January 27, 2014

Snowbound Days Challenging Yet Fun

The extreme weather this winter has put a strain on just about everybody. I guess it’s what gives us in the North Country “character”, or at the very least, tolerance. Because after all, what can you do about the frigid sub-zero conditions anyway? 

Grin and bear it that's what. And make the best of it.

The other night though, when the winds outside cranked well past tolerable, and the walls were submitted to a fierce struggle of wills, I lay awake thinking about the storms of my youth. One in particular happened when I was about 12 years old - young enough to thoroughly enjoy the melee without a worry or care.

My dad, on the other hand, lay awake in his own bed that night, his mind churning madly with worries of the forceful winds blowing in the huge glass front window of our split level home. What, he fretted, would he do if that happened. Mind you, the winds were cranking well into 40 and 50 mile an hour range and veritably bending the windows of our house inward while at the same time causing the walls to shudder in disbelieving defiance at the blows.

Dad determined that the best plan of action, if that were to indeed occur, would be to brace the gaping hole with a mattress. Ingenuity has always been my father’s strong part. I’m sure that once he reached that conclusion he was able to sleep peacefully for the remainder of the night despite the badgering blizzard.

Fortunately we weathered the night and the following day…..and into the next while the horizontal winds hurled snow at the house and continued to rattle the windows.

A storm such as that was for me a great adventure. That particular time we shared our home with my best friend Kathy, who lived across the street (whose parents were stranded in town and unable to get home), and a dear friend and coworker of my father’s named Bob Artley.

Bob's daughter Joni, a good friend of my two sisters, ended up with us a well. The three girls had made their way home in the throes of the storm, abandoning they're little Volkswagen beetle down the street and trekking through the drifts to get to the house.

We spent the hours together telling stories, playing games and baking; mom even read to us from a favorite novel. And all the while Mother Nature raged outside we were warm and safe inside.

Artley, the renowned artist, sketched me I recall and to this day I treasure that drawing. It brings to mind that horrific storm that stopped the world for that one week in January.

And it also reminds me that it wasn't so awful after all.

When the winds subsided we emerged from the
shelter of the house and discovered beauty in the sculpted drifts as we trudged through the pristine snow. The abandoned car was chock full of snow and completely buried. Digging out took about as long as it had taken to put the white stuff there.

But we did it. We survived the biggest storm of the decade.

So when nature does its level best to throw us off guard with extreme storms and temperatures think about the things that make real memories.

Because though you will surely remember the hardships, try to recall the best parts of all: the survival and ability to rise up to the challenge put before us.

January 20, 2014

When Two Sides Collide...Mayhem Follows

The other day I was reading about the intricacies of the human brain; you know the left and right brain phenomena that dictate just the kind of person that you are or how you process information.  I’ve always believed myself to be in the right frame of mind and turns out that is exactly where I am. It’s fascinating stuff, or data I should say.

Julie Zuehlke, Ph.D., writes in her book “Words For Sale”, that the brain isn’t one piece with organized pockets of information available at will.  The left brain and right brain, she says, do separate things and at times can even interfere with each other.

Well that explains everything to me.  How many times have you found yourself arguing with yourself about something?  Or doing something that seems completely against your “better judgment”?  That is merely your two brain hemispheres conflicting with one other.  It’s enough of a storm to produce a whopper of a headache at times I should think.

But anyway, the psychologist goes on to say that the left brain, or the verbal side, is the talkative sort that provides factual and technical information.

The right brain, on the other hand, is the creative side.  It’s what allows us to have originality and creativity.  It’s where all the ideas are hatched and stored.

But in order to function as a whole, the brain needs a left and right side working in tandem.  While the left brain applies logic, stores details and accumulates facts, the right side makes sense of all of that information and allows us to express individuality and find new ways of look at things.

So now I think I understand it.  I know why I can get emerged in a project that I lose track of time and space completely.  And why I tend to drown in mire when faced with factual data. It’s good to know there’s scientific backing to help explain this situation.

Bottom line is we need both types of thinkers:  left and right.  And all I can strive for is to quell those arguments inside my own brain when right and left sides collide.

January 13, 2014

Sometimes  You Have to Pay the Piper....er Kitty

Anyone who has ever played poker knows that each hand begins with an ante into the kitty.  In other words, to play the game you have to pay a fee first, so to speak, and anteing into the pot is a requirement.

I thought about that the other night while on the phone with my parents.  At Christmas time I had done a little holiday decorating at their house and removed their beloved old pottery kitty bank from its appointed  spot on the bathroom counter in order to put a little holiday decor’ in its place. 

In a somewhat frantic-toned voice on the phone, my mom asked me where I had stowed the kitty.  (I guess the spot where she usually sat in the bathroom was pretty empty without the bank.) I stammered a little as my mind raced in an effort to recall where I had left the keepsake.  Finally, thankfully I remembered where I’d safely stuck the kitty bank, and needless to say she was found and returned to her rightful spot in short order.

From as far back as my memory bank is wired, that kitty  has graced the bathroom of the house where we lived. I never gave it much thought although sometimes I wondered just why that was the case…..

Until now.  In the space of a few minutes, a secret regarding the keepsake kitty bank that I had never known was revealed to me.

Turns out that when my parents were first married the cat bank sat in the bathroom of their first home. Times were hard and every penny was counted in those days. Jokingly, my mom said that they used to charge their friends and relatives a fee to use the facilities.   Ten cents for youngsters, a quarter for adults, or something like that.  In effect their visitors had to ante up before they could play the game, I suppose you could say. 

That slush fund in the bathroom bank was then tapped whenever mom and dad wanted to see a drive in movie or take in the stock car races, or have some other sort of fun times together. And they never broke the bank but carefully used a knife to coax the coins out of the slot.  

So there is the rest of the story as they say.

A shake of the bank these days won’t bring one single ker-klink so I guess they drained the pot somewhere along the line.  But nevertheless the kitty bank is filled with my many memories and perhaps a couple of theirs as well.  

I have a feeling, now that the story is out, that there may just be some anteing going on in my parents’ bathroom kitty one of these days.  

After all you've got to pay to play!

January 6, 2014

Daily Commute Was Always Interesting...

Growing up on the edge of town, riding the bus to school was a daily affair during the school year for us kids.   I recall trudging down the street at 7:30 a.m. to the bus stop to catch the big stub-nosed bus #33 every morning.  Along the way we'd meet up with my neighborhood friends, then ride the thirty minute commute to school.  

It seemed to take forever to reach our destination as along the way we picked up riders at various stops who quickly filled the large bus.

 

The ride home at 3:30 was much more enjoyable as I recall.  It was always a boon to claim the big back bench seat, which filled the entire width of the bus.  Away we'd go for the long ride home, spilling out riders along the way.  

Sitting in the back of the bus we'd bop haphazardly along, and as we hit every bump in the road we'd increase the thrill by bouncing in the seat in an effort to reach optimum air.  If strategy was correct we'd even hit our heads on the ceiling of the bus.

 

Riding the bus was a necessity but we'd sure make the best of it. 

 

Other times I'd use the commute to bury my nose in my latest favorite book, blocking out the squeals and tomfoolery that was going on around me.  

Sometimes we'd even be lucky to have at the wheel a college student who would crank the latest rock and roll tunes to our delight.  Riding the bus was always an adventure.

 

One day my classmate brought his pet black widow spider for the ride, introducing it to the rest of us.  I recall keeping my distance from him that day.  It seems that there was always something interesting happening on our ride.  By the time we finally reached our stop we were happy to disembark and scattered to our homes for an after school treat. 

 

"Mom we're home!!" we'd holler, shattering the blanket of tranquilty that we found when we raced through the door. 

 

I wonder how many hours of bus riding I had in my school years.  One thing I know is that I have great respect for the operators of our school buses. 

 

The other day I found myself stranded without a vehicle because of a mechanical mishap with my vehicle.  It didn't take long to determine the solution for transportation:  the local Heartland Express bus. 

What a nice ride I had!   And though I didn't sit in the back seat and bounce over the bumps, I sure did enjoy the experience. 

 

Driver Gerald Giesen was a wonderful chauffer and saw to it that we riders were delivered directly to our door stops, even seeing to it that we didn't misstep as we exited the bus.  What a service and how fortune we are to have it at our fingertips at a moment's notice.

 

I guess one never outgrows the thrill of a good bus ride.  Try it some time and I think you will agree.