To Be a Fly on the Wall

How many times have we heard people wish they could be a fly on the wall? I've said it. In fact, I said it a couple of times yesterday. It seems that we all think that flies show up to gather all the intelligence in this world. Maybe they do.

I've never personally interviewed a fly, never thought about it. Killing flies, mosquitoes and providing death chambers for mice doesn't bother me in the least.

Maybe I've been missing something all these years by doing away with these critters. Maybe, with flies especially, there's been journalistic gold right in front of my nose, or more accurately ON my nose, constantly being swatted away when it should be embraced.

I wonder what the flies would have to say if on future occasions, as a journalist, I took a different approach when my knee-jerk reaction urges me to swat the heck out of any of those dirty little critters landing on my nose or tiptoeing across my computer screen. What if, for once, I calmly put my hand down, cupped it up, and lured said fly into the palm, kindly saying, "Let's have a talk."

I could go to the kitchen, grab some bread crumbs and offer crumbs for information. Here's how the interview would go.

What is your name and how do you spell it? Shoo Fly

Is that a common name among flies? Not really, but that's what most humans call us.

Why did you come to my house? I came here because I've heard you do a lot of dumb things, and I've been looking for some material to pass along to Hollywood sitcom writers.

Hmm! Dumb things. Can you give me an example? Yeah, sure, I witnessed a good one the other day when you were trying to stuff aluminum foil in all the possible mouse entrances in your hot water heater closet.

It looked kinda stupid, seeing you wad up that aluminum foil, pick up that stick and then reach over the water heater to stuff the foil in that hole. That looked stupid, but the pay-off was when you got stuck between the water heater and the wall. Your head was dangling toward the floor and your big rear end was sticking up in the air.

It kinda reminded me of that idea I gave the writers to use on Julie Dreyfuss in her "The New, Old Christine" show. Ya know when she got her foot caught in the toilet bowl and had to lie there looking at an ear wig on the ceiling?

Seeing you stuck there in the water heater closet was hilarious. I was hoping you'd fall forward onto the floor behind the water heater and have to stand on your head while a mouse came crawling through the aluminum foil and raced around in your hair all day. That would make a great story line.

Okay, you're right, that was kinda funny, once I dislodged myself, but what else stupid have you witnessed while occupying my walls? Well, I did see what happened while you were gone and the mousetrap behind the dog couch in the garage went missing. I thought that was really funny to see your reaction when you couldn't find it. After all, you had just disposed of a dead mouse from the trap shortly before leaving. Serves you right to have the trap go missing. Wanta know what happened?

Yeah, I would like to know what happened. I found it sitting on a table clear across the room. Tell me the rest of the story. Well, after you shut the dogs and Fuzzy Wuzzy (the cat who thinks she's a dog) in the garage and drove off, things happened quickly. Another dumb mouse came to the trap for its peanut butter breakfast. The trap did its thing, and the mouse was a gonner.

Fuzzy Wuzzy was sitting on top of the couch, watching all this, and smiling because the trap saved her a lot of the usual "cat-and-mouse" effort. "A free and easy meal," she thought, as she jumped from the back of the couch, grabbed the mouse and its trap and carried it over to the table to have a proper meal.

She had a little difficulty removing the whole corpse from the trap, but she whiddled away at it and finished off the last bite in plenty of time to go rest on the couch before you returned. And, when you were frantically racing around the garage, yelling out, "Where the Hell did that trap go?" we were whooping it up . . . quietly, of course. We knew you were mad and that the mice had finally driven you to the edge.

You're right on that one. I have to admit there for a second I figured I was headed to the looney bin, after getting stuck in the water heater closet and losing a mousetrap, all in a couple hours time. It did disorder my mind, but my reasoning returned. So, as a fly on our Lovestead wall, have you seen any other samples of stupidity during your stay here? Yeah, I'd have to say feeding the deer off your deck could turn into a good story. I think that's kinda stupid, and so do the mice. I'm just waiting around until one of those whitetail does comes right up on the deck and starts watching the TV sitcoms. Of course, since I'm the fly on the wall who provides a lot of the material, there could come a time when an upcoming segment shows a lady stuck in the water heater closet and a deck-fed deer who broke through the sliding glass door, looking for more hand-outs is standing right behind her, ramming her in the rear. That's got great possibilities.

I really like being a fly on your wall, cuz I'll have good material for years to come.

Who's counting?

As I sit here on this gloomy, gloomy Thursday morning, one uplifting thought provides me some hope. Only 32 more days until the turning point.

I started doing this crazy countdown each fall a couple of years ago when it dawned on me one dark morning that we need to look forward to the darkness, more of it each day, cuz the more we have, the sooner it is until darkness turns toward the light.

So, instead of dreading the fall back from Daylight Savings time and really loathing the thought of Dec. 21, the shortest day of the year, I took on a new perspective. "Embrace it. Bring it on!" I decided, after years of beginning my dread of winter and darkness as early as August.

Too much time wasted, I finally reasoned. When Daylight Savings turns to Daylight Standard, don't frown. Rejoice! After all, the process has started toward an ending point.

Spending all that time in August, September and October dreading wasn't doing me any good. And hating it all even worse, once we were officially thrust into shorter and shorter days, was even less productive.

So, my glass half-full approach when the day is more than half empty of darkness, has given me a fresh, fortified outlook on attacking winter/dark doldrums.

Only 32 days left until the shortest day, I say. We're getting closer to filling our days with more and more light. Now (to myself I say) get to work on some projects, and it will fly by that much faster.

So, on this morning, I'm count the days until I leave the Lovestead, meet up with my daughter in Seattle and fly off to Maui aka Paradise, and I know there is much to be done. Disclaimer: Please bear with me if my counting fails on any upcoming projections; after all, I'm an English teacher.

Anyway, that would be 14 by my ciphering. By that day, we'll be down to only 18 days of progressively increased darkness.

~~~Number of days until you'd better have all those Christmas presents purchased. Would I be correct in saying 35? Only 35 more shopping days. Sounds okay and even sounds better when you factor in that when you have all your Christmas shopping completed, we're three days into the light.

~~~Number of days until you'd better have those Christmas cards, purchased, addressed, THE LETTER written, printed off, envelopes stamped, personal notes scrawled: 31. I like to have everything in the mail by Dec. 20, except for a few stragglers where I've lost the address or someone who hasn't sent me a card in 50 years suddenly catches me off guard.

By the time most of those cards go out in the mail, I'll be really happy---only one day of ultimate darkness left on the penultimate day of said shortest day. Did I use "penultimate" right, Florine?


~~~Days left until Christmas, when we can count on a quiet morning, blueberry muffins and lots of paper to clean up around the house, and the opportunity to watch "It's a Wonderful Life" for 24 hours straight: that would be 36, if my estimates are correct. And, on Christmas we'll be well on our way to noticing a change from the gloom.

I figure it usually takes about a week to start noticing more light at the end of the afternoon.

When that happens, there's a new spring in my step and a mind filled with hope and expectation for the time---still months away---when things will come alive again and there'll be no more flopping on the couch at 7 p.m., falling off---not the couch--but into a deep slumber halfway through "Entertainment Tonight" in the midst of a 400th interview with someone who walked by Michael Jackson one day and has some personal observations to offer about the late pop star.

By that time, we will have seen every inch of Levi's body in every possible setting, so we just won't care anymore because outdoor pursuits will be calling.

And, speaking of Levi, I need to announce that, as of this writing, a mere 7 days and 9 hours remain for you to bid on the Sandpoint Magazine, autographed by Sarah Palin. So, far--who's counting?---a whopping $51.10 has been bid in the EBay listing. Auction closes Nov. 26--just 25 days from the Solstice, just get your bid in.

For that assignment, go to www.sandpointonline.com, scroll down the right side, and you'll find the link to the auction site, plus all the information that proceeds will go to the Panhandle Special Needs here in Sandpoint.

I'm worn out from counting, and I've got a lot of stuff that needs to be done before all those deadlines mentioned above. I'm also 45 minutes closer to Dec. 21 since I started writing, and the day is getting brighter.

Time flies when you're counting toward a time in the future. Have a fun Thursday, and count your blessings. That's more fun than counting days; plus, it takes up time.

Everybody needs a Selle Club

At 90 years old, plus a week, Ina Jacobson is NOT the oldest member of Selle Extension Club.

Wilma Erickson holds that title.

Nevertheless, yesterday was Ina's special day at the monthly Selle Club meeting.

I figured out yesterday that I'm the second youngest member of the club. Linda Rutherford was born in August, 1947, while I was born in June that year.

Age does not draw lines at Selle Club, however.

Some of us young 'uns sit in awe of those who've been members since the 1930s.

If there were ever true role models to emulate, they're not necessarily and not often found on television screens.

Instead, institutions like Selle Club are havens for such inspiring folks.

I treasure my membership of this club because, as I watch all the insanity that seems to go on in the world, I can show up at a club meeting and renew my sense of what's truly good about the human condition in this world.

Yesterday, Selle Club women showed off shawls they made. Then, they talked about retirement/elderly care centers where they could deliver them.

Instead of bringing gifts for each other to the annual Christmas luncheon, Dione suggested that each lady bring a toy for the Toys for Tots.

The club has a canning jar full of cash that's been donated during every meeting this past year.

The club also has a new family from the Northside School area for whom they'll spend that cash. Three of the ladies love to go do the shopping every year for the family.

The ladies gave their recipes for the cookbook shown below.

And, the ladies celebrated Ina's birthday yesterday.

There is a feeling of warmth, friendship and caring among the membership.

And, there are the colorful stories of past times. That's the part I love the most.

I submit that if this world had a lot more Selle Clubs which exist simply for sincere humanitarian causes and for down-to-earth, unpretentious friendship, we'd all have better days.

Because of its abundant shining examples, Selle Club keeps me grounded in what's really important about the way we live our lives.

I feel blessed to be among the membership.

Ina and Wilma dish up goodies for the traditional Selle Club potluck luncheon.

Birthday girl, Ina Jacobson, with her cake and her beautiful rose.

Seated to Ina's left is Wilma Erickson, who celebrated her 95th birthday in 2008.

I would venture to say that these two women's years of membership in Selle Club adds up to far more than my age of 62.

Ina is the mother of Al, Larry and Roy Jacobson, all great athletes and leaders while growing up here in Sandpoint.

All, phenomenal people with phenomenal families.

Ina's husband Elmer, a lifelong woodsman, took time out to go off to war.

Wilma worked in the War Department during WWII.

Yesterday she told the story of coming across a pay stub for Elmer's wages to be sent to Ina. It was a welcome sight for a young lady so far away from home during the war.

Selle Sunshine lady Isabel Hohreigal reads Ina's autobiography to the group.

A slightly "flash-altered" view of the cookbook designed to raise money for the Bonner County Fair Foundation.

$14.95 buys you some time-honored recipes from extension club members throughout Bonner County, along with a few vintage photos from various parts of the county.

Great Christmas present: if you want to order, I can put you on to the ladies carrying copies around in their car trunks.

Or, Vanderford's in Sandpoint has them.

Sarah Palin to Katie Couric: Sandpoint Magazine

My dad loved to share his tidbits of wisdom: Don't take any wooden nickels. Don't stick any beans up your nose. "Every little bit counts," said the old lady as she peed in the ocean. If the dog hadn't stopped to go to the bathroom, he'd a caught the rabbit, and if I hadn't slipped in it, I'd a seen the race. Etc., Etc.

Well, I haven't enough fingers and toes to count all the times I've used those sayings myself, especially the last one. In our dinner-table conversations, Mother would sometimes mention the "big IF" when we'd be making excuses about something that hadn't gone quite right during our day.

I can't help but use a little of that simple dinner-table philosophy in today's discussion.

IF Sarah Palin had just said to Katie Couric, "Oh, I read them all, especially Sandpoint Magazine," she probably wouldn't have so much 'splaining to do." But then again, now that faux pas makes for good reading.

I'm sure she's heard the word "if" more times than she has cared to over the past 15 months.

Ever since writing the story about Sarah Palin for Sandpoint Magazine last fall, I've dealt with the "big IF" several times too, wondering IF there was anything more I could have done to avoid the "Big Mistake" I made while doing the story. It's a journalist's nightmare, you know, to make a mistake, and it haunts you for time immemorial.

My "Big Mistake" involved the photo of Sarah's alleged first home that I submitted to the folks at Keokee to go along with the story. I could go into all the reasons I ASS-U-MEd I had the correct residence, but I won't. Nobody really cares WHY mistakes are made, but they sure do care WHEN they're made.

I heard almost immediately of my big blooper after the magazine with Sarah's story hit the downtown streets. The photo I submitted was the house next door to Sarah's---blue and gray, just like Sarah's house, loud dogs barking, just like Sarah's house, etc.

In a frenzy, immediately after hearing of my error, I took a jar of my apple jelly to the tenant who was renting the house. I hoped the jelly would soothe his frustrations of going to the door and telling people, "No, she lived next door." He was pretty jovial about the whole thing, though. Thank God.

The interesting part that I learned after being made aware of the error of my ways was that a big fat Obama sign sat in the yard of the real home where Sarah spent her first three months of life.

That's all history now. There's nothing I can do to make up for the error, except to rationalize that the article is like a Navajo blanket---flawed. And, that's what adds value to Navajo blankets, I'm told.

Why do I tell this story? And, why should Sarah have told America and Katie Couric that she "reads them all, especially Sandpoint Magazine"?

Well, there's proof of the pudding at www.sandpointonline.com. And, there's a chance for Sarah to redeem herself through tangible proof that she has at least picked up a Sandpoint Magazine.

She autographed the front cover of edition, which includes said story by yours truly with the flawed photograph. And, Keokee is doing like they did with a past article I wrote a few years ago about Viggo Mortensen.

They're auctioning it off on EBay and sending all money earned to a charitable cause.

In this case, Panhandle Special Needs of Sandpoint will be the recipient, and Keokee owner Chris Bessler figures Sarah would highly approve of that choice.

The EBay auction lasts until Nov. 26, and what better day than today---the launching date for Sarah's book---to get the auction started. Actually, I learned about it last night when Chris sent me a note.

In the case of the Viggo article, the EBay auction brought in more than $300.

I think we can top that. We can do so by spreading the word----to Republicans, Democrats, and all other political folks. Certainly they can put their politics aside to engage in a wonderful cause for our Panhandle Special Needs facility here in Sandpoint.

So, please get the word out to all the people in your address books. Tell folks to go to www.sandpointonline.com, scroll down to the right, click, travel on to the EBay site and place a bid. This EBay page has all the information about the magazine and additional photo of Sarah that will go with to the winning bidder.

And, because that article was flawed, I'm still feeling the symbolic egg on my face for making the mistake. So, IF the auction nets $10,000 or more for Panhandle Special Needs, I'll be happy to stand in front of Sarah's real first home in Sandpoint and allow her to crack a dozen eggs off the top of my head.

So, go to it. Let's raise money for Panhandle Special Needs. Remember, "'Every little bit counts,' said the old woman . . . ."

Fix-it week

Sometime this morning Tony will be calling. And, sometime this week, Ron will be coming. Sometime this week, Joyce will go into action on my head. Possibly this week, Joyce's son Jim will be calling to set a time for his work.

This is fix-it week, and I'll be available for the fix-it folks here at the Lovestead and at the Colburn farm. I'll also be going to the hair fix-it shop to get some maintenance done on myself.

While cleaning stalls in the barn this morning, I heard on K102 that Deejay Derek went to get his hair cut this weekend, and he got plenty for the price of a haircut.

The beautician finished trimming Derek's hair and then pulled out an instrument and started in on his eyebrows. Derek hadn't expected that, but he said he didn't mind.

There's plenty besides my hair that Joyce could fix on me, but so far, she hasn't offered, and I haven't asked. No eyebrow stuff, no nosehairs, no toenails. And, that's just fine. I like to attack that personal maintenance within the confines and privacy of my own home.

Annie told me I'd better get some maintenance done before heading off for Maui in a couple of weeks. That would be tanning. I have done tanning in the winter time----I figure it's one of those rare self-indulgences for a soul who usually doesn't care much about personal maintenance as long as my hair looks okay and I'm clean.

But tanning BEFORE going to Maui sounds pretty sensible to me. After all, I want to enjoy the whole stay there rather than feeling like a lobster ready for the pot after one day in the sun.

Back to the home maintenance. Ron, our wonderful plumber, will be coming to fix the drip under the kitchen sink. We had a drip under the kitchen sink when we first met Ron several years ago. We were impressed with him from the moment we met him, and our respect and admiration has only grown since we ended up moving right next door to his parents.

Ron Kauble, Jr., like Tony Bitton, is one of the "salt-of-the-earth" people who help us out with our maintenance challenges. With these folks, you get quality, professional workmanship as well as the confidence that these people take pride in doing every job right. Plus, they've both turned out to be good friends.

Ron will be also fixing one of the automatic waterers in the barn. It's got a slow drip out one corner. That drip falls on the rubber mat, and when it's cold, turns to ice. I do not want the drip to suddenly turn into a waterfall in mid-winter, so we're taking care of it now. Plus, it's nice not to have to carry buckets of water to the barn every day.

Sometime this week, Jim, son of Joyce, my hairdresser, will call and set up an appointment to install Mother's new front door. We went to the door shop (the Sandpoint Furniture complex) a few weeks ago and picked out a beautiful door with an oval cut-glass window. We're figuring it should come in this week.

And, when Jim, who's been doing windows and doors for several years, comes to put it in, there will be reason to celebrate. The practicality of having a door with no opening between it and the threshold will be welcome, and the beauty of the new door for the Christmas season will add a festive touch to Mother's house.

Sometime this week, I might even call John, our horseshoer, to come for end-of-the-season maintenance on the horses' feet. Shoes off for Lily and a trim for Lefty and Heather. Then, we won't see John again until spring when we're ready to start all over playing with the horses.

Lots to do. Actually, I don't do much when the fix-it people do their thing. Just talk while they work, and try not to talk too much in some instances so they can get their work done. Regardless of what they're doing to make our lives go more smoothly, there's a common thread associated with all fix-it folks: the check at the end.

And, in each of these cases, we won't mind it one bit, cuz they're all the best!

Of Sadie and Maureen

I loved Sadie Hawkins, and I love Maureen. This is their day.

I didn't realize until this morning in the Google top-ten searches with Sadie Hawkins ranking second under Sarah Palin that this is Sadie's birthday, so to speak. She showed up in the cartoon strip Dog Patch, and her dad was worried she'd never get married.

This is also a special day for Maureen, and I think it's a significant one. I think we discussed the chronological details last year when I wished her a happy birthday. Maureen's my niece. She's the oldest of all the nieces and nephews on this side of the family, and she's a nice lady.

So, happy birthday, Maureen. I hope---if this is your significant birthday---you have a great celebration. On my significant birthday, I got sent on a scavenger hunt around Sandpoint, which included black roses from one of the local flower shops and the offer of a brand-new baby from John and Kathy who ran the Whistlestop Cafe at the time.

John and Kathy are no longer here; I think they moved back to Kansas, and I'm sure that baby no longer lives with them. She may have even graduated from college by now.

The Whistlestop, which served really yummy donuts, along with a little conservative political philosophy from John, is now known as Mick Duff's. And, of course, for the oldtimers, part of that site was once the Pend Oreille Sport Shop.

Anyway, I have fun and good memories of that day so long ago, and I hope Maureen's family and friends----if this is the right number---serve her up a memorable day. Don't take any free baby offers, Maureen.

As for Sadie Hawkins, I loved her a lot when I was a teen-age wallflower. The Sadie Hawkins Dance at Sandpoint Junior High provided the one forum where I had a chance to initiate romances. Since nobody ever asked me to the dances, Sadie Hawkins gave me license to ask the boys.

I remember one instance in particular. I had met Larry Edgar from Priest River at the Bonner County Fair, always a ripe setting for newfound teen romances. Larry actually liked me, which was a rarity.

We exchanged letters after school started, and it was okay for a while, but when I started hearing from Larry's mother who was all but inviting me into the family---as a 13-year-old---that made me a little nervous.

Sadie Hawkins Day was coming up, and I thought Larry was coming to the dance, but I think he broke his arm or something. Whatever the case, there was a reason he wouldn't be showing up. By that time, my passion for Larry was waning anyway, especially cuz of the inordinate amount of interest in me shown by his mom.

At the time, I was setting my sights on Dennis Timoskevich. He was smart, good at math. He was a farm boy from Sagle, and I figured he was too shy to have a girl friend. So, one day, feeling pretty confident, I walked up to Dennis and asked him to the dance.

"No," he said. And that was all he said, but what a powerful word to dump on a hopeful, awkward girl in search of a date to the dance. My world was crushed . . . well, maybe for a day or two. Still, I wasn't going to stay home cuz Dennis rejected me. There were other possibilities, and since girls could ask boys to dance at the dance, all was not lost.

Turned out when I went to the dance and walked up the cement steps to the school, there stood Larry Edgar. I had a date after all. If I recall correctly, I didn't push the romance, and eventually after Sadie Hawkins Day, the correspondence from Priest River ceased, even from Mom.

Sadie Hawkins should be enshrined in a Hall of Fame when you consider what she unwittingly did for so many desperate girls. Heck, she got me through junior high. I don't think we had any Sadie Hawkins dances in high school, so you might say I went through a dry spell in the romance department.

Anyway, this is Sadie's day, and this is Maureen's day, and I salute both for very different reasons. Happy Birthday!

Epilogue: Dennis went on to become a pilot in the Air Force after graduating from the University of Idaho. He and his lovely wife attended our 40th-class reunion; he now lives in San Antonio, and his nephew is a well-known sportscaster here in Sandpoint.

Sadly, Larry died several years ago in a drowning accident. His cousin Esther, though, remains one of my good friends and former SHS colleagues. Interestingly, she works in the PTE department with Willie at the school. Fun lady.

Saturday Slightly Snowy

I'm looking out the window at Lily. She, with her red spots and her reddish brown blanket, contrasts sharply with the white sea surrounding her---white fence, white fields with a backdrop of white-dusted trees and bluish white mountain in the distance.

We've got snow. Two inches of it this morning, but that's it for several days, and I will not complain. The rest of the week is forecast to be dry and even sunny at times. Can't knock that.

Last night marked a first for the 2009-2010 snow season. Internet didn't work when we arrived home from our Friday night outing to Mick Duffs. So, that meant boots back on, a trip to the garage to get the mop followed by a climb up the outside ladder to mop off the satellite dish.

The routine is changing, and Bill can expect more noise pollution within the walls of this house when weather plays havoc with the Internet. This morning he told Willie that "it's easy to tell when there's snow or rain on the dish."

I agreed. Bill doesn't climb the ladder or clean off the dish in the midst of snowy weather either, so he doesn't complain about the choice words flying through the air.

~~~~~~
This morning I've gotta tell you about a new link on my list. My friend Nancy Wright has started a blog for the Bonner County 4-H program, which she coordinates. You can find it at http://www.4hclovercountry.blogspot.com/, or by simply clicking on the Bonner County 4-H link at the top of my list.

Nancy, who hails from Vermont, has worked with the program here for a number of years. She has decided to use the blog format to get the word out on local 4-H activities and general 4-H opportunities. The blog is in its infancy, but I predict that it will develop into a very nice tool for Nancy and for anyone who loves the 4-H program.

I can thank 4-H for a major portion of my life successes. Next to my own family, the program offered me the basic tools to approach virtually any project associated with my professional life.
Meeting deadlines, doing the job right, using communications skills, organization---you name it.

My 4-H experiences involving cooking, sewing, arts and crafts, horses, cows, and junior leadership were catastrophic, hilarious and meaningful. From each experience---negative or positive, I learned something to take with me through my life's journey.

So, I encourage readers to check out Nancy's blog and contribute whenever you have something to offer. I'm sure Nancy would love to hear ideas from around the country on projects, activities or just plain ol' stories associated with the 4-H experience.

Good Luck, Nancy, with your blog.

~~~~~~
I see that my friend Helen has found a valuable new vocation as she officially approaches "Life after City Council." This morning's Daily Bee sports section featured a wishful prognostication of sorts from Helen regarding today's Vandal-Bronco football game.

She says even if the Idaho Vandals win 3-2 over the Boise State Broncos, it will be just fine with her.

She predicts, however, it will be a high-scoring game. Helen knows her numbers, so I'm guessing the second part of her outlook could be pretty true. I do think, however, the first scenario would make national headlines if we had a game where a field goal beat a safety.

Let's just see how close Helen is to getting it right. If she is, maybe the Daily Bee will hire her as its new sports ombudsman----or would that be an ombudswoman. I think ombudder would be the most political correct.

So, Ombudder Helen, good luck with your predictions. And, as I said yesterday, Idaho wins no matter what. Either team's victory will make the state proud.

I'm wearing my Boise State sweatshirt, by the way, with a red polo shirt underneath so I can quickly change into my Gonzaga Bulldogs jacket for the big ZAGS season opener at 5 p.m.