We're Not in Kansas Anymore - a Column by Helen Baldwin
Helen partners with Randy, her “retired” husband of 46 years, in assorted endeavors: a rental cabin, carpet dry-cleaning business, and bees — lots of bees! — and all that goes with them, namely honey and beeswax products. Her favorite role is “MomMom” to Clara and James. Originally from Texas, Helen taught kindergarteners with orthopedic and multiple disabilities after a move to Columbia, South Carolina. A few years later, Helen, Randy, and their children, Matthew and Katie, moved close to the Blue Ridge Parkway in North Carolina. In the spring of 1997, they welcomed baby Jeffrey, a big surprise harboring an even bigger one — spinal muscular atrophy. Helen’s teaching expertise was called into action until their precious little guy snagged his wings at 5-1/2 months. She wrote a book, “The Jeffrey Journey,” about their special assignment and is delighted to continue sharing in her column, “We’re Not in Kansas Anymore.”
Because my husband, Randy, and I had neither furniture nor money when we got married, we lived in furnished apartments for the first couple of years. We purchased the furniture in one of our last apartments for a ridiculously low price. When we bought our first house, my parents…
I don’t know what it is about the end of daylight saving time that rustles my brain when the sun goes down. Maybe it’s because we think of secretive things emerging at night, and now it gets dark at 5:30. As time backed up this month, my “barn doors…
The insidious nature of SMA type 1 that was affecting our baby Jeffrey intensified in October 1997. While relatively calm moments occasionally appeared after a disastrous pulmonary consultation earlier in the month, Jeffrey began experiencing respiratory distress to the point of needing morphine. My frazzled mind filled with…
My late mother, an accomplished pianist named JoAnn Derden, used to perform double-piano concerts with her sister, who insisted that the music — intricate, demanding classics — be memorized. Mom begrudgingly obliged. When those stressful days ended, Mom enjoyed improvising and playing two-piano music with me — no memorization…
It’s officially fall in the U.S.! The weather here in the North Carolina mountains has been stupendous. I could almost hear our assorted fans breathe a collective sigh of relief when we finally turned them off at times and even closed some windows at night to keep from rousing the…
I spent a small fortune on cute books for the kindergarteners I taught at Brockman School, then a self-contained public school in Columbia, South Carolina. The students, many with severe disabilities, delighted in hearing the animated voices of the stories I read to them. My own children, Matthew and…
Sunday afternoon’s dreary skies and light rain tempted me mightily to crawl onto the recliner and drift right off. I doubt I could’ve counted to 10 before unconscious bliss took over — momentarily, anyway. It was also a dreary day for our older dog, Maple, a boxer whose mobility virtually…
For years, slogans with the “F-bomb” (for a certain expletive) have expressed utter contempt for catastrophic diseases, social injustices, or whatever else riles folks up. The first such campaign I remember was about cancer. I certainly didn’t disagree with the desire to eliminate the ravages of the disease, but as…
When I was growing up in Fort Worth, Texas, our family vacations were precious getaways. Time and money constraints kept us primarily in Texas, but there was plenty to do. During one summer trip to south Texas, we walked across the border to Mexico on a dreadfully sweltering August day.
Unlike most days when I draft my column, I had this one all figured out. Recent brain sparks of potential topics provided me with such confidence. I plopped down at the computer earlier than usual on Sunday to tend to a few odds and ends before getting down to the…