In my last post I commented on the fact that Bing Crosby had been singing for a long time about going “Home for the Holidays.” After recently listening to some holiday music, however, I stand corrected. I believe it was Perry Como who had the most popular recording of that nostalgic tune!

On a totally different subject, have you ever noticed you can always tell when it’s going to be a bad day, shortly after you’ve thrown back the covers and put your feet on the cold floor? Like today, for example, four things happened to get my day started with a groan. Aside from the fact that I woke up at 5:30 a.m. (before I really wanted to) feeling stiffer than normal and achy all over – which is par for the course, considering I suffer from lupus, fibromyalgia, arthritis, and degenerative disc disease – the morning started out wrong with a succession of frustrating incidents.

With a cup of fresh-brewed coffee in hand – thanks to my helpful husband – I wanted to check my email for a response to something I’d sent yesterday. I was able to get into AOL, but when I clicked on the messages, nothing happened. I had to reboot.

Number two: As I attempted to move my abundant Christmas cactus plant, two large appendages broke off, leaving it looking a bit sad and forlorn. 

Number three: The fire in the living room woodstove had almost died out. Mr. Firestarter was in the shower, so I thought I’d attempt to get it blazing again. Picking up the box of matches, I opened it upset down, and of course, nearly 50 wooden match sticks flew in all directions across the floor.

Number four: Stinging, burning, painful, debilitating soap suds somehow managed to find their way into the corner of my left eye as I was washing my face, sending me scrambling for artificial tears eyedrops. I still haven’t recovered, and will be walking around all day looking like I’ve already started celebrating New Year’s!

These are but minor mishaps  compared to larger world problems, and I’m confident things will improve as the day goes on – hopefully! Unless it snows six inches…

Oh Holy Night, the Stars are Brightly Shining…

It’s Christmas Eve! 

 MERRY CHRISTMAS!

Bing Crosby has been crooning it for decades, and we all know there’s no place like home for the holidays!

But again this year, we won’t be going “home,” choosing instead to travel south a few days after Christmas Day.  Although we’re spending the day quietly here in Boonville by ourselves, we’ll celebrate New Year’s Day with family in York and Adams Counties, Pennsylvania.

Because we won’t  be celebrating Christmas with kids and grandkids until then, we haven’t done much shopping! Nor has there been the usual flurry of activities (which is one of the reasons we chose to postpone the traveling). So, thankfully,  the stress level has been lower this year. But, if you’re feeling a bit stressed by all the holiday hustle and bustle, here’s a prayer I’d like to share:

 ”Let the significance of Christmas never be dwarfed by the manifold activities of the festive season, nor the worries and perplexing cares rob me of my Christmas joy.”

Actually, it’s part of a Prayer for Christmas Eve,  from the Lutheran Book of Prayer, published in 1951.  Something to think about! Instead of stressing yourself to the max trying to accomplish the impossible, take a deep breath and calm down. And remember the real reason we celebrate Christmas!  And have yourself a Merry Christmas.

Click below for an enjoyable website  that will really put you in the Christmas spirit (you have to click on the left-hand Play icon). Enjoy!

Music Box website.

Once again, the countdown to Christmas Day has begun!

And once again, I’ve opted out of that age-old German tradition of decorating a Christmas tree.

There is just not enough room in our tiny camp in the woods to put up even a small tree. And because we live in the woods, many people have thought over the years that our obvious choice would have been to  put up a  real, live tree.  Wrong!  We nixed that tradition many years ago while still living in the Syracuse area. I know – there’s nothing quite like the smell of  pine. Call me a Scrooge, but the whole ritual of putting up a live tree is also a lot of work.  If  we want to inhale the scent of pine trees, all we need  do is step outside our front door on any warm summer day.

Since I couldn’t even get to the Christmas decorations last year because of my October 2008 neck surgery, we gave away our faithful old artificial tree.  I’m hoping that this year it will bring someone else happiness, as it had for us for many years.

The view from our kitchen window

All that being said, you might be surprised to hear that instead of  putting up one Christmas tree, we’ve put up two! Two tiny ones that are designed for outdoor use (see photo above).  But they work inside, as well. They’re too small to hang  most ornaments on,  but the best part is – they already have bright, tiny white lights attached.  I love the way they sparkle  and glow, and we leave them on all day long when we’re home. And here’s another nice thing.  I can still put my wooden nativity figures (which my daughter gave me a long time ago)  around the tiny trees. Which proves that  you don’t  need a large coniferous  tree to observe  Christmas.

I’ve gotten out many of my favorite ornaments and hung them on some (artificial) garland strung around the doorway between our dining area and living room. Others I’ve placed on the windowsills or hung wherever I could. None of our  tree ornaments are ordinary. They’re treasures that we’ve  collected in our travels over the years,  our grandchildren have made, or that  friends have given us, so each one has a unique  history.

The point of this narrative is : Christmas joy is not dependent on how many decorations you hang or where you hang them! Or how much you spend shopping. Christmas is first and foremost the celebration of the birth of Jesus Christ!

When I saw this photo, I just knew I  had to include it on this blog!  Thanks go out to Patti S.  Stirk,  who took the picture  during  a recent visit to Berlin.  She emailed it to my sister, Bobbi Druck Kehr, who forwarded the photo  to me.  Bobbi wrote that Patti and another running friend had gone  to the World Track and Field meet to take some photos, and she thought I’d enjoy this one.    

We had quite a dialogue about the meaning of the word Schmuck, but for the purposes of this blog, we’ll just say it’s a German surname. As a matter of fact, when we lived in Lower Windsor Township in York County, we lived on Schmuck Road, across from a farmer, Mr. Schmuck and his wife.    

Maybe you’ve  heard someone who is stupid or a jerk called a “schmuck,” which is originally from the Jewish. But it’s usually pronounced “smuck” almost like Smucker’s jellies.     

On the other hand, Schmuck  (schmook - rhymes with took), in German supposedly refers to jewelry, trinket or a brooch, and it is  not related to the Yiddish word, the origin of which is considered obscene!    

Here’s what Wikipedia said:    

Schmuck is a surname.  Of German origin, it means jewel or jewelry. The name is commonly seen on signs and billboards in Germany and Austria related to the merchandising of precious jewelry. The Schmuck family name has been traced to the birth of Christian von Schmuck in 1370. In 1624, an Armorial Patent, or Coat of Arms, was granted at Rattenberg by Archduke Leopold V of Austria.    

There are other associated surname variations throughout Central Europe, as Hungary and Romania, including spelling variations of Szmuk in these countries.    

Thanks again to Patti for allowing me to use the photo.

When I last wrote, I mentioned that I had just received a copy of a book by Velma Wallis: Raising Ourselves, A Gwich’in Coming of Age Story from the Yukon River. It was such an interesting story, I finished it a day or so later.  Of course, the book was only 212 pages long, which made it easy to read quickly!

The sixth of thirteen children, the author writes about growing up in Fort Yukon, Alaska, in the sixties. She writes in a simplistic style, but one that keeps the reader hooked. She describes her world in such a colorful way, that I could picture myself right there, in the snow and the mud, riding on a sled across the frozen lake, by the fire at her campsite, or walking along the road in her dingy neighborhood.  Her life was not an easy one, but she’s persistent and she survives, despite the constant threat of alcoholism, drug addidction, poverty, and discrimination. Here’s a line from the cover of the book: ”Velma Wallis tells a kick-ass story of growing up Gwich’in.  If you want to know the truth about being Indian in a White-dominated world, read this book.” (Quoted from Duncan Sings-Alone, Cherokee storyteller, author of “Sprinting Backwards.”)  I guess I’d have to concur with this statement, because the author bares  her soul in this honest memoir of growing up with little parental supervision. It often focuses on the stark reality of “living off the land” and the continual fear of physical abuse.

As  I wrote earlier, I was interested in Velma’s story, because I had learned there were native people in the area of which she writes who bear the surname Druck. The author’s descriptions of the geography were much as I expected, having previously done a good bit of research online. What I didn’t expect was the predominance of alcoholism, which according to Ms. Wallis, is rampant among the Gwich’in people. But, in a way, it ties in with my discovering  the obituary of Chester Joseph Druck. He died after being struck in Fairbanks by a hit-and-run driver, who was later arrested for drunken driving.

Although the author maintains a website, the only way to contact her personally is by writing to her physical address. I fully intend to do so, to ask whether she can help me learn more about the Druck family in Fort Yukon. From the many survivors listed in Chester’s obituary, it appears he came from a large family. After reading Velma’s story, though, apparently large families were the norm. I firmly believe there is a connection to our York County Drucks for several reasons, but I won’t elaborate on that at the moment.

I was excited today to receive a small package in the mail. It was a book I had ordered. I know, I know….I told myself: No more books! Not until I had sold or given away enough to clear some room on my shelves. But when I learned of this book, I just had to order it! 

 Why, you might ask, would I be interested in reading ”Raising Ourselves, A Gwich’in Coming of Age Story from the Yukon River,” by Velma Wallis?

Well, after my family history book was published last year, I continued to research the Druck name. It was a surprise to learn that there are  members of a Gwich’in tribe in the Yukon Territory who bear the name Druck. Many of them, in fact. Here’s some of what I included in an addendum I wrote  for my “George Druck Family Chronicle, 1741-2008″:

While searching for Druck obituaries online, I learned that Chester Joseph Druck, 57, of Fairbanks, succumbed on 15 December 2006, after being injured earlier in a hit-and-run accident.

Chester was born in Fort Yukon, Alaska, a village of about 600 inhabitants that sits along the Yukon River at its junction with the Porcupine River, some 145 miles northeast of Fairbanks and about 400 air miles northeast of Anchorage. A son of Joe and Leah Druck, he attended high school at the Chilaco Indian School in Oklahoma. He served in the U.S. Army in the 1970s, and was stationed in Germany.  

According to his obituary in the Fairbanks Daily News, “Chester had a passion for living the subsistence way of life among his Gwichin people of the Yukon Flats.” The Gwichin are one of the “First Nation” tribes in the Yukon. “First Nation” is a term that has replaced “Indian,” much like our term, “Native American.”

The Gwichin people live in the northernmost part of the territory, one of the oldest settled areas of North America. Because of the remoteness of the area, their main source of livelihood is working for the growing First Nation government, but many residents still rely on trapping, hunting, and fishing.

Mainly because of the names of his father and brothers, I’ve concluded that Chester could be a descendant of the original York County Druck family, and perhaps a descendant of one of the family members who relocated to Ohio or Indiana. He was preceded in death by his father, Joe Druck Sr.; brothers, Johnny, Raymond, Mason, Gerald, Michael, and Abraham Druck; and sisters, Rebecca and Susan Druck. Most of these names are York County family names. Chester was survived by his mother, Leah Druck; a sister and brother-in-law; two sons and a daughter; two brothers and a sister-in-law, and “many relatives in Alaska and Canada and the Lower 48.”  He was laid to rest in Chalkyitsik on Saturday, December 23, 2006.  

Just like Chester Druck, author Velma Wallis was born in remote Fort Yukon, Alaska.  Velma tells the story of growing up in a “raw, unsettled aftermath of a cultural invasion of her village on the Yukon River.” Here’s a line from the book’s back cover:  “This is a riveting account of Gwich’in village life, revealing peril and hardship as well as innocence and mysticism.” For more about Velma and her books, log on to www.VelmaWallis.com

I’m eager to read about their culture and the story of the Gwich’in people. Perhaps it will shed some light on how Chester Joseph Druck – and the others in his family - lived in the Yukon. I’ll keep you posted on what I learn. 

We all know the story of the Pilgrims and the mythical 1621 First Thanksgiving, but another important Thanksgiving observance occurred in December 1777, while the Continental Congress was meeting in York, Pennsylvania. 

During the 1700s, the individual colonies often observed days of thanksgiving throughout the year. Instead of the lavish feast associated with today’s celebration, however, the colonial Thanksgiving Day was a day set aside for fasting and prayer. Later in the 18th century, states sometimes designated a day of thanksgiving to celebrate the adoption of a state constitution, an exceptionally bountiful crop, or a military victory, such as the surrender of British General Burgoyne at Saratoga.

Colonial Court House, now on W. Market Street, York.

A nationwide day of prayer and thanksgiving on December 18, 1777, commemorated this patriot victory. It was the first Thanksgiving Day designated by the new government.

 Since the delegates had by then signed the Articles of Confederation declaring the colonies as the United States of America, it’s the reason that York, Pennsylvania, often claims to be the site of America’s first Thanksgiving Day.

President George Washington signed the first official Thanksgiving Day proclamation in 1789. The decree set aside Thursday, November 26, as “A Day of Publick Thanksgiving and Prayer,” which was “to be observed by acknowledging with grateful hearts the many. . .favors of Almighty God.”  What a coincidence that 220 years later, in 2009, Thanksgiving Day also fell onThursday,  November 26!

President Abraham Lincoln issued a proclamation in 1863, declaring the fourth Tuesday of November as a national holiday. In 1939, President Franklin D. Roosevelt moved the holiday to the third Thursday of November (to extend the Christmas shopping season and boost the economy). In 1941, he changed it again to the fourth Thursday in November, where it stands today.

These guys are lucky they didn't end up on someone's dinner table!

It’s hard to belive that Thanksgiving Day is nearly here.

Has it really been a  year ago that I sat here updating this blog, recuperating from surgery to repair my damaged cervical vertebra? Sometimes it seems as though just  a few weeks have passed; but maybe that’s because the stubborn incision on the back of my neck has  refused to heal. Nevertheless, I have so much to be thankful for!

As Thanksgiving approaches, it’s a good time for all of us to reflect on what  we’re thankful for. Oh, sure, Thanksgiving Day is a wonderful 0pportunity for families and friends to gather, maybe play some board games, take a walk, watch football. And of course, most of us will overeat, stuffing ourselves with delectable delicacies, available only on these rare occasions.

But the real purpose of Thanksgiving Day is to pause and give thanks.

Most of us in America  live bountiful lives.  Beyond the basics, such as food, clothing, and shelter, we Americans often take for granted our freedoms; freedoms for which our forefathers fought and died, and freedoms that our military today continues to defend.

Many of us have had – at one time or another – financial, health, or family problems. But if you have a roof over your head, clothes to wear, and food on your table, you can be grateful. It may be just peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, but you’re not starving to death, as are many children in Africa and other third-world countries. Or even those who live in our country’s slums.

People who live in shelters for the homeless can be thankful they’re not freezing to death on the streets. If you’re able to put both feet on the floor most mornings, you have a lot to be thankful for. There are those who’ve lost their legs, because of disease, or because a bomb exploded in front of them. And  many are paralyzed for one reason or another.

You may have difficulty figuring out how to stretch your paycheck, but if you have a regular income, be thankful. There are those who’re not able to work or think through a problem, and there are some who’re blind; they’ll never see their checkbook, the sky, or anything else.

If you have friends and family surrounding and supporting you, you are richly blessed. There are those who are alone, not by choice, but because they’ve been forgotten and neglected.

I could go on endlessly about how each and every one of us should be thankful for something in our lives, even if it’s just a tiny “something.”

I'm thankful we had a fun day last week with friends Ed and Kathy at a fifties restaurant. This is Kellie, our server, with Elvis himself!

Don’t get me wrong. There are days when I find it hard to be thankful, just as we all do at times. But if you stop and think about it, there’s bound to be something in your life for which you’re grateful.

So, count your blessings, and I’ll count mine.

Here’s wishing you and yours a truly blessed Thanksgiving!  

The newest addition to my family - of violets! This is Wanda's Red Velvet.

Where did the weekend go? It was a busy one, beginning with an impromptu gathering Friday at 4:00 at Boonville’s favorite  gathering place (the Historic Hulbert House) for an adult beverage with the Boonville Herald crew! It was so good to see everyone again. We haven’t shared a happy hour in many months.

Saturday was the annual holiday craft fair and luncheon at the Boonville United Methodist Church. This was the second year in a row that I didn’t help out in the kitchen or somewhere doing something, so I did my part by eating lunch, complete with a piece of luscious pecan pie! Our United Methodist Women were in charge of the luncheon, and it seems we did fairly well. I’ll hear a full report at the meeting Wednesday night. Holiday shoppers, however, were few and far between, at least while we were there. Other than lunch, my only purchase was a lovely little African violet (see photo above)!

 

Below is a photo of some of our young people who’ll be helping out with the Samaritan’s Purse Operation Christmas Child Shoe Box project, something our church has been involved with for quite a few years. You take an ordinary shoe  box (or similar-sized box)  and fill it with all kinds of small items for needy kids all over the world. Boonville U. M. is a regional  drop-off point, and thousands of shoe boxes are brought there every year from all over the area. Then the boxes are  loaded onto a tractor trailer, delivered to North Carolina,  and from there they’re  distributed to hundreds of povery-stricken areas around the world (see www.samaritanspurse.org).

Veterans Memorial - Completed in 1990, it is a lasting tribute to all veterans, and provides a spectacular view of Boonville and the surrounding countryside.

Today is a special holiday.

 Sometimes in years past, I may have completely ignored this day, not giving a second thought to its purpose. This year, however, it has a new connection, although I’m ashamed to say I didn’t get out of bed early enough to attend the Veterans Day services at our local park.

Benjamin F. Druck, who served in WWI

November 11 is the day when the fighting ended during the First World War. Although the official peace treaty wasn’t signed until June the following year, an armistice, or temporary truce, was declared between Germany and the Allied nations on the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month in 1918. My paternal grandfather’s brother, Benjamin F. Druck, my great-uncle, was a member of the cavalry during that war. 

Since then, other family members have served in the military and have fought in World War II, Korea, and Vietnam. Several still serve today, and at least one has been injured in the War on Terrorism.

Serving their country is a tradition that began with our ancestor, George Druck, son of the immigrant, Johan Georg Druck, who – although he reportedly never saw action - volunteered to serve in the York County Militia throughout the late 18th century.

A year after World War I  ended, President Woodrow Wilson proclaimed November 11 as Armistice Day. It was changed to  Veterans Day – a holiday dedicated to American veterans of all wars, not just World War I - in 1954.

 What’s the difference between Memorial Day and Veterans Day?

York County Cousin Robert P. Druck

Memorial Day was originally set aside as a day to remember and honor military personnel who died in the service of our country, particularly those who died in battle or as a result of wounds sustained in battle. And while those who’ve died are certainly remembered on Veterans Day, this day is intended mainly to thank and honor living veterans for their service, in wartime or peacetime. Veterans Day is also an opportunity to acknowledge that their contributions to our national security are appreciated, and to recognize that all those who served – not only those who died – have sacrificed and done their duty.

Okay, so now we know what Veterans Day is all about. But why does it have special significance for me?

Our Boonville Historical Club chose as this year’s theme, “Freedom is Not Free.”  Last month, we heard a speaker with Fort Drum’s Public Affairs Department, who told  us about the hardships that soldiers who’ve been deployed to Iraq and Afghanistan sometimes encounter, especially those who’ve been injured. She mentioned the difficulties families often go through, for example when a “wounded warrior” is hospitalized at Walter Reed Army Medical Center in Washington, D.C.

Little did I know that within three weeks, a young Pennsylvania relative serving in Afghanistan would be injured by an Improvised Explosive Device (IED ), or  a roadside bomb, and sent to Walter Reed to recover, where he is making rapid progress. Married, with a two-year-old son, Brad is a Staff Sergeant with the US Army. At our November 2  Historical Club  meeting, local priest Father Sean O’Brien, a commander with the Navy reserves, talked and showed photos about his experiences as  a military chaplain in Afghanistan. It was an interesting presentation and an eye-opener, as well. 

The club had previously voted to adopt a Fort Drum platoon. Fort Drum is home of the 10th Mountain Division of the U.S. Army, located about 50 miles or so north of Boonville.  After receiving news that the troops would not be deployed in January as expected, however, we’ve decided instead to “adopt” a local boy serving with the Marines in Afghanistan. Christopher Combs is the nephew of one of our club members. We’ll  collect articles of food, reading materials, and toiletries, which we’ll send to Chris to  distribute to others in his company. For more information, see the weblog page I’m setting up for the Historical Club at www.boonvillehistoricalclub.wordpress.com or click on the link at the top of the right-hand sidebar.

Today and every day, remember to thank a veteran for helping to keep our nation free.