I love Autumn. October has always been my favorite month, followed closely by my second-favorite, November.

It’s not just the beauty of the earth during this time, though it is often gorgeous. And it’s not that good things happen to me in October. They do, but I also remember losses during this time of year. My grandfather died in October, as did my husband, I was in an accident that left me with a wheelchair, walker, and cane for several months. On the plus side, I have two grandchildren born in October.

October is my birth month, but being a child of the depression and WWII, I don’t remember any big celebrations on my birthday. However, my children took care of that lack last month, on my 90th birthday, October 20, 2023.

They started planning last January, reserving the Fellowship Hall at First United Methodist Church in Beebe and holding a block of rooms at a hotel in Searcy. As the date neared, a notice was put in the church bulletin and invitations sent to extended family and friends who might not see the bulletin.  Everyone I knew was invited: writers’ group, book club, Shepherd’s Center cronies, and former co-workers. It was a blast!  When the big day arrived, two blessed friends from FUMC were there to help my kids decorate and pull it all together.

The night before there was a pre-party, supposed to be “nothing fancy, just hamburgers together.” But it turned into a gathering at the church my son pastors, with two precious saints from that congregation serving food and providing a time for our family to visit and all the little great grands to get acquainted with their cousins.

Finally, party time. I entered the Fellowship Hall to see “Happy Birthday, Grandma Dot” plastered on the wall. Balloons, posters, food, and pictures of me from every activity and stage of my life. All my children, grandchildren, and great grands in attendance … 27 in all.

I saw so many friends. I believe I greeted each one personally, I certainly tried. Seventy people signed the guest book. Of course some of them were my family, but still!

Just before folks began to leave, a few family members who had brought guitars moved to another room for a short jam session (are they still called that?), always a part of our family get-togethers.

It was such a great party, not just for me but for everyone who attended. I am thankful to my family and friends who honored me in this way. I had so much fun!

Onward into the next decade!

While visiting with friends recently, I was asked, “Do you still perform in plays at the dinner theater?”

In 2001 I attended an open audition at 111 Arch Street Dinner Theater in Searcy, Arkansas,  and landed a part in Neil Simon’s Moon Over Buffalo. That gig began a wonderful time in my life. From then until 2018, I was in 20+ productions at that theater, now known as Performing Arts at Center on the Square. I had tons of fun and have many delightful stories from that time to add to the memoir.

But, I aged during those 17 years, as we are all wont to do. I developed some issues with balance and the ability to move around the stage quickly and steadily. I also had difficulty climbing over the obstacle course that is often backstage in a small theater.

My fear (and probably that of the director) was that I might fall on stage and not only pull focus but also take down a flat or possibly another actor. In 2018, my swansong came with Cemetery Club, a really cute play and a great experience with good friends.

At the Archies Ceremony, I received a Lifetime Achievement Award. At the age of 85, my acting career was over.

Then came the Pandemic and the lockdown, which hurt all of the entertainment industry, especially the non-profit sector. PACOS went dark for a while. Only to recover! 2023-24 will be their first full season since the dark spell. The opening last month of Hello Dolly  was spectacular.

So, I answered my friend, “No, that’s something I used to do but I don’t do any more.”

“Wow. That’s hard.”

“Yes. But it was a great ride while it lasted.”

*Visit centeronthesquare.org for more information of PACOS 2023-24 season.

In June, I had the treat — the blessing — of helping with Vacation Bible School at my church, Beebe First United Methodist. This is something I had not done for ten years, but obviously, it’s like riding a bicycle — you never forget how to do it.

Often, in a small town, children attend their own Bible School, but also visit other churches’ summer events around town, thus making each VBS a community happening. Although our Sunday School numbers are not what they were pre-pandemic, we had over 100 children each day (ages 4 years to 6th grade) take part in the activities.

The theme for the week was about being heroes and what God might call heroes to do. “Heroes are called to follow Jesus.” “… to help others.” “… to work together.” “…to show grace.”

I’m not a physically able person any more, but I was asked to help with the “actors,” a group of teen helpers who performed a skit each session based on the Bible story for the day. We dressed in robes (made for magi and shepherds appearing in pageants during Christmases past), performed for each grade level independently, then the teacher led them in a discussion of the story, focusing on what a follower of Jesus would do in such a situation.

I played a small part each day, Moses’ mother dropping him into the Nile River, a dissenter plotting to do away with Paul. Fortunately, young children suspend disbelief easily.

After our stellar performance and their discussion, each group was off to the next adventure, maybe to experience handcrafts — making a hero’s cape or a belt with a ‘gold’ medallion for a buckle. Or perhaps take time to write on the prayer wall before having game time or refreshments, ending each day with music and fellowship in the sanctuary. The music was loud and bouncy, giving everyone a chance to work out what little energy they might have left.

Our main scripture for the week, one we all committed to memory, was: Let us strive for those things that bring peace and for the things that build each other up. (Romans 14:19)

A verse everyone on earth should memorize and learn to live by.

I’m a child of the depression, born the year FDR became President and things began to ease up a bit, but still influenced by “hard times.” A stay-at-home mom with a houseful of kids, my mother learned well how to manage and make do.

My parents owned only two refrigerators during their 57 years of marriage. “If it ain’t broke, no need to replace it” seemed to be their motto. Other appliances, pots and pans, and household utensils stayed around forever.

Mother had a pair of silver-looking scissors. These were to be used for sewing — cutting cloth — exclusively. Thou shalt not cut paper dolls with Mother’s good scissors. As a child, I remember a man coming around to the house offering to sharpen scissors and knives. A very useful service. Nowadays, I doubt the scissors we buy can be sharpened when they become dull. We either throw them away or put them in the kitchen junk drawer, never to be used again.

Appliances today are made with “planned obsolescence.” They are meant to last for a certain number of hours, then they stop working. It’s less expensive to replace than to repair them. Our landfills are full of toasters, microwaves, blenders, and computers.

My mother would have loved to recycle, had she lived to see that effort come about. During World War II she saved newspapers for the Scouts, and cans and tin foil for the war effort.

Once a woman came by our house and asked Mother to save scraps for her pigs. If Mother would put garbage in a can by the back fence, the woman would come around with her cart and collect it for her pigs.

Mother was happy to do it. She would not waste a morsel of food as long as there was a hungry hog in the county.

Three years ago, I unceremoniously abandoned this blog. I just stopped writing. We all thought that during a quarantine there should be endless time to write. But, for me, it didn’t work that way.

My writing, this blog, has always been about what’s going on around me and how I feel about it. My take on the things I see and do. But, in 2020, I did not want to write about the pandemic. I felt like I was one of the few people who admittedly didn’t know what to do about it. No one needed or wanted to read my useless opinion.

I’m writing again, even though there is still not much pleasant happenings to write about. Several upsetting events occurred just recently. Another school shooting, deadly tornados in Arkansas, Razorbacks lost, our nation seriously divided, folks spewing hate all over the internet.

What can I write about? Maybe the bravery of the Nashville Metro Police as they charged into the school with “Go, go, go,” never stopping until they found the shooter. Or the hundreds of volunteers stepping up to help neighbors clean up after the recent storms. The churches and agencies who were on the spot immediately. Not just the non-profits whose mission is dealing in disasters, but private businesses bringing food, water and other supplies —  inflation and the bottom line forgotten as they gave back to their community.

Then, last Sunday morning, I sat and watched the children march through the church waving palm branches, reenacting Jesus entry into Jerusalem. They were so serious (some of them) and so glad to be a part of the worship service.

Okay, that’s it. That’s what I’ll write about here. The good things I experience. The funny happenings. Maybe, occasionally, inspirational.

Anyway, I’m back.