May 2004
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taking care of mom
By Cate Preston | Photography by James Luning
 Dewain
and Eleanor Vallie made the decision almost 25 years ago to take
care Eleanor’s 94-year-old mother, Leona Jobin. It hasn’t
been easy on them or their marriage. But, they wouldn’t have
it any other way.
Dewain and Eleanor, parishioners of St. Ann Parish in Bellevue,
are celebrating 50 years of marriage this May. Nearly half of
those anniversaries have been celebrated in the company of three
– Dewain, Eleanor and Eleanor’s 94-year-old mother, Leona.
Although the permanent presence of a third often lessens the romance,
Eleanor and Dewain are always obliging, and have made many accommodations
since becoming Leona’s primary caregivers in 1980. Walkie-talkies
are used when Dewain and Eleanor are outdoors, and Leona has a bell
by the side of her bed for emergencies.
“My mother gets breakfast in bed every morning,” explains
Eleanor. “She never wakes up right away. My heart always stops
for a minute.” Leona likes for Dewain and Eleanor to keep their
bedroom door open at night, in case she calls for them. “Our
room is across from hers. We never shut our door,” shares Dewain.
In order to provide Leona with constant care, the couple even adjusted
their Sunday worship schedule. “There was a point when the
parishioners at St. Ann’s thought we had separated,” Eleanor
shares. “Dewain would go to Mass Saturday night, while I would
stay home with Ma. Then, I would go Sunday. One day, a friend pulled
me aside, and asked, ‘Is everything all right with you and
your husband?’ We both keep journals, Dewain and I, and we
consulted them. For five months, we had to go to separate Masses,
because Ma was sick and we couldn’t leave her.”
Planning ahead is also a necessity, to ensure wheelchair availability.
“K-mart has electric carts. The mall has wheelchairs. It’s
important to call ahead, especially at airports. Ma has to be in
a wheelchair when we go anywhere,” Dewain and Eleanor explain.
Leona also receives weekly massages from Sue Ann, a massage therapist.
“She has magic hands, and has kept Mother alive.”
The year Leona moved in with the Vallies
was a miserable one, remembers Eleanor. “We buried Dad
in June, and then in July, Mom got sick.” Eleanor, thinking
her mother was depressed, held off taking Leona to the doctor. “My
mother was very lethargic. I thought it was because of Dad’s
death. My sister said ‘No,’ to take her to the doctor.”
The doctor’s visit revealed that Leona had two tumors in her
lungs, in her upper and lower right lobes. “They were looking
for the primary tumor and scheduled surgery. I told the doctors,
‘I just lost my father, and I want to know if I should prepare
myself to lose my mother.’ They were 98% sure she had cancer.”
Leona’s tumors, however, turned out to be benign, and her health
got progressively better over the following months. What began as
nursing Leona back to health turned into a permanent living situation.
 For
Dewain and Eleanor, it was never a question of Leona living with
anyone but them. “It goes back to respecting your parents
and doing as you’re told,” Eleanor says with sincerity.
She attests that caring for her mother is a matter of duty rather
than faith, but adds, “I wouldn’t want to be in this situation
without it, though. Faith is my support.” Dewain agrees. “We’ve
got to take care of the parents,” he says. “It was our
generation. We called adults ‘sir’ and ‘madam.’”
Dewain, in fact, was the first to initiate Leona coming to live
with them permanently. Eleanor laughingly says, “It’s
my only salvation. Dewain is the one (who invited her).” She
continues, “My mother is not nursing home material. She can
take care of herself. Money is another reason why (she lives with
us). Assisted living is out of the question, because it’s so
expensive.”
In a house filled with icons of the Blessed Mother and images of
the Sacred Heart, it’s apparent that their Catholic faith is
important to Dewain and Eleanor. Eleanor is especially devoted
to the Virgin Mary. “I have always been devoted to my faith.
I pray the rosary every day. My mother does, too. We prayed together
for several years.”
Eleanor’s commitment to her faith is partly due to her
schooling. “When I was 10, I went to boarding school at the
Pines in Chatham, Ontario. The nuns cemented my faith. I credit
them with my morality and my deep faith in Our Lady. In my formative
years, I was closer to the nuns than to my mother.”
 At
one point in her life, Eleanor considered entering the convent.
“Dewain was the reason I didn’t enter,” she says.
Still, Eleanor always felt tied to the convent where she spent so
many years. “On our wedding day,” she recalls, “we
drove all the way to Chatham to see the nuns. Sixty miles in our
tux and wedding dress. We were young. We got married at 10 in the
morning, and were back in time for the reception.”
Years later, after Dewain retired from National Steel, and Eleanor
from a career in education, the couple opened a campground on their
Olivet property in 1981. The campground, they say, kept Leona alive.
“She ran the office. It gave my mother something to do, something
to live for,” Eleanor explains. Now fully retired, both Eleanor
and Dewain spend their days caring for Leona and being active in
their parish.
Certainly, caring for Leona demands a lot of sacrifice. Despite
her faith and Dewain’s constant support, the demands of caregiving
sometimes take their toll on Eleanor. She earnestly describes the
exhaustion that comes with caregiving. “I’m her servant.
If it was up to her, I wouldn’t do anything but sit and talk.
But, I have a house to run.”
“It feels good – to a point,” Dewain relates.
“It’s a sacrifice, a full-time job. It’s a lot of
responsibility. We have friends all over the country. We could go
anywhere we want, do anything – but we can’t.” It’s
the kind of job where the building never closes, and Dewain half-jokingly
mentions that office hours are 8 to 5. Even a weekend trip to Chicago
is no small matter, explains Dewain. “We don’t miss weddings
or dances anymore. We finally got to a point where we just say,
‘Let’s go.’”
 Part
of the difficulty of traveling is that arrangements must be made
for Leona’s care. The Vallies opt for family members over professional
caregivers. Usually, they take Leona to stay with Eleanor’s
sister, Bernadette.
Eleanor says bluntly, “The other kids have grown and left home,
but I’m still living at home with my mother. I feel as if I’m
15 years old. We hear the same story, in terms of caregiving, from
others.”
Leona is sometimes affectionately referred to as “the boss.”
However, in some situations, her strong will is overruled. For instance,
in the early 1980s, when the couple moved to their home in Olivet,
Eleanor says there was a discrepancy as to who would get the master
bedroom. “When we moved in, Ma said she wanted the bigger room.
Dewain said, ‘Absolutely not.’ Ma pretty much gets her
way, but at that point, I thought, ‘I’m not going to lose
my marriage over my mother.’ When we got married, our priest
told us, ‘This is for life, this is forever.’”
For Eleanor, being a caregiver isn’t a question of reversed
parenting. “She’s the mother, and she’ll stay the
mother.”
Ever independent, Leona certainly holds her own in the household.
“One time, I was telling her what to do, and I knew she didn’t
want to hear it,” Eleanor recalls with a laugh. “She looked
at me and she shut off her hearing aid.”
Eleanor and Dewain’s generosity extends far beyond caring for
Leona. Thirty five years ago, while Eleanor’s father was
still living, Eleanor and Dewain’s home acted as her parents’
permanent address. “They had a mobile home in Florida and a
home in Northern Michigan,” Eleanor says. “Our house was
their home base, their go-between. When Dad died, Mom sold both
places.” In addition, the Vallies have welcomed family members
to stay with them during times of financial stress and hardship,
and they are loving godparents to a young girl from their parish,
who has Down Syndrome.
Both of the Vallies’ children, Dewain and Mary Jo, have inherited
their parents’ gift of caring. “Our son takes care of
his grandfather’s grave on the East side of the state,”
Dewain senior says of his father-in-law’s burial place. Mary
Jo is an RN in Arkansas, who has worked in nursing homes, caring
for the elderly. Dewain and Eleanor joke about their later years,
and that Mary Jo has already promised to set them up in a home “next
to” hers. Their son has told them, “You don’t have
to worry. I’ve seen how you have cared for Grandma and Grandpa.”
Eleanor and Dewain shrug away praise and admiration, feeling that
this is merely what they are called to do. Eleanor says simply,
“The people at church say, ‘Your place in heaven is set.’
But I say, at the golden gates the Lord will say, ‘I sent you
one itty bitty cross to bear and all you did was complain!’”
We don’t say ‘retire’
–
catch up with a very active
senior priest: Fr. Frank Williams
By Nancy Schertzing | Photography by Christine Jones
 On
Fridays, they celebrated “Holy Hour.” At 4 p.m. sharp,
11 retired priests and the staff of the St. Francis Retreat Center
would gather at 401A Madison St. Their host, Bishop Povish,
welcomed them to his apartment, fixed them all “refreshments”
to drink and chatted informally with them. At 5 p.m. sharp, the
guests returned to their homes and “Holy Hour” ended.
This tradition held a place of honor on Fr. Frank Williams’
social calendar until shortly before Bishop Povish’s death
last fall. But even without it, Fr. Frank’s calendar
is impressively full. Monday night dinner bunch, monthly dinners
with his Emmaus group, and his beloved University of Michigan Concert
Society events keep him happily occupied at 78 years old in his
– well, let’s just call it his current status. “We
don’t use the term ‘retirement,’” he says, with
a twinkle in his eye. “They call us ‘senior priests,’
but we don’t even fade away!”
As if to illustrate his point, the phone rings. He speaks briefly
to the young woman with whom he has spoken almost daily since an
operation left her homebound a few months earlier. He got to know
her through his volunteer work at St. Paul Parish in Owosso. Every
Sunday, he drives the 31 miles from his apartment in DeWitt to celebrate
a morning Mass at St. Paul’s. After Mass, he often visits St.
Paul parishioners in area hospitals before returning home.
His weekday schedule almost always includes saying Mass at some
church or school in the diocese. One morning this week, for
example, he will rise at 5:30 a.m. to celebrate an 8 o’clock
children’s Mass at St. Joseph Parish in nearby St. Johns. Another
evening, he might hear confessions at the Retreat Center or at a
penance service in the region. Almost apologetically, this near
octogenarian explains that he only does “one Mass a day now,
because it takes so much out of me. But some of the guys out here
take whole weekends to help out at area parishes.”
Asked if the diocese requires senior priests to help out as a
condition of living in their apartments, Fr. Frank immediately smiles.
“Oh no, no. Saying Mass isn’t a condition of living here,”
he assures. “It’s just that when you know what these men
(younger fellow priests) are going through – they’re just
working their hearts out – you just can’t say no when
they call. You want to do what you can.”
He pauses for a moment and then adds, “I think you also like
to be in contact with the people. I only go to St. Paul’s once
a week, but the people are absolutely wonderful. Absolutely wonderful!
“When I think back on my career now, and ask myself why I went
into the priesthood, I think the real essence is that (as a priest)
I can relate with people at the very center of their being,”
he muses. “Maybe through the sacraments, you’re able to
bring a connection to the people. I’m not sure why, but in
every instance, you’re dealing with people on a deeper level.”
 Fr.
Frank can speak with authority on this subject. “I’m one
of those ‘second career’ guys,” he explains. After
14 years as Comptroller at McLaren Hospital in Flint and 10 years
as a CPA in private practice before that, Frank Williams entered
seminary in 1973. Ordained in 1977, Fr. Frank was one of the first
men to graduate from a seminary exclusively for men choosing priesthood
after a previous career.
Upon ordination, Fr. Frank was assigned to St. Paul Parish,
Owosso. There, he began a lifelong friendship with Bishop
Povish, who immediately appointed him to serve on the Diocesan Finance
Council. Fr. Frank recently resigned from that council after 23
years of service. Around the same time, the bishop asked Fr. Frank
to serve on the Presbyteral Council, also from which he has recently
resigned.
After gaining a couple years’ experience at St. Paul’s,
Fr. Frank became pastor of St. Joseph Parish, Adrian. He
served there 15 years, ministering and bringing God’s word
into people’s lives. “You think about the babies you baptize,
and the ‘little monkeys’ coming up for their first Communion,”
he smiles. “The weddings and funerals – I think I have
a sense of fulfillment I wouldn’t have gotten if I’d stayed
at the hospital.” He reflects back over his years in the parish,
saying, “I’ve had some tough assignments, but they’ve
all turned out good. I had a great bishop.”
In 1994, a serious heart attack forced Fr. Frank into retirement
at age 68. He recalls the night after his heart attack when
the tests were finally over and he could look forward to getting
some desperately needed sleep. He had settled in about 10:30 at
night and was on the verge of slumber, when suddenly, the lights
came on in his room and the curtain around his bed flew open. He
looked up startled to see Bishop Povish standing at his bedside.
Surprised and, to be honest, a bit frustrated at the disruption,
Fr. Frank looked at him and asked, “What are you doing here?”
In retelling the story, Fr. Frank smiles, cocks his head to one
side, purses his lips and speaks in a gravelly voice out the side
of his mouth to sound amazingly like his old friend. “Frank,”
the bishop replied, “I ordained you!” Remembering, Fr.
Frank smiles and shakes his head fondly. “When you lay down
before your bishop and pledge obedience, do you ever stop to think
he does the same for you?” he marvels. “You don’t
have to go through many experiences like this to get to know a guy.”
 Though
his heart hadn’t suffered severe damage, Fr. Frank’s condition
wasn’t curable with surgery. His health problems forced
him to relinquish his parish and go into retirement. He left Adrian
and moved into a comfortable little apartment in Flint. Very soon,
however, he became aware the Diocese of Lansing was building retirement
housing near the St. Francis Retreat Center. Fr. Frank inquired,
and soon became the first resident of the apartments on Madison
Street, DeWitt. Within a month or two, he had a new neighbor –
Bishop Povish.
The two men lived side-by-side for a number of years, keeping an
eye on each other and the new members of their senior priest community.
Through drug therapy, Fr. Frank’s condition improved enough
that his arteries are now mostly clear. For the bishop, medical
technology prolonged his life, but not as effectively as it has
Fr. Frank’s. In August 2003, the community of senior priests
held its last “Holy Hour” with their beloved bishop. Two
weeks later, they gathered around his hospital bed with Bishop Mengeling
to give him the Last Rites and whisper their goodbyes. Bishop Povish
died later that night.
“I’ve never had a boss I didn’t like,” Fr. Frank
says. “But Bishop Povish was more than a boss.”
Though they miss their old neighbor, the senior priests of Fr. Frank’s
community continue their service and socializing as they always
have. Lazy days and busy days, Monday night dinner out, celebrating
Masses and penance services – they’re all part of the
“retirement” life of Diocese of Lansing priests. “I
couldn’t think of a finer diocese for a man to work for,”
confides this senior priest. Obviously, Fr. Frank isn’t planning
to fade away any time soon!
Coming Home:
The Adrian Dominican Life Center
 They
arrived many years earlier at the Mother House – young women
embarking on a journey through lives devoted to God. For years,
they taught, ministered, nursed, worked for social justice and shaped
future generations by their examples. Now they return 50, 60, even
70 years later to close out their lives where their adult journeys
began.
The Dominican Life Center
supports these extraordinary women in a secure, holistic environment
where Adrian Dominican Sisters can live out the final days of their
life journey. The Dominican Life Center offers a continuum of care
from congregate living – independence within a group residential
setting – to assisted living, up to round-the-clock nursing
care for those who need it. Regardless of the level of support required,
every resident of the Dominican Life Center receives care designed
to promote her dignity and enable her to function optimally.
If an Adrian Dominican
Sister has guided you in your life’s journey and you want to
help support her in retirement, consider making a donation to support
the Dominican Life Center. Contributions can be made to the Adrian
Dominican Sisters Office of Development, 1257 East Siena Heights
Dr., Adrian, MI 49221.
killed in Iraq:
how D.J.’s family
found comfort
By Bob Horning | Photography by Christine
Jones
 At
home in Concord, 15 miles west of Jackson, D.J. Wheeler liked to
shoot baskets with his friends. In Tikrit, Iraq, 90 miles north
of Baghdad, D.J. and his Army buddies were getting shot at every
day.
In Concord, he enjoyed cruising in his truck. But in Iraq, his cruiser
was the Bradley Fighting Vehicle. Wheeler planned to return home
to Concord after the war, get married and work in the family business.
Meanwhile, he had unfinished business in Iraq. He was devoted to
the Army mission, often on duty for 20 hours, with only four hours
off. He was carrying out his stated desire “to help our country
fight against evil.”
Then, on Oct. 13, 2003, two Army personnel dressed in uniform
drove up to the Wheeler home. D.J.’s mother, Mary Cay,
who earlier in the day had heard on the news that a gunner in Tikrit
had been killed, knew that she and her husband, Don, had lost their
6’4”, 22-year-old son. D.J.’s fellow soldiers in
Iraq had lost a brother. One of them, learning that D.J. was hit,
says through his sobs, “How will I continue without my buddy,
Wheeler?” And the kids in Tikrit lost a friend – one who
handed out candy and one-dollar bills to them – items he frequently
requested in his letters home.
Donald Laverne Wheeler, Jr. didn’t enlist in the Army with
his eyes closed. Before graduating Lumen Christi High School
in 1999, he had thought about it off and on. But after Sept. 11,
2001, he knew he had to join. His mother recalls, “He told
me that he would miss the birthdays, the graduations, the parties
back home, but the sacrifice was worth it to him.” D.J. has
eight brothers and three sisters.
He was also aware of the physical danger. His sister, Andrea,
relates what he said to friends when asked what he would do if he
were injured in Iraq. “I wouldn’t leave,” he said.
“I would stay and fight.”
D.J.’s father describes his son as “a good kid. He liked
to have fun. He liked his music loud. At work, we would get
his characteristic wink as he walked by.” He also had a famous
smile that, in the Army, earned him the nickname “Sunshine.”
“My first reaction to his death was anger, and sadness about
all that he would never be able to do,” his dad says. “And
it is still tough for me when I handle some of the equipment that
he used to handle. I think about him all the time.
“I cried and felt sorry, but I didn’t lose control. I
wanted to be there, to be strong in faith for the kids. And I was
able to see the bigger picture. It’s comforting that he is
in a better place,” D.J.’s father continues.
“When D.J. enlisted, he expected that the army would make him
a better, stronger person. He was right. He grew up a lot in
a short time. When he called home, he never complained, despite
it being a ‘hell hole’ – 130 degrees, stuck in a
tank, being shot at.”
Andrea also remembers his maturity, saying, “He was always
a fun-loving, goofy kid, but he had morals and was 100 percent behind
his family. Normally, he would tell me everything –
but he didn’t tell any of us much of what was going on over
there, so that we wouldn’t worry. That’s the kind of man
he had become.”
 After
finishing basic training at Fort Benning, Ga., D.J. was sent to
Fort Hood, Texas, and then to Guantanamo in Cuba to guard Afghani
Taliban prisoners. In April 2003, he was deployed to Iraq.
As he was leaving, his mother asked him if he had everything.
“He didn’t mention his Playstation or anything else,”
she remembers. “He just patted his breast pocket, where he
kept his rosary and prayer book, and said, ‘I have everything
I need.’”
He had been trained at Fort Hood as a driver for the Bradley
vehicle, which was his first assignment in Iraq. Right away, he
hung a crucifix in the Bradley to be next to him while driving.
Within six months, D.J. became a gunner, a promotion that usually
takes much longer.
During his short time overseas, D.J. affected many people. His
tank commander wrote to the Wheeler family after their son’s
death: “I chose his Bradley to assign my squad and myself to
because he was the best at his job, and I knew he would keep us
safe. Your son provided a strong source of motivation for everyone
around him and had many friends in the Company. ... When Donald
was called upon, he answered loud and thunderously with pride, honor
and personal courage. Fear and challenges do not intimidate brave
men like your son. Donald was dedicated to the men he served with
and will be remembered not only as a soldier, an infantryman and
a friend, but he will also be remembered as a hero.”
Lt. Col. Steven Russell, the commander of 1st Battalion (mechanized),
in which D.J. served, called D.J.’s family and expressed similar
feelings. D.J.’s parents told him, “God will honor the
blood he shed in the dirt of Tikrit. He and St. Michael (D.J.’s
confirmation name) are with you to help you and watch your back.
D.J. may not be answering roll call, but he is there until you are
home and the mission accomplished.”
The Wheelers have received many phone calls and letters from
parents who have sons that served with D.J. “One wife told
us that men are turning to God as a result of D.J.’s witness,”
they say. “When we thanked her for her politeness, she continued,
‘No. I really mean it. My husband is talking about God a lot
more and soldiers are being baptized in the Tigris River. He had
a big effect on them.’”
When D.J. would write home, one of the things he mentioned was that
he prayed for all of his family everyday by saying the rosary.
“It’s the only way to stay sane here with all that is
going on,” he wrote. “But be strong. It will all work
out in the end. Someone is watching over us here. I can feel Him.”
D.J.’s death continued to influence people at his funeral
at Queen of the Miraculous Medal Church in Jackson. The church was
packed. After Mary Cay’s eulogy of her son, she received a
standing ovation. One woman, who had been thinking about becoming
Catholic, was so moved that she later told Mary Cay that she had
decided to convert for sure, “if this is what being Catholic
means.”
After the Mass, the procession route to the cemetery in Concord
was lined with all sorts of people, including high school bands,
friends and businessmen. Yellow ribbons hung from many trees along
the way. “We received tremendous support from the community
and our family,” Don Wheeler says.
Though they lost a son, his parents still speak out strongly about
the life and freedom he fought to protect. D.J.’s parents
say that it is terrible whenever anyone is killed in war. “Now
we know what these families go through,” they explain. “Nevertheless,
we don’t want the media focus on the deaths in Iraq to keep
the U.S. from finishing the fight. Just think, if there would have
been a TV crew on D-Day in World War II when we lost thousands of
men in one day.”
They believe that to leave Iraq now would be a waste. “Our
son was there because he believed in the mission – to free
people from evil,” they say. “It is evil that kills people,
not God. We Americans need to do our part, to sacrifice as D.J.
did, in order to bring peace to the world. Love is what changes
the world.
“He found God in the most evil place. Under the weight
of the cross, we find God. God is so good. May other families in
our situation find the peace that he found and we have found.”
Mother's Day Devotion
A hand-made gift will warm her heart
By Patricia Majher | Photography by Philip Shippert
 What
do you do to honor your mother on Mother’s Day?
Do you take her out for a nice meal, or perhaps buy her a big bouquet?
This year, try something different, something lasting, by making
her a piece of jewelry – a beaded bracelet. Then, make it meaningful
by integrating into the design the symbols of her faith.
The practice of wearing such symbols – crosses, crucifixes,
fish, doves and angels to name a few – is thought to have originated
in pagan times, when people wore amulets around their necks to ward
off evil spirits. In an effort to ease the transition to Christian
ways, the Church adopted the amulet concept, but replaced the accompanying
bags of herbs with simple wooden crosses.
During the medieval period, Christians who visited places of pilgrimage
collected coin-like tokens that served as a stimulus to devotion,
while at the same time attesting to the fact that they had truly
reached their destination. These tokens, which were cast in lead,
were among the earliest forms of medals, and were worn in a conspicuous
way on a hat or pinned to a coat.
Tokens continued to be popular until the 16th or 17th century, when
they were replaced by medals of bronze or silver, executed in an
artistic way.
Today, the symbols of Christianity can be found in a variety
of materials, including metal, wood, glass, clay, plastic, bone
and stone. For the purposes of this bracelet project, gold-
or silver-toned metal is an affordable choice. The symbols, called
‘charms’ in the jewelry industry, can be purchased at
bead stores for about $2 apiece.
Once you’ve selected the charms and beads you want to use,
set up an assembly station on a tray or plate, or even in a bowl.
This will contain the beads, in case they come unstrung. You
can make a stretch bracelet in half an hour. The memory wire bracelet,
however, may take an hour to finish, especially if you decide to
arrange the elements in a random fashion.
 Stretch
Bracelet
9 inches of elastic cord
9-12 large-holed beads (e.g., metal,
wood, glass, clay, plastic, bone or stone)
10-13 spacers in a metal that
complements the beads
1 large charm
Bead cement
Toothpick
Begin slipping beads and spacers onto the elastic
in an alternating pattern. After stringing all the beads and spacers,
add a single, large charm. These instructions are for a standard-sized
bracelet, but feel free to test it on your own wrist before finishing
the bracelet. Make sure it’s tight enough, so that it won’t
slip off. If necessary, trim the elastic slightly. When you’re
satisfied with the size, knot the elastic. With a toothpick, dot
the knot with bead cement. Once the cement is dry – approximately
15 minutes – push the knot into the nearest bead hole.
Memory Wire Bracelet
 11-12
inches of memory wire
A handful of assorted large-holed beads
5-6 charms
5-6 jump loops
Round-nose pliers
Wire cutters
With the round-nose pliers, form a loop at one end of the wire to
keep the beads you will string from falling off. Hang charms on
jump loops. String beads and charms onto the wire in either an alternating
or random fashion. Be sure the beads you’ve chosen have large
enough holes; don’t force small holed beads onto the wire.
As you work, check to see that the beads lie next to each other
well. Large beads on adjacent coils may crowd each other and prevent
the coils from lying smoothly. When you’ve filled the wire
with charms and beads, add a final charm and use the round-nose
pliers to form a closing loop.
did you know ...
That the first observance of Mother’s Day in America occurred
in Albion, Mich., on the second Sunday in May, 1887? On that
day, Juliet Calhoun Blakeley was celebrating her birthday by attending
services at the local Methodist Episcopal church. During the service,
the pastor became distraught about the recent intemperate behavior
of his son and abruptly left the pulpit. Blakeley stepped forward
to take over the service and called other mothers to join her. Her
sons, who were traveling salesmen, were so moved by her gesture
that they vowed to return to Albion every year to mark her birthday.
And they urged business associates and others they met on the road
to honor their mothers on the second Sunday in May. Anna Jarvis
of Philadelphia is credited with bringing about the official observance
of Mother’s Day, however. Through her efforts, the holiday
was proclaimed by a joint resolution of Congress in 1914.
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