behold him
who is my friend and not a stranger.

For none of us has life in himself,
and none becomes his own master when he dies.
For if we have life, we are alive in the Lord,
and if we die, we die in the Lord.
So, then, whether we live or die,
we are the Lord's possession.

Burial of the Dead: Rite II
Book of Common Prayer (p 491)

****************

Crossing the Bar

Sunset and evening star,
And one clear call for me!
And may there be no moaning of the bar,
When I put out to sea,

But such a tide as moving seems asleep,
Too full for sound and foam,
When that which drew from out the boundless deep
Turns again home.

Twilight and evening bell,
And after that the dark!
And may there be no sadness of farewell,
When I embark;

For tho' from out our bourne of Time and Place
The flood may bear me far,
I hope to see my Pilot face to face
When I have crossed the bar.

By Alfred, Lord Tennyson (1809 -1892)

****************
Music Video Tribute
The Lord's Prayer ~ sung by Jim Nabors

It Is Well With My Soul

When peace like a river attendeth my way
When sorrows like sea billows roll
Whatever my lot, Thou hast taught me to say
It is well, it is well with my soul

It is well (it is well)
With my soul (with my soul)
It is well, it is well with my soul

Though Satan should buffet, though trials should come
Let this blest assurance control
That Christ has regarded my helpless estate
And has shed His own blood for my soul

It is well (it is well)
With my soul (with my soul)
It is well, it is well with my soul

My sin, oh the bliss of this glorious thought
My sin, not in part, but the whole
Is nailed to the cross, and I bear it no more
Praise the Lord, praise the Lord, O my soul!

It is well (it is well)
With my soul (with my soul)
It is well, it is well with my soul

[additional stanza]
But Lord, 'tis for Thee, for Thy coming we wait,
The sky, not the grave, is our goal;
Oh, trump of the angel! Oh, voice of the Lord!
Blessed hope, blessed rest of my soul.

It is well (it is well)
With my soul (with my soul)
It is well, it is well with my soul

And Lord, haste the day when my faith shall be sight
The clouds be rolled back as a scroll
The trump shall resound, and the Lord shall descend
Even so, it is well with my soul!

It is well (it is well)
With my soul (with my soul)
It is well, it is well with my soul

lyrics by Horatio Gates Spafford (1828-1888)
music by Philip Bliss (1838 – 1876)

For dust thou art,
and unto dust shalt thou return.
~ Genesis 3:19 (KJV) ~
Next Fortnightly Post
Friday, May 28

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