Writing Report (in addition to this column): The Pottsville entry for The Arkansas Encyclopedia is at last finished. Charles Oates has given me a final reading, and after pointing out three factual corrections has pronounced it worthy of submission. All I have to do now is complete the bibliography, proofread for mechanical errors, and put it in the mail. I am also going to send “Pottsville Centennial,” a supplement to The Atkins Chronicle, published April 30, 1997, and that remarkable picture of Potts Inn with the replica of a red Butterfield Stagecoach drawn by four white horses that Van took for this year’s Butterfield Days celebration.

I am only three months late; however, when I called Tom Dillard and told him that my computer had crashed and I lost my entire writing, he extended my time.

The whole project has been far more work than I imagined when I volunteered because of having to verify every statement and having to keep within (in the case of towns) 1,500 words. As you all know, I am long-winded, so that is extremely difficult. Further, Pottsville has a colorful history, and far more historical material exists than I could possibly use; however, I wanted to look at it all in order to get a balanced perspective.

I must say that I have learned lots about my beloved Arkansas River Valley, even an overview of Arkansas history I didn’t know; further, I have met a number of unforgettable people. For these reasons I cannot in any sense regret having undertaken the project.

Health Report: I am confident that you are tired of hearing about my desire for three transplants: a new lower back, a new bladder, and a few brain cells. But I must declare that I am heartened by the seeming good results of my vow to heal and strengthen my back without taking any pain medicine. I have to admit that my doctors did not force any on me. I did whine to them; however, after trying three different pain relievers and finding that all of them made me feel fuzzy, almost drunk (so that I was in constant fear of falling), I resolved to live with the pain no matter how bad.

I settled on this regime: an hour of sit and tone followed by a half hour light aerobics on Monday and Wednesday mornings; an hour of yoga on Tuesdays and Thursdays. One Friday I will continue with my Hispanic pupil Raphael polishing his use of the fair amount of English he has learned in the past. We have been meeting twice a week, but we are going to meet only once a week until my back gets better. And on Saturdays I am giving myself a real treat, a massage from a former student, Jim Weatherl. He definitely has a superior touch. I had a good masseur in Key West, and I was pleased to find Jim every bit as good. Jim got interested in touch therapy when he was in one of my classes and asked me if I would try his therapy of reflexology on my feet. I did so, more to please him then myself, but I found it satisfying.

Thus I have completed my first week and am glad to report that I feel better.

Spouse Report: Mr. Les Grady my new husband is still pretty special. He has need for a few new brain cells, as I do; however, his medical regime, as he says, keeps him going. He is still strong and able to lift things that I cannot, and he checks off a fair sized chore list every day. He is my high-class chauffeur, as well as the best heating pad I ever enjoyed. I do hate winter.

Kitty Report: Our kitty that adopted us has become old enough to have had her “neutering” surgery, but still behaves as a kitten, in that she demands that Les or I stop whatever we are doing and stroke her and play some sort of game with her. Her name is Sheila Oatmeal; her game is no one in particular. A string, a belt, a feather, a pill bottle with something in it for rattling will suffice, but she wants to know we are paying attention. I accuse Les of trying to make a Tomboy out of her. When she jumps on the bed every time we are making it up, she will take swipes at either or us with her paws. Les will respond by making fists and assuming a macho boxing stance and punching at her saying, “Hey, Girl Cat, do you want to box?” And she will rise up on her back legs and start swiping. She knows what that means. Les gets quite a kick out of that. When she runs and leaps, we are sure that she is an acrobat.

Joy Report: Yes! Despite my ailments, I can experience joy. And joy came down at All Saints Episcopal Church Sunday afternoon as the Community Chorale, directed by Louis Welcher, presented a thrilling concert of Christmas music. I experienced tremors in my central nervous system and surges of tears as the songs ranged from delicate piano to piercing fortissimo as the Christmas story was told again — a true blessing from on high.