tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-78186917227304543682024-03-13T10:39:43.862-07:00Writing with LightAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00293379172517879635noreply@blogger.comBlogger19125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7818691722730454368.post-81345467755027314412017-01-23T11:59:00.001-08:002017-01-23T11:59:31.429-08:00Word of the Year<div id="divtagdefaultwrapper" style="font-size:12pt;color:#000000;font-family:Calibri,Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" dir="ltr"> <p>Two years ago, a column by Mary Schmich in the<i> Chicago Tribune </i>caught my eye.</p> <p>She encouraged her readers to choose a Word of the Year and use it as a watchword, a guide, a nudge. So in January 2015 I chose the word <i>smile </i>as a reminder to myself and, in part, as a tribute to my childhood Cubs favorite, Ernie Banks, who had passed away that month.</p> <p>Last year the word was <i>breathe,</i> to foster everyday deep breathing and as a vital part of singing. (I don't think I was able to smile and breathe simultaneously until the Cubs won Game 7 of the World Series.)</p> <p>In hopes that the International Rules of Word of the Year allow this, I have adopted two words for 2017. Last year on National Public Radio's "Wait! Wait! Don't Tell Me!" <span>veteran TV producer Norman Lear </span>was asked the secret to his successful and long life. His answer: "over and next." As in, that's over; it's time for the next thing.</p> <p><i>Over </i>and <i>next </i>give me the grace to know that what's done is done and to look ahead to what's to be. To not dwell on the successes and failures, yearning for the good ol' days or punishing myself for real or perceived mistakes and transgressions. The words work for pretty much all corners of life.</p> <p>The rules provide for changing your word or words through the end of January. But I won't. I'm eager to see what's next.</p> <div id="Signature"> <div id="divtagdefaultwrapper" style="font-size:12pt; color:#000000; background-color:#FFFFFF; font-family:Calibri,Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif"> </div> </div> </div> Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00293379172517879635noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7818691722730454368.post-3725399822759614782017-01-03T09:14:00.001-08:002017-01-03T09:14:05.648-08:002016: Of Cubs and Cousins<div id="divtagdefaultwrapper" style="font-size:12pt;color:#000000;font-family:Calibri,Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" dir="ltr"> <p>Some day soon, you may sit around a table at an Asian restaurant and search the placemat to find your birth year and the associated animal. You'll smile at the perfectly apt and perfectly opposite traits ascribed to you and your friends and family. (I was born in a year of the Horse. According to the zodiac webpage I just consulted, I'm more cunning than intelligent. Have to figure a way around that.)</p> <p><br> </p> <p>I predict a new animal sign f<span>or 2016</span>. It was the year of the Cub.</p> <p><br> </p> <p>Early in the year, from the offseason trades to the hope of spring training, we knew it would be "our year." For me, it was also the year of the Cousins, my oldest friends.</p> <p><br> </p> <p>In 2014, I was contacted by Flemming Rossen, who found me through my website and is my third cousin on my dad's side. He grew up in western Denmark and now lives with his family in a suburb of Stockholm. It's been a joy to get to know him, and in June 2016 he and his wife and children came to the U.S. and stayed with us for a few days. During that time, I hosted a big family dinner. Yes, enter the cousins from the Chicago area, as well as my daughter Miranda and her boyfriend, Tony. 'Twas a great evening of connection.</p> <p><br> </p> <p>My cousin Dave and his wife, Julia, visited from Dallas in July. With his sister Sue and family, we went to a Cubs game versus the Texas Rangers. (The Cubs won, but Dave wasn't too distraught because he's also a Cubs fan.) We all got together again Oct. 28 at Sue and Ken's to watch the first Cubs World Series game in Wrigley Field since 1945, which did not go as planned.</p> <p><br> </p> <p>Mid-August saw my husband, Bob, and I driving down to Morton, IL, to my cousin Marj and Brent's house. My 93-year-old Aunt Betty was in town from Houston. We had a fun and loving visit, which Miranda in Chicago and Dana in New Orleans were able to join by Skype. This was all the more special because, on Oct. 31, my dear aunt <span>peacefully </span>passed away.</p> <p><br> </p> <p>The Chicago Cubs' postseason was this diehard fan's dream, though I think I'm still sleep deprived from all the late-night games. When they won that incredible Game 7 of the World Series, there were much tears and texting among us. Because of the lateness of the hour, I waited till the next morning to call my dad in Florida to share in what we've hoped for since I was a little girl in Wrigley Field.</p> <p><br> </p> <p>The year 2016 ended with a great celebration on Dec. 31 in Morton of the lives of Aunt Betty and Uncle Henry, who died in 2000. My cousins Marj, Bob, and Bill did an amazing job of helping us rejoice in the memory of two of the best people I've ever known.</p> <p><br> </p> <p>So I wish you a good 2017 and say I'm proud to be a Rossen cousin . . . and a Cub fan.</p> <div id="Signature"> <div id="divtagdefaultwrapper" style="font-size:12pt; color:#000000; background-color:#FFFFFF; font-family:Calibri,Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif"> </div> </div> </div> Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00293379172517879635noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7818691722730454368.post-86038627317704405252015-06-07T16:54:00.001-07:002015-06-07T16:54:02.674-07:00Unique words<div dir='ltr'>Recently, I came across a list of words in various languages that have no good one-word equivalent in other languages. There weren't any examples from English, but I imagine that ours would be <em>Kardashian</em>.<BR> <BR>Being a wordsmith--a guardian of the language, if you will--I feel it my duty and privilege to share my favorites.<BR> <BR><em><strong>Torschlusspanik:</strong></em> from German, it literally means "gate-closing panic." It's the fear of diminishing opportunities as one ages, which evidently is a problem with some people. Or so I've read.<BR> <BR><em><strong>Wabi-sabi:</strong></em> from Japanese, it's the flip side of <em>Torschlusspanik</em>. It's a way of living that emphasizes finding beauty within the imperfections of life and accepting peacefully the natural cycles of growth and decay. Well, OK then.<BR> <BR><em><strong>Hyggelig:</strong></em> from the land of my heritage, this Danish word translates as "good friends, cold beer, warm fire."<BR> <BR>Aren't words wonderful?<BR> </div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00293379172517879635noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7818691722730454368.post-87531824937944096672015-05-12T08:03:00.001-07:002015-05-12T08:03:08.900-07:00Mother's Day week<div dir='ltr'>It's two days after Mother's Day and I'm still smiling.<div><br></div><div>On Sunday, my daughter Miranda and her boyfriend, Tony, treated me to brunch at Hash House a Go Go, one crazy Chicago restaurant. The conversation, rapport, the unusual menu (a BLT Bloody Mary?)--all gifts to this grateful mom. And later that day, my daughter Dana called me from California for a great chat.</div><div><br></div><div>Many are the gifts and challenges of motherhood, and I thank God for them all. (I can't honestly say I was real thankful in the midst of the challenges, but such is my perspective now.)</div><div><br></div><div>This week I'm also thankful for my mother, Ethelyn Heitman Rossen, who would have been 85 last Saturday. I cherish the 12 Mother's Days we shared as moms together.</div> </div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00293379172517879635noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7818691722730454368.post-1431791471032479052015-02-02T11:49:00.001-08:002015-02-02T11:49:39.518-08:00The word for 2015<div dir='ltr'>Last month--which I think of as, say, November--one of my favorite columnists in the <i>Chicago Tribune</i> encouraged readers to do a different take on New Year's resolutions. Mary Schmich passed along an idea from one of her readers to adopt a word for the year. And you have until January 31 to change your mind and pick a different word.<div><br></div><div>Being a wordsmith, I was naturally <span style="font-size: 12pt;">taken with the challenge.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-size: 12pt;">My first idea was <i>confidence, </i>my supply of which I sometimes let get depleted. I also thought of <i>cherish,</i> loving and appreciating my family and friends (my husband, by the way, shows me every day that he cherishes me, and I'm so grateful).</span></div><div><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I chose instead the word <i>order,</i> which has a remarkable number of definitions. Bringing order to cluttered parts of my home. Putting my affairs in order, not before imminent death but so that I can live better. Doing things in the proper order--at work, in building relationships, in setting priorities, in tackling projects. Being a more active and prayerful member of Daughters of the King, a lay order in the Episcopal Church.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><br></span></div><div>A couple of weeks later, I participated in a workshop on basic presentation skills. We had the delightful experience of watching ourselves on video, and I could not believe how serious I came across. Yikes. It became a priority to remedy that during the balance of the workshop.</div><div><br></div><div>The next day, Ernie Banks died. He was my childhood--and now adulthood--idol. Mr. Cub was my favorite, with his positive outlook, delicate but strong grip on the baseball bat, and fancy footwork at first base. My dad and I would always sit in the section directly in line with first base because of him. He was sunshine on a warm summer's day at Wrigley Field.</div><div><br></div><div>So I changed my word for 2015. It is <i>smile</i>.</div> </div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00293379172517879635noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7818691722730454368.post-34896182387378503092014-11-14T11:57:00.001-08:002014-11-14T11:57:39.742-08:00Photos in gallery<div dir='ltr'>Due to technical difficulties beyond my control or knowledge, I was unable to post the photos. They'll be in the Photo Gallery section of my website at <a href="http://www.wordsmithbetsy.com">www.wordsmithbetsy.com</a>.<BR> </div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00293379172517879635noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7818691722730454368.post-69231697631171382022014-11-14T11:42:00.001-08:002014-11-14T11:42:07.788-08:00Saints alive<div dir='ltr'><div dir="ltr">As the thermometer drops to astonishing lows for mid-November, I share with you, in my next post, some final fall photos taken two weeks ago.</div><div dir="ltr"> </div><div dir="ltr">This month also includes what is turning out to be one of my favorite combos of holidays: Halloween/All Saints' Day/All Souls' Day. From the joy of dressing up (or greeting trick-or-treaters and remembering your own childhood), to the celebration of our connection with believers through time and geography, to the always-welcome Thanksgiving, November has gone up several pegs this year.</div><div dir="ltr"> </div><div dir="ltr">All Saints' Day, which celebrates the officially canonized and folks like you and me, is November 1 but in many churches was "moved" to be observed Sunday, November 2. The next day we remembered the saints no longer with us on earth, who this year were joined by my brother-in-law, Dave Burgwald, and my friend Nancy Milnes.</div><div dir="ltr"> </div><div dir="ltr">I rejoice in the hymns of these holidays, especially "For All the Saints." Beginning with the opening downbeat on the organ ("bahm" is my interpretation thereof), I rejoice in its message of the communion of the saints. I'll close with verses 1 and 4 of the 11 written by Anglican Bishop William W. How in 1864:</div><div dir="ltr"><br>[bahm] For all the saints, who from their labors rest,</div><div dir="ltr">who thee by faith before the world confessed,</div><div dir="ltr">thy name, O Jesus, be forever blest.</div><div dir="ltr">Alleluia, Alleluia!</div><div dir="ltr"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"></span> </div><div dir="ltr"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">[bahm]</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span>O blest communion, fellowship divine!</div><div dir="ltr">We feebly struggle, they in glory shine;</div><div dir="ltr">yet all are one in thee, for all are thine.</div><div dir="ltr">Alleluia, Alleluia!<br></div> </div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00293379172517879635noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7818691722730454368.post-23497477439270294472014-09-24T08:14:00.001-07:002014-09-24T08:14:59.506-07:00Fall in love<div dir='ltr'>People choose various ways to mark the end of summer. August 31st. Labor Day. The first cool morning. The autumnal equinox--which this year was September 22 at 9:29 p.m. CT. (Who knew? Well, obviously, scientists, but I had no idea it was so late in the day.)<div><br></div><div>For me, another way summer concludes is the end of Major League Baseball's regular season, which is this coming weekend. This weekend will also be the end of Wrigley Field as we know and love it; a jumbotron much bigger than the scoreboard will be installed in the off season. Don't get me started.</div><div><br></div><div>The change of seasons is one of the joys of living in the Midwest. And fall is my favorite season, by far. Here are its credentials for that honor:</div><div><ul><li>The anniversary of when Bob proposed to me</li><li>Sweater weather</li><li>The start of school (even though it's been a few decades since the #1 Rule of Education was violated: "School shall begin on the day after Labor Day--every year")</li><li>The changing leaves, especially one stunning maple tree on Flossmoor Road</li><li>The slanting afternoon sunlight</li><li>The last two of course lead to the next: marvelous photo opportunities</li><li>Thanksgiving</li><li>A cornucopia of birthdays in our family, from late September through October</li></ul><br></div><div>Soon I'll be uploading fall photos, as I learn the ropes of my delightful new camera. I hope you enjoy them.</div><div><br></div><div>Have a blessed autumn.</div> </div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00293379172517879635noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7818691722730454368.post-37981755099412628872014-08-13T17:18:00.001-07:002014-08-20T12:23:40.213-07:00A nod to bobbleheads<div class="mobile-photo">
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I am rather (that is, very) hooked on bobbleheads. We have nine in our collection and are poised to hit the decade mark this weekend.<o:p></o:p></div>
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On Friday, August 8, I went to the Cubs game and received the First Night Game bobblehead, celebrating that historic day, August 8, 1988, when the lights went on at Wrigley Field. Rick Sutcliffe was the starting pitcher that day, so that's who is on the bobblehead, pictured above.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The photo demonstrates how far bobblehead technology has advanced. Note that the Chris Sale bobblehead (acquired earlier this season at a White Sox-Yankees game) truly captures his arms-and-legs-akimbo pitching motion and scraggly beard. Now look at Ryne Sandberg in the middle, a bobblehead I acquired many years ago. About the only resemblance to the Hall of Famer is the hair color. It looks like a cross between a kewpie doll and Bruce Banner shortly before he transformed into the Hulk.<o:p></o:p></div>
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On balance, I'm at peace with my obsession. It could be worse. I could collect those life-size Fathead wall graphics.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00293379172517879635noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7818691722730454368.post-65949579225480941912014-07-06T14:11:00.001-07:002014-07-06T14:11:45.497-07:00Our founding mothers<div dir='ltr'>On this, Independence Day weekend, I make my traditional observations:<BR><ul><li>This is a wonderful country, and I'm proud to be an American.</li><li>I really don't like firecrackers.</li><li>Oh, say, how I wish "America, the Beautiful" was our national anthem.</li></ul>Today I add a fourth observation. It's one that I've always suspected but has been made clear by <em>Founding Mothers: The Women Who Raised Our Nation </em>by Cokie Roberts, which I started reading this weekend:<BR><ul><li>The women behind our founding fathers were remarkable and, with the possible exception of Abigail Adams, have not been given their appropriate place in history.</li></ul> <BR>The first of these women who took multitasking to another planet is Eliza Lucas Pinckney, who practically ran the colony of South Carolina. She was in charge of a plantation for her father off in Antigua and later as a young widow, developed the indigo crop in the colony for international trade, ran a school, and, of course, raised children (her two sons fought in the Revolutionary War, served in state politics, and were key figures of the young nation).<BR> <BR>Mercy Otis Warren was an influential writer for the cause of independence through her poems, personal letters, pamphlets, and plays (even though theater was banned in her native Boston).<BR> <BR>Deborah Franklin wasn't just the women behind a founding father; she took care of much of his ventures such as the postal service when he was in London representing Pennsylvania. His presence there brought ridicule and threat to her and her Philadelphia household after British measures such as the Stamp Act. But this is the clincher: his second term in England was to be seven months, but he decided to stay 10 years <em>and lived with another woman and her daughter</em>.<BR> <BR>I come by my patriotism honestly, as my parents named me after Betsy Ross (that's my real first name, not Elizabeth). I choose to believe the accounts about her creating the first American flag and honor her work to create a vital symbol of the new nation. And I've long made peace with the kidding of my childhood. When I went to college, it was a conversation opener for my rather shy self. I'll never forget the equally shy Purdue engineer at a mixer who said quietly, "Betsy Rossen. I'll have to remember that and flag you down."<BR> </div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00293379172517879635noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7818691722730454368.post-69198882184343677942014-06-15T15:26:00.001-07:002014-06-15T15:26:10.446-07:00Commuting & communing<p class="mobile-photo"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ERn9NXOVae0/U54dg9js83I/AAAAAAAAABU/pW17wA9vClQ/s1600/Chicago%2BRiver%2Bscenes%2B014-770446.JPG"><img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ERn9NXOVae0/U54dg9js83I/AAAAAAAAABU/pW17wA9vClQ/s320/Chicago%2BRiver%2Bscenes%2B014-770446.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6025285803585631090" /></a></p><p class="mobile-photo"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GPDdSWKGC4o/U54dhTXP5aI/AAAAAAAAABg/kv4kbRruYBo/s1600/Chicago%2BRiver%2Bscenes%2B011-773350.JPG"><img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GPDdSWKGC4o/U54dhTXP5aI/AAAAAAAAABg/kv4kbRruYBo/s320/Chicago%2BRiver%2Bscenes%2B011-773350.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6025285809438975394" /></a></p><div dir='ltr'>Over the years, I have commuted to work in a variety of ways: on foot, short drive, very long drive, and commuter train. Oh, and walking into my home office to do freelance work.<BR> <BR>My current commute is a combo platter. I drive to the Homewood Post Office and park the car, leaving it for Bob to drive home (he walks the entire distance in the morning). Then I walk two short blocks to the Homewood train station to board the Metra Electric line north to downtown Chicago. From Millennium Station (Randolph and Michigan), I walk a very short block to the Randolph and Wabash stop of the CTA Brown Line, which I take to the Merchandise Mart. My favorite part of the whole commute is when my "L" train crosses the Chicago River to my stop at the Mart, seen in the first photo here. The view is wonderful; the water, soothing.<BR> <BR>I walk through the Mart on the second floor, over the walkway and into the River North Point building, which is in the center of the second photo. Then a space-age elevator to the 11th floor and the offices of Ogilvy & Mather.<BR> <BR>This may be my favorite commute of my entire working life (or at least right up there with walking into my home office in my slippers). Other than the very steep and numerous stairs up to the "L" platform, it is easy and relatively stress free. (The stress comes at the end of the day, when the Brown Line is sometimes stopped on the tracks "momentarily," causing me to worry that I'll miss my Metra train and have to wait a while till the next one.)<BR> <BR>I enjoy the early part of my morning commute as well, when I have the opportunity to have a quiet time of reading and prayer, in what has turned out to be the designated "quiet car"! The trip is a joy in itself, en route to a job I thoroughly enjoy.<br><br><BR> </div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00293379172517879635noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7818691722730454368.post-57696589209064415202014-05-31T13:19:00.001-07:002014-05-31T13:19:32.557-07:00Remembering the marvelous month of May<div dir='ltr'>On this, the last day of May 2014, I want to reflect on and thank God for the many good things of this month.<BR> <BR>Right off the bat (no, this is not a baseball item), on May 1, I received an email from a relative in Denmark, Flemming Rossen. We have been getting acquainted, and I'm delighted that he contacted me . . . having found me via my website! In 1979 I reestablished contact with our Danish relatives--my great-grandfather, Peter Rossen, left Denmark in the late 1800s and settled in Chicago--but had only been in contact with the Copenhagen branch.<BR> <BR>Flemming lives in western Denmark, Peter's place of origin, which my parents and I visited in 1980. He sent me a photo of us from that visit, so I got to say hello to my 25-year-old self. Ah, youth. I look forward to continuing my exchange of info and photos with Flemming as I get more adjusted to my full-time job and new schedule.<BR> <BR>Speaking of work, my job as a proofreader at Ogilvy & Mather, a major ad agency, is going very well. I started full time April 30, so I now have a full month under my belt (although I usually don't wear a belt). The work is challenging, the people are terrific, and I feel that I make a real contribution. Proofreading is something I've been good at for a long time . . . and now I can ply my trade on something other than menus, billboards, and TV graphics.<BR> <BR>May 11th was one of the best Mother's Days of my life as a mom. My daughters, Miranda and Dana, treated me to a brunch downtown at The Gage on Michigan Avenue. It was a delight from start to finish, with two beautiful young women. For all of this I'm very grateful.<BR> <BR>The Grande Prairie Singers, with which Bob and I sing, had its season-concluding concert May 18. "Forces of Nature" was a dynamic theme, with selections from Mendelssohn's oratorio <em>Elijah </em>to "Singin' in the Rain." I also was in an ensemble of altos on the wonderful "Down in the River to Pray."<BR> <BR>Bob and I celebrated our seventh wedding anniversary May 26. Our customary celebration destination is a ballpark, depending on whether the Cubs or the Sox are in town. So on Saturday, May 24, we watched the White Sox play the Yankees and got to experience Derek Jeter's last series in Chicago. He is one of the greatest ambassadors for the game that baseball has ever seen. (It was also Chris Sale Bobblehead Day. Me likey.)<BR> <BR>I'm so thankful to be Bob Burgwald's wife. He is a constant encouragement to me--as he has been these past seven years of un- and underemployment and other challenges. With him, I know what it means to be cherished.<BR> <BR>A sad occasion was also part of May, though it too is an occasion for thanksgiving. On May 15, longtime friend Nancy Milnes died after a three-year battle with ALS (Lou Gehrig's disease). I'm grateful that her suffering is over and for all the hope she brought to my life.<BR> <BR> <BR> </div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00293379172517879635noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7818691722730454368.post-62881561474337091372014-04-26T15:20:00.001-07:002014-04-26T15:20:08.560-07:00Day at the park<p class="mobile-photo"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-cZyx_9ovfSk/U1wxGbvku1I/AAAAAAAAAA4/ZNbMYftBrEg/s1600/Wrigley%2Boutside-708561.jpg"><img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-cZyx_9ovfSk/U1wxGbvku1I/AAAAAAAAAA4/ZNbMYftBrEg/s320/Wrigley%2Boutside-708561.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6006729989601672018" /></a></p><p class="mobile-photo"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-g6OS3rBe8pk/U1wxHdJhlnI/AAAAAAAAABE/AvrlzuZCAhE/s1600/Wrigley%2Bteam%2Baction-712129.jpg"><img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-g6OS3rBe8pk/U1wxHdJhlnI/AAAAAAAAABE/AvrlzuZCAhE/s320/Wrigley%2Bteam%2Baction-712129.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6006730007158822514" /></a></p><div dir='ltr'> <BR> </div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00293379172517879635noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7818691722730454368.post-57612627943099606202014-04-26T14:24:00.001-07:002014-04-26T14:24:12.756-07:00Birthday party for a ballpark<div dir='ltr'>On Wednesday, April 23, I had the pleasure and joy of attending Wrigley Field's 100th birthday party.<BR> <BR>There was quite a crowd outside the ballpark before it opened at 11:30 . . . but it was a happy crowd. We were all excited and happy to be there, just as we each had dozens of times before.<BR> <BR>When it opened in 1914, the premier cathedral of baseball was called Weeghman Park and was home to the Chicago Federals (aka the Whales). The Cubs played at West Side Park but moved to Weeghman two years later after the Federal League folded. The name changed to Cubs Park in 1920; six years later, it was named for its owner, William Wrigley, Jr.<BR> <BR>Few of the facts and figures were in the forefront of my mind while I waited in line (my dear husband was off parking the car). I just knew I had to have the day's promotional giveaway, a replica Chicago Federals jersey. I got one <em>plus </em>a birthday cupcake, courtesy of Jewel-Osco. All this and I was barely inside the ballpark.<BR> <BR>I entered through Gate D and made my way to Aisle 215. The going was slow as I gawked at the mural-size photo of concession workers half a century ago and smelled the aromas from the Decade Dogs stand. Finally I climbed the stairs to the field, up and out in the sunshine, overwhelmed by the green of the field, the festive bunting, that big beautiful scoreboard.<BR> <BR>Suddenly it's 1964 and I'm holding my dad's hand as we step onto the walkway. We're en route to seats in line with first base and Ernie Banks. We're at home at Wrigley Field.<BR> <BR>Eventually I got to our seats--my husband, Bob, was already there--and was ready for a history lesson disguised as a nostalgia tour. We sat in terrace reserved on the lower level, in the 12th row, just to the third-base side of home plate. From there, we experienced a celebration done right. Popular music from all through the decades came from the Lowery organ (at a pleasing decibel level). Organist Gary Pressy accompanied Wayne Messmer on the National Anthem for the enthusiastic crowd, altogether fitting for a ballpark that in 1941 became the first to feature an organist.<BR> <BR>The pregame ceremony was perfection, highlighted by the introduction of Cubs and Bears stars (Dick Butkus and Gale Sayers) from the past 50-plus years (the Bears played at Wrigley from 1921 to 1970 before moving to Soldier Field). From the 1969 Cubs (Ernie, Fergie Jenkins, Glenn Beckert, Billy Williams) to 1980s teams (Andre Dawson, Lee Smith) to the recent past (Ryan Dempster), the players evoked the joy and heartbreak that is the life of a Chicago Cubs fan.<BR> <BR>Oh, yes, and a baseball game was played. In tribute to that first game in 1914, the Chicago Feds (Cubs) played the Kansas City Packers (Arizona Diamondbacks), complete with throwback uniforms. We were fortified by hot dogs, today's version of a Frosty Malt, and, when we couldn't bear the thought of an ice-cold pop, coffee. Although we were bundled up, we were cold--Bob even put on his gloves--and left after the seventh inning. So <em>we </em>saw a great ballgame (things fell apart in the ninth).<BR> <BR>Only a few things would have made the day even better: if my dad had been able to be there, if Kerry Wood had shown up for the festivities, and if they had served Smokie Links like the good ol' days. But it was still a wonderful day at the Friendly Confines.<BR> </div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00293379172517879635noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7818691722730454368.post-14568090293129835322014-04-17T11:56:00.001-07:002014-04-17T11:56:13.059-07:00The sound of music<div dir='ltr'>Chicagoland does not feature much in the way of hills, but the plains certainly are alive with the sound of music. Especially now, during Holy Week.<BR> <BR>I have the joy and honor of singing in two choirs, Grande Prairie Singers and my church's. This week is especially rich in harmony--and dissonance, as befits the solemn aspect of these days--at St. John's Episcopal Church. We're singing at the Maundy Thursday service tonight, Evening Vespers tomorrow, the Great Vigil of Easter Saturday night, and of course Sunday morning's joyous Easter celebration. We are blessed to sing excellent anthems, hymns, and chants and privileged to help lead the congregation in worship.<BR> <BR>Through music, we also can connect with the communion of saints reaching back centuries. In what our choir sings this week, many of the words are from Scripture and the early church; the music, spanning the Middle Ages to Mozart to 19th-century hymns to contemporary service music. Imagine how many believers have praised, confessed, and prayed via these works. Even now, throngs join us from heaven to worship God.<BR> <BR>One of the many blessings of the parish of St. John's is that our music director, Michael Soto, is an accomplished--no, make that truly gifted--organist. He enhances our worship more than he knows. To quote Victor Hugo, "Music expresses that which cannot be put into words and that which cannot remain silent."<BR> <BR> <BR> </div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00293379172517879635noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7818691722730454368.post-60237514119933048622014-04-14T14:08:00.001-07:002014-04-14T14:08:38.009-07:00Happy birthday, Dad!<div dir='ltr'>Today is my father's 87th birthday, and I'm very thankful for him. Among the things he taught me are<BR><ul><li>the whys and wherefores of being a fan of the Chicago Cubs</li><li>to always understand the question (applicable in so many areas of life, including "Jeopardy!" because it translates into "always remember the category")</li></ul> <BR>Unless my almost-senior mind is playing tricks on me, I haven't seen Dad (who lives in Florida) since my wedding to Bob Burgwald seven years ago next month. Gotta remedy that soon because he doesn't travel any more. We do talk on the phone often, most recently the day I got tickets to the Wrigley Field 100th birthday party game on April 23. I also sent him a card along with some clippings from the <em>Chicago Tribune </em>about Wrigley, including an article that made a great concession to the wonders of that long-ago treat, the Smokie Link.<BR> <BR>In George Carlin's classic monologue on the merits of baseball over football, he concludes soothingly, "In Baseball, the object is to go home, and to be safe. I hope I'll be safe at home, safe at home."<BR> <BR>Dad, I'll be coming to your home soon.<br><br><BR><p class="ecxEC_EC_EC_EC_MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt;"><font face="Garamond"></font></span> </p> </div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00293379172517879635noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7818691722730454368.post-38211420202100239812014-04-11T09:55:00.001-07:002014-04-11T13:54:35.957-07:00I Wrote With Light!<div class="mobile-photo">
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Note to Betsy:<br />
The <strong>word photography means</strong> writing with light but most photographers claim ... <strong>Literally</strong> it <strong>means</strong>: "To Write with light" I cannot think of any better way to say it.</div>
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Several years ago, when I was first introduced to your website, you told me that photography literally meant writing with light. I had never heard that before. As I began to experiment with my camera, I began to see light (and shadows, and colors, and people) in a completely different way -- one of which resulted in the above photo. It is definitely one of my favorite experiments, and the best picture I have taken using the streetlight outside my front window to "write with light". </div>
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Thanks for the visual image you gave me to see my world differently. It is a pleasure to be able to Seize the Season! with you!<br />
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Kathleen Hazlett<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00293379172517879635noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7818691722730454368.post-28822667572212044222014-04-11T08:55:00.001-07:002014-04-11T08:55:49.960-07:00Hope Springs Eternal<div dir='ltr'>My revamped and revitalized website is taking shape. And the 2014 baseball season has started. These are harbingers of Spring and of hope.<BR> <BR>First, my thanks to Kathleen Hazlett for her incredible, creative help with the website. She is a gem and can be found virtually at <a href="http://seizetheseason.com/">http://seizetheseason.com/</a>.<BR> <BR>Then there is baseball, another light of my life. Both Chicago teams are off to at least semi-good starts (the White Sox more so than the Cubs). Just watching a game--after the winter we've had--is joy on a plate. Home or otherwise. Baseball is the game of hope, not played against the clock, and has taught me much about how to live expecting good things. Of course, I'm still learning.<BR> <BR>True baseball fans have yet another reason to enjoy this season: it is the 100th "birthday" of Wrigley Field. I look forward to being there in a few weeks for the big celebratory game and will be sharing my thoughts on Wrigley throughout the season. I'm also writing a memoir about baseball and hope and will give updates on that as well.<BR> <BR>In the words of the last line of the national anthem, "Play ball!"<BR> </div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00293379172517879635noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7818691722730454368.post-39637429558418985122014-02-24T21:54:00.001-08:002014-02-24T21:54:46.535-08:00Back to <a href="http://wordsmithbetsy.com/">Wordsmith Betsy</a> ... Writing With LightAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00293379172517879635noreply@blogger.com0