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Column Bits
Apart from being a writer and providing consulting services, Linda Settle is a regular columnist for The Benton Evening News. In her articles, Linda addresses current local issues, and compares them to the experiences she lived in her youth. She often discusses issues affecting Southern Illinois natives and visitors. Below, you will find a preview of some of the articles the author has written. To read the full version, contact the author, or watch for her columns in the newspaper.
I recently read a line that goes something like this: “Every street has a story, every house a memory”. It’s one of those sentiments that crosses your mind for days after you read it. It’s what prompted me not too long ago to kill some time driving by places we lived when I was growing up. Memories filled my thoughts, some good and some not so good. Every corner turned reminded me of long ago trips to the neighborhood store with my mother, dad, or some other adult driver. I also remembered hurriedly walking by houses we kids thought sure were haunted as well as the leisurely walks to my friend’s homes after school when we were too young to drive. Those walks were where legends were perfected about the cruelty or sweetness of our current teachers....
A few years ago our siblings and we were faced with the daunting task of emptying our parent’s homes following the deaths of our mothers. It is such an emotionally draining job under any circumstances, and we had the unusual occurrence of losing them both on the same day. That meant simultaneously clearing out the artifacts of their eighty-plus year lives. We were fortunate that Ed’s sisters took on the majority of their mom’s sorting and clearing, and that my sister, Kaye, came back to help me with our mom’s things. I vowed then that my children would never have to face such a heartbreaking and overwhelming situation. And I planned to start weeding out what we didn’t need and organizing things better. That way our sons could more easily sort the keepers from the junkers when our time comes. A high and noble plan....
Growing up I always hated rainy days. But no matter how ugly the weather got, my complaints were always met with the same reply from my grandmother. “No matter how bad it is, it’s better than we deserve,” she would say. Like most young people, I didn’t think I had all that many faults and her saying that would make me feel just a little defensive. However, as I have aged, and hopefully matured I now find myself thinking grandma was pretty wise. What did we ever do to deserve the glorious days of spring, or those colorful brisk days of autumn? Or how could we ever earn the pristine purity of a new fallen snow? Along those same lines, grandma would often refer to the Bible, where it talks about men looking at the clouds and saying it’s going to rain, when all they can really do is guess. As a teenager, I thought meteorologists had it all figured out. You know how they come to school with all their wizardry and scientific razzle-dazzle....
The past couple of years it seems lighthouses have become the hot item for everything from clothing to computer mousepads. I think it’s the imagery they produce for us: guidance, rescue, and hope. How many times in our lives do we look for a light to lead us to safety? Sometimes literally, but most often not. We debate both major and minor decisions and come to a point where the choice seems clear or perhaps moot, and realize that the answer became obvious at some crucial point. It was perhaps like a light coming on for us and we suddenly saw what must be said or done. Maybe it happened without us even realizing it. Or sometimes we can point to the words someone spoke that made our decision easier. Other times what someone else said may have made it harder, but still helped us decide one way or the other. How many times in a lifetime is the saying, “Not to decide is to decide” proven true?....
I don’t know if everyone resents having their car nearly go airborne while driving down the interstate highway at the maximum speed limit as much as I do. It happens nearly every time I travel up and down our tax funded roadways. It just so happened that I was listening to the car radio recently when I experienced one of those horrible bangs in the front end of my car. The now familiar sound caused by a just finished repair job. Actually it reminded me more of a speed bump than a highway improvement. The topic being discussed on the program at that very moment nearly made me run off the road. The need for a new highway in our area was being explained....
I’m not sure why I have survived to be so old. I can remember growing up how my mother used to defrost hamburger on the kitchen counter, then failed to use a bleach soaked rag to wipe it off when she was done. Not only that but sometimes I used to sneak some of that raw meat when she wasn’t looking, but I can't remember getting E-coli. My baby crib, toys, and room were all painted with bright colored lead-based paint. If the tooth imprints on my old crib are to be believed, I chewed it and most likely ingested some of the paint. Our home had no child-proof lids on medicine bottles, doors, or cabinets, and when I rode my bike I rode helmet-less. The media must have been neglectful back then, because I can’t remember hearing daily horror stories about injured children like I do today. I can remember drinking water from the garden hose when I was too busy playing to go inside for a glass. I hadn’t heard of bottled water back then except what infants got from a baby bottle. I ate Hostess cupcakes, lots of bread with butter or mayonnaise, and I drank sugary soda too, but I wasn’t overweight. Could have been because I was always outside playing, not sitting in front of the boob tube. I just can't recall how bored we must have been without computers, PlayStations, Nintendo, and cable television. I must be repressing the memory....
Now don’t get me wrong, I am not opposed to saving our planet. In fact, being the conservative, nature-loving person that I am, I am more than happy to do my part to conserve water for future generations, but somehow I fail to see how these new-fangled commodes accomplish this. Case in point: each time I flush our new “Politically Correct Water Closet” it only uses 3 gallons of water. With tongue in cheek I think to myself that this commode’s water usage is SO much better than the old style; for they used a whole four gallons. Maybe it's a my ever-increasing age showing, but I have found that the more people tweak what isn’t broken (and was no doubt properly invented and fine-tuned before they were out of diapers), the more I would like to tweak them....
Have you ever experienced the loss of a giant tree in your yard? You know the one where the tire swing used to hang; the one you fell out of and broke your arm? Or maybe you had a special place you liked to walk years ago when you needed to be alone to think; there was a big old shade tree that provided you with protection from the sun. Maybe it was the place where you carved your initials with your childhood sweetheart. Perhaps it was where you hid from your friends while playing hide and seek. It was a special tree. You always thought of it as your place of solitude and refuge. And knowing it had been there for years gave you a feeling of security. That tree was a constant in a constantly changing world....
A couple we are friends with always vacation with what we affectionately refer to as a blueprint. Months in advance of their departure they can tell you almost to the exact minute where they will be at any given time of their trip, exactly what they will be doing each day, where they will be staying, and what attractions they will visit on the trip. While the rest of us have a general itinerary figured out before we leave home that is subject to change, these folks view any variations to their schedule as unacceptable. And should circumstances beyond their control force on-the-road changes of any sort, they feel as though their whole vacation is ruined. I think that may explain why we only took one vacation together…the subject of a repeat has not come up since that one fiasco, though our friendship remains intact....
My mother wasn’t a betting woman, but she loved to tell the story of how she and my father ended up together. In 1935 she left here to help take care of her two-year old nephew in Washington County, Illinois. She babysat during the daytime so her sister could work, and also managed to land a job for herself working at a typical 1930’s business; a one stop for everything country store. This cafe/filling station/grocery/post office, etc was located in Tuckerville, a wide spot in the road where highway 51 and what was then highway 460 met between Ashley and Nashville. Fountain cokes, especially the cherry ones, were popular at the time, and while working as a waitress, my mother met a lot of people and soon came to feel accepted by the locals there. Mr. & Mrs. Tucker, owners of the business, were also part of the family the community had been named for. They soon became close friends and advisors to this pretty little girl who was away from home for the first time....
I recently read an article that made me appreciate how good we have it today. It was about the Good Old Days; specifically how hard they were. My grandmother used to tell me stories from the late 1800’s and the early twentieth century. Her experiences were much like those recorded about people living in Europe in the 1500’s. People got married back then in early June because they took their annual bath in late May. However, since they were already beginning to smell, brides carried a bouquet of flowers to hide their body odor. While the tradition continues today for brides to carry a bouquet, hopefully it’s not for the same reason.... |
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