Sunday, March 1, 2009
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UPDATE -- fourth year of medical school
Some of you must be wondering how I've managed to spend my fourth year of medical school climbing mountains, running on beaches, and trekking through some of the world's highest places ... not to mention playing in the snow!
Classes, clinical rotations, and studying have been conspicuously absent for most of this year, though I'm still a tuition-paying student at Baylor University. It's been many weeks since I've examined a patient, months since I've pondered antibiotic selection, and even longer since I've taken a graded exam. Instead of pre-dawn alarms set to wake me in time for endless days of rounding on the hospital wards, the only wake-up calls I've needed lately are those that rouse me in time for morning flights.
How? In contrast to most medical schools, Baylor condenses the traditional two years of basic science (classroom learning) into a tough year and a half. This provides us with an extra six months to complete our clinical requirements. Ambitious students may use the extra time to work on research projects, take extra electives, or spend additional time studying for board exams. I decided to explore instead.
Interspersed between the adventures that my parents have already carefully described, I did return to the medical student role on a pair of occasions this year. I spent a glorious month in Salt Lake City in August, where I completed a rotation in the Emergency Department as a visiting student. My experiences there confirmed my interest in Emergency Medicine as a specialty choice, and I submitted my application to Emergency Medicine programs scattered across the country shortly thereafter.
Visiting Africa has long been a dream of mine, and I jumped at the opportunity to visit for eight weeks last fall. Though I had initially intended it to be a medically-related trip, my parents presented themselves as a pair of eager travel partners. And when I discovered that fall was the ideal season to climb Mount Kilimanjaro, I decided to spend my Africa time traveling, with plans to return during residency or as a practicing physician later, to work in a medical capacity. My skills will make me a much more useful volunteer then, and my parents might be less enthusiastic about climbing 15,000 vertical feet "on vacation" a few years from now.
My parents have already described our trekking, climbing, safari, and Zanzibar adventures. After they returned to the States, I traveled alone in Tanzania and Mozambique for a few weeks. My solo adventures began where last week's Travelogue left off -- in Dar es Salaam, Tanzania, where my mother (Mitzi) and I parted company at the conclusion of our vacation in Zanzibar. Scroll down to the Travelogue to see what happened next.
UPDATE -- Confessions of a Sportsaholic
By now, regular readers of The Bulletin have probably surmised that I am a sports fan. Even those of you who skim over my contributions as you seek out the latest family Updates, Foto-Funnies and other such Bulletin staples couldn't have helped but notice the pictures of ballparks, gridirons and courts that regularly illustrate my ramblings.
Recently, as I was reflecting on the fact that many of my vacations and memorable times spent with friends have centered around sporting events, it made me wonder: where did this obsession start? What is it about me and my past that led me to sports fandom in the first place? Why have sports continued to be so important to me, even as I reach ages at which many people have placed their favorite teams on the back burner as they turn their attention to more significant aspects of their lives?
I believe it all started at the softball field in Dalton, Minnesota, where I would watch my dad play softball with his Legion team. In retrospect, it was just my dad and a bunch of his friends playing slow pitch softball one evening a week, but they seemed like athletes to me. They even looked the part in their fancy black and gray jerseys. As I watched Dad patrol center field while Mom sat next to me in the bleachers explaining the rules of the game, it must have dawned on me that this is the sort of thing I could really get into.
Once I had learned to enjoy softball, I suppose moving on to baseball was a logical step. When I turned five, I was old enough to begin participating in the Ashby summer recreation program, playing T-ball games against kids from other towns in the area. Around that same time, I discovered baseball cards. My mom couldn't have been impressed with the amount of money I spent (or specifically, talked her into spending) on baseball cards over the next several years, but the boxes of cards still sitting in my closet are evidence that she indulged me.
I have a specific memory of opening a pack of 1984 Topps baseball cards) when they still came with a slab of flavorless, rock-hard "gum") and pulling out a card of Minnesota Twins legend Bobby Castillo. [specifically, the card on the right labeled "1984 O-Pee-Chee," after you click on "cards"]. I was so excited, I showed it to everyone at daycare that day. Those of you who followed the Twins in the 1980's realize that the word "legend" can only be applied to Bobby Castillo in an ironic sense. But he played for the Twins, which was enough to justify my adulation.
As it turned out, I picked a good time to become a Twins fan, as my loyalty was rewarded with a World Series championship in 1987. My memories of that season are a little fuzzy (hey, I was only 9 years old), but I remember the night my parents, brothers and I huddled around the TV to watch the clinching Game 7. If I wasn't addicted to baseball before, the sight of my guys mobbing each other in celebration after the final out set the hook for good!
That was followed by another Twins' championship in 1991. By that time, I was 13 and in my prime as a young sports fan. The Twins won the Series in the last inning of the final game in dramatic fashion as my brothers and I watched on TV. Looking back, that is still my best memory as a sports fan.
Based on this history, I think it is easy to see why I became a baseball fan, and why the Twins are still my favorite sports team, but my love of football is harder to trace. I don't have a specific memory of the first football game I watched or attended. My acclimation to the sport must have been more gradual, attending Ashby High School games and watching the Vikings on TV.
While I don't remember exactly when it began, the Vikings were definitely part of my Sunday afternoons at a pretty young age. After Sunday School and church, I would come home and immediately turn on the Vikings game. I think the closest to nirvana I reached as an 8-to-10-year old was watching the Vikings on a Sunday afternoon with a can of Orange Crush and a bag of Nacho Cheese Doritos.
Of course, unlike the Twins, the Vikings have not rewarded my loyalty with a championship. But after following the team through so many highs and lows (especially the lows), I feel that the Vikings owe me a championship, and I do not intend to let them off the hook by giving up on them!
Basketball was the third sport that garnered my attention as a kid. Like football, I think my love of basketball began at Ashby Arrows games. I also remember watching the many classic Lakers/Celtics championship series in the 1980's. For some reason, I decided to cheer for the Lakers -- maybe because their jerseys matched the purple and gold of those worn by the Vikings.
Eventually, Minnesota was awarded its very own NBA basketball team: the Timberwolves. While they were consistently terrible in the early years, it was fun to cheer for a local game. One year, for Christmas, my mom bought Timberwolves tickets for my brothers and me, resulting in another addiction that I have continued to feed in my adult years.
When I moved to the Cities for college, my life as a sports fan was affected in two ways. First, my new proximity to the Metrodome and Target Center allowed me to attend games much more easily than when I lived two-and-a-half hours away. Second, I began paying closer attention to the University of Minnesota's programs. While I had casually followed the football and basketball teams before, the magic of cheap student season tickets allowed me to take it to another level -- the same level that led me this past December to travel all the way to Tempe to watch a completely meaningless bowl game featuring the Gophers football team!
You may have noticed one major sports missing from this story so far. When I'm on the road for work and my clients or business associates learn I am from Minnesota, they often ask if I play hockey. I always tell them my town was too small to have a hockey arena, so we just played basketball in the winter like everyone else. That said, I do enjoy attending Gophers hockey games from time to time, and have even ventured to St. Paul to catch a couple of Wild games.
So now that I have examined my history as a sports fan, the question remains: why am I still a fan? There are many reasons. Sports give me an excuse to get out of the house on a Tuesday evening to go to a Twins game. They allow me to get together with friends to watch the Vikings on Sunday, then spend the rest of the week discussing what went right (or, usually, wrong). They provide six Saturdays a year spent watching the Gophers football game with the same group of fellow season ticket holders. They supply me with something to talk to clients about when I'm on the road -- as long as I know a little something about their regional sports teams, I have an instant ice breaker.
When it comes down to it, I have way too much fun watching and attending all of these baseball, football, basketball and even hockey games to ever give them up. If I didn't attend so many games, I'm sure my wallet would be fatter, but my memory bank would be missing some valuable deposits!
The Matriarch Speaks W
A Monkey Wrench In The Works!
Photo Editor's Note: Dorothy called on Monday, said her computer network was down and she expected it to get fixed on Thursday afternoon. Apparently, it didn't. Whatever news was sent her way after Monday is still out there somewhere and never got forwarded and is therefore not in this Bulletin. This edition is put together from various sources and will presumably be sent out by Dorothy when her computer network cooperates. In the meantime, I've posted it to the web. I don't have her e-mail lists and can't send it out for her, but if you know where to look, it's there.
Who Is This?
Let's Play a Guessing Game: Whenever it is handy to do so, we will run a picture of someone of the subscribers or staff members of our e-magazine. Tell us who you think it is -- we will let you know who was the first to guess it right -- and the correct guess -- in the following week's Bulletin.
How many can you identify? What's going on?
Editors' Note: Correct guesses appear in bold face type and incorrect guesses in normal type ... generally in the order we receive them, so the first guess received is on top.
I don't know who the guys on the picture are, but could they be playing Carrom?
Editor's comment: Yes they are, and could you explain to us how the game Carrom is played?
Sometimes Carrom is played with a cue, but sometimes it's played by putting your third finger on top of your thumb and "flicking" the shooter (usually a black wooden circle, open in the center). The object is to get the red pieces (same shape and size as the shooter) into one of the four net pockets by flicking the shooter into the red piece and bouncing it off the edges and into the pocket. If your shooter goes into the pocket, you have to take a red piece out and put it back into the middle of the board. The players (2, 3, or 4) take turns. The first person to shoot the last red piece, AND then their shooter, into the pockets wins. We haven't played it for a long time. I think I'll have to go get the board up from the basement!
This is a good one! I can even tell some of the pictures on the piano! But start with Billy Dake sitting on the arm of the couch, then I think that is Tom Miller sitting on the piano bench, Dick Miller is next and Gib McCalla is with his back to the camera. Jim Miller is at the end of the table and they are playing Carroms. The one partly hidden by Jim looks like [Coy] "Pop" Gandy.
The pictures on Mom Dake's piano are: Vonnie Thomas Dake in her nursing uniform, LeRoy Dake and can't make out the next one but the last on the right must be Mr. and Mrs. James Miller's wedding picture [Jim and Blanche]. This all happened in the Dake Family living room -- very familiar place!
I think the photo was taken sometime in the era I am writing about. It shows, clockwise from left: Billy Dake, Tom Miller, Dick Miller, Les Benson, Jim Miller, and Gilbert McCalla. I take it to be LeRoy's last year of school, or so. Of course, it is at the home place ... and lunch is all ready to be served for the evening snack. I don't think many of the women folks liked Carroms ... though we did try it occasionally.
I think this would be a Carroms game. My guess would be Billy, Gilbert's back, maybe Tom Miller, Dick Miller ... wouldn't be Grandpa Dake, would it? ... and Jim Miller.
Ginny Dake McCorkell
I am wondering if Dick Miller might be at the table in the GUESS picture this time? Maybe Jim on the right. Maybe Bill Dake on the left. You notice I said MAYBE.
I was so surprised that was Larry Dake in the previous week's picture. I first saw Larry about that age, and just didn't even think it looked like him at all.
Betty Weiland Droel
A new series of recollections, of the five years when Bill and Lois Dake and their family lived in Minnesota, began with the episode in Bulletin 343. It's too soon to tell just how many parts there will be in this series, but we still have a few stories from 1946, just after World War II. Last week I told more about polio (once called Infantile Paralysis) via two links, Polio and Sister Kenny, to minimize disruption of the narrative flow about Lois and Bill Dake. Both documents are posted as a series of scanned images. We can't edit them or correct typos and they will not respond to font changes or printer settings as regular Bulletin pages do.
Not Quite The Summer I'd Planned
Well, at least the whole summer wasn't a disaster. You see, I am home now, and this is the second time I have arrived home from an adventure. The first was such a rich, first-time sort of event and it made so many new friends for a lifetime. The homecoming was nice, but accepted as the "port of call" at the end of a fun vacation...
But, it just occurred to me, No, none of it was a disaster -- but it could have been!
This second time home is so much more important, as it is the return to the center of my home and my own family again and the value of that is now so much more real because of my four months away. You see, this time I went to a place I DID NOT choose for myself. Really, though, there is so much that I do want to remember and lessons I want to learn from that hospital stay.
I just started to name over in my mind all of the people I have met during the time I was in the hospital. There were a few that I had met before and many I would have never met but for my hospital stay. There are some I will probably never see again, but still I am glad I did meet them.
There was my friend from earlier days, Elizabeth Bakke; I remember her looking down on me and saying,"Hello, so it is my Dorothy -- you are going into "Contagion" [quarantine] and I can't see you until you come out, but they will be kind to you and treat you well!" It comforted me.
The next, and most important to my hope of recovery, was the one for whom the hospital and the treatment given there were named: Sister Kenny. I met Sister the second day of "Contagion." She did my complete exam while Miss Hanson (second in charge to her) filled out a chart. She assured me that with care and hard work I was going to walk again. During my stay at Sister Kenny Institute and the Fort Snelling annex, I met her, or waved to her, several times. It was only when my friend Louella Smith wrote to me that I understood that I was getting special attention from Sister Kenny because Elizabeth Bakke had become a good friend of Sister -- a friend of Elizabeth Bakke was a friend of Sister Kenny!
The next of importance to help me with my recovery was the therapist who I was assigned to: Miss Manley. She was the one to whom Sister Kenny's instructions were given. It was her job to exercise my muscles until the nerves healed and then it was her job to teach me to walk again. I tried my best to follow and do whatever she suggested. (I didn't always get it right but I surely tried!) The girls who were with me on the porch at the Fort Snelling Annex claimed I was her "pet."
There were several others who may not have played as important a part, but were very necessary for helping care for us.
The nurses -- many who came from the Red Cross pool in Chicago to help during the outbreak -- had their hands full with total care for two hospitals and the overflow at Fort Snelling Annex. The girls who did hot packs were really overloaded with work, too. I enjoyed the company of Mrs. Lien, who not only served as nurse but kept me updated; she also was Louella's friend and so a friend of mine!
There were also two nurse's aides who made special visits to see me and to let my friends out of the hospital and living in the city aware of what was happening in my life. I did not get to know them very well as they did not go with our group to the Annex but worked at the Sister Kenny facility.
There were people from Hollywood (that sounds pretty neat, and was) -- and Patty West, a 14-year-old girl who was glad she could be in the porch to the ward where I was. She thought I was so lucky to live on a farm and spent lots of time having me tell about it (my first lesson in seeing how really fortunate I was). There was even a college student who kept our ward clean and proved to us that he could bake a delicious apple pie!
Larry McCorkell sent us a manuscript he transcribed from his father's tape recorded memories and made it available to The Bulletin for a series of excerpts. These stories were originally tape recorded by Bruce McCorkell of his growing up days on the homestead near Effie in northern Minnesota. They were recorded from a period of the mid 1980's until the early 2000's. These are Bruce's words of happy, sad, funny, good, and hard times.
I might as well tell you about our annual trips to convention in the Model T every year. That was something else again. We never went unless it rained. It seemed like it always rained. It was really a trying experience to the women and the children for sure. It was an experience that stays in a person's mind. Many of the roads were washboard bumps, very rough.
Those old Model Ts had a car topping. My dad usually got new car topping. It was a kind of a rubberized canvas. He put a new top on the old Model T every fall. That was quite a thing. Sometimes he didn't get it done. He also fixed the side curtains and got them on, so they didn't leak.
By the time you got Ma, and Dad, David, and I, and my grandma, and sometimes a couple others in that Model T, there wasn't room for anything on the inside. You had to either roll up the bedding and tie it on the outside or else fold it up and sit on it inside, so all the bedding, all the suitcases, everything was usually tied on the outside all over. If that wasn't a sight to behold. It usually rained. When you got there most everything was wet in spite of the fact that my dad was really good. He'd take some of this new car topping he had and wrap everything up in that. It would get wet in spite of that.
Dad usually had three spare tires tied on the front. Tires in those days didn't last long on rough roads. You had at least three tires tied on because you couldn't get down there and back without wearing out at least one or two. The road was awfully washboardy in places. You usually blew out all the tires and all the lights.
The headlights would burn out so many bulbs because they didn't have a regulator and there was a lot of fluctuation in the current. Then they didn't have one, so at times when the old magneto had different RPMs on the engine, plink, out would go the headlights. Black. And that would scare the life out of us. Dad would get out and put in some new bulbs. You had to have a whole case of bulbs along. So that was really quite a thing.
We'd start off before daylight in the dark and never got home until way after dark; in fact, we never got back the same day. We always come back on Monday and it would be way dark when we got home. It was a long, hard trip. It was an awful excursion for sure. That's just some of the things that you can laugh about now, but it wasn't funny then, I'll tell you.
GOING IN CIRCLES
My grandma was in the hospital in Grand Rapids, so my dad decided to go down and see her. I don't know why I went, but I did. There was my ma and Aunt Alma and Aunt Ida. We had our 1931 DeSoto. It was a beautiful car. They had those little straps on the side in the back on the back door to hang on to.
When we were coming back it was real icy. There were big high snowbanks on the side of the road and we came over a kind of a grade and here was somebody diddling along in front there. My dad jammed on the brakes on the ice and around we went. We made three circles. That was really something. You talk about a recorder. That's when you should have had one. I can hear that yet. When the car would go around, all four of them women would go, "WoooOOOooooo."
Oh, that was funny! They all had a different tune. They would just go, "WoooOOOooooo." Ah, boy. Three times like that. While we were on the uphill side of that turn, they would get their breath. That was really funny. Ah man.
My solo adventures began with a flight from Dar es Salaam, Tanzania's capital, to Mtwara, a city in the far South, near Tanzania's border with Mozambique. A short cab ride from Mtwara left me in Mikindani, a small Swahili coastal village. A wave of culture shock swept over me when I first surveyed the surroundings. Dirt roads, canoes, goats, banana trees, women wrapped in brightly dyed kanga clothes, crumbling mud huts with tin and thatch roofs, bicycles laden with coconuts...
None of this should have seemed exotic after three weeks in Africa, but it was, and quite so. Because, unlike other places I had experienced, Mikindani lacked the superimposition of the modern over the traditional. There was almost no traffic, no stores, no cell phone chatter, no television noise, and certainly no tourists who looked like me! It was just a traditional coastal town and I felt very out of place, and especially exposed without an equally pale parent beside me. People stared, and I felt like I was intruding.
No one else was staying at the simple guest house where I slept that night. Though I appreciated the opportunity to experience a place that felt more like "real Africa" than the heavily visited places near Kilimanjaro and Zanzibar, I was also ready to leave the next morning for Mozambique.
Getting there would turn into more of an adventure than I was intending. I'll spare you the details, and say only that getting from Mikindani to the border involved, in this order: first a minibus, overflowing with people, chickens, and a goat; then a pick-up truck bed with several other travelers, mostly Tanzanian men who were very interested in how much money I might be carrying and whether or not I had a camera; later a dugout canoe to cross a crocodile-infested river that served as the border; next a Land Rover that repeatedly broke down on the sandy track and had to be towed; and finally, another pickup overloaded with goods and people.
There was plenty of time to take in the passing sights as we were towed down the sandy dirt road. Neat huts constructed of poles, mud, and thatched roofs, small herds of goats, groups of school children, and long quiet stretches of just trees were exotic and beautiful to me. The green landscape, red road, and blue sky were brilliant, and I didn't get tired of watching the passing scenery. But I was plenty weary when we finally arrived, many hours later than expected. I was hot, dehydrated, and filthy from the hours of travel in the pick-up truck bed. Needless to say, I was both relieved and exhausted to finally reach civilization at Mocimboa da Praia.
To be continued...
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Please drop Miss Hetty a line and tell us who, and what, we've missed. And how about a report (photos welcome) of YOUR special celebration?
+ LETTERS TO THE EDITORS?
How generous of you to share your personal story and experience with polio! I was compelled to read the link to Sister Kenny. While I had a limited familiarity with her and her work, I enjoyed learning more. The article talks about a certain amount of controversy surrounding her method of treatment. As you look back, what are your thoughts on her methods, as they related to your illness?
Editor's comment: Dear Cousin -- what a nice letter, and yes, I do have thoughts about Sister Kenny's Method in relation to my life. First, I do feel she was a very special, gifted woman. (Her humanness didn't demean her; it merely showed us that the makings of greatness come wrapped in different packages.) I am extremely grateful for what she did personally -- and indirectly -- for me.
Her method saved me from the shrunken legs of earlier polio sufferers. It meant many years of walking without help, using the methods I had learned from Miss Manley (who had learned them from Sister Kenny). She gave me back a nearly normal period of time in my life during the time I was raising our family, and for that I owe her a great debt. And I do feel that as it has been adapted for other sufferers, her method of treatment has given a great gift to the world.
What hadn't been realized was that, in exercising to strengthen muscles and to keep them from atrophying, great stress was being put on the nerves. Many nerves had been destroyed by the virus and those that remained had been weakened -- and there would come a time when those weakened nerves would start regressing. Indeed, for about 90% of the patients, that is what happened -- hence we now deal with what is referred to as Post Polio Syndrome (return of the pain and weakness of muscles and nerves affected by that regression).
So, with the blessings of being spared many years of being crippled in our prime, we now have to pay for stress that was put on nerves damaged and weakened in that attack of polio some 60 years ago -- by re-experiencing some of the same problems -- problems we have not entirely avoided but had greatly postponed.
Hello to everyone --
I love the old days and what happened; some I sure didn't know and it's so interesting to read! I'm glad you take the time to write it so the rest of us can read it and savor it all; would love to listen to Mother tell some of the old days. Wouldn't know otherwise and I hope we can pass it down to our children, etc.
And your days, Dorothy, of when you got polio, I remember as a child that Mom and Dad were so worried that one of us would get it. They took us to the doctor and we all got a shot of gamma globulin. I'll never forget that. I can still picture us riding in the car and on our way to the Litchfield clinic. Those shots hurt a lot, but it was worth it; at least we didn't get polio. There were lots of people around us who did.
Well, take good care and I love to read The Bulletin.
Anita Pfingsten Weiland
Just read the letter from your dad to Coy. It made me cry. I, too, wish you had been able to save those letters that you got.
Marlene Anderson Johnson
Last Week's Bulletin Review JKL
Thank you, Sarah (Dake Steinhauer) for all your contributions this week. All the artistic photos and real down home subjects were a nice change. Hard to imagine that you have all that beauty up there in the north woods, but you knew just which scenes to take to give us a nice impression of your part of Minnesota. I don't know which one I would say was a favorite. The sunset view or the snow on the steps or the cute squirrel with the twig coming out of his back. Now who would have thought of taking a picture of the cup of cocoa and the heart shaped cookie? They were all very outstanding, Sarah.
Thanks to you, too, Don, for the update on Erma Syverson. Those who knew her would value that picture and notice.
With so many links to click on in this issue, it takes time to get through The Bulletin. The Special Olympics Update was interesting as their accomplishments were surely to be recognized. Very nice you could have been present, Whitney and Marlene. Nice picture of mother and daughter. Are you sure you two aren't sisters? To have gotten to see Michelle Kwan would have been an unexpected privilege, also the Vice President. What a nice occasion, and thank you for sharing it like you did.
It was a welcome update to have gotten updated on the grandkitties. OK, Miss Kitty, you will have to keep us informed about Ken and Kyra deciding for or against the Roomba. I loved the Chuckles with Cheerio giving an opinion of the possibility of vacuuming.
Day to Day with Donna Mae gave us the special story of Caity and Bec having time together. Caity looks like she adores Bec, and the time would have gone all too fast being together.
We never miss reading the Matriarch's column, and this time it is suggesting we send in any contributions for next week as soon as we can. This is going to be a rush job here, but I wanted to be sure to send in a thank you for all the work that would have gone into this #349.
We are loving the Memory Lane, and especially this week with the very touching account of the onset of polio as Dad Bill Dake might have written it. That would have been a traumatic experience for the family, as well as Dorothy. To have gotten the letters from your dad so regularly with the family news probably didn't seem as much of a treasure as they became later. Thank you for the way you presented his writing and your experience as best as you can remember it. Some things would remain as though it were yesterday.
I can only remember my dad crying once, and that was at the funeral of his best friend, Clyde Hemming, who had frozen to death hunting in the Armistice Day blizzard in Minnesota. That makes an indelible impression on a child.
The Homesteading Days continue, and each one has such a different subject. Each one so individually realistic in the word picture, and this time getting up that hill in the mud was one time Bruce would always remember. Especially their being scared to death in the dark woods.
The Travelogue with the picture of Kjirsten running at sunrise is almost worthy of being an advertisement. Please tell me how she could get up that early, and run on the soft, sandy beach. Oh yes, that's right, she is still young! We followed along with great interest as you described your food and eating area. And then the trip was coming to an end. We are so thankful you made it home safely, and thank you for all you shared.
I loved the Quotation for the day. There is something about an old broom that almost feels like an old friend as you sweep your way through the light snow on the sidewalk. It obeys your every move, and though a new broom is stiff and thorough, it has to be broken in.
So, I am hoping this LTTE is worthy of your approval once again, and that you are reassured of your efforts being much appreciated.
Roy and Betty Droel
To search a name in Who's Who or Who's Where: click on the link to open the page, then use CONTROL F on a PC or COMMAND F on a Mac. To search for a second occurrence of the name, use CONTROL G on a PC or COMMAND G on a Mac. (This works on ANY web page with text, unless the text is converted to an image. Chances are, it works in your e-mail, too.) HINT: Search by first name only, as most entries list the family name once but do not repeat the last name for each family member. In Who's Where you can search on state or city names, too.
Quotation for the day: Life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans. --John Lennon
EDITOR'S POLICY: If you wish to subscribe to The Bulletin, simply send me a statement of that fact. If you wish to keep receiving it I hope you will contribute to one of the columns that are running in this family epistle (at least occasionally!). My e-mail address is email@example.com
This Bulletin is copyright Dorothy M. Anderson; the contents are also copyrighted by the authors and photographers and used with their permission, and the contents are not to be used for any commercial purposes without the explicit consent of the creators.