What’s in a Name?

Posted on August 14, 2026 by Andrea R Huelsenbeck

When people ask me my last name, I usually immediately spell it. Generally, a conversation ensues: Is it German? (or sometimes, Is it Dutch?) Yes, it’s German. It should be spelled “Hülsenbeck,” and the u with the umlaut should be pronounced as if your lips were saying oo but your voice was saying ee. But we pronounce it like Holsenbeck.

If people see my name, they often ask how to say it. (See the above paragraph.) So for me, the whole topic of names is complicated. I often tell people I really stepped up in the world when I married Greg Huelsenbeck, because my maiden name was Rannertshauser.

Yes, my parents came from Germany. My whole educational experience, from kindergarten through the first semester of my senior year in college (I married Greg during winter break), was clouded by that name.

When I was little, I said my last name the way my parents said it. Fast, and with a German accent. Rrrrunnitzhowsah. That required many repetitions and then a spelling or two or three. Americans could not get their brains around it. I learned to slow it down and give it a more Americanized pronunciation: Ran-erts-how-ser. But it still required a spelling, something I could not do from memory until the end of first grade. (Until then, I had to copy it from a name tag on my desk.)

Freshman year in college, my name was still met with incredulity. I remember introducing myself, as we did in those days, with my first name only, Andie (which I don’t use anymore because Greg won’t call me that). One boy asked me what my last name was, and after several repeats and spellings, he said, “I’m sorry, I’m going to call you Andie Alphabet Soup.” And he did. Often from across the quad. I called him Rick Swim, because that’s what he liked to do, and I wasn’t about to use his real name (I can’t remember if I even knew it).

A few years ago, my brother got married. I asked his bride if she was going to take Bill’s last name, fully expecting her to say no, thank you. But she said yes. I was totally surprised. Knowing how I suffered with that name, I can’t imagine anyone adopting it voluntarily.

I guess she really loves my brother.

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Video of the Day: The Mummer’s Dance

Posted on August 11, 2026 by Andrea R Huelsenbeck

Years ago, I was obsessed with this quirky video. Enjoy.

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Review of The China Bulldog by Judy Dykstra-Brown

Posted on August 7, 2026 by Andrea R Huelsenbeck

I’ve loved Judy’s poems ever since I stumbled on her blog 10 years ago (where she posts a new poem or two every day). The China Bulldog, subtitled And Other Tales of a Small-Town Girl, contains poems and essays about her childhood in rural South Dakota. It’s illustrated with vintage photos of her family. I’m close to Judy in age, so the photos trigger memories of my own small-town childhood, with similar architecture, furniture, clothing, hairstyles, toys, etc., even though I grew up on the other side of the country, in New Jersey.

The story called “Five Gifts for my Sister” gave me one of those flashbacks, when Judy mentions giving her sister a box of “old aluminum tinsel.” The tinsel of my childhood was actually lead foil. Its weight made it hang straight down, unlike the modern plastic tinsel. And the correct procedure Judy described for placing it on the tree reminded me so of my mother’s admonitions–evenly spaced, “draped on the ends of branches so it hung just to the top of the next branch without lapping over,” and never just thrown on the tree–horrors!

The essay “Hail, Hail” is about the family getting a shiny new green Oldsmobile, and Judy’s mother deciding to allow 17-year-old sister Patty drive Judy to summer camp, 200 miles away. Just before arriving at the camp, they were caught in a severe hailstorm that “marbled” the car’s windshield and cratered every inch of the new car’s surface. Now, if that had happened to me, I would have been terrified to drive it back home, suspecting that when my parents saw it, I would somehow be blamed. But throughout the book, Judy reveals her parents’ characters by their words and actions. About the damaged car, Dad said, “Accidents happen. It wasn’t your fault.” Mom said, “I never really liked that color of green anyway.” I’m guessing insurance paid for a replacement, because Judy’s parents picked her up in a brand-new rose-colored Pontiac Bonneville.

My favorite story in the whole book is “Zippy,” about their pet raccoon. Yes. Hysterical.

Who we are in our adulthood is significantly influenced by our upbringing and where we were raised. Judy Dykstra-Brown does a wonderful job of portraying her early life on the prairie. I was transported by her vivid descriptions and reminiscences. This book is definitely worth reading. And rereading.

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Review of Dear Theo edited by Irving Stone

Posted on August 4, 2026 by Andrea R Huelsenbeck

A number of years ago, I read Lust for Life, a fictionalized account of Vincent van Gogh’s life. The factual parts of the book were based on the letters of Vincent to his brother Theo, which were translated by Theo’s wife, Johanna, and which their son (Vincent’s nephew) gave permission to Stone to edit and publish. Dear Theo was originally published in 1958.

Vincent wrote to Theo almost every day from June, 1873 until his death in July, 1890 (at 37 years old). Stone edited out repetition, unimportant details, and remarks that he had no context to interpret.

What is left is Vincent’s voice, with poetic descriptions of the landscapes and people whom he observed, the philosophies he lived by, his hopes and dreams, and his frustration and shame. Diagnosed later in life with epilepsy, there are hints that Vincent also may have suffered from Asperger’s and possibly bipolar disorder or schizophrenia. His obsession with minutia suggests an annoying personality.

Vincent could not hold a job. He started out working for an art dealer (the same one his Uncle Vincent and brother Theo worked for), but was unsuccessful there. He tried working in the ministry (like his pastor father), but failed there too.

When Vincent started drawing, he was determined to do it well. He practiced constantly, copying pieces by great masters and learning for himself how to draw from models. However, since he couldn’t seem to make a living, he depended on his brother Theo for money for rent, food, clothing, and art supplies. Theo faithfully supported Vincent for many years, both financially and emotionally, though it took a toll on him.

As Vincent turned to painting, he was aware that his style was different from other artists of the past and of his own time, but he trusted that his work would eventually find an audience. Unfortunately, that didn’t happen during his lifetime.

Vincent had one romance in his life, a cousin, whom he wanted to marry, but she refused.

He also had a relationship with an aging prostitute whom he met when she was pregnant with her second child. In his letters, he refers to her as Christine. He took her in, hoping to reform her, and enjoyed the domestic life. He wanted to marry her, which met with protests from his parents and from Theo.

During his early relationship with Christine, he mentioned her frequently in his letters, and his delight with her company and with the children is apparent. Then, all mention of her suddenly ceases, Vincent complying with his family’s demands that he cut ties with her. Later, he takes her in again, but refers to her in letters only as “the woman,” as though he doesn’t want to offend Theo by writing her name. Eventually she permanently disappears from his letters.

Vincent took interest in all the painters of his day, especially Paul Gauguin, whom he begged to come and share his apartment. Gauguin did stay with him for a time, but it did not end well. Vincent had a psychotic episode brought on by an altercation with him, in which he cut off his own ear, wrapped it up, and presented it to a prostitute at the local brothel. Gauguin took advantage of Vincent’s subsequent hospitalization by moving out. They never met again, though they continued to correspond.

Vincent dreamed of setting up an artists’ collective, where artists could live and work together. He wrote of it often, asking Theo’s help in making it a reality, but it never happened.

Dear Theo, subtitled The Autobiography of Vincent van Gogh, is not an easy read. Many of the letters contain apologies to Theo for depending on him so much, followed almost immediately by requests for more money. He sent most of his paintings to Theo, thinking that if Theo could sell them, he could be reimbursed for his support.

Vincent was a deeply tortured soul. Yet, I’m glad I read this book in his own words, because it gives such insight into this creative genius, whose work is beloved today.

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Video of the Day: The Power of Words to Change a Life

Posted on July 31, 2026 by Andrea R Huelsenbeck
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Things I Do for Fun

Posted on July 28, 2026 by Andrea R Huelsenbeck

I realize that I don’t do any of these things very often. Why not? I ought to block out some time for fun.

The thing that I do most regularly for fun is enjoy music. I’m in the church choir. That involves many Sunday mornings and most Wednesday evenings.

I also love to listen to music, which I do less of now, because my husband and I have different ways to listen. I’ll put on a CD and listen to it straight through. Greg will turn up the volume and then skip through the CD, bypassing songs that I like and just listening to one or two that he’s in the mood for. So, I’ll go to my study to listen, but after a few minutes Greg will call me for help. He’s disabled and drops things that he can’t pick up, or asks me to get him water or a snack or find something for him. That means that I need to keep the volume turned low so that I can hear him, and be prepared to jump up and help him. Not conducive to losing myself in the music.

Me at the piano.

I also have a lovely grand piano and a guitar and several recorders. Do I play them? Hardly ever anymore. But I want to.

I love to read. I have hundreds, maybe thousands, of books. I read while I eat breakfast, usually whatever book we’re using for bible study. At lunch, I read whatever strikes my fancy. I keep my latest magazines in the bathroom so that I can knock off an article if I’m going to be sitting in there awhile. I have the Kindle app on my phone and hundreds of books on it, so I always have something to read in the doctor’s waiting room (Greg or I have at least one doctor’s appointment and one or two physical therapy appointments each week). On the rare occasions when I can’t sleep, I’ll get up and read for an hour. That usually calms me down so that I can finally sleep.

I usually have at least one quilt in progress. That’s my favorite creative outlet these days. I have the next three quilts planned, and ideas for many more percolating. I usually set aside Saturday morning and one other, generally Wednesday, for working on my quilts. I save handwork (like binding, or removing paper from paper-pieced blocks) for when I’m watching TV, which I do less than I used to, because I only like a few shows.

I also like to dance, specifically international folk dancing. I gather with a group of friends every Friday morning for a 75-minute session. In the 2000s and 2010s, when Greg was still pretty healthy, I would go dance with the Phoenix International Folk Dancers every Tuesday night for three hours. I don’t have the energy for that anymore. I’m usually dying for a nap around 6 PM. I’m hoping that if I ever get my energy back, I can occasionally go dance for a couple of hours.

I don’t get to see them nearly as often as I’d like, but I’m delighted to spend time with my kids and grandkids. For example, my son often invites me to events at his church. My daughter often invites me to places where we can walk (or hike) around outdoors and enjoy beautiful landscapes and flowers, like the botanical garden, the arboretum, and various city and county parks. And it’s so much fun to watch our grandkids grow.

I like to spend time outside. I used to take a daily walk, but that happens more like once a month or so now. I used to hike a couple times a month, but I think I’ve gone once since the pandemic. Sometimes, when the weather allows, I’ll eat lunch outside on the patio. I don’t know why, but even a PB&J tastes better outside. During the summer, I like to take a dip in the pool, and then read on the patio and sip a glass of water or lemonade or iced tea.

I can’t close without mentioning art. I love to draw and paint with watercolors. My favorite kind of art to make is Zentangle. And, just as with every other item on this list, I do less of it than I used to do and than I want to.

What about you? What do you like to do for fun? Are you able to make time for it? How do you manage to squeeze it in around all your obligations? Share your thoughts in the comments below.

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Video of the Day: Christopher Plummer and Julie Andrews Reminisce About the Making of The Sound of Music

Posted on July 24, 2026 by Andrea R Huelsenbeck
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Video of the Day: Vivaldi on Marimba

Posted on July 21, 2026 by Andrea R Huelsenbeck
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Scripture Break #78

Posted on July 17, 2026 by Andrea R Huelsenbeck
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Again, Please

Posted on July 14, 2026 by Andrea R Huelsenbeck

Prompt: Is there an age or year of your life you would re-live?

The Polaroid picture above was taken in April, 1979. That’s my husband, Greg, holding our newborn first child, daughter Carly Anne. If I could re-live any year of my life, it would be the year starting that day.

I’d already suffered one miscarriage, so I was very aware what a miracle it was that a child was born whole and healthy. I was overcome with joy and love. Carly was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen in my life.

I was blessed that I could be a stay-at-home mom. Carly and I spent every minute of every day together. I watched her with fascination.

I’d heard other young mothers say they couldn’t wait to go back to work — they were so bored taking care of a baby all day.

Not me.

I remember that year being full of magic. How quickly Carly went from a helpless, squirrelly infant to a cognizant being, growing intellectually and physically by leaps and bounds every day. I remember drilling Greg’s mom about when he achieved significant milestones. When was his first smile? How old was he when he said, “Mama,” or when he rolled over for the first time? She didn’t know. How was that possible? (In her defense, now that I’m a little past her age, I have no recollection whatsoever of when any of my children did those things.)

I think Carly’s first year was the best year of my life. Every day was an adventure. Every day I was full of gratitude. The closest I can get to that wonderful time is when I am together with any of our grandchildren. It’s like deja vu, but better.

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