July 21, 2014

Taking advantage of natural resource is most enjoyable

On breezy days such as this past Sunday, I thank my stars that I am of the clothes line league. Seeing good old Mother Nature in action and my laundry dancing briskly makes me appreciate the winds that much more.  I guess the windy days that we are accustomed to do have their strong points.

Generally there are two leagues when it comes to laundry methods:  the hangers and the dryers.  I come from a long line of hangers. After all, who can resist the supreme essence of freshly laundered and air dried sheets.  It's one of life's greatest joys. And who needs an iron when your clothes are naturally whipped into perfect order? 

And then there's the therapeutic aspect to the process of hanging a basket full of wet laundry. So often in the interim from the brimming to empty laundry tub, most often I've worked through a problem, solved a puzzle, or resolved an issue. It's as simple as that.

In hanging out clothes to dry, there is indeed an art to the process.  It just wouldn't do to let one's more delicate laundry items dangle in the wind for all to see.   Discreet hangers know to position their laundry in such a way as to  keep privates private. Layering is a must.  So, socks and undergarments go on the line first, followed by shirts and pants, and finally the towels.

A few years ago I discovered a remarkable device dubbed as the Best Drying Rack, crafted by a family business in Cedar Falls, Iowa.  The name says it all.  It is indeed the best drying rack ever and I've been through two of them in the past 25 years.   My umbrella drying rack is often filled with flapping laundry and I love watching the wind toss the wet clothing until it is dried to perfection.

In days gone by folks would air dry their laundry year around.  That could pose a problem in the winter months, my mom recalls of her days on the farm, when clothes were freeze dried to a crisp.  After a day of hanging in the frigid temps the frozen clothes were gathered and stacked throughout the house to complete the drying process.  Sounds like a bit of redundancy to me, but I guess where there's a will there's a way.  

I  will admit that I'm not a hanger during the winter months and I rely upon that electric drying machine that lives in the basement.  But you can bet that as soon as the last frost sets in my outdoor drying rack is once again put into service.  After all,  there's got to be a reason that we live in one of the windiest parts of the entire country.  

When I was a youngster I recall wash day when all of our doll clothes were laundered and hung on the line to dry.  I even had a clothes pin bag and clips of my very own (still have it in fact).  There's nothing quite like the sight of a clothes line filled with miniature clothes.  

These days my lines hold regular sized replicas of my doll's clothing on a regular basis. It's a joy to watch them flap in the breeze and I liken it to the personification of the wind.  Wind is just a part of life on the prairie.  And we all know that nary a day goes by when there isn't a brisk breeze in these parts.  

Except last week.  I was amazed to discover while enjoying an evening motorcycle ride in the country that even the mighty wind turbines were stilled.  Dead in fact.  It was an eerie sight  indeed. I guess it was the one out of 365 days of the year when calm had descended on the territory.  I recorded the date for posterity.

Let's face it, we've got wind so why not use it.  As they say, when life gives you lemons, nothing better to do than make lemonade.  

July 14, 2014

Technology changes the way we reach out and touch someone

These days it's impossible to find many folks by their phone number.  The phone book, by my standards, is one of the most fascinating books ever published - one of the greatest references volumes around.  Who hasn't, in a fit of boredom, grabbed the phone book to peruse its helpful pages.  Alright, maybe that is just a me thing.  I don't know.

What I do know is that telecommunication has bounded by miles in the past few years.  Looking back to simpler times is kind of fun.  And really, not that long ago, there were operators who manually connected us via our telephones.  I know that might be difficult to fathom for those whose lives are virtually dictated by their "smart" phones and GPS devices, but once upon a time things were done rather differently. 

Read on:

Central Telephone Will Convert Slayton to Dial System in '62

"Slayton telephones and the rural lines out of the Slayton office will all be converted to a dial system during 1962.  Three crews are already at work in the Slayton area setting new poles and stringing new copper wire that will be required for the new dial system. By the end of this year the Slayton area will be converted and when Slayton is converted it will represent the end of the last exchange in the Central system to use operator instead of the modern dial system.

The total expenditure involved will be $200,000 and probably more, depending on how many of Slayton's 1,400 telephones must be replaced.  There will be no telephone operators on duty in Slayton after the system is converted.  For long distance service, area patrons will dial "0" and will be connected directly with a long distance operator in Marshall.  

All local telephone numbers will also be changed for the new service.  Once the dial system is installed, seven-digit numbers will be assigned to each telephone here."

That announcement was made early in the year of 1962.  When December rolled around, newspapers reported the following:

"The last call on the old manual switchboard was taken by veteran telephone operator Mrs. Amy Semens.  'Brady', as she has become known to hundreds of area residents, went into retirement with the switchboard.  She is the senior operator in this system with 35 years of operating the Slayton switchboard. "

The first call placed without Semen's  assistance was placed by Mayor and Mrs. A.D. Weck in December 1962, to their daughter Karen, in Germany.  "The Wecks enjoyed crystal clear reception on their trans-Atlantic call to inaugurate the dial service here," the Herald reported in that week's newspaper.

These days there are no human beings behind any sort of technical exchange.  Keep that in mind the next time you "dial" up a friend or loved one.  

Times they are indeed a-changing!

July 7, 2014

Horse shows always exciting entertainment

This weekend Slayton will once again play host to the 8th Annual Murray County Classic Draft  Horse Show at the county fairgrounds.  Gates open at 9:00 a.m. on Saturday and festivities will continue through Sunday afternoon.  It's definitely a show to take in as there will be more than 100 Belgian, Percheron, Clydesdale and Shire horse teams  on the grounds.

Horse spectaculars are nothing new in these parts.  Back in August of 1941, Murray County hosted a rodeo that was touted to, "Thrill Valhalla Crowds."   

Read on.....

"Those who like the life of the wild west with its thrills and spills will have their heart's content Sunday when Glenn Spiller of Huron, S.D. brings his wild-west rodeo to Valhalla.  Included in the program are bronk-riding, calf-roping, bulldogging steer riding, chariot races and Roman standing races.

Outstanding bucking horses from the noted Roe Bailey string of Custer, S.D., will be seen in action as will be the famous Appaloosa horses owned by Mr. Spiller and adjudged by the Appaloosa Horse club of Moro, Oregon, as the best of the breed.  There are but 60 of these horses registered in the United States.

To be seen also is "Panchita", the widely  known trick horse of Minot, N.D. and "More Power," famous high jump horse of the Sutton Ranch, Agar, S.D.  One of this horse's many feats is to jump over two saddle horses and also over an automobile.

Eva Hammond, famous 14-year-old Huron girl, will give an exhibition of Roman standing riding, etc. 

 Mr. Spiller offers two cash awards, $20.00 to any local rider who can make a qualified ride on his horse, "C.O.D." and also $10 cash per head to owners who bring local horses which his cowboys and cowgirls cannot ride."

Sure sounds like it was a show that you wouldn't want to miss indeed, and I'm sure that people turned out in flocks to witness the automobile-vaulting horse.  

Kind of like the Classic Draft show coming to Slayton in a way.  But this weekend show promises to showcase the "Yesteryear's work horses and the beauty, grandeur and sheer force of today's draft horses."  

Check it out, why don't you.  You can make some memories of your own while you're at it.

June 30, 2014

Some toys just feed the imagination

Watching my great-nephew Sam proudly displaying his latest Lego creation the other day made me think back to a time when a couple other little boys used to delight in spending endless hours with their Legos.

Most of Sam's models are Star Wars-themed and the seven-year old boy carefully followed the intricate directions to complete them.  When my sons were his age, they used to delight in dumping the numerous boxes filled with plastic pieces onto the floor.  The carpets in the living room were literally awash in a sea of red, white and blue parts. They would play with their Legos for hours at a time and never seemed to tire of the game.

Son #1 and his best friend loved constructing race cars.  Then they would hold a smash up derby and destroy what they'd built.  Son #2 delighted in stretching his creative limits to devise any number of fantastical machines.  The possibilities were always limitless and the best part was that they never tired of the game.

Perhaps these beloved toys have been around so long because one just never tires of the infinite possibilities that spill out of the box when its opened.  Personally I love them because they encourage creative and analytical thinking, demand dexterity and determination, and they're just plain fun.

Best of all, I think that playing with Legos teaches you one of the greatest lessons:  If you can imagine it, you can build it.  And if you build it, do it with careful attention, because at any moment it may crumble into pieces.  But if that happens, you just put the pieces back together again.  They might not all be in the same place, but things always find a way of coming together in the end.

June 23, 2014

Predicting the Weather Took Some Special Know-How

Once upon a time there were people known as weather men, whose job it was to analyze data and provide their very, best educated guess as to what we could expect the weather outcome to be in the coming day or two.  

These old time forecasters used as their tools data collected from weather balloons (you know, those things you'd often see floating in the sky and excitedly mistake for a U.F.O.), barometric pressure readings and weather reporters.  And their best instincts.  

The weatherman who was on television when I was growing up used large maps of the United States to illustrate and diagram the weather patterns from all over the country.  Where inclement weather was likely, he'd slap a dark cloud with drizzling rain drops onto the map.  Likewise, a bright yellow smiling sun would grace other areas that were to be clear and sunny.  

Criss-crossing the country were always odd looking lines with either half circles or triangles attached to them.  These were depictions of the areas of high and low pressure of course.  

You couldn't help but learn something when you watched the weatherman on television.  

Back then weather predicting was done by looking up at the sky, analyzing cloud formations, barometric pressure, and weather conditions.  Human input was a big part of it all and of course, so was human error.  

My favorite weatherman, Ken Hirsch of KELO-Land in Sioux Falls fame, used to go so far as to rate the day's weather on a scale of 1 to 10.  A "ten" day was nearly perfect and of course, were rarities in these parts.  

These days weather forecasting has bounded into the computer technological era and the "weatherman" has been replaced by "meteorologists".  And there are plenty of women forecasters out there as well.  

Weather people now use computer-based models to tell us how to dress for tomorrow's weather.  Forecasters rely upon the "most likely" weather outcomes and they confidently report their findings on their broadcasts.

What's more, there's a whole bevy of experts who make it their life's mission to monitor and report on anything and everything weather related on a 24-hour basis.  I will admit that when the weather turns inclement, I generally tune them all out and rely on  old fashioned instincts:  turn your eye to the sky and ear to the ground.  It allays any unnecessary undue fretting on my part I suppose.

But even with all of this technological wonder, the forecasters can still be wrong.   It happens now and then as we all know.  I can't help but miss those weather maps of yesterday with Mr. Sunshine beaming happily over the area, or the dour looking Rain Cloud with drenching water drops falling out of it.  And the real, live person in front of that map, telling us, to the best of their ability, just what to expect the weather to be like tomorrow.

That said I guess I'll check the Intellicast weather app on my smart phone and see what to expect in the way of weather for the next, say, four weeks.  I've got plans to make after all and need to know exactly what the weather is going to be doing during that time.  

June 16, 2014

Every Day Heroes in Our Midst

Sitting in on the race track rescue training session with noted race track rescue official Jay Masur at the Slayton Fire Department last weekend led me to reflect and contemplate the countless individuals who deem it their responsibility and duty to provide emergency assistance whenever it is needed.

These volunteers take their jobs seriously and should be considered every day heroes.

Fire department, police officers and ambulance crews know that when they are summoned, their assistance is needed and they do not hesitate to act.....immediately.  At any hour of the day or night they must be willing to jump to attention in what may well be a life or death situation.  

A comment once heard from a local fire fighter sums it all up:  When that pager sounds, someone is in trouble and that's all I think of.  Thoughts of personal safety are put on hold whenever duty calls.

While racing is an enjoyable sport for the spectator, it is equally dangerous for those involved, including pit crew members, track officials and drivers.  In the blink of an eye a lively competition can turn tragic with the flip of a car or shattering crash between two or more race cars.  

And first on the scene assessing the situation are the emergency crews who put their training and expertise to the task in order to assist those involved.

Never mind that there may be fire, or noxious fumes, or other hazards involved.  These things faze not the trained volunteers who every week put their lives on the line in an effort to ensure safe rescue measures at the race track or at a vehicle crash or house fire.  

They are prepared for and expect the worst.  And hope that it never happens.  

But sometimes it does and when that happens, it can take a toll on our emergency service providers.  They're only human after all, and if they weren't deeply caring individuals then they wouldn't be doing what they do.

I consider you all my heroes indeed.  And I thank you for volunteering your time and for sacrificing your personal lives in order to keep us all safe.  Take a minute sometime to thank one or two of them.  It's the very least that you can do after all.

June 9, 2014

I've Got Friends in High Places...

My dad always said that your banker can be one of your best friends. So true-he was right about that.   But I have to say that some of my best friends of late have to be the go-to guys at the local hardware store.  Yes, Nick, Myron and Chuck, and the rest of the staff seem to know that whenever I walk through the doors of the Midwest Supply store in town, I need some sort of help.  

And they're always there to provide it for me.  I'm sure they are trained spot the clueless, vague look in a customer's eye when they are seen wandering the aisles in search of answers.  

Whether it is to replace an obsolete, decrepit washer from the basement faucet that took to drizzling a steady stream of water this spring, or  that worn out, useless spark plug with no fire left in it, or a burnt out headlight for my motorcycle, they know just what to do and how to help me out.

I guess maybe they sense a challenge whenever I show up, or they just plain want to provide some good old fashioned customer service.  Whatever the case, I appreciate all of the help they provide whenever I require it.

It's amazing what one can do when you set your sights firmly on the goal.  And I hope they know that this do-it-yourselfer appreciates their friendship.  

Another tool to which I owe a great deal of gratitude is the plethora of information at anyone's fingertips.  I'm talking about good old Youtube. 

Thanks to the fathomless wealth of expertise found there, one can learn a great deal of how-tos and whats-its and other technical stuff  necessary to keep every day life running smoothly. 

There's just no way to thank all of those helpful handy doers who post videos showing just how to fix those leaky faucets, replace a headlamp, or hook up a stereo system.  I am grateful for each and every one of you, whoever you are!

But really, there's just no substitute for that one on one service that my fix-it experts at the hardware store have to offer.  And oh the satisfaction of tackling making that vital repair just when you need it.  

Did you know that you guys are my heroes? Thanks - and I'm sure I'll be seeing you again soon with yet another puzzler for you to help  me solve.

June 2, 2014

It Takes Teamwork to Tackle Some Tasks

The other day I thought I was going to have to call on my super-power-alter-ego.   She'd get the job done, I just know it.  

You see, things were starting to get out of control around here.  Namely, it was the lawn and all of the other green growing globules of weedy matter taking over my once beautiful yard.  

In my defense, life had been a little hectic as of late. Well, I'll say it was downright ludicrous, my working 10-12 hour days kind of left little room for any extra curricular activity such as home owner duties and upkeep around the place.  

But Saturday morning came around and I knew it was the day to tackle the big chore and whack down those gone-to-seed-blades of grass.

With good intentions I donned my sunhat, t-shirt and shorts.  Mind you, this was the first time I'd even left the house in that summer time attire this year yet so I was seriously ready for the task.

Rolling out the John Deere, I made certain that he was topped off with a tank of fresh gasoline.  Oil, check.  Spark plug, check.   

Power?  Negative.  Pull the cord.....again, again, again.  Wipe the brow, stand back and mutter a few choice words under your breath.  Pull the cord....again, again. Call it - time of death 10:01 a.m.  

Luckily I had a little red loaner that was eager to step into the game as a substitute.  So I sauntered over to Lil' Red and yanked its cord.  Again, and again, and again.  Mutter some more creative words, which this time must have done the trick for it fired up like a little 4th of July sparkler and off we went to devour the field of grass.

Now it being the hot, sultry Saturday morning that it was, midway through my chore I felt the need to take a time out to re-hydrate my system so I stopped for a little time out.  

But apparently Red wasn't ready when I was to resume and refused to start.  Sensing JD was ready to get back in the game, I gave a quick pull on the cord and he eagerly fired up.  Off we went to tackle the behemoth task at hand, leaving Red to sit on the sideline.  

An hour and a half later the lawn was once again a carpet of well groomed beauty.  

I can only reason that I am the care giver to two very temperamental machines and the season is going to be a long and arduous one. But I am confident however, that with a little teamwork, we can get the job done.  

It's rather satisfying to survey a freshly-cut lawn.  And a little unsettling to notice that two days later, following a weekend of glorious early summer rains, that I will need to mow again very soon.  I wonder which of my teammates will be ready to get in the game this time....I guess that's just the way the ball bounces, or motor turns, or something like that.

By the way, I'd like to wish two of my favorite people a very  happy two-year wedding anniversary.  

As I think back on the memories of those many years ago that you met and fell in love, I know that you are truly meant to be together, and know that you will share countless years of happiness and teamwork. 

May 26, 2014

And On the Other Side of the Coin....

As promised last week, I offer a more positive reflection on life's experiences.  I do very much enjoy the little things that bring such joy to one's life.  The slighter the better - no need for a big "wow" moment in my life.  There are so many rewarding things to enjoy.

Like sitting outside at dusk watching the bats dance with the stars as they both come to life in the evening sky.  With the abundant insect life throughout the warm summer months, I can't help but wonder how they find enough to satisfy their appetites in these early spring, cool evenings.  

That full moon you forgot to look for.  The same one that takes your breath away when you round the corner and see.  Even if your mind is busy troubling over some trifle or another, it's soon forgotten when the sight of that glorious heavenly orb meets your eyes.

Waking on a weekend morning knowing that you really don't have to be anywhere any time soon.  Feeling the joy of rolling over just one more time, and knowing the alarm clock will not summon you out of bed.  Indeed, those mornings I love the sound of birds waking in the predawn. And even if they do keep me awake for a short time, I know I can pull the covers over my head and fade away for a little more snoozing.

A smile.  It can come from a friend or someone I do not know-doesn't matter.  The power it holds is remarkable and is almost as rewarding as a hearty, laugh-out-loud chuckle.  Yes, those are two of life's best things.

Scratching that itch that just won't seem to go away.  Sometimes this is a literal thing and you need a helping hand from a friend to get that out of reach spot.  Other times it's figurative.  You know what I mean, I'm sure.

Fresh rain that just keeps on giving. First, it's the sound of the drops on the windows, then the irresistible urge to take a walk in it, and then the green growth that follows the next day.  Simply wonderful.

Vacations, babies, a kitten, a puppy, Fridays.  A great book, movie, live music. A good neighbor, and sons to look up to.  My list of favorite things goes on and on, but it wouldn't be fair to bore you my dear reader any longer, and after all, that song's already been written.  So I will finish with just one more  thing.....

A memory.  I think this is probably my favorite joy since it's the one thing I can have anytime I want. 

And the good ones never go away.

May 19, 2014

To Complain is Human.....

We all have them.  Those things that just irritate the living daylight out of us.  I tend to swallow and ignore the things that most annoy and frustrate me.  It's just the way I am.  But since I can, I now put pen to paper to point out some of the things I most dislike.

Such as the shrill scream of a leaf blower that splinters the serenity of a still Sunday afternoon.  Where's the sense in that? Why  not let the winds that Southwest Minnesota is blessed with take care of the situation?

Or those new-fangled toilet tissue holders in public restrooms.  Sure they can hold a mega roll of paper, but at the same time are placed at an angle designed to deter even the most deft user any attempt at retrieving a fair share of tissue, and usually results in ripping off little useless shreds of paper.

And so called express lines in those super stores.  When I'm in line with a tube of tooth paste and a bottle of Tylenol, why do I always find myself behind a super shopper with 22 items who is pushing the allotted limits?

Need I even mention those lesser skilled drivers who, for some reason feel that no matter the speed I am driving, it is much too slow for their taste, and who hover so closely behind that I can see the fire of competition in their eyes as we share the highway.  

Barking dogs.  It only proves neglect or boredom.  Dog owners, this is something that you need to address.  Give your pet a little attention.  Or discipline.  

Grammar.  Bless those English teachers who have made it their life's goal to instill an ounce of decorum when it comes to correct grammatical expression.  But when everywhere we turn there are inaccuracies in expression, what can be done?  Let's stop misusing the pronoun "myself" when it should be "me"!  Maybe it's time we all went back to grammar school and had a refresher course.

And radio commercials that scream so shrewdly at me that I only want to cover my ears.  Who determined that to be effective?  It only makes me turn my radio off or switch stations. 

I've noticed lately that in every picture snapped of a lovely girl posing with her date, or in a group of friends, she always has her arm/wing flung upon a hip.  Maybe this is because of celebrity influence, but it's really not attractive.  Brings to mind the old song...."put our right arm in and your right arm out and you shake it all about..."

The list goes on and on and on.  I realize I may be acting a bit overly critical here, but it's just my opinion after all.  Fear not. Next time I promise to share with you some of the things, no matter how trivial,  that bring immeasurable joy to my very soul.  After all, that's much more pleasurable than grumbling about the world around us now, isn't it. 

But sometimes you just have to get it out of your system.  Ahhh, that's so much better!

May 12, 2014

Legacies Are Meant to Be Passed  Along

Some things are meant to be passed from one generation to another.  In my sister's case it is the artful completion of a quilt lovingly created by  my grandma Anthony.  In mine, it is the recollection of learning the craft of knitting from my mom and grandmother Hudson, one stitch at a time.

Together we sat on the couch, three generations strong, as my hesitant, young fingers worked the yarn over the awkward needles, so eager to learn the craft, yet so clumsy in the efforts.  So far away yet so close. I tried, I failed, yet I persevered.  

It had to be the belief that  both those remarkable women, my mother and grandmother, had in me that led to a lifetime of  what I now feel to be such an important part of me. 

I learned to knit and have grown to appreciate that every day of my life.

Those first projects were simple ones - a scarf to match my winter jacket, a  plethora of crafty items, and eventually a real sweater.  Each time I picked up my needles and yarn, there was no end to what I could create.

And it all began that one day when I was a mere 7 year old child with mom and grandma at my side.

Through the years I knit mittens and gloves and hats and scarves and afghans. Then came the day when my second son was born. Eager to craft something perfectly special, I knit a fair isle sweater and matching leggings for my newborn. I still have that little gem as well as many of the other projects that I attempted.  (Even that partially completed sock which was a departure from my usual fare). Maybe one of these days I'll finish it and actually knit its mate. 

Perhaps the greatest thing of all happened, though, was last year when my mom gifted me with her knitting needles, patterns and yarn. the fact that she placed it into my hands meant the world to me.  Project #1 then was to finish the afghan that she had started many year ago and never completed. Well stitch by agonizing stitch I finished what once she began, and when done, it was regifted back to her as a Christmas surprise. 

Whenever I pick up those needles, or begin a new knitting project, or even when I'm in a knitting zone, my thoughts can't help but to retreat to those days so long ago when two generations of knitters strove to teach me their craft.

Recently I was asked to join a group of knitters who meet once a month to do, what else, knit!  It is a joy I'll tell you, to be a part of such a sorority.  For we all know how to knit and purl, increase and decrease, but what's more important is the fact that we have in common the love of knitting and of creating and of gifting what we make.  

What a legacy was made oh so many years ago when three generations of women sat together in a knitting unity.  Truly a gift of the heart.

May 5, 2014
That's the Way the Ball Blows, er Bounces

Once upon a time a little girl owned a beautiful pink ball.  To her it was the prettiest thing she had ever seen, and was adorned with all manner of pretty little girlie decorations.  Many delightful hours were spent bouncing the ball – thwack, it would softly hit the sidewalk and gently bounce back up to her waiting hands. There was something magical about that beautiful bouncy orb.

The ball had once lived in a towering cage in the middle of the supermarket aisle, and every time the girl went to the store with her parents she begged them to buy her a bright, shiny ball.  But the answer was always "no".  One day, for some reason or other,  her dream came true and her mother finally said “yes”!  Of course the little girl chose the biggest, brightest ball in the upper most spot of the display case.  It was no easy fete to retrieve that special toy but once in hand, the magic began.

As is wont to happen, that lovely ball  one day took on a life of its own when the prairie winds turned up a notch to near-hurricane force.  And like that, it was gone (with the wind). 

My thoughts turned to those memories the other day when fierceful winds struck yet again in the area this spring.  Lodged under the car was found a lovely bouncy ball, all bedecked in princess, girlie graphics.  The ball had stolen unknowingly from some youngster's care and darted down the street in reckless abandon by those breezes. Hard to say from where the ball originated and with the gale force winds in these parts, it could have come from far and beyond.  

The forlorn toy seemed in dire need of an owner. There it sat, unneeded, unloved and alone.  

But alas, one day, along came a little lass in search of a ball.  And so it was to pass, this little darling came to be the new owner of a beautiful bouncy ball.  Finders keepers, what's old is new again, or something like that.  The little girl walked away, ball in hand, and a smile on her face.  

Oh such a simple joy to behold!!  The motto of this tale is, hold fast to your dreams. For the winds are a force to be reckoned with.  And if you lose hold, never fear, for the joy you have lost will surely fill someone else's heart to the brim.

April 21, 2014
Are we there yet??!!

Can it be....really?  I'm not sure if acknowledging the fact is premature or valid. Could it be that spring has fallen finally in these parts?  Up until now I have found myself commiserating with the faithful, trusting red-breasted robins hopping on one, then the other little scrawny toe attempting to restore the feeling to their extremities. 

Will they ever learn to hold off when making their travel plans home for the summer, I wonder.  And what about that old adage go that it isn't officially spring until the snow falls two, three times on the robin's head? 

I guess it's a case of wishful thinking.  But after all, we've actually had one or two shirt sleeve days, and I'm feeling a little daring, leaving the house with my spring outer wear and even going sans socks for one glorious day.  I've stowed my gloves in the drawer in hopes of not requiring them until next fall once again.

And I even toted the budding amaryllis buds (passed to me from my dear friend Alice), from the basement and set them on the back porch to soak up some April sunshine. I gave them a shot of water and they're starting to awaken and stretch recuperatively after their endless winter's rest. Perhaps one of these days they'll gift me with some lovely blossoms.

The thought makes me smile.

Now is the time to contemplate divesting the flower beds of the dried leaves and spent stalks that have languished through these long winter months as the plants have lain dormant in the ground.  For me it's just like the long-awaited birthdays of my childhood.  Unwrapping the flower beds is such a sweet surprise, just as the anticipation of that special day always was. 

Time and again I am amazed at the miraculous regrowth as the spring days begin to dawn.  It's truly a joy to behold. 

All too soon will be heard the first lawn mower's purr in the neighborhood.  Can it be?  I think so. And oh what a joy it will be to cut that emerald carpet once again, and inhale the unmistakable scent of summer.  (And so soon will I be grumbling about the need to mow once again, for the third time in one week.....)

Am I but a wistful dreamer? I think not.  Because we all know that no matter its severity , the seemingly endless months of winter eventually draw to a close and what follows is, once again, warmth here in the Midwest. 

Time for me to find those gardening gloves and my rake.  I know I left them somewhere last October when I was busy hauling those fallen leaves to the tree dump.....and where did I put all of those short sleeve t-shirts, I wonder. They might come in handy one of these days after all.

April 14, 2014

Being a good sport will always get you farther

"Does she or doesn't she?"  Years ago that was that was the catchphrase of a popular hair dye product advertisement.  “Only her hairdresser knows…..” it went on to quip. 

This past weekend I couldn't help but recall that million dollar question.  The occasion to celebrate the coming birth of a great niece led the two aunts-to-be (my sister and I), to participate in a baby shower.

I wasn't really sure how my older sister might handle the event as she has always contended that she absolutely abhors baby showers and especially  those silly, awful games that shower-goers are forced to participate in.

But as she is apt to do, big sister once again confounded her little sis.  She not only fearlessly volunteered for an unknown shower activity, but she willingly became the butt of the joke so to speak.  (But in a good way of course.)

Standing in front of a room full of fellow women shower attendees, and before we could lose our nerve, we were handed a gargantuan white union suit, the kind with a drop seat in the hind end, intended for a really big guy to wear on a very cold winter’s night.

And she was told to don it.  That she did and we awaited further instructions, (she's always been good at following directions). What followed was hilarious mayhem as I, her assistant, attempted to shove as many balloons into the opening in the back of her union suit.  While I was furiously shoving balloons into the opening in the back of her get up she was quickly working at repositioning them throughout the jumpsuit. 

We got to #19.

She soon started to resemble the Michelin woman or a very lumpy bag of oversized marbles. We raced the expectant mother and her son who worked together like a well-oiled machine, and alas we lost by just one balloon. 

Then we went on to other much less physical games.  I eyed sister, ear cocked to hear the scoffing that would surely come from her when the jars of baby food were passed around on a tray.  “I hate these game,” she would surely utter.

Identify the baby foods, we were told. Simple, I thought.  Not so.  A couple samples I actually tasted with one of the spoons provided for the more adventurous sorts.  Still I could not identify every one of those delectable delights correctly.  But she did.

And then it was on to naming the most things carried in your purse, with points assigned to the most unusual items. She came in second place in that game. By that time she was raking in the prizes big time. I was beginning to rethink her philosophy at this point.

But I inadvertently won a prize in the ice cube event.  Melt it any way you can and the first to do so wins a prize.  Well of course my teeth couldn’t stand the abuse of rolling around a chunk of ice in my mouth.  And it was too cold to hold that frozen morsel in my hands.  So I did what I thought brilliant: I dropped the cube into my cup of coffee and in moments it had evaporated.  Yes I was a winner in that event!

We all had our share of fun at the baby shower.  That may have surprised more than one of us but not least of all, the greater of the great-aunts-to-be.  She had a wonderful time, led us in a barrel of laughs, and won some really terrific prizes.

I guess the moral of the story here is, don’t knock it until you’ve tried it.  Or be open to new experiences.  Or just don’t be afraid to laugh at yourself.  And most important, not all of those silly shower games are that stupid!!

April 7, 2014

Music does indeed hath powers.....

Sitting and enjoying the high school's dinner concert the other night, my thoughts couldn't help but wander.  You see, there showcased on stage was a multitude of emotions.  The students performed their hearts out and it was a joy to see.

Coming from a musically-inclined family, I couldn't help but think back upon the past-something I am wont to do oh so often.  In my family there were two violinists, a woodwind player, a trombonist and a mandolin, guitar and harmonica player. 

And two very tolerant, patient parents. 

The early, formative years of an instrumentalist, can be challenging to say the least.  Even so, the learning curve is remarkable and young music students learn by leaps and bounds.  I once commiserated with a music teacher, suggesting that the task of teaching students the fine art of playing a musical instrument must surely be a challenge.  I recall the response being that in fact it was a most rewarding experience and one very cherished indeed.

Hm...that was music to my ears, so to speak.   Because like anything, learning to play a musical instrument begins with a slow crawl that eventually develops into a beautiful stroll. 

Every time I attend a school concert I marvel in amazement.

When I was growing up, our home was filled with musical instruments of every sort.  We even had a music room in our house that our folks dubbed the "conservatory".  It was deep in the basement of our split level home. It had no windows and held a cave-like atmosphere.

It was there that we went to practice our respective instruments in peace.  At the time we thought our room held special qualities and felt that we were so fortunate indeed.  I now know that it was strategically selected by our parents to provide a practice space that was virtually sound-proof and isolated from the rest of the house. 

If only those walls could talk. They might protest the minutes and hours of notes to which they were subjected.   The out-of-tune screech of a violin, or the insanely shrill lofty notes of the piccolo must have been almost unbearable.  Or they might rejoice in the joy of  the budding musicians whose hours of practice took place in those four walls. 

Nevertheless, the hours of practice led to a lifetime of music making in my family.

Music.  It's timeless as well as universal.  I salute those who promote and participate in it.  For music is endless.  It knows no boundaries and speaks to us all. 

Thank  you Murray County Central musicians and directors for taking me back to a time so long ago when the music was first budding in my life. 

Such sweet music to my ears.

March 31, 2014

Daytime television  a whole other story.

Recently I had occasion to spend a good deal of quality time taking in some daytime television.  I must say that in being estranged from the endless game, talk, cooking and news shows for a long time, I now know that I haven't missed much after all. 

I did however learn a few things from the seemingly inane entertainment.  For instance, can you believe that the age-old "Let's Make a Deal" show is still airing?  It is, sadly, sans the jolly host, Monte Hall, whose banter with the rambunctious guests was always fresh and often hilarious.  

What most surprised me was the fact that many of the contestants showed a marked sense of decorum and lack of greed as they pondered whether to take the offered cold, hard cash or to gamble for a much larger "prize" hidden behind curtain #3.  That was refreshing indeed.

The cooking shows, on the other hand, inspired a certain decadence in me. While watching the celebrity chefs whip up any manner of delectable, delicious dishes, I found myself secretly planning a menu of delightful comfort foods, and throwing calories and fat content to the wind.

And talk shows.  They're just another way to showcase big name stars with agendas even larger.  Not for me.

But perhaps most disappointing of all was watching the network news.  It was there that we were told all of the day's biggest highlights.  Again, and again, and again.  The local "news" comes on well before 6:00 a.m.....and again at 8:00 a.m. and then again at noon, back again at 5:00 & 6:00 p.m. and yet again at 10:00 p.m.  

 

What's worse is that the newscasters dutifully read the same headlines over and over and over, all day long. And then they speculate on things.  And then experts are brought in to lend their opinions on issues. I guess there's no excuse for personal misinformation if you are a true television news junky, because if you don't get it the first time you can just wait awhile and you'll hear it again.  All day long.

Yes, television has changed quite a bit through the years.  Once live productions provided the occasionally unintended blooper or gaff.  You never knew quite what to expect.  But now it's merely scripted entertainment.  

Oh for the good old days, eh?