My list of "things to do" for today includes the notation, "Harolds . . . Chico." Jeff Bock, a former student who lives in Los Angeles, wrote the other day and asked if I'd pick up some memorabilia from Harolds Super Foods aka to longtimers: the IGA.
He prefers a Chic-o-Stick, but if that's not available, he'll be happy with anything that reminds him of one of his favorite stores in Sandpoint, which is set to shut its doors tomorrow. Here's what he had to say about Harolds:
Marianne, great article about Harold's (www.mariannelove.com) . I can't believe it's true, but I'm glad you gave me the heads up over Xmas; that way it wasn't such a shocker at any rate. I do hope you're planning to buy a sack of potatoes and a couple pounds of hamburger this week!!!!
If you go, pick me up a Chick-o-Stick or two. That way I can hold onto a piece of Harold's for a little bit longer. Man, I remember that place always had the best candy selection... and it was done so well-- they just cut the tops off the boxes and in seemingly random order placed them out there. It was a sprawling goldmine of snacks. I mean, you never knew what treasures you were going to find there, and that's why I always loved going.
And the jojo's they sold in the deli---don't even get me started on those. I can taste them right now... And you know that comic book rack of theirs, which I believe still spins around a bit wonky, was a favorite pit spot of mine as well. I'm really going to miss that little slice of small town Americana... felt like I stepped into the past everytime I went in there.
Carson Jeffres, another friend from Davis, California, says he'll miss the greasy chicken and the jojo's. Here's what he wrote a couple of weeks ago: Mom just sent me the River Journal so I could read about Harold's closing. It is really too bad that the only grocery stores in town will now be larger chain stores. It is always great to go to a place that does not look like it has changed in 50 years, mainly because it has not needed to.
I'm proud to say that one of my journalism students, Erica Curless, has the front-page article about Harolds in today's Spokesman-Review (www.spokesmanreview.com). She did a nice job capturing vignettes of the final days' action up and down the store aisles.
I hope there's something left this morning to grab. I did buy a dozen eggs last week for 60-plus cents. Since it's 25 percent off from everything but the mechanical horses, I'm sure stuff will go fast. They're still a dime a ride.
Word is that Blackie and Sandy will keep on rockin' the young at heart at the laundromat across the parking lot.
In the meantime, Happy Trails to Harolds!
Monday, February 28, 2005
Sunday, February 27, 2005
Liberation Sunday
The Daily Bee has finally acknowledged the error of its noise-ordinance story. And apologized! The "clarification" appeared in this morning's North Idaho Sunday right next to the "Who Am I" column. So, I'm free! There IS hope.
I can now mow my lawn during the day. Bill has to play his tuba from 6:30 a.m. until 10 p.m., and there will be continued bliss at the Love house.
Today's entry will be a bits 'n pieces blog. I'll contribute several times, maybe.
In a short time, the Laumatias and I will head north to Bonners Ferry, pick up Mother along the way, attend Mass at St. Ann's, eat breakfast at the Chic n' Chop and then spend a little time at the beautiful Bird Refuge.
Maybe Sefo can go see a beautiful North Idaho waterfall at Myrtle Falls just across the street from the headquarters. The weather is perfect for such a visit. I hope the thousands of geese are doing their usual honking.
So, more later . . . .
It's now later, almost 2 p.m. We didn't make it to Myrtle Falls or the Bird Refuge, but God had to be smiling on three little angels at St. Ann's Catholic Church today. I've never seen kids that age even come close to behaving so well.
We then went to the Chic 'n Chop where all seven of us ate ample breakfasts for $21.00 total. I'd call the Chic 'n Chop the Hoot Owl of Bonners Ferry. Not big on ambience but long on satisfied tummies.
Bill's hauling some Presbyterian stuff to the transfer station. I don't know if it's what's left over from their rummage sale or just junk. Nonetheless, that's the best place to take stuff because to some folks it's the Colburn Mall where the prices are right.
Have been burning weeds out by the pond and scraping some of the winter crud off my horses. They haven't minded a bit. They're the only horses I've ever seen that fight over who's gonna get trimmed. I seldom put a halter on them for clipping except to keep one from pushing the other out of the way.
Love this sun!
More later . . .
Now, it's even later, a little after 4 p.m. Just two hours until the Oscars. I know they ARE hyped up, but I still like to watch them to see who's eloquent and who makes a total fool out of themselves. Even though the teleprompters tell 'em what to say, there's always a chance for surprises, even with the 5 second delay.
Went to the Co Op and got some sweet yellow clover seed to sow on the south side of our mounds above the pond. I've wanted to plant flowers along there, but the clover ought to keep it pretty until I do.
The horses now have worm medicine, and they're going to get their feet trimmed this week if John Fuller's back from Mexico. He's my philosopher and horse shoer. He told me shortly after I retired that, at this age, we're in the final quarter and we can't waste time on the B.S. I've been living John's words ever since. Damn good advice.
So, on this "Liberation Sunday," I, like the Daily Bee, have freed myself of a little guilt by attending Mass and not wasting very many moments God's gift of gorgeous weather.
That's all, folks!
I can now mow my lawn during the day. Bill has to play his tuba from 6:30 a.m. until 10 p.m., and there will be continued bliss at the Love house.
Today's entry will be a bits 'n pieces blog. I'll contribute several times, maybe.
In a short time, the Laumatias and I will head north to Bonners Ferry, pick up Mother along the way, attend Mass at St. Ann's, eat breakfast at the Chic n' Chop and then spend a little time at the beautiful Bird Refuge.
Maybe Sefo can go see a beautiful North Idaho waterfall at Myrtle Falls just across the street from the headquarters. The weather is perfect for such a visit. I hope the thousands of geese are doing their usual honking.
So, more later . . . .
It's now later, almost 2 p.m. We didn't make it to Myrtle Falls or the Bird Refuge, but God had to be smiling on three little angels at St. Ann's Catholic Church today. I've never seen kids that age even come close to behaving so well.
We then went to the Chic 'n Chop where all seven of us ate ample breakfasts for $21.00 total. I'd call the Chic 'n Chop the Hoot Owl of Bonners Ferry. Not big on ambience but long on satisfied tummies.
Bill's hauling some Presbyterian stuff to the transfer station. I don't know if it's what's left over from their rummage sale or just junk. Nonetheless, that's the best place to take stuff because to some folks it's the Colburn Mall where the prices are right.
Have been burning weeds out by the pond and scraping some of the winter crud off my horses. They haven't minded a bit. They're the only horses I've ever seen that fight over who's gonna get trimmed. I seldom put a halter on them for clipping except to keep one from pushing the other out of the way.
Love this sun!
More later . . .
Now, it's even later, a little after 4 p.m. Just two hours until the Oscars. I know they ARE hyped up, but I still like to watch them to see who's eloquent and who makes a total fool out of themselves. Even though the teleprompters tell 'em what to say, there's always a chance for surprises, even with the 5 second delay.
Went to the Co Op and got some sweet yellow clover seed to sow on the south side of our mounds above the pond. I've wanted to plant flowers along there, but the clover ought to keep it pretty until I do.
The horses now have worm medicine, and they're going to get their feet trimmed this week if John Fuller's back from Mexico. He's my philosopher and horse shoer. He told me shortly after I retired that, at this age, we're in the final quarter and we can't waste time on the B.S. I've been living John's words ever since. Damn good advice.
So, on this "Liberation Sunday," I, like the Daily Bee, have freed myself of a little guilt by attending Mass and not wasting very many moments God's gift of gorgeous weather.
That's all, folks!
Saturday, February 26, 2005
The Triplets
The triplets are coming! The triplets are coming! The triplets are coming!
We love to tell everyone about the triplets in our family, but I don't think I've told the Slightdetour crowd. You may have discerned that they're coming today. You're right. They'll be staying overnight with their parents at a local motel with a swimming pool.
Jacob, Justine and Grace will be three on April 9. They moved with their mom and dad, Laura and Sefo Laumatia, from Samoa last October. Now they live in Plummer, where Laura (my niece) works as extension agent for the Coeur d'Alene Tribe.
Sefo's a stay-at-home dad right now; he's been getting all his ducks in line to secure a green card and will eventually take a job somewhere. For now, he's the most patient, wonderful dad, who should definitely win an award for spending entire days 1 on 3.
But these little darlings make it easier than one would expect. They're amazingly well-behaved for just passing through the "terrible two's." Each has a distinctive personality.
There's Princess Grace, who takes her role seriously with her princess shoes and princess dresses. Justine puts on a good act as Miss Rough and Tough; her facial expressions and growls probably scare the kitty but bring smiles to most everyone else. And, little Mr. Jacob can charm anyone, any age with his innocent big eyes and his soft singing voice.
The greatest fun with these kids has been watching them make personal discoveries and knowing that whatever the situation, it will happen three times in a very short span. We've thoroughly enjoyed getting to know the family triplets. It's going to be fun to watch them grow up.
They're definitely poster children for the saying "Three times a charm."
We love to tell everyone about the triplets in our family, but I don't think I've told the Slightdetour crowd. You may have discerned that they're coming today. You're right. They'll be staying overnight with their parents at a local motel with a swimming pool.
Jacob, Justine and Grace will be three on April 9. They moved with their mom and dad, Laura and Sefo Laumatia, from Samoa last October. Now they live in Plummer, where Laura (my niece) works as extension agent for the Coeur d'Alene Tribe.
Sefo's a stay-at-home dad right now; he's been getting all his ducks in line to secure a green card and will eventually take a job somewhere. For now, he's the most patient, wonderful dad, who should definitely win an award for spending entire days 1 on 3.
But these little darlings make it easier than one would expect. They're amazingly well-behaved for just passing through the "terrible two's." Each has a distinctive personality.
There's Princess Grace, who takes her role seriously with her princess shoes and princess dresses. Justine puts on a good act as Miss Rough and Tough; her facial expressions and growls probably scare the kitty but bring smiles to most everyone else. And, little Mr. Jacob can charm anyone, any age with his innocent big eyes and his soft singing voice.
The greatest fun with these kids has been watching them make personal discoveries and knowing that whatever the situation, it will happen three times in a very short span. We've thoroughly enjoyed getting to know the family triplets. It's going to be fun to watch them grow up.
They're definitely poster children for the saying "Three times a charm."
Friday, February 25, 2005
Time Travel
I took my mother to lunch yesterday. We'd talked about heading to Hope, but when I suggested Bayview, she sounded interested. She hadn't been down that way for a while. So, we drove in the back way from the road that takes off from HWY 95 just past Careywood.
I'm pretty sure it was the Captain's Table where we ate. The prices were right with old stand-by's like BLT's, chicken strips or turkey sandwiches for $5.25. We both selected BLT's. They weren't all fancied up---just the basic white bread toasted and plenty of bacon within.
Besides the old-time basic sandwiches, the setting seemed like a trip back in time. The Osprey, a rustic old paddlewheeler badly in need of a paint job sat in the water near shore just below our booth. Maybe that's why Mother talked about memories of Chicago when she was a small child. She always lets little historical snippets---we've never heard---drop out in these conversations.
Yesterday's revelation was that her mother, Lillie Short, worked as a hair dresser at Marshall Fields in Chicago, and that's how she met her husband Frank (my grandfather). Frank's sister, later my mother's Aunt Annie, was one of her customers.
She told Lillie about her brother and that she ought to meet him. Frank was an artist who had a yearning to find gold. They married, had two little girls, Virginia and June, and headed for the West.
I knew most of this, but the hairdresser stuff caught me offguard. My grandmother was also a writer, and Mother has told me she wrote two manuscripts. What a find those would be!
Sadly, Lillie Halter died when Mother was three. By that time, they lived in an area near Wallace, Idaho. Frank Halter and his two daughters then moved on to the remote Trinity River of Northern California. Mother started first grade at the tiny town of Burnt Ranch. A few days into her school year, a fancy car driven by a chauffeur and occupied by her rich aunt from Michigan showed up.
The aunt figured the back woods of California was no place for two little girls to grow up. So, Mother spent the rest of her education years living at Catholic boarding schools in Texas and Michigan. She always wanted to return to Burnt Ranch, so we did some time traveling last May when four of her six kids accompanied her on a nostalgic trip to the Trinity River valley.
Not much is left there that Mother recalls except the big stone-faced mountain that overlooked them. Nonetheless, she still clings to cherished and vivid childhood memories of time spent with her father.
I think it would have been fun to know Frank and Lillie Halter.
I'm pretty sure it was the Captain's Table where we ate. The prices were right with old stand-by's like BLT's, chicken strips or turkey sandwiches for $5.25. We both selected BLT's. They weren't all fancied up---just the basic white bread toasted and plenty of bacon within.
Besides the old-time basic sandwiches, the setting seemed like a trip back in time. The Osprey, a rustic old paddlewheeler badly in need of a paint job sat in the water near shore just below our booth. Maybe that's why Mother talked about memories of Chicago when she was a small child. She always lets little historical snippets---we've never heard---drop out in these conversations.
Yesterday's revelation was that her mother, Lillie Short, worked as a hair dresser at Marshall Fields in Chicago, and that's how she met her husband Frank (my grandfather). Frank's sister, later my mother's Aunt Annie, was one of her customers.
She told Lillie about her brother and that she ought to meet him. Frank was an artist who had a yearning to find gold. They married, had two little girls, Virginia and June, and headed for the West.
I knew most of this, but the hairdresser stuff caught me offguard. My grandmother was also a writer, and Mother has told me she wrote two manuscripts. What a find those would be!
Sadly, Lillie Halter died when Mother was three. By that time, they lived in an area near Wallace, Idaho. Frank Halter and his two daughters then moved on to the remote Trinity River of Northern California. Mother started first grade at the tiny town of Burnt Ranch. A few days into her school year, a fancy car driven by a chauffeur and occupied by her rich aunt from Michigan showed up.
The aunt figured the back woods of California was no place for two little girls to grow up. So, Mother spent the rest of her education years living at Catholic boarding schools in Texas and Michigan. She always wanted to return to Burnt Ranch, so we did some time traveling last May when four of her six kids accompanied her on a nostalgic trip to the Trinity River valley.
Not much is left there that Mother recalls except the big stone-faced mountain that overlooked them. Nonetheless, she still clings to cherished and vivid childhood memories of time spent with her father.
I think it would have been fun to know Frank and Lillie Halter.
Thursday, February 24, 2005
Mimes on steroids
I see Jim has put up the week's cartoon. Of course, the thought of mimes not succeeding in baseball makes me wonder how mimes on steroids would fare. I also wonder what mimes would do to soup up their performances.
Can't ya see the headlines now: Performance-enhanced mime walks on water. Jesus might get jealous, and then there'd be an investigation.
And then, other mimes whose names had surfaced after rumors of possible use of performance-enhancing steroids could hold a press conference to clear their names. Like Barry Bonds, earlier this week, they could deride the media for having the indecency of suggesting they're less than pure at their mimedom.
And then, in silence, the finger-pointing would begin---and it wouldn't be with the index finger. It might be a bit difficult for the print reporters to record, but on TV the scene would play well.
Then, the FCC could step in. After which would appear the damage-control explanation to save the mime's face: finger failure.
No, I've not used anything other than coffee to enhance my computer performance this morning. But the scenario was fun to imagine.
Seems the family genes produce quirky mimes.
Can't ya see the headlines now: Performance-enhanced mime walks on water. Jesus might get jealous, and then there'd be an investigation.
And then, other mimes whose names had surfaced after rumors of possible use of performance-enhancing steroids could hold a press conference to clear their names. Like Barry Bonds, earlier this week, they could deride the media for having the indecency of suggesting they're less than pure at their mimedom.
And then, in silence, the finger-pointing would begin---and it wouldn't be with the index finger. It might be a bit difficult for the print reporters to record, but on TV the scene would play well.
Then, the FCC could step in. After which would appear the damage-control explanation to save the mime's face: finger failure.
No, I've not used anything other than coffee to enhance my computer performance this morning. But the scenario was fun to imagine.
Seems the family genes produce quirky mimes.
Wednesday, February 23, 2005
A time to think
To everything, there is a season.
And, to every season, there are days to comtemplate rather than to commentate.
On this day, that's just what I'll do.
And, to every season, there are days to comtemplate rather than to commentate.
On this day, that's just what I'll do.
Tuesday, February 22, 2005
I guess the grass WILL grow taller
I'm totally befuddled today. Yes, I've read my Daily Bee, and yes, that was my brother who wrote the letter-to-the-editor about the grass-cutting situation in Sandpoint.
Three times, I asked Bill to re-read this morning's article about City Council passing its junk/noise ordinance, and, sure enough, they're still saying we can't mow our lawns after 6:30 every morning.
I'm at wits end. Should I call the mayor? Or, should I just go forth with my lawn mowing and take my chances?
After all, I do live out here right between the Sandpoint Airport and the Burlington Northern-Santa Fe Railroad. Maybe my Sears Craftsman grass-cutting sounds can be muffled by the lear jets and 50-plus trains that go by here every day.
But then again, the cop shop has taken to sitting over in that railroad parking area directly across from my house. Maybe he's not really there to catch speeders. Maybe, his presence is merely a ploy for catching bigger fish, namely Marianne, the lawn-mowing junkie.
Now, I'm wondering if the mayor has asked him to spy on me so that the moment I fire up my ear-shattering mower this spring, the cop can charge right over here and plop a ticket on me for abusing the city ordinance.
Maybe the mayor will make an example out of me, and I'll end up in the headlines of the Daily Bee: City Spurns Love for Ordinance Betrayal.
This is really going to be a problem in July when the fire department sends out their spies to see who's not cutting their weeds within 100 feet of the road.
Am I getting too paranoic? Help me. Should I quit reading the Bee every morning?
Three times, I asked Bill to re-read this morning's article about City Council passing its junk/noise ordinance, and, sure enough, they're still saying we can't mow our lawns after 6:30 every morning.
I'm at wits end. Should I call the mayor? Or, should I just go forth with my lawn mowing and take my chances?
After all, I do live out here right between the Sandpoint Airport and the Burlington Northern-Santa Fe Railroad. Maybe my Sears Craftsman grass-cutting sounds can be muffled by the lear jets and 50-plus trains that go by here every day.
But then again, the cop shop has taken to sitting over in that railroad parking area directly across from my house. Maybe he's not really there to catch speeders. Maybe, his presence is merely a ploy for catching bigger fish, namely Marianne, the lawn-mowing junkie.
Now, I'm wondering if the mayor has asked him to spy on me so that the moment I fire up my ear-shattering mower this spring, the cop can charge right over here and plop a ticket on me for abusing the city ordinance.
Maybe the mayor will make an example out of me, and I'll end up in the headlines of the Daily Bee: City Spurns Love for Ordinance Betrayal.
This is really going to be a problem in July when the fire department sends out their spies to see who's not cutting their weeds within 100 feet of the road.
Am I getting too paranoic? Help me. Should I quit reading the Bee every morning?
Monday, February 21, 2005
The Presidents' Day
So, Bill's home today because of the Presidents. I haven't seen him giving thanks to them, but I'm sure he's happy to have an extra day to catch up on his Presbyterian work and his Society of American Forester projects.
He is like a president to both entities, so it seems fitting he should be sitting over at his desk thumbing through a large three-ring binder notebook, attending to executive duties. They call him "clerk of the session" at the Presbyterian Church. From what I've been told, through several "Thank you for letting us have Bill this year," statements, I already know the job involves a lot of time.
With the SAF group, he's called president. He and his buddy Boz go to Coeur d'Alene every month for the meetings. And, I know they spearhead a lot of projects which create good public relations for the group. One includes selling boards at each year's Timberfest in conjunction with Habitat for Humanity.
They also talk A LOT about root rot and bark beetle infestations, so I never offer to go to any of those gatherings. Still haven't gotten too passionate about either subject.
Anyway, it's a beautiful Presidents' day, and I'm sure my husband's going to get a lot of Presidents' stuff completed during his extra time off.
I'm also sure that the instant I leave this computer, he'll be right over here to open up his geocaching website to see if any new caches have been stored. Yesterday we went to "drop-dead gorgeous" Talache where a cache was hidden behind a huge Ponderosa pine along the public beach.
It took him a while to find it, so I just stood alongside the shore and absorbed the beauty and silence of Lake Pend Oreille and its gorgeous snow-capped mountains.
Not a bad life!
He is like a president to both entities, so it seems fitting he should be sitting over at his desk thumbing through a large three-ring binder notebook, attending to executive duties. They call him "clerk of the session" at the Presbyterian Church. From what I've been told, through several "Thank you for letting us have Bill this year," statements, I already know the job involves a lot of time.
With the SAF group, he's called president. He and his buddy Boz go to Coeur d'Alene every month for the meetings. And, I know they spearhead a lot of projects which create good public relations for the group. One includes selling boards at each year's Timberfest in conjunction with Habitat for Humanity.
They also talk A LOT about root rot and bark beetle infestations, so I never offer to go to any of those gatherings. Still haven't gotten too passionate about either subject.
Anyway, it's a beautiful Presidents' day, and I'm sure my husband's going to get a lot of Presidents' stuff completed during his extra time off.
I'm also sure that the instant I leave this computer, he'll be right over here to open up his geocaching website to see if any new caches have been stored. Yesterday we went to "drop-dead gorgeous" Talache where a cache was hidden behind a huge Ponderosa pine along the public beach.
It took him a while to find it, so I just stood alongside the shore and absorbed the beauty and silence of Lake Pend Oreille and its gorgeous snow-capped mountains.
Not a bad life!
Sunday, February 20, 2005
Sore eyes
My eyes hurt today. I'm thinkin' it's cuz they've gotten too much of a work-out the past two days, searching for information, I've read a dozen times in the past several months. You see, I'm back at the "never-ending" lake story. Well, I hope our beautiful lake is never-ending, but my version of its story has got to come ashore here pretty soon.
I've been at it a year, as many readers already know from my past rantings. About three weeks ago, I took a notebook filled with 20,000 words worth of fascinating stuff about Lake Pend Oreille and its communities to the publisher's office.
I gave it to the secretary and told her to tell 'em they could have it, I never wanted to see it again, and they didn't even need to pay me cuz I was sick of it. She passed it on, maybe not with my complete message. I received a few messages on my answering machine and in my email box that it was "too long" and they'd get back to me on it. My historical account of white settlement around Lake Pend Oreille will be one segment of a hiking guide to Lake Pend Oreille trails.
Last week, the "sheriff" as he's termed by the publisher----that would be Dennis Nicholls, North Idaho's hiking trail aficionado, called and said he was coming to my house with my "fat red notebook" and we'd talk about what I was to do next. Then, I was sure the secretary hadn't exactly told them everything.
Well, after drinking my coffee and downing two of my mouth-watering brownies, Sheriff Dennis nicely instructed me to get it down to 7,000 words, insert more about whitefish, logging and railroads, cut down the stories about the communities and get it back to him by the 28th.
Dennis doesn't know I didn't go to Phoenix, so I'm figuring he can't bug me for several days. He thinks I'm out of town. I'll let him continue to think that.
In the meantime, I'm still plugging away, trying to satisfy "the boys" as I call Chris and Dennis. And my eyes have grown weary in the process. Maybe it's the Wal Mart special spectacles.
I'm most thankful that my hubby, Bill, the forester, has enough knowledge to fill in my vast gaps dealing with log drives and brailles. The latter, by the way, kept logs corraled while they were being towed across the lake.
I'll call my friend Ron Raiha to find out about the whitefish and the lucrative commercial fishing industry that kept mill workers employed during the winter time and folks back in Chicago fed with North Idaho delicacies. That is, until the whitefish population died out in the late '30s, but I'll spare you of the details.
All in a retiree's daze work! Where's the Visine?
I've been at it a year, as many readers already know from my past rantings. About three weeks ago, I took a notebook filled with 20,000 words worth of fascinating stuff about Lake Pend Oreille and its communities to the publisher's office.
I gave it to the secretary and told her to tell 'em they could have it, I never wanted to see it again, and they didn't even need to pay me cuz I was sick of it. She passed it on, maybe not with my complete message. I received a few messages on my answering machine and in my email box that it was "too long" and they'd get back to me on it. My historical account of white settlement around Lake Pend Oreille will be one segment of a hiking guide to Lake Pend Oreille trails.
Last week, the "sheriff" as he's termed by the publisher----that would be Dennis Nicholls, North Idaho's hiking trail aficionado, called and said he was coming to my house with my "fat red notebook" and we'd talk about what I was to do next. Then, I was sure the secretary hadn't exactly told them everything.
Well, after drinking my coffee and downing two of my mouth-watering brownies, Sheriff Dennis nicely instructed me to get it down to 7,000 words, insert more about whitefish, logging and railroads, cut down the stories about the communities and get it back to him by the 28th.
Dennis doesn't know I didn't go to Phoenix, so I'm figuring he can't bug me for several days. He thinks I'm out of town. I'll let him continue to think that.
In the meantime, I'm still plugging away, trying to satisfy "the boys" as I call Chris and Dennis. And my eyes have grown weary in the process. Maybe it's the Wal Mart special spectacles.
I'm most thankful that my hubby, Bill, the forester, has enough knowledge to fill in my vast gaps dealing with log drives and brailles. The latter, by the way, kept logs corraled while they were being towed across the lake.
I'll call my friend Ron Raiha to find out about the whitefish and the lucrative commercial fishing industry that kept mill workers employed during the winter time and folks back in Chicago fed with North Idaho delicacies. That is, until the whitefish population died out in the late '30s, but I'll spare you of the details.
All in a retiree's daze work! Where's the Visine?
Saturday, February 19, 2005
Saturday morning coming down
Just helped a potential new blogger get his first entry on our Class of 1965 blog. Makes me feel good to know I've got a convert.
Bill has headed out to do his "around-town" errands before driving up to Bonners Ferry to cut some more firewood. Who woulda thunk it, that you could go out and cut firewood this time of the year?
Mother and I decided to cancel our trip to Phoenix and Palm Springs. We think we made a good decision with the beautiful weather here and the rain down there. So, in a few minutes, I'm off to the coffee cult at Di Luna's.
A while after that, I'll come home and again head to Di Luna's where we're going to meet my brother Mike, his wife Mary, his daughter and son-in-law, Laura and Sefo and the three ADORABLE triplets, Jacob, Justine and Grace. So, I'll make this short and add more later . . . .
Bill has headed out to do his "around-town" errands before driving up to Bonners Ferry to cut some more firewood. Who woulda thunk it, that you could go out and cut firewood this time of the year?
Mother and I decided to cancel our trip to Phoenix and Palm Springs. We think we made a good decision with the beautiful weather here and the rain down there. So, in a few minutes, I'm off to the coffee cult at Di Luna's.
A while after that, I'll come home and again head to Di Luna's where we're going to meet my brother Mike, his wife Mary, his daughter and son-in-law, Laura and Sefo and the three ADORABLE triplets, Jacob, Justine and Grace. So, I'll make this short and add more later . . . .
Friday, February 18, 2005
Couldn't spell gglober; now I are one
Now, I don't want to lead anyone astray by today's headline. It's an out-and-out lie. I do know how to spell; in fact, my spelling ability directed me toward my English/journalism major. Lately, I've read much about the blogger phenomenon and must comment.
This morning's paper even has a cartoon about bloggers disordering the houses of mainstream media. Yesterday, I read a Peggy Noonan column (http://www.opinionjournal.com/columnists/pnoonan/) about the same subject. It was called "The Blogs Must Be Crazy."
As always, Peggy gives readers a full plate to chew on while satisfying their palates with phenomenally, well-thought out writing. If ya can't tell, she's one of my journalistic heroes. And, if you've never read her stuff, click that link.
I must share a history of my blogdom. It came about during Thanksgiving, 2004, when my little brother Jim, an Oregon architect, brought home a booklet of his cartoons. He asked if I knew of any avenues where he could get them published. So, I wrote to Dave Oliveria and asked him if the Spokesman (www.spokesmanreview.com) might be interested. Had already been reading and enjoying Oliveria's blog.
His response regarding Jim's wishes to be published in a print newspaper wasn't too encouraging. Nonetheless, the connection flashed on a lightbulb in my dimlit brain. Why not try our own blog, I thought. So, one Saturday night, I experimented with the blogging program and shocked myself by actually figuring it out.
When you've created your own blog, it's like seeing a photographic print taking on life in a darkroom tray for the first time ever. It's like magic. Containing my glee, I wrote to Jim and told him to give it a try.
Within a couple of days, his first cartoon appeared. We've been having a blast at blogging ever since that night in December, 2004. And, we're both very indebted to Oliveria for including our work on his highly successful "Huckleberries Online" (www.spokesmanreview.com/blogs/nhb/).
Why blog? Personally, I've found that blogging satifies my endless desires to sound off---whether it's an observation of beauty, history, family happenings, personal journeys, or even to spew otherwise controlled venom toward governments of the people, by the people, for the people but really for the cash registers.
For brother Jim, the talented cartoonist, this venture has led him to a whole new opportunity. He's an avid hang glider. After we started blogging, he submitted some cartoons to the sport's official magazine. Now, he's illustrating articles and submitting cartoons on a regular basis. I'm happy for him, but I hope he doesn't get too busy to keep up with our "Slight Detour" blog. By the way, the catchy name is his idea. If ya can't tell, he's a punny guy.
I've created another blog for my 40th-year class reunion, set to occur here in Sandpoint this summer. Although I haven't convinced all the "blurkers" in the Sandpoint High School Class of 1965 to join in and post their thoughts, a few have given it a try and others let me know they ARE reading. In this case, all classmates have been given the same password, so they can post at any time. I just monitor it and continue to encourage their efforts.
Another friend, Chris, started blogging a few weeks ago. She and her husband like to travel. So, her aim is to post pictures and commentary for family members. Others I know, like Andrea and Gina, just plain like to write, so they create online.
One final note. In my case, I'll never post anything that is inaccurate on my blog. Journalism and its ethics rule my every move. If I make a mistake, I'll correct it. That's another beauty of blogs. Mistakes don't last forever. With the punch of a few keys, they can be erased quickly. So, therein lies another reason to blog.
Well, I've babbled a lot about blogging this morning, but like Oliveria has done in reviewing his one-year anniversary this week, I'm having a good time looking back and enjoying what my brother and I have created. Besides, we've enriched our sibling relationship through our blogging bond.
Also, if you're enjoying the blog, start your own. It's fairly easy to follow the instructions. And, if you don't want to do that, add comments or send me an email (malove@imbris.net). I'll include your thoughts wherever appropriate. Maybe that's the next step for me----to go interactive.
Thanks for sticking with Jim's and my "Slight Detour."
This morning's paper even has a cartoon about bloggers disordering the houses of mainstream media. Yesterday, I read a Peggy Noonan column (http://www.opinionjournal.com/columnists/pnoonan/) about the same subject. It was called "The Blogs Must Be Crazy."
As always, Peggy gives readers a full plate to chew on while satisfying their palates with phenomenally, well-thought out writing. If ya can't tell, she's one of my journalistic heroes. And, if you've never read her stuff, click that link.
I must share a history of my blogdom. It came about during Thanksgiving, 2004, when my little brother Jim, an Oregon architect, brought home a booklet of his cartoons. He asked if I knew of any avenues where he could get them published. So, I wrote to Dave Oliveria and asked him if the Spokesman (www.spokesmanreview.com) might be interested. Had already been reading and enjoying Oliveria's blog.
His response regarding Jim's wishes to be published in a print newspaper wasn't too encouraging. Nonetheless, the connection flashed on a lightbulb in my dimlit brain. Why not try our own blog, I thought. So, one Saturday night, I experimented with the blogging program and shocked myself by actually figuring it out.
When you've created your own blog, it's like seeing a photographic print taking on life in a darkroom tray for the first time ever. It's like magic. Containing my glee, I wrote to Jim and told him to give it a try.
Within a couple of days, his first cartoon appeared. We've been having a blast at blogging ever since that night in December, 2004. And, we're both very indebted to Oliveria for including our work on his highly successful "Huckleberries Online" (www.spokesmanreview.com/blogs/nhb/).
Why blog? Personally, I've found that blogging satifies my endless desires to sound off---whether it's an observation of beauty, history, family happenings, personal journeys, or even to spew otherwise controlled venom toward governments of the people, by the people, for the people but really for the cash registers.
For brother Jim, the talented cartoonist, this venture has led him to a whole new opportunity. He's an avid hang glider. After we started blogging, he submitted some cartoons to the sport's official magazine. Now, he's illustrating articles and submitting cartoons on a regular basis. I'm happy for him, but I hope he doesn't get too busy to keep up with our "Slight Detour" blog. By the way, the catchy name is his idea. If ya can't tell, he's a punny guy.
I've created another blog for my 40th-year class reunion, set to occur here in Sandpoint this summer. Although I haven't convinced all the "blurkers" in the Sandpoint High School Class of 1965 to join in and post their thoughts, a few have given it a try and others let me know they ARE reading. In this case, all classmates have been given the same password, so they can post at any time. I just monitor it and continue to encourage their efforts.
Another friend, Chris, started blogging a few weeks ago. She and her husband like to travel. So, her aim is to post pictures and commentary for family members. Others I know, like Andrea and Gina, just plain like to write, so they create online.
One final note. In my case, I'll never post anything that is inaccurate on my blog. Journalism and its ethics rule my every move. If I make a mistake, I'll correct it. That's another beauty of blogs. Mistakes don't last forever. With the punch of a few keys, they can be erased quickly. So, therein lies another reason to blog.
Well, I've babbled a lot about blogging this morning, but like Oliveria has done in reviewing his one-year anniversary this week, I'm having a good time looking back and enjoying what my brother and I have created. Besides, we've enriched our sibling relationship through our blogging bond.
Also, if you're enjoying the blog, start your own. It's fairly easy to follow the instructions. And, if you don't want to do that, add comments or send me an email (malove@imbris.net). I'll include your thoughts wherever appropriate. Maybe that's the next step for me----to go interactive.
Thanks for sticking with Jim's and my "Slight Detour."
Thursday, February 17, 2005
Board Member
I have to hurry with my morning routine because at 8 o'clock, I'll be sitting around a big table at a board meeting. The table is surrounded by artifacts at the Bonner County Heritage Museum.
Its chairs have nice little decorative cushions strapped to them because a lot of retirees volunteer there. While sitting in those chairs, people like Eva Whitehead, Judy Farmin, Nellie Garrison and Mary Jane Wolfe spend many hours pasting obituaries in notebooks and looking up information for people who need information.
I frequently occupy one of those chairs and heckle these ladies while poring through folders or ancient newspapers to find my information for story assignments. Nellie's really good at keeping me in line.
This past year's lake history project has meant many visits to the museum. After you've appeared there often enough, bummed enough of their coffee, and allowed them to know your M-O, they start bugging you to join the board.
So, I gave in and said yes. I've been asked to serve on several boards. Just got off the board for the Women Honoring Women and, not too long ago, joined the board for the Clark Fork -Pend Oreille Conservancy. A lady wants me to be on the board of the Bonner County Homeless Task Force.
For now, however, I do have my home away from home, and it's the museum. So, I'll stick with that for as long as I can stay out of or avoid trouble. When that happens, Homeless Task Force, here I come!
Maybe they'll let me sit in a chair and drink some coffee.
Its chairs have nice little decorative cushions strapped to them because a lot of retirees volunteer there. While sitting in those chairs, people like Eva Whitehead, Judy Farmin, Nellie Garrison and Mary Jane Wolfe spend many hours pasting obituaries in notebooks and looking up information for people who need information.
I frequently occupy one of those chairs and heckle these ladies while poring through folders or ancient newspapers to find my information for story assignments. Nellie's really good at keeping me in line.
This past year's lake history project has meant many visits to the museum. After you've appeared there often enough, bummed enough of their coffee, and allowed them to know your M-O, they start bugging you to join the board.
So, I gave in and said yes. I've been asked to serve on several boards. Just got off the board for the Women Honoring Women and, not too long ago, joined the board for the Clark Fork -Pend Oreille Conservancy. A lady wants me to be on the board of the Bonner County Homeless Task Force.
For now, however, I do have my home away from home, and it's the museum. So, I'll stick with that for as long as I can stay out of or avoid trouble. When that happens, Homeless Task Force, here I come!
Maybe they'll let me sit in a chair and drink some coffee.
Wednesday, February 16, 2005
Of Speed Traps and Developing Pipe Dreams
Well, this morning I have something to talk about, so I'll join Brother Bob and break my short-lived vow of silence. The Sandpoint cop shop has dispatched one of its officers to the railroad parking lot across the Great Northern Road from our driveway.
While retrieving our roadside mobile garbage container, I ambled over to meet the handsome young fella and give him a thumbs up. He put away his gun (speed gun, that is) while we talked.
After watching a pickup and a car fly by here yesterday morning on a high-speed drag race, I appreciate his lurking over there. I hope he pounces on a few of the wild drivers who have turned this once-quiet rural neighborhood into a hazard zone.
By the way, during the time it took me to type that paragraph, he caught somebody. I don't know what his limit is today. Is there a limit in Idaho on how many speeders you can catch during a designated time?
Sandpoint's finest need to get used to spending more time out here nabbing the speeders. This becomes especially urgent today after last night's planning and zoning meeting.
Our fine planning and zoning commission, after voting the plan down once in December and tabling it a second time in January, bowed down to their big brother, annexation-hungry City Council members and approved a controversial new subdivision half a mile to our north.
That means at least another 29 cars zipping by here daily within the next year or so. That is, if they don't get hit by a train while hurrying over the dangerous crossing leading into their subdivision, a lovely old farm once owned by my folks.
But, the developer (from Spokane), who surely won't line his pockets before leaving town, has assured our trusting city government that he can talk the railroad into just about anything. And, we all know we can count on the integrity and clout of land developers.
Brother Bob, can I join your monastery?
While retrieving our roadside mobile garbage container, I ambled over to meet the handsome young fella and give him a thumbs up. He put away his gun (speed gun, that is) while we talked.
After watching a pickup and a car fly by here yesterday morning on a high-speed drag race, I appreciate his lurking over there. I hope he pounces on a few of the wild drivers who have turned this once-quiet rural neighborhood into a hazard zone.
By the way, during the time it took me to type that paragraph, he caught somebody. I don't know what his limit is today. Is there a limit in Idaho on how many speeders you can catch during a designated time?
Sandpoint's finest need to get used to spending more time out here nabbing the speeders. This becomes especially urgent today after last night's planning and zoning meeting.
Our fine planning and zoning commission, after voting the plan down once in December and tabling it a second time in January, bowed down to their big brother, annexation-hungry City Council members and approved a controversial new subdivision half a mile to our north.
That means at least another 29 cars zipping by here daily within the next year or so. That is, if they don't get hit by a train while hurrying over the dangerous crossing leading into their subdivision, a lovely old farm once owned by my folks.
But, the developer (from Spokane), who surely won't line his pockets before leaving town, has assured our trusting city government that he can talk the railroad into just about anything. And, we all know we can count on the integrity and clout of land developers.
Brother Bob, can I join your monastery?
Tuesday, February 15, 2005
The day I had nothing to say
I'm sure readers would find the headline to this post rather shocking, especially those who know me. I really have nothing to say today. Those times have occurred in my life but have never gone on public record.
That's the problem with these personal web journals. We open up our private moments for the world (well, maybe our families and whatever friends we've told to "read the blog"). And, when we have no thoughts in our mind, they all know it.
Such moments could be well-kept secrets in the past. No more! One more of my individual inadequacies becomes highly visible as readers check in, expecting to read something profound in my daily blubberings.
But then again, maybe you can consider Marianne's absence of opinion, observation or most recent enlightening experience as something profound in itself.
Now that you all know my secret today, I don't need to type any more.
Have a nice day! I'll go looking for something to say.
That's the problem with these personal web journals. We open up our private moments for the world (well, maybe our families and whatever friends we've told to "read the blog"). And, when we have no thoughts in our mind, they all know it.
Such moments could be well-kept secrets in the past. No more! One more of my individual inadequacies becomes highly visible as readers check in, expecting to read something profound in my daily blubberings.
But then again, maybe you can consider Marianne's absence of opinion, observation or most recent enlightening experience as something profound in itself.
Now that you all know my secret today, I don't need to type any more.
Have a nice day! I'll go looking for something to say.
Monday, February 14, 2005
Happy Valentine's Day
It's always nice to have a name like Love, especially on days like today. So, from the Love house, I send everyone the warmest greetings for a special Valentine's Day.
My hubby, Mr. Bill Love, greeted me this morning with a beautiful card, a 3-ring binder notebook, a set of fancy roller pens and four rolls of film for the upcoming trip to Phoenix.
"I didn't buy you candy because I figured I'd end up eating it, " he told me. The gift is very appropriate for me as I like a good pen, and I do intend to take my camera to the Southland. He told me that he got me the notebook cuz it was 68 cents. It's passionately red, though, so definitely a Valentine gesture.
I gave him the usual heart-shaped box of chocolates. Might go to the grocery store today and pick up some steaks; that is, if he doesn't offer to go out to dinner.
If we do dine out, our "lovely" son Willie will accompany us. That will be good for him, though, because he can't be with his Valentine, Mrs. Deborah Love. They don't see each other during the week cuz he's up here and she's down there, finishing up that degree.
So, Debbie, if you're reading today, Happy Valentine's Day from Mom and Dad Love.
And, to our very special Miss Annie Love ("Precious," as her dad calls her) in Seattle, Mom and Dad Love send greetings to you. Enjoy those Wood's German sausages and that chocolate cake.
And the same to everyone else! May your day be filled with chocolate and many invisible cupid arrows of Love!
My hubby, Mr. Bill Love, greeted me this morning with a beautiful card, a 3-ring binder notebook, a set of fancy roller pens and four rolls of film for the upcoming trip to Phoenix.
"I didn't buy you candy because I figured I'd end up eating it, " he told me. The gift is very appropriate for me as I like a good pen, and I do intend to take my camera to the Southland. He told me that he got me the notebook cuz it was 68 cents. It's passionately red, though, so definitely a Valentine gesture.
I gave him the usual heart-shaped box of chocolates. Might go to the grocery store today and pick up some steaks; that is, if he doesn't offer to go out to dinner.
If we do dine out, our "lovely" son Willie will accompany us. That will be good for him, though, because he can't be with his Valentine, Mrs. Deborah Love. They don't see each other during the week cuz he's up here and she's down there, finishing up that degree.
So, Debbie, if you're reading today, Happy Valentine's Day from Mom and Dad Love.
And, to our very special Miss Annie Love ("Precious," as her dad calls her) in Seattle, Mom and Dad Love send greetings to you. Enjoy those Wood's German sausages and that chocolate cake.
And the same to everyone else! May your day be filled with chocolate and many invisible cupid arrows of Love!
Sunday, February 13, 2005
Phoenix, Palm Springs lie ahead
I've got a lot to do this week to get ready for the upcoming trip to the Southwest. Mother and I will leave Friday and fly to Phoenix. We'll visit with my cousin Barb who lives in North Phoenix and works in Scottsdale.
She travels all over the United States and the world as a consultant for a drug company specializing in orphan drugs. Those are the ones created for rare diseases. Seems to me she says that only 500 people in the United States and maybe another 500 in the world use the one she's specializing with now.
This week she'll be in Sweden until the day before we arrive. We'll spend time in Mesa visiting friends and relatives. We'll go to the Scottsdale Arabian Show and we'll go whatever Barb, the tour guide wants to show us.
Then, we'll drive to Palm Springs and spend two days at the Renaissance Esmeralda, a rather fine establishment in Indian Wells. We're both hoping for sunshine and some more fun visiting with friends. Thanks to Annie for securing the reservation at a "nice" price.
Before we go, though, I've got to finish a couple of stories. One is almost polished off, and the other is basically a rewrite, so that shouldn't be too bad. Though we've had a wonderful winter, I'll enjoy seeing some different scenery.
She travels all over the United States and the world as a consultant for a drug company specializing in orphan drugs. Those are the ones created for rare diseases. Seems to me she says that only 500 people in the United States and maybe another 500 in the world use the one she's specializing with now.
This week she'll be in Sweden until the day before we arrive. We'll spend time in Mesa visiting friends and relatives. We'll go to the Scottsdale Arabian Show and we'll go whatever Barb, the tour guide wants to show us.
Then, we'll drive to Palm Springs and spend two days at the Renaissance Esmeralda, a rather fine establishment in Indian Wells. We're both hoping for sunshine and some more fun visiting with friends. Thanks to Annie for securing the reservation at a "nice" price.
Before we go, though, I've got to finish a couple of stories. One is almost polished off, and the other is basically a rewrite, so that shouldn't be too bad. Though we've had a wonderful winter, I'll enjoy seeing some different scenery.
Saturday, February 12, 2005
Off to Lewiston
I should be getting my clothes on for the trip to Lewiston, but it's obvious I'm obsessed with blogdom. Gotta post something before heading down the road.
Bill and I are making the drive. I'll go to a meeting of the Nez Perce Historic Trail Foundation. My purpose is to get a good feel for the organization and its overall aims. Then, I should be able to sit down and write my story with ease.
I'm sure Bill has a little geocaching activity in mind. Will post more when we return.
Happy Saturday.
Bill and I are making the drive. I'll go to a meeting of the Nez Perce Historic Trail Foundation. My purpose is to get a good feel for the organization and its overall aims. Then, I should be able to sit down and write my story with ease.
I'm sure Bill has a little geocaching activity in mind. Will post more when we return.
Happy Saturday.
Friday, February 11, 2005
Mowing by the light of the silvery moon
Now, today I've got a problem. I'm a journalist who's learned and taught "never to ASS-U-ME." I'm also an avid lawn aficionado. Though I haven't yet fired up the Sears Craftsman during this balmy winter, I do have concerns.
In this morning's Daily Bee (the local paper that readers can trust), I read that the Sandpoint City Council is planning to adopt a "junk/noise" ordinance next week. Therein lies my problem and my need to ASS-U-ME dire consequences from what I read about the ordinance.
The sentence in the print version of today's paper (www.bonnercountydailybee.com) states, "The proposed ordinance would also prevent loud noises from musical instruments, loudspeakers, power tools, lawn mowers and vehicles between 6:30 a.m. and 10 p.m. seven days per week."
What's a person to think?
Am I correct in ASS-U-MING that Marianne, the mad lawn-mowing junkie, will have to start her hours-long process long after dark? As one who appreciates a well-kept lawn, I'm very concerned. As I get older, my night vision continues to deteriorate. I'm also scared of the creatures that go bump and spray in the night.
Worst of all, it's very possible that if I do my mowing at midnight, my lawn will likely look like a nightmare the next day. I can't handle the thought.
I can, however, handle the thought of Bill being prevented from playing his tuba during the daylight hours, but when I'm trying to sleep and suddenly start hearing "oompah's" on the back step, it could get ugly around the Love house.
Speaking of ugly, the ordinance also states that beat-up old cars can remain in city yards as long as there's a six-foot high fence hiding them from view. I think this ordinance is very inequitable to those of us who take pride in proper lawns.
Why should owners of junkers sitting in two-foot high grass get the advantage over those of us who want to maintain Sandpoint as the West Best's Small Community by mowing our grass properly in the light of day?
This travesty of governmental regulation needs to be addressed----before the grass grows!
Maybe the Daily Bee will take on the issue.
In this morning's Daily Bee (the local paper that readers can trust), I read that the Sandpoint City Council is planning to adopt a "junk/noise" ordinance next week. Therein lies my problem and my need to ASS-U-ME dire consequences from what I read about the ordinance.
The sentence in the print version of today's paper (www.bonnercountydailybee.com) states, "The proposed ordinance would also prevent loud noises from musical instruments, loudspeakers, power tools, lawn mowers and vehicles between 6:30 a.m. and 10 p.m. seven days per week."
What's a person to think?
Am I correct in ASS-U-MING that Marianne, the mad lawn-mowing junkie, will have to start her hours-long process long after dark? As one who appreciates a well-kept lawn, I'm very concerned. As I get older, my night vision continues to deteriorate. I'm also scared of the creatures that go bump and spray in the night.
Worst of all, it's very possible that if I do my mowing at midnight, my lawn will likely look like a nightmare the next day. I can't handle the thought.
I can, however, handle the thought of Bill being prevented from playing his tuba during the daylight hours, but when I'm trying to sleep and suddenly start hearing "oompah's" on the back step, it could get ugly around the Love house.
Speaking of ugly, the ordinance also states that beat-up old cars can remain in city yards as long as there's a six-foot high fence hiding them from view. I think this ordinance is very inequitable to those of us who take pride in proper lawns.
Why should owners of junkers sitting in two-foot high grass get the advantage over those of us who want to maintain Sandpoint as the West Best's Small Community by mowing our grass properly in the light of day?
This travesty of governmental regulation needs to be addressed----before the grass grows!
Maybe the Daily Bee will take on the issue.
Thursday, February 10, 2005
Good bye Manuscript
Busy day ahead.
The manuscript---all 320 pages---goes in the mail today. I have just a few details to complete with the accompanying CD. Then, my 2.5 year baby will go to a potential nursery for proper editorial primping before landing on the bookshelves of America (I hope).
I have trained myself not to look at any more paragraphs or sentences before wrapping the notebook in its mailer. The editor can look at the manuscript in all its imperfect splendor.
As my mother says, it's like a painting where the artist never feels quite finished. I'm sure there will be plenty to do when and if someone agrees to take charge at the publishing company.
For now, I'll feel great satisfaction in having finished this massive project and sending it on its way.
The manuscript---all 320 pages---goes in the mail today. I have just a few details to complete with the accompanying CD. Then, my 2.5 year baby will go to a potential nursery for proper editorial primping before landing on the bookshelves of America (I hope).
I have trained myself not to look at any more paragraphs or sentences before wrapping the notebook in its mailer. The editor can look at the manuscript in all its imperfect splendor.
As my mother says, it's like a painting where the artist never feels quite finished. I'm sure there will be plenty to do when and if someone agrees to take charge at the publishing company.
For now, I'll feel great satisfaction in having finished this massive project and sending it on its way.
Wednesday, February 09, 2005
Chompin' Chick-o-Sticks
I must go to the store this morning and purchase some Chick-o-Sticks. Grace will be happy to see me when I show up at her Elmira farmhouse door and pull out my usual sweet-tooth offering.
Grace is four going on five. In her young life, she has grown to appreciate some of the finer things. Those include Chick-o-Sticks. I introduced Grace to these chompin' good candies a couple of years ago when my friend and former student Jeff Bock and I started an ongoing project with Grace's mother.
Jeff lives in Los Angeles. He's into films and writing. He earned credits on Sponge Bob Square Pants, the Movie. Dare I say that with all the controversy? Yes, I dare. But, that's a whole 'nother discussion.
Back to Jeff. I told him about a documentary film idea I had conjured up in conjunction with my just-completed book. It deals with the teacher visiting her former students for a period of time and shadowing wherever they are and whatever they happen to be doing in their lives.
He liked the idea. We needed a guinea pig to help us with our prototype. Our subject needed to live in Sandpoint because Jeff would be home visiting during the summer of 2003 for a few weeks. With that in mind, we immediately agreed on one of his classmates and my former students, Jenny.
On our first visit, with camera in hand, we also shared Chick-0-Sticks. The candy quickly became Grace's treat of choice-----at least when it comes to greeting Marianne.
In Jenny's life, for the past five years, cancer has cruelly played a driving force. Like the outstanding athlete she is, though, Jenny has played remarkable defense.
Her story is compelling, to say the least. Her courage is phenomenal, to say the least. The ongoing project of working with Jenny, filming snippets in her life, and interviewing all who surround and love her has affected Jeff and me profoundly.
And, we all chew on Chick-o-Sticks. Today I'll be taking my video camera out to Jenny's new farm at Elmira. She, her husband Jeff Meyer and Grace moved there last summer. She'll keep the camera for a while to provide some commentary for our documentary.
Since then, Jenny has realized one lifelong dream, to own a horse. This spring she'll be taking a ride on her Cadillac----that's the horse's name. And, more than likely, Grace will be climbing on behind.
In the meantime, the documentary project goes on. So today, I offer my camera and a handful of Chick-o-Sticks.
Grace is four going on five. In her young life, she has grown to appreciate some of the finer things. Those include Chick-o-Sticks. I introduced Grace to these chompin' good candies a couple of years ago when my friend and former student Jeff Bock and I started an ongoing project with Grace's mother.
Jeff lives in Los Angeles. He's into films and writing. He earned credits on Sponge Bob Square Pants, the Movie. Dare I say that with all the controversy? Yes, I dare. But, that's a whole 'nother discussion.
Back to Jeff. I told him about a documentary film idea I had conjured up in conjunction with my just-completed book. It deals with the teacher visiting her former students for a period of time and shadowing wherever they are and whatever they happen to be doing in their lives.
He liked the idea. We needed a guinea pig to help us with our prototype. Our subject needed to live in Sandpoint because Jeff would be home visiting during the summer of 2003 for a few weeks. With that in mind, we immediately agreed on one of his classmates and my former students, Jenny.
On our first visit, with camera in hand, we also shared Chick-0-Sticks. The candy quickly became Grace's treat of choice-----at least when it comes to greeting Marianne.
In Jenny's life, for the past five years, cancer has cruelly played a driving force. Like the outstanding athlete she is, though, Jenny has played remarkable defense.
Her story is compelling, to say the least. Her courage is phenomenal, to say the least. The ongoing project of working with Jenny, filming snippets in her life, and interviewing all who surround and love her has affected Jeff and me profoundly.
And, we all chew on Chick-o-Sticks. Today I'll be taking my video camera out to Jenny's new farm at Elmira. She, her husband Jeff Meyer and Grace moved there last summer. She'll keep the camera for a while to provide some commentary for our documentary.
Since then, Jenny has realized one lifelong dream, to own a horse. This spring she'll be taking a ride on her Cadillac----that's the horse's name. And, more than likely, Grace will be climbing on behind.
In the meantime, the documentary project goes on. So today, I offer my camera and a handful of Chick-o-Sticks.
Tuesday, February 08, 2005
No Complaints
It's Feb. 8, and I haven't heard myself complain once this winter. Now, if I were a downhill skier, that could be a different situation. We, who like to get outside and walk or ride our bikes, have been very fortunate.
There's something about three or four feet of snow, and the accompanying cooped-up feeling, that just plain does not agree with my system. Don't get me wrong. I do enjoy cross country skiing and snow shoeing.
When the sky is deep blue and the snow is dry, I love to take off from my porch across the fields. The moments of stopping for a breather and beholding the gorgeous mountains all around me make me almost giddy, as if I'm viewing the scene for the first time.
Still, bare roads and the daily opportunity to take off any direction afoot or atop my bike surpasses snow experiences any day. So, I do not complain. My open-road sense of freedom from four restricting walls runs bountiful this year. I'm loving it.
The same goes for my family who have been spared from my perennial winter whining.
There's something about three or four feet of snow, and the accompanying cooped-up feeling, that just plain does not agree with my system. Don't get me wrong. I do enjoy cross country skiing and snow shoeing.
When the sky is deep blue and the snow is dry, I love to take off from my porch across the fields. The moments of stopping for a breather and beholding the gorgeous mountains all around me make me almost giddy, as if I'm viewing the scene for the first time.
Still, bare roads and the daily opportunity to take off any direction afoot or atop my bike surpasses snow experiences any day. So, I do not complain. My open-road sense of freedom from four restricting walls runs bountiful this year. I'm loving it.
The same goes for my family who have been spared from my perennial winter whining.
Monday, February 07, 2005
Monday Morning After
Well, the Super Bowl is over, and it is a gorgeous Monday. I watched the game until the last couple of minutes. After all, "60 Minutes" was on, and it was obvious New England had won. I really liked the stirring pre-game show and Sir Paul's halftime performance.
Last year, I spent Super Sunday in a miserable state. Haven't eaten Papa Murphy's pizza since. Through my gut attacks (which lasted for four days) and my sicker-than-a-dog stupor, I watched fragments of the big 2004 extravaganza, including the half time show.
Just like years ago when a streaker ran in front of the stage at graduation and I missed it all, the same happened last year. I never noticed Janet Jackson's boob explosion. All I noticed was that the whole halftime noise and planned explosions of glitz were forgettable, at best. Didn't know until I read it in the media that something really risque had occurred. Must've been the pizza.
I thought Paul McCartney's performance and the accompanying light show was phenomenal. I sat back, enjoyed the songs and commented that this year's edition was so much more focused, simplistic and effective. I also believe people enjoyed what they saw, and I'm sure the void of provocative, sensational tidbits didn't bother a soul.
The Jacksonville planners did a great job---and all without a Jackson!
Last year, I spent Super Sunday in a miserable state. Haven't eaten Papa Murphy's pizza since. Through my gut attacks (which lasted for four days) and my sicker-than-a-dog stupor, I watched fragments of the big 2004 extravaganza, including the half time show.
Just like years ago when a streaker ran in front of the stage at graduation and I missed it all, the same happened last year. I never noticed Janet Jackson's boob explosion. All I noticed was that the whole halftime noise and planned explosions of glitz were forgettable, at best. Didn't know until I read it in the media that something really risque had occurred. Must've been the pizza.
I thought Paul McCartney's performance and the accompanying light show was phenomenal. I sat back, enjoyed the songs and commented that this year's edition was so much more focused, simplistic and effective. I also believe people enjoyed what they saw, and I'm sure the void of provocative, sensational tidbits didn't bother a soul.
The Jacksonville planners did a great job---and all without a Jackson!
Sunday, February 06, 2005
20 miles
I'm a bit late in posting today because I went to Mass at St. Ann's in Bonners Ferry today to atone for many sins. After Mass, I directed the car, with my pink mountain bike attached, to the National Bird Refuge. This area northwest of Bonners Ferry is one of my most favorite places on earth for numerous reasons.
First and foremost, it's a huge area to enjoy nature and scenic splendor. While riding a nature trail near Deep Creek, I scared up half a dozen beautiful white swans. The ducks and Canadian honkers are ubiquitous no matter where ya go.
Another reason I love the place is that people are NOT ubiquitous. During my 90-minute ride, both at the refuge and along the farmland to the east, I encountered six cars. Saw two bikers and one jogger with her dog. That was it.
In a nutshell, the area makes for splendid bike riding because it's level and you don't need to be looking over your shoulder wondering when the next car will come zipping by. At the bird refuge, oncoming cars are usually visible a mile away.
After riding about 12 miles in that area, I returned home to find that Bill had gone off geocaching to Blacktail Mountain, southeast of Sandpoint. So, after two slices of cheese, it was off again with the bike to Sunnyside, where I parked at the Oden Grange.
On my 7-plus mile ride, again, I didn't contend with many cars. I figured everyone must be inside doing their Super Bowl festivities. The Sunnyside Road also offers a level ride and more than adequate scenery of the lake with Schweitzer in the background.
So, the old legs got their workout today, and the wrinkled face soaked up the sun. Great day to be outside.
First and foremost, it's a huge area to enjoy nature and scenic splendor. While riding a nature trail near Deep Creek, I scared up half a dozen beautiful white swans. The ducks and Canadian honkers are ubiquitous no matter where ya go.
Another reason I love the place is that people are NOT ubiquitous. During my 90-minute ride, both at the refuge and along the farmland to the east, I encountered six cars. Saw two bikers and one jogger with her dog. That was it.
In a nutshell, the area makes for splendid bike riding because it's level and you don't need to be looking over your shoulder wondering when the next car will come zipping by. At the bird refuge, oncoming cars are usually visible a mile away.
After riding about 12 miles in that area, I returned home to find that Bill had gone off geocaching to Blacktail Mountain, southeast of Sandpoint. So, after two slices of cheese, it was off again with the bike to Sunnyside, where I parked at the Oden Grange.
On my 7-plus mile ride, again, I didn't contend with many cars. I figured everyone must be inside doing their Super Bowl festivities. The Sunnyside Road also offers a level ride and more than adequate scenery of the lake with Schweitzer in the background.
So, the old legs got their workout today, and the wrinkled face soaked up the sun. Great day to be outside.
Saturday, February 05, 2005
Happy Anniversary, George
Thirty-eight years ago tomorrow, the Tibbs family and the Thompson family joined forces. That's when Lt. Mike Brown, eldest son of Harold and Virginia Tibbs tied the knot with Mary Louise Thompson, eldest daughter of Helen Thompson and her late husband Jim.
Judge Frances Sleep performed the ceremony in the Thompson living room overlooking the Pend Oreille River at Wrenco west of Sandpoint. Apparently, Judge Sleep didn't know the young lieutenant too well. Maybe it's cuz he'd spent four years away at West Point, or maybe she just had a brain fart.
She asked "George" if he wanted to take Mary.
Mike's subsequent decision differed significantly from the time he performed as entertainer at a 4-H achievement program. About a third of the way through his clarinet solo, he stopped, announced, "Oops, I made a mistake" and started over.
Mike--er--George or whoever the heck he was chose to stick with good manners and refrain from telling the distinguished judge that she had made a mistake.
He happily agreed to take Mary as his wedded wife, and almost 38 years, two daughters, and five grandchildren later, the Thompson-Tibbs united force still flourishes.
Happy Anniversary to the Browns of Tacoma.
Judge Frances Sleep performed the ceremony in the Thompson living room overlooking the Pend Oreille River at Wrenco west of Sandpoint. Apparently, Judge Sleep didn't know the young lieutenant too well. Maybe it's cuz he'd spent four years away at West Point, or maybe she just had a brain fart.
She asked "George" if he wanted to take Mary.
Mike's subsequent decision differed significantly from the time he performed as entertainer at a 4-H achievement program. About a third of the way through his clarinet solo, he stopped, announced, "Oops, I made a mistake" and started over.
Mike--er--George or whoever the heck he was chose to stick with good manners and refrain from telling the distinguished judge that she had made a mistake.
He happily agreed to take Mary as his wedded wife, and almost 38 years, two daughters, and five grandchildren later, the Thompson-Tibbs united force still flourishes.
Happy Anniversary to the Browns of Tacoma.
Friday, February 04, 2005
A pope--puree of items
What's a Catholic big sister to do when she opens up the blog and sees little brother's (SHS-1982)most recent cartoon above? The morning has already included a note from my contact in the Vatican, who thankfully is not yet reporting on Pope John Paul's passing.
Cindy (SHS-1978) tells me she can't share any of her observations of his current health crisis because she's under contract with Catholic News Service. She did say, however, that it's been pretty crazy with phones ringing off the hook. A few months back, Cindy also offered some interesting insights on her life as a Vatican reporter. The column is available under Love Notes archives at (www.mariannelove.com).
I've heard from both Rome and Nice this morning. A former student named Donovan Libring (SHS-1994) works as a Spanish translator in France. He sent me photos yesterday of him and the hunk, Viggo Mortensen. Donovan got to work on the set of Hidalgo as a translator for the stunt crew.
As with everyone else I've run across who knows Viggo, Donovan speaks very highly of the actor. Says he's a breed apart from the typical Hollywood type----never would drink water unless the whole crew had it first, always showed concern for everyone other than himself.
Donovan also recalled the days when he shared the drivers' training car with my son Willie (SHS-1995). He says Willie was the first and only student among the three to run a stop sign on Second Avenue behind the Pastime Cafe. The rule was to get out, apologize to the sign and buy the rest of the student drivers and their teacher ice cream.
Willie disputes Donovan's claim. Says it was Adam Long (SHS-1995) who had to treat the others. Of course, Adam may dispute it too and blame it all on Donovan. Nonetheless, they all got their drivers' licenses and moved on to some interesting lives.
Back to Lessons with Love. I should have my part of the manuscript ready to go by this afternoon.
Post note: Donovan wrote later and said Willie's version was correct. As a journalist, I always appreciate accuracy in my accounts of such weighty stories. Thank you, Donovan, for voluntarily setting the record straight. Also, enjoy those tortillas!
Cindy (SHS-1978) tells me she can't share any of her observations of his current health crisis because she's under contract with Catholic News Service. She did say, however, that it's been pretty crazy with phones ringing off the hook. A few months back, Cindy also offered some interesting insights on her life as a Vatican reporter. The column is available under Love Notes archives at (www.mariannelove.com).
I've heard from both Rome and Nice this morning. A former student named Donovan Libring (SHS-1994) works as a Spanish translator in France. He sent me photos yesterday of him and the hunk, Viggo Mortensen. Donovan got to work on the set of Hidalgo as a translator for the stunt crew.
As with everyone else I've run across who knows Viggo, Donovan speaks very highly of the actor. Says he's a breed apart from the typical Hollywood type----never would drink water unless the whole crew had it first, always showed concern for everyone other than himself.
Donovan also recalled the days when he shared the drivers' training car with my son Willie (SHS-1995). He says Willie was the first and only student among the three to run a stop sign on Second Avenue behind the Pastime Cafe. The rule was to get out, apologize to the sign and buy the rest of the student drivers and their teacher ice cream.
Willie disputes Donovan's claim. Says it was Adam Long (SHS-1995) who had to treat the others. Of course, Adam may dispute it too and blame it all on Donovan. Nonetheless, they all got their drivers' licenses and moved on to some interesting lives.
Back to Lessons with Love. I should have my part of the manuscript ready to go by this afternoon.
Post note: Donovan wrote later and said Willie's version was correct. As a journalist, I always appreciate accuracy in my accounts of such weighty stories. Thank you, Donovan, for voluntarily setting the record straight. Also, enjoy those tortillas!
Thursday, February 03, 2005
Heather's Pot Pies
When I visited my daughter, Annie, in New Zealand during late 2003, she kept telling me I needed to try one of their pot pies. With every encouragement, I always noticed a grin on her face. Each day while traveling the North Island, we'd load up a box in the back seat of our rental car with munchies.
Annie liked her peanuts, apples and diet Pepsi's. She also introduced me to Anzac cookies, among others. Each afternoon, bites from the chocolate bars chased with a sip of with "long black" coffee delighted my tastebuds as I remained continually enchanted with the New Zealand countryside.
We often planned stops at sidewalk bakeries. Making a decision of what to select among the wide assortment of fresh-baked pastries was difficult. Each evening we'd eat a real meal, often at an Irish pub, a couple of times at my penpal's home in Taupo.
Days passed. I still hadn't tried a pot pie. Annie said I could find them anywhere because the Kiwi's love their pot pies, kinda like some men drivers and their grease-infused roadside chicken. So, with just a day or two left, I decided to take the plunge and purchased my pie at a convenience store near Hamilton.
After two bites, the pot pie was deposited into a plastic sack in the back seat and later dumped into a garbage container. It was like biting into a canvas bag of ornamental bark. The ingredients within were indiscernible. The flavor did not exist.
All this said, when Heather Evans told me that she and her mother had bought the Pie Hut on Fifth Avenue across from the IGA----and that they made chicken pot pies every afternoon by 4, I cringed, thinking of that Kiwi experience.
But Heather was a good graphic arts student in my class during the mid-'90s. She also cooked at Schweitzer. Surely her pot pies would pass the my rigid taste test.
I bought one on Tuesday, along with some chocolate pecan and dutch apple pieces for dessert. Heather has completely erased my pot-pie prejudice. Flaky, light pastry, clean, white chunks of chicken accompanied by tasty peas, carrots and potatoes floating in melt-in-your-mouth gravy.
Every last bite went into a Love stomach---not the garbage. She has found the formula for folks, including our family, to want to come back for more.
I'm sure any visiting Kiwis would agree.
Annie liked her peanuts, apples and diet Pepsi's. She also introduced me to Anzac cookies, among others. Each afternoon, bites from the chocolate bars chased with a sip of with "long black" coffee delighted my tastebuds as I remained continually enchanted with the New Zealand countryside.
We often planned stops at sidewalk bakeries. Making a decision of what to select among the wide assortment of fresh-baked pastries was difficult. Each evening we'd eat a real meal, often at an Irish pub, a couple of times at my penpal's home in Taupo.
Days passed. I still hadn't tried a pot pie. Annie said I could find them anywhere because the Kiwi's love their pot pies, kinda like some men drivers and their grease-infused roadside chicken. So, with just a day or two left, I decided to take the plunge and purchased my pie at a convenience store near Hamilton.
After two bites, the pot pie was deposited into a plastic sack in the back seat and later dumped into a garbage container. It was like biting into a canvas bag of ornamental bark. The ingredients within were indiscernible. The flavor did not exist.
All this said, when Heather Evans told me that she and her mother had bought the Pie Hut on Fifth Avenue across from the IGA----and that they made chicken pot pies every afternoon by 4, I cringed, thinking of that Kiwi experience.
But Heather was a good graphic arts student in my class during the mid-'90s. She also cooked at Schweitzer. Surely her pot pies would pass the my rigid taste test.
I bought one on Tuesday, along with some chocolate pecan and dutch apple pieces for dessert. Heather has completely erased my pot-pie prejudice. Flaky, light pastry, clean, white chunks of chicken accompanied by tasty peas, carrots and potatoes floating in melt-in-your-mouth gravy.
Every last bite went into a Love stomach---not the garbage. She has found the formula for folks, including our family, to want to come back for more.
I'm sure any visiting Kiwis would agree.
Wednesday, February 02, 2005
Groundhog Day
I've been experiencing Groundhog Day for the past week while polishing off the chapters in my new book. If all goes well, I should be able to send the manuscript off to a potential publisher by early next week. It's about the teaching career, and through its unfolding, I've been able to relive a multitude of happenings within my 33-year career.
For example, yesterday--ironically--I polished off the chapter entitled "Ya Mean She Taught the Pope." I was actually printing the pages when I heard news that the Pope had been rushed to the hospital. Sent an email to former student, Cindy Wooden, who's covered the Vatican and the Pope for more than 15 years now.
Anyone who wants to know more about what happens with scares such as yesterday can read a story I wrote about Cindy's experiences on my website (www.mariannelove.com). It's in the archives under "Love Notes."
I've also returned to zany highlights involving my nine years as the Sandpoint High School Drill Team adviser. One of these anecdotal accounts included a pie-eating contest in 1973 that went bad. It can be found in a chapter called "Ponderettes and Pie, Not a Good Mix." I worried about the status of my future employment with the school district after 40 cream pies began to fly all over Bulldog Gym.
This morning I'm finishing off a chapter called "You Are Now What You Were Then." Readers will, no doubt, be surprised to learn that a model student, I was not. What "I was then" came back to haunt me one time while conducting an in-service seminar for teachers in Thompson Falls. Unfortunate for me, there were a few naughty "Marianne's" in the crowd; I definitely experienced payback time that day.
The book has 15 similar chapters, 300-plus pages---most funny, some poignant. It's been fun revisiting the shadows of my career at Sandpoint High School. I've done a lot of LOL while writing and polishing.
I hope readers will enjoy it too.
For example, yesterday--ironically--I polished off the chapter entitled "Ya Mean She Taught the Pope." I was actually printing the pages when I heard news that the Pope had been rushed to the hospital. Sent an email to former student, Cindy Wooden, who's covered the Vatican and the Pope for more than 15 years now.
Anyone who wants to know more about what happens with scares such as yesterday can read a story I wrote about Cindy's experiences on my website (www.mariannelove.com). It's in the archives under "Love Notes."
I've also returned to zany highlights involving my nine years as the Sandpoint High School Drill Team adviser. One of these anecdotal accounts included a pie-eating contest in 1973 that went bad. It can be found in a chapter called "Ponderettes and Pie, Not a Good Mix." I worried about the status of my future employment with the school district after 40 cream pies began to fly all over Bulldog Gym.
This morning I'm finishing off a chapter called "You Are Now What You Were Then." Readers will, no doubt, be surprised to learn that a model student, I was not. What "I was then" came back to haunt me one time while conducting an in-service seminar for teachers in Thompson Falls. Unfortunate for me, there were a few naughty "Marianne's" in the crowd; I definitely experienced payback time that day.
The book has 15 similar chapters, 300-plus pages---most funny, some poignant. It's been fun revisiting the shadows of my career at Sandpoint High School. I've done a lot of LOL while writing and polishing.
I hope readers will enjoy it too.
Tuesday, February 01, 2005
Moose Seeds
I think I'll wait until early spring to plant my moose seeds. It's tempting to do so now, but I'm a little wary of what winter has yet to bring. Wouldn't want those seeds to freeze before they germinate and produce little 4-legged creatures to romp around the yard and scare our horses.
I'll probably plant them out by the pond so the babies will have instant access to water once they spring into life from the clay mounds out there. They're supposed to inhabit a forest. That area near the pond has the most trees---not quite a forest but enough to fool the little critters. I've heard moose don't have very good vision anyway.
Of course, I've got another concern: these are Vermont moose seeds so I hope they will adapt to the North Idaho environment. Time will tell.
Bryant Jones sent me the seeds, along with a Vermont cow paddy and some Vermont Country Cow cocoa. The package arrived via the UPS man yesterday. The last time I saw Bryant, he stopped at the end of my driveway on his way to Schweitzer. That was a couple of weeks ago.
During our conversation I lamented the fact that I hadn't received my Duck Boy calendar. He started delivering me a copy at Christmas time a few years ago. I guess they don't have Duck Boy calendars in Vermont. I really didn't need a gift from Bryant, but that's the kind of thoughtful guy he is.
Bryant's also the student body president at the University of Vermont. He was telling me in our last visit about his upcoming meeting with the founder of Jet Blue Airlines. I would loved to have accompanied him on that visit cuz, from what I've heard, the guy's a genius---and a fun one at that.
I've known Bryant since he was an iddy biddy guy. His mother, District Judge Debra Heise, moved to Sandpoint and first lived at Condo Del Sol. We lived there briefly after our house burned down in 1984, and we were probably among the first people she met in Sandpoint.
Later, her husband, Jeff Jones, and Bryant moved north from where they lived in Southern Idaho. Because of our friendship, I've enjoyed watching Bryant grow up. I also taught him for two consecutive years. We became good friends.
I've always admired his "can do" attitude. This personable young man believes in the power of the human spirit and he exemplifies it through all his notable achievements. I believe it's in his genes.
Sadly, Bryant's father Jeff (then Sandpoint's city attorney and visionary) died suddenly a couple of years ago. The community appropriately decided to name its town square after Jeff who peddled his dreams for our community as enthusiastically as he pedaled his mountain bike.
Now, Bryant carries the torch for his own dreams and, I'm sure, for his father to make the world a better, more hospitable, friendly place. And, if mailing moose seeds to your old teacher will promote the vision, Bryant has succeeded.
I'll probably plant them out by the pond so the babies will have instant access to water once they spring into life from the clay mounds out there. They're supposed to inhabit a forest. That area near the pond has the most trees---not quite a forest but enough to fool the little critters. I've heard moose don't have very good vision anyway.
Of course, I've got another concern: these are Vermont moose seeds so I hope they will adapt to the North Idaho environment. Time will tell.
Bryant Jones sent me the seeds, along with a Vermont cow paddy and some Vermont Country Cow cocoa. The package arrived via the UPS man yesterday. The last time I saw Bryant, he stopped at the end of my driveway on his way to Schweitzer. That was a couple of weeks ago.
During our conversation I lamented the fact that I hadn't received my Duck Boy calendar. He started delivering me a copy at Christmas time a few years ago. I guess they don't have Duck Boy calendars in Vermont. I really didn't need a gift from Bryant, but that's the kind of thoughtful guy he is.
Bryant's also the student body president at the University of Vermont. He was telling me in our last visit about his upcoming meeting with the founder of Jet Blue Airlines. I would loved to have accompanied him on that visit cuz, from what I've heard, the guy's a genius---and a fun one at that.
I've known Bryant since he was an iddy biddy guy. His mother, District Judge Debra Heise, moved to Sandpoint and first lived at Condo Del Sol. We lived there briefly after our house burned down in 1984, and we were probably among the first people she met in Sandpoint.
Later, her husband, Jeff Jones, and Bryant moved north from where they lived in Southern Idaho. Because of our friendship, I've enjoyed watching Bryant grow up. I also taught him for two consecutive years. We became good friends.
I've always admired his "can do" attitude. This personable young man believes in the power of the human spirit and he exemplifies it through all his notable achievements. I believe it's in his genes.
Sadly, Bryant's father Jeff (then Sandpoint's city attorney and visionary) died suddenly a couple of years ago. The community appropriately decided to name its town square after Jeff who peddled his dreams for our community as enthusiastically as he pedaled his mountain bike.
Now, Bryant carries the torch for his own dreams and, I'm sure, for his father to make the world a better, more hospitable, friendly place. And, if mailing moose seeds to your old teacher will promote the vision, Bryant has succeeded.
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