In Seattle, someone's getting those bags together and preparing to head to Sea-Tac for a morning flight to Spokane. In Sacramento, someone else is probably already headed to the airport or maybe waiting for her flight to Spokane. Margaret arrives at 9:20, while Annie arrives at 10 a.m. Yup, we're hosting Annie and Margaret as guests for the Labor Day weekend.
Margaret (known to others as Margo) is Bill's twin sister. It's been five years since her last visit to Sandpoint, so she's liable to notice a change or two. Of course, all readers by now know that Annie is Margaret's niece, since they know she's our daughter.
It could be an interesting drive home for Bill, Annie and Margaret because between the arrival at the airport and the arrival in Sandpoint, Annie's getting her wisdom teeth removed. That means it's likely to be an interesting weekend for all of us. I hope she still has wisdom when this, her first surgery has ended.
I was told yesterday that Carnation Instant breakfast is in order for Annie's diet over the next few days, so I bought a big container---14 servings. I don't know how much Annie's going to enjoy her visit to Sandpoint with no Second Avenue Pizza and no sub sandwiches.
We're hoping that Margaret enjoys her few days here at the new Lovestead. We're going to be keeping her pretty busy with dinner tonight at the Thompson cabin, a trip up to Schweitzer for the fallfest this weekend, and maybe a trip out to McNalls on Saturday morning where Kiwi's having a lesson with a lady from Dayton, WA. Robin says she takes her dogs to the Nationals, so it should be a fun session.
Tomorrow John Fuller comes to put some shoes on Rambo and Casey's front feet. He figures they won't get ridden enough for all four feet to be shod. It will be nice to take them for a spin down our country road where the cars actually slow down when they see animals. And, speaking of horses, Margaret will probably spend a little time at the fair horse show if she's going to see Barbara and Laurie. They'll both be riding and enjoying their last days of freedom before the school year starts on Tuesday.
It's going to be a busy four days ahead because Mike and Mary are here also. Since I've met my deadlines for one set of assignments, I can actually enjoy all the hubbub for a change. No gnawing from within about how I ought to be working on those stories. That's a welcome feeling for sure.
The best aspect of the whole visiting session is that we've had some much-needed rain. All the plants have been washed of their thick dust coating, and the world outside looks mighty clean and pretty on this sunshiny morning. After ten days on fires, Bill came home late last night; soon he'll be heading for the airport to pick up Annie and Margaret. And, with that in mind, I'd better get going and make sure the house and barn are clean to match the beautiful outdoors.
Happy Thursday from the Lovestead.
Thursday, August 31, 2006
Wednesday, August 30, 2006
Back to school
There's a definite feeling of fall in this morning's air. For the first time since June, I'm wearing my fleece, and I closed a window which was allowing the cold air into this upstairs room where I type. That fall feeling, along with several conversations and observations, reminds me that I'm beginning my fifth year of not returning to school.
My sisters are, no doubt, scurrying faster than usual around their farm this morning because today marks the first official day back for teachers. I don't miss the huge knot in my stomach that began forming every year, long about July 31, as I thought ahead toward another school year. That knot would usually tighten on a rather continuous basis until about three weeks after the opening of school.
By that time, I knew names, and I knew most of the games that kids would be playing in my classroom for the rest of the year. We'd usually had our first major test, several grades were in the book, and we'd settled in for the long haul until June. I could also start being myself after a few weeks of being "the bitch." A famous line that has stayed with me was uttered back in the early '70s: I thought she was a pretty nice lady, but she's nothing but an old bitch.
Whoever went home after an opening day and told their mother that made my day. I wanted the kids to think that of me as every school year began. If they did, then it was guaranteed that a good time would be had by all. It meant that my classroom was under control, and that the kids would generally be pleasantly surprised as the school year wore on and they discovered that "she didn't seem so mean as she did that first week." The instructors had suggested that grinch policy in the ed. classes----don't smile before Christmas.
Well, I smiled long before then, but the "bitch" role served me fairly well each September for more than 30 years. Granted, there were cases where that assumed role or any amount of friendliness or understanding would not work. Some kids were hard core, and factors far beyond my classroom had molded them that way permanently. I'm glad to say that I can count on one hand the number of kids who fit in that category.
Instead, I was blessed by having students, similar to one who showed up at my house yesterday, bearing gifts from China. Bryant Jones (SHS Class of 2001 and University of Vermont grad) spent the last year teaching English to hundreds of middle school students in Southern China. Along with the gifts, including a Chinese calendar, he brought his sister MacKenzie. She's going into the seventh grade when this new school year starts, and her older brother will be leaving next week for graduate work at George Washington University.
The few minutes I spent with Bryant and MacKenzie made me yearn for the days of that knotty stomach and that frown where I'd greet a whole new crop and issue "the rules." I do not miss school politics. I do not miss the 24-7 responsibility of constantly preparing and thinking ahead about what I'm going to do the very next second. I do not miss the piles and piles of paperwork which grew like an early spring lawn. I don't miss the knotty stomach or the Sunday afternoon grouch hours of facing a new week.
I do, however, sorely miss the connections I established with kids. In those connections, I learned about myself and learned so much about human nature in general. They've also allowed me to learn much about the world outside of Sandpoint, Idaho, through the eyes of those young people. In most cases, the connections extended----and continue to extend---far beyond the classroom. These students who thought they'd met "the bitch of the century" on those early September days, endowed this ol' gal with so much more of value than she ever passed along to them.
It was a good run for 33 years. It continues to be a good run every time I enjoy a few moments with my former students like yesterday's brief visit with Bryant and his sister. And, so with this time of the year, I can't help but get that feeling of excitement (minus the knotty stomach and the dread of too much work) about another new school year and the lifelong connections that other teachers will be enjoying in their own classrooms, starting next Tuesday.
Tuesday, August 29, 2006
The complaint department responds
With my thoughts of my unfortunate day at the fair still festering, I wrote a letter of complaint to the fair manager yesterday. The letter expressed my dismay at being embarrassed for not knowing the full extent of the dog rules of the fair. I wrote the letter because I believe it's important to let the people associated with situations such as this know one's concerns. I also wrote because I believed Rhonda, the fair manager, would listen and respond.
She did. She called me yesterday afternoon and apologized for the incident. She also told me that the rule had been in the fairbook since 2002. The rule, she said, evolved because of people being irresponsible with their dogs during the Fair. She cited incidents where dogs had been allowed to relieve themselves in the main exhibit hall, where another dog had apparently scared rabbits in the rabbit barn and where someone had tied up their dog with no food or water and the pooch had bitten someone.
I did tell Rhonda that I would have never thought to look in the fairbook for rules about bringing dogs to the fair because I'd always seen so many trotting around with their owners in the past. I guess I was dumb and just thought people should use common sense when they take their dogs anywhere. Rhonda informed me that some people just don't know what common sense is, and without that knowledge, they do stupid things.
Those stupid things lead to restrictive rules that affect the majority of people who do take care to see that their dogs don't cause problems in settings such as the fair. In my case, I thought I was doing everything right, but I'd not seen all the signs. Since I didn't know all the past headaches associated with dogs at the fair, I walked into an unfortunate situation. I guess this incident clearly reveals how laws come into being.
For most folks, the general rule of thumb called "common sense" works in most every situation. Then, there are the exceptions where some folks just weren't endowed with the inate knowledge that some situations call for more care, more vigilance and more concern for people other than oneself. When those traits don't exist, bad things happen and good people end up paying the price.
I told Rhonda I had kinda thought of myself as a good person who was trying to follow all the rules. That's why I was so embarrassed. My problem was that I didn't know ALL the rules that had come down the pike since senseless dog owners had caused their formation. Now I do, and I'll not be abusing them in the future.
I do, however, feel much better about what has come from this unhappy experience. Rhonda and I had a good visit. She told me of other situations where people always seem to be "on the watch" for anyone violating policy. She herself had been a victim of someone's excess vigilance when she brought her dog to work one day when no events were going on at the fairgrounds. Someone saw the dog and complained.
Somehow I don't think dogs are nearly as nasty as humans who seem to keep score and who love to tattle whenever they spot rule infringement. Again, Rhonda's bringing her dog to work on a quiet day when nobody was around seemed to me to be more in the realm of common sense decision. But the score keepers thought not. Rhonda said the dog will not appear at the fairgrounds again.
I'm glad I wrote my letter yesterday, and I'm glad Rhonda and I have talked. I think she totally empathized with my concerns, and I learned a little more about what she has to deal with on a daily basis from the public watchDOGS.
She did. She called me yesterday afternoon and apologized for the incident. She also told me that the rule had been in the fairbook since 2002. The rule, she said, evolved because of people being irresponsible with their dogs during the Fair. She cited incidents where dogs had been allowed to relieve themselves in the main exhibit hall, where another dog had apparently scared rabbits in the rabbit barn and where someone had tied up their dog with no food or water and the pooch had bitten someone.
I did tell Rhonda that I would have never thought to look in the fairbook for rules about bringing dogs to the fair because I'd always seen so many trotting around with their owners in the past. I guess I was dumb and just thought people should use common sense when they take their dogs anywhere. Rhonda informed me that some people just don't know what common sense is, and without that knowledge, they do stupid things.
Those stupid things lead to restrictive rules that affect the majority of people who do take care to see that their dogs don't cause problems in settings such as the fair. In my case, I thought I was doing everything right, but I'd not seen all the signs. Since I didn't know all the past headaches associated with dogs at the fair, I walked into an unfortunate situation. I guess this incident clearly reveals how laws come into being.
For most folks, the general rule of thumb called "common sense" works in most every situation. Then, there are the exceptions where some folks just weren't endowed with the inate knowledge that some situations call for more care, more vigilance and more concern for people other than oneself. When those traits don't exist, bad things happen and good people end up paying the price.
I told Rhonda I had kinda thought of myself as a good person who was trying to follow all the rules. That's why I was so embarrassed. My problem was that I didn't know ALL the rules that had come down the pike since senseless dog owners had caused their formation. Now I do, and I'll not be abusing them in the future.
I do, however, feel much better about what has come from this unhappy experience. Rhonda and I had a good visit. She told me of other situations where people always seem to be "on the watch" for anyone violating policy. She herself had been a victim of someone's excess vigilance when she brought her dog to work one day when no events were going on at the fairgrounds. Someone saw the dog and complained.
Somehow I don't think dogs are nearly as nasty as humans who seem to keep score and who love to tattle whenever they spot rule infringement. Again, Rhonda's bringing her dog to work on a quiet day when nobody was around seemed to me to be more in the realm of common sense decision. But the score keepers thought not. Rhonda said the dog will not appear at the fairgrounds again.
I'm glad I wrote my letter yesterday, and I'm glad Rhonda and I have talked. I think she totally empathized with my concerns, and I learned a little more about what she has to deal with on a daily basis from the public watchDOGS.
Monday, August 28, 2006
A Sunday drive
I noticed while typing the title today that it was a year ago that I wrote about a Sunday morning murder mystery. That's when the murder occurred just down Great Northern Road from us, less than half a mile away. Neither of the accused has gone to trial yet, but the memorial to the victim still appears at the scene. I also noticed this morning that the murder victim's aunt won the Emmy for her role in "Law and Order: Crime Victim's Unit." Such an irony!
Except for four unexplained shots ringing out in the night fairly close by our Selle farm while I was putting my horses in the barn Saturday night, we had no murders that I know of in this neighborhood. I still can't figure out why someone was shooting a really loud weapon at 9:45 on a Saturday night. I suspected that maybe one of the fat steers had gotten loose after being hauled to Woods' Meats, but I don't think they'd be shooting at a running steer in the dark.
Anyway, Saturday night eventually turned into Sunday, and for the first time in months, I was responsible to nobody except myself. Bill has been on fires for the past week, having moved from the Ulm Peak blaze on the Idaho-Montana border to Priest Lake, where a battery of fires are burning near the Canadian border. He told me yesterday that they were just figuring out how to get a crew to the 600-acre plus fire. I think they're a bit short-handed. Bill is the logistics coordinator for his fire team, so he's busy from dawn until dusk, but from what I've heard, he eats well.
With no responsibilities, I decided to head off on a Sunday drive to Montana. Kiwi accompanied me; we were hoping for no banishment like we'd experienced at the Fair. Yeah, it still makes me mad. Anyway, the first stop was at Hope to see a group of beloved ex-students who graduated in 1992-1993. They're longtime friends who get together for a week every August and always invite family and friends for a visit.
I was under the impression they'd still be relaxing yesterday, but once I found the house, I discovered they were packing up and leaving. Several were already gone, so I enjoyed a short visit with Niki, Sarah and Courtney while Courtney's friend Eric cleaned the kitchen of the rental house.
Then, Kiwi and I headed on to Montana. We stopped at several Forest Service recreation areas, including one at the north end of Bull Lake. Nobody looked at us like we didn't belong there, so we happily walked along the lake shore and used the facilities. I also picked up some chips and a Snickers at the Halfway Bar and Restaurant along the Bull River highway. The lady brought me the Snickers from her freezer while lamenting about summer heat and the day 145 bikers in their heavy leathers came into the bar and said it sure was hot in there.
We also stopped at Twin Rivers Recreational area below the Moyie Bridge where the Moyie River meets the Kootenai River. I'd always heard about the place and wondered what was down that winding road off HWY 2. Although the grass is dried up and it's pretty dusty in spots, the place offers lots of space and lots of things to do for campers and RV'ers. And, the scene at the south end of the campground where the rivers come together is breath-taking.
Bill and I may end up down there with our RV when and if things ever settle down. Last year, I recall his getting the boat ready for summer. We spent one whole hour out on the lake when he got called away to a fire in Central Idaho. I think he came home two weeks later. We never got out in the boat again. This year, we haven't even thought about the boat, but it would be nice to have one more opportunity to use the new-old RV.
Time and weather will tell. In the meantime, a busy week lies ahead, so I'm glad Kiwi and I enjoyed a brief getaway yesterday after a night with no murders. And, nobody kicked us out of the parks. One tends to get paranoic about both.
Except for four unexplained shots ringing out in the night fairly close by our Selle farm while I was putting my horses in the barn Saturday night, we had no murders that I know of in this neighborhood. I still can't figure out why someone was shooting a really loud weapon at 9:45 on a Saturday night. I suspected that maybe one of the fat steers had gotten loose after being hauled to Woods' Meats, but I don't think they'd be shooting at a running steer in the dark.
Anyway, Saturday night eventually turned into Sunday, and for the first time in months, I was responsible to nobody except myself. Bill has been on fires for the past week, having moved from the Ulm Peak blaze on the Idaho-Montana border to Priest Lake, where a battery of fires are burning near the Canadian border. He told me yesterday that they were just figuring out how to get a crew to the 600-acre plus fire. I think they're a bit short-handed. Bill is the logistics coordinator for his fire team, so he's busy from dawn until dusk, but from what I've heard, he eats well.
With no responsibilities, I decided to head off on a Sunday drive to Montana. Kiwi accompanied me; we were hoping for no banishment like we'd experienced at the Fair. Yeah, it still makes me mad. Anyway, the first stop was at Hope to see a group of beloved ex-students who graduated in 1992-1993. They're longtime friends who get together for a week every August and always invite family and friends for a visit.
I was under the impression they'd still be relaxing yesterday, but once I found the house, I discovered they were packing up and leaving. Several were already gone, so I enjoyed a short visit with Niki, Sarah and Courtney while Courtney's friend Eric cleaned the kitchen of the rental house.
Then, Kiwi and I headed on to Montana. We stopped at several Forest Service recreation areas, including one at the north end of Bull Lake. Nobody looked at us like we didn't belong there, so we happily walked along the lake shore and used the facilities. I also picked up some chips and a Snickers at the Halfway Bar and Restaurant along the Bull River highway. The lady brought me the Snickers from her freezer while lamenting about summer heat and the day 145 bikers in their heavy leathers came into the bar and said it sure was hot in there.
We also stopped at Twin Rivers Recreational area below the Moyie Bridge where the Moyie River meets the Kootenai River. I'd always heard about the place and wondered what was down that winding road off HWY 2. Although the grass is dried up and it's pretty dusty in spots, the place offers lots of space and lots of things to do for campers and RV'ers. And, the scene at the south end of the campground where the rivers come together is breath-taking.
Bill and I may end up down there with our RV when and if things ever settle down. Last year, I recall his getting the boat ready for summer. We spent one whole hour out on the lake when he got called away to a fire in Central Idaho. I think he came home two weeks later. We never got out in the boat again. This year, we haven't even thought about the boat, but it would be nice to have one more opportunity to use the new-old RV.
Time and weather will tell. In the meantime, a busy week lies ahead, so I'm glad Kiwi and I enjoyed a brief getaway yesterday after a night with no murders. And, nobody kicked us out of the parks. One tends to get paranoic about both.
Sunday, August 27, 2006
Long before the cosmic dust
I don't know when the "cosmic dust" will settle, but I'm hoping that's a long time. That's how long Jeff and Krisianna Bock promise to love each other. They made that promise on the shores of the Pend Oreille River last night just after a Blue Heron flew past. It was their wedding night, and as Judge Debra Heise presided over the ceremony, the notion of "cosmic dust" entered my vocabulary for the first time.
I leaned over to Jenny Meyer, who was seated next to me with her hubby Jeff, and said, "That's a new one." She assured me that the couple had written their vows. The cosmic dust added a nice touch to one of the most laid-back but sorta formal weddings I'd attended. The bride in her beautiful dress was not nervous. The mother of the groom appeared calm and quite satisfied with the perfect weather and the gorgeous setting. Nobody even seemed to really care that the white carpet wasn't going to work after all, so it was folded up and put to the side.
The wedding was rich with plenty of smiles, hugs and clicking cameras, and the feast featuring culinary talents from Hooties, Jalapenos and Roger Hanlon was sumptuous, to say the least. I had to eat quickly, but that angel hair alfredo pasta from Hooties, along with Roger Hanlon's salmon were too good to gulp down, so I enjoyed some conversation with the bride's grandfather who flew bombers during World War II.
The dining moments also allowed time for me to catch up with former student Bryant Jones who'd returned from a year of teaching English in China. His good friend and classmate Tasha Thomas sat next to him as Bryant bragged that she has ascended to the corporate level at Coldwater Creek. As champagne glasses were distributed among the guests for the upcoming toasts, I looked at my watch and said hasty "good bye's" to my table mates.
I was to meet Jenny at the Panida Theater. The bridegroom had given us the assignment of attending the Idaho Panhandle International Film Festival (IPIFF) awards because he'd been told that someone representing the film, "Jenny's Journal" should be there. So, after walking around a few extra circles at Westwood, I finally found my way back to the car, which had been parked at the Idaho Health and Welfare office about half a mile from the wedding.
Jenny and I met, walked into the theater, sat down and waited. Eventually, Trevor Greenfield, the creator of the festival, appeared on stage and introduced a deejay from the new local radio station. She was to announce the 19 awards given for various aspects of the more than 50 films shown over the past three days. The awards were beautifully-sculpted eagles.
When presentations had ended and another deejay Johnny Knight had appeared on stage several times to announce and accept awards for various film makers who were not present, Jenny held one of those eagles with Jeff Bock's name inscribed on the front for best Northwest film. Giving Johnny a break, Jenny accepted the award on stage and told the audience it had been quite a day for Jeff---he'd won a bride and he'd won an IPIFF eagle.
After the awards ceremony, I had to get home and put my horses in the barn, so Jenny headed back to the wedding celebration to present Jeff with his eagle. That eagle was earned from hours and hours of devoted filming, editing, and crafting for Jeff's special gift to Jenny and her family, the documentary film "Jenny's Journal." So, it was a nice day for all of us as we celebrated the great wedding of Jeff and Krisianna and the public acknowledgement of a cinematic job well done.
Indeed, the eagle landed last night, but I'm sure it did so lightly so as not to set off any cosmic dust.
Special note: We were told that award-winning films would be shown at the Panida today from 12-4 and again from 5-9, so if anyone wants to see "Jenny's Journal," it will be among the showings.
I leaned over to Jenny Meyer, who was seated next to me with her hubby Jeff, and said, "That's a new one." She assured me that the couple had written their vows. The cosmic dust added a nice touch to one of the most laid-back but sorta formal weddings I'd attended. The bride in her beautiful dress was not nervous. The mother of the groom appeared calm and quite satisfied with the perfect weather and the gorgeous setting. Nobody even seemed to really care that the white carpet wasn't going to work after all, so it was folded up and put to the side.
The wedding was rich with plenty of smiles, hugs and clicking cameras, and the feast featuring culinary talents from Hooties, Jalapenos and Roger Hanlon was sumptuous, to say the least. I had to eat quickly, but that angel hair alfredo pasta from Hooties, along with Roger Hanlon's salmon were too good to gulp down, so I enjoyed some conversation with the bride's grandfather who flew bombers during World War II.
The dining moments also allowed time for me to catch up with former student Bryant Jones who'd returned from a year of teaching English in China. His good friend and classmate Tasha Thomas sat next to him as Bryant bragged that she has ascended to the corporate level at Coldwater Creek. As champagne glasses were distributed among the guests for the upcoming toasts, I looked at my watch and said hasty "good bye's" to my table mates.
I was to meet Jenny at the Panida Theater. The bridegroom had given us the assignment of attending the Idaho Panhandle International Film Festival (IPIFF) awards because he'd been told that someone representing the film, "Jenny's Journal" should be there. So, after walking around a few extra circles at Westwood, I finally found my way back to the car, which had been parked at the Idaho Health and Welfare office about half a mile from the wedding.
Jenny and I met, walked into the theater, sat down and waited. Eventually, Trevor Greenfield, the creator of the festival, appeared on stage and introduced a deejay from the new local radio station. She was to announce the 19 awards given for various aspects of the more than 50 films shown over the past three days. The awards were beautifully-sculpted eagles.
When presentations had ended and another deejay Johnny Knight had appeared on stage several times to announce and accept awards for various film makers who were not present, Jenny held one of those eagles with Jeff Bock's name inscribed on the front for best Northwest film. Giving Johnny a break, Jenny accepted the award on stage and told the audience it had been quite a day for Jeff---he'd won a bride and he'd won an IPIFF eagle.
After the awards ceremony, I had to get home and put my horses in the barn, so Jenny headed back to the wedding celebration to present Jeff with his eagle. That eagle was earned from hours and hours of devoted filming, editing, and crafting for Jeff's special gift to Jenny and her family, the documentary film "Jenny's Journal." So, it was a nice day for all of us as we celebrated the great wedding of Jeff and Krisianna and the public acknowledgement of a cinematic job well done.
Indeed, the eagle landed last night, but I'm sure it did so lightly so as not to set off any cosmic dust.
Special note: We were told that award-winning films would be shown at the Panida today from 12-4 and again from 5-9, so if anyone wants to see "Jenny's Journal," it will be among the showings.
Saturday, August 26, 2006
Dog day at the fair
I had planned to spend the entire day at the fair, but that got cut short abruptly when a lady came smiling my way and quietly told me that my dog was not allowed in the main exhibit building. So, we went home several hours ahead of schedule.
The apparent new ruling at the fairgrounds, where signs at the entrances warn that dogs must be on leashes, puzzled me. I've always figured that those signs meant that dogs are expected on the fairgrounds, and dutifully I kept my dog on a leash. Suddenly, yesterday---the day of the sheep dog trials and the day of the doggie dress-up contest---white lazer-copied signs appeared everywhere, warning that no dogs were allowed in the barns.
I didn't spot the first sign until AFTER I'd gone into the cow barn to look at Sherri Remmers mini Highlander bull and to talk to her "herdsman" Bill Adams. It was minutes before Kiwi and I were supposed to meet Rose Marie for those Polish and German dogs at the sausage stand. As we left the barn, I could see that Rose Marie hadn't yet shown, so I decided to check out the indoor arena, where I read the first dog warning.
During that short stroll, I saw several dogs walking by with their owners, including another Border Collie from the Friends of the Shelter. Rose Marie came along while I was visiting with Jenny and Grace Meyer and "Grandma Kiebert," her son Mason and her two granddaughters. We eventually enjoyed our yummy sausages while Kiwi fed on a cheese-filled soft pretzel.
Then, we headed to the sheep dog trials. It took only the first team of herders (human and canine) for me to learn that Kiwi definitely has herding in her blood. She never took her eyes off from the arena action as teams would move three sheep through assigned obstacles. Sitting next to her older brother Roy, Kiwi spent an uneasy time as a spectator. She wanted to get out there in the arena and show them how to do it.
I guess I'm going to have to bite the bullet and get serious about some training so she can perform next year. After watching Robin and Roy do their rounds (they took the nod on the most difficult obstacle when the sheep went right over the bridge within seconds), Kiwi and I headed off to see the rest of the fair.
Kiwi got a bit distracted when we had to walk through the area between the indoor arena where a wild and crazy football passing game was going on between two groups of kids in the midst of the crowd. I was surprised that nobody came to tell them to take their game somewhere else.
Our big mistake came when we walked inside the main exhibit building, which I had not ever thought of as a "barn." Well, within seconds, I was "sweetly" ushered out. I was appalled, to say the least, especially after I've seen dog after dog year after year attending the fair. Another gentleman who was manning a booth followed me out the door and told me he'd seen at least a dozen dogs walk through the main exhibit hall--er--barn yesterday alone.
I guess all good things must change, even at the local animal shows. It still baffles me, especially since my daughter tells me it's almost a fashion statement to be bring one's mutt along on shopping trips in downtown Seattle stores like Nordstrom's, etc. I've also sat next to people and their dogs for years while attending horse shows and sitting inside the indoor arena.
I guess the Bonner County Fair and dog days have gone too uptown in an attempt toward canine correctness. So, the great planned anniversary of Kiwi and my meeting at last year's fair went sadly awry. We came home and spent a quiet afternoon doing lawn work. All I could think of while snipping off deadheads from flowers is that our county fair has truly gone to the dogs.
I wonder what they do at the National Dog Show. From what I've seen on TV, it's held inside a building and the one in Spokane at the fairgrounds, where the dogs are always inside one of the Interstate Fairgrounds barns.
Oh, well, I think it's a sad day when "man and woman's best friend" can't go to the fair. Is George Orwell's Animal Farm unfolding, where the rules just keep changing just to suit the humans?
The apparent new ruling at the fairgrounds, where signs at the entrances warn that dogs must be on leashes, puzzled me. I've always figured that those signs meant that dogs are expected on the fairgrounds, and dutifully I kept my dog on a leash. Suddenly, yesterday---the day of the sheep dog trials and the day of the doggie dress-up contest---white lazer-copied signs appeared everywhere, warning that no dogs were allowed in the barns.
I didn't spot the first sign until AFTER I'd gone into the cow barn to look at Sherri Remmers mini Highlander bull and to talk to her "herdsman" Bill Adams. It was minutes before Kiwi and I were supposed to meet Rose Marie for those Polish and German dogs at the sausage stand. As we left the barn, I could see that Rose Marie hadn't yet shown, so I decided to check out the indoor arena, where I read the first dog warning.
During that short stroll, I saw several dogs walking by with their owners, including another Border Collie from the Friends of the Shelter. Rose Marie came along while I was visiting with Jenny and Grace Meyer and "Grandma Kiebert," her son Mason and her two granddaughters. We eventually enjoyed our yummy sausages while Kiwi fed on a cheese-filled soft pretzel.
Then, we headed to the sheep dog trials. It took only the first team of herders (human and canine) for me to learn that Kiwi definitely has herding in her blood. She never took her eyes off from the arena action as teams would move three sheep through assigned obstacles. Sitting next to her older brother Roy, Kiwi spent an uneasy time as a spectator. She wanted to get out there in the arena and show them how to do it.
I guess I'm going to have to bite the bullet and get serious about some training so she can perform next year. After watching Robin and Roy do their rounds (they took the nod on the most difficult obstacle when the sheep went right over the bridge within seconds), Kiwi and I headed off to see the rest of the fair.
Kiwi got a bit distracted when we had to walk through the area between the indoor arena where a wild and crazy football passing game was going on between two groups of kids in the midst of the crowd. I was surprised that nobody came to tell them to take their game somewhere else.
Our big mistake came when we walked inside the main exhibit building, which I had not ever thought of as a "barn." Well, within seconds, I was "sweetly" ushered out. I was appalled, to say the least, especially after I've seen dog after dog year after year attending the fair. Another gentleman who was manning a booth followed me out the door and told me he'd seen at least a dozen dogs walk through the main exhibit hall--er--barn yesterday alone.
I guess all good things must change, even at the local animal shows. It still baffles me, especially since my daughter tells me it's almost a fashion statement to be bring one's mutt along on shopping trips in downtown Seattle stores like Nordstrom's, etc. I've also sat next to people and their dogs for years while attending horse shows and sitting inside the indoor arena.
I guess the Bonner County Fair and dog days have gone too uptown in an attempt toward canine correctness. So, the great planned anniversary of Kiwi and my meeting at last year's fair went sadly awry. We came home and spent a quiet afternoon doing lawn work. All I could think of while snipping off deadheads from flowers is that our county fair has truly gone to the dogs.
I wonder what they do at the National Dog Show. From what I've seen on TV, it's held inside a building and the one in Spokane at the fairgrounds, where the dogs are always inside one of the Interstate Fairgrounds barns.
Oh, well, I think it's a sad day when "man and woman's best friend" can't go to the fair. Is George Orwell's Animal Farm unfolding, where the rules just keep changing just to suit the humans?
Friday, August 25, 2006
I believe it was an event on this day at the Bonner County Fair that prompted my love affair with a young black-and-white lady named Kiwi. Her name wasn't Kiwi at the time, but I did meet her at the fair. She was hanging out with her siblings and her mom, Sam, the day I went to the outdoor arena to watch the sheepdog trials.
I sat for more than an hour watching Border Collies of all shapes, colors and sizes happily herding those sheep through the obstacle course. The more I watched, the more I wanted a Border Collie of my own. Later, I heard that Robin McNall had some pups at the fair, and the next day I had my own Border Collie, immediately naming her Kiwi.
Today Kiwi and I will go to the fair to celebrate our first anniversary together. It didn't take long for everyone in our family to experience their own love affair with this active little dog with the "sixth gear," as some people term it. Kiwi was accompanying us everywhere we went, even on a hike to Lookout Mountain the week after she joined us as a nine-week old pup. She trotted along the trail watching our every move and learning that she liked huckleberries.
Toward the end of that hike, she asked for a ride because her little legs had had enough. I'll never forget the whimpering we heard when we tried to keep her in her canvas doggie house in the back of the car. Kiwi wanted to be with us; we, however, were trying to be good parents who instilled discipline in their doggie; eventually Kiwi's whimpering won out.
We've worked on discipling Kiwi, but she still has a ways to go in the "down" or "off" department. She loves people so much that her natural inclination to jump up and try to plant a French kiss when they least suspect it just won't go away.
We'll keep working at convincing Kiwi that not everyone appreciates those French kisses and now that we've moved to this farm, we'll try to get her into a training regimen for sheep dogs. Maybe some day she'll get to herd something besides those Folgers coffee cans.
From what I heard yesterday, Kiwi may have a new friend in the neighborhood. We finally figured out the mystery of the mom and pups who showed up on my mother's deck a week ago. Seems there were eight pups all together and most had been given away. But Pita hadn't. Pita is speckled gray, black and white, and she's looking a lot like her Blue Heeler bloodlines.
Yesterday, she also became a permanent resident at the Tibbs Arabian ranch. So, a year after Kiwi brought joy to our lives, another little pup is bringing joy to my mother and sisters. It will be fun to introduce Kiwi to Pita; maybe she'll even give her a French kiss.
In the meantime, Kiwi and I will go to the fair. We'll meet with Rose Marie where we have a date with some other dogs---those would be of the German sausage variety---with a little sauerkraut and mustard please. And, if Kiwi's really good, I may just buy her one of those delicious cheese pretzels at the sausage man's booth. If the sheep dog trials are, indeed, today, we'll spend some time back there at the bleachers where we first met, and maybe some of the arena action will rub off on Kiwi.
Whatever happens today, we'll enjoy a nice anniversary at the fair and will look forward to many good days ahead as canine-human sidekicks.
I sat for more than an hour watching Border Collies of all shapes, colors and sizes happily herding those sheep through the obstacle course. The more I watched, the more I wanted a Border Collie of my own. Later, I heard that Robin McNall had some pups at the fair, and the next day I had my own Border Collie, immediately naming her Kiwi.
Today Kiwi and I will go to the fair to celebrate our first anniversary together. It didn't take long for everyone in our family to experience their own love affair with this active little dog with the "sixth gear," as some people term it. Kiwi was accompanying us everywhere we went, even on a hike to Lookout Mountain the week after she joined us as a nine-week old pup. She trotted along the trail watching our every move and learning that she liked huckleberries.
Toward the end of that hike, she asked for a ride because her little legs had had enough. I'll never forget the whimpering we heard when we tried to keep her in her canvas doggie house in the back of the car. Kiwi wanted to be with us; we, however, were trying to be good parents who instilled discipline in their doggie; eventually Kiwi's whimpering won out.
We've worked on discipling Kiwi, but she still has a ways to go in the "down" or "off" department. She loves people so much that her natural inclination to jump up and try to plant a French kiss when they least suspect it just won't go away.
We'll keep working at convincing Kiwi that not everyone appreciates those French kisses and now that we've moved to this farm, we'll try to get her into a training regimen for sheep dogs. Maybe some day she'll get to herd something besides those Folgers coffee cans.
From what I heard yesterday, Kiwi may have a new friend in the neighborhood. We finally figured out the mystery of the mom and pups who showed up on my mother's deck a week ago. Seems there were eight pups all together and most had been given away. But Pita hadn't. Pita is speckled gray, black and white, and she's looking a lot like her Blue Heeler bloodlines.
Yesterday, she also became a permanent resident at the Tibbs Arabian ranch. So, a year after Kiwi brought joy to our lives, another little pup is bringing joy to my mother and sisters. It will be fun to introduce Kiwi to Pita; maybe she'll even give her a French kiss.
In the meantime, Kiwi and I will go to the fair. We'll meet with Rose Marie where we have a date with some other dogs---those would be of the German sausage variety---with a little sauerkraut and mustard please. And, if Kiwi's really good, I may just buy her one of those delicious cheese pretzels at the sausage man's booth. If the sheep dog trials are, indeed, today, we'll spend some time back there at the bleachers where we first met, and maybe some of the arena action will rub off on Kiwi.
Whatever happens today, we'll enjoy a nice anniversary at the fair and will look forward to many good days ahead as canine-human sidekicks.
Thursday, August 24, 2006
What? No Pluto?
I wanted to complain about Pluto s demotion, but before I got started, I noticed the apostrophe has gotten the same wrap. For some reason this morning, the apostrophe has been declared obsolete in the blogger world, so I m not allowed to use contractions today. Sure hope they get that fixed.
My focus this morning was gonna start out with Pluto and go from there, but the sudden apostrophe impairment took the lead. Every time I ve tried to type an apostrophe, something takes over the clipboard, burps and stops all action. So, those of you who read these blogs just to see if the old English teacher makes a mistake have no rights to complain today.
Now, on to Pluto. I ve just read that Pluto has been banned as a planet. No more will it appear on the maps of Outer Space as one of the nine big stars in the Earth s perception of the Universe. I m wondering this morning just how Pluto feels about this---probably the same as I do every time I try to type an apostrophe.
What is happening to all our icons? Yesterday I saw a bumpersticker with an American flag and the words "These colors don t rule the world." Of course the bumpersticker surely had an apostrophe in the word "don t," but since apostrophes have no rights as punctuation any more, I had to quote the bumpersticker incorrectly. While sitting behind that car which did not have a bumper sticker asking readers to "Imagine Whirled Peas," I thought about how topsy turvy our perceptions have become.
As a Catholic, I have witnessed topsy turvy in a big way since the days of nuns teaching us all those rules about Catholicism and guilt. A lady told me the other day that she had to go get finger-printed to work with her little Catholic Boy Scouts; she as much as told them that she resented such a thing after all the stuff the priests had done. I wondered if all the priests had gotten finger printed. She said they had been required to do so in Idaho, but that didn t make her any happier about finger printing after having been in the same parish for 30 years.
I can remember when we were taught that the priests were the closest thing to God we were ever gonna see in our lives. Nowadays, I think that s not exactly good PR for God.
And, now Pluto. I ve spent my lifetime memorizing planets and remembering that Pluto was out there a long, long ways away. What is Disneyland going to do? Wasn t Pluto named after that planet? Now, that goofy dog s namesake is nothing other than a generic mass among the masses in Outer Space, no longer one of the Big Nine. Now we have the Big Eight.
Oh well, they say education is going downhill these days, so in order to make it look better for the kiddies, they ll cut down the amounts they have to learn. Only eight planets and one less punctuation rule.
I can see the day coming (hope I m in Pack River Cemetery by that time) when the red, white and blue are banished in classrooms just like God was a while back. Maybe the folks who banished God had heard that line about the priests being the next best thing to God. Maybe they knew something the rest of us didn t. I have no idea what Pluto and the apostrophe did to get it in the shins this morning.
I m sure gonna miss them.
My focus this morning was gonna start out with Pluto and go from there, but the sudden apostrophe impairment took the lead. Every time I ve tried to type an apostrophe, something takes over the clipboard, burps and stops all action. So, those of you who read these blogs just to see if the old English teacher makes a mistake have no rights to complain today.
Now, on to Pluto. I ve just read that Pluto has been banned as a planet. No more will it appear on the maps of Outer Space as one of the nine big stars in the Earth s perception of the Universe. I m wondering this morning just how Pluto feels about this---probably the same as I do every time I try to type an apostrophe.
What is happening to all our icons? Yesterday I saw a bumpersticker with an American flag and the words "These colors don t rule the world." Of course the bumpersticker surely had an apostrophe in the word "don t," but since apostrophes have no rights as punctuation any more, I had to quote the bumpersticker incorrectly. While sitting behind that car which did not have a bumper sticker asking readers to "Imagine Whirled Peas," I thought about how topsy turvy our perceptions have become.
As a Catholic, I have witnessed topsy turvy in a big way since the days of nuns teaching us all those rules about Catholicism and guilt. A lady told me the other day that she had to go get finger-printed to work with her little Catholic Boy Scouts; she as much as told them that she resented such a thing after all the stuff the priests had done. I wondered if all the priests had gotten finger printed. She said they had been required to do so in Idaho, but that didn t make her any happier about finger printing after having been in the same parish for 30 years.
I can remember when we were taught that the priests were the closest thing to God we were ever gonna see in our lives. Nowadays, I think that s not exactly good PR for God.
And, now Pluto. I ve spent my lifetime memorizing planets and remembering that Pluto was out there a long, long ways away. What is Disneyland going to do? Wasn t Pluto named after that planet? Now, that goofy dog s namesake is nothing other than a generic mass among the masses in Outer Space, no longer one of the Big Nine. Now we have the Big Eight.
Oh well, they say education is going downhill these days, so in order to make it look better for the kiddies, they ll cut down the amounts they have to learn. Only eight planets and one less punctuation rule.
I can see the day coming (hope I m in Pack River Cemetery by that time) when the red, white and blue are banished in classrooms just like God was a while back. Maybe the folks who banished God had heard that line about the priests being the next best thing to God. Maybe they knew something the rest of us didn t. I have no idea what Pluto and the apostrophe did to get it in the shins this morning.
I m sure gonna miss them.
Wednesday, August 23, 2006
The Little Red Schoolhouse
I was going to call it the Little Red Schoolhouse in my "Love Notes" column, which comes out in The River Journal today, but at the time, Stacy Wood Rief thought her husband Aaron might stick with natural wood siding. Of course, as I was wrapping up my column and checking a few facts with Stacy, she indicated that Aaron was wondering just how he was going to build the bell tower on top of the school. He was concerned about snow building up inside the tower.
"I think they're doing some engineering and trying to figure it out," Stacy told me. These guys must be engineering whizzes because by the time I hung up, Stacy said they were up there building the tower. A day or so later, the bell tower was up, and the schoolhouse was red.
It's located about two miles from our house on Selle Road, and Stacy's figuring on opening it Sept. 5 for childcare, pre-school and kindergarten. Stacy's all of 26 years old. She's a young mother, and she grew up in this neighborhood.
She's a Wood, and the Woods own a lot of land around here. They're respected ranchers who've diversified their family operation to include cattle, crushed rock, phenomenal German Sausages and smokies at Wood's Meats and country tourism at the Western Pleasure Guest Ranch.
And, now, a school. I wrote about Stacy's schoolhouse because I think it's pretty neat that a young lady such as she appreciates her wonderful ranch childhood enough to share it with other youngsters. Her school is not just any babysitting service, pre-school, kindergarten---her school will expose toddlers to 6-year-olds to the natural world outside the school.
The structure, located near Stacy's home, sits in a huge field bordered by a huge wooded pasture. There's a stream running through the pasture, and often baby calves race around the trees across the fence from the school. When the mother cows and their calves are in a pasture somewhere else, Stacy's school kids can race toward the woods and go catch frogs.
I also admire Stacy because she's got the vision to realize that people are getting fed up with impersonal, fall-through-the cracks education. It's not any one person's fault; it's just that with the growth in this area, schools are busting at their seams. The more you pack into them, the less positive stimulation each youngster receives. Stacy's school, called Selle Valley Bright Beginnings will remain small and manageable. She will strive to continually create a positive and warm environment where her students will spend several hours each day.
I think Stacy and other young people like Dr. Cherise Neu, a young mother who's all of 32, have caught on to a brilliant old idea: neighborhood. Cherise is establishing her veterinary hospital on her "Farm-to-Market Road" farm. She's using the family barn for her office.
If the community is growing too fast for its own good, then establish a community within the neighborhood. In addition, both young women can pursue their professional dreams while remaining close to their own children.
This seems like a win-win situation. The neighborhood approach seems to be the only ticket to preserving our sense of community. I have a feeling both of these young women are serving as role models for a trend toward the past which will serve us well in the future.
Hats off to Stacy and Cherise.
Note: Last I checked, Stacy's still looking for a school bell to put in that bell tower. If you know where one could be located, pass along the information.
Tuesday, August 22, 2006
A picture is worth a thousand words
If the saying, "A picture is worth a thousand words" is true, then I'm going to bypass at least a hundred thousand words today. If the entries come close to what we had last year in the Bonner County Fair open class photography, I'm sure to avoid a lot of verbosity by having the world portrayed through the lens of a camera.
Once again, I have the pleasure AND HARD WORK of judging the photographic entries. It's a good gig, but it does get fairly confusing because of limitless categories and infinite possibilities for awarding ribbons. I don't know how many championships they're expecting, but I do know that when it comes to selecting those, the job is never that simple.
I love photography just like I love those hot brownies with vanilla ice cream and chocolate syrup that they serve down at Jalapenos. Both feed my senses in pleasing ways, although visually devouring dozens of esthetic photographs is much easier on my figure.
Last year's overall champion photo was a color image of a silhouetted cowboy seated on a board fence. It was snapped by a young Sandpoint woman who attends the University of Idaho and who worked at All Seasons Nursery this past summer. That's where I finally met her and learned that she's had a lot of mentoring from local portrait photographer extraordinaire, Ruthie Eich.
That came as no surprise because Ruthie's been seeing good photos since her days of supplying her phenomenal talents to our Monticola yearbook back in the late '70s. She's even passed that talent and skill on to her son who also went through the SHS yearbook class a couple of years ago.
Ruthie's student who won the fair championship last year has the passion necessary to snap those winning photos. As soon as she heard about my fancy antique manure spreader, she was asking where I lived so she could check it out for photo possibilities. I was impressed because not too many 19-year-old women get off on manure spreaders.
I love to snap pictures myself, but I have great admiration for those artists who can find the angle or who can see the unusual in the world around them. These are true photographers because they provide the rest of us with perspectives we'd never dream of seeing. They view the world differently and, thankfully, they often preserve that vision for us with their talents.
So, today ought to be a delectable day at the fair. I'll struggle through the piles and piles of photos---organization-wise but will fill my senses with esthetic pleasure. I'm looking forward to seeing what this year's entries have to offer. And, while I'm at it, here's a commercial for one of those talented picture snappers who has some nice additions to her photo blog this week: check out (www.nnlove.blogspot.com).
In the meantime, I'm going to repeat the information about another photographic accomplishment so that anyone who'd like to see "Jenny's Journal" at the Panida will know what's necessary to get a ticket. Also, there's a story in today's Spokesman-Review newspaper. It can be found at (http://www.spokesmanreview.com/idaho/story.asp?ID=145873) See ticket information below:
IPIFF (Idaho Panhandle Film Festival Info, regarding "Jenny's Journal" and purchasing tickets. Info from film producer Jeff Bock: Now, here's the info for people buying tickets. It's a bit confusing...but here goes.
1) They are ten dollars each.
2) You CANNOT get them right before the screening of
"Jenny's Journal," which is at 5:30 pm on Thursday Aug
24th. You must get them prior at the box office which
is apparently at WINE SELLERS or maybe at the PANIDA
itself. Anyway, you must get tickets before the BLOCKS
of movies start. So as TREVOR (he who runs the
festival) told me, you can get them at 10:30-11:00am
or at 3:00-3:30pm on THURSDAY. I know, they don't make
this particularly easy, do they?
3) You DO NOT have to sit through all the screening in
the WILDFLOWERS block (in which "Jenny's Journal" is
included). They will have short intermissions between
films, and people will be allowed to enter prior to
the next film starting. So you can let your family and
friends know that showing up by 5pm will be
fine...it's just that they have to get tickets ahead
of time.
Once again, I have the pleasure AND HARD WORK of judging the photographic entries. It's a good gig, but it does get fairly confusing because of limitless categories and infinite possibilities for awarding ribbons. I don't know how many championships they're expecting, but I do know that when it comes to selecting those, the job is never that simple.
I love photography just like I love those hot brownies with vanilla ice cream and chocolate syrup that they serve down at Jalapenos. Both feed my senses in pleasing ways, although visually devouring dozens of esthetic photographs is much easier on my figure.
Last year's overall champion photo was a color image of a silhouetted cowboy seated on a board fence. It was snapped by a young Sandpoint woman who attends the University of Idaho and who worked at All Seasons Nursery this past summer. That's where I finally met her and learned that she's had a lot of mentoring from local portrait photographer extraordinaire, Ruthie Eich.
That came as no surprise because Ruthie's been seeing good photos since her days of supplying her phenomenal talents to our Monticola yearbook back in the late '70s. She's even passed that talent and skill on to her son who also went through the SHS yearbook class a couple of years ago.
Ruthie's student who won the fair championship last year has the passion necessary to snap those winning photos. As soon as she heard about my fancy antique manure spreader, she was asking where I lived so she could check it out for photo possibilities. I was impressed because not too many 19-year-old women get off on manure spreaders.
I love to snap pictures myself, but I have great admiration for those artists who can find the angle or who can see the unusual in the world around them. These are true photographers because they provide the rest of us with perspectives we'd never dream of seeing. They view the world differently and, thankfully, they often preserve that vision for us with their talents.
So, today ought to be a delectable day at the fair. I'll struggle through the piles and piles of photos---organization-wise but will fill my senses with esthetic pleasure. I'm looking forward to seeing what this year's entries have to offer. And, while I'm at it, here's a commercial for one of those talented picture snappers who has some nice additions to her photo blog this week: check out (www.nnlove.blogspot.com).
In the meantime, I'm going to repeat the information about another photographic accomplishment so that anyone who'd like to see "Jenny's Journal" at the Panida will know what's necessary to get a ticket. Also, there's a story in today's Spokesman-Review newspaper. It can be found at (http://www.spokesmanreview.com/idaho/story.asp?ID=145873) See ticket information below:
IPIFF (Idaho Panhandle Film Festival Info, regarding "Jenny's Journal" and purchasing tickets. Info from film producer Jeff Bock: Now, here's the info for people buying tickets. It's a bit confusing...but here goes.
1) They are ten dollars each.
2) You CANNOT get them right before the screening of
"Jenny's Journal," which is at 5:30 pm on Thursday Aug
24th. You must get them prior at the box office which
is apparently at WINE SELLERS or maybe at the PANIDA
itself. Anyway, you must get tickets before the BLOCKS
of movies start. So as TREVOR (he who runs the
festival) told me, you can get them at 10:30-11:00am
or at 3:00-3:30pm on THURSDAY. I know, they don't make
this particularly easy, do they?
3) You DO NOT have to sit through all the screening in
the WILDFLOWERS block (in which "Jenny's Journal" is
included). They will have short intermissions between
films, and people will be allowed to enter prior to
the next film starting. So you can let your family and
friends know that showing up by 5pm will be
fine...it's just that they have to get tickets ahead
of time.
Monday, August 21, 2006
Iz it myth or nightmare?
Leave it to a boring rodeo to provide a forum for news of the county. It was a perfect storm for local gossip Saturday night as we sat in the bleachers at the Bonner County Fairgrounds trying to watch the worst rodeo I've ever attended. We went to the rodeo because last year's was one of the best we'd ever seen. I know the people in charge worked hard to bring us another one, but it fizzled.
Besides the fact that the roof to shield the sun was left atop the unused east announcer's stand, thus blocking the view of the calf roping and bulldogging chutes from at least one-fourth of the crowd in our section, we didn't miss too much action anyway. It all happened too fast.
Most calf ropers missed their calves before reaching the center of the arena, and most bulldoggers jumped off their horses and either missed or successfully wrestled their steers out of our view. Some people went home with kinks in their necks from sitting too long in fetal positions trying to see the action or lack thereof.
I think one cowboy out of the whole lot of contestants successfully rode his bull. We could see that action because it was directly across from us, but most bull riders and cute little mutton busters fell off just outside the chute gates.
There was, however, a glut of information about all the queens, coming from the mouth of the announcer who had a high-pitched singsong somewhat irritating approach to dispensing details. We did enjoy the barrel racing because at least the girls stayed on their horses and kept the barrels intact during their runs. The clown was pretty good too, and his grandson did ride his sheep for eight seconds.
What really made us yawn, however, were the long delays between action, much in contrast with last year's event where lively country tunes played continuously and loudly as just seconds passed between competitors. In Saturday night's case, the announcer revved up his voice, yelled out the contestant's name, rank and serial number----and then we waited, and waited, and waited. Needless to say, these unpregnant pauses (pregnant pauses occur when something big is about to happen, which was rarely the case Saturday night) allowed plenty of time for information exchange within the audience.
I heard some information at the rodeo that I'm gonna throw out today, just to see if it's true. And, please, please don't use it incorrectly; I'm not trying to spread it. I'm just trying, as a good journalist, to see if it's trumped-up rumors or if we will soon be the peasants occupying "Pleasantville."
I did hear Saturday night that our former house will not be rented after all. This news came after all the stuff (blood, sweat, money and tears) we put forth to respond to the inspection report. Hearing this ruffled my feathers a bit, to say the least. I resolved to get to the bottom of that rumor. We drove by the place after the rodeo to get an ice cream cone at Dari Depot (which at $1.39 was a much better deal than the $8 rodeo ticket). The house lights were on, so the rumor aspect looked more plausible.
Later, I asked a person directly responsible for our house if the rumor was true. I was told that the possibility of leasing the place for a while is still in the mix, but that some issues of access to the land behind the place for at least two entities are on the table too. So, the verdict's out on that piece of rodeo news.
Now, the other two BIG rumors have remained as such. I'm hoping today that someone "in the know" can verify or deny them with cold, hard facts. So, let me know. Once I'm satisfied with what I've heard, I'll pass along my findings. Here goes:
Rumor No. 2: Tim McGraw and Faith Hill have purchased land on Baldy Mountain and are building a house. If the hills up Baldy way, where we used to ride our horses and the kids had their keggars, are suddenly alive with music of the high-priced country variety, please tell me. Maybe when the story got told, the purveyor of hot information meant Baldy Mountain at Sun Valley. We can only hope.
Rumor No. 3: Harrison Ford has purchased Memaloose Island at Hope. Last I heard the price was $14 million, so if this is true, non-profits, take heed: there's one rich realtor walking around trying to figure out how to donate one third of his or her earnings to beat the taxes. I have heard about Harrison and certain plane purchases and Harrison opening the door for someone at Jalapenos a few weeks ago, but as far as purchasing the Indian burial ground for his own private Idaho, that's a new one.
Could it be that a new Indiana Jones is in the works? Will it be filmed on a remote island in the Idaho Panhandle? I don't know, but, like the enquiring minds all over this county, I want to know the truth.
I asked in my heading: Iz it myth or nightmare? I think I'd prefer myth because the more celebs that move in here, the more nightmarish our peasant lives are bound to be. I've been told the woods are buzzing with Hummers, and I'd take a muddied-up Ford 4 by 4 any day.
So, write in what ever facts and new rumors you know that can be verified. We'll all solve these together.
Idaho Panhandle International Film Festival this week: Jeff Bock wrote us a note last week and explained how people get tickets to "Jenny's Journal," set to begin around 5:30 p.m. this Thursday at the Panida.
Jeff: Now, here's the info for people buying tickets. It's a
bit confusing...but here goes.
1) They are ten dollars each.
2) You CANNOT get them right before the screening of
"Jenny's Journal," which is at 5:30 pm on Thursday Aug
24th. You must get them prior at the box office which
is apparently at WINE SELLERS or maybe at the PANIDA
itself. Anyway, you must get tickets before the BLOCKS
of movies start. So as TREVOR (he who runs the
festival) told me, you can get them at 10:30-11:00am
or at 3:00-3:30pm on THURSDAY. I know, they don't make
this particularly easy, do they?
3) You DO NOT have to sit through all the screening in
the WILDFLOWERS block (in which "Jenny's Journal" is
included). They will have short intermissions between
films, and people will be allowed to enter prior to
the next film starting. So you can let your family and
friends know that showing up by 5pm will be
fine...it's just that they have to get tickets ahead
of time.
Besides the fact that the roof to shield the sun was left atop the unused east announcer's stand, thus blocking the view of the calf roping and bulldogging chutes from at least one-fourth of the crowd in our section, we didn't miss too much action anyway. It all happened too fast.
Most calf ropers missed their calves before reaching the center of the arena, and most bulldoggers jumped off their horses and either missed or successfully wrestled their steers out of our view. Some people went home with kinks in their necks from sitting too long in fetal positions trying to see the action or lack thereof.
I think one cowboy out of the whole lot of contestants successfully rode his bull. We could see that action because it was directly across from us, but most bull riders and cute little mutton busters fell off just outside the chute gates.
There was, however, a glut of information about all the queens, coming from the mouth of the announcer who had a high-pitched singsong somewhat irritating approach to dispensing details. We did enjoy the barrel racing because at least the girls stayed on their horses and kept the barrels intact during their runs. The clown was pretty good too, and his grandson did ride his sheep for eight seconds.
What really made us yawn, however, were the long delays between action, much in contrast with last year's event where lively country tunes played continuously and loudly as just seconds passed between competitors. In Saturday night's case, the announcer revved up his voice, yelled out the contestant's name, rank and serial number----and then we waited, and waited, and waited. Needless to say, these unpregnant pauses (pregnant pauses occur when something big is about to happen, which was rarely the case Saturday night) allowed plenty of time for information exchange within the audience.
I heard some information at the rodeo that I'm gonna throw out today, just to see if it's true. And, please, please don't use it incorrectly; I'm not trying to spread it. I'm just trying, as a good journalist, to see if it's trumped-up rumors or if we will soon be the peasants occupying "Pleasantville."
I did hear Saturday night that our former house will not be rented after all. This news came after all the stuff (blood, sweat, money and tears) we put forth to respond to the inspection report. Hearing this ruffled my feathers a bit, to say the least. I resolved to get to the bottom of that rumor. We drove by the place after the rodeo to get an ice cream cone at Dari Depot (which at $1.39 was a much better deal than the $8 rodeo ticket). The house lights were on, so the rumor aspect looked more plausible.
Later, I asked a person directly responsible for our house if the rumor was true. I was told that the possibility of leasing the place for a while is still in the mix, but that some issues of access to the land behind the place for at least two entities are on the table too. So, the verdict's out on that piece of rodeo news.
Now, the other two BIG rumors have remained as such. I'm hoping today that someone "in the know" can verify or deny them with cold, hard facts. So, let me know. Once I'm satisfied with what I've heard, I'll pass along my findings. Here goes:
Rumor No. 2: Tim McGraw and Faith Hill have purchased land on Baldy Mountain and are building a house. If the hills up Baldy way, where we used to ride our horses and the kids had their keggars, are suddenly alive with music of the high-priced country variety, please tell me. Maybe when the story got told, the purveyor of hot information meant Baldy Mountain at Sun Valley. We can only hope.
Rumor No. 3: Harrison Ford has purchased Memaloose Island at Hope. Last I heard the price was $14 million, so if this is true, non-profits, take heed: there's one rich realtor walking around trying to figure out how to donate one third of his or her earnings to beat the taxes. I have heard about Harrison and certain plane purchases and Harrison opening the door for someone at Jalapenos a few weeks ago, but as far as purchasing the Indian burial ground for his own private Idaho, that's a new one.
Could it be that a new Indiana Jones is in the works? Will it be filmed on a remote island in the Idaho Panhandle? I don't know, but, like the enquiring minds all over this county, I want to know the truth.
I asked in my heading: Iz it myth or nightmare? I think I'd prefer myth because the more celebs that move in here, the more nightmarish our peasant lives are bound to be. I've been told the woods are buzzing with Hummers, and I'd take a muddied-up Ford 4 by 4 any day.
So, write in what ever facts and new rumors you know that can be verified. We'll all solve these together.
Idaho Panhandle International Film Festival this week: Jeff Bock wrote us a note last week and explained how people get tickets to "Jenny's Journal," set to begin around 5:30 p.m. this Thursday at the Panida.
Jeff: Now, here's the info for people buying tickets. It's a
bit confusing...but here goes.
1) They are ten dollars each.
2) You CANNOT get them right before the screening of
"Jenny's Journal," which is at 5:30 pm on Thursday Aug
24th. You must get them prior at the box office which
is apparently at WINE SELLERS or maybe at the PANIDA
itself. Anyway, you must get tickets before the BLOCKS
of movies start. So as TREVOR (he who runs the
festival) told me, you can get them at 10:30-11:00am
or at 3:00-3:30pm on THURSDAY. I know, they don't make
this particularly easy, do they?
3) You DO NOT have to sit through all the screening in
the WILDFLOWERS block (in which "Jenny's Journal" is
included). They will have short intermissions between
films, and people will be allowed to enter prior to
the next film starting. So you can let your family and
friends know that showing up by 5pm will be
fine...it's just that they have to get tickets ahead
of time.
Sunday, August 20, 2006
A visit with Perry
One of my most fervant desires is to never have to walk through foot-deep slop again. I can't say that I'll avoid it completely, but if I do so while performing my morning and evening barn chores, I'll be a happy farmer. Foot-deep slop is difficult to avoid on North Idaho farms, especially during the winter and early spring months.
When we first looked at the future Lovestead, it was a drizzly day in March. At least six inches of snow still covered the ground in most places, and more than enough rain was mixing with that snow. So, we were able to see the potential slop centers on this place. I made a mental note at the time to make sure preventative maintenance for slop would be high on our list of "things to do" once we moved here.
And, that is where Perry Palmer comes in. I've mentioned Perry before as the well-seasoned road builder in this area. Once we knew the new place was a certainty, I told Perry we'd be calling on him. So, we did, and yesterday, Perry came calling on us to see what we wanted done to avoid winter-time slop.
We enjoyed listening to his observations---coming from a highly-trained and experienced eye--as to what would do the trick to keep us above the slop while walking to the barn and the storage shed at the end of the lane. It took just one walk-through for Perry to know just what was needed and how he'd go about it.
After taking care of business and assuring us that the lane would receive adequate gravel and grading to take care of my slop-eradication desires, Bill, Perry and I spent about an hour visiting in the driveway. When it was over, I commented to Bill that Perry Palmer is definitely a walking history book for the Sandpoint area.
His dad and his uncles built a mill at the base of what's now Schweitzer Mountain Resort. It was called Palmer Bros. Mill, and a young entrepreneur, Jim Brown eventually bought it. He and his buddy Jack Bopp had been pulling "deadheads" out of the lake. Those are also known as sinker logs which have been underwater for sometime.
They had their deadheads milled at Palmer Bros. Jim Brown's purchase eventually led to the giant Pack River Lumber Co., which had mills all over the northwest. One fortuitous development set Jim Brown on his way. His mill had turned a large amount of white pine into lumber just about the time that Farragut Naval Training Station began to evolve on the shores of Lake Pend Oreille southeast of Sandpoint. Jim Brown had a market for his lumber and then some and then some.
In later years, Jim Brown became the major stockholder in Schweitzer Mountain Resort (then known as Schweitzer Ski Basin) on that same mountain above where Palmer Bros. had their logging operations. Before Schweitzer was built, it had to have a decent road. Perry's older brother Bud Palmer and his brother-in-law Wayne Ebbett got the nod as major builders of the original Schweitzer Road in the early 1960s. I'm pretty sure there was an Oliver and a Stradley who participated too. Perry helped them and later built some roads of his own around the ski area.
Our conversation yesterday also centered on the Humbird Mill which thrived in Sandpoint during the early part of the Twentieth Century. One of Perry's uncles, John, served as a camp superintendent for Humbird Lumber Co. It was a job that would take him to the logging camps all over Bonner County where Humbird owned land. Of course, Bill loved listening to the stories because he has developed a program where he speaks to groups about the Humbird influence in the area.
We now live on former Humbird land, and Perry had a few stories to tell about these areas which were logged off and later sold as stump ranches. In one case, he told us about the Tucker family who read the real estate brochures put out by Humbird, jumped at the chance, and bought their land north of Sandpoint. Then, they arrived to see that the brochures had maybe enhanced the story a bit.
"I read that Grandma Tucker saw where they were going to live and 'cried for a week,'" Perry told us yesterday. Well, the Tuckers, like most folks in North Idaho, must have had strong constitutions because they survived. And one of their plots of land at Colburn now belongs to my mother and Tibbs Arabians. So, I guess we have the Humbird folks to thank for luring all these folks who turned those stump ranches into nice farms.
I could have listened to Perry for much more than the hour he spent with us yesterday because he's a man with a wealth of local history. He appears to have an accurate take on what he shares. The best part, though, about visiting with him---especially in these days when we don't seem to recognize most of the faces we see in the grocery stores---was that we never had to explain to one another who someone was. All parties knew the names and knew their games.
That's pretty darned refreshing. And, knowing that Perry's gonna take care of most of our barnyard slop long before winter made for a perfect visit.
When we first looked at the future Lovestead, it was a drizzly day in March. At least six inches of snow still covered the ground in most places, and more than enough rain was mixing with that snow. So, we were able to see the potential slop centers on this place. I made a mental note at the time to make sure preventative maintenance for slop would be high on our list of "things to do" once we moved here.
And, that is where Perry Palmer comes in. I've mentioned Perry before as the well-seasoned road builder in this area. Once we knew the new place was a certainty, I told Perry we'd be calling on him. So, we did, and yesterday, Perry came calling on us to see what we wanted done to avoid winter-time slop.
We enjoyed listening to his observations---coming from a highly-trained and experienced eye--as to what would do the trick to keep us above the slop while walking to the barn and the storage shed at the end of the lane. It took just one walk-through for Perry to know just what was needed and how he'd go about it.
After taking care of business and assuring us that the lane would receive adequate gravel and grading to take care of my slop-eradication desires, Bill, Perry and I spent about an hour visiting in the driveway. When it was over, I commented to Bill that Perry Palmer is definitely a walking history book for the Sandpoint area.
His dad and his uncles built a mill at the base of what's now Schweitzer Mountain Resort. It was called Palmer Bros. Mill, and a young entrepreneur, Jim Brown eventually bought it. He and his buddy Jack Bopp had been pulling "deadheads" out of the lake. Those are also known as sinker logs which have been underwater for sometime.
They had their deadheads milled at Palmer Bros. Jim Brown's purchase eventually led to the giant Pack River Lumber Co., which had mills all over the northwest. One fortuitous development set Jim Brown on his way. His mill had turned a large amount of white pine into lumber just about the time that Farragut Naval Training Station began to evolve on the shores of Lake Pend Oreille southeast of Sandpoint. Jim Brown had a market for his lumber and then some and then some.
In later years, Jim Brown became the major stockholder in Schweitzer Mountain Resort (then known as Schweitzer Ski Basin) on that same mountain above where Palmer Bros. had their logging operations. Before Schweitzer was built, it had to have a decent road. Perry's older brother Bud Palmer and his brother-in-law Wayne Ebbett got the nod as major builders of the original Schweitzer Road in the early 1960s. I'm pretty sure there was an Oliver and a Stradley who participated too. Perry helped them and later built some roads of his own around the ski area.
Our conversation yesterday also centered on the Humbird Mill which thrived in Sandpoint during the early part of the Twentieth Century. One of Perry's uncles, John, served as a camp superintendent for Humbird Lumber Co. It was a job that would take him to the logging camps all over Bonner County where Humbird owned land. Of course, Bill loved listening to the stories because he has developed a program where he speaks to groups about the Humbird influence in the area.
We now live on former Humbird land, and Perry had a few stories to tell about these areas which were logged off and later sold as stump ranches. In one case, he told us about the Tucker family who read the real estate brochures put out by Humbird, jumped at the chance, and bought their land north of Sandpoint. Then, they arrived to see that the brochures had maybe enhanced the story a bit.
"I read that Grandma Tucker saw where they were going to live and 'cried for a week,'" Perry told us yesterday. Well, the Tuckers, like most folks in North Idaho, must have had strong constitutions because they survived. And one of their plots of land at Colburn now belongs to my mother and Tibbs Arabians. So, I guess we have the Humbird folks to thank for luring all these folks who turned those stump ranches into nice farms.
I could have listened to Perry for much more than the hour he spent with us yesterday because he's a man with a wealth of local history. He appears to have an accurate take on what he shares. The best part, though, about visiting with him---especially in these days when we don't seem to recognize most of the faces we see in the grocery stores---was that we never had to explain to one another who someone was. All parties knew the names and knew their games.
That's pretty darned refreshing. And, knowing that Perry's gonna take care of most of our barnyard slop long before winter made for a perfect visit.
Saturday, August 19, 2006
Picture time
Oh, to heck with it. I tried to make the picture layout below look less like I'd gone on an LSD trip this morning, but like my learning curve with weed eaters (note yesterday's post), it's gonna take a while for me to figure out my new version of Picasa (downloads photos to blogs).
So, bear with me on the photo captions which ended up all over the page and mixed into yesterday's posting. Oh well, now that I know weed eaters and that Cis is gonna get me a brand name for a better, less menacing weed eater, I can concentrate on learning the new Picasa.
In the meantime, enjoy the photos below. I finally got them processed, and they represent the past couple of weeks of our Love life and life at the Lovestead.
On another note, if anyone in the area knows anyone in the area or even out of the area who might be missing a Mother dog and four assorted pups, my mother would like to see them. Seems Mama Dog and her babies showed up on Mother's new deck yesterday morning--one by one. She went out and had words with them. They left in single file, went down the driveway and headed east.
Last night I got a call from Mother.
"Do you have any dogfood?" she asked. Seems Mama Dog and her babies checked out the neighborhood and decided Tibbs Arabians was where they're gonna be-----until someone claims them, that is. So, if you're in the area and know someone crying over missing dogs, give my mother a call.
In the meantime, they're all named, and they're all receiving tender loving care. The pups, who are well-mannered and who represent every canine ilk from Australian Shepherd to Rottweiler to Pitbull, agreed to pose as props for Miss Natalie's senior pictures. Natalie asked my sister to take her pictures, and she's even talking about taking Lola. "Lola's" Spanish for "lazy," I'm told. One of the salt-and-pepper-colored pups is not ambitious, according to reports.
Lots of animal stuff going on in the neighborhood. A herd of about 15 shrieking turkey hens and their half-grown polts caught my horses off guard yesterday as they crossed the field from the Cauble's to the Meserve's. The horses finally got over it, and the turkeys, after I went out to visit them, passed through the fence.
And, the two fawns that reside in the Green's field next to my mother's are well behaved. I think their mother told them where to lie down and to stay put because they were in the exact spot at 8:3o last night where their little nubbins had been sticking up at 4 when I drove by in the afternoon.
Jack Filipowski's bull wasn't quite so obedient. Seems when my sister Laurie drove down to our house for dogfood, she spotted an errant Hereford in the roadway. That was about 7 o'clock. About 9 o'clock, Jack, his wife Colleen and the neighbor man, Buddy, were still circling in on the wayward bull.
Some geese down near our old place were just flying along like geese do when they met their demise yesterday. Seems the Quest Kodiak was coming in for a landing, and when the plane's motor revved up, the geese got scared and flew right up into the front of the plane. One died and the other lost its wing.
The maimed geese dropped to the ground at the school bus shop parking lot just south of the runway. I heard that the Kodiak went into the Quest plant for a thorough inspection of possible damage. Haven't heard the outcome.
It's been a busy time for wandering animals in Center Valley and for geese flying near runways. I hope all is calm by this evening because we want to go to the wild and rowdy Bonner County Fair Rodeo.
Happy Saturday and do enjoy the photos.
So, bear with me on the photo captions which ended up all over the page and mixed into yesterday's posting. Oh well, now that I know weed eaters and that Cis is gonna get me a brand name for a better, less menacing weed eater, I can concentrate on learning the new Picasa.
In the meantime, enjoy the photos below. I finally got them processed, and they represent the past couple of weeks of our Love life and life at the Lovestead.
On another note, if anyone in the area knows anyone in the area or even out of the area who might be missing a Mother dog and four assorted pups, my mother would like to see them. Seems Mama Dog and her babies showed up on Mother's new deck yesterday morning--one by one. She went out and had words with them. They left in single file, went down the driveway and headed east.
Last night I got a call from Mother.
"Do you have any dogfood?" she asked. Seems Mama Dog and her babies checked out the neighborhood and decided Tibbs Arabians was where they're gonna be-----until someone claims them, that is. So, if you're in the area and know someone crying over missing dogs, give my mother a call.
In the meantime, they're all named, and they're all receiving tender loving care. The pups, who are well-mannered and who represent every canine ilk from Australian Shepherd to Rottweiler to Pitbull, agreed to pose as props for Miss Natalie's senior pictures. Natalie asked my sister to take her pictures, and she's even talking about taking Lola. "Lola's" Spanish for "lazy," I'm told. One of the salt-and-pepper-colored pups is not ambitious, according to reports.
Lots of animal stuff going on in the neighborhood. A herd of about 15 shrieking turkey hens and their half-grown polts caught my horses off guard yesterday as they crossed the field from the Cauble's to the Meserve's. The horses finally got over it, and the turkeys, after I went out to visit them, passed through the fence.
And, the two fawns that reside in the Green's field next to my mother's are well behaved. I think their mother told them where to lie down and to stay put because they were in the exact spot at 8:3o last night where their little nubbins had been sticking up at 4 when I drove by in the afternoon.
Jack Filipowski's bull wasn't quite so obedient. Seems when my sister Laurie drove down to our house for dogfood, she spotted an errant Hereford in the roadway. That was about 7 o'clock. About 9 o'clock, Jack, his wife Colleen and the neighbor man, Buddy, were still circling in on the wayward bull.
Some geese down near our old place were just flying along like geese do when they met their demise yesterday. Seems the Quest Kodiak was coming in for a landing, and when the plane's motor revved up, the geese got scared and flew right up into the front of the plane. One died and the other lost its wing.
The maimed geese dropped to the ground at the school bus shop parking lot just south of the runway. I heard that the Kodiak went into the Quest plant for a thorough inspection of possible damage. Haven't heard the outcome.
It's been a busy time for wandering animals in Center Valley and for geese flying near runways. I hope all is calm by this evening because we want to go to the wild and rowdy Bonner County Fair Rodeo.
Happy Saturday and do enjoy the photos.
Friday, August 18, 2006
A dissertation on the relationship between weed eaters and hearing aids
I'm not deaf, but I am dumb when it comes to weed eaters. I am getting smarter, though, and I have figured out that the inventors of hearing aids and weed eaters have to be either the dumbest or smartest people on earth.
Neither item ever seems to work, but they keep selling them like hotcakes. I haven't bought a hearing aid, but I know a lot of people who have. They wear them because they spent so much money for them and what good is a $2800 hearing aid that sits on the bathroom counter. Might as well stick it in your ear and hope. I've talked to a lot of people with those little buggers planted in their ears; in most cases, they are still hoping but not hearing.
I'm amazed that hearing aid inventors have spent all these years developing newer and better miracle ears, yet the folks who buy them can't hear any better than the folks fifty years ago who bought those bigger models with the cords that hung off their ears and went down to do something inside their shirt fronts.
The same is true with weed eaters. No one that I know of has ever built a better weed eater, unless we talk about those models that weigh 200 hundred pounds and wrestle you to the ground while you're trying to get them to start. We have one of those. Bill enjoys exclusive use over it.
Until yesterday, I'd never met a weed eater that I didn't hate, and, believe me, I've met lots of them. They don't sit on my bathroom counter like some people's hearing aids, but several varieties do hang out in our storage shed leading the good life of inactivity after working for two minutes and then frustrating the hell out their operator.
How do weed eaters do such a thing? Well, let me tell you. Their favorite method of not working has to do with that damn string that gets balled up inside the weed eater head, just like some people's brain mass. Once the operator has hit a rock, brick or a weed with a wooden stem, the string on the outside breaks, and the string on the inside refuses to come out of the hole. It just sits in there acting stubborn like a 1,500-pound cow which won't lead.
Cussing ensues. Hands get dirty. The operator stomps off to the shed for a screwdriver to pry the damn top off. Once the top comes off, all that plastic string which refused to budge comes popping out, unwinds and falls to the ground. Of course, the operator, who's never loaded a weed eater head, has no idea how to stuff all that string back inside that iddy biddy area, so the next scene gets really ugly.
With more cussing, good ol' Fumble Fingers wads the string up, crams it inside and tries to get the top knot to screw down tight. The top knot, knowing physics better than the operator, refuses to do such a thing, pops off and lets all that wadded-up string loose again. The process continues until Fumble Fingers throws all tools, gathered from the shed, to perform this delicate operation to the ground, walks the weed eater back to its resting place and goes to find another project---all to keep from literally blowing a brain gasket.
I know all about this because I did it yesterday, and I was glad that any hearing-impaired folks who came to visit would not be able to discern the ugly stuff that was spewing out of my mouth.
As yet, I'm not hearing-impaired, so I did hear "that word" really loud one night a couple of weeks ago when I asked Bill to please look at the Co-Op weed eater and see if he could make it run. It had earned its weed-eating hiatus by refusing to rotate just moments after I had properly threaded a new segment of string inside its head. Maybe that was brain mass.
Anyway, Bill took the weed eater to his new shop, and I went off to water flowers, hoping just like those hearing-impaired people do about their miracle ears, hoping that Bill could perform miracles on my most recently purchased weed eater. As I dragged the hose to the front yard, "the expletive-deleted" came raging out the garage door, not wafting but raging.
It was that word that Presbyterians would be surprised to hear dear Bill utter, but Annie and I claim responsibility for being the only people on earth who can prompt Bill to say that naughty word, which, by the way, is included in George Carlin's repertoire of seven. After the word raged from within the shop and I walked by with the hose, Bill turned around, with weed eater in hand and said, "Take it to Leon. It won't work."
So, after mentioning to him that the Presbyterians and the next-door neighbors might be surprised at what he just said, I agreed to take the weed eater to Leon at Sandpoint Small Engine Repair.
Later, I was telling this story at our family reunion, and my cousin Sue suggested that the only weed eater that works is the cheap one you can get at Wal Mart. She swore by hers---not like Bill swore next to ours, but she insisted cheaper is better when it came to weed eaters.
Later, I asked Bill if we had a cheap model among our collection.
"Yeah," he said, "that little electric one out there does work, and it's cheap."
I immediately sought it out, only to discover that it had no string inside its head. It took me two purchases of string and a lot of words Presbyterians and Catholics would cringe at hearing, but yesterday afternoon, I finally got the thing suited up properly with string/brain mass, and when I plugged it into the 200 feet of extension cord, the little darling worked like a charm.
I won't tell all the details of waiting an entire summer for a better weed eater to show up at Co-Op or Sears (which I did and they didn't), but I shall proclaim that someone at Wal Mart did better than all the other weed eater inventors. Only problem is they probably haven't made a lot of money off their cheap model that actually works.
I don't care, though. All I wanted was to get rid of my weeds, and Sue led me down the path of weed eating righteousness. Now, if I could find that inventor who came up with a cheaper, better hearing aid, I'd quit this dissertation all together.
Well, maybe I should right now. Have a good day from the weed free Lovestead. And, thank you, Sue.
Thursday, August 17, 2006
Women at work
I just read a feature about Katie Couric and her upcoming role as new anchor for CBS Evening News. Seems we'll probably be reading a lot about Katie Couric in the next few weeks, which breaks one of the cardinal rules of old-style journalism: news gatherers should stay out of the story.
But times have changed, and so has journalism, so every move, every breath and every expression that Katie takes will be documented and thoroughly analyzed as CBS honchos watch the ratings to see if snatching her away from NBC makes all the difference in the eternal ratings race.
I, personally, am not a diehard Katie fan. I have nothing against her, but the America's sweetheart image conflicts too much with my beliefs on what makes a good journalist, but like a good journalist, I'll keep an open mind. I've had preconceived notions shattered several times before.
Now, Katie's not the only woman I've witnessed "at work" lately. I heard this morning from my friend Helen Newton who worked behind the scenes for years as Sandpoint's City Clerk before retiring a year ago. Now, she's working as a Sandpoint City Council member, and since taking that job, she's turned into a Sandpoint lightning rod. People in Sandpoint are talking about Helen a lot these days, but I don't think they're following her hair styles or her every move with quite the tenacity we've seen with Katie. Instead, they're wondering just what gives.
"What's Helen up to?" I've heard friends say as they wonder why she demands that every tee be crossed and every eye dotted. She asks too many questions, some say. She's exactly what we need in there, others have told me.
Since I don't live in the City of Sandpoint any longer, I don't have strong opinions about what Helen's trying to do or what her motives are, but whatever she's up to, I know she's as honest as the day is long and that she doesn't just "wing it" while performing her elected duties. Anyone who cares to dispute what Helen has to say had better do their homework because she's done hers and then some.
Speaking of homework, I've got to talk about another woman with a BIG job ahead. Right now, Becky Kiebert, who's taking over as new principal at Sandpoint High School, is probably down on the Salmon River getting ready for one last rafting trip, guiding a gear boat for K-Bear Adventures, which she and her husband Mason own. Like Helen, Becky does her homework, even when she's recreating.
She called me late yesterday afternoon because I'd sent her some interview questions for a story about her that I'm doing for Sandpoint Magazine. Becky was on the road to the River of No Return, and she knew I had been waiting patiently for her responses.
"I copied off the questions, and if you want to ask me over the phone, I can answer them now, or if you can wait until Monday, I can do it then," she told me. I told her to hold off until Monday because I had other stories I could work on. Then, I wished her a good and safe trip and began to think of how I would squeeze writing her story amongst the dozen things I've got going next week.
This morning, I had two email notes from Becky. She'd stopped at a motel, pulled out her laptop and responded to my questions in great detail and even sent an attachment with basic facts about the new school year at the high school. Becky, who honors commitments, figured by Monday, her life would be so chaotic, there might not be time.
Once more, she demonstrated what she's made of: she's an organized, caring, smart and dynamic young woman who's gonna do just fine as she takes over the challenge as Sandpoint High's first woman principal. She's willing to go the extra mile even while putting in the miles, and that's going to make all the difference for Sandpoint High ratings.
I visited with another woman much like Becky this week. My dear friend Betsy Walker stopped by one afternoon. We sat on our deck and quickly reviewed our lives, our children and Betsy's beloved grandchild Della Rose. We agreed that we're both in Heaven. In Betsy's case, she's a very contented grandmother who gets to spend part of each day during the school year as a much-loved principal. This year, she'll be at Kootenai Elementary School, and she couldn't be happier.
Knowing what I know about Betsy---her experience, her dedication and her total compassion---I think the folks with kids at Kootenai are in for a good year.
So, these well-seasoned, well-organized women are at work---many taking on new challenges. Some will be scrutinized and studied more than others. Only time will tell, in all cases, the outcome for each as they use their organization, intuition and perseverance to make a difference in this world and this community.
But times have changed, and so has journalism, so every move, every breath and every expression that Katie takes will be documented and thoroughly analyzed as CBS honchos watch the ratings to see if snatching her away from NBC makes all the difference in the eternal ratings race.
I, personally, am not a diehard Katie fan. I have nothing against her, but the America's sweetheart image conflicts too much with my beliefs on what makes a good journalist, but like a good journalist, I'll keep an open mind. I've had preconceived notions shattered several times before.
Now, Katie's not the only woman I've witnessed "at work" lately. I heard this morning from my friend Helen Newton who worked behind the scenes for years as Sandpoint's City Clerk before retiring a year ago. Now, she's working as a Sandpoint City Council member, and since taking that job, she's turned into a Sandpoint lightning rod. People in Sandpoint are talking about Helen a lot these days, but I don't think they're following her hair styles or her every move with quite the tenacity we've seen with Katie. Instead, they're wondering just what gives.
"What's Helen up to?" I've heard friends say as they wonder why she demands that every tee be crossed and every eye dotted. She asks too many questions, some say. She's exactly what we need in there, others have told me.
Since I don't live in the City of Sandpoint any longer, I don't have strong opinions about what Helen's trying to do or what her motives are, but whatever she's up to, I know she's as honest as the day is long and that she doesn't just "wing it" while performing her elected duties. Anyone who cares to dispute what Helen has to say had better do their homework because she's done hers and then some.
Speaking of homework, I've got to talk about another woman with a BIG job ahead. Right now, Becky Kiebert, who's taking over as new principal at Sandpoint High School, is probably down on the Salmon River getting ready for one last rafting trip, guiding a gear boat for K-Bear Adventures, which she and her husband Mason own. Like Helen, Becky does her homework, even when she's recreating.
She called me late yesterday afternoon because I'd sent her some interview questions for a story about her that I'm doing for Sandpoint Magazine. Becky was on the road to the River of No Return, and she knew I had been waiting patiently for her responses.
"I copied off the questions, and if you want to ask me over the phone, I can answer them now, or if you can wait until Monday, I can do it then," she told me. I told her to hold off until Monday because I had other stories I could work on. Then, I wished her a good and safe trip and began to think of how I would squeeze writing her story amongst the dozen things I've got going next week.
This morning, I had two email notes from Becky. She'd stopped at a motel, pulled out her laptop and responded to my questions in great detail and even sent an attachment with basic facts about the new school year at the high school. Becky, who honors commitments, figured by Monday, her life would be so chaotic, there might not be time.
Once more, she demonstrated what she's made of: she's an organized, caring, smart and dynamic young woman who's gonna do just fine as she takes over the challenge as Sandpoint High's first woman principal. She's willing to go the extra mile even while putting in the miles, and that's going to make all the difference for Sandpoint High ratings.
I visited with another woman much like Becky this week. My dear friend Betsy Walker stopped by one afternoon. We sat on our deck and quickly reviewed our lives, our children and Betsy's beloved grandchild Della Rose. We agreed that we're both in Heaven. In Betsy's case, she's a very contented grandmother who gets to spend part of each day during the school year as a much-loved principal. This year, she'll be at Kootenai Elementary School, and she couldn't be happier.
Knowing what I know about Betsy---her experience, her dedication and her total compassion---I think the folks with kids at Kootenai are in for a good year.
So, these well-seasoned, well-organized women are at work---many taking on new challenges. Some will be scrutinized and studied more than others. Only time will tell, in all cases, the outcome for each as they use their organization, intuition and perseverance to make a difference in this world and this community.
Wednesday, August 16, 2006
Kaylee Kake
Little Kaylee is a good sport. She's 9 years old, and when the goofy old-lady judge across the table at yesterday's 4-H interview contest started asking how people teased her about her name, she went along with the odd questions in fine style.
"So, do they call you, 'Birthday Cake?'" the judge asked.
"Well, no," Kaylee said, obviously pondering a good answer for how she might've been teased in th past.
"How about 'Chocolate Cake?'" the ever-persistent interviewer continued.
"No," Kaylee said, beginning to squirm in her chair.
"Maybe that's not her name," the other judge across from Kaylee suggested.
"Well, isn't your name Kaylee Cake?" the inquisitor continued. "That's what it says here on this sheet." Sure enough, at the top of the judging sheet in black felt marker letters, written by an obviously young hand were the words "Kaylee Cake."
All who'd been listening to this strange conversation initiated by the nosy judge chuckled aloud as little Miss Kaylee revealed that she did, indeed, have a different last name from what the judge had assumed from reading her score sheet.
Turns out her 4-H project about which we were supposed to interview Kaylee was "cake." Turns out things have changed a lot in 4-H since that crazy ol' judge baked cakes as part of the Cooking I project back in 1958-59. We baked cookies too along with purple cows and wienie boats.
I vividly remember the vanilla pudding assignment. Mother left the house for the afternoon barn chores just as I'd started following the 4-H recipe for cooking up totally homemade pudding. She came back to the house and found dessert bowls filled with milk and big yellow lumps placed around the table, waiting for unsuspecting family members who would be dining that night.
Seems I didn't quite understand the concept of a "full boil" back in those days. Fortunate for me, yesterday, young Miss Kaylee totally understood the concept that a few nutty women populate this world and that occasionally little nine-year-olds might run into them at 4-H judging events. After learning of my stupidity with Kaylee's name, I was disciplined enough yesterday NOT to immediately break into my classic 4-H cake demonstration story where 40 giggling ladies laughed out loud as my batter refused to stay in the mixing bowl where it belonged. I'd already made enough of a fool of myself for one day.
Anyway, Kaylee maintained her poise and proceeded to tell us the trials and tribulations of her experience with the 4-H cake project, which involves baking one layer cakes and decorating them. We looked at lots of pictures of Kaylee-decorated cakes and learned that she liked the one with the tree on it the best. She also thinks that next year she'll try once again to take a dog project along with cake decorating, if only more dog meetings will be held. Seems they only had one meeting this year so she couldn't complete her canine project, but we were quite pleased with her accomplishments with all those cakes.
"We" were Janice McNall Riley and me "Goofus Mariannus" who occasionally asks dumb questions only to look dumber than "Dumb and Dumber" later. Janice, whose family and their shorthorns have suffered at the hands of Goofus Mariannus' pen, put up with me for more than four hours as 4-H'ers ranging from 9-19 sat across the table from us and told us about their projects for 2006.
Most of them were youth leadership projects, and we learned that there are a lot of potential politicians around the county. They've met the politicians at their government leadership conference in Boise, they've drafted legislative bills and some have even been elected to state offices in for mock legislatures. Others are going to extend their experience and even work as pages for the State Legislature.
We met kids who've shared their knowledge with younger members about sheep, beef, dogs, rabbits and chickens. Learning about the chicken project was my favorite segment of the day. Phillip Johnson from over Priest River way was quite willing to tell us anything we wanted to know about chickens. He even demonstrated how to show them: you put their legs between your fingers and grab hold on top and eventually they'll even sit there and let you pound nails into a wall, he told us. He also told us chickens can learn and that they will come out of their cage if you call them.
I don't know if I'll develop an intimate enough relationship with a chicken to pound nails while walking around with a clucking hand ornament, but I do know there are a lot of kids in Bonner County who are learning by doing. I don't know from yesterday's interviews if every single one of them is "making the best better" as the 4-H motto suggests, but maybe next week's county fair will reveal some insights along those lines.
I do know for sure that I thoroughly enjoyed visiting with the 4-H'ers yesterday, especially Kaylee, the aspiring cake decorator.
"So, do they call you, 'Birthday Cake?'" the judge asked.
"Well, no," Kaylee said, obviously pondering a good answer for how she might've been teased in th past.
"How about 'Chocolate Cake?'" the ever-persistent interviewer continued.
"No," Kaylee said, beginning to squirm in her chair.
"Maybe that's not her name," the other judge across from Kaylee suggested.
"Well, isn't your name Kaylee Cake?" the inquisitor continued. "That's what it says here on this sheet." Sure enough, at the top of the judging sheet in black felt marker letters, written by an obviously young hand were the words "Kaylee Cake."
All who'd been listening to this strange conversation initiated by the nosy judge chuckled aloud as little Miss Kaylee revealed that she did, indeed, have a different last name from what the judge had assumed from reading her score sheet.
Turns out her 4-H project about which we were supposed to interview Kaylee was "cake." Turns out things have changed a lot in 4-H since that crazy ol' judge baked cakes as part of the Cooking I project back in 1958-59. We baked cookies too along with purple cows and wienie boats.
I vividly remember the vanilla pudding assignment. Mother left the house for the afternoon barn chores just as I'd started following the 4-H recipe for cooking up totally homemade pudding. She came back to the house and found dessert bowls filled with milk and big yellow lumps placed around the table, waiting for unsuspecting family members who would be dining that night.
Seems I didn't quite understand the concept of a "full boil" back in those days. Fortunate for me, yesterday, young Miss Kaylee totally understood the concept that a few nutty women populate this world and that occasionally little nine-year-olds might run into them at 4-H judging events. After learning of my stupidity with Kaylee's name, I was disciplined enough yesterday NOT to immediately break into my classic 4-H cake demonstration story where 40 giggling ladies laughed out loud as my batter refused to stay in the mixing bowl where it belonged. I'd already made enough of a fool of myself for one day.
Anyway, Kaylee maintained her poise and proceeded to tell us the trials and tribulations of her experience with the 4-H cake project, which involves baking one layer cakes and decorating them. We looked at lots of pictures of Kaylee-decorated cakes and learned that she liked the one with the tree on it the best. She also thinks that next year she'll try once again to take a dog project along with cake decorating, if only more dog meetings will be held. Seems they only had one meeting this year so she couldn't complete her canine project, but we were quite pleased with her accomplishments with all those cakes.
"We" were Janice McNall Riley and me "Goofus Mariannus" who occasionally asks dumb questions only to look dumber than "Dumb and Dumber" later. Janice, whose family and their shorthorns have suffered at the hands of Goofus Mariannus' pen, put up with me for more than four hours as 4-H'ers ranging from 9-19 sat across the table from us and told us about their projects for 2006.
Most of them were youth leadership projects, and we learned that there are a lot of potential politicians around the county. They've met the politicians at their government leadership conference in Boise, they've drafted legislative bills and some have even been elected to state offices in for mock legislatures. Others are going to extend their experience and even work as pages for the State Legislature.
We met kids who've shared their knowledge with younger members about sheep, beef, dogs, rabbits and chickens. Learning about the chicken project was my favorite segment of the day. Phillip Johnson from over Priest River way was quite willing to tell us anything we wanted to know about chickens. He even demonstrated how to show them: you put their legs between your fingers and grab hold on top and eventually they'll even sit there and let you pound nails into a wall, he told us. He also told us chickens can learn and that they will come out of their cage if you call them.
I don't know if I'll develop an intimate enough relationship with a chicken to pound nails while walking around with a clucking hand ornament, but I do know there are a lot of kids in Bonner County who are learning by doing. I don't know from yesterday's interviews if every single one of them is "making the best better" as the 4-H motto suggests, but maybe next week's county fair will reveal some insights along those lines.
I do know for sure that I thoroughly enjoyed visiting with the 4-H'ers yesterday, especially Kaylee, the aspiring cake decorator.
Tuesday, August 15, 2006
Where's my Good Paper?
Thank God for Lawrence Fury. If his allowed monthly allotment of entertaining and, oh-so-true thoughts about life in Sandpoint had not shown up in this morning's Blat, I'd have been really FURYous. My Good Paper, the Spokesman-Review did not arrive this morning, so I was restricted to reading the Daily Blat. Having no Good Paper did not make for a Good Start to the day.
Usually, I down just two sips of coffee in the mug and then set the Blat on the couch beside me because I've read all there is. It's already time to read the Spokesman. It used to take a little longer reading the Blat because I could count on knowing some of the stars in the "Records Column," but having been away from the student mill for four years, I don't recognize a lot of those names any more. And, because so many new people have moved to Sandpoint, the local obituaries often are dominated by perfect strangers whose residency might date back to 2003.
I must, however, take an aside at this moment from my usual facetious nonsense to comment that the obituaries of late, like this morning, for example, do include the far too many names young people. What is happening?
My heart goes out to the Guthrie family of Dover whose daughter Jenny died suddenly last week at just 34 years old. I taught some of Jenny's sisters and always admired the Guthries as down-to-earth, hard-working, good folks. I did not know the 50-something salesman at Taylor-Parker who died over the weekend, but again, I'm sure a family and a host of colleagues are feeling the pain of his sudden passing as are the loved ones of the 60-something motorcyclist from Naples who was killed in an accident last week.
We've heard it time and again, but these people's passings always remind us of the tentative nature of life and that we need to work really hard at making our time on this earth a positive experience for ourselves and for those around us.
So, I guess when I gripe about not receiving the Spokesman this morning, I ought to just shut up. The time spent reading the Good Paper to learn about all the Bad Stuff going on in the world could be spent doing something productive. Who knows---at any given moment I could end up as a morning newspaper blurb. So, I'd better quit my whining and get out there and make it a good day.
After all, life is short.
Usually, I down just two sips of coffee in the mug and then set the Blat on the couch beside me because I've read all there is. It's already time to read the Spokesman. It used to take a little longer reading the Blat because I could count on knowing some of the stars in the "Records Column," but having been away from the student mill for four years, I don't recognize a lot of those names any more. And, because so many new people have moved to Sandpoint, the local obituaries often are dominated by perfect strangers whose residency might date back to 2003.
I must, however, take an aside at this moment from my usual facetious nonsense to comment that the obituaries of late, like this morning, for example, do include the far too many names young people. What is happening?
My heart goes out to the Guthrie family of Dover whose daughter Jenny died suddenly last week at just 34 years old. I taught some of Jenny's sisters and always admired the Guthries as down-to-earth, hard-working, good folks. I did not know the 50-something salesman at Taylor-Parker who died over the weekend, but again, I'm sure a family and a host of colleagues are feeling the pain of his sudden passing as are the loved ones of the 60-something motorcyclist from Naples who was killed in an accident last week.
We've heard it time and again, but these people's passings always remind us of the tentative nature of life and that we need to work really hard at making our time on this earth a positive experience for ourselves and for those around us.
So, I guess when I gripe about not receiving the Spokesman this morning, I ought to just shut up. The time spent reading the Good Paper to learn about all the Bad Stuff going on in the world could be spent doing something productive. Who knows---at any given moment I could end up as a morning newspaper blurb. So, I'd better quit my whining and get out there and make it a good day.
After all, life is short.
Monday, August 14, 2006
Of Rabbits, Turtles and the "Outlaw" Farmins
I remember writing a Spokesman-Review column about Tammy Farmin a few years ago. That was when she had created the colorful metal banners that hang around Sandpoint. Tammy's an "outlaw" in our family, and she's a talented artist. Well, she's not exactly on the "Ten Most Wanted" list, but her artwork apparently seems to be in great demand.
Let me explain the "outlaw" status. Tammy's grandmother Esther Lines had a brother George Johnson. He was an engineer for Boeing, and he married my dad's sister Wilma Tibbs. So, because of that marital connection, we've always said the Lineses and all their progeny were shirt-tail relatives, but I've also thought it was more fun to call 'em "outlaws" rather than loosely connected in-laws. Didya follow all that?
We have another outlaw relationship with Tammy. Our Annie Dog lived at Tammy's sister Terri's house before Terri decided Annie "needed a home in the country." So, we've had Annie for a number of years. Both her name and her canine antics come up occasionally when we visit with the Farmin family.
Now speaking of Farmins, they have some pretty well-fixed roots here in Sandpoint. Tammy has some ancestors (L.D. and Ellamae) who pretty much laid out the town when they came here from the east as railroad agents back in the late 1800s. So, I guess that means that our outlaw status (which Ellamae pretty much thought was standard for all the riffraff running around Sandpoint at the time) makes us sorta related to some founding parents in Sandpoint. Didya get all that straight?
Well, rather than beating around the bush, I'll get back to the orginal subject. Tammy's an artist. Tammy's part of the Farmin family, and Tammy's got some new artwork to add to the town. Her dad Ted sent me a press release about some public art that's going to be dedicated at Sandpoint's Farmin Park Aug. 26 during the Farmers' Market.
Tammy crafted the art, and I've got some pictures of it but can't copy and paste it to the blog cuz it's on a PDF. Anyway, there's a bronze rabbit lounging in the grass and a turtle in slow pursuit. We all know the story. The turtle wins while the rabbit lies there and thinks about what he's gonna go buy at the Farmer's Market.
It's appropriately called "Pace Your Self," which nobody bothered to tell the rabbit when he set off in the famous race where he was supposed to be a shoe-in. Since nobody told the rabbit he oughta get off his behinder, go purchase some of the Bear's (Hope's Icehouse Pizza guy) pastries and get on with the race, he lost really bad, and the slow, slow tortoise who knew enough to bypass the Farmer's Market food altogether, won hands down.
Now for all who are getting disgusted with Marianne's digressions this morning, here's the serious stuff the City of Sandpoint put out about Tammy and her sculpture:
By the way, these pieces of art look mighty fine in the photographs. I can't wait to see them in real life, so I'll make an effort to get down there on Aug. 26 and give my outlaw cousin a big pat on the back for her latest Farmin family contribution to the town her ancestors helped establish.
Let me explain the "outlaw" status. Tammy's grandmother Esther Lines had a brother George Johnson. He was an engineer for Boeing, and he married my dad's sister Wilma Tibbs. So, because of that marital connection, we've always said the Lineses and all their progeny were shirt-tail relatives, but I've also thought it was more fun to call 'em "outlaws" rather than loosely connected in-laws. Didya follow all that?
We have another outlaw relationship with Tammy. Our Annie Dog lived at Tammy's sister Terri's house before Terri decided Annie "needed a home in the country." So, we've had Annie for a number of years. Both her name and her canine antics come up occasionally when we visit with the Farmin family.
Now speaking of Farmins, they have some pretty well-fixed roots here in Sandpoint. Tammy has some ancestors (L.D. and Ellamae) who pretty much laid out the town when they came here from the east as railroad agents back in the late 1800s. So, I guess that means that our outlaw status (which Ellamae pretty much thought was standard for all the riffraff running around Sandpoint at the time) makes us sorta related to some founding parents in Sandpoint. Didya get all that straight?
Well, rather than beating around the bush, I'll get back to the orginal subject. Tammy's an artist. Tammy's part of the Farmin family, and Tammy's got some new artwork to add to the town. Her dad Ted sent me a press release about some public art that's going to be dedicated at Sandpoint's Farmin Park Aug. 26 during the Farmers' Market.
Tammy crafted the art, and I've got some pictures of it but can't copy and paste it to the blog cuz it's on a PDF. Anyway, there's a bronze rabbit lounging in the grass and a turtle in slow pursuit. We all know the story. The turtle wins while the rabbit lies there and thinks about what he's gonna go buy at the Farmer's Market.
It's appropriately called "Pace Your Self," which nobody bothered to tell the rabbit when he set off in the famous race where he was supposed to be a shoe-in. Since nobody told the rabbit he oughta get off his behinder, go purchase some of the Bear's (Hope's Icehouse Pizza guy) pastries and get on with the race, he lost really bad, and the slow, slow tortoise who knew enough to bypass the Farmer's Market food altogether, won hands down.
Now for all who are getting disgusted with Marianne's digressions this morning, here's the serious stuff the City of Sandpoint put out about Tammy and her sculpture:
For Immediate Release: Public Art Unveiling at Farmin Park in Sandpoint!
Date: 8/10/06
The citizens of Sandpoint are invited to join the City of Sandpoint Mayor
Raymond P. Miller, Artist Tammy Farmin, and representatives of the Sandpoint
Arts Commission, Rotary Club, and DSBA Saturday August 26th 2006 to dedicate
a set of bronze sculptures titled, Pace Your Self. The dedication will take
place at the clock tower in Farmin Park at 11 a.m. during the Farmers
Market. Pace Your Self, is the newest addition to Sandpoint's growing public
art collection.
The clock tower funded by the Rotary Club of Sandpoint was installed at the
tip of Farmin Park, across the street from the Jeff Jones Town Square in the
heart of downtown Sandpoint. The clock tower was both a contribution to the
Sandpoint Downtown Revitalization effort (begun in 2002) and a commemoration
of Rotary International's 100 year celebration.
When Bob Lindemann passed away in November 2004, Rotary President Ryan
Luttmann suggested that Rotary include an installation of public art in the
clock tower in honor of Bob. Bob was a Rotary member, and long-time member
(and board member) of the Pend Oreille Arts Council, and an artist.
Sandpoint's Arts Commission in cooperation with the Rotary Club of Sandpoint
sent out RFP's/ Call to Artists in Late September of 2005 and Artist Tammy
Farmin was selected through a juried competition for her proposal, a
sculpture titled: Pace Your Self. Tammy's idea began with the clock and the
childhood folk story of "The Tortoise and the Hare." In memory of Bob, she
expanded on those concepts by recognizing the delicate balance Bob always
wove between time and his daily pursuits.
Tammy attributes the support of her friends, family, and the clientele of
her business in real estate to giving her the time to donate and set aside
for creating this wonderful addition to public art in Sandpoint. Thrilled
and honored at having been chosen to create a piece for the Rotary Clock
Tower, Tammy said,
" I look forward to the enjoyment children will receive from climbing on the
tortoise. It reminds me of when I was a kid climbing on Blacky and Sandy,
the horses at Harold's Grocery Store."
This project was funded in part by the Idaho Commission on the Arts, the
National Endowment for the Arts, the Rotary Club of Sandpoint, and
Sandpoint's Art by the Inch fund. For more information on Art by the Inch
or to donate to the fund for future public art projects visit:
www.cityofsandpoint.com and link to the Arts Commission.
Date: 8/10/06
The citizens of Sandpoint are invited to join the City of Sandpoint Mayor
Raymond P. Miller, Artist Tammy Farmin, and representatives of the Sandpoint
Arts Commission, Rotary Club, and DSBA Saturday August 26th 2006 to dedicate
a set of bronze sculptures titled, Pace Your Self. The dedication will take
place at the clock tower in Farmin Park at 11 a.m. during the Farmers
Market. Pace Your Self, is the newest addition to Sandpoint's growing public
art collection.
The clock tower funded by the Rotary Club of Sandpoint was installed at the
tip of Farmin Park, across the street from the Jeff Jones Town Square in the
heart of downtown Sandpoint. The clock tower was both a contribution to the
Sandpoint Downtown Revitalization effort (begun in 2002) and a commemoration
of Rotary International's 100 year celebration.
When Bob Lindemann passed away in November 2004, Rotary President Ryan
Luttmann suggested that Rotary include an installation of public art in the
clock tower in honor of Bob. Bob was a Rotary member, and long-time member
(and board member) of the Pend Oreille Arts Council, and an artist.
Sandpoint's Arts Commission in cooperation with the Rotary Club of Sandpoint
sent out RFP's/ Call to Artists in Late September of 2005 and Artist Tammy
Farmin was selected through a juried competition for her proposal, a
sculpture titled: Pace Your Self. Tammy's idea began with the clock and the
childhood folk story of "The Tortoise and the Hare." In memory of Bob, she
expanded on those concepts by recognizing the delicate balance Bob always
wove between time and his daily pursuits.
Tammy attributes the support of her friends, family, and the clientele of
her business in real estate to giving her the time to donate and set aside
for creating this wonderful addition to public art in Sandpoint. Thrilled
and honored at having been chosen to create a piece for the Rotary Clock
Tower, Tammy said,
" I look forward to the enjoyment children will receive from climbing on the
tortoise. It reminds me of when I was a kid climbing on Blacky and Sandy,
the horses at Harold's Grocery Store."
This project was funded in part by the Idaho Commission on the Arts, the
National Endowment for the Arts, the Rotary Club of Sandpoint, and
Sandpoint's Art by the Inch fund. For more information on Art by the Inch
or to donate to the fund for future public art projects visit:
www.cityofsandpoint.com
By the way, these pieces of art look mighty fine in the photographs. I can't wait to see them in real life, so I'll make an effort to get down there on Aug. 26 and give my outlaw cousin a big pat on the back for her latest Farmin family contribution to the town her ancestors helped establish.
Sunday, August 13, 2006
The party
She said she was mighty glad "to be alive at 85." That was while she was seated atop her Arabian mare Phansey after a ride through the horse pasture. She didn't have too long to talk, though, because she wanted to continue her horseback ride across the road to go inspect her hay field, which had been harvested a couple of weeks ago.
So, while Laurie's horse Rusty chased Kiwi out of the barnyard, I watched as Mother, Barbara, Laurie and Jim headed off toward the driveway for the rest of Mother's birthday ride. She told me later that the field has pretty much dried up, but that was of little concern to her yesterday. After all, she was trying to figure out who sent the big bouquet of flowers with the card saying "You've come along way, Baby. Your babies are proud of you."
In the meantime, she watched as Jim did some more work on her new deck, and when the mail came, she read even more cards sent by well wishers. Though the card numbers didn't reach 85, she did bring about 30 over to my house for the "barbecue" at 5 p.m. A very unsuspecting mother sat in the back yard in her balloon-strewn throne sipping on lemonade, when Sam Wormington came around the corner, leading the way as a host of longtime friends showed up to surprise her and to make our mother's day.
Finger foods from the Pack River Store, a yummy carrot cake from Yoke's added a culinary touch to an evening spent catching up and reminiscing the good ol' days and the good ol' times that Mother has spent in the Sandpoint area since first coming here on the train Christmas night, 1945. A few guests made their way to the Lodgepole "God" tree and signed the book. Jean Martin, who'd written a letter to the editor about weed eradication in yesterday's Spokesman, pointed out a weed that needed to be pulled.
"Harold saw one of those at my place and told me I needed to pull it," she said. Jean's reference to our dad and his ultimate wisdom served as just one of many times many of us quietly thought that the evening could have been totally complete if Harold were just there. His spirit surely had to have been present last night, and he probably smiled seeing Mother have such a delightful time on her special birthday.
During her celebration, she once more served as a phenomenal model for getting the most out of every day in spite of chronological age. I hope I can still get on a horse if I'm alive at 85.
So, while Laurie's horse Rusty chased Kiwi out of the barnyard, I watched as Mother, Barbara, Laurie and Jim headed off toward the driveway for the rest of Mother's birthday ride. She told me later that the field has pretty much dried up, but that was of little concern to her yesterday. After all, she was trying to figure out who sent the big bouquet of flowers with the card saying "You've come along way, Baby. Your babies are proud of you."
In the meantime, she watched as Jim did some more work on her new deck, and when the mail came, she read even more cards sent by well wishers. Though the card numbers didn't reach 85, she did bring about 30 over to my house for the "barbecue" at 5 p.m. A very unsuspecting mother sat in the back yard in her balloon-strewn throne sipping on lemonade, when Sam Wormington came around the corner, leading the way as a host of longtime friends showed up to surprise her and to make our mother's day.
Finger foods from the Pack River Store, a yummy carrot cake from Yoke's added a culinary touch to an evening spent catching up and reminiscing the good ol' days and the good ol' times that Mother has spent in the Sandpoint area since first coming here on the train Christmas night, 1945. A few guests made their way to the Lodgepole "God" tree and signed the book. Jean Martin, who'd written a letter to the editor about weed eradication in yesterday's Spokesman, pointed out a weed that needed to be pulled.
"Harold saw one of those at my place and told me I needed to pull it," she said. Jean's reference to our dad and his ultimate wisdom served as just one of many times many of us quietly thought that the evening could have been totally complete if Harold were just there. His spirit surely had to have been present last night, and he probably smiled seeing Mother have such a delightful time on her special birthday.
During her celebration, she once more served as a phenomenal model for getting the most out of every day in spite of chronological age. I hope I can still get on a horse if I'm alive at 85.
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