Grandma and grandpa had arrived at our home earlier that day to once again share in the children’s excitement over the decorating of the Christmas tree.  That process had always been a very special family one.  We had nearly completed the adorning of our majestically tall tree when our attention had been diverted by the lovely, whiteness of the new fallen snow outside; a snowfall that had arrived as if just in time to enhance our Christmas spirit.

We turned our attention back to the tree and placed the large, shiny silver star atop.  As we turned on the lights and  stood back marveling at the beauty before us, the “oohs” and “aahs” of the children could be heard.  Sharing in their Christmas joy, we grown-ups exchanged glances that conveyed the joy and gratitude from deep within our hearts at being blest, once again, with sharing this heartwarming occasion.

Suddenly, amidst the silence, a tiny voice could be heard singing a familiar tune.  There sat our five year old daughter, huddled close to the tree, singing “Silent Night”.  Inspired by her Christmas spirit, we all joined-in and sang along.  It seemed as though Grandma and Grandpa especially enjoyed the nostalgia of sharing the familiar carols of their many Christmas’ in years gone-by.   Singing the carols together had become a treasured family tradition.  As I sang along, my thoughts were carried back to the many years past when we’d sung those same, beautiful Christmas Carols on Christmas Eve.

Voices tiring at last, the children asked Grandpa to again recite Charles Dickens, “A Christmas Carol” for them.  Smiling, he gathered both children in his outstretched arms and beside him in the overstuffed chair they now shared.  This year, I, too, sat down to listen.  I soon found myself totally captived by his uniquely appealing story-telling voice.  My gaze became fixed upon that very special man.  The silver-greying of his hair, seemed somehow more apparent than ever before as the aged ring of his voice carried a noticeable, weary tone that hadn’t seemed to penetrate my consciousness before.  Had I just never taken the time before to listen and to observe him so closely?  Could it have been the deep surge of sentiment filling my heart as the children and I were so visibly captivated by his every word?

I wondered silently as my gaze became focused upon Grandma who sat across the room, deeply engrossed in her crocheting.  She was completely unaware of my gaze having become fixed upon her hands.  Those tender, loving hands that had grown wrinkled with age and the countless years of hard work she’d toiled away at in order to bless our family with the home we all, now shared.  I noticed her tired hands endeavoring to use that familiar old crotchet hook as adeptly as she once had.  Those lovely hands that, despite the wear and tear of the years, still managed to crotchet some of the most magnificent creations I’d ever seen.  I watched silently as my heart overflowed with love for her.

Filled with a warm, deep sense of gratitude, I became fully aware of the privilege of that evening together - the privilege of having them there with us.  For once again, they were filling their irreplaceable role in that very priceless, family moment.  Realizing the endless amounts of love they have bestowed upon two generations of children at this time each year brought a tear of joy to my eye; and I was reminded of how their presence there with us, was, truly, the best gift of all.

(Copyright 1976 by JC Eberhart)

The snowflakes were falling, one-by-one; no two alike in their intricate shapes and sizes.  Large, billowy soft, and no doubt slippery beneath the feet, they rapidly accumulated everywhere.  Gazing out the window of our fireplace warmed living-room, we shared in a mutual sympathy for the slow moving travelers as each one continued to ever so cautiously trudge forth amid the end-of-day traffic.  The growing darkness served to intensify their already treacherous journeys.

Grandma and grandpa had arrived at our home earlier that day to once again share in the children’s excitement over the decorating of the Christmas tree.  That process had always been a very special family one.  We had nearly completed the adorning of our majestically tall tree when our attention had been diverted by the lovely, whiteness of the new fallen snow outside; a snowfall that had arrived as if just in time to enhance our Christmas spirit.

We turned our attention back to the tree and placed the large, shiny silver star atop.  As we turned on the lights and  stood back marveling at the beauty before us, the “oohs” and “aahs” of the children could be heard.  Sharing in their Christmas joy, we grown-ups exchanged glances that conveyed the joy and gratitude from deep within our hearts at being blest, once again, with sharing this heartwarming occasion.

Suddenly, amidst the silence, a tiny voice could be heard singing a familiar tune.  There sat our five year old daughter, huddled close to the tree, singing “Silent Night”.  Inspired by her Christmas spirit, we all joined-in and sang along.  It seemed as though Grandma and Grandpa especially enjoyed the nostalgia of sharing the familiar carols of their many Christmas’ in years gone-by.   Singing the carols together had become a treasured family tradition.  As I sang along, my thoughts were carried back to the many years past when we’d sung those same, beautiful Christmas Carols on Christmas Eve.

Voices tiring at last, the children asked Grandpa to again recite Charles Dickens, “A Christmas Carol” for them.  Smiling, he gathered both children in his outstretched arms and beside him in the overstuffed chair they now shared.  This year, I, too, sat down to listen.  I soon found myself totally captived by his uniquely appealing story-telling voice.  My gaze became fixed upon that very special man.  The silver-greying of his hair, seemed somehow more apparent than ever before as the aged ring of his voice carried a noticeable, weary tone that hadn’t seemed to penetrate my consciousness before.  Had I just never taken the time before to listen and to observe him so closely?  Could it have been the deep surge of sentiment filling my heart as the children and I were so visibly captivated by his every word?

I wondered silently as my gaze became focused upon Grandma who sat across the room, deeply engrossed in her crocheting.  She was completely unaware of my gaze having become fixed upon her hands.  Those tender, loving hands that had grown wrinkled with age and the countless years of hard work she’d toiled away at in order to bless our family with the home we all, now shared.  I noticed her tired hands endeavoring to use that familiar old crotchet hook as adeptly as she once had.  Those lovely hands that, despite the wear and tear of the years, still managed to crotchet some of the most magnificent creations I’d ever seen.  I watched silently as my heart overflowed with love for her.

Filled with a warm, deep sense of gratitude, I became fully aware of the privilege of that evening together - the privilege of having them there with us.  For once again, they were filling their irreplaceable role in that very priceless, family moment.  Realizing the endless amounts of love they have bestowed upon two generations of children at this time each year brought a tear of joy to my eye; and I was reminded of how their presence there with us, was, truly, the best gift of all.

(Copyright 1976 by JC Eberhart)

I called my significant other into the room and we agreed that she needed to seen by a veterinarian even if the fact was that a Sunday made that difficult. He telephoned Animal Urgent Care and told them we would be bringing her right in to be seen.

We were to learn that Dazie had developed Canine Pancreatitis and needed medication right away. The veterinarian saw her and prescribed two different medications. When my sweetie brought her home, her back was puffy from the liquid they had had to inject into her body. It was soon absorbed into her system. We learned that there was something rare going on in her body, but not life-threatening in her case. An excellent lesson for us in paying close attention to absolutely any change at all in our pet’s behavior then recognizing it as a warning sign that something was terribly wrong!

Meanwhile, one vet. bill and one fur-child who was no longer in pain later, we were so glad that we hadn’t ignored her subtle cries for our help!

(Copyright 2011 by JC Eberhart)

Read more: http://therealowner.com/dogs/dazies-cries-for-help/#ixzz1HTXBVDYr

Certainly, organized religion asks that we “donate” our hard earned dollars to their cause. Countless numbers of people take issue with that. Understandably so. Fortunately, in most cases, doing so will take it’s toll upon our pocketbook. This cost is a nominal one in comparison to the cost of the so-called “more unique” paths available to the public leading to the truth, the light and the way.

You may recall the Jim Jones Cult and the hundreds of lives that were taken in the name of the truth, the light and the way. You may find it baffling that so many people would follow a self-proclaimed man of God (madman) to their death. (Make no mistake about it, there will be many more to come!) The cost? Immeasurable, in the form of money. By whom is the cost paid? The cost is ultimately paid by:

· Every victim of the resulting death toll,

· Every loved one of those on the list of the dead,

· Outside individuals who attempt to rescue victims before it is too late to do so . . .

and the list goes on and on.

Because of the freedom of everyone to pursue whatever goals they choose, it will always be possible to be taken advantage of by the charletains of the world. Don’t get me wrong, I wouldn’t change our freedom to pursue our dreams for anything in the world. If I had the power to change anything, it would be to persuade those individuals who feel their lives lack meaning and direction to the extent that they actually allow themselves to become willing to fall victim to any charletain (psychopath) who comes along and who claims to have all the answers. Take heed! No one on this earth has all the answers! To have all the answers, one would have to be superhuman and the only ones I know of who have mastered the power to do so have been Superman and Spiderman! (i.e. In the real world, this kind of power simply does not exist!)

So, whatever you do, don’t allow yourself to become one of the hundreds of thousands of sheep in the world who blindly follow their herder over the edge of the cliff! If you do, you will discover (as did the hundreds of victims of Jim Jones and the victims of James Ray) that the only rewards to be found are the jagged rocks laying in wait, at the bottom!

(Copyright 2011 by JC Eberhart)

I weigh about ninety pounds soaking-wet, I live in harmony with a Collie whose name is Lyra, and I’ve become the shadow of my newest part time mistress, JC.  I have brownish black fur that is a little bit bristly to the touch, but shines in the sunlight and loves nothing more than to be gently petted by my owners.  At bedtime each night, I scurry into the foyer of my master’s house to awaken Lyra so that we can go outdoors one last time for the day to sit side-by-side in the snow and go potty.  (Lyra is much older than I and she lost most of her hearing a few years ago and so I straddle her on all fours and bark very loudly in order to awaken her.)  Lyra is my best friend.  We eat together and we play together.

Every night, because Lyra can no longer climb the stairs to my master’s bedroom, I go alone to their bed.  They encourage me to jump-up onto their bed (I’ve recently gained a bit too much weight so I have a little bit of anxiety about being able to make-it up that high) but they remind me that I can do it.  Soon my courage has risen high enough that I believe I can do it too, and up I go!  (Of course, my master and mistress are my spotters.)

When I’m ready, I dig at the top of the blankets with my paw, and they know that I’m prepared to make my journey underneath the covers down to the foot of the bed where I love to sleep (all toasty warm) each night.  These two humans are very comical in that they seem to find this amusing and affection provoking, so I never disappoint them.  First, of course, I exchange numerous kisses and hugs with them as we bid each other good-night.

What is my complete identity?  I’m a five year old Pitbull.  Tragically, most people believe that I was born to be bad.  In fact, they believe that I’m bad to the bone.  I want you to know that, as my owners would gladly tell you, nothing could be further from the truth!  The truth is that there are bad people who take advantage of my tendency to be competitive and very well able to protect my master not only from ill intentioned people, but from any ill-intentioned dogs, as well.  These bad people  train me to use that tendency to beat-up and harm other dogs, and yes, even humans, too. 

I’m writing this letter to you because I want you to know that I’ve been given a bad rap based upon what has been done to me by violent people.  I am no different from humans in that, whatever ways I’m trained during my growing up years, are the ways I will behave as an adult.  If I am trained by mean, abusive, violent owners, I will learn to be mean, abusive and violent.  If, on the other hand, I am trained by gentle, loving humans, I will grow up to be a gentle and loving pet.

So please, I plead with you to keep an open mind regarding my brothers and sisters!  We are, by nature, extremely intelligent, loyal and loving animals who would give our lives for those we love.  Please raise us with tender loving care and that is the way that we will treat everyone with whom we come in contact..       

Please don’t lock us in your basement and teach us vicious techniques with which to fight and even kill our own kind.  (Even humans can learn to kill and so, you see, we are really not that different from you!)  Let us love you and those dear to you.  For we have hearts the size of Texas, if only we are given the understanding, love and the chance to develop our loving ways. 

You will know that you have been truly loved, only when you have been truly loved by a Pitbull.  My name is Dazie, and I speak the truth.

©2010 by JC Eberhart

© JC Eberhart and JC Eberhart 1974 – 2010. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to JC Eberhart and JC ‘s Blog with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

My daughter-in-law recently posted a link on Facebook that caught my attention. More than a little curious, I double-clicked on the link, and was absolutely dumbfounded by what I found there. I then determined that it is just too important not to pass-on to others! Consequently, this article.  Unless you never sleep in a hotel or motel room, you absolutely cannot afford to ignore this article! 

As a chemical health practitioner, I can assure you that if there is any one illicit drug that is worse than all the other drugs combined, it would be methamphetamine.  I only use the word “if” because every mood-altering substance is potentially lethal.  (If you’ve read my other articles pertaining to the subject of drug addiction, you will know exactly where I am coming from with this.  Suffice for now to say, alcohol and illicit drugs not only kill individuals, they kill entire families!)  Just when I think that these substances have become as dangerous as they possibly can, my attention is called to another piece of new and even more disturbing news! 

Much to my shock and disbelief, there have surfaced even more avenues by which illicit drugs are now able to add to our country’s already out of control, drug-induced death toll.  The particular chemical villain to which I refer, however, lurks in silence awaiting some of it’s most innocent and unsuspecting victims.

Here is the story on this one:  Ever since I viewed on 20/20 (or 60 Minutes) a few years ago, the undercover video tapes of maids in even four star and even some FIVE STAR hotels washing out the coffee pots and drinking glasses with the same rags they’d just used to wash in and around the commode, I’ve not stayed in ANY hotel without taking along my trusty Dow Bathroom Cleaner and thoroughly washing just about everything in the room/suite immediately upon my arrival! Deluded, I believed that I’d taken every precaution to ensure the safety of my health. (WRONG!)

Did you know that there exist individuals who have so little concern or respect for others as to cook methamphetamine in hotel room coffee pots?  THIS, one, is a new one, even on me!  When I thought about it though, it made perfect sense when viewed on the level of the drug addict who is ultimately seeking the most secret and safe place possible, in which to concoct their deadly potion.  (Who, for example, in their right mind, would ever suspect?)

Needless to say, this procedure not only renders the hotel/motel coffee pot a serious health hazard to the next resident of the room, but the room itself! What do I mean by that?  Did you know that whenever a methamphetamine lab. is discovered in a house, the folks who have the unthinkable job of going into the structure to clean it out and then to decontaminate it must wear suits much like the suits worn by those professionals who clean up radioactive spills? The reason for all the “suiting-up?” Methamphetamine labs present similar dangers to humans as do radioative materials!

What is it that constitutes a methamphetamine lab.? The mixing together followed by the cooking of the ingredients that produce methamphetamine. (Yep! That’s it in a nutshell!)

I don’t know about you, but I’d certainly never thought to look for a reddish ring inside a hotel/motel room coffee pot; but I can assure you that I sure will from now on!  The thought of staying in a hotel room that has been used as a methamphetamine lab. is just too abhorrent for words! I can also assure you that if I ever enter a hotel room in which I find a coffee pot that contains a reddish ring, not only will I immediately check out, but I will file a complaint with the State Department of Health . . . and so should anyone else who makes this revolting discovery!

Here is the link that will take you to the article to which I refer:

Think twice before using hotel room coffee pots – WAFF.com: North Alabama News, Radar, Weather, Spor www.waff.com

~ JC Eberhart

I recently received the following letter: 

Dear JC, I was wondering what you can recommend for reading for an 18 year old girl that has come forward that her step-father had raped her since she was little and she thinks this is causing the divorce now in the family. Her Mother seems angry with her and is not supporting her or helping her heal. This girl also has a health condition- diabetes type 1. She tried killing herself on new years day that put her in the hospital for a week, her kidneys almost shut down. She stopped taking her meds.for the diabetes. The sad thing is that the county put the step-dad away for 3 months in jail for what he did!!! I can’t believe this f-ing court system!!!! I wish I had the funds to help her but I don’t at this time. She is reachingout to me and I would like to pull together a network of people to help her. Her own father is havingissues with his life, he is in the middle of a divorce and is having drinkingproblems of his own. How can he help her when he is battling severe depression himself. She is a relative. I need you to help!!!

My response to the above letter: 

First of all, my heart so totally goes out to her and to you, as this is a most heartbreaking situation. She has a multitude of problems. My first thought is that she needs to be in the care of a qualified therapist who knows how to help her. That having been said, let me just brainstorm with you a bit. First of all, let’s identify the issues as I see it:

•  her step-father had raped her since she was little
• she thinks this is causing the divorce now in the family
• her mother seems angry with her and is not supporting her or helping her heal
• she tried killing herself on new years day that put her in the hospital for a week
• her kidneys almost shut down
• she stopped taking her meds. for her diabetes
• the county put the stepdad away for 3 months in jail for what he did
• her dad is unable to be there for her right now due to his own problems

As I said, this poor child has a multitude of issues which makes her’s a particularly precarious situation. It seems apparent to me, that the issues from which she is currently suffering are:

1. being a rape victim
2. possible guilt feelings about her mother’s divorce
3. suicidal ideation and attempts
4. potentially life-threatening medical illness
5. lack of family support or validation
6. lack of validation or support by the court system

I don’t know how to tell you this gently, so I’m just going to say it as it is: there is no book nor books that can possibly save her life at this point. I don’t know all of the details, but have a few questions:

• Has she been prescribed meds. for her depression;
• If the answer to #1 is “yes”, is she taking her meds. responsibly (i.e. exactly as they are prescribed);
• Is she still having any suicidal thoughts (if you tell me that she IS still having suicidal thoughts, I am legally obligated to ask you for her name and address and legally obligated to call the police if she is unwilling to go to an emergency room on her own!)
• Now, assuming that she IS prescribed meds that are helping, is taking them responsibly and is NOT having any suicidal thoughts at this time, a book or two may be somewhat beneficial, however,
• She requires more than just friends and books! She needs to be seeing a professional therapist along WITH the reading so that she is able to process all that has happened to her SAFELY. The books can cause further trauma if no therapist is involved!!

I have a professional obligation, unfortunately, to inform you that without appropriate professional help, this is a girl who may very well end up taking her own life! I can only urge you to continue to provide your emotional support while working on getting her the appropriate professional help.

• One place you might begin, is to inform her that: She is more than likely eligible for county assistance in which case, she would qualify for Medical Assistance which would pay for the professional help she requires.

But, do not, and I repeat, do not risk taking matters into your own hands.

(Copyright 2010 by JC Eberhart)

Granted, the last time I was able to recall having gotten so excited about having my name look different was when I’d finished school and the letters were added behind my name. Outside of that event, I’d really thought I’d matured way past all of that . . . . until I learned that I was about to become a grandmother! What an exciting piece of news, indeed! Of course, having been one of those individuals who, back in junior high school had to shorten her name to a cool-sounding and looking nickname, this was to be no different.

I thought silently, “Now . . . . what in the world shall I have my grandchildren call me, anyway? After all, I’m the grandmother here, so I should get to choose my own title!”

I decided that I would choose from the following list of names:

• “Gra’ma”
• “Granny”
• “Nanna”
• “Grammy”
• “Grandmother”

After much contemplation, I decided that I wanted to be called “Grammy.” Well, just like all the other well made plans of mice and men, while I was busy making plans, here’s what happened:

My first grandchild was a girl. My daughter so very lovingly permitted to be at her house more than I was at my own. Because my grand daughter heard me always referred to as “Mom” by my daughter whenever she addressed me, my grand daughter began (as soon as she spoke her first words) calling me “Mom!” My daughter (her mother) became “Mama” and I became “Mom!” (With my daughter’s blessing, of course!)

 A few years later, the same little girl, all on her own, began addressing me as “Gra’ma.” Do you know what the funny thing is about that? It has never mattered one bit to me that I’ve never been addressed by any of my grandchildren as “Grammy.” I suspect that’s because it didn’t turn out to be the title they spoke that I would come to treasure so deeply, but it was the precious little love-filled voice that was speaking the title, and the precious little love-filled face gazing up into my eyes at the time.

Needless to say, these course of events have left me pondering the thought, “What’s really in a name, anyway!”

__________________________________

© JC Eberhart and JC Eberhart’s Blog, 1974 – 2010. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to JC Eberhart and JC Eberhart’s Blog with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Whether it’s street drugs, alcohol, marijuana, prescription drugs, pornography or gambling, the effect is the same . . . escape from reality . . . they all numb emotional pain . . . . . . temporarily. If we are genetically predisposed to addiction (i.e. we have had others, before us, in our family who suffered from addiction) it is at our first attempt with any drug, we experienced the unmistakable certainty that we have discovered our very best friend in the entire world. Over time, that best friend, however, turns on us only to become our worst enemy. That first high, or buzz that once promised us paradise on earth has turned out to be nothing more than an illusion. Once our disease has progressed beyond the middle stage, there is no more high. There is only the self-recrimination and shame, followed by more self-abuse from the resulting compulsion to re-abuse ourselves by re-indulging, again in our addiction. Make no mistake about it. Addiction kills. Don’t let it destroy you! It was once believed that people suffering from addiction must “hit bottom” before they can be helped. We now know that this is not true. To the contrary, thanks to interventions by family, by professionals and by law enforcement, many people suffering from addiction find the help they so desperately need! In fact, once someone has “hit bottom” that individual may be unable to seek help. It may be too late. Thus, the individuals who tragically die from their disease. (Many music and movie stars have been examples of only a few of these tragic stories such as Michael Jackson and Anna Nicole Smith.)You have a choice! Make the right one. Freedom from addiction brings about a renewed sense of life, of living. Suddenly we are once again able to hear the sweet music of the bird that sings outside our window, of the trees that move in the breeze with their leaves ever so gently carrying their soft, rustling music to our ears. Don’t give-in and give-up to addiction’s lies. It will all too gladly take your life from you and from those who love you. You’re worth fighting for! Reach out! There are so many caring hands just waiting to reach back to grasp yours. Hands of those whose addiction went before yours. Those who know, who’ve lived what you’ve lived and who’ve followed the path to freedom. Don’t allow yourself to become one of the countless tragic stories we hear everyday. Make yours, a success story!

Using the following tricks will save you a good deal of valuable time and money! Needless to say, the first step is to arrange the location to which you will move, the truck or moving company you’ll use, and having given adequate notice if you are currently renting. Assuming that you’ve already done these things (because relocating is an entire additional subject) let’s look at where the best place is, to begin the dreaded moving process:

1. Gather Cartons:

 The number of cartons you will need will depend upon the amount of things you will be moving. As one person, living alone, I’ve never used less than sixty (that’s right, 60) cartons. Why? Because a lot of the things I know I’ll be packing are going to create a good deal of weight when crammed together inside a carton! Therefore, it is very important to remember to: Select cartons that are not large in size. (Every carton should be a convenient size for lifting and carrying!) Not only will doing so help save physical aches and pains (and injuries) but the bottoms of the cartons will be far less likely to give-way and break open while you (or whomever) are carrying them! If you can possibly avoid doing so, do not purchase new cartons at any kind of carton/moving/mailing store! They are not cheap and you will more than likely throw them away once you’re moved and all unpacked! Granted, it’s not as easy as it once was to find used cartons at the grocery or liquor stores (or in their dumpsters) since many now shred theirs. But! It’s worth a try! Also, I’ve seen ads in newspapers of folks wanting to get rid of lots of them after they’ve moved (and for a very nominal sum.)

2. Shop for Packing Supplies:

 It’s amazing how necessity can become the mother of invention. There were times when I moved that spending lots of money on the task was not an option. Therefore, for the following supplies (and you will need these) I again avoided carton/moving/mailing stores and opted for such stores as dime-store type stores (i.e. Walmart/K-Mart, etc.):

a.) Tape: I prefer duct tape. It holds no matter what. But a wide, clear tape on a roll works well, too.

b.) You’ll need a couple rolls of masking tape, too.

c.) Magic Markers: I always pick-up at least three black markers.

d.) Newspapers: Begin saving these at least four months before your big move. If doing so isn’t possible, ask friends to save theirs for you, too! This makes great wrap for breakables, some foods, etc.

3. Begin Loading Items into Cartons:

 Obviously, you can begin in any room you wish. I’ve found that starting with the items I know that I will least need, works best. Consequently, I like to begin with wall hangings and decorations. If they’re fragile/breakable, don’t take chances. Cover glass in picture frames from corner to corner, diagonally, with masking tape. Cover the glass on any doors, also, from corner to corner, diagonally, with masking tape. Wrap all items that might become scratched, chipped, shattered or broken, carefully with plenty of newspaper. Use masking tape to fasten newspaper around the item. For extremely fragile items, use bunched-up pieces of newspaper for extra padding between each object you’re packing. Tape every carton securely all the way around the top and the bottom!

4. Identify Items Carefully:

After packing each carton, individually, use one of your magic markers to write in LARGE BLOCK LETTERS, the name of the room in which you want the carton placed. (i.e. “KITCHEN” or “BATHROOM” or “BEDROOM.”) Be sure to write the room identity for placement on all sides and on the top of each, sealed carton. If you have time to spare, you can always list in smaller letters, underneath the room location, the identity of the items contained therein. DON’T make the mistake of telling yourself that you’ll mark your cartons later. (You will thank yourself later!) Though you may think you will remember which carton contains which items, I speak from experience when I say that there’s not a much worse feeling than looking at a dozen or so cartons and suddenly realizing, much to your shock and amazement, that you cannot tell them apart!

5. Save Frozen or Refrigerated Foods for Last:

During the last couple of weeks before your big moving day, avoid doing any grocery shopping at all. If need be, eat out or bring home fast food temporarily. Have a cooler or two handy to pack any perishable foods you’ve not eaten and that you wish to take along to the new location. Use frozen dry ice to keep these food items cold, placed in and among the food containers.

Additional Valuable Tips:

•  I’ve always had the best luck with placing all of my packed cartons into one area/room of the house. If I’m paying someone to move my things, I try to make this location as near the entrance that the movers will be using as possible (since most are paid by the hour.)
• Spread plastic or old sheets on the floors where your movers will be going in and out of your home carrying cartons and furniture. (It’s amazing some of the mysterious, staining items that can enter your house on the bottoms of other’s work boots!)
• Don’t pack and/or have your movers load your cleaning supplies (pail, rag, cleaning soap) broom, dust-pan or vacuum cleaner! You’ll need these last thing before you lock up the place you’re leaving!

P.S. Don’t move that which you don’t absolutely NEED! The entire time you’re packing, toss, toss, toss!

Take your time, get plenty of rest, and . . . best of luck to you on your new moving venture!

I have been fortunate enough to have descended from ancestors on both my paternal and maternal sides who’ve authored and published books about their heritage and their lives back in the 1800’s and before.  I also consider myself very fortunate in having been bestowed with an abundance of the persistence and perseverance required to diligently pursue my long term goal of locating this invaluable information about not only those from whence I came, but about who I am, today.  (However, that’s an entire ‘nother topic about which another published article will follow this one in the very near future, I can assure you!) 

By the same token, in order to be completely forthright with you, I must divulge the fact that it was while pursuing my genealogical endeavors that more than one important, gnawing question I mentioned earlier, seemed to linger within my thoughts.  It was in the midst of my research, that I realized that there’d been certain important, world changing historical events which had occurred during the lives of my ancestors. Historical events about which they neglected to write their families’ experiences in their documented family histories and memoirs.  For example, where were my ancestors during those pronounced historical events and what were their personal experiences with, during and resulting from those events? 

 Possessing the incurably, inquisitive mind that I do, as I longed to have known far more than I was able to find documented, I found myself pondering the possibility that my own future family generations may experience some of the same curiosities and longings to which I seem to have fallen victim; longings to know more and more about myself and my family, i.e. their ancestors!  It is, thus, primarily because of my desire for the benefit of the coming generations of my own family that I’ve undertaken this particular authoring endeavor. Hopefully, just as certain ancient publications have miraculously fallen into my hands, perhaps this publication will one day, too, fall into theirs.

Now, if you will, permit me to proceed into my own family’s 2009 recollection of that horrific day, September 11, 2001 (otherwise known as “9/11.”)

It was approximately 9:20 A.M. (Central Standard Time) on a weekday.  I’d opted to use a vacation day from work at my office and was at home here in Minneapolis, Minnesota. I was straightening my living room when the phone rang.  I raised the receiver of the telephone to my ear to hear a tone in my young adult, daughter’s voice I’d never previously experienced.  Her voice tone was one of unmistakable urgency, (bordering on sheer panic) as she instructed me to quickly turn-on my television set.  As I reached for the “on – off” button on my TV, I thought I heard my daughter say something about something horrible having just taken place that was being broadcast “live.”

Much to my shock, horror and disbelief, there was a news announcer speaking as I watched a huge jet passenger aircraft smash, nose, first, into one of the Twin Towers in Manhattan, New York.  Surely this could not really be happening, I’d thought to myself.  I don’t know that there has been any time in my life during which I’ve experienced such massive confusion.  My thoughts seemed to argue with themselves, “But no!  This is AMERICA!  Attacks don’t happen here in AMERICA!”  Then, again, “But look at the television screen!  Could this be some kind of sick trick the media would play?  No, I don’t think so.”  Judging from the undertone of despair in the news announcer’s voice, this was no trick!  I recall stating to my daughter, “Oh my God, Honey!  This is going to mean war!”

 My daughter and I spoke for only a few minutes on the telephone.  I told her that I was going to pack a few items and drive over to her house.  We said “Good-bye” and I hung-up the phone. 

 As I rushed around to grab various items to pack inside my bag, my mind swam in a flurry of thoughts.  Thoughts like, “What will we do?   How could this happen?  What does this mean?  Who would do something so terrible?  Why?  What’s going to happen next?  Are we going to be safe where we live?”  It seemed as though the thoughts wouldn’t stop.  Struggle though I did, I could find no answers to my own questions.  Would there be anyone who could answer them?

I grabbed everything I thought I might need while asking myself, “But if I don’t take everything, will I ever see any of it again?”

 The next few days were dark days for all of us here in the United States of America.  My daughter and son-in-law and I struggled to make sure that my two (then toddler) grandchildren learned nothing of what was happening.  So many questions . . . so many fears . . . what to do . . . what to do?

That same morning, not long after the first, the second twin tower was also bombarded by a huge jet passenger airliner.  Could things possibly grow any worse?  Yes, oh yes.  Within minutes, both towers crumbled, stack-by-stack, to the ground.  “Oh dear God!  No!”

 There was nothing anyone could do.  No answers to be found.  Three of the longest days of my life were to follow.  Those were the three days during which we heard no word of any kind from the President of the United States of America.  I’d always looked to him for answers in any kind of country-related crisis.  Where was he?  Why won’t he tell us what is happening here?

 On the third day after those atrocities, President Bush came on television and gave a speech.  Today, I do not recall his speech, only his parting words, which were, “God bless America.”  Those words passing between his lips were like a salve to my soul.  At last, I felt able to climb from a pit of despair to once again being able to experience at least a small ray of hope.  However, there was absolutely no denying the fact that our world, as we’d known it, had been completely shattered . . . never to be the same again.  Not next year, not in five years, not ever.

 There were countless stories of heart-breaking, family tragedies that followed over the next several months.  Those were dark days, indeed.  Thankfully, there has been no reoccurrence of 9/11 or of anything like it here in the United States.  Not yet.  Hopefully, not ever again.

 As I prepare to bring this article to a close, I cannot help wondering whether or not my ancestors intentionally neglected to include stories of the historical events that changed their world.  I only know that while writing this article, I’ve found myself neglecting to include details of other’s horrific experiencesand stories of that day when that unspeakable holocaust hit the Twin Towers in Manhattan, New York. 

I find myself wondering whether or not the generations of my family to come, will really want to know after all.

©2009 by JC Eberhart

© JC Eberhart and JC Eberhart’s Blog, 1974 – 2010. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to JC Eberhart and JC Eberhart’s Blog with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.