It's time to get caught up with the family photo album of late, so today's posting features an assortment from my digital library. The first one was taken two years ago, but since I just found my camera, I figured I'd include it. Others have been snapped in the past week in Alaska and Seattle. Enjoy.
A couple of notes: Be sure to tune in to the National Finals Rodeo this week and keep your fingers crossed for Sandpoint's Rowdy Buechner who'll be competing in Bareback Riding. He's coming off from two months of recuperation after a hip injury at the Pendleton Roundup, which he won. He also won at the Cheyenne Frontier Days Rodeo this summer. He's ranked 13, but that's after two months off from the circuit. Go, Rowdy!
Also, for anyone in the Sandpoint area who'd like to contribute to a behind-the-scenes but meaningful project, there's a lady at the Elmira Store who works really hard every year to put together the Elmira Family Christmas for the less fortunate youngsters who live in her area.
They call her "Sis" at the store. She cooks up those 6-inch high hamburgers, and she's got a heart of gold. So, if you want to send a donation to her project, which has been going for the past four years, just address it to "Sis" at the Elmira Store, Samuels, Idaho 83862. Better yet, take your donation in person and try one of those hamburgers with one their fabulous chocolate shakes.
Happy Wednesday. Enjoy the pictures below.
Wednesday, November 30, 2005
Tuesday, November 29, 2005
Second draft
After two-plus months of squeezing in any of my extra time to the project, I've finished revising my manuscript. Today Lessons with Love: A Collection of Hometown Teaching Tales will go into a mailing box, bound for Reno, Nevada. Once again, the folks who help make the decisions at the University of Nevada Press will give it a lookover and decide if they want to accept it for publication.
Among the changes, I've added an introduction called "Teacher Prep." Its purpose is to give the stories a better focus. In my two past books and with other humorous collections by Patrick F. McManus and Jean Shepherd, I haven't seen this as essential.
Instead, the stories appear as separate units, to be enjoyed at one's leisure and in any order the reader chooses. In Pocket Girdles, readers had a choice. They could follow a chronological organization, or they could select a chapter in the middle of the book and still enjoy others later.
This revised manuscript of my 33-year teaching career now features a loosely chronological order to the stories. Again, however, I believe readers can still pick and choose titles they want to read first or last without losing a sense of the book as a whole.
My focus as an author has always been to tell a good story and to entertain my audience. I like to put out a book that does not restrict readers, one that can be picked up and enjoyed while sitting in an airport, relaxing before bed time, or spicing up one's life on a boring winter day.
My teaching career was entertaining at times, frustrating at times, and extremely meaningful at times. I'm hoping this collection reflects each of those dimensions. I'm also hoping that a broad audience, ranging from teachers to students to all former students, will see the book as a realistic portrayal of the experiences an educator encounters while spending all that time with teenagers. Finally, I hope the stories do reflect a representative cross section of the students we meet during our career and the ends to which they'll go, either knowingly or unwittingly, to leave an imprint in our lives.
The University of Nevada sets high standards for the books it publishes. If I can meet those standards with this second draft and with subsequent editing, I'll be thrilled beyond belief. Acceptance from an academic press would take me one step closer to calling myself an author and knowing that it really means something.
So, off it goes. I'm ready to accept rejection. I think I can do that a lot better than I could 15 years ago. It's never easy to swallow, but with enough practice, one learns to bounce back. I figure I've had enough practice, and I doubt that I'll do like Stephen King did with his first book and throw it in the garbage can.
Instead, I'll lick my wounds and keep moving on, offering the manuscript until someone decides to publish the book. Thankfully, in the publishing quest, there's always a Plan B, C, D, etc. With luck and work, Lessons with Love may hit stores in 2006.
For now, I'll wait and hope for positive vibes and a note or call, saying, "You're in."
Among the changes, I've added an introduction called "Teacher Prep." Its purpose is to give the stories a better focus. In my two past books and with other humorous collections by Patrick F. McManus and Jean Shepherd, I haven't seen this as essential.
Instead, the stories appear as separate units, to be enjoyed at one's leisure and in any order the reader chooses. In Pocket Girdles, readers had a choice. They could follow a chronological organization, or they could select a chapter in the middle of the book and still enjoy others later.
This revised manuscript of my 33-year teaching career now features a loosely chronological order to the stories. Again, however, I believe readers can still pick and choose titles they want to read first or last without losing a sense of the book as a whole.
My focus as an author has always been to tell a good story and to entertain my audience. I like to put out a book that does not restrict readers, one that can be picked up and enjoyed while sitting in an airport, relaxing before bed time, or spicing up one's life on a boring winter day.
My teaching career was entertaining at times, frustrating at times, and extremely meaningful at times. I'm hoping this collection reflects each of those dimensions. I'm also hoping that a broad audience, ranging from teachers to students to all former students, will see the book as a realistic portrayal of the experiences an educator encounters while spending all that time with teenagers. Finally, I hope the stories do reflect a representative cross section of the students we meet during our career and the ends to which they'll go, either knowingly or unwittingly, to leave an imprint in our lives.
The University of Nevada sets high standards for the books it publishes. If I can meet those standards with this second draft and with subsequent editing, I'll be thrilled beyond belief. Acceptance from an academic press would take me one step closer to calling myself an author and knowing that it really means something.
So, off it goes. I'm ready to accept rejection. I think I can do that a lot better than I could 15 years ago. It's never easy to swallow, but with enough practice, one learns to bounce back. I figure I've had enough practice, and I doubt that I'll do like Stephen King did with his first book and throw it in the garbage can.
Instead, I'll lick my wounds and keep moving on, offering the manuscript until someone decides to publish the book. Thankfully, in the publishing quest, there's always a Plan B, C, D, etc. With luck and work, Lessons with Love may hit stores in 2006.
For now, I'll wait and hope for positive vibes and a note or call, saying, "You're in."
Monday, November 28, 2005
'Tis the season for black days and careful planning
I don't recall ever hearing so much about "Black Friday" and "Black Monday" during past holiday seasons as I've heard this year. I guess it's supposed to mean something good for someone, but the terms still suggest a rather dark connotation to me. I always thought "Black Friday" was the day the stock market crashed in 1929.
In 2005, the media are constantly referring to these week days immediately after Thanksgiving as those great big Christmas shopping days where people act like animals, crashing their shopping carts and bodies into each other while pushing through well-stocked markets to snap up those Christmas specials.
Oh, yeah, now I get the connection. I'm also becoming aware, after weekend news reports, that "shop 'til you drop" is taking on new meaning these days, i.e., "shop 'til your drop yourself or someone else." My question is 'What would Jesus think?'
Actually, I think I'm being unfair by comparing those maniacal shoppers to animals cuz they don't drive shopping carts. Anyway, it appears that the bigger and rowdier the human herds happen to be, as they moil around and do their shoving through Wal Mart aisles, for example, the blacker it gets for the folks counting the change at the end of the day.
'Tis the season for people like me to find a time when all these insane, dangerous shoppers are still at home, licking their wounds and wrapping those gifts. I do not like to shop in crowded stores. Furthermore, I just plain don't like to shop.
So, I usually get my list prepared, determine where I'm gonna buy stuff, figure out when I think the quietest time possible might be, jump in the car and head for the stores. An ideal shopping day for me would take no more than an hour, and if it's the quiet time, I can usually pull that off.
I've noticed of late, however, that for every hard-core shopper who shows up at the store door at 4 a.m. Friday after Thanksgiving, there are people like me to match. I discovered this last year when I thought that if I showed up at Wal Mart on an early December Tuesday morning at 7:30, I could get the job done in relative peace and quiet. Several hundred other recluses just like me had the same idea.
The cars in the parking lot gave the first hint, but when I had to keep switching aisles in the Christmas decorating section to find a route directly to the twinkle lights, I knew a new plan would be in the works. I can drive a empty cart around just so long in a Wal Mart or any other store before self destructing and saying "To Hell with this," pushing it right back to the greeter's lineup, and leaving the store in defeat.
I'm thinking about this year's strategy and figuring that I'd better have Plan B if Plan A goes awry. Used to be I could get Annie to do most of my shopping, but she's in Seattle and won't be home until just before Christmas, so that's not an option. This year's family wish list opens the door for me to get out of it all together because I've been told they all want money for Christmas this year. So, I could just go to Yoke's and buy some envelopes.
But, it's just not quite the season without a few surprises in gift boxes, so I'm not going to get out of going to some of those stores this year. After all, they always get their calendars, and I know Vanderford's has a good supply.
I have had good luck there in the past, especially cuz they sell good books. Just walk in, spot the books on the display right in the front, think of the people I know and what they'd like to read. Pick out a pile, and then Michelle rings 'em up. That sounds like a good idea.
If I get at this annual project soon enough, maybe I can avoid those horrid scenes three weeks from now when "Black Week" comes along and all those gift-impaired people show up to shove and charge, charge, charge while doing their last-minute shopping.
I'd better get busy.
In 2005, the media are constantly referring to these week days immediately after Thanksgiving as those great big Christmas shopping days where people act like animals, crashing their shopping carts and bodies into each other while pushing through well-stocked markets to snap up those Christmas specials.
Oh, yeah, now I get the connection. I'm also becoming aware, after weekend news reports, that "shop 'til you drop" is taking on new meaning these days, i.e., "shop 'til your drop yourself or someone else." My question is 'What would Jesus think?'
Actually, I think I'm being unfair by comparing those maniacal shoppers to animals cuz they don't drive shopping carts. Anyway, it appears that the bigger and rowdier the human herds happen to be, as they moil around and do their shoving through Wal Mart aisles, for example, the blacker it gets for the folks counting the change at the end of the day.
'Tis the season for people like me to find a time when all these insane, dangerous shoppers are still at home, licking their wounds and wrapping those gifts. I do not like to shop in crowded stores. Furthermore, I just plain don't like to shop.
So, I usually get my list prepared, determine where I'm gonna buy stuff, figure out when I think the quietest time possible might be, jump in the car and head for the stores. An ideal shopping day for me would take no more than an hour, and if it's the quiet time, I can usually pull that off.
I've noticed of late, however, that for every hard-core shopper who shows up at the store door at 4 a.m. Friday after Thanksgiving, there are people like me to match. I discovered this last year when I thought that if I showed up at Wal Mart on an early December Tuesday morning at 7:30, I could get the job done in relative peace and quiet. Several hundred other recluses just like me had the same idea.
The cars in the parking lot gave the first hint, but when I had to keep switching aisles in the Christmas decorating section to find a route directly to the twinkle lights, I knew a new plan would be in the works. I can drive a empty cart around just so long in a Wal Mart or any other store before self destructing and saying "To Hell with this," pushing it right back to the greeter's lineup, and leaving the store in defeat.
I'm thinking about this year's strategy and figuring that I'd better have Plan B if Plan A goes awry. Used to be I could get Annie to do most of my shopping, but she's in Seattle and won't be home until just before Christmas, so that's not an option. This year's family wish list opens the door for me to get out of it all together because I've been told they all want money for Christmas this year. So, I could just go to Yoke's and buy some envelopes.
But, it's just not quite the season without a few surprises in gift boxes, so I'm not going to get out of going to some of those stores this year. After all, they always get their calendars, and I know Vanderford's has a good supply.
I have had good luck there in the past, especially cuz they sell good books. Just walk in, spot the books on the display right in the front, think of the people I know and what they'd like to read. Pick out a pile, and then Michelle rings 'em up. That sounds like a good idea.
If I get at this annual project soon enough, maybe I can avoid those horrid scenes three weeks from now when "Black Week" comes along and all those gift-impaired people show up to shove and charge, charge, charge while doing their last-minute shopping.
I'd better get busy.
Sunday, November 27, 2005
One of those days
Occasionally, we have days of un-inspirement. Is that a word? Well, since I'm so uninspired, I guess I can turn it into one. After all, "ment" was meant to turn verbs or their participial partners into nouns, right?
So on this Sunday I've taken the risk of spoiling my sterling grammatical reputation by going into new noun territory where no grammatically-endowed pedagogue has gone before.
If all readers would just take this newly-coined noun and pass it on to twenty people about whom you really care, think of what an uninspired world this would be. Possibly, those people would feel enough apathy about how stupid the word sounds to send it out to a bunch of their friends too.
It will take time for un-inspirement to catch on. People will need to use it in sentences, and often. Otherwise, the word might just lie dormant in a hidden pocket of many brains, waiting for the day when those brain owners experience a vacuum similar to mine on this Nov. 27, 2005. With practice, they'll know exactly what they're feeling when the time is right.
So, here are some practical possibilities for using "un-inspirement." Next time someone says, "Let's go tie ourselves to the railroad track and see if we can get the train to stop," you can respectfully decline by responding, "No, I feel uninspirement about my future should the train decide not to stop." Then, you probably won't have to go because the person will understand your reluctance at that moment.
Or, there could be the situation when you are asked to go to the mall and assist with a box of Q-tips as the masses come in to take advantage of the annual free ear-wax/toe jam screening/cleaning clinic. You can simply say, "The last time I dug dried-up black jam from 2,000 sets of grimy toes, a severe case of un-inspirement would not allow me to eat my dinner that night."
I'm sure there are many situations when the word "un-inspirement" could fit your needs and the needs of millions of others who occasionally get up on some mornings and just plain don't have anything going on between their ears, except may a little wax build-up. So use that word and use it often.
Then one morning, months from now I could open the paper and be so pleasantly surprised to learn that Mr. Merriam and Mr. Webster got together in their annual meeting and added "un-inspirement" to the dictionary for 2006.
And, then I'd be so inspired that you'd never have to read a crazy blog posting like this again. Go have an inspiring Sunday! I'm looking for the Q-tips.
So on this Sunday I've taken the risk of spoiling my sterling grammatical reputation by going into new noun territory where no grammatically-endowed pedagogue has gone before.
If all readers would just take this newly-coined noun and pass it on to twenty people about whom you really care, think of what an uninspired world this would be. Possibly, those people would feel enough apathy about how stupid the word sounds to send it out to a bunch of their friends too.
It will take time for un-inspirement to catch on. People will need to use it in sentences, and often. Otherwise, the word might just lie dormant in a hidden pocket of many brains, waiting for the day when those brain owners experience a vacuum similar to mine on this Nov. 27, 2005. With practice, they'll know exactly what they're feeling when the time is right.
So, here are some practical possibilities for using "un-inspirement." Next time someone says, "Let's go tie ourselves to the railroad track and see if we can get the train to stop," you can respectfully decline by responding, "No, I feel uninspirement about my future should the train decide not to stop." Then, you probably won't have to go because the person will understand your reluctance at that moment.
Or, there could be the situation when you are asked to go to the mall and assist with a box of Q-tips as the masses come in to take advantage of the annual free ear-wax/toe jam screening/cleaning clinic. You can simply say, "The last time I dug dried-up black jam from 2,000 sets of grimy toes, a severe case of un-inspirement would not allow me to eat my dinner that night."
I'm sure there are many situations when the word "un-inspirement" could fit your needs and the needs of millions of others who occasionally get up on some mornings and just plain don't have anything going on between their ears, except may a little wax build-up. So use that word and use it often.
Then one morning, months from now I could open the paper and be so pleasantly surprised to learn that Mr. Merriam and Mr. Webster got together in their annual meeting and added "un-inspirement" to the dictionary for 2006.
And, then I'd be so inspired that you'd never have to read a crazy blog posting like this again. Go have an inspiring Sunday! I'm looking for the Q-tips.
Saturday, November 26, 2005
DICK's stop; situation normal
With Kiwi's nose on my lap and a couple of papers to read, I felt like all was back to normal this misty morning after our quick trip to Seattle. Kiwi spent the past three days at the Colburn farm, helping out wherever little black-and-white farm pups can help. She also received a few reminders about jumping up on people. It's pretty hard, when you're a pup and you love everyone, to remember your manners.
It was good to see her last night after the long, dreary drive from Western Washington. Somehow, the coming-home end of the trip never seems as exciting as the going. I prefer to shut my eyes and have those miles across that desert just whiz by, but they don't. And, yesterday seemed infinitesimal because of the ugly weather. I guess the main highlight of our trip home was the stop at DICK's.
DICK's is a hamburger joint along Third Avenue in Spokane. Its black letters on a turquoise and pink sign can be viewed for miles, standing high in the sky on those tall, white pedestals. The windows at DICK's advertise "hamburgers by the bagful," along with a lot of other deep-fried goodies. Usually, there's a guy named Benny at one of the service windows counting his change, but he must've been downtown shopping when we arrived.
DICK's is one of Bill's favorite pit stops whenever he's in Spokane, so he saved up all day, snacking on just a few handfuls of kettle korn and a Reese's peanut butter cup. Just after we passed through Ritzville, he announced to the grouch in the passenger's seat that he'd like to stop at DICK's, if that was okay.
By that time, I could smell home. My mood was lightening up a bit, and I said it was fine, figuring a DICK's chocolate milkshake would taste pretty good as we made the last leg of the trip. It would be my dinner, along with a few munchies at home.
When we pulled into the "drive-in, walk-up-and-order" place, we could see a few other carloads of travelers and locals had the same idea. Four lines approximately six deep stood at the windows waiting to order. After telling Bill I'd take a chocolate shake, I went to the bathroom, which has one stall. The stall door was shut and a bunch of clothes and bags sat on the sink counter.
Immediately, a voice behind the door announced, "I've got two pairs of pants on, so I'll get out of here because I'm gonna take a few minutes when I go." A small lady walked out of the stall as I went in. Then, she announced, "I get nervous when someone's standing outside the door and then I can't go."
"Hmm," I thought, "There must be a few of those around," as I flushed to cue up my bladder to go into action. With the lady standing outside the door in her two pairs of pants, waiting, my bladder got shy and refused to let loose in the company of that stranger. So, I flushed again, zipped my pants and headed back to the car.
Eventually, Bill made his way to the window and soon brought two brown bags and a chocolate shake. He asked if I wanted to drive, and I reasoned that those bags probably contained fish and chips. It's probably not a good idea to try the fish-and-chips challenge while driving down the freeway on the busiest shopping day of the year. He does pretty well with greasy chicken and steering wheels, but I don't know about fish and chips.
We made it home by late afternoon after a successful bathroom stop at Rathdrum where no double-pantsed women waited outside the stall. I drove to Colburn and retrieved Kiwi. By 8 p.m., the house was pretty quiet as cats, dog and humans (well-fed and watered) settled in for a long winter's nap in the comfort of home.
It was good to see her last night after the long, dreary drive from Western Washington. Somehow, the coming-home end of the trip never seems as exciting as the going. I prefer to shut my eyes and have those miles across that desert just whiz by, but they don't. And, yesterday seemed infinitesimal because of the ugly weather. I guess the main highlight of our trip home was the stop at DICK's.
DICK's is a hamburger joint along Third Avenue in Spokane. Its black letters on a turquoise and pink sign can be viewed for miles, standing high in the sky on those tall, white pedestals. The windows at DICK's advertise "hamburgers by the bagful," along with a lot of other deep-fried goodies. Usually, there's a guy named Benny at one of the service windows counting his change, but he must've been downtown shopping when we arrived.
DICK's is one of Bill's favorite pit stops whenever he's in Spokane, so he saved up all day, snacking on just a few handfuls of kettle korn and a Reese's peanut butter cup. Just after we passed through Ritzville, he announced to the grouch in the passenger's seat that he'd like to stop at DICK's, if that was okay.
By that time, I could smell home. My mood was lightening up a bit, and I said it was fine, figuring a DICK's chocolate milkshake would taste pretty good as we made the last leg of the trip. It would be my dinner, along with a few munchies at home.
When we pulled into the "drive-in, walk-up-and-order" place, we could see a few other carloads of travelers and locals had the same idea. Four lines approximately six deep stood at the windows waiting to order. After telling Bill I'd take a chocolate shake, I went to the bathroom, which has one stall. The stall door was shut and a bunch of clothes and bags sat on the sink counter.
Immediately, a voice behind the door announced, "I've got two pairs of pants on, so I'll get out of here because I'm gonna take a few minutes when I go." A small lady walked out of the stall as I went in. Then, she announced, "I get nervous when someone's standing outside the door and then I can't go."
"Hmm," I thought, "There must be a few of those around," as I flushed to cue up my bladder to go into action. With the lady standing outside the door in her two pairs of pants, waiting, my bladder got shy and refused to let loose in the company of that stranger. So, I flushed again, zipped my pants and headed back to the car.
Eventually, Bill made his way to the window and soon brought two brown bags and a chocolate shake. He asked if I wanted to drive, and I reasoned that those bags probably contained fish and chips. It's probably not a good idea to try the fish-and-chips challenge while driving down the freeway on the busiest shopping day of the year. He does pretty well with greasy chicken and steering wheels, but I don't know about fish and chips.
We made it home by late afternoon after a successful bathroom stop at Rathdrum where no double-pantsed women waited outside the stall. I drove to Colburn and retrieved Kiwi. By 8 p.m., the house was pretty quiet as cats, dog and humans (well-fed and watered) settled in for a long winter's nap in the comfort of home.
Friday, November 25, 2005
Friday morning after the bird
I can report that all went better than well in the turkey apartment yesterday. The cooks shined. The turkey was moist, tender and tasty. Willie had two helpings of stuffing because it passed the "must taste like Gramma's test," and we had some variations on traditional dishes that surpassed all expectations.
It was a wonderful celebration, lots of fun, interesting people, and great atmosphere with the lights sparkling all around Lake Union. We're indebted to the real chefs who live in that apartment for allowing us to use all their utensils for getting the job done.
Just in case I forget to tell Annie, I did drop a spoon off the side of the stove and meant to pick it up later. I washed the dishes as fast as they were used and hope that everything is reasonably close to where it belongs.
My only flaw was stealing Annie's thunder by preparing the celery and Cheese Whiz. She wanted that job. We offered to lick the cheeze off the celery and let her do her artistic work later, but she declined and forgave me.
Speaking of Annie and where things belong, Annie did great preparation in the organizational department. The kitchen was plastered with post-it notes, identifying contents of all doors and drawers. We only encountered problems when steam from the simmering giblets provided adequate moisture for adhesive powers to go limp, hence post-its on the floor. But, we found enough items not to go hungry.
Now, it's pouring rain in Seattle, as it was when Bill and I walked back to the hotel from Annie's apartment last night. I guess I should clarify that; it was pouring mist then; now, they're full-fledged Seattle raindrops. So, we may have a wet time as we make our way back over the world's longest parking lot and head toward Sandpoint today.
Highlights of our hotel stay include the Loyola Merrymount basketball team lounging in the lobby. Yup, they were pretty high up there all right. They're in town to play the University of Washington tonight.
Willie and Debbie will be there to watch them, so they were pretty excited to talk to a few of them yesterday. We've also been able to meet many of Annie's co-workers, who all say she's the best. And, I don't think she paid them to say that either.
Bill will probably squeeze in a trip to REI today to check out their big sale. I might check out some items there too. Then, we'll say good bye to the kids and look forward to being home by early evening. Although I missed seeing the rest of the family, it's been a good break from a 57-year Thanksgiving tradition.
The family turkey traditions have moved along in grand style to a new generation. And, I'm sure the bathroom scales will concur.
It was a wonderful celebration, lots of fun, interesting people, and great atmosphere with the lights sparkling all around Lake Union. We're indebted to the real chefs who live in that apartment for allowing us to use all their utensils for getting the job done.
Just in case I forget to tell Annie, I did drop a spoon off the side of the stove and meant to pick it up later. I washed the dishes as fast as they were used and hope that everything is reasonably close to where it belongs.
My only flaw was stealing Annie's thunder by preparing the celery and Cheese Whiz. She wanted that job. We offered to lick the cheeze off the celery and let her do her artistic work later, but she declined and forgave me.
Speaking of Annie and where things belong, Annie did great preparation in the organizational department. The kitchen was plastered with post-it notes, identifying contents of all doors and drawers. We only encountered problems when steam from the simmering giblets provided adequate moisture for adhesive powers to go limp, hence post-its on the floor. But, we found enough items not to go hungry.
Now, it's pouring rain in Seattle, as it was when Bill and I walked back to the hotel from Annie's apartment last night. I guess I should clarify that; it was pouring mist then; now, they're full-fledged Seattle raindrops. So, we may have a wet time as we make our way back over the world's longest parking lot and head toward Sandpoint today.
Highlights of our hotel stay include the Loyola Merrymount basketball team lounging in the lobby. Yup, they were pretty high up there all right. They're in town to play the University of Washington tonight.
Willie and Debbie will be there to watch them, so they were pretty excited to talk to a few of them yesterday. We've also been able to meet many of Annie's co-workers, who all say she's the best. And, I don't think she paid them to say that either.
Bill will probably squeeze in a trip to REI today to check out their big sale. I might check out some items there too. Then, we'll say good bye to the kids and look forward to being home by early evening. Although I missed seeing the rest of the family, it's been a good break from a 57-year Thanksgiving tradition.
The family turkey traditions have moved along in grand style to a new generation. And, I'm sure the bathroom scales will concur.
Thursday, November 24, 2005
Turkey day in Seattle
Happy Thanksgiving Day from Seattle. We made it over Snoqualmie with no, I repeat, NO delay. The worst challenge we had to try to view all the fix-up activity (where the boulders had fallen) at 35 miles per hour, and that was at 12:30 p.m., three and one-half hours after the designated time where waits for travelers would supposedly range from two to eight hours.
And, we weren't the only brave rebels who disregarded the Washington governor's plea for folks to forget traveling over the mountains for the Thanksgiving holiday. The traffic was as heavy as we've seen it in the past. We think it was all a Democratic plot to keep commerce from the blue counties from spreading over to the red side of the Washington. We've heard such things have been known to happen before, and Washingtonians get mad.
By now, Annie's up and working in her apartment on Butterball. She has to get him all primped up and ready for stuffing before she comes to work here at the Marriott by 7 a.m. Then, Mom and Debbie will take over with the rest of the preliminaries to the big feast, expected to occur around 5 p.m. We'll have nine people in all, including a German student who's here in Seattle at a biological computation institute getting his Master's. That, by the way, computes into the fact that he's pretty smart, but Annie says he's a regular guy too.
Yesterday, after our pleasant surprise of rolling through what was supposed to be the nation's longest parking lot, we immediately experienced another unexpected delight---beautiful blue skies without a cloud. That was after driving through six hours of drop-dead UGLY. The Washington desert with fog and rain just ain't purty! So, the thrill of knowing the rest of the day would validate the words to the famous song, "The bluest skies you'll ever see are in Seattle," perked us up.
We checked into the hotel and a few minutes later, Annie came with a list of geocaches to pursue, all in the area around the University of Washington, including the beautiful arboretum. When you put Bill in an arboretum with a GPS, he has a difficult time focusing. After all, he's a tree man too, so Loblolly Love had to multitask as we searched out about five caches and stopped at approximately two dozen trees, just to ensure their labels were, indeed, correct.
While searching for "Another Mossy Bridge," a cache obviously located near another mossy bridge and well hidden in a tree, we bumped into Day Spring. He's a biker, geocacher, pilot who used to fly UPS shipments into Sandpoint every day back in the early 1990s. Now, he's a pilot for American Airlines out of San Francisco. We liked him cuz he remembered our red barn which sits not far from the Sandpoint runway where he landed.
He told us we needed to check out some of his "totally tubular" caches, which include a series of tasks to complete before the find. He went on his way, and we moved on to find two more caches, including one under a bridge to nowhere, under which people do live. Fortunately, nobody was home when we located the cache.
Annie wanted us to go find a cache near Nirvana singer Kurt Cobain's home, but by the time we got to that area, it was pretty dark. She also pointed across Lake Washington to all the lights of Bill Gates' home. Maybe we'll go back there today to see it in better light.
The day was topped off by a visit to Pasta Freska, not far from Annie's apartment and the hotel. Mike, the owner is Persian, Sicilian and Greek. Annie warned us beforehand that there's no menu. Instead, Mike comes with a bottle of red wine, pours each person a glass, then sits down and quizzes each person on what they absolutely do NOT like to eat.
Then, he makes sure, during the five course meal, followed by dessert, that nobody goes hungry and that everything is satisfactory to all palates. Since Annie doesn't care for seafood, she had beef with her pasta, while we had shrimp and salmon.
I'm not an eggplant person, but the eggplant parmesan for starters was delightful, as was the salad with goat cheese, the stuffed chicken with gravy which Annie swears she like to lick off the plate; the heavenly pasta, the main dish with pasta and the desserts, including two versions of spumoni ice cream, pumpkin cake, chocolate cake. A tasty liqueur topped off the dessert.
We all told Mike it was a lot better than McDonald's, and I've promised Mike that I'll tell my friends. So, if you're ever in Seattle, check it out at 1515 Westlake Avenue North. His email address is on his postcard: mike@pastafreska.com, so if you go there, tell him Marianne sent you.
Gotta get going. My coffee's turned lukewarm and Bill's about to head downstairs for the fitness center. Then, we'll go to breakfast. It should be a great day ahead; hope it is at your house too. Note to Jenny: Dakota Horse looks good. Note to the Lambs: I hope George calls today and that tomorrow I can tell my blog readers about a very special day in the life of the Lambs.
One final note to all: I've posted my current River Journal column on the website: www.mariannelove.com. If you want to read the column and the raw data about what some of our Sandpoint kids are doing, check it out. It's under "Love Notes --What in the World Are They Doing?"
And, we weren't the only brave rebels who disregarded the Washington governor's plea for folks to forget traveling over the mountains for the Thanksgiving holiday. The traffic was as heavy as we've seen it in the past. We think it was all a Democratic plot to keep commerce from the blue counties from spreading over to the red side of the Washington. We've heard such things have been known to happen before, and Washingtonians get mad.
By now, Annie's up and working in her apartment on Butterball. She has to get him all primped up and ready for stuffing before she comes to work here at the Marriott by 7 a.m. Then, Mom and Debbie will take over with the rest of the preliminaries to the big feast, expected to occur around 5 p.m. We'll have nine people in all, including a German student who's here in Seattle at a biological computation institute getting his Master's. That, by the way, computes into the fact that he's pretty smart, but Annie says he's a regular guy too.
Yesterday, after our pleasant surprise of rolling through what was supposed to be the nation's longest parking lot, we immediately experienced another unexpected delight---beautiful blue skies without a cloud. That was after driving through six hours of drop-dead UGLY. The Washington desert with fog and rain just ain't purty! So, the thrill of knowing the rest of the day would validate the words to the famous song, "The bluest skies you'll ever see are in Seattle," perked us up.
We checked into the hotel and a few minutes later, Annie came with a list of geocaches to pursue, all in the area around the University of Washington, including the beautiful arboretum. When you put Bill in an arboretum with a GPS, he has a difficult time focusing. After all, he's a tree man too, so Loblolly Love had to multitask as we searched out about five caches and stopped at approximately two dozen trees, just to ensure their labels were, indeed, correct.
While searching for "Another Mossy Bridge," a cache obviously located near another mossy bridge and well hidden in a tree, we bumped into Day Spring. He's a biker, geocacher, pilot who used to fly UPS shipments into Sandpoint every day back in the early 1990s. Now, he's a pilot for American Airlines out of San Francisco. We liked him cuz he remembered our red barn which sits not far from the Sandpoint runway where he landed.
He told us we needed to check out some of his "totally tubular" caches, which include a series of tasks to complete before the find. He went on his way, and we moved on to find two more caches, including one under a bridge to nowhere, under which people do live. Fortunately, nobody was home when we located the cache.
Annie wanted us to go find a cache near Nirvana singer Kurt Cobain's home, but by the time we got to that area, it was pretty dark. She also pointed across Lake Washington to all the lights of Bill Gates' home. Maybe we'll go back there today to see it in better light.
The day was topped off by a visit to Pasta Freska, not far from Annie's apartment and the hotel. Mike, the owner is Persian, Sicilian and Greek. Annie warned us beforehand that there's no menu. Instead, Mike comes with a bottle of red wine, pours each person a glass, then sits down and quizzes each person on what they absolutely do NOT like to eat.
Then, he makes sure, during the five course meal, followed by dessert, that nobody goes hungry and that everything is satisfactory to all palates. Since Annie doesn't care for seafood, she had beef with her pasta, while we had shrimp and salmon.
I'm not an eggplant person, but the eggplant parmesan for starters was delightful, as was the salad with goat cheese, the stuffed chicken with gravy which Annie swears she like to lick off the plate; the heavenly pasta, the main dish with pasta and the desserts, including two versions of spumoni ice cream, pumpkin cake, chocolate cake. A tasty liqueur topped off the dessert.
We all told Mike it was a lot better than McDonald's, and I've promised Mike that I'll tell my friends. So, if you're ever in Seattle, check it out at 1515 Westlake Avenue North. His email address is on his postcard: mike@pastafreska.com, so if you go there, tell him Marianne sent you.
Gotta get going. My coffee's turned lukewarm and Bill's about to head downstairs for the fitness center. Then, we'll go to breakfast. It should be a great day ahead; hope it is at your house too. Note to Jenny: Dakota Horse looks good. Note to the Lambs: I hope George calls today and that tomorrow I can tell my blog readers about a very special day in the life of the Lambs.
One final note to all: I've posted my current River Journal column on the website: www.mariannelove.com. If you want to read the column and the raw data about what some of our Sandpoint kids are doing, check it out. It's under "Love Notes --What in the World Are They Doing?"
Wednesday, November 23, 2005
Over the desert and through the pass, we hope!
I'm going through withdrawal this morning; in fact, I started this last night while trying to go to sleep and thinking about not seeing Kiwi for three days. She's at her Grandma Tibbs', and we're hoping she gets invited back. Grandma Tibbs loves Kiwi, and Kiwi loves Grandma Tibbs but sometimes too enthusiastically.
It was hard to say good bye to her, but Barbara and Laurie made it easy when they invited her to the barn to do her "work" alongside them. In her case, it's inspecting every knook and cranny of the barn while they feed horses or clean stalls. And, of course, when nobody's looking, there are plenty of those horse apples to carry around.
While Kevin and Joyce, Jim, Barbara, Laurie, Mother and Kiwi dine at Colburn, we'll be in Seattle, checking out that turkey with Annie, Debbie, Rachel and her German friend, . Thanks to Connie and Thane, our animals at the Sandpoint farm will have plenty of tender loving care. We feel so fortunate to have them help us whenever we take off.
With luck, we'll find the best route over the mountains today and then we'll be doing our best to cheer Annie up. Her Thanksgiving euphoria went a little sour last night when the radiator in her car went bonkers. Turns out it will get a new radiator today for $600, but we give thanks that she was able to get it somewhere to have it repaired and that she got home safely.
To all friends and family and loyal blog readers, whom I may not know, we wish you the happiest of turkey days wherever you'll be celebrating. I'll be taking my laptop along so will plan to post tomorrow before the great holiday cooking and feasting begins.
Happy Thanksgiving!
P.S. An update on Kiwi. Mother called a few minutes ago to let me know that Kiwi got her up at 5 a.m. sharp. She says Kiwi's claws need to be clipped and that Kiwi's nose is very wet. She also says the cats are insulted but that she and Kiwi get along just fine.
It was hard to say good bye to her, but Barbara and Laurie made it easy when they invited her to the barn to do her "work" alongside them. In her case, it's inspecting every knook and cranny of the barn while they feed horses or clean stalls. And, of course, when nobody's looking, there are plenty of those horse apples to carry around.
While Kevin and Joyce, Jim, Barbara, Laurie, Mother and Kiwi dine at Colburn, we'll be in Seattle, checking out that turkey with Annie, Debbie, Rachel and her German friend, . Thanks to Connie and Thane, our animals at the Sandpoint farm will have plenty of tender loving care. We feel so fortunate to have them help us whenever we take off.
With luck, we'll find the best route over the mountains today and then we'll be doing our best to cheer Annie up. Her Thanksgiving euphoria went a little sour last night when the radiator in her car went bonkers. Turns out it will get a new radiator today for $600, but we give thanks that she was able to get it somewhere to have it repaired and that she got home safely.
To all friends and family and loyal blog readers, whom I may not know, we wish you the happiest of turkey days wherever you'll be celebrating. I'll be taking my laptop along so will plan to post tomorrow before the great holiday cooking and feasting begins.
Happy Thanksgiving!
P.S. An update on Kiwi. Mother called a few minutes ago to let me know that Kiwi got her up at 5 a.m. sharp. She says Kiwi's claws need to be clipped and that Kiwi's nose is very wet. She also says the cats are insulted but that she and Kiwi get along just fine.
Tuesday, November 22, 2005
The Passing of the Turkey
I wonder if Mama turkeys tell their baby turkeys the facts of life. If they do, it probably goes something like this:
"Now, young Tom, I've got some information you need to know. Let's sit down here in the roost and talk about your future. When your gobbling days are done, you're headed for a chopping block, an oven and a big, fancy platter. So, get used to it. Then, a bunch of two-legged someone's are gonna plop around a table, accented with lit candles and fine wine, say their grace and gobble you up.
"Afterward, while you're moiling around inside that dark chamber, vying with those potatoes, yams, stuffing, beans, turnips, pickles, olives, celery sticks, rolls and jelly, shrimp, fruit salad, cranberries, squash and pumpkin pie with whipped cream for your personal space, you can count on hearing a few groans and belches at either chamber door. I'm not gonna tell you what happens after that cuz I wouldn't want to depress you. Just enjoy life while you can."
So, without letting the turkeys in on it, I've got to talk about the next few days as we humans in our family celebrate the great "passing of the turkey." Today, there's a 17-pounder sitting and thawing in a Seattle apartment overlooking Lake Union. It's called Butterball. Butterball was carefully selected by my daughter Annie and her friend Rachel last week as they shopped for the big turkey day ahead.
Since Butterball's demise on the farm and eventual move to the Seattle apartment, much information has passed back and forth through cyberspace. Mama Love, like Mama Turkey, has been sharing the facts of cooking the Thanksgiving Feast with Annie, Debbie and anyone else who's gonna be stirring the pots in that apartment kitchen on Thursday.
A gentle reminder sped instantly from my computer to hers yesterday morning with hopes that the timing was right to inform her to start thawing the turkey today. Most pressing, however, was the essential reminder to reach inside the cavity and pull out that sack of yucky lookin' stuff called giblets.
Though this Mama Love has never cooked the giblets and that paper sack with the turkey, her Mother Tibbs did long ago. And, I know also from a recent conversation that my friend, Mama Puckett, did too. Methinks they were not alone in the great"first-time-ya-cook-a-turkey" snafu, and me also thinks that maybe their daughters benefitted from this knowledge. Therefore, me thought it wise to share the knowledge of "getting those giblets out BEFORE the roast" to yet another generation.
In this great passing of the turkey, Mama Love has received telephone calls of great culinary curiosity. These calls have come from owners of hungry internal chambers, most concerned with how it's all gonna taste come Thursday and if there's gonna be enough food at the 8th Avenue Love Inn.
That would be young William, who wants his turkey cooked properly and his ample stuffing to taste just like Grandma's. He received reassurance that Grandma's recipe would be sent over Snoqulamie Pass and that he could do his couch potato responsibilities of watching those football games with no concerns about stuffing quality.
An additional query came in this telephone call.
"Now, what are you going to be Thursday during the day?" he asked. To which, I read between the lines, and assured him that I'd be on hand, should any new cooks need advice or guidance in that apartment kitchen. This passing of tradition from one generation to another comes with a sense of apprehension for just how the entire culinary operation will turn out on this maiden voyage for the young cooks.
I do not worry, though, because I do know that for generations, all turkey cooks have done their best not to spoil the broth and then when it's all over, those stomach chambers enjoying the fruits of their labors have continued the age-old tradition of expanding beyond the norm and causing discomfort enough for their overstuffed owners to groan and then ask, "Why did I eat so much?"
I'm looking forward to the passing of the turkey this Thanksgiving, 2005. I'll be pleased when the day comes a few years down the line as Mama turkeys continue to pass on facts of life to their gobbling babies and when Annie and Debbie are reminding yet another generation, "Make sure you remove the giblets."
"Now, young Tom, I've got some information you need to know. Let's sit down here in the roost and talk about your future. When your gobbling days are done, you're headed for a chopping block, an oven and a big, fancy platter. So, get used to it. Then, a bunch of two-legged someone's are gonna plop around a table, accented with lit candles and fine wine, say their grace and gobble you up.
"Afterward, while you're moiling around inside that dark chamber, vying with those potatoes, yams, stuffing, beans, turnips, pickles, olives, celery sticks, rolls and jelly, shrimp, fruit salad, cranberries, squash and pumpkin pie with whipped cream for your personal space, you can count on hearing a few groans and belches at either chamber door. I'm not gonna tell you what happens after that cuz I wouldn't want to depress you. Just enjoy life while you can."
So, without letting the turkeys in on it, I've got to talk about the next few days as we humans in our family celebrate the great "passing of the turkey." Today, there's a 17-pounder sitting and thawing in a Seattle apartment overlooking Lake Union. It's called Butterball. Butterball was carefully selected by my daughter Annie and her friend Rachel last week as they shopped for the big turkey day ahead.
Since Butterball's demise on the farm and eventual move to the Seattle apartment, much information has passed back and forth through cyberspace. Mama Love, like Mama Turkey, has been sharing the facts of cooking the Thanksgiving Feast with Annie, Debbie and anyone else who's gonna be stirring the pots in that apartment kitchen on Thursday.
A gentle reminder sped instantly from my computer to hers yesterday morning with hopes that the timing was right to inform her to start thawing the turkey today. Most pressing, however, was the essential reminder to reach inside the cavity and pull out that sack of yucky lookin' stuff called giblets.
Though this Mama Love has never cooked the giblets and that paper sack with the turkey, her Mother Tibbs did long ago. And, I know also from a recent conversation that my friend, Mama Puckett, did too. Methinks they were not alone in the great"first-time-ya-cook-a-turkey" snafu, and me also thinks that maybe their daughters benefitted from this knowledge. Therefore, me thought it wise to share the knowledge of "getting those giblets out BEFORE the roast" to yet another generation.
In this great passing of the turkey, Mama Love has received telephone calls of great culinary curiosity. These calls have come from owners of hungry internal chambers, most concerned with how it's all gonna taste come Thursday and if there's gonna be enough food at the 8th Avenue Love Inn.
That would be young William, who wants his turkey cooked properly and his ample stuffing to taste just like Grandma's. He received reassurance that Grandma's recipe would be sent over Snoqulamie Pass and that he could do his couch potato responsibilities of watching those football games with no concerns about stuffing quality.
An additional query came in this telephone call.
"Now, what are you going to be Thursday during the day?" he asked. To which, I read between the lines, and assured him that I'd be on hand, should any new cooks need advice or guidance in that apartment kitchen. This passing of tradition from one generation to another comes with a sense of apprehension for just how the entire culinary operation will turn out on this maiden voyage for the young cooks.
I do not worry, though, because I do know that for generations, all turkey cooks have done their best not to spoil the broth and then when it's all over, those stomach chambers enjoying the fruits of their labors have continued the age-old tradition of expanding beyond the norm and causing discomfort enough for their overstuffed owners to groan and then ask, "Why did I eat so much?"
I'm looking forward to the passing of the turkey this Thanksgiving, 2005. I'll be pleased when the day comes a few years down the line as Mama turkeys continue to pass on facts of life to their gobbling babies and when Annie and Debbie are reminding yet another generation, "Make sure you remove the giblets."
Monday, November 21, 2005
Anniversary reflections
It was just about this time on a wintry morning two years ago today when six kids, one grandchild, a son-in-law, and a wife of 49.5 years stood holding hands around a hospital bed, praying together. And, saying good bye.
Our dad, grandfather, father-in-law, and husband of 49.5 years had moved on. We figured he'd grabbed his hat, his spurs, his Bull Durham, climbed on his beloved Appaloosa stallion, Ol' Toby and had ridden off into a beautiful Western sunset.
That was the last day Harold Tibbs lived on this earth. And, until that day, I could not speak with much knowledge of the statement suggesting that people do live on. Two years later, Harold lives on in the hearts, minds, eyes and ears of all of us who knew him and loved him.
To each of us, the images differ. I'm sure for the six siblings, thoughts of deer, roll-yer-owns, tractors, horses, and hunting rifles fit in there somewhere. In my own case, I've got a shrine just a few feet away from my computer. It's all things Appaloosa and Native American---both heartfelt passions of Harold's.
To the grandson that represented his contemporaries in that hospital room, it's beans and wooden nickels. The last advice I ever heard Willie give to his grandfather a few days before he died had been uttered a time or two whenever Willie and Harold parted company, "Don't stick any beans up your nose, or don't take any wooden nickels."
In Bill's case, as representative of the in-laws, the repertoire of stories Harold had shared with him, while the two sat visiting in the living rooms of Boyer and Center Valley houses, provided my husband with invaluable local history. These days, Bill shares Harold stories with his forestry and logger friends. Of course, the better ones deal with Harold's outdoor experiences as a logger and hunter in the Bonners Ferry area where he grew up.
For Mother, I cannot even begin to fathom the magnitude of how her days since his passing have been marked by reflections of when Harold did this or said that. Today she will visit his grave to add some flowers. She's figuring cloth flowers from Ben Franklin may work because she doesn't want the deer to come and nibble up fresh bouquets from the vases on the monument.
But then again, if those deer were to come visiting and do something like that, I don't think Harold would mind one bit. He'd have just one more story to share with his buddies in Cowboy Heaven.
Our dad, grandfather, father-in-law, and husband of 49.5 years had moved on. We figured he'd grabbed his hat, his spurs, his Bull Durham, climbed on his beloved Appaloosa stallion, Ol' Toby and had ridden off into a beautiful Western sunset.
That was the last day Harold Tibbs lived on this earth. And, until that day, I could not speak with much knowledge of the statement suggesting that people do live on. Two years later, Harold lives on in the hearts, minds, eyes and ears of all of us who knew him and loved him.
To each of us, the images differ. I'm sure for the six siblings, thoughts of deer, roll-yer-owns, tractors, horses, and hunting rifles fit in there somewhere. In my own case, I've got a shrine just a few feet away from my computer. It's all things Appaloosa and Native American---both heartfelt passions of Harold's.
To the grandson that represented his contemporaries in that hospital room, it's beans and wooden nickels. The last advice I ever heard Willie give to his grandfather a few days before he died had been uttered a time or two whenever Willie and Harold parted company, "Don't stick any beans up your nose, or don't take any wooden nickels."
In Bill's case, as representative of the in-laws, the repertoire of stories Harold had shared with him, while the two sat visiting in the living rooms of Boyer and Center Valley houses, provided my husband with invaluable local history. These days, Bill shares Harold stories with his forestry and logger friends. Of course, the better ones deal with Harold's outdoor experiences as a logger and hunter in the Bonners Ferry area where he grew up.
For Mother, I cannot even begin to fathom the magnitude of how her days since his passing have been marked by reflections of when Harold did this or said that. Today she will visit his grave to add some flowers. She's figuring cloth flowers from Ben Franklin may work because she doesn't want the deer to come and nibble up fresh bouquets from the vases on the monument.
But then again, if those deer were to come visiting and do something like that, I don't think Harold would mind one bit. He'd have just one more story to share with his buddies in Cowboy Heaven.
Sunday, November 20, 2005
The Ann's have it
Friday, while heading toward the bus for the Extreme Makeover Site, our group realized we represented an "Ann" glut: Diane, Leanne, Annette and Marianne.
There's just something about "Ann" that seems to affect many aspects of my life. My mother's middle name is Ann. She often talks about her Aunt Anna Douglas from Michigan.
Of course, I thought I was pretty original when I named my daughter "Ann" at a time when Lindsay's and Bambi's or Laci's were hot names. I stuck with an old standard and named her Ann Elizabeth back in October, 1978 (Ann for the family name and Elizabeth for the first American saint, Elizabeth Seton).
When the folks at the school where I taught found out, however, it turned out there was an "Ann Elizabeth" glut among the faculty children---four, to be exact. In fact, one of those is still one of my daughter Ann's best friends. So, go figure.
Anyway, I'm surrounded by Ann's in family and friends. My friend Ann Ferguson calls me from the museum frequently asking for the latest favor or the most recent "you won't believe this!" Another friend Ann Knapp and I have enjoyed and respected each other for more than 20 years. And, then, there's my friend Ann Gehring. She's been my Catholic confidante ever since she showed up in Sandpoint back in the '70s.
I even quoted her in my first book when I was talking about confessions. I think that was when Fr. O'Donovan told me, within the confessional, that I didn't want to be one of those C & E Catholics. Of course, I agreed with him, hoping he'd go easy on assigning me "Hail Mary's" as penance for whatever I'd done to face the threat of C & Eism.
Then, I asked Ann what that was. When she told me it was a Christmas and Easter Catholic, I got to thinking I already was pretty close. Then, came the term "Cafeteria Catholics," of which I'll proudly pledge my allegiance. They're the ones who pick and choose the Catholic teachings as they go through their life of faith.
I've also long called myself a "Catholic with an inferiority complex" with no intentions of appearing facetious. I think our church has done that to a few people with all its mixed signals over the years. But, once a Catholic, always a Catholic. At least, that's the way I see it. I kinda figure God might be a little more tolerant than some of the folks who've taught me my religion over the years.
Now what does that have to do with Ann? Well, there's a new Ann in my life. She's St. Ann, and she's the lady the church in Bonners Ferry honors with its name. I joined St. Ann's because I've been attending there off and on for the past three years, and I love the atmosphere. It's comfortable, it's low key, it's nuts-and-bolts Catholic worship without bells and whistles or rude remarks.
So, with that in mind, I'd better say "Amen" to this posting and get ready to go enjoy my faith with another Ann within my circle. Somehow, the way I look at it, I have yet to meet an Ann I didn't like!
There's just something about "Ann" that seems to affect many aspects of my life. My mother's middle name is Ann. She often talks about her Aunt Anna Douglas from Michigan.
Of course, I thought I was pretty original when I named my daughter "Ann" at a time when Lindsay's and Bambi's or Laci's were hot names. I stuck with an old standard and named her Ann Elizabeth back in October, 1978 (Ann for the family name and Elizabeth for the first American saint, Elizabeth Seton).
When the folks at the school where I taught found out, however, it turned out there was an "Ann Elizabeth" glut among the faculty children---four, to be exact. In fact, one of those is still one of my daughter Ann's best friends. So, go figure.
Anyway, I'm surrounded by Ann's in family and friends. My friend Ann Ferguson calls me from the museum frequently asking for the latest favor or the most recent "you won't believe this!" Another friend Ann Knapp and I have enjoyed and respected each other for more than 20 years. And, then, there's my friend Ann Gehring. She's been my Catholic confidante ever since she showed up in Sandpoint back in the '70s.
I even quoted her in my first book when I was talking about confessions. I think that was when Fr. O'Donovan told me, within the confessional, that I didn't want to be one of those C & E Catholics. Of course, I agreed with him, hoping he'd go easy on assigning me "Hail Mary's" as penance for whatever I'd done to face the threat of C & Eism.
Then, I asked Ann what that was. When she told me it was a Christmas and Easter Catholic, I got to thinking I already was pretty close. Then, came the term "Cafeteria Catholics," of which I'll proudly pledge my allegiance. They're the ones who pick and choose the Catholic teachings as they go through their life of faith.
I've also long called myself a "Catholic with an inferiority complex" with no intentions of appearing facetious. I think our church has done that to a few people with all its mixed signals over the years. But, once a Catholic, always a Catholic. At least, that's the way I see it. I kinda figure God might be a little more tolerant than some of the folks who've taught me my religion over the years.
Now what does that have to do with Ann? Well, there's a new Ann in my life. She's St. Ann, and she's the lady the church in Bonners Ferry honors with its name. I joined St. Ann's because I've been attending there off and on for the past three years, and I love the atmosphere. It's comfortable, it's low key, it's nuts-and-bolts Catholic worship without bells and whistles or rude remarks.
So, with that in mind, I'd better say "Amen" to this posting and get ready to go enjoy my faith with another Ann within my circle. Somehow, the way I look at it, I have yet to meet an Ann I didn't like!
Saturday, November 19, 2005
The show must go on AND the generosity
I could tell by looking at the local paper this morning that this must be the big day in Sandpoint. Rather than front-page stories, the approximately 500 pt. bold headline read "Welcome Home, Hebert Family."Below it were three ads, two from realtors. Inside the paper today was a slick, full-color real-estate guide, put out by Tomlinson-Black. I'm sure the paper, with its real estate guide, will be available at the paper box down there at the old LP Mill today.
So, today is defintely the big day of "reveal." I've heard it's at one o'clock, but I doubt I'll go. Too big of a crowd for me. I must tell about yesterday, though. All week, this event has created a lively, fascinating and sometimes surprising atmosphere for folks here in the Sandpoint area and from all around the Inland Northwest to get on the bus and go see all the goings-on at the Extreme Makeover site.
Yesterday was no exception, and I thoroughly enjoyed hosting my Appaloosa Journal editor Diane Rice and her two lovely daughters, Annette and Leanne, as they came up from Moscow in hopes of spotting some of the Extreme stars. For a few moments, I was even flanked by two of my Journal editors as we walked to the bus, Trish from The River Journal, Diane, from the Appaloosa Journal.
We arrived at the site, which now features several giant displays of advertising for the contractors involved, around noon yesterday. We got there just in time to stand, packed like sardines, in an area along Honeybucket Row and told to be quiet for the "surprise." We made our way through the crowd to an area where Diane could shoot some pictures, and after about half an hour, the surprise came forth in the form of a HUGE and beautiful black bear.
We couldn't really tell what was going on, but it was obviously a trained bear because a white bucket filled with treats kept making the rounds as it lumbered to different areas around a castle-like playhouse. Oh yeah, we also saw Ty Pennington and the British designer hanging out with the bear. Later some of the other stars came to the deck and watched the bear go through its moves while cameras caught the action.
All together, we spent about 90 minutes at the site and had a great time. My dear friend Connie and her husband Thane sent me a report on their visit last night. They had the opportunity to see most of the stars, some up close to the fence. There was plenty of autographing going on during their visit. Like my own experiences, they've met lots of locals and lots of people new to the area as they've taken their bus rides to and from the site.
There is much more to this story than meets the eye. For instance, the piece in today's Spokesman-Review, revealing that an older half brother to the twins, who lives in Post Falls with his father, has been completely left out of this event. He's been pretty forlorn during this week with all the hoopla, and the story points out that his lack of involvement has made a sad separation from his siblings even sadder after their mother died last year.
There are also the stories of people in town who've been approached to donate items for the house. Some have done so, with difficulty, because they've felt obligated. In two days, this "once-in-a-lifetime" event, which has done much to bring people together and to provide a new home and all the accessories for a deserving family, will be all over but the shouting, as they say. How it will affect the family in the long run will be interesting. How it will affect the town and its future when the show airs to its huge national following is also a thought to ponder.
It's definitely a story and a show with a variety of interesting facets, both very positive and, in some ways, somewhat questionable. I'd be the first to admit that I've had a blast this week with the new friends I've made and the old friends I've enjoyed while visiting the site. I'm thankful for the wonderful transportation system that has allowed so many people to enjoy this event as often as they've liked.
In looking ahead to a time when the lights, cameras and stars are gone, I hope the phenomenal generosity within this community, which has been so much a part of its past and so much a focus of this week's enterprise, continues. And, may it happen in equally enthusiastic fashion, absent the fanfare, as we continue to embrace and address the hundreds of other situations of dire need that exist a stone's throw (figuratively speaking) any direction from Extreme Home Make Over's Ground Zero.
So, today is defintely the big day of "reveal." I've heard it's at one o'clock, but I doubt I'll go. Too big of a crowd for me. I must tell about yesterday, though. All week, this event has created a lively, fascinating and sometimes surprising atmosphere for folks here in the Sandpoint area and from all around the Inland Northwest to get on the bus and go see all the goings-on at the Extreme Makeover site.
Yesterday was no exception, and I thoroughly enjoyed hosting my Appaloosa Journal editor Diane Rice and her two lovely daughters, Annette and Leanne, as they came up from Moscow in hopes of spotting some of the Extreme stars. For a few moments, I was even flanked by two of my Journal editors as we walked to the bus, Trish from The River Journal, Diane, from the Appaloosa Journal.
We arrived at the site, which now features several giant displays of advertising for the contractors involved, around noon yesterday. We got there just in time to stand, packed like sardines, in an area along Honeybucket Row and told to be quiet for the "surprise." We made our way through the crowd to an area where Diane could shoot some pictures, and after about half an hour, the surprise came forth in the form of a HUGE and beautiful black bear.
We couldn't really tell what was going on, but it was obviously a trained bear because a white bucket filled with treats kept making the rounds as it lumbered to different areas around a castle-like playhouse. Oh yeah, we also saw Ty Pennington and the British designer hanging out with the bear. Later some of the other stars came to the deck and watched the bear go through its moves while cameras caught the action.
All together, we spent about 90 minutes at the site and had a great time. My dear friend Connie and her husband Thane sent me a report on their visit last night. They had the opportunity to see most of the stars, some up close to the fence. There was plenty of autographing going on during their visit. Like my own experiences, they've met lots of locals and lots of people new to the area as they've taken their bus rides to and from the site.
There is much more to this story than meets the eye. For instance, the piece in today's Spokesman-Review, revealing that an older half brother to the twins, who lives in Post Falls with his father, has been completely left out of this event. He's been pretty forlorn during this week with all the hoopla, and the story points out that his lack of involvement has made a sad separation from his siblings even sadder after their mother died last year.
There are also the stories of people in town who've been approached to donate items for the house. Some have done so, with difficulty, because they've felt obligated. In two days, this "once-in-a-lifetime" event, which has done much to bring people together and to provide a new home and all the accessories for a deserving family, will be all over but the shouting, as they say. How it will affect the family in the long run will be interesting. How it will affect the town and its future when the show airs to its huge national following is also a thought to ponder.
It's definitely a story and a show with a variety of interesting facets, both very positive and, in some ways, somewhat questionable. I'd be the first to admit that I've had a blast this week with the new friends I've made and the old friends I've enjoyed while visiting the site. I'm thankful for the wonderful transportation system that has allowed so many people to enjoy this event as often as they've liked.
In looking ahead to a time when the lights, cameras and stars are gone, I hope the phenomenal generosity within this community, which has been so much a part of its past and so much a focus of this week's enterprise, continues. And, may it happen in equally enthusiastic fashion, absent the fanfare, as we continue to embrace and address the hundreds of other situations of dire need that exist a stone's throw (figuratively speaking) any direction from Extreme Home Make Over's Ground Zero.
Friday, November 18, 2005
All I know is what I read in the paper
Our historical society meeting ran long yesterday morning, so I didn't have time to visit the Extreme Makeover site, especially since my own home site needed a little tender loving care. We also went to the wonderful dinner/historical program last night at Di Luna's where Jack Nisbet and Roy Breckenridge teamed up to discuss paintings of the area around Lake Pend Oreille, completed circa mid-1800s.
Jack emphasized that both mapmakers and painters had to have been guided by the tribes of the area to specific locations and with specific descriptions in order to complete their meticulous and very accurate maps and paintings. Adding to his thesis were Roy's digitized 21st Century illustrations of the geology for each illustration, showing remarkably close matches to what the artist or mapmaker depicted way back when. It was fun guessing the location for each painting, and in some cases we were right on.
With that busy day, I had to rely on what I read in today's local paper about what happened at the Extreme site yesterday. I was amazed to learn from the front-page article that Gary and Carol Pietsch were on hand to see the debris pile from the former house and to predict that a new house would rise out of the ashes, so to speak. I also learned that the concrete would be poured and that weather conditions would not stop this crew. Framing would begin and walls would go up. The slab for the garage would be poured.
Wait a minute! Hasn't that already happened? I distinctly remember Mark Peterson on KXLY-Channel 4 the other night trying to open the garage door, only to discover it hadn't been wired yet. I thought I took pictures two days ago of the house and posted them on this site. Did I go to the wrong Extreme Makeover site Wednesday? Or, did I read today's news wrong? Maybe I'll have to go review that article and see if I missed something somewhere.
The word on the street is that the house should be ready tomorrow to welcome its family. So, I'll abide by that and keep up my hopes that when I go up there today, a house will, indeed, be standing. Maybe I'll see Gary and Carol up there because, according to today's paper, they plan to return often.
I think my new friend K.C. will be up there today, shooting things---with her camera---as she tags along with River Journal owner, Trish Gannon. I'm going to accompany my editor from the Appaloosa Journal today. She and her daughters are driving up from Moscow to see the flurry of activity. They're hoping to see Ty too.
He was pictured in today's paper with his familiar megaphone, in an article written about the Kootenai School kids who did a jump-a-thon to raise money for the American Heart Assoc. I also heard from an inside source last night, Edna Iverson, to be exact, that there was a lot of excitement in the air at Kootenai yesterday.
As a new retiree from the Sandpoint High teaching scene, she showed up at Kootenai to volunteer in her granddaughter's class and got to see the Extreme Makeover folks. By the way, for all who know her hubby "Turkey" Terry, we sat side by side last night at the dinner and were nice to each another. I'm glad to hear that the Class of 1975 has given him his due for not showing up as a speaker at their reunion, leaving poor little ol' me to fend for myself.
In other news, we saw Sam Wormington (first manager ever at Schweitzer Mountain Resort) last night at the gathering. He was toting a brand new full-color coffee table book and having a great time showing the full-page photo of him in his World War II Canadian Army uniform, laden with medals. It's a great picture and it's neat to see Sam (he's 84) so justifiably proud of his service for Canada as a member of The Greatest Generation.
There was a Kodak moment---if only I'd had a camera---as Bobbie Brown Huguenin (whose father Jim played a key role in Schweitzer) came over and gave Sam a huge bear hug. The scene definitely portrayed a memory of the good ol' days in 1963 when Schweitzer started out as this "well, gollee gee, we've gotta ski area" phenomenon to all us locals.
I guess there was definitely a little of the new and a little of the old in many ways as I think about the news from yesterday. Have a great and extreme TGIF.
Jack emphasized that both mapmakers and painters had to have been guided by the tribes of the area to specific locations and with specific descriptions in order to complete their meticulous and very accurate maps and paintings. Adding to his thesis were Roy's digitized 21st Century illustrations of the geology for each illustration, showing remarkably close matches to what the artist or mapmaker depicted way back when. It was fun guessing the location for each painting, and in some cases we were right on.
With that busy day, I had to rely on what I read in today's local paper about what happened at the Extreme site yesterday. I was amazed to learn from the front-page article that Gary and Carol Pietsch were on hand to see the debris pile from the former house and to predict that a new house would rise out of the ashes, so to speak. I also learned that the concrete would be poured and that weather conditions would not stop this crew. Framing would begin and walls would go up. The slab for the garage would be poured.
Wait a minute! Hasn't that already happened? I distinctly remember Mark Peterson on KXLY-Channel 4 the other night trying to open the garage door, only to discover it hadn't been wired yet. I thought I took pictures two days ago of the house and posted them on this site. Did I go to the wrong Extreme Makeover site Wednesday? Or, did I read today's news wrong? Maybe I'll have to go review that article and see if I missed something somewhere.
The word on the street is that the house should be ready tomorrow to welcome its family. So, I'll abide by that and keep up my hopes that when I go up there today, a house will, indeed, be standing. Maybe I'll see Gary and Carol up there because, according to today's paper, they plan to return often.
I think my new friend K.C. will be up there today, shooting things---with her camera---as she tags along with River Journal owner, Trish Gannon. I'm going to accompany my editor from the Appaloosa Journal today. She and her daughters are driving up from Moscow to see the flurry of activity. They're hoping to see Ty too.
He was pictured in today's paper with his familiar megaphone, in an article written about the Kootenai School kids who did a jump-a-thon to raise money for the American Heart Assoc. I also heard from an inside source last night, Edna Iverson, to be exact, that there was a lot of excitement in the air at Kootenai yesterday.
As a new retiree from the Sandpoint High teaching scene, she showed up at Kootenai to volunteer in her granddaughter's class and got to see the Extreme Makeover folks. By the way, for all who know her hubby "Turkey" Terry, we sat side by side last night at the dinner and were nice to each another. I'm glad to hear that the Class of 1975 has given him his due for not showing up as a speaker at their reunion, leaving poor little ol' me to fend for myself.
In other news, we saw Sam Wormington (first manager ever at Schweitzer Mountain Resort) last night at the gathering. He was toting a brand new full-color coffee table book and having a great time showing the full-page photo of him in his World War II Canadian Army uniform, laden with medals. It's a great picture and it's neat to see Sam (he's 84) so justifiably proud of his service for Canada as a member of The Greatest Generation.
There was a Kodak moment---if only I'd had a camera---as Bobbie Brown Huguenin (whose father Jim played a key role in Schweitzer) came over and gave Sam a huge bear hug. The scene definitely portrayed a memory of the good ol' days in 1963 when Schweitzer started out as this "well, gollee gee, we've gotta ski area" phenomenon to all us locals.
I guess there was definitely a little of the new and a little of the old in many ways as I think about the news from yesterday. Have a great and extreme TGIF.
Thursday, November 17, 2005
Xtreme Thursday
Since everything in Sandpoint is extreme this week, I'll jump on the band wagon and say my day ahead is definitely Xtreme. I've gotta hurry through this morning's posting because of a Historical Society meeting at 8 a.m. Then, I'll probably go visit the Xtreme home site again and take a few more of my share of the gazillion photos that must have been snapped up there this week.
I did spot one of the stars yesterday. He's the tall, good-looking one. I don't even know his name, but he seemed friendly enough as he waved to the crowd while they were setting up a quick shoot in front of the home.
I almost got run over by that big front-end loader in one of the pictures I've posted. The operator must've known the fence was there, but he was moving quickly and using every possible inch of space inside it. Suddenly, I was looking straight on at the rear end of the front ender and making a quick decision to step back a bit.
People are surprised when I tell them I thought I might have seen Ty Pennington in the tree-limbing bucket the other day, but that I wasn't sure. I don't go up there for star gazing; instead, I get my kicks from meeting other spectators and hearing their stories. Yesterday didn't disappoint. I met K.C. Potter and her daughter who live east of Clark Fork. They've been driving into town to document all this action.
K.C. and I really hit it off when I asked if she knew my friend Myra Lewis. Sure enough, she rides horses with Myra, who's one of the most down-to-earth, true-blue friends a person could have. After talking horses, we agreed to get together sometime for lunch with Myra.
The nice man with the saddle shoes wore boots over his shoes yesterday. Lots of mud to trudge through. He's just as friendly as ever while picking up and cleaning up the area between front-end loader runs. He's also getting pretty hoarse after three days of chatting with so many gawkers on the other side of the fence.
The crowd is starting to become more cosmopolitan and eclectic as the week wears on. A man from Post Falls rode with us yesterday. He'd pulled his kids out of school to see the action. When we arrived back at the LP lot, another bus was packed with senior citizens and moms with more kids.
Meanwhile, on the home front out here, I attended the Urban Renewal meeting last night, where the City Council held its first hearing on passage of the ordinance to create two impact districts in Sandpoint. Most people at last night's meeting spoke in favor of it, while a few said they'd like to see the City wait and study the issue more thoroughly. The first reading of both districts passed by a vote of 3-2. The Council comes together again Nov. 30 for the next reading.
Bill gave an impassioned speech to the Council about this being our longtime, much-loved home and hoping the Council will look kindly on us as non-profit residents just wanting to live our lives without facing the threat of an added LID (Local Improvement District) tax. We've been assured through emails and verbal responses to this concern at last night's taped meeting that the City is not really looking at imposing LIDs as an financing option---yet. We'll not sit back in comfort, but it is reassuring to hear this claim repeated and repeated often.
Gotta go feed those horses and get to that meeting. Hope everyone has an EXTREMELY wonderful day.
I did spot one of the stars yesterday. He's the tall, good-looking one. I don't even know his name, but he seemed friendly enough as he waved to the crowd while they were setting up a quick shoot in front of the home.
I almost got run over by that big front-end loader in one of the pictures I've posted. The operator must've known the fence was there, but he was moving quickly and using every possible inch of space inside it. Suddenly, I was looking straight on at the rear end of the front ender and making a quick decision to step back a bit.
People are surprised when I tell them I thought I might have seen Ty Pennington in the tree-limbing bucket the other day, but that I wasn't sure. I don't go up there for star gazing; instead, I get my kicks from meeting other spectators and hearing their stories. Yesterday didn't disappoint. I met K.C. Potter and her daughter who live east of Clark Fork. They've been driving into town to document all this action.
K.C. and I really hit it off when I asked if she knew my friend Myra Lewis. Sure enough, she rides horses with Myra, who's one of the most down-to-earth, true-blue friends a person could have. After talking horses, we agreed to get together sometime for lunch with Myra.
The nice man with the saddle shoes wore boots over his shoes yesterday. Lots of mud to trudge through. He's just as friendly as ever while picking up and cleaning up the area between front-end loader runs. He's also getting pretty hoarse after three days of chatting with so many gawkers on the other side of the fence.
The crowd is starting to become more cosmopolitan and eclectic as the week wears on. A man from Post Falls rode with us yesterday. He'd pulled his kids out of school to see the action. When we arrived back at the LP lot, another bus was packed with senior citizens and moms with more kids.
Meanwhile, on the home front out here, I attended the Urban Renewal meeting last night, where the City Council held its first hearing on passage of the ordinance to create two impact districts in Sandpoint. Most people at last night's meeting spoke in favor of it, while a few said they'd like to see the City wait and study the issue more thoroughly. The first reading of both districts passed by a vote of 3-2. The Council comes together again Nov. 30 for the next reading.
Bill gave an impassioned speech to the Council about this being our longtime, much-loved home and hoping the Council will look kindly on us as non-profit residents just wanting to live our lives without facing the threat of an added LID (Local Improvement District) tax. We've been assured through emails and verbal responses to this concern at last night's taped meeting that the City is not really looking at imposing LIDs as an financing option---yet. We'll not sit back in comfort, but it is reassuring to hear this claim repeated and repeated often.
Gotta go feed those horses and get to that meeting. Hope everyone has an EXTREMELY wonderful day.
Wednesday, November 16, 2005
Cook's choice
We're going out to dinner tomorrow night when historian Jack Nisbet and geologist Roy Breckenridge come to Di Luna's to talk about that big flood that occurred a year or two before Noxon, Cabinet Gorge and Albeni Falls Dams were built to stop the water from gushing all over creation.
That was the Missoula Flood, to be exact. It formed Lake Pend Oreille, so that's of interest to us and a lot of other history buffs around here. Ann, from the museum, told me yesterday that if dieting historians want to skip the delicious eats at Di Luna's and come for the show at 7 p.m., they can pay $10 to hear all about it from the experts. If you want to join the dinner crowd, it's $25 a head (includes the show and all profits go to the museum), call Ann at 263-2344.
Since we're going to dinner tomorrow night, I'll do a slight variation on what the lunch ladies used to do with Friday meals at school and just tell Bill it's "cook's choice" for tonight. I'll point him toward the refrigerator and tell him to cook whatever he chooses. And, that same option seems appropriate for today since I've got so much on the plate this morning. It's gonna be cook's choice on the slightdetour menu.
First, I don't want to disappoint anyone wishing to read about the Extreme Makeover Home Edition happenings of late. Rosierose (she's Charlie, our adopted Persian's mom) told me she's much thinner now after spending several hours on the run, preparing and handing out goodies for the VIP's and the workers at the home site yesterday.
She was among the many local volunteers on the food crew. She said Duke's BBQ and Hootie's of Ponderay provided the menu yesterday for about 300 hungry mouths. When she left at 8 p.m., the house had reached the stage where plummers and electricians were inside doing their thing. She said she was inspired by all that she saw while helping out.
I went to the site again yesterday morning via the shuttle bus. The riders included one man who works for Sullivan Homes, the main contractor on the site. He's in charge of organizing the trucks for the week, and he was just plain giddy about what they're doing up there. He told me that the volunteer workers sign on for 12 hours, but many of them are exceeding that. The adrenalin generated from all the excitement just keeps them going, he said.
Another lady on the bus took the day off from her Merry Maids house-cleaning duties to come and watch the frames and wall panels go up. She knew someone from Mandere Construction, the company responsible for assembling the frames at its site in Rathdrum. So, she was jubilant about watching their handiwork come to life.
When I arrived at the site, the spectator crowd was pretty sparse. Eurie Renfrow and her daughter from Elmira had come to Sandpoint early in the morning to board a bus and watch. I knew Eurie from Sandpoint High School. She cooks up those 6-inch high hamburgers at the Elmira Store, and she also told me about the Elmira Family Christmas, which she initiated four years ago. I definitely found a story to tell while talking to this giving soul who keeps moving forward for others in spite of losing her husband in a tragedy a year ago.
Eurie pointed out a man whom she thought was the owner of Sullivan Homes. He's a cheerleader of sorts, even wearing saddle shoes with his blue shirt and hard hat. He loves to talk to the crowds while circulating the site and seeing that things are picked up and kept neat. He said the spectators help provide a positive feeling to all the goings on. As one individual said, watching the workers brings to mind an industrious ant colony, all doing their jobs in meticulous fashion, all staying out of each other's way. I found out later that he's not the owner, but it made a good story for a while.
Yesterday's crowd also included a couple of classes from Lake Pend Oreille Alternative School. Their teacher Randy Wilhelm said it was a graphic arts field trip. We chewed the fat for a while as his kids watched the action. By that time, the toes had once again turned numb, so I joined Randy and his students on the bus back to Sandpoint.
Later in the afternoon, I heard about a tragedy that had happened the day before---one that always hits close to the heart for us here at the Love house. A family had lost its home to fire. Again, today, I'll include information about their needs at the bottom of this posting.
And, today would not be complete without sharing some golden memories forwarded to me by Julie McCormick Knox. Ol' Steve Gill, who's younger than I am, gets a bit nostalgic when he thinks about the Sandpoint of his youth. I believe his musings are worth sharing. I wonder how many readers will recognize his stream of consciousness from the past. If you do, leave a comment, and I'm sure Steve will appreciate knowing you could join him at the Tervan.
That was the Missoula Flood, to be exact. It formed Lake Pend Oreille, so that's of interest to us and a lot of other history buffs around here. Ann, from the museum, told me yesterday that if dieting historians want to skip the delicious eats at Di Luna's and come for the show at 7 p.m., they can pay $10 to hear all about it from the experts. If you want to join the dinner crowd, it's $25 a head (includes the show and all profits go to the museum), call Ann at 263-2344.
Since we're going to dinner tomorrow night, I'll do a slight variation on what the lunch ladies used to do with Friday meals at school and just tell Bill it's "cook's choice" for tonight. I'll point him toward the refrigerator and tell him to cook whatever he chooses. And, that same option seems appropriate for today since I've got so much on the plate this morning. It's gonna be cook's choice on the slightdetour menu.
First, I don't want to disappoint anyone wishing to read about the Extreme Makeover Home Edition happenings of late. Rosierose (she's Charlie, our adopted Persian's mom) told me she's much thinner now after spending several hours on the run, preparing and handing out goodies for the VIP's and the workers at the home site yesterday.
She was among the many local volunteers on the food crew. She said Duke's BBQ and Hootie's of Ponderay provided the menu yesterday for about 300 hungry mouths. When she left at 8 p.m., the house had reached the stage where plummers and electricians were inside doing their thing. She said she was inspired by all that she saw while helping out.
I went to the site again yesterday morning via the shuttle bus. The riders included one man who works for Sullivan Homes, the main contractor on the site. He's in charge of organizing the trucks for the week, and he was just plain giddy about what they're doing up there. He told me that the volunteer workers sign on for 12 hours, but many of them are exceeding that. The adrenalin generated from all the excitement just keeps them going, he said.
Another lady on the bus took the day off from her Merry Maids house-cleaning duties to come and watch the frames and wall panels go up. She knew someone from Mandere Construction, the company responsible for assembling the frames at its site in Rathdrum. So, she was jubilant about watching their handiwork come to life.
When I arrived at the site, the spectator crowd was pretty sparse. Eurie Renfrow and her daughter from Elmira had come to Sandpoint early in the morning to board a bus and watch. I knew Eurie from Sandpoint High School. She cooks up those 6-inch high hamburgers at the Elmira Store, and she also told me about the Elmira Family Christmas, which she initiated four years ago. I definitely found a story to tell while talking to this giving soul who keeps moving forward for others in spite of losing her husband in a tragedy a year ago.
Eurie pointed out a man whom she thought was the owner of Sullivan Homes. He's a cheerleader of sorts, even wearing saddle shoes with his blue shirt and hard hat. He loves to talk to the crowds while circulating the site and seeing that things are picked up and kept neat. He said the spectators help provide a positive feeling to all the goings on. As one individual said, watching the workers brings to mind an industrious ant colony, all doing their jobs in meticulous fashion, all staying out of each other's way. I found out later that he's not the owner, but it made a good story for a while.
Yesterday's crowd also included a couple of classes from Lake Pend Oreille Alternative School. Their teacher Randy Wilhelm said it was a graphic arts field trip. We chewed the fat for a while as his kids watched the action. By that time, the toes had once again turned numb, so I joined Randy and his students on the bus back to Sandpoint.
Later in the afternoon, I heard about a tragedy that had happened the day before---one that always hits close to the heart for us here at the Love house. A family had lost its home to fire. Again, today, I'll include information about their needs at the bottom of this posting.
And, today would not be complete without sharing some golden memories forwarded to me by Julie McCormick Knox. Ol' Steve Gill, who's younger than I am, gets a bit nostalgic when he thinks about the Sandpoint of his youth. I believe his musings are worth sharing. I wonder how many readers will recognize his stream of consciousness from the past. If you do, leave a comment, and I'm sure Steve will appreciate knowing you could join him at the Tervan.
Jules:
Christmas in Sandpoint...mmm...sounds like the nightmare scene from "It's A Wonderul Life." I'm George Bailey (Jimmy Stewart) running through town looking for Jennestad's and Sprouse Ritz and Ross Rexall and Merwin's water fountain and Gambles and The Garden and Bill's Mobil and Paul's Chevron and Bonner Building and Bargain Supply and The Bootery and Lutzke''s Western Auto and Dalby's Signal Station and Haviland and Luckey's Enco station and the Library (above Old City Hall and the Fire Station and the Police Station when the jail cells looked out to the alley behind Merwin's when it was downtown), and Coast to Coast and Safeway (across from the old 2-story Post Office on Second Avenue) and and Lou's Napa Auto Parts on (Second and Main) and Farmin School and the Methodist Church and at the Mayor Gray is showing "Miracle on 34th Street" at the Panida and Shrake's Used has some fresh dentures and spectacles in the from window (where Sand Creek Inn is today) and Kramer's TV just put a new 25" color TV in a big old cabinet in the front window and Eller's Distributing put a new Oly light n the 219 and the Haworth's Bakery just pulled out some hot, fresh Santa cookies and The Pastime still has a horseshow bar with the Democrats on the south side and Republicans on the north side with old Sober Schilling splitting the two parties drinking coffee from a straw at 6AM.........Wow!!!!!!!
Let me know when you are up there and we will all try to coordinate-meet at the Tam-the sole surviving bastion of what it was....Miller how about an invite?
Steve
Special note: A family in Westmond lost its home Monday when it caught on fire. Jodi Greve, the mother, has worked for the Sandpoint Chamber of Commerce and now works for Mike Wolcott at Inland Forest Management in Sandpoint. A fund has been established at Panhandle State Bank under the names Jodi Greve and Cody Likkel (her fiancee).
I know, from experience, this family will appreciate help at this time. If you wish to help out somehow, call Mike at 263-9420. If you have items (furniture, clothes, dishes, etc.) to donate, you can call Kay Short at 208-610-3993.
If you'll pass along the word of this need to everyone you know, that would be great.
Tuesday, November 15, 2005
From the home front---Xtreme, that is
Please note update at the bottom.
No deadlines looming. Recently deceased leaves raked and hauled away. Drop-dead gorgeous blue skies. No clouds. Greenhorn Mountain, two-tone with fresh, white snow cape and newly- washed deep green tree base ('cept for that ugly scab just above the subdivision). A day, fit for adventure and the freedom to make it whatever I chose.
So, I put Kiwi in the house, stuffed a pad and pen in my pocket and promised her I'd be back soon. I drove past the police road block to Baldy Road and hit Boyer in time to wait for a train. Once the UP had passed, I drove a couple of more blocks and pulled into the old LP Mill site (Hedlund for the oldtimers; Balch, for the Extreme oldtimers). A security man told me where to park and where to stand to catch the bus to the Extreme Home Makeover site.
As I walked across the huge cement expanse, still covered with hundreds of stray nails from last year's mill dismantling, I was struck by the beauty of my old Lincoln School standing proudly with the snow-covered mountain mass as its backdrop. Once more, I felt happy that at least one of Sandpoint's old relics has managed to survive our town's makeover.
Three Schweitzer buses run every twenty minutes to and from the construction site where the Extreme Makeover crew is building a fancy new house for a bachelor named Eric who stepped up to take his niece and nephew when their mother died. The house is located on a spur road off Baldy near the old Healea place.
One would never know it's there, but now that brand new roads have been built across Travis Kaul's field for this production, and hundreds of volunteers/spectators like me have tramped the ground, everyone locally will know about what will soon be the most famous home in Sandpoint. Good bye Mark Fuhrman, hello, Eric Hebert.
My bus ride to the site was fun in that I met the Klopmans from Gold Creek (Rebeca, Bailee, Breann and Aimee). They've watched the Sunday night series since it began, so mother Aimee decided her daughters should see this "once in a lifetime" event. Somebody in the family played hookey, but I'm not telling.
Along with the Klopmans, I also had a nice visit with my former student Donna Johnson Roundy and her son Zak who's 12 today. Zak was hoping to volunteer as video-game expert, should the crew need some advice on what to put in the young boy's room. About half a dozen other volunteers (they're the ones in blue T-shirts and white hard hats; yellow hats come from Sullivan Home Builders in Spokane) rode with us.
While we chatted, our bus driver, Jackie Riggs, drove us to the site but not without sitting for yet another train, blocking the Baldy tracks. Once there, we were free to stay as long as we wished. Word on the new dirt road was that demolition (set for 9 a.m.) would occur at any minute. This was 10 a.m., and someone was in a Bestway Tree Service bucket limbing a tree, which would be felled and then used to demolish the house.
Approximately 200 lively people were there having a great time. I ran into Jeri and Julie Meneely near the honeybuckets. They were wearing the volunteer uniform. I asked them what they were doing and never really got an answer. In fact, I asked that same question of several people in the uniforms and still don't know what they're doing. I do know that some of the volunteers had a small orange football. They played several quarters in the big field while we stood waiting for the tree to come down. Every so often security guards ordered us to move as if the tree were about to fall, but nothing would happen.
It was definitely a carnival atmosphere. One lady (whom I don't know) came over to where I was standing and gave me a big, familiar hug. Then, she pulled out pictures of her chickens, her guinea pig, her dogs and her cats. She was circulating among the onlookers, showing these pictures and informing everyone that she had applied for a Makeover house and that she took in animals nobody else wanted. I guess that was her M.O. Then, she told anyone that would listen that she had no bedrooms in her house and that the couch had to suffice for sleeping. It was really kind of sad.
I'm also aware there was a "medium" who circulating among the crowd. She was hoping the KXLY crew would feature her on-site interview on one of its upcoming shows. I don't know if she was gonna talk medium stuff to the TV reporter. Maybe someone who watches the TV coverage can report back.
Ran into some more former students who pointed just past the house toward the trees to show me how close some neighbors lived to all this action. I asked how they liked the excitement and was told that they'll be glad when it ends. Heard that from some others who live close by also; but that still doesn't minimize the excitement which kept the crowd standing, waiting, and watching for anything to happen. Occasionally, we'd hear a chainsaw fire up, but only for a few seconds.
As my toes turned numb, I heard one guy on a piece of heavy equipment yell out, "Take that tree down." Also, heard a lot of comments suggesting that they certainly didn't have any North Idaho loggers on hand, or that tree would have been gone hours ago. But, this is a television show, and this is theatrics, so trees will fall when Cut 1, Cut 2, and Cut 3 indicate it's finally time to film the real thing.
I knew Kiwi was back in the house, probably chewing up the TV remote or even one of my shoes. After all, I'd lied to her and had been gone two hours. Plus, my third toe on my left foot had lost all feeling, so I boarded the bus and had a nice visit with a sweet Italian lady named Maria Rosario on the trip back. We did wait for two more trains before returning to the mill site.
All in all, I was impressed with the organization of the bus crew. I'm not so sure about the demolition crew, though. Apparently the tree has fallen, and the house is gone, ready for the new to begin appearing today. I'll have to go back. This time I might just take Kiwi along to warm my toes, save my shoes and add to the atmosphere.
Special note: A family in Westmond lost its home yesterday when it caught on fire. Jodi Greve, the mother, has worked for the Sandpoint Chamber of Commerce and now works for Mike Wolcott at Inland Forest Management in Sandpoint. She has two sons, ages 14 and 6. A fund has been established at Panhandle State Bank under the names Jodi Greve and Cody Likkel (her fiancee).
I know, from experience, this family will appreciate help at this time. If you wish to help out somehow, call Mike at 263-9420. If you have items (furniture, clothes, dishes, etc.) to donate, you can call Kay Short at 208-610-3993.
I'll provide more information as I receive it, and if you'll pass along the word of this need to everyone you know, that would be great.
No deadlines looming. Recently deceased leaves raked and hauled away. Drop-dead gorgeous blue skies. No clouds. Greenhorn Mountain, two-tone with fresh, white snow cape and newly- washed deep green tree base ('cept for that ugly scab just above the subdivision). A day, fit for adventure and the freedom to make it whatever I chose.
So, I put Kiwi in the house, stuffed a pad and pen in my pocket and promised her I'd be back soon. I drove past the police road block to Baldy Road and hit Boyer in time to wait for a train. Once the UP had passed, I drove a couple of more blocks and pulled into the old LP Mill site (Hedlund for the oldtimers; Balch, for the Extreme oldtimers). A security man told me where to park and where to stand to catch the bus to the Extreme Home Makeover site.
As I walked across the huge cement expanse, still covered with hundreds of stray nails from last year's mill dismantling, I was struck by the beauty of my old Lincoln School standing proudly with the snow-covered mountain mass as its backdrop. Once more, I felt happy that at least one of Sandpoint's old relics has managed to survive our town's makeover.
Three Schweitzer buses run every twenty minutes to and from the construction site where the Extreme Makeover crew is building a fancy new house for a bachelor named Eric who stepped up to take his niece and nephew when their mother died. The house is located on a spur road off Baldy near the old Healea place.
One would never know it's there, but now that brand new roads have been built across Travis Kaul's field for this production, and hundreds of volunteers/spectators like me have tramped the ground, everyone locally will know about what will soon be the most famous home in Sandpoint. Good bye Mark Fuhrman, hello, Eric Hebert.
My bus ride to the site was fun in that I met the Klopmans from Gold Creek (Rebeca, Bailee, Breann and Aimee). They've watched the Sunday night series since it began, so mother Aimee decided her daughters should see this "once in a lifetime" event. Somebody in the family played hookey, but I'm not telling.
Along with the Klopmans, I also had a nice visit with my former student Donna Johnson Roundy and her son Zak who's 12 today. Zak was hoping to volunteer as video-game expert, should the crew need some advice on what to put in the young boy's room. About half a dozen other volunteers (they're the ones in blue T-shirts and white hard hats; yellow hats come from Sullivan Home Builders in Spokane) rode with us.
While we chatted, our bus driver, Jackie Riggs, drove us to the site but not without sitting for yet another train, blocking the Baldy tracks. Once there, we were free to stay as long as we wished. Word on the new dirt road was that demolition (set for 9 a.m.) would occur at any minute. This was 10 a.m., and someone was in a Bestway Tree Service bucket limbing a tree, which would be felled and then used to demolish the house.
Approximately 200 lively people were there having a great time. I ran into Jeri and Julie Meneely near the honeybuckets. They were wearing the volunteer uniform. I asked them what they were doing and never really got an answer. In fact, I asked that same question of several people in the uniforms and still don't know what they're doing. I do know that some of the volunteers had a small orange football. They played several quarters in the big field while we stood waiting for the tree to come down. Every so often security guards ordered us to move as if the tree were about to fall, but nothing would happen.
It was definitely a carnival atmosphere. One lady (whom I don't know) came over to where I was standing and gave me a big, familiar hug. Then, she pulled out pictures of her chickens, her guinea pig, her dogs and her cats. She was circulating among the onlookers, showing these pictures and informing everyone that she had applied for a Makeover house and that she took in animals nobody else wanted. I guess that was her M.O. Then, she told anyone that would listen that she had no bedrooms in her house and that the couch had to suffice for sleeping. It was really kind of sad.
I'm also aware there was a "medium" who circulating among the crowd. She was hoping the KXLY crew would feature her on-site interview on one of its upcoming shows. I don't know if she was gonna talk medium stuff to the TV reporter. Maybe someone who watches the TV coverage can report back.
Ran into some more former students who pointed just past the house toward the trees to show me how close some neighbors lived to all this action. I asked how they liked the excitement and was told that they'll be glad when it ends. Heard that from some others who live close by also; but that still doesn't minimize the excitement which kept the crowd standing, waiting, and watching for anything to happen. Occasionally, we'd hear a chainsaw fire up, but only for a few seconds.
As my toes turned numb, I heard one guy on a piece of heavy equipment yell out, "Take that tree down." Also, heard a lot of comments suggesting that they certainly didn't have any North Idaho loggers on hand, or that tree would have been gone hours ago. But, this is a television show, and this is theatrics, so trees will fall when Cut 1, Cut 2, and Cut 3 indicate it's finally time to film the real thing.
I knew Kiwi was back in the house, probably chewing up the TV remote or even one of my shoes. After all, I'd lied to her and had been gone two hours. Plus, my third toe on my left foot had lost all feeling, so I boarded the bus and had a nice visit with a sweet Italian lady named Maria Rosario on the trip back. We did wait for two more trains before returning to the mill site.
All in all, I was impressed with the organization of the bus crew. I'm not so sure about the demolition crew, though. Apparently the tree has fallen, and the house is gone, ready for the new to begin appearing today. I'll have to go back. This time I might just take Kiwi along to warm my toes, save my shoes and add to the atmosphere.
Special note: A family in Westmond lost its home yesterday when it caught on fire. Jodi Greve, the mother, has worked for the Sandpoint Chamber of Commerce and now works for Mike Wolcott at Inland Forest Management in Sandpoint. She has two sons, ages 14 and 6. A fund has been established at Panhandle State Bank under the names Jodi Greve and Cody Likkel (her fiancee).
I know, from experience, this family will appreciate help at this time. If you wish to help out somehow, call Mike at 263-9420. If you have items (furniture, clothes, dishes, etc.) to donate, you can call Kay Short at 208-610-3993.
I'll provide more information as I receive it, and if you'll pass along the word of this need to everyone you know, that would be great.
Monday, November 14, 2005
Slobovsky's money
I heard last night on "60 Minutes" from a c-r-r-r-a-z-y but brilliant stock junkie on CNBC named Cramer that the real-estate bubble will soon be bursting, just like the dot.coms did a few years ago. So, sell that North Idaho dirt while you can, if you're hoping to bag some of those big bucks without racks that keep bouncing around Sandpoint.
Or, if you want to strike out on a unique venture all your own and keep your house, I've got a hot deal for you. The next time I receive an urgent notice from Mr. Baslov Slobovsky from Russia or Mrs. Whochewchoochoo of Upper Niger, I'll send it your way.
Until this morning, those monster accounts of millions that needed some poor sucker in the United States to turn over a checking-account number generally came from Africa where corrupt governments seem to tumble faster than Viagra Falls.
This morning, however, I could have signed up to receive a 1.8 percent return while managing 150 million dollars, in my checking account, for some guy named Baslof Slobovsky. A Mr. Andrei Sleeznof wrote to me, as the middle man in this financial deal, telling me how this money had been frozen because of a corrupt official, in the equally corrupt government of Vladimir Putin. Apparently, Baslof's been thrown in the gulag. All I had to do was contact Andrei, and he'd set up the deal where I'd caretake the money and rack up my own millions of bucks off the management fee.
I was figuring that would amount to about nearly $3,000,000 a year, which is much better than my teaching retirement. And, of course, I was tempted because of the new twist. Certainly there must be something valid to this if it came from Russia and not Zaire, I thought.
And, besides I'm guessing by now, that most of that African money from Mrs. Whochewchoochoo has already made its way to U.S. bank accounts. After all, I've heard from Mrs. W. at least three times in the last two years. For one brief second, I almost bit and sent off a reply to Andrei to sign me up.
But then I remembered a similar letter that arrived from the Netherlands last week and thought I'd better take a more cautious approach before turning over my checking-account number to the Russians. I had quickly deleted the Dutch letter and didn't really look at the potential returns it promised. Shoulda checked it out.
I'm thinking it's probably a good idea to collect a few more of these letters and compare notes carefully. Maybe I could have an accountant help me make the big decision. One time, years ago, a yearbook company representative chastised me for signing up with his competition by saying, "You need to learn not to take the first cube of sugar that comes along."
So, I'm living by that motto with these money offers and will closely examine the options before taking the plunge. In the meantime, I'm happy to share news of the potential wealth with anyone who wants to give this method of getting rich for doing nothing a try.
Just send me your email address, and I'll gladly forward all future letters that arrive in my inbox. In return, I'll assess you a nominal sender's fee, which can easily be transferred if you just send me your checking-account number.
And since the dirt bubble's gonna burst, maybe some realtors around here would be interested in hearing from Mrs. Whochewchoochoo or Mr. Sleeznof.
Or, if you want to strike out on a unique venture all your own and keep your house, I've got a hot deal for you. The next time I receive an urgent notice from Mr. Baslov Slobovsky from Russia or Mrs. Whochewchoochoo of Upper Niger, I'll send it your way.
Until this morning, those monster accounts of millions that needed some poor sucker in the United States to turn over a checking-account number generally came from Africa where corrupt governments seem to tumble faster than Viagra Falls.
This morning, however, I could have signed up to receive a 1.8 percent return while managing 150 million dollars, in my checking account, for some guy named Baslof Slobovsky. A Mr. Andrei Sleeznof wrote to me, as the middle man in this financial deal, telling me how this money had been frozen because of a corrupt official, in the equally corrupt government of Vladimir Putin. Apparently, Baslof's been thrown in the gulag. All I had to do was contact Andrei, and he'd set up the deal where I'd caretake the money and rack up my own millions of bucks off the management fee.
I was figuring that would amount to about nearly $3,000,000 a year, which is much better than my teaching retirement. And, of course, I was tempted because of the new twist. Certainly there must be something valid to this if it came from Russia and not Zaire, I thought.
And, besides I'm guessing by now, that most of that African money from Mrs. Whochewchoochoo has already made its way to U.S. bank accounts. After all, I've heard from Mrs. W. at least three times in the last two years. For one brief second, I almost bit and sent off a reply to Andrei to sign me up.
But then I remembered a similar letter that arrived from the Netherlands last week and thought I'd better take a more cautious approach before turning over my checking-account number to the Russians. I had quickly deleted the Dutch letter and didn't really look at the potential returns it promised. Shoulda checked it out.
I'm thinking it's probably a good idea to collect a few more of these letters and compare notes carefully. Maybe I could have an accountant help me make the big decision. One time, years ago, a yearbook company representative chastised me for signing up with his competition by saying, "You need to learn not to take the first cube of sugar that comes along."
So, I'm living by that motto with these money offers and will closely examine the options before taking the plunge. In the meantime, I'm happy to share news of the potential wealth with anyone who wants to give this method of getting rich for doing nothing a try.
Just send me your email address, and I'll gladly forward all future letters that arrive in my inbox. In return, I'll assess you a nominal sender's fee, which can easily be transferred if you just send me your checking-account number.
And since the dirt bubble's gonna burst, maybe some realtors around here would be interested in hearing from Mrs. Whochewchoochoo or Mr. Sleeznof.
Sunday, November 13, 2005
A window on Seymouria: a parable
For a long time, Mother thought her squirrel was a boy. After feeding thousands of peanuts to this cute little rodent with the big tail, she noticed one day through her cloudy dining room window that Seymour had big boobs. I was sitting there with my mother as she pointed out the obvious change in anatomy as Seymour stood with peanut in hands, ripping off the shell.
Yup, those looked like Emersons all right. That's a term I learned from Bill one day in Dallas as we watched a well-endowed young woman gallop around an arena at the Texas State Fairgrounds. It was hard to notice the horse. Finally, when I said something about those jugs bouncing up and down, Bill calmly responded, "That's Emerson."
I was wondering how he'd come to know who this girl was, so I said, "Whaddya mean, Emerson? Do you know her?" To which he showed no expression and simply said, "Emerson big ones."
Well, Seymour, the squirrel was developing some "big ones," and soon after, Mother learned why. One day, a trio of large tails led along by tiny bodies accompanied Seymour to the peanut feed. Now, Seymouria and her herd put on a show every day for Mother as she sits at her dining room table. And, as of yesterday, the peanut circus has two much-enhanced viewing spots.
The long-awaited windows for Mother's dining and living rooms arrived Friday with two friendly workers from Billings. Now there is a window saga to be told, but I'll limit it for today's posting. She was supposed to have new windows for squirrel-watching a month ago, when an installer brought them one Saturday morning, all by himself.
I arrived at the house that day just as he had removed the older window from the front room---in many pieces. That was okay, though, cuz it was headed for the trash anyway, but as Mother, Jim and I sat in the kitchen a few minutes later and heard the crash, followed by seeing the distraught young man with hands over his head trudging across the lawn shrieking, "Dammit, I BROKE the window," Mother's squirrel watching was in peril.
After some much-needed tender-loving counseling from us in hopes the man would not commit suicide right there in squirrel land, he came to his senses, drove to town and brought back a sheet of plywood to fill the big hole in the front room. He was about to install the other window in her dining room, when Mother looked at it and announced it was NOT the bay window she had ordered.
So, the poor man left. Squirrel watching was limited to the still-cloudy dining room window, and Mother's window saga went on for three weeks. She patiently waited as people told her what to do and others told her there were blizzards in Montana from whence the windows were coming. Nonetheless, she humored herself through this unsettling time, watching Seymouria's children grow and eat more peanuts.
This story has a happy ending. The windows are installed. They're beautiful. The view to the great outdoors surrounding Mother's Colburn house has been enhanced threefold, at least, just like the squirrel population.
And, so a blissful life will continue as each day during peanut feeding time, Mother Squirrel and Mother Tibbs commiserate about their children.
Yup, those looked like Emersons all right. That's a term I learned from Bill one day in Dallas as we watched a well-endowed young woman gallop around an arena at the Texas State Fairgrounds. It was hard to notice the horse. Finally, when I said something about those jugs bouncing up and down, Bill calmly responded, "That's Emerson."
I was wondering how he'd come to know who this girl was, so I said, "Whaddya mean, Emerson? Do you know her?" To which he showed no expression and simply said, "Emerson big ones."
Well, Seymour, the squirrel was developing some "big ones," and soon after, Mother learned why. One day, a trio of large tails led along by tiny bodies accompanied Seymour to the peanut feed. Now, Seymouria and her herd put on a show every day for Mother as she sits at her dining room table. And, as of yesterday, the peanut circus has two much-enhanced viewing spots.
The long-awaited windows for Mother's dining and living rooms arrived Friday with two friendly workers from Billings. Now there is a window saga to be told, but I'll limit it for today's posting. She was supposed to have new windows for squirrel-watching a month ago, when an installer brought them one Saturday morning, all by himself.
I arrived at the house that day just as he had removed the older window from the front room---in many pieces. That was okay, though, cuz it was headed for the trash anyway, but as Mother, Jim and I sat in the kitchen a few minutes later and heard the crash, followed by seeing the distraught young man with hands over his head trudging across the lawn shrieking, "Dammit, I BROKE the window," Mother's squirrel watching was in peril.
After some much-needed tender-loving counseling from us in hopes the man would not commit suicide right there in squirrel land, he came to his senses, drove to town and brought back a sheet of plywood to fill the big hole in the front room. He was about to install the other window in her dining room, when Mother looked at it and announced it was NOT the bay window she had ordered.
So, the poor man left. Squirrel watching was limited to the still-cloudy dining room window, and Mother's window saga went on for three weeks. She patiently waited as people told her what to do and others told her there were blizzards in Montana from whence the windows were coming. Nonetheless, she humored herself through this unsettling time, watching Seymouria's children grow and eat more peanuts.
This story has a happy ending. The windows are installed. They're beautiful. The view to the great outdoors surrounding Mother's Colburn house has been enhanced threefold, at least, just like the squirrel population.
And, so a blissful life will continue as each day during peanut feeding time, Mother Squirrel and Mother Tibbs commiserate about their children.
Saturday, November 12, 2005
Best-kept rumor in town
A little over a year ago, my friend Jeff and I teamed up to help out with an application for a couple we know to be considered for the popular ABC Series "Extreme Makeover -- Home Edition." Jeff even put together a cool video showing why it would be helpful for the show to surprise this couple and their daughter. The details involved cancer and a newly-purchased home in need of a lot of primping.
Since then, this couple has gone ahead on their own and made considerable improvements on their home. I was there last week and was amazed at the transformation. I also learned this week that the television series is coming to Sandpoint, this morning, to be exact. And, our friends are not the recipients.
I do know, however, that the family, soon-to-be-surprised, lives not far from us. So, the next few hours and the week ahead promise to be very interesting for this community. Though I would have preferred very much to have our friends so honored, I'm happy for whoever will be the recipient of this once-in-a-lifetime, very public gift of a new home.
The word got out about this planned visit by the Extreme Make-Over crew a few weeks ago, but the rumor began to grow this week. I first heard it at the Hair Hut when one of the beauticians said she knew some contractors who've been lined up for the project. Slowly but surely, more and more information has surfaced; well, let's just say I've gleaned it by asking a few pointed questions of a few key people.
The police chief wouldn't talk, except to say our road would be open and would be "used" today. Someone else simply said, "Oh, is the word out?" when I learned about some folding chairs needed for a week's time. I did learn more details, and Bill and I pinpointed the exact location of said activity last night, but we're not revealing until things start happening.
I told Bill if I'd had some time to throw out a few more well-placed questions, I could've found out a lot more, but like everyone else, I'll wait and see what and who the surprise is all about. And, of course, as that happens, I'll report it on this blog. One hint is that if the weather allows, I can probably ride my bicycle by the area to track progress over the next few days.
Is this exciting? Yeah, but it's getting to be more common for Sandpoint than ever imagined. After all, ABC's "Desperate Housewives" landed their most "Desperate Fan," Donna Deshon, from right here in Sandpoint, Idaho. And now, the equally popular show just preceding it on the Sunday night line-up will spend the next week here.
Update: The family, which lives off Baldy Mountain Road, has been notified, as of about half an hour (10 a.m.) ago. They will be going to the Bahamas while a new house is built this week. For all the details, check my friend Susan Drumheller's complete story with Jesse Tinsley's photos in tomorrow morning's Spokesman-Review newspaper. You can read both at www.spokesmanonline.com also.
As a p.s., I understand Jesse withstood an arrest threat this morning when the producers thought he was getting too close with his camera. He and Susan were told to come back at 2 p.m. after the family has left.
Since then, this couple has gone ahead on their own and made considerable improvements on their home. I was there last week and was amazed at the transformation. I also learned this week that the television series is coming to Sandpoint, this morning, to be exact. And, our friends are not the recipients.
I do know, however, that the family, soon-to-be-surprised, lives not far from us. So, the next few hours and the week ahead promise to be very interesting for this community. Though I would have preferred very much to have our friends so honored, I'm happy for whoever will be the recipient of this once-in-a-lifetime, very public gift of a new home.
The word got out about this planned visit by the Extreme Make-Over crew a few weeks ago, but the rumor began to grow this week. I first heard it at the Hair Hut when one of the beauticians said she knew some contractors who've been lined up for the project. Slowly but surely, more and more information has surfaced; well, let's just say I've gleaned it by asking a few pointed questions of a few key people.
The police chief wouldn't talk, except to say our road would be open and would be "used" today. Someone else simply said, "Oh, is the word out?" when I learned about some folding chairs needed for a week's time. I did learn more details, and Bill and I pinpointed the exact location of said activity last night, but we're not revealing until things start happening.
I told Bill if I'd had some time to throw out a few more well-placed questions, I could've found out a lot more, but like everyone else, I'll wait and see what and who the surprise is all about. And, of course, as that happens, I'll report it on this blog. One hint is that if the weather allows, I can probably ride my bicycle by the area to track progress over the next few days.
Is this exciting? Yeah, but it's getting to be more common for Sandpoint than ever imagined. After all, ABC's "Desperate Housewives" landed their most "Desperate Fan," Donna Deshon, from right here in Sandpoint, Idaho. And now, the equally popular show just preceding it on the Sunday night line-up will spend the next week here.
Update: The family, which lives off Baldy Mountain Road, has been notified, as of about half an hour (10 a.m.) ago. They will be going to the Bahamas while a new house is built this week. For all the details, check my friend Susan Drumheller's complete story with Jesse Tinsley's photos in tomorrow morning's Spokesman-Review newspaper. You can read both at www.spokesmanonline.com also.
As a p.s., I understand Jesse withstood an arrest threat this morning when the producers thought he was getting too close with his camera. He and Susan were told to come back at 2 p.m. after the family has left.
Friday, November 11, 2005
In the Wake of the Deluge: a special evening of history
The water color above this posting features Lake Pend Oreille from Kootenai Point on the lake's north shore. This painting is associated with a very special evening for history buffs, scheduled for next Thursday, Nov. 17 beginning at 5 p.m. at Di Luna's Restaurant in Sandpoint.
Historian Jack Nisbet will begin the festivities with a book signing during a no-host cocktail hour from 5-6 p.m. He will sign Sources of the River and his most recently published title The Mapmaker's Eye.
Both books deal with the wanderings of British mapmaker David Thompson who traveled through North Idaho and established the Kullyspell House on Lake Pend Oreille's shores in 1809. Nisbet is considered one of the premier regional experts on the travels of Thompson who produced early maps of North America.
After the signing, dinner will be served from 6-7 p.m. Then, Nisbet will team up with Idaho State geologist Roy Breckenridge to discuss the glacial Lake Missoula flood path. Both speakers will be using images completed between 1810-1860 by Thompson, James Madison Alden, Henry James Warre, Paul Kane, and Charles Wilson as they retrace the course of the unleashed waters of Lake Missoula.
According to the promotional flier, the epic flood, at the end of the last Ice Age, "left a trail of geologic landmarks across the Inland Northwest. These landmarks--many of which center on Lake Pend Oreille and the ice plug at the mouth of the Clark Fork River--have become familiar markers on our modern landscape.
"But the effects of the flood were probably even more visible to the people who looked at this countryside during the period of contact and before. Tribal trails, river crossings, sentry points, and drainage curiosities were created by the Ice Age floods, and the first mapmakers and artists who visited our area captured them on paper in ways that shed new light on these familiar features."
So, yes, this morning, I'm using my posting to spread the word about this evening of fine wine, fine dining and fine knowledge from the experts about a significant event and some significant people who defined our area. All proceeds from the event will benefit the Bonner County Museum. The $25 charge includes dinner and the program. Because of limited seating, reservations (call 263-2344) are encouraged.
Lots going on that evening. It's guaranteed you'll go away well-fed and equally well-nourished on your insights of the beginnings of beautiful Lake Pend Oreille.
Historian Jack Nisbet will begin the festivities with a book signing during a no-host cocktail hour from 5-6 p.m. He will sign Sources of the River and his most recently published title The Mapmaker's Eye.
Both books deal with the wanderings of British mapmaker David Thompson who traveled through North Idaho and established the Kullyspell House on Lake Pend Oreille's shores in 1809. Nisbet is considered one of the premier regional experts on the travels of Thompson who produced early maps of North America.
After the signing, dinner will be served from 6-7 p.m. Then, Nisbet will team up with Idaho State geologist Roy Breckenridge to discuss the glacial Lake Missoula flood path. Both speakers will be using images completed between 1810-1860 by Thompson, James Madison Alden, Henry James Warre, Paul Kane, and Charles Wilson as they retrace the course of the unleashed waters of Lake Missoula.
According to the promotional flier, the epic flood, at the end of the last Ice Age, "left a trail of geologic landmarks across the Inland Northwest. These landmarks--many of which center on Lake Pend Oreille and the ice plug at the mouth of the Clark Fork River--have become familiar markers on our modern landscape.
"But the effects of the flood were probably even more visible to the people who looked at this countryside during the period of contact and before. Tribal trails, river crossings, sentry points, and drainage curiosities were created by the Ice Age floods, and the first mapmakers and artists who visited our area captured them on paper in ways that shed new light on these familiar features."
So, yes, this morning, I'm using my posting to spread the word about this evening of fine wine, fine dining and fine knowledge from the experts about a significant event and some significant people who defined our area. All proceeds from the event will benefit the Bonner County Museum. The $25 charge includes dinner and the program. Because of limited seating, reservations (call 263-2344) are encouraged.
Lots going on that evening. It's guaranteed you'll go away well-fed and equally well-nourished on your insights of the beginnings of beautiful Lake Pend Oreille.
Thursday, November 10, 2005
Zappidy doo dah, zappidy ay --- My oh My
Gotta tap out this posting quickly cuz in a few minutes, I'm off to the Hair Hut for Joyce's crochet needle, goop, plastic bag and scissors. Where DOES the time go? Seems like just yesterday, I was sitting down there gossiping while she gave me my bi-monthly new do. The mirror tells me, however, time has passed.
So, just some zappidy tidbits today. I just read in this morning's Spokesman how people shook their heads yesterday in Spokane as demolition crews started tearing down the huge and historic rookery building in downtown. It's gonna be a beautiful parking lot when it's all gone. I guess yesterday was an equally significant day here.
I just shook my head and thought of the memories of my early marriage and our family's Hereford cattle that grazed the hillsides while watching the heavy equipment bang away at the first house Bill and I ever lived in. We lived there for three years. It's gone this morning, only took a few hours to demolish it and burn it. Yesterday's fire wasn't nearly as spectacular as when they burned our Tibbs family home on North Boyer one night about three years ago.
The day before yesterday, they destroyed and decimated the milk house where Harold spent many hours a day puttering and snoozing for a couple of decades. (Well, how about that misplaced modifier, discovered upon later-morning viewing, after the zap session. No, Harold didn't snooze THAT long; in fact, we never referred to him as "Rip." Instead, he'd occasionally snooze on his cot up there during the two-plus decades that they owned the place. See how much fun language can be!) Of course, the barn took more time. It's been gone for a couple of weeks.
So far, those big beautiful spruce trees I transplanted more than 30 years ago are still standing proudly at the former Harney Dairy turned Upper Tibbs ranch. That's about all that's left of the old, except the memories.
Plenty of the new is appearing every day----piles of neatly packed bluish green pipe and a couple of dozen concrete septic tanks ready to occupy the ground for the new housing development soon to smother the hillside. Oh yeah, lots of piles of dirt. I'm getting to where I just take the dirt piles for granted these days in the neighborhood.
Bill wants the City to include in its public art plan (a percentage of proposed Urban Renewal beautification plan) a specific requirement---should another set of metal buildings eventually replace this farm of ours. He thinks they ought to paint a replica of our red barn on the side of one of the bigger metal buildings just to remind people what farms used to look like.
I went to the Urban Renewal "how-much-is-this-going-to-cost-the-taxpayer?" meeting last night and found out it was overbilled in the paper (the meeting, that is). It was simply part of a regular council/city staff meeting where a brief presentation with a bunch of spread sheets kept some people snoozing and others studying a book. It lasted for only about 20 minutes, and I saw only about four or five people attending besides staff and council members. So, not much to report there.
Gotta go feed those horses. I wonder if the artists would include Rambo and Casey when they paint the picture of the barn.
A zappidy wonderful day to you all.
So, just some zappidy tidbits today. I just read in this morning's Spokesman how people shook their heads yesterday in Spokane as demolition crews started tearing down the huge and historic rookery building in downtown. It's gonna be a beautiful parking lot when it's all gone. I guess yesterday was an equally significant day here.
I just shook my head and thought of the memories of my early marriage and our family's Hereford cattle that grazed the hillsides while watching the heavy equipment bang away at the first house Bill and I ever lived in. We lived there for three years. It's gone this morning, only took a few hours to demolish it and burn it. Yesterday's fire wasn't nearly as spectacular as when they burned our Tibbs family home on North Boyer one night about three years ago.
The day before yesterday, they destroyed and decimated the milk house where Harold spent many hours a day puttering and snoozing for a couple of decades. (Well, how about that misplaced modifier, discovered upon later-morning viewing, after the zap session. No, Harold didn't snooze THAT long; in fact, we never referred to him as "Rip." Instead, he'd occasionally snooze on his cot up there during the two-plus decades that they owned the place. See how much fun language can be!) Of course, the barn took more time. It's been gone for a couple of weeks.
So far, those big beautiful spruce trees I transplanted more than 30 years ago are still standing proudly at the former Harney Dairy turned Upper Tibbs ranch. That's about all that's left of the old, except the memories.
Plenty of the new is appearing every day----piles of neatly packed bluish green pipe and a couple of dozen concrete septic tanks ready to occupy the ground for the new housing development soon to smother the hillside. Oh yeah, lots of piles of dirt. I'm getting to where I just take the dirt piles for granted these days in the neighborhood.
Bill wants the City to include in its public art plan (a percentage of proposed Urban Renewal beautification plan) a specific requirement---should another set of metal buildings eventually replace this farm of ours. He thinks they ought to paint a replica of our red barn on the side of one of the bigger metal buildings just to remind people what farms used to look like.
I went to the Urban Renewal "how-much-is-this-going-to-cost-the-taxpayer?" meeting last night and found out it was overbilled in the paper (the meeting, that is). It was simply part of a regular council/city staff meeting where a brief presentation with a bunch of spread sheets kept some people snoozing and others studying a book. It lasted for only about 20 minutes, and I saw only about four or five people attending besides staff and council members. So, not much to report there.
Gotta go feed those horses. I wonder if the artists would include Rambo and Casey when they paint the picture of the barn.
A zappidy wonderful day to you all.
Wednesday, November 09, 2005
A Love's eye view
The voters have spoken. One incumbent, Cindy Elliott, kept her seat. Two new but familiar faces will now serve on Sandpoint's City Council. Former city clerk Helen Newton, who retired in July, and former planning commission chair Steve Lockwood won seats in yesterday's election. Both Bill and I agree that serving on our City Council over the next few years will be a daunting task at best. We wish all council members good luck.
We believe the City faces challenges unparalleled in its history. An aging waste water treatment facility will need expensive updating. Other infrastructure projects, including roads and sewers, will cost millions. Willie told us first, but we did read in the Daily Bee this morning that the aging grand stand at Memorial Field is likely to be condemned. There's a movement afoot to fix the City Beach tennis courts.
The controversial issue of Urban Renewal, which you've read me ranting about here, needs to be addressed. From what we know, the present council will vote on the issue later this month. That leaves the new council with plenty of decision-making to hammer out afterward. This evening at 5:30 at City Hall, residents will again have an opportunity to learn how Urban Renewal could affect their pocketbooks when City grant writer Stephen Drinkard makes a presentation.
Stephen has written to me via email and explained that, based on several years of study, he and engineer Kody Van Dyke, are looking at half a dozen potential financing options to pay the bills for the big projects. Urban Renewal is one of them. Others include impact fees, state and Federal grants, city funds and Local Improvement Districts (LIDs). Grant applications which show a community's willingness to explore all financing options look good to those who award the grants.
Bill and I appreciate the communication and explanations we've received from Kody and Stephen this past week. We feel that we understand the picture a bit better than we did at this time last week. We're openly selfish in our quest to learn what's going on. Anyone who reads this blog knows that preservation of a life style we've enjoyed in this very spot drives us at this time.
We're not blind to the fact that development has, is, and will be occurring around us. Still, we remain hopeful that our farm, with its wetlands, pond and general esthetics, can remain a pleasant oasis in the midst of it all. After all, if Litehouse is just down the road, won't a cute little farm in the neighborhood look nice to all who come for a visit to the company's corporate headquarters in the future?
I'll be attending the meeting tonight to learn more. One thing is for certain. The needs will not go away, and they will be expensive. Adding to the City's urgencies is the fact that our school district will, no doubt, be clamoring for millions of dollars in the near future to upgrade existing facilities and build new structures for increasing numbers of students. A local citizen has also expressed interest in building a skating rink at Kootenai. Other existing facilities, such as the library and museum, are facing challenges to maintain their status quo and address the needs of the future.
Sandpoint and its surrounding area are going through change. Unfortunately, we cannot turn the clock back to that peaceful, simple time in the past which we all so cherish. Most people involved in making decisions related to these changes are passionate, caring humans who want to do what they think is best. The success of how we address the change and the challenges ahead will depend on how much each person involved in the process is willing to study, listen, consider, and compromise for the betterment of all.
We believe the City faces challenges unparalleled in its history. An aging waste water treatment facility will need expensive updating. Other infrastructure projects, including roads and sewers, will cost millions. Willie told us first, but we did read in the Daily Bee this morning that the aging grand stand at Memorial Field is likely to be condemned. There's a movement afoot to fix the City Beach tennis courts.
The controversial issue of Urban Renewal, which you've read me ranting about here, needs to be addressed. From what we know, the present council will vote on the issue later this month. That leaves the new council with plenty of decision-making to hammer out afterward. This evening at 5:30 at City Hall, residents will again have an opportunity to learn how Urban Renewal could affect their pocketbooks when City grant writer Stephen Drinkard makes a presentation.
Stephen has written to me via email and explained that, based on several years of study, he and engineer Kody Van Dyke, are looking at half a dozen potential financing options to pay the bills for the big projects. Urban Renewal is one of them. Others include impact fees, state and Federal grants, city funds and Local Improvement Districts (LIDs). Grant applications which show a community's willingness to explore all financing options look good to those who award the grants.
Bill and I appreciate the communication and explanations we've received from Kody and Stephen this past week. We feel that we understand the picture a bit better than we did at this time last week. We're openly selfish in our quest to learn what's going on. Anyone who reads this blog knows that preservation of a life style we've enjoyed in this very spot drives us at this time.
We're not blind to the fact that development has, is, and will be occurring around us. Still, we remain hopeful that our farm, with its wetlands, pond and general esthetics, can remain a pleasant oasis in the midst of it all. After all, if Litehouse is just down the road, won't a cute little farm in the neighborhood look nice to all who come for a visit to the company's corporate headquarters in the future?
I'll be attending the meeting tonight to learn more. One thing is for certain. The needs will not go away, and they will be expensive. Adding to the City's urgencies is the fact that our school district will, no doubt, be clamoring for millions of dollars in the near future to upgrade existing facilities and build new structures for increasing numbers of students. A local citizen has also expressed interest in building a skating rink at Kootenai. Other existing facilities, such as the library and museum, are facing challenges to maintain their status quo and address the needs of the future.
Sandpoint and its surrounding area are going through change. Unfortunately, we cannot turn the clock back to that peaceful, simple time in the past which we all so cherish. Most people involved in making decisions related to these changes are passionate, caring humans who want to do what they think is best. The success of how we address the change and the challenges ahead will depend on how much each person involved in the process is willing to study, listen, consider, and compromise for the betterment of all.
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