When I was a child, during World War II, President Roosevelt asked families to plant Victory Gardens.  These were really vegetable gardens intended to assist mothers in planning meatless meals. Meat was rationed and the government was pushing “Meatless Tuesdays.”

My parents were very patriotic about the war effort: We planted a Victory Garden and observed Meatless Tuesdays. Often we observed other meatless days, but that probably had to do with economics.

Once the planting was done, working in the garden, i.e., hoeing and pulling weeds, fell to the children. I was the middle of five siblings (until the baby boomer came along post-war). This was not a fun place to be. I was constantly faced with either “You’re old enough to … (insert chore), or “You’re too young to …(fill in a fun activity). I was deemed old enough to help in the garden.

I have to say right here that gardening was a chore I hated for two reasons. Texas is known for its 100 degree summer days and I’m afraid of spiders and snakes. And in Texas, where everything is bigger, the spiders are tarantulas.

My mother told us not to get too near a tarantula (as if!) because they can jump and they are poisonous.  I imagined a huge furry arachnid that could leap the length of a football field and kill me with a touch, no bite necessary.

I don’t remember actually working in the garden very often. Now that I have had some parenting experience, I’m sure Mother decided at some point that any minimal help I might be wasn’t worth hearing me scream at every stick and dirt clod. She sent me to the porch to shell peas and snap beans.  I was good at that.

My usual Sunday afternoon post didn’t happen last week because I was in Branson, MO at a reunion.  I was joined by 45 others who have the good fortune to belong to the Alderson clan, either by birth, marriage … or by being related to someone who married an Alderson. 

We had a big celebration with lots of fun and laughs. We celebrated being a family, looked at old, old pictures my sis found in her attic, caught up on the news of those who couldn’t be there (about 30 – did I say I have a BIG family?), and recognized the accomplishments of every single member.  “The Sibs”, as the older generation is called, each took the floor to brag on their children, grandchildren and great-grandchldren.

We celebrated the completion of the Anna and Monroe Alderson Family Clinic in Bangu, a poor neighborhood in Rio de Janiero, Brazil. Anna and Monroe (Grammy and Poppy) are the sibs’ parents and the family built the clinic in their honor.

Finally, we marked the 80th birthday of the oldest sib by sharing our favorite “Betty moments.”

Our family is scattered across eight states, from Washington to New York, from Mazula, Montana to Houston, Texas. We have been meeting bi-annually (that’s every two years, right?) since 2002.

On this day when we celebrate our country and freedom, let me say also how grateful I am to be a part of such a wonderful family.

Have you noticed how often we suffer – or at least are inconvenienced – when we decide to abandon a good habit and do something differently?  For instance,  instead of putting the car keys on the hook by the back door, we put them our pocket or purse, or lay them on the TV. Why do we do these things?

The Arkansas Annual Conference was held in the Convention Center in Hot Springs. This is a huge building with escalators that travel up two stories. I’m a very safe escalator traveler. I have this thing about heights and I always hold the handrail.

One day, carrying a large purse over one arm and my conference notebook in the opposing hand, I blithely walked into the building and stepped on the escalator.  What was I thinking?  I decided I needed to shift the stuff in my hands so I would have one free for the rail.  First, I should set the purse down on the step. When I did that, I missed the step and grabbed for my purse, lost my balance and danced backwards down two or three steps (while the escalator continued to travel upward). I felt myself losing control completely and I said out loud, “I’m going to fall.”  And then, true to my word, I did indeed fall down the remaining two or three steps – of the escalator  – the UP escalator.

As I fell, in slow motion just like the movies, I had time to think about several things.  Sharp, pointy, metal stairs and machinery that could suck off my clothes or one of my digits came to mind. All this formulated into one clear thought: This is really going to hurt!

I landed hard on my bottom, on the floor, clear of the chewing machinery.  I rolled backward onto my back.  My head did not hit the floor (thankyoulord).  A quick-thinking bystander turned off the escalator and my bag sat safely about ten feet above.  My notebook had made the trip down with me.

Fortuously, my pastor happened to pass by.  He asked all the right questions: Did I faint or get dizzy? Would I like to go to the emergency room? I declined that, knowing of no emergency room that treats a bruised dignity.  Then he took me to lunch, I think to observe me for another hour before trusting me to get around on my own.

I am not seriously hurt (again, thankyoulord) except that dispite the abundant padding back there, I may have broken my tailbone.  

And, as always, there is a lesson learned:  Don’t break the good habits.

This will be an outstanding week. I hope I’m equal to it.  I’m writing this in the middle of a Friday-to-Wednesday span from which I will emerge enlightened, encouraged, inspired, blessed and dog-tired.

Friday and Saturday just past I attended the Arkansas Writers Conference in Little Rock. The speakers seemed especially interesting this year, each giving me something to use and making me eager to come home and get on the computer. I had a very valuable critique session with the keynote speaker, Roland Mann (www.rolandmann.wordpress.com). I was one of ten authors who had an opportunity to send him 12 pages for critique before the conference, with a face-to-face meeting with him while we were in Little Rock.  He was encouraging and helpful with some changes I need to make on my novel-in-progress. He’s my new best friend. He LIKES my VOICE! He spoke to us on several issues, “Putting Some Super in our Heroes” and “Dangers of the Internet for Writers” to name a couple. The danger? Wasting time on Facebook, Twitter and Google instead of writing. He did mention spending too much time blogging but as far as I’m concerned he was meddling when he said that.

No winnings for me this year.  AWC sponsors thirty-something contests with over 1,000 entries, so the competition is great.  My BIL won a second place  in an essay contest, which I had nothing to do with, but I’m very proud of him.

Today, during our 11:00 service we burned the note.  This is a rather loose tradition in the United Methodist Church when a congregation gets the building paid off. What is incorporated into the celebration differs according to the congregation.  Our church of 300-400 members recently paid off a debt of $1,400,000 (one million four hundred thousand dollars) in less than ten years. The service was one of remembering the 1999 tornado that damaged the sanctuary and destroyed the parsonage and youth building, memories of those (some gone now) who courageously stepped out on faith and pulled together to make this happen, and a celebration of God’s goodness and faithfulness that enabled us to do this. As Chair of the Church Council, I took part in the actual burning. While the pastor held the container that was to catch fire and ashes, the Trustees Chairman lit the pages I held (a copy of the original note, by the way).  After the papers were blazing nicely, I dropped them into the bowl the pastor held. I was a little nervous and had practiced at home. The irony of catching the church on fire during the note-burning ceremony was not lost on me.  But all went well. It was a wonderful and uplifting service.

Now, for the next three days, I am off to Hot Springs for the Arkansas Annual Conference of the United Methodist Church – along with a few thousand other Methodists from Arkansas. There will be singing, praying, worship and business meetings. I’m a delegate and, as I said, I hope I’m equal to the task.