October 28, 2013

Morning Routines Are the Best

When I was growing up, thanks to my dear mother who never faltered in her efforts to see that my siblings and I were always well fed, I started every school day morning with a bowl of hot cereal.  Mmm, what a way to wake up!!  

Being the morning person that I am not but wish I was, I'd stumble to the table after the third of fourth call to get up came from mom. Some mornings I relied merely on the luscious scent of breakfast wafting in the air to guide me. There awaiting me once I opened my eyes was a kerosene lamp or candle, aglow with soft light, (mom just knew that the subtle flicker of a flame was much more pleasant for gradual awakening in my case).  

And sitting at my spot was a bowl of Coco-Wheats. 

Aromatically enticing, the tendrils of steam stirred my very being and gently awakened me, as I added milk and sugar into the mix. Lots of sugar, plenty of milk.   I can still to this day appreciate the pleasure of that hot cereal breakfast.

Day after day, year upon year, always the same.  And I never grew tired of it. It just wasn't morning without my daily ritual of Coco-Wheats. Through the  years Coco-Wheats and I have become the best of friends.  

In our house everyone had their favorite morning foods.  When dad wasn't indulging in a platter of eggs and bacon (one slice), his regular choice was always Wheaties ("the Breakfast of Champs") - and it still is.  Our family would also eat breakfast food for our evening meal.  French toast, pancakes or cold cereal were quite often evening fare at our round table.

Now that the morning temperatures are inching down around the thirty degree mark, I am once again indulging in a hearty breakfast of cooked cereal every morning.  And I'm even branching out to Malto-Meal, and even trying some of the flavorful variations that have been introduced in the last few years.

Coco-Wheats dates back to 1930 when Little Crow Foods, a company in Indiana, first began manufacturing it.  In 2012 the the iconic product was sold to MOM Brands, the Minnesota company formerly known as Malt-O-Meal, and it is still available on grocery shelves today.

It's a breakfast that will indeed stick with you - and after all don't they say it's the most important meal of the day.  Might as well make it a great one.  And chocolate for breakfast?  Well that's a no brainer in my opinion.

Better stock upon on a couple boxes of Coco-Wheats because I have a feeling we've got a long, cool winter ahead of us.

October 21, 2013

Local Production Sparked Electricity and Fire

Thirteen years ago members of the Slayton community and beyond, youngsters and adults, families and friends, all came together to perform an incredible production of Joseph and the Amazing Technicolored Dreamcoat, on the Murray County Central high school stage.

That show featured a massive cast of dedicated performers…..creative sets…..fabulous vocals…..outstanding costumes and so much more.
               

I was thinking about that experience the other day while listening to the soundtrack of the Broadway production.  Well of course that led to digging out the old video cassette recording that was made of the local performance, and I watched it with vivid memories in my head and a tender touch of nostalgia in my heart.

               

I have said it before and still contend that I enjoy watching this local production even more than the professional movie version, starring Donny Osmond.
               

Directed by Lon and Rhonda Hellenga, the local production was led by the incomparable Krista Parker Keller and her brother Tommy (who by the way made his musical and acting debut in this drama).  If you have fond recollections of that summer, or once you've watched the old VHS, I think you’ll agree that their voices were truly inspired as were those of the many other cast members.
               

It was a marvel to rival any production of Andrew Lloyd Weber’s “Joseph”.   Charlie Asman, in the part of Jacob, held the distinction of being the eldest and patriarch of the vast cast that numbered over 50, while the youngest, my son Patrick, was a mere 4 years old at the time and making his own stage debut.  A bevy of brothers and wives and children portrayed by local thespians (many of whom were making their own stage debuts as well), comprised the cast.
               

It was truly unforgettable.
               

That memorable performance, which was sponsored by the Friends of the Slayton Library, led to the formation of the Prairie Oasis Players, who went on to present other remarkable musical and theatrical performances including:  Music Man, State Fair, Jesus Christ Superstar, Oliver, Into the Woods and others as well as one-act plays and variety shows.
               

Oh the memories.
               

Some of the players have moved on to other communities but many are still here.  I wonder if they miss the challenges and satisfaction that creating a show like any one of these entails.  The beauty of a community organization such as this is that it provides an opportunity for entire families to be involved together in a short-lived summer season.  Young and old rub shoulders in a common cause and sturdy bonds are formed that in some cases can last a lifetime.  What’s not to love about that?
               

I will again watch the video cassette recording of our “Joseph” and gladly lend it to anyone who wishes to watch it too.  And I challenge the community to think about coming together once again to create some new notable moments.  

  

  

October 14, 2013

There's Nothing Wrong With Your Television Set....

A few years ago a movie came out that extolled the virtues of old time television shows.  In "Pleasantville", the main character found himself living in a black and white world where innocence was a part of life.  His artless manner was derived from his passion for the simpler things in life. 

But alas this naïve young man soon wizened to the world and all of its realities. And as he, and those around him did, they became colorized. 

I have long been a fan of old time television myself.  Wouldn't it be wonderful to return to a time when life was just a bit less complicated?  When a laugh track bolstered your confidence just a little bit when you were beginning to feel overwhelmed?

Come to think about it, I’m pretty sure I’d like living in a town like Mayberry, where crime on monotone streets was minimal and friendliness maximum.

Or living in a mansion in Beverly Hills and somehow retaining your independent streak among the upper crusted echelon of society.

When I was a youngster one of the favorite shows in our house every week was “Lassie”, the story of an uncannily intelligent dog who managed every week to perform some sort of heroic or loving act for her family.  

I will admit that the poignant stories usually brought me to tears.

In fact, just the opening music and credits most often opened my water works many times. (I suppose you could say I was an overly emotional girl).  

It was because Lassie often endured life threatening escapades in her daily life that I found my young self crying.  And yet Lassie always prevailed.  If I’d just have realized that at the beginning then there would have been no reason for tears.

But I, as well as many others, can also be reduced to snivels by a well meaning television commercial, too. I guess those ad people know just what they’re doing when they can tug at the heart strings and produce that reaction.

These days I still love the old television shows and never tire of watching them. Perhaps it’s because I yearn for the world of innocence and simplicity that they portray.  Or appreciate the good values that they convey.

Or maybe it’s just that I think I look good in black and white. 

April 23, 2013

Buying New Shoes....the Old Fashioned Way

A new pair of shoes has always been an unexpected joy for me.  Perhaps the reason is buried deep within my past experiences, but sliding my foot into a shiny new shoe recalls a delight much as a particular aroma or sight can assail one's senses.   It immediately calls to mind  previous experiences of long ago.

When I was a youngster my shoe wardrobe consisted of a pair of canvasas converse tennies and a pair of shiny patent leather Mary Jane dress shoes.  When back-to-school time rolled around every year we'd make the annual trek to the local JCPenney department store seeking suitable "school shoes".  Much to my sheer delight these were usually penny loafers - dapper leather slip-ons with slots in the top to slip in a shiny new penny.

The store's shoe department employed a real-live shoe salesman who would take the time to measure my foot with a metal slide-rule like device that indicated my exact shoe size.  

Make no mistake, there was no guess work involved in this transaction.  Once my choice was made the sales clerk would disappear into the back room where, I was sure, unfathomable stacks of shoe boxes towered on the shelves.  By the way, years later I became a shoe sales clerk in that very store and was privy to the mysteries of the back room of the shoe department. 

Returning with my selection, the clerk then slipped it on my waiting foot that was dutifully perched on a special tilted stool.  I remember feeling much as Cinderella did when her prince slid the famed glass slipper onto her waiting foot.  There was then the inevitable to probe and the command, "wiggle your toe" so as to test the fit. 

And then I'd try my new shoes out for size, smiling in delight as I pranced around the carpeted shoe department area.  And then, "sold"!   The  clerk then wrapped white string around my new shoe box  so that i could carry them home. 

The hardest part about buying my new school shoes was that I couldn't wear them anywhere until school began except to break them in.  so I would rehearse wearing my new shoes around the house until the big day arrived.

 Buying myself a new pair of shoes evokes much the same feeling of simple excitement for me.  It's hard to explain but it just does.  But shoe shopping isn't what it once was.  Now the fine art of shoe fitting is virtually non existent.  Most often shoe shopping is self-serve which saddens me a bit.  

An entire generation of consumers will never know the joy and luxury of being waited on by a shoe sales clerk. They will never experieince the feeling of individual service provided by the shoe salesman in a department store.  And they will be cheated out of the Cinderella experieince of my childhood. 

But I am happy to report that wearing a new pair of shoes around the house to break them in is still an unexplained joy and such a simple pleasure.  And a brand new pair of shoes on one's  feet is utterly indescribable.  Try it sometime, and I think you will agree.  There's just something about a new pair of shoes.

April 29, 2013
Early Morning Needle Pricks Aren't So Bad

At a recent medical visit to the Mayo Clinic in Rochester I had an interesting time as usual.  First things first, my printed scheduled directed me to report to the laboratory desk at 7:20 a.m. sharp to have blood drawn, or more correctly, a "venipuncture specimen" taken. 

I'm not so sure about the need for that sort of medical terminology but perhaps it's gentler on the mind of those more squeamish souls whose hearts may palpitate slightly at the notion of a needle stick.

My wait in the bustling  reception area that resembled Times Square at rush hour, was rather longer than I expected but I whiled away the time watching people, which is one of my favorite things to do in the absence of any other productive tasks at hand.

My turn arrived eventually and I heard my name blasted over the loudspeaker system.  Any notion that I may have lolled off into an early morning snooze as I was awaiting my turn were banished when I realized that the sound of one's name announced aloud usually brings one to a snappy attention.  

It's just hard to ignore.  Why this is I know not. Perhaps it reckons back to the solemn reprimand from mother who has always used my given, full name rather than its shortened version.  Or maybe a teacher singling me out for an answer in class used that name. 

It's hard to say.

At any rate, I was summoned to Door #3.  I couldn't help but wonder what was behind the other two panels, let alone the plethora of curtains hanging behind them in the laboratory, but I didn't get to ask.  Instead I sat dutifully while my attendant skillfully drew the required allotment of red stuff from my arm.  

In a flash it was all over, leaving me wondering when she was going to stick me with the needle. Again, I may have slipped into another little snooze.....it was awfully early in the morning after all.

I marveled at this bustling hive of activity at 7:20  in the morning.  Most days, I was told, the lab sees 800-1200 patients, beginning at 6:30 a.m. That's a whole lot of needle sticks and even more blood being drawn.

So,  you may recall my regaling tale of my first time as a blood donor a few months ago.  I guess it's time once again to donate a bit more of stuff when there's a blood drive in town.  What do you think, care to join me?

July 16, 2013
Slivery Serpent No Match For Us

I really don't have anything against snakes. In fact I stirred one of the slivery serpents the other night when I was on the hunt for firewood and I left it alone. But I didn't tarry long in the vicinity, that's for certain.

But hearing about my sister's recent encounter with a plague of snakes while tending her lovely rock garden and pond set me to thinkiing about a situation that took place many years ago in my mother's garden. 

Mom's gardens would rival the best around.  She would plan her gardens every year, even mapping it out on paper, and spent hours crafting pathways and layouts long before planting season arrived. Her gardens had rock-lined pathways and a vast variety of plants and flowers, and every year she varied the layout, just for fun and variety.

A source of great pride for her was the wildflower rock garden that she painstakingly created using rocks and plants garnered from the many family travels we experienced   Mom's rock garden was and still is considered a work of art.

With dad's help one year she even added a waterfall and pond amongst the wildflower.  She stocked it with big, fat gold fish that swam contentedly around the trickling water.

But all was not always as expected in mom's garden as we were  to soon discover. 

Turns out she, too, was plagued by a bevvy of snakes that soon discovered a delectable meal was close at hand.  Yes, the snakes in mom's garden developed a liking  for dining on the unsuspecting goldfish that lived there and would dive into the pond in search of goldfish prey.

Raised on a farm, mom was no stranger to the facts of life, and too she wasn't about to put up with snakes raiding her goldfish pond.

One lazy summer afternoon I happened to hear the distressed call of, "Rebecca!!!" coming from the garden.  Running outside expecting the worst, I quickly discovered that mom needed my help. She had trapped a snaky offender in the process of devouring one of our fish and needed assistance in dispatching it on the double.

Now I didn't then, nor do I now, possess the killer instinct.  I usually try to abide by my philosophy of "live and let live".  Wildlife of every sort has the right to live.  Yet in this case, the killer in me quickly boiled to the surface.  I grabbed a nearby spade and ran to mom's assistance, lobbing off the head of the offender in one fell swoop.

I still cannot fathom where I drew the strength to perform such a gruesome task, but I did. And the goldfish lived to see another day, that much I can tell you.  Would I be able to do that again? 

Well, it is said that a mother will protect her offspring with her life. I guess if a snake were to invade my abode I could indeed give it the what-for. But for now I guess I'll just let the wildlife around my home live in harmony. 

However I can't say that for the mosquitoes or other pests that challenge me every day.  I'm giving them fair warning to beware if they go after my flesh or family.  

Deep down, I still harbor a killer instinct and it's there should I ever need to call on it. Fair warning? I should think so!

October 8, 2013

Happy Welcome to Fall

This year the autumnal equinox slipped right past me and I didn't even do my usual happy dance to mark the first day of Autumn.  In honor of that momentous occasion, I present a list of reasons to embrace this, my favorite season of the year.  

1.  The colors all around waking our tired eyes from the hum drum of summer with a snap of kalaidoscope hues.

2.  Relief from the sweltering sauna of summer at last.

3.  Refreshing cool rains that bathe the landscape and bring about a vibrant blanket of colors to the landscape.

4.  Soup weather:  beef stew, chicken noodle, tomato, and my favorite:  chili!

5.  Sweater season. Warm comfy socks and fashion boots. And all of the rich colors of autumn in my wardrobe.

6.  Football season, all too short, much like Fall always is.

7.  No more grass to mow.

8.  Leaves to rake.  Piles of leaves to jump in.

9.  Great sleeping weather - leaving the window open at night to feel the chill air in the early morning.

10.  No more mosquitoes or other creepy crawlers that terrorize me.

11.  Bonfires.

12.  Winter coats.  Found money in winter coat pockets.

13.  Knitting projects, so much more fun when the weather turns cool.

14.  Pumpkin bread, donuts and apple cider.

15.  Halloween.

What's not to love about fall, I ask.  If only it could last until Spring.

October 1, 2013
First Day of School Always Brought Trepidation

Well it's October 1st and we're one month into the new school year.  That sets my mind to wandering about the many first-day-of-schools in my past.  I recall the smorgasbord of emotions I felt as school day #1 approached every fall.

With trepidation I faced the preparation of back to school time, indeed, as August rolled laboriously into my Camelot-like summers. Advertisements toting sales of clothing and school supplies crept into the dog days of summer and somehow set a tarnish ot the summer break. Well meaning folks spouted phrases such as, "Are you ready for school?" or "Summer went by so fast didn't it?!"

It was all so ugly.  

But then......a new book bag, a few articles of clothing and the crowning glory:  a new pair of penny loafers, and my attitude and morale was greatly improved.  It's amazing what a little shopping therapy will do for one's psyche!

I recall strutting around the house in my new shoes in an effort to "break them in" before the big first day of school.  And lining all my new supplies up, then packing them into my school bag.  It was the balm on the wound of my dying summer days.

Somehow that compensated for the sheer terror that I always felt at facing a new school year.

Have you ever had the frightening dream of being in a school building and not knowing where to go, how to get to your next class, or where you should really be?  I have.  And sometimes that nightmare still haunts me now and then.  It must mean something and someday maybe I'll understand just what.

But the mirror-shined floors, the sparkling-clean desks, and the carefully prepared classroom bulletin boards are all signs that a new school year is in motion.  And with that comes the excitement of the academic year:  learning and camaraderie, and self-expression.  It's all very exciting. 

Yet in the far recesses of my mind I recall the sheer terror of facing it all.  I only hope that the students of today are more confident and relaxed because really, these are the days that they will remember for the rest of their lives.  And may those memories be sweet ones.  

And may they also remember their locker combinations, their room numbers, their homework assignments, and may they get to class before the bell rings!

September 24, 2013

Your Actions Affect Others More Than You Know

You just never know what sort of an impact your actions today might make down the line. Just like the theory that a butterfly's flutter of wings can affect a difference a world away, so can such an act of true selfless kindness.

A week of so ago an icon from my hometown passed peacefully away.  The mark she made on society throughout her lengthy life will not long be forgotten.  She was the kind of person who comes along rarely. 

Selfless and generous, Edie Jensen was always thinking of others and spreading good cheer. Always.  Whether it was through her eternal sparkling smile or thoughtful, heartfelt actions, she was forever spreading her generous good will.

Small in stature, this woman was truly larger than life in her actions. Thinking about her legacy made me stop and think. And aspire to be more like her.

One time one of my sisters lost a $5.00 bill.  For a youngster this was traumatic and she was heartsick about it.  One day came a knock on the door. It was Edie and she came to offer my sister a crisp new five dollar bill. "No, that isn't necessary", my parents assured her.  Edie's response?  "Yes it is.  Some day she will do the same for someone else."  

And that my sister indeed has done more than once.  Lesson learned.

It's the things we do today that might just leave a memorable, unforgettable impression on someone, somewhere, some day.

It might be the smile shared, a kind word spoken, or good deed done for someone else that may never be forgotten. The impression you make, though you might not know it, will one day be a cherished memory. 

You might not even realize it, but your actions may even inspire another to do the same for someone else.  Kindness is contagious.  But it's a wonderful thing to give to someone else. 

Here's hoping that Edie's legacy will be just that.  I for one will never forget her or the lessons of life that she forever provided those around her.

August 27, 2013
Road Constructions Puts a New Spin on the Scenic Route

Who decided that those round about intersections are really a good thing anyway?  Personally I find myself approaching them much like I do a revolving door - a bit apprehensive about when to hop into the fray and once there, not quite sure how to exit the door. 

Unfortunately for me these sorts of road blocks are cropping up at an alarming rate these days. I guess I'll get used to them eventually, though I'm not all that certain, since I still quiver at the edge of an escalator before gingerly stepping aboard.

This time of year is definitely a challenge for the traveler, a confirmed fact that this last week when I logged a good deal of road miles. 

It seems you can't really get there from here. 

Two words:   road construction.  And while I understand completely the necessity for improvements, there is a point at which I begin to unravel. One thing I did discover is that  weaving through the intricacies of of one-lane passages and diverted roadways is much like threading a needle. And I'm pretty adept at doing so. 

Yet I'll admit to becoming somewhat stymied when spying the dreaded orange road sign indicating the road ahead is closed.  You just can't get there from here. 

Actually being held back like that leads my mind to wandering, which isn't always a good thing.

I find myself gazing longingly at the workers who go about the task of remaking  the roads that on a daily basis are pummeled by an endless parade of cars and trucks. 

Sidling past the workers at a snail's pace allows for speculation on my part.  I'm pretty sure I could handle one of those monster steam rollers that drift back and forth over the newly laid black top surface, I think to myself.  I'm pretty good at backing up, after all.  I could do that, I just know it.  At least then I'd be going somewhere instead of stuck idling in the slow lane. 

Enter plan B.  The one where I seek, at all costs, an alternative route.  That, in my case, often leads to an adventure.  With the Interstate route that on a good day flows traffic freely cross country is reduced to the pace of a sloth's sleepy crawl, I soon seek a way out.  Aware that I must find a way south and west to find my way home, I follow the sun and point my car in its direction. I'm glad that there aren't any clouds in the sky.

This is where perseverance and a good map come in handy. 

I will admit that eventually, in my recent travels, I stopped to consult my handy "smart phone" GPS app when I found myself heading away from the sun, which mean that I was on a northward path, which wasn't good.  It always got me back on track and headed in the right direction.

In my travels I found lakes I didn't know existed and roadways that I'd never traversed, towns I'd never visited, and places I'd never seen.  And I enjoyed the scenery along  the way. What is it that some wise soul once said?  When life gives you lemons you just have to make lemonade.

I'm happy to report that I found my way home eventually.  Most stray animals eventually do after all.  And I traveled some lesser-trod paths in doing so.

I only hope that I will appreciate the fine work that the road construction crews are doing when winter rolls around and  I travel on the new roads that they have built. 

August 20, 2013
Annual County Fair's Strange Allure

Well another county fair has come and gone, marking the beginning of the end of, well I won't even say it.  But memories of past fairs come flooding in as I take in the traditions associated with the fair. 

Being raised a city girl, going to the fair took on a much different connotation than most. I wasn't privy to the true grit of what truly the county fair is all about.  But nevertheless, it still holds a special charm to me and etches an edible memory in my mind.

Once a year we visited that magical, momentous event in our town.  It was something I looked forward to eagerly.  Our family made one visit to that short-lived gig. We'd park the car on the vast grass parking lot and trek towards the excitement.   I'd relish in the vision of the sights and sounds of the carnival ahead, with visions of caramel apples, cotton candy and other delights in my head. 

 Perhaps most memorable to me was wandering the exhibits with my parents.  Of course the highlight of the affair was the booth that gave out Indian headbands complete with a colorful feather. I suspect they were turkey feathers that had been colored various hues, but for me, it wasn't complete until I strapped that band on and proudly wore the feather on my head.  

Of course there were lots of other neat perks including the bright yard sticks that my folks would tote home.  But none remain so colorful as my Indian maiden headdress.

And then it was on to the midway.  I'll admit that the only ride I ever partook in was the merry-go-round.. To this day it remains my favorite delight and I have indulged in my adulthood magical horse rides at the State Fair, Como Park, and of course the magical carousel at the Lark Toy store in Kellogg, Minnesota.  There's just something about the lilting music and the rise and fall of the statuesque horses on a merry-go-round.  

I never tire of it.

As I grew into teen hood it was almost an embarrassment to me that I could never brave the more daring, adventurous rides, opting for the comfort of the circling horse ride.  That's not to say that I did not venture into the world of the tilt-a-whirl eventually.  It is the brief moment in one's life when you experience the thrill of spinning out of control, laughing and screaming a release of joy when you realize true joy.

The gilded glory of the fair and all it meant to me has tarnished somewhat, yet some of the magic remains.  For a few short days, hours, minutes, a world of intrigue and excitement exists.  And then it's gone.  What more can one ask for?  It's memories that are created at the fair.

When my oldest son was but a mere child, he took pride in keeping inventory of the rides as they rolled into town past our house in route to the fair grounds.  He kept a running tally of the rides as the arrived and I can well imagine the anticipation he felt as he watched them rolling past. Seeing my children running gleefully on the midway grounds only brought back the feelings I had when I was a youngster. It was truly magical.

So, take my advice:  when given the opportunity to spin uncontrollably or dash daringly into the unknown, take it.  Take the opportunity to experience what comes around only briefly and soon is gone.  The feeling may only come around once a year and you must grab a hold while you've got the chance.

August 13, 2013
Plants are People, Too After All

Some of my best friends have always been of the green variety.  Yes, I hold plants  very dear to my heart.   I guess it's because they ask for scant little and in return provide so much. The pleasure in nurturing  growing fauna is just something you cannot explain unless you experience it first hand. 

In my world, plants and trees even have names.  

Last year I planted a  cottonwood tree in my yard.  He's known as "Peter Cottonwood".  The little blue spruce that I adopted this spring, "Bruce", will one day be a mighty tree, I have no doubt.  And the maple that came to live with me this summer, Miss Marple, will hopefully grow and flourish to provide lovely shade in the yard.

And it's not just the trees I cherish, but all of the plants that share my living space as well.  They're old friends- family even.  What makes my plants so cherished is that most have come from friends and family who have generously shared them with me. 

The Christmas cactus that my mom gave me will (hopefully) live for years to come and the angel begonia, given to me by my dear friend, is a thing of joy that blooms constantly to my great joy.  Plants are such good companions.

My mother's entire hand is green.  She has always had the gift of growing in her fingertips and I like to imagine that I have inherited a fraction of that myself.  Mom's beautiful potted plants have always graced her space both inside and out. 

The first plant of my very own was a gift from her when I turned sixteen years of age.  It was a beautiful polka-dot plant with pink and green leaves and I cherished it.  I will admit that it did not survive the years since then but it remains fondly in my memory.  That was the start of a beautiful relationship.

Yes, plants can truly become friends. 

But as you strive to nurture and protect your plants, sadly some will just not survive.  And the guilt that follows the death of a  plant, for me, is not easily overcome. Sometimes it's because I'ved forgotten to give them a drink, or set them in a spot where they're not to keen (some plants can be so touchy).

 I, in fact, have always had a soft spot for ailing plants and relish the challenge of reviving them to new health.

It's a challenge and one that I enjoy.

Sometimes the cause is lost though.  That's when a trip to the local green house is in order.  Thank goodness for the professional folks - they know what they're doing.  They're in the business of growing things after all. 

So, why not consider adopting a plant or two.  Or planting a tree.  Better yet, go out on a limb and give it a name.  Then sit back and watch it grow.  You won't be disappointed, I guarantee it. And you might discover a new friend.

August 6, 2013
Counting the Stars 

Have you ever spread a blanket on the ground  on a clear, balmy summer night and lay on it, gazing up at the star lit sky overhead?  When we were kids that was such a delight. 

Far above our heads was a celestial wonder to behold. I never tired of seeing the  myriad stars that painted the night sky, picking out constellations and planets,  watching the fireflies blinking on the ground, rivaling the ancient twinkling stars so far away.  Light years that is.  

I have never been able to comprehend the notion that the glow we see is actually the phenomena produced thousands of light years ago when a burning morsel of space debris hurtles across the sky.

While crickets provided a melodic accompaniment we'd stare into space.  Dad advised, rightly so, that we should look not directly at the constellations in order for the eyes to focus on them.   If we were lucky, we'd even catch sight of a shooting star or two, and of course whisper quietly to ourselves a wish. I do that still today in fact.

It was pure magic in my opinion.  And of course spellbinding.

Sometimes we'd even take a flashlight with us and shine it into the heavens, secretly thinking we could send a special signal to some other beings of intelligence out there.  Or daringly flash it at a passing jet airplane.  Word was that the passengers in the plane would be able to see the light. 

But I hesitated to do that for fear of blinding a pilot in control of the jet plane, and send it crashing to the Earth in a ball of fire.  That was, of course, long before laser beams and the relatively weak glow of a flashlight could never produce the all-to-real threat that laser lights do.

If you are so inclined, star gazing will be particularly entertaining this weekend when the Perseid meteor shower will be in full force, offering quite a natural light show and producing scads of "shooting stars" per hour.  Get outdoors, find yourself a spot, preferably away from light-polluted suburban skies for best viewing., and turn gaze upward. 

You'll have to stay up late as the meteor will be most prevalent in the early hours of the night from midnight until just before dawn.  But I think it's worth the lack of shut eye. Best of all, you need not bring along any equipment - just clear skies and plenty of patience.

The Perseid meteor shower, named for the Perseus constellation that the showers line up every year at this time,  is one of the rarest and will likely produce about 50 to 100 meteors every hour, s well as thousands of meteors throughout the night. 

Observers may also espy visions of  Mercury, Venus, Mars and several other planets, some of which will line up with each other or the moon in impressive celestial displays.

Scientifically, the shooting stars we see are actually bits of debris that hit the Earth on its annual orbit through the atmosphere.  I'd like to think that the stars of my childhood were indeed stars and not some garbage hurling through outer space.

You may think whatever you'd like, but for heaven's sake, get outdoors this weekend and take in one of nature's most spectacular sights.  And don't forget the blanket, (and bug spray or course)!

You won't be disappointed. You will be making memories that will remain indelible in your mind long after the fiery streaks blaze the night sky.

July 26, 2013
Playtime Was Always More Fun After Dark

Starlight, starbright, first star I see tonight.....

While sitting outside the other night as dusk approached, watching the stars peek out of the darkening sky I was reminded of my childhood on much the same kind of evening. 

Those endless days of summer were made sweeter just by knowing that we kids could linger outside way past our conventional bedtime hour (which was always way too early.)   We somehow knew that those  precious extra minutes could had on a sweet summer night by making ourselves scarce and out of sight of our parents.

As we avoided the call to come inside by our parents, there were games to be played that could only be enjoyed more as the daylight wained. 

Like hide and seek.  So many places to conceal oneself as darkness approached. And tag.  "You're it!!" was hollered as we all scattered across the yard that seemed so vast at night compared to in the daytime.  Tag was much more fun when played in the dark.

Ghosts in the graveyard, red light/green light, anty-over....all were such adventures when played in the gloaming hour.

Perhaps the best times we had were when the neighborhood teenager from down the block would tell us scary ghost stories - tales that curled our young toes in fear and no doubt sparked more than one or two nightmares.  But there was strength in numbers as we gathered around her, listening with rapt attention.

I'm sure if mom and dad had known what was going on we'd have been beckoned inside long before the sun sank in the western sky.  But it was summer and it was just that way.  Those days and nights were priceless, even if we didn't realize it at the time.

These days I still find great pleasure in sitting outside in the midnight hour, contemplating the heavens above and harkening back to those careless, carefree days of youth.  It's a pleasure unlike any other and one that I have never outgrown.  It's also one that I would recommend for any "grown up" to try. 

Just remember.....things that go bump in the night aren't always what they might seem to be so don't be alarmed.  Just enjoy the peaceful enchantment that you find when nighttime has fallen on the world. And if you listen carefully, you might even hear your mom calling you home.

July 23, 2013

Reading is a Joy Wherever You Land

Recently I was reading an online blog entry by a writer named Ben Umstead, entitled, "10 places we read (and why we read there)", about popular places for reading a book.  Now, mind you,  the author said nothing about using an e-reader so I took that to mean that he, like me, is a loyal fan of good old fashioned books made of real paper.  

There's practically nothing more delicious than parking oneself in a comfy spot and cracking open a delightful book.  It's hard to say how long one can remain in a paralytic state when a good book is involved.  Once I stayed up most of a night to devour a book that I just could not put down.  Usually that doesn't happen because reading, nighttime and comfort most often lead to sleep.

Umstead lists reading in parks, on trains and in libraries and bookstores as popular spots to park and read while in public.  Private locales include bed (with the possible aforementioned side effect of falling asleep prematurely), a  comfy couch the bathroom or automobile.  

When I was a young girl I'd climb up in one of my family's back yard apple trees and while away the afternoon immersed in a great library book.  Up there in my aerie, I could tuck myself into a sturdy branch, midst the camouflage of leaves and inches from the sweet smell of ripening apples.  It was my escape.

My best friend and I would trek on our bikes to the public library, tote home stacks of books, and spread out on an old Army blanket in the yard and read for hours there as well. A more pleasurable way for a kid to spend a summer's day I can hardly imagine.  But up in that tree was by far my favorite reading retreat.  

These days when I'm invited into a book's world I can do it just about anywhere and anytime.  At the doctor's office, before a sporting event (DURING a sporting event as well), in a boat, on the shore, in the yard or in my easy chair.  It's all good as far as I'm concerned. I even have a few e-books saved on my phone (just in case I find myself somewhere without a book and a hankering to read something), but I'll admit that so far I haven't set my eyes on any of those electronic books.  Even so I know that they're there should I need them.  

All I can say is, long live the printed book and may it never become an extinct creature.

The only concern I have now is, where did I put my cheater glasses......because reading those tiny words isn't like it used to be!

July 8, 2013

Freedom Is Hard Won, Liberty a Gift

Independence Day has come and gone and along with that has brought contemplation on many levels .   The sacrifices made by our brothers and sisters who fearlessly fought for freedom from the tyrannny imposed by the British, so long ago is not easily forgotten.  Freedom was won, though not before great losses. But liberty and freedom prevailed.

Throughout history cultural clashes have always been prevelant.  That  will always be a fact of life, yet it is a fervant hope that some day we can learn acceptance and understanding.  A recent visit to the Pipestone National Monument set me to pondering just that notion.

While it was not my first visit there, this time I gained a new understanding of the sacrifice and struggle made by the Native American nation to hold on to the site of the sacred, precious stone-the only one of its kind in the entire world.

When the pipestone was first discovered so many years ago by Native Americans, it became a place where members of many different tribes converged peacefully to quarry the coveted stone. It was and still is considered a holy ground, where layers of granite, the second hardest stone, is painstakingly chipped away to reveal the thin strips of pipestone.  

On the grounds there was no war, no confict and no battling. Peace prevailed there always.

For hundreds of years, Native Americans have sought the beautiful soft, red stone used to craft peace pipes and other sacred artistic items there.  Little has changed in all those years years excepting the methods used to chip away at the earth and stone.  The rock is still painstakingly quarried and artisans still craft beautiful pieces of art including peace pipes and other lovely creations from the pipestone. It is refreshing to find that some things do not change.

But it has not been without sacrifice.  In efforts to preserve the grounds, native leaders gave up a great deal so many years ago.   

In an effort to protect the source of pipestone, lands surrounding the revered grounds were given to the government so that settlers could establish farms surrounding the pipestone fields.  And it was not until years of painstaking efforts to protect them that the National Monument was finally established in the middle years of the twentieth century.  So much was lost yet so much gained. The Native American people gave up a great deal of their freedom to preserve this holy ground.

But what remains today is a revered place where the red pipestone continues to be sought by Native Americans.  It is a comforting notion. 

Strolling the grounds one cannot but help to feel a blanket of peace and tranquility.  And at the same time, a feeling of insignificance as well.  It is practically impossible not to feel respect and reverence for this culture. One must merely listen and it will speak volumes.

It is so important to recognize that there are differences between cultures yet at the same time realize there are so many similarities.  It's all about respect. And acceptance.

July 2, 2013
Child's Play is Good, Clean Fun

What keeps a child contentedly playing in a sand box for endless hours at a time? is it the soothing sensation of the sand slipping through their hands?  that I can relate to and remember the hypnotic sensation it brings. 

 When I was a youngster - many years ago, my best friend and I, Kathy, had some great adventures together.  The times that we spent at her grandparents' farm were perhaps the most memorable.

Because we made mudpies together.

For those who have never experienced the joy of making mudpies, let met tell you it's a thing of unsurpassed joy. 

Being at my friend's farm was a veritable feast of fancy for two creative souls souls, let me assure you. Nobody told us to keep our hands clean and stay out of the dirt.  And together we made souffles and pastries to rival any French chef's concoctions. 

Creations made of sandy soil and pebbles, we whipped up cakes that rose miles high.   Best of all, we got our hands really dirty in doing so. 

There's nothing quite like playing in the dirt.  A little soil., a pinch of earth and just the right amount of water mixed well and voile, it's a masterpiece of culinary delight.

This make believe is the precursor to adulthood and so important and vital to development from simple child to adulthood.  Granted our concoctions weren't quite edible, but we liked to think they were.

But that wasn't important.  It was the mixing and stirring and adding just the right amounts that mattered.  Pretend is such a lovely thing.

Now as I watch my neighbor's children digging and frolicking in the sandbox for endless hours I truly understand the enchantment.  The time they spend sifting through the sands will forever be a pleasant memory for them.  

Perhaps we should, everyone of us, get our hands dirty again.  Maybe then we'd capture the enchantment once felt as children.  And if you haven't ever made a mudpie, well it's not too late to give it a try.  Go on, give it a try and see how rewarding it can be.