Meet Abel Jacob


Big sister got a peak at her brand-spanking new brother on Saturday.

Abel Jacob made a record breaking entrance into the world.

He was born 8 minutes after mom got to the hospital.

He’s either going to be a sprinter or have a heck of a fastball.


There’s something about seeing my boy holding his boy.

Oh boy. Give me a tissue.

The grand total is now 8.

In 2030, they will all be teenagers —

one 18 year old, two 17 year olds, two 16 year olds, one 15 year old and two 13 year olds.

More tissues, please.

“Come, my children, listen to me; I will teach you the fear of the Lord.”

Psalm 34:11

My NCAA Champ

It’s March Madness — that wonderful time of year when the fans of 67 teams get mad because their hoopsters got knocked out of the bracket, while the fans of 1 team get to go completely berserk and set things on fire.

Back in 1941, the NCAA tournament included eight teams and nine non-televised games. There was no bracket, no Clark Kellogg, and no Vegas odds. Ah, the good old days.

Also, the trophy was way cooler than it is now.


Wisconsin won that year.

They beat Washington State 39-34.

It was the last time the Badgers won the NCAA championship.

My uncle was on that team.

Can you pick him out in this picture?


No, he wasn’t number 35 — that’s the big man, Gene Englund.

Nope, my uncle didn’t wear number 36 either. That’s Johnny Kotz, the tournament’s most outstanding player.

Uncle Morris isn’t in the first row or the second row.

He’s not number 26 in the back row.

In fact, he doesn’t have a number.

My uncle is the guy on the far left of the picture in the suit and tie, standing right behind Head Coach Bud Foster.


He was the team manager.

(At least he didn’t have to wear those goofy socks attached to what looks like knee pads. What in the world?)

My uncle, Morris Bradley, was a 22 year old college student and he was having the time of his life.

When the team got back to Madison in the wee hours of a rainy March night, they were greeted by hundreds of fans. The champions were given a ride around the Capitol in a fire engine. Unfortunately, the fire engine caught fire so the parade was cut short. A reporter from the Cap Times newspaper quoted my uncle as saying, “Everybody had to pile off, and we were on our own from then on.” So I guess you could say they started a fire in Madison that night.

This year, as we cheer on our teams, let’s tip our hats to the guys on the bench with the water bottles and clip boards. In honor of my Uncle Morris.




This is a picture of me.

Or, I should say, a picture of my DNA.

For Christmas I received an Ancestry DNA kit. is a genealogy site that helps people research their family history and connect with long lost relatives. Through the use of DNA testing, a person’s ethnicity can be discovered.

So, I spit some of my saliva into a little tube and put it in the mail.

Then I waited.

And wondered.

What secrets might be hiding in my DNA? Would I turn out to be a descendant of a Viking warrior? Might I have the blood of an Indian princess? Could I be in the line of English royalty?

Or would I turn out to be connected to a ruthless dictator or an infamous criminal or a lady of ill repute?

This morning the results were in. That little dab of spittle showed that my ethnicity is:

  • 50% from Great Britain. (No surprise there.)
  • 27% from Western Europe (Yep, knew that.)
  • 12% from Eastern Europe (Uh huh.)
  • 10% from Ireland (Wait. What?)

Somehow a wee Irishman jigged his way into my family tree unbeknownst to me.

Or maybe my Scottish cousin got tossed around in his boat and landed on the coast of Ireland by mistake.

This must explain why my kids loved Lucky Charms.


It’s a good week to discover I’m 1/10 Irish!

Introducing Emma Kate

The newest twig on the family tree has arrived!

Introducing Emma Kate.


She has her very own fan club.


Emma decided to give PB a special birthday present. Herself!


Birthday buddies forever!


It never gets old.

“Even when I am old and gray, do not forsake me, my God, till I declare Your power to the next generation, Your mighty acts to all who are to come. Psalm 71:18

The Wedding of ’46

My parents were married on February 23, 1946. World War II had just ended and my dad was desperately trying to get released so he could take the next train home and marry his girl. My mother was working in Madison, Wisconsin, waiting for her sailor to come ashore.

This is from one of my dad’s letters to his parents, dated Feb. 8, 1946.

“I’ll be home Thursday, Feb. 14th for a 31 day leave in Wisconsin!! Thirty one days in Wisconsin — it will be perfectly grand. If it is possible, I think Elinor and I will want to be married — that is, if it can be worked out okay. Thirty one days is plenty of time — a week or so to get ready for the wedding, then a honeymoon and a week or so at each home. I tell you truthfully that Elinor and I want very much to be married. Thirty one days is a long time — we are very much in love.”

I guess Grandpa and Grandma agreed, because the wedding took place 15 days later.

Here’s to love!



dsc_0032These are my favorites.

Every single one of them.

dsc_0067The reds are my favorite.

dsc_0068The greens are my favorite, too.

dsc_0055The boys are my favorites.

dsc_0066And the girls are my favorites.

Romans 2:11 says, “For God does not show favoritism.” 

I get it.

We are all His favorites.

Someone’s in the Kitchen with Dinah

My dad was a Navy seaman aboard the USS Fanshaw Bay when World War II came to an end. He was stationed in Japan after the surrender and wrote home to his parents about his experiences in Tokyo. One night, he and his Navy buddies got tickets to a show where the orchestra played popular American songs.  On December 5, 1945, he wrote, “Much to our surprise, some numbers were even sung in English, like ‘Blue Skies’ and ‘Dinah'”.


My dad was singing my name before I was even a dim glimmer in his eye.

Unfortunately, “Dinah” isn’t the only song with my name in it. Another ditty that I have heard over and over is “I’ve Been Working on the Railroad” which contains the lovely chorus, “Dinah won’t you blow, Dinah won’t you blow, Dinah won’t you blow your horn.” The lyrics go on to say, “Someone’s in the kitchen with Dinah, strumming on the old banjo.”


I don’t know who this Dinah was, and I don’t know who was strumming on the banjo or why they were in the kitchen.

However, my name is Dinah. I have a kitchen. And with a bit of coercion, I could probably talk PB into strumming a banjo.

“Someone’s In the Kitchen with Dinah” is an idea that is brewing. Why not invite all the best cooks I know to come into my virtual kitchen and share their best recipes? I tried the idea out on a few people — my daughters, my husband, a dear friend and a stranger I was seated next to at a wedding reception. All five thought it was a wonderful plan.

To be fair, Dinah Shore did write a cook book by this name.


My dad had a poster of Dinah Shore on board ship.

Is all this a coincidence?


This idea will simmer on the back burner in my kitchen for awhile.

In the meantime, I’ll keep my eyes open for a banjo.