Endings

In the photos below, readers will see aspects of our trip to the Battle in Seattle as well as some late afternoon scenes across the road from the Lovestead. All were shot as the year 2006 drew to an end. Just hours remain of this year; how they're spent will determine how much more will be remembered or recorded for our individual life chapters.

The ending to the Gonzaga game yesterday was not to our choosing, but many of the minutes leading up to the final buzzer kept us hoping for the best. In addition, those moments were filled with items worth noting: the phenomenal singing of the National anthem, the unbelievable Gonzaga student cheering section (definitely a force in itself), a quick visit during halftime with my beloved classmates Rick and Janet and their lovely daughters, the fun interludes seen on the basketball floor when the folks watching TV at home get to watch commercials, the superhuman efforts of athletes, and the short-lived but explosive anger of coaches reacting to referee rulings.

All these vignettes contributed to a special happening for those of us who attended our first-ever bigtime college basketball game, along with more than 15,000 other fans proudly wearing their Zags or Wolf Pack hats, tee shirts or sweatshirts. The ending came. Gonzaga lost. I don't feel that we lost, though. We gained another batch of memories that we'll look back on, talk about and rehash, knowing that the final score was miniscule compared to the overall experience.

We had planned to bring my mother, but an infected finger and the exhaustion brought on by the Christmas craziness convinced her that it would be best to view the game from her living room television set. We missed her but know she probably made the right decision. In her place, we invited friends to join us for the game and for dinner afterward at 5 Spot on Queen Ann Hill. It was a great get-together where other basketball fans had gathered. There was very little talk about the Gonzaga loss but much discussed about careers, geocaching, travels, and life events in general.

Today, the day after the disappointing ending of a ZAGS game, signals the ending to another year. There's no score to consider. Instead, just like the game yesterday in Key Arena, we can consider the steps that brought us to this moment in time. Were there stumbles? Yes. Were there milestones? Yes. Were there a million memories to consider for years to come? By all means, yes.

So, while contemplating whether it was a good idea to spend all this money and time to go 300 miles to watch our favorite team lose, I have no doubts. Had we not done so, we would have missed some very special moments that we shall cherish forever.

Good bye, 2006. Hello 2007, which promises many more endings reached one remarkable step at a time.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Battle in Seattle

This Saturday Slight will be very slight:

Destination: Seattle, Key Arena, 3 p.m.

Reason: The Battle in Seattle

Match-up: Gonzaga vs. Nevada

Go ZAGS!

We'll wave to the cameras.

ESPN2

More photos

Three Camps and one Love in the Lovestead kitchen after an afternoon snowshoeing outing: Annie, Kelsi, Johanna and Becca (not Becky).

We have more than ample snow on the Love deck. There's not much we can do about it except take pictures to documentation.

Kiwi has a little lamb

Miss Kiwi made quick work of her new Folgers sheep, given to her as a Christmas present.

Friends

My friend, Chris Moon Hengstler on her first-ever snowshoeing adventure. My other friends, Annie Dog and Kiwi, saw that Chris' experience was, indeed, an adventure while frolicking in her immediate pathway most of the way. Chris, Annie and Kiwi stand next to the "God" tree at the Lovestead.

If ya want to see the really good pictures, go to www.nnlove.blogspot.com

Movin' on

Today marks a transition in the holiday mode. The last of the visitors will be on their way. Our primary guest, who actually slept over at the Lovestead, heads back to Seattle this morning. As always, Annie has made the most of her weeklong visit home.

She's taken good care of Mom and Dad, running errands, baking, showing good and bad movies (the obligatory Napoleon Dynamite has made two runs in the living room this visit, while Prairie Home Companion's companion CD given to Dad has tread marks from replay after replay). Annie has also built snow forts with triplets, snapped lots of photos, gone sledding with triplets, plowed driveways, and gone snow shoeing with three sisters---without the snow shoes.

Yesterday, she and three of the four Camp sisters drove to a Fish and Game public preserve near the Pack River delta to check out the scene on their snow shoes. Upon arriving, Annie went to grab hers and realized she'd left them home. That didn't stop her though. Where there's a will, there's a way, and somehow Annie managed to have a good time. I'm afraid to ask how wet her feet were when she arrived home.

In a few hours, Bill will take her to the airport, and a couple of hours after that, she'll be back in her apartment. It won't be hard to say good bye to Annie today because we're going to see her again Saturday when we fly with my mother that way to see the Battle in Seattle. Gonzaga plays Nevada in Key Arena Saturday afternoon. We've got tickets along the side, and Annie says it's pretty good seating, so it will be nice to see the Zags live. GO ZAGS!

With all family company gone, the visiting doesn't stop. My longtime friend Chris Moon Hengstler is coming to inspect the Lovestead today. We worked together over three summers for the U.S. Forest Service Engineers, transporting traffic counters to remote mountain roads. Sometimes we drove nearly 250 miles per day to do 15 minutes worth of work. It was a good gig and it spawned a lifetime friendship.

Since those days, we've gotten together and set off down different highways for day-long drives to places like Banff, Victor, Montana, and the Yaak River valley----just to catch up on the talking. The round trip to Banff took us 18 hours, and we never did get everything discussed. Today's visit probably won't last 18 hours, and we won't be driving.

Instead, the plan is to go snowshoeing around the Lovestead while yakking about families, work, upcoming goals and life in general. I think I'm gonna hear from Chris today about her upcoming extended stay in Sweden where her research in newborns and their communication has landed her a junket for several months. I'll be telling her about my new book and plans for book tours this spring.

It's always good to reconnect with those special friends where it seems as if we've just pushed the "pause" button to live out the next few chapters of our separate lives. When we meet again, we just hit "play," and the visiting resumes with no need for replay. Chris is one of those.

So, Christmas season, 2006 is fading but not without a batch of wonderful memories of time spent with the people we love. We move on toward a new year promising new memories for reflection when 2007 does its own retreat into history. The cycle of life continues.

Speaking of transitions: Happy Birthday to my niece Laura, mother of triplets.

Annie shoots Lily

Actually, this is an Annie Love photo of Miss Lily on a sunny day. Don't ask me why there's a line under all this copy. Just admire the purty horse.

Mama's gone crazy with the camera

Yup, she did get that new camera for Christmas, like Lily was telling you down at the bottom, and all she does is stick it in our faces and try to blind us with that flash.

We're never gonna get a moment's rest around here anymore.

I'm Charlie, by the way, and I do need my beauty rest.

Festus is my name, and I've got just one question: When does this Christmas craziness end?

I don't know how many more of these pooches are going to invade my house. They've been taking over ever since the Christmas season began, and I'm feeling like my Top Dog status is all but gone.

It's a tough life for a Border Collie when all these people and their dogs come to visit, but I guess I'll mind my manners and let 'em play on my carpet.

This one's name is Holly. She lives in DuPont, Washington. I've gotten to know her, and I guess she's okay.

Hi,

Lily here. She got that new digital camera for Christmas, and I got to be one of her guinea pigs---er horses.

Anyway, keep checking back cuz she's trying to figure out how to use it. So, she told me she'll be posting pictures today. I don't think she's got her act together, but we'll see.

If she does, then I'm gonna be down at the bottom of the heap when she's done with today's posting. For now, you'll just have to look at me.

A beary, beary bon bonfire

Since moving here in July, we've cut lots of limbs from trees in our forest, so we had materials aplenty for the Christmas bonfire, scheduled this year for the Lovestead. The new family tradition began last year when the Tibbs family had a heap big pile of slash to burn. So, why not do it Christmas night and get the troops outside after their Christmas feast!

A Christmas bonfire, we learned, provides the ideal antidote to the impending stupor that sets in after a day of lounging, grazing, gobbling and lounging. Of course, Christmas Day in our family traditionally follows a night of too little sleep, so the tendency to start nodding off fifteen minutes after leaving the dining room table has caught more than one family member with droopy-lid syndrome over the years.

Last year's inaugural blaze in the woods south of the Tibbs home spelled doom for anyone tempted to take that after-dinner nap. After all, when you're out in that cool December air with crackling sparks flying in unpredictable patterns toward the night sky and finely-molded snowballs zooming at lightning speeds directly your way, you'd better take note.

That was once again the case last night, after Bill and Annie spent the afternoon preparing a new site down the fenceline from the spot where I'd been piling my brush all fall and early winter. Seems with the new Lovestead, we didn't exactly know the drainage routes, and since the liquid has been descending, we now know where bonfires might not burn. My chosen spot happens to be surrounded by a frozen moat. Bill reasoned that any growing blaze would surely thaw the moat and dampen the spirits and toes of revelers wishing to take in warmth while plotting their next snowball assault.

So, Bill and Annie transported brush to a different, dryer area. The plan was sound, for the heavy snow build-up on each limb diminished with its transport. It just makes sense that a fresh pile, unladen with weeks of snow deposit, is much more willing to ignite. So, after a few minutes of visiting and looking at a dining room table filled with old family photos, 16 of us bundled up and either walked or rode 4-wheelers to Bonfire 2006.

Four generations of noisy family members, many accompanied by their personal pooches, gathered around the fire, including my mother who enjoyed reigning as Queen Mum in a fold-up camp chair. Of course, some of us who were more generous with our snowball giving than with our receiving, stuck really close to Mother Tibbs. After all, any decent family member looking to hurl a deadly sphere of white stuff at another family member knows full well the wrath that could incur should said mass happen to hit the Matriarch.

Those of us wusses may not have suffered any direct hits from our attackers, but the insults regarding our cowardly ways hit hard. Occasionally, we would have the decency to step aside from Queen Mum's chair and provide the enemy with an open target. In my case, an ample rear provided a fortuitous bullseye. Some hurlers even hit rear-on as I helped Annie and the triplets construct a snow fort.

Triplets were fair game for the attackers too. At one time during the evening of smores and more than enough attempts at Christmas carols, a bear even invaded their fort. This one had two legs, glasses and a deep roar, well-honed from a lifetime of scaring little kids in wooded areas. Kevin may have been a novice back in the 1950s when he hid behind bushes in the deep woods to frighten the bejeebers out of his younger sister, but he learned fast and polished his technique over the years.

Last night Mr. Bear even received a chorus of requests from Jacob, Justine and Grace to come attack them in their fort. They rather relished feigning fear in the safety of family members and probably knowing that the real Mr. Bear was sound asleep for the winter. Mr. Bear, along with his Bear Necessity assistant, Miss Annie, inflicted proper attacks on the youngsters, growling, snatching them and hauling them around the fire as they shrieked with fake fear.

After a couple of hours, the fire burned to ground level, so we loaded up and headed back to the warm house, where wet clothes were discarded and thrown in the dryer. Desserts waited on the island where one group gathered for more visiting. Another congregated in the living room as Jacob requested that Batman appear one more time on the TV. Jacob's a Batman regular, so the fact that he quickly nodded off into his Christmas night stupor didn't matter. He could watch his action hero again tomorrow after dreaming of a night of scary bears.

The second annual family bonfire proved to be a rousing success. We've got 365 more days to perfect our ways and find the ideal spot for Bonfire 2007. Mr. Bear will keep working on that growl while Jacob, Justine and Grace will gain just a little more skepticism as 5-year-olds about what's big and tall and lets out scary roars in the woods. In the meantime, we'll all cherish the moments of family togetherness that climaxed Christmas 2006.

A beary bon bonfire, indeed.

Love Notes

by Marianne Love

for The River Journal

December, 2006

I have seen God this year. Several times. Several places.

Before someone thinks I’ve gone totally wacko, I must remind all readers that I’m a product of the Baltimore Catechism. Though I learned its teachings at a young age, I’ve never forgotten the basics: Who made us? God made us. What does God know? God knows everything, even our most secret thoughts. Where is God? God is everywhere.

There are several more basics, but those listed above have stuck with and sustained me all my life. I believe them to be true, regardless of our faith labels. Most everyone who knows me knows I’m a lifelong Catholic---definitely not the best in the class but forever Catholic.

In my religion, when I was growing up, we didn’t spend a lot of time on the Bible. Instead, our Bible was the Baltimore Catechism, drilled into us by our devoted Saturday Catechism volunteer teachers and reinforced every summer by the nuns from Immaculate Heart Academy in Coeur d’Alene. These religious teachers spent two weeks each June giving us intensive short courses for practicing the rules of our religion.

They taught us well, but some of us, including me, may not have practiced quite as well as others. I don’t always go to Mass. I married a Presbyterian. I eat meat on Friday, and I think priests ought to be able to get married.

I have several other arguments with my church, but, in spite of all my Roman Catholic lapses, I have never lost my faith that God does know everything and that God is everywhere. I firmly believe with the help of nearly 60 years of observing that God doesn’t use a religious brand name on his business card while working in wondrous ways here on Earth.

I saw God on Selle Road one day this month. He came in the form of Dennis Warren. Dennis was helping a young lady up the snowy embankment from a frozen creek where her car lay on its side with a crushed roof and shattered window. With total concern for her welfare, he escorted her to my car and told her to remove those wet shoes from her feet. Then, he called for help. When the sheriff came, Glen went on his way, like so many Good Samaritans do, seeking no recognition.

I saw God in numerous entities at the Bonner Mall during the recent Christmas Craft Sale. Yes, people were there at the sale making a few extra bucks, but they were also taking in the many joys of the holiday season. While sitting at our table next to my mother, I saw God in the innocent, happy faces while steady streams of toddlers dressed in their adorable outfits arrived for that special moment with Santa.

God was even more apparent, however, in unrehearsed, priceless expressions of love and adoration on the faces of parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles or friends who had come to watch as little Johnny or sweet little Sarah sat so angelically on Santa’s lap in the his festive Christmas sleigh.

I also saw and heard God in the harmonious voices of Jon Brownell’s choir members, a group of young ladies who gathered around an elderly lady (my mother) and sang her a special Christmas number. I’ve often believed that Jon uses his musical gift to do God’s work wherever he goes.

While at the mall, my friend Dawn Roberts gave me a gift of her handiwork.

“Come and pick something out,” she insisted, adding that she wanted me to have one of her scarves for all the time I’d spent working with young people. I cherish the scarf not only because of Dawn’s talents but more because of the gift she gives to virtually everyone she greets. All weekend I watched and admired her as she freely gave the gift of her time, her interest and her genuine caring for others---definitely God’s work.

This past summer I saw God in a documentary video project, produced by my former student Jeff Bock. It’s called “Jenny’s Journal.” The production features my former student, friend and hero Jenny Meyer. For more than three years, Jeff has crafted the film out of love and admiration for Jenny, who every day, exemplifies courage and indomitable strength in the face of cancer

Jenny also does God’s work every day with her family and especially with her beautiful daughter Grace. Jenny reaches out to other cancer patients, comforting them with words of reassurance and wisdom, gleaned from her own experiences. She even spreads the word of God in unpreachy prose each morning on her blog. Hers is often a short, simple story followed by an appropriate passage from the Bible.

While on the subject of bloggers, I observe God in the ever-encouraging words extended to any and all by my friend Cis Gors. She’s a retired home health nurse, filled with warmth, thoughtfulness and a contagious zest for life. Cis has a daily habit of reaching out to others, all along her way. I think God sent her here to cheer. She does it well.

I saw God this fall as I watched my kind and gentle husband coordinate the planting of a young tree in the forest. His three little helpers, Jacob, Justine and Grace, awestruck as they followed his lead, carefully deposited dirt around the seedling which will grow toward the sky year after year and remind them that there is beauty in loving the Earth.

Speaking of trees, I’ve seen the handiwork of God almost daily at our new home where a unique double-forked Lodgepole stands alone in a field beckoning all who pass by to a moment of devotion and thanks. I named it the “God Tree” because it’s such a beautiful representation of my view of a Heavenly being who guides and inspires.

I’ve seen God so many other times this year in so many places along my daily travels. Overtly, it seems like He gets a lot of attention at this time of the year when Jesus Christ’s birthday is celebrated. I think if truth were known, like the Baltimore Catechism says, He shows up everywhere, any day of the year. His presence is felt in a myriad of experiences by us humans no matter what religious label we follow or what location we choose for practicing our individual beliefs.

He’s in the malls, along side roads, the fields and especially in caring, generous hearts. None of us has look far to see, hear or feel His presence.

For that, I thank God.

Christmas surprize, not!

I already know what one of my Christmas gifts is. This one comes from Bill. It actually arrived here about a week ago from LL Bean. I brought it in the house and stuck the box under the Christmas tree, figuring Bill would see it. He did but just left the shipping box under the tree for a couple of days.

Finally Thursday morning when he looked inside, he learned that LL Bean had sent him the wrong size and color. That disordered his mind, and that's when I learned that the gift was actually for me. He was concerned because he hadn't looked to find the mistake earlier, so he was sure that my real gift would arrive after Christmas. I told him that was okay.

Later, while coming into the house with the newspapers, I could hear Bill in the bedroom on the phone, talking about the goosedown vest which had come in the wrong size and wrong color. I think he was aware that I heard but we both pretended that I hadn't. He did tell me that LL Bean would be shipping out the correct gift and that with any luck, it might even arrive before Christmas after all.

While at work, he told his friends about the guaranteed arrival of the gift. They reminded him that Denver Airport was closed. His hopes sank but all for naught. Friday evening after we returned from Slate's, Bill looked around for a possible Fed Ex deposit. No dice. Two minutes later, however, the Fed Ex lady drove into the driveway and handed him the package from LL Bean. The gift from Freeport, Maine, came through.

I now know that tomorrow morning I'll act pleasantly surprised as I open the box and pull out my new LL Bean goosedown vest of correct color and size. And, Bill knows I'll be faking the surprise, but that's okay. It's all part of the Christmas dynamic.

As children, we used to put on some pretty good shows in the living room at our North Boyer home. It could have been early adolescence when our Christmas Eve acting debuts began. By that time, someone in our family had become a Santa skeptic and passed along the realization, by explaining his siblings how easy it is to open those gifts and tape them back up so as not to arouse any parental attention.

"You're getting a camera," one brother announced to me a few days before Christmas. I think that was the year my newfangled "Instamatic" replaced the Kodak Brownie camera from a few years earlier. The Kodak Brownie definitely came from Santa, and I still have it, even though my mother tried to sell it down at Foster's Crossing. I'll tell the results later.

I couldn't believe that I was going to get an Instamatic. I was thrilled but also skeptical that my brother was really telling me the truth.

"How do you know?" I asked.

"I've seen it," he said.

"When did you see it?"

"It's under the tree," he said. About that time, said older brother showed me the intricacies of carefully loosening the tape from the wrap, pulling open one end of the gift and peeking inside. Sure enough, inside that twice-already opened gift was my turquoise and white Instamatic camera. I couldn't wait to open it the third time, but somehow I managed.

And, that Christmas Eve, when I did rip open the package, I pulled off an academy award-winning Christmas Eve performance of genuine astonishment and gratitude. I don't remember exactly how it was scripted, but I do know that Mother and Harold were definitely pleased that their order to Santa for Marianne's special Christmas gift had been the perfect gift.

For years afterward, as teenagers, we perfected our skills in providing ourselves with the pre-Christmas surprises. Gifts were deposited under the tree, and within 24 hours when parents were not around, of course, gifts got the once over, followed by a careful rewrap. I think we sometimes needed to get some more scotch tape to avoid suspicion. Every Christmas Eve, our anticlimactic gift opening was overshadowed by improved acting skills as we demonstrated genuine surprise at the special gifts our parents had bestowed on us.

Finally, as a young adult, I reached a point where knowing in advance just wasn't all that fun anymore. Until this week, for my entire adult life, I've had no idea what treasures lay hidden inside those packages under the tree. And, I think I prefer delaying Christmas gratification much more than those teen years of spoiling our surprises, even though we did learn how to act.

As for the LL Bean vest of proper size and color, just knowing how much it meant to Bill that the present got here on time overshadows any letdown that might come from an unplanned early surprise. I'll wear it with pride and always remember that Santa and LL Bean make every effort to do the job right.

P.S. As for that Kodak Brownie camera, fate would have it that about ten years ago, I stopped by to visit my mother one day when she was working at the Country Loft in Foster's Crossing. While she was busy with a customer, I strolled around the store, looking at the offerings of antiques for sale. Upon coming to an old wash tub filled with assorted nostalgic items , I looked straight down and zeroed in on my camera. It had a pricetag of $10.

I picked it up and marched back to the counter where Mother had finished with the customer.

"What's this?" I said. "This is my camera that you gave me for Christmas when I was about ten. Why are you selling it? If you need the money, I'll give you ten dollars and buy it back from you." My mother was, indeed, embarrassed and unable to give me a plausible answer.

"Oh, do you still want that?" she said. "I figured you didn't want it anymore."

I did want the camera, and she generously told me I could have it back for free. So, it has stayed with me to this day, and my mother always gets a bit squeamish whenever I bring up the subject.

If only she knew about those pre-opened presents and all those Christmases when her little darlings pulled off all those juvenile fake expressions of surprise, I doubt that she'd feel quite so bad about her attempted Brownie sale.

Family time

I regret while writing this that I cannot include a most important part of my family in this posting about "family bonding time." That would be my son Willie and his lovely wife Debbie. They will not be home for Christmas for a variety of reasons. It was at this time last Christmas that the holiday, instead of festive, was sad. Debbie's grandpa Guy was dying in Boise.

We felt the sadness here in Sandpoint where Guy had come nearly five years before to escort his beautiful granddaughter down the aisle of St. Joseph's Catholic Church. Guy removed his top hat for the wedding ceremony but wore it proudly throughout the festivities before and after. He was a hit with all the guests, just as he'd been a hit with Debbie throughout her life.

Shortly after Christmas Guy died, leaving his loving wife Louise. So, this Christmas Willie and Debbie will be with Louise as she moves on through this sad anniversary. That's where they should be, though we, of course, would love to share them. Besides spending Christmas with Louise, Willie will be working on Christmas day. After all, sports keeps happening, and sports fans keep reading. Someone needs to see that that news gets to the readers every day of the year.

We're grateful that our friends Bill and Kathy headed south to visit their son and Willie's SHS classmate, Chad. They're the North Idaho Santas who will see that the North Idaho gifts of Love arrive in time for the South Idaho Loves to open them for Christmas.

In the meantime, the North Idaho Loves have been having family fun with Annie who's home this week from Seattle. She brought her snowshoes, her ice skates and that wonderful camera. Only the skates have not seen use since her arrival the night before last. Yesterday was a beautiful and warm winter day, so Annie did a photo shoot of Miss Lily who finally had her blanket off for a few minutes.

When Annie gets the photos (which are of calendar quality) downloaded, I'll post a couple just to let folks know the real Miss Lily. She's stunning, to say the least. That horse blanket hides a lot of drop dead Appaloosa beauty, and when it's off, Miss Lily could steal the eye of even the most cynical horse hater. Annie caught some nice horse shots, then headed down the lane on her snow shoes. She caught lots of nice shots of her snow shoes with the forest in the background as she lay in the snow snapping her camera shutter.

We were treated to her first picture show last night, and I have a feeling we'll enjoy many more before the week is out. Before settling in for a long winter's eve, we drove to Slate's for dinner and saw our usual Friday night diners, Bill and Connie (Madsen) Malone and family. Seems like wherever we go for dinner at the end of the week, so go the Malones----or vice versa . . . depends on who arrives first, I guess.

Later, while Ma and Pa Love slugged on the living room couches watching a really bad adventure movie called Poseidon, Annie took over the kitchen, making chocolate-covered marshmallows, chocolate-covered peanuts (unsalted, all individually shelled) and chocolate-covered pretzels. In all cases, both white and dark chocolate provided the coatings.

Later, as we continued to slug, Annie brought around a tray and told us to pick out what we wanted. I chose a chocolate-covered marshmallow, spruced up with pink sprinx. Bill and I agreed that these were pretty rich treats, and we doubted that anyone would be stealing half a dozen at a time. Definitely yum, yum.

Well, on this Saturday morning while Annie snoozes away in her bedroom, I've got peanut butter cookie dough waiting for its trip to the oven. Then, I'll be making up the cookie plates so Bill can deliver some to the old neighbors.

I'm glad when this time of the Christmas season comes, allowing us to relax, to enjoy family, to listen to some beautiful Christmas music and to think about why all this hoopla happens in the first place. Somehow, that seems to get lost in the insanity----more so every year.

The kitchen calls. Have a wonderful Saturday and safe traveling wherever you are. Willie and Debbie, we're thinking about you.

Sister Ricardus Tuskey

I told Sister Ricardus I'd put her on my blog this morning. She seemed pleased, even though she doesn't do much with computers. Anyone who attended Immaculate Heart of Mary Academy in Coeur d'Alene or St. Joseph's Sister School in Sandpoint back in the 1950s probably has vivid memories of Sr. Ricardus. I know my brother Kevin and my old friend Sean Garvey do.

Much to their dismay and to Sr. Ricardus's glee, I immortalized the three of them in my first book Pocket Girdles, in the first chapter no less. Sr. Ricardus was one of the two nuns sent up to Sandpoint to spend two weeks, six hours a day in the middle of June teaching us St. Joseph's kids about our religion.

Not all kids among us were devotees to learning about our religion. Some didn't know what to do about it, while others, like Kevin and Sean, took action. They ditched----for an entire day. Then, after Sister School ended that day, they were still ditching but nobody knew where. Eventually, however, the cops found 'em down at the old sale yard on Oak and Division.

The next day Sr. Ricardus read Sean and Kevin the riot act about their irresponsibility. She even punctuated her sermon, delivered in front of the masses of little Catholic kids all gathered in the front pews, with a chastising punch line that was gonna lead to punches on me at home.

"How dare you leave your poor little sister here all by herself?" she said, looking Kevin right in the eye. As a first grader, I was impressed with the attention, but Kevin wasn't. His little sister's welfare was the least of his worries the day he left the church grounds with Sean. It was the hole in the seat of his pants that drove him to sin that day. Little sister or not, he didn't want his peers, other than Sean, to see those pants.

Sr. Ricardus didn't know until at least 40 years later that Kevin and Sean weren't the only little darlings with sins on their souls and run-ins with the cops, especially after she worked so hard at getting us to cleanse ourselves of all black marks by teaching us about the Sacrament of Penance. The gist of the story is that Kevin's little sister didn't tell all in her first confession. I waited 40 years to announce my sin of coveting and stealing my neighbors' mail.

By that time, I'd grown up and Sr. Ricardus had long moved on from IHM Academy. The academy had also closed down. All these years, Sr. Ricardus has been living on the East Coast. The last time I heard from her, she lived in Binghamton, NY. I visited with her there by telephone about five years ago, and sent her the book about Kevin, Sean, and the faulty confession. I kept sending her Christmas cards after that, but heard nothing---until yesterday.

The letter from Sr. Ricardus Tuskey, penned by one of her friends, told of her move to Scranton, Penn., into a new retirement home for nuns. She also said her health is better than it's been in five years, now that she's on dialysis. "It gave my life back," she said in the letter. Her poor vision has kept her from staying in touch the past few years.

Of course, after reading her card and letter, I had to get right on the phone and call her but not before I rubbed it in to my friend Ann who attended IHM Academy and had Sr. Ricardus for her second-grade teacher. Ann couldn't believe it, but once convinced that I was, indeed, telling the truth, Ann wondered, "Is Sr. Phillip still alive . . . Sr. Alfonso . . . , etc. ?

While talking to Sr. Ricardus, I learned that all of Ann's nuns were alive and doing well. We were so young at the time that we thought they must be ancient. Instead, most were in their 20s when they taught us, but little kids, let alone adults, would have a hard time gaging age of any nun in her habit. Sr. Ricardus gasped when I told her I'd be 60 next year. She was also happy to hear about Kevin and Sean and the successes they've both made of their lives.

Sr. Ricardus definitely left an indelible mark in the memories of her students at St. Joseph's and at IHM. It's so nice 50-plus years later to be able to tell her so. And, it's even nicer to hear in her voice how genuinely pleased she is to reconnect with one of those many Catholic urchins, even though some of us were potential jail bait at the time she taught us.

Egg day: let there be light

I haven't tried it yet, but once I finish cleaning the barns, I'll come inside and see if it works. After all, it's Christmas cookie baking time, and the refrigerator has eggs aplenty. Folks have told me, and I've done some reading on it, that today is the day to stand the eggs on end. The earth is supposed to allow that on this very day. I'm going to make really sure that when I try this trick, the egg is located far from a counter edge.

Today is the day I live for every year---not because of the eggs---but more because once more we've reached the limit on darkness. I've been counting the days until Dec. 21 since Thanksgiving. After today, we return to the light, and that is a good thing. I've noticed past years that within just a few days after the winter solstice, the change seems just as dramatic as it does when we do that sudden switch to standard time at the end of October.

And, speaking of that, there's additional reason to be glad today. My daughter says the only decent thing President Bush has done during his presidency is to extend Daylight Savings Time. I won't comment on her assertion except to say that I do think it's very decent to extend Daylight Savings time. The only complaint I have is that they need to extend it longer.

Am I correct that we'll not return from Pacific Daylight time to Pacific Standard time until sometime in December, 2007? If that be true, I think we'll have a lot of happier people in the Northwest next year. And I've also heard that we'll start Daylight Savings time in February, 2008. Correct me if I'm wrong, but for now, I see nothing but good times ahead.

And, we can do all this by a simple signature on a piece of paper, followed by Tom Sherry reminding us during his weather report when the time comes to spring ahead or to fall back. Who could be upset about not having to fall back until December? Of course, some folks do like that extra hour of sleep in the fall, and they might be missing it on that October weekend when they've had too much Halloween fun.

Even though I don't go to work on an 8-5 shift, I can imagine how much happier all those folks are going to be when they're spared a little more time of leaving home in the dark and coming home in the dark. Think of how many deer will no longer die from the sheer numbers of people no driving home during those peak hours when deer want really badly to get to the other side of the road. There's a down side to all this, for the deer that is. I have a feeling that the hunters may eventually get a good deal out of this----two deer limit per year.

In essence, we've gots of reasons to be happy today. We have the promise of many moons ahead with much more light in our lives. Thank you, President Bush. I know you're responsible for every bad thing that happens in the world, and I know this is really a plot hatched by you to make your Presidency look a lot better by the time you get out of office because all those people will be in better moods because they're driving in the daylight and not wrecking their cars because of deer jumping into their headlights.

My dad used to say, "'Every little bit counts,' said the old woman as she peed in the ocean." I have a feeling President Bush heard that saying too, and he knows that this extra daylight savings will all add up in small ways and count really big when historians and the deer evaluate his presidency

I can't get too excited just yet because we still have to endure today's darkness, so while thinking about those brighter days ahead, I'll go try that egg trick. Then, I'll go tell the chickens that the egg really did come first because I've never tried balancing a chicken end to end on Winter Solstice---I probably won't either.

Go ZAGS! May the solstice force be with you against Duke tonight at 6 p.m. PST

St. Nick(y) and Greenhorn Mountain

I first learned of Mick and Nick Pleass several years ago while on a hike with my Cedar Post kids. They had come to the house for a staff party, so part of the plan was to climb part way up Greenhorn Mountain. We started our hike and were making plenty of noise along the way. Suddenly, seemingly from out of nowhere walked a tall thin man with a beard.

A real live forest gnome, I thought immediately as I figured out why one of my students had stopped dead in his tracks just ahead of me. The man continued to walk toward us, not saying a word. We stood frozen like statues staring back. Finally, he asked us what we were doing, so I introduced myself as the lady from down at the red barn on Great Northern Road. I told him these were my students and that we were just out for a hike.

"Enjoy yourselves," he said. That's when we learned that his house was just down over the hillside. He had moved there not long before with his wife. That was my introduction to Mick 'n Nick. He was Mick; his wife was Nick. I think I probably met her later. Both had British accents and fascinating stories to tell of how they arrived in Sandpoint.

Both were interested in keeping their sanctuary on the mountain serene and unspoiled. They'd had some troubles with teens and parties earlier but figured out right away that our gathering would do nothing more than scare the birds and squirrels as we frolicked through the woods, throwing a snowball or two and talking up a storm.

Since that time, Mick has died but Nick(y) continues to live on the mountain. They have given a sizeable portion of land to some governmental entities to ensure recreational use and that no "developing" can be done on their part of Greenhorn Mountain, which serves as an integral part of the series of mountains like Schweitzer and Baldy that surround Sandpoint on the west.

Our family always considered Greenhorn Mountain our mountain because we hiked up there numerous times when nobody even knew its name and no such trail known as Mickinnick had ever been conceived. We hiked the mountain the old fashioned way and had the scratches and bruises to prove it.

Over the decades, that mountain has also stood watch over our activities on the family farms near its base. Until recently, Greenhorn stood unspoiled by development. It does now have a few scars in one section to make way for impressive homes with breath-taking views of Lake Pend Oreille.

But, St. Nick(y) has made every effort to save as much of the mountain as possible from any further development. She sent me the following press release yesterday:


On December 13, 2006, Nicky Pleass donated a conservation easement to Inland Northwest Land Trust. The easement protects 188 acres of the mountainous backdrop to Sandpoint that you see as you drive north on the Long Bridge.

The conservation easement ensures the entire property will remain intact and unspoiled by development, mining, unsightly road construction or excessive logging. It also preserves important wildlife habitat on the property and buffers the neighboring National Forest land on the flanks of Greenhorn Mountain.

Mick and Nicky Pleass had no intention of retiring when they visited Sandpoint in 1988. But, says Nicky, “The people were special. There was a certain vibrancy.” And then they fell in love with a beautiful spot on Greenhorn Mountain. By 1990, Mick and Nicky had retired and moved into their new home just outside of Sandpoint.

In 1997, Mick and Nicky Pleass donated the northern 160 acres of their land to the U.S. Forest Service in order to connect two isolated portions of the Kaniksu Forest. Nicky was then instrumental in the creation of the Mickinnick Trail, which starts at the valley floor, crosses the donated land, and climbs 2150’ feet to a rock outcropping with stunning 180-degree views. A loop trail extension is in the works.

After her husband’s death, Nicky became concerned about the future of the remaining land after she was gone. She feared that her heirs would be forced to subdivide or sell the land in order to pay the estate taxes.

About three years ago, Nicky attended a public meeting sponsored by the University of Idaho that introduced the idea of conservation easements. Nicky thought that an easement might be the answer she was looking for. “Mick thought of the donation to the Forest Service,” Nicky said. “The conservation easement was my idea.”

The terms of the conservation easement allow one additional home site on the 188 acres. But because Nicky gave away most of the development rights, the resale value of the land has been reduced. “Now my daughter (Ann Mitchell) has the choice whether to live on the land,” Nicky said. “She won’t be forced to sell it to pay the inheritance taxes.”

The land protected by the conservation easement is not open to the public; however, the public benefits from this easement because it protects the outstanding scenic views from the Sandpoint area. Protecting the forest also protects the Lake Pend Oreille watershed and ecosystem.

When asked why they chose to work with Inland Northwest Land Trust, Nicky’s son-in-law Bill Mitchell said, “It’s about trust. Chris (DeForest) and Roger (McRoberts) were very reassuring. They made it easy.”

Nicky hikes 3 to 4 miles on her land every morning. “It’s my time,” said Nicky. “I just listen to the forest.” And she knows the forest will be there for future generations to enjoy.


What good news this is in the midst of watching so much of our outdoor treasures succumb to the blemishes of human invasion! I believe Mother Nature would definitely dub Nicky Pleass as a genuine environmental saint in our midst. Thank you, Nicky. And thanks to that forest gnome who met us so many years ago, appearing much like a symbolic protector of our mountain.

Remembering Brandy

The second edition of the Beautiful Bonner history book is propped up on my desk. It's open to pages 22 and 23. Smiling faces stare back at me: Stefanie Phillips, Morgan Whitney Potts, Kinsie Raynor, C.J. Reeves, and Brandy Post.

The pictures appear on these pages because I took them a few years ago while we were working on an English project for the history book. We focused on the turn of the century because these kids were going to graduate in 2000.

I reasoned that their observations and dreams during their junior year of high school would turn more profound with the years. So, I put together a Q and A form, asked them to respond and matched their responses with photos. In fact, I ran across those photos this past Sunday evening.

Though they're black and white in the book, I can still see Brandy Post's striking, naturally curly red hair. There's that cute dimple on the side of her cheek, and those warm, loving brown eyes might fool anyone into thinking that she probably led the All-American life.

I'll let you decide. It's been six years since the turn of the century, so let's see what Brandy had to say:


Brandy Post

Birthdate: July 13, 1982

Interests/School Activities: I am interested in medication, and I enjoy playing volleyball, basketball and golf.

What you'll remember most about Sandpoint at the turn of the centry: What I will remember about Sandpoint High School--I haven't been going to Sandpoint very long, but I think I'll remember how hard it was for me to make friends.

What you'll remember most about the nation and the world: I will remember all of the school shootings and how people thought 2000 was going to be the end of time.

Music you'll remember: I will always love my father's music the most. He would play Christian music, in the churches. I will also remember the Guns n' Roses; my sisters and brothers would rock out to this song when we were kids.

Fads you'll remember: I will remember bell bottoms, sweat shirts with hoods, shiny clothes, white anything and platforms.

Favorite school memory: Doing a pole dance, for the Elk Mountain Academy boys.

Technology that makes your life easy: The telephone and the computer

Your all-time favorite book: I don't have a favorite book, but I enjoy reading poems and reading about certain medications.

Plans for after high school: I plan to be a pharmacist.

Biggest fear for the future: I fear that I will lose my mother to her drug addiction. I also fear that I will drop out of high school.

Lifetime goal/hope for the future: To go to college and become a pharmacist.


As I recall, Brandy and I got to be pretty good friends during her short tenure at Sandpoint High School. I believe she was living with a foster mother at the time. She was a sweetheart, and it pained me deeply that she felt like such an outsider among her peers. She had so much potential, but high school can be a cruel time for teens.

Yesterday was a cruel day for Brandy, her baby boy and for her husband. They died on a cold, cold night when their mobile home caught fire. I've read the accounts in both papers and could not help but think of when our house burned down Dec. 20, 1984. We lost all material possessions, but our lives have gone on with many blessings.

On this sad morning, I must say that one of those many blessings was meeting Brandy. May she, her baby and her husband rest in peace. God bless them.

Bon CAL Cookbook

I think I'm going to try the "Rocks" today. Those are actually oatmeal cookies with lots of brown sugar and a generous amount of cinnamon. The explanation below the recipe says, "These 'Rocks' were made during WWI and shipped to the troops overseas. They have a marvelous keeping ability and are excellent for dunking."

The Rocks recipe is found on page 328 in the recently released recipe book Savoring Sandpoint: Recipes across the Long Bridge. From the looks of this book, coordinated by the Community Assistance League aka CAL, I'd guess they may be selling like hotcakes. And, speaking of which, there is a good recipe on page 66 for German Apple Oven Pancakes for breakfast or dinner guaranteed to be a hit with kids.

I purchased a CAL cookbook at Friday's museum open house for a friend. I'm turning the pages ever so gently and thinking I'd better get a copy of my own. This is not only a cookbook, but it's a visual treat taking its owners on a trip around this place we call God's country with its full color scenics and transporting folks down memory lane with its array of historical photos.

I was excited as I thumbed backwards through the pages to find an exquisite photo of Ardis Racicot at the very beginning----circa 1900s. My dad rented a room from Ardis and her husband Fats for a number of years before he married my mother. So, I knew Ardis when she was well past 50. She was an elegantly pretty lady right up to the end of her 101 years.

In this cookbook portrait, she could give any Miss America a run for her money. My mother attended Ardis' 100th birthday. We joked that the two of them sat there talking to each other, probably not hearing a word the other said. Both had long lost most of their hearing, but they probably knew that at least every tenth word had something to do with a horse, so they always had plenty to talk about.

The Community Assistance ladies and their troop of helpers have outdone themselves with this book. It's tastefully done----which should be a staple in a cookbook. It's reader friendly with its extending tabs for appetizers, breads and breakfast, soups, salads, etc. There's even a tab for recipes from local restaurants.

How about that wonderful pecan chicken salad with goat cheese, pickled red onions and apple cider vinaigrette from Cafe Trinity? I'll testify to that one (cut the goat cheese and red onions for my sensitive tummy). I order it every time I go to Trinity---right Rose Marie? We've got to set that lunch date.

Or, there's Sugo Contadina from Ivano's Ristorante and Cafe. Hill's Resort staffers shared their Huckleberry Daiquiri secret, while if you're in to Wild Mushroom Cannelloni with three cheese sauce, Hope's Floating Restaurant has supplied the information.

I think the recipe book is definitely a keeper, as is CAL. This group of nearly 200 go-getters gets things done in Sandpoint. They even recently established a store in Ponderay where they sell high-quality second hand items---clothes, dishes, appliances, knicknacks, etc. That's where they're selling the cookbook too.

When folks buy Savoring Sandpoint, they're indirectly supporting a myriad of projects for a myriad of groups and individuals in our area----college scholarships, special educational projects, donations to civic needs such as Hospice, youth centers, fire departments, etc. The list is really endless, as is the community enthusiasm within CAL. I've seen 'em in action, so I can vouch for that.

Enough talk about CAL; let's talk CALories. There's plenty of caloric delights available in this cookbook, such as Greek Style Spinach Turnovers, Chicken Sausage and Shrimp Gumbo or Chocolate Peanut Ice Cream Dessert among the nearly 400 pages of photos and recipes. Twenty-five dollars will get you this collection, and your twenty-five dollars will help keep good things happening in Sandpoint.

So, give it a try: Community Assistance League
P.O. Box 1361
Sandpoint, Idaho 83864

In the meantime, I'm off to bake my Rocks.

A Miss Lily of the Snowy Selle Valley Christmas Show

Saturday Slight

Tis the time to take a brain break. There's clear promise of a beautiful winter day as an antidote to the previous destructive and messy Friday.

The wind has stopped. The sky is clear. A thin layer of new powdered snow has cleansed the landscape of all debris deposited by yesterday's winds.

So, on this gorgeous Saturday morning, I'm planning to get a much-needed dose of the great outdoors. I'll do some Christmas projects and make sure I'm back in the house by 2 p.m.

GO ZAGS against Georgia!

Happy Saturday. Enjoy the beauty.

Of wusses and weather

It made me mad last night to have to spend the evening in my low cut boots. Usually by 6:30 p.m., the boots are back in their resting place, and I'm wearing my slippers getting ready for my own rest. I worked on some projects last night, so couch potato time in front of the tube came a bit later, but I still had the TV going while in the kitchen.

At least half a dozen times, once after changing into my slippers, I had to go outside with the broom and sweep off the satellite dish. Heavy wet snow was falling and covering it, causing a fuss inside. Dpi's were dancing around the television screen to snap, crackles and pops. I'm using that term (dots per inch) because that's exactly what was happening with the picture. Instead of one mass image, the show kept disintegrating into hundreds of little moving parts spitting out sounds with every step.

I cussed every time I had to drop what I was doing, and I prayed that sixteen tons of snow didn't slide off the roof burying me as I headed out the side door with the broom. It was wet out there, not cold but definitely miserable. One time I went out to sweep only to discover back inside that my efforts had gone in vain. I accepted the consequences and figured we'd have a night of no TV, but then "Ugly Betty" was coming on at 8. I was hoping it would not be another rerun.

So, in desperation, I took a dish towel out there and gave the dish (satellite, that is) a thorough wipe down. Success! The TV behaved for the rest of the evening, but "Ugly Betty" disappointed. It seems they're running the whole series over again before bringing on any new stories. Damn! I had to watch "The Office."

A few minutes into the show, which is about as quirky as I am, my earlier thoughts of "Ugly Betty" had died. It was good that I had to switch the channel because I chuckled several times at the delightful ridiculousness of the show. My favorite part was when Michael, the goofy, unlucky-in-love boss, pulled out his magic marker and scrawled a quick line on the arm of one of two waitresses so he'd know which one of the pair he'd fallen for. After all, he was drunk, and they looked a lot alike.

Later, a night of wild winds served as a chaser to the earlier snow storm. Hearing about the winds on sixteen dozen weather reports, I'd buttoned down the hatches of the barn and made sure all animals were snugly tucked in their beds. The power went off once during the night, only momentarily. That was good because we've been relying on electric heat so far this winter.

This morning, the toilet seat was a bit cold. That's when I thought of winters past when we were really little kids living in the house on North Boyer. We had no TV to keep us occupied; we occupied ourselves. When we went to bed at night to howling winds and buckets of snow, only the stove in the living room and whatever blankets we had could keep us warm. We could not just go to the wall and turn the dial higher. We were too cold, too huddled in our beds besides the fact that there was not thermostat.

I slept in the east bedroom on the north side of the house far away from the stove. My brothers slept in the west bedroom, off the kitchen also on the north side of the house far away from the stove. I can remember truly long winter nights wrapped up in a fetal position with blankets over my head, knowing that any movement might let in some more of that frigid air.

It was cold back then, probably no colder than what it is these days, but we truly toughed it out as that outside air found its way into the house around window frames---especially during the night. It kept us focused on one challenge, staying warm. We weathered the storms, and maybe we're resilient because of it, but that doesn't stop the complaining these days if some little item goes wrong, providing a momentary frustration.

I like to think that growing up in those times equipped us with the knowledge of what to do when the lights go out for the entire night and when the satellite dish refuses to beam those favorite TV shows into our snug living rooms or bedrooms with thermostats aplenty. I know I can tough it out, but, like most humans of 2006, I like my creature comforts.

It takes times like this to make us realize how lucky we are that far technology has come to keep us happy and warm, and the realization might just keep me from uttering bad words the next time the snow threatens to shut down "The Office."

Some cookin' and some Viggo

Now, I might get in big trouble for this, but I'm gonna give you some inside scoop. I'm prepared to have Bonner County museum curator Ann Ferguson chew on me a bit if I've got anything wrong or if I've spilled the beans. Now, that sounds petty culinary so far, doesn't it?

Well, a part of what I'm going to tell you does have to do with cooking. Pay attention to these details: Friday (that's tomorrow), Dec. 15 (that's tomorrow too) , 3-7 p.m. (that the afternoon/ early evening hours), Bonner County Museum (that's in Lakeview Park in Sandpoint. It's the place that looks like the Pizza Hut). Be there or be square.

During that time, you can meet a bunch of authors, a painter and a sign maker. I think a publisher may even show up too. Ann Ferguson calls it an Author Signing/Museum Open House. She and her volunteers have been decorating up a storm this week. I saw some of the swags; they're beautiful, and they smell like the great outdoors from whence they came.

There's been stuff about this event in the papers, and I've told you some details about the event earlier. Since that time, though, I know of a few developments. The Community Assistance League (CAL) will be offering their cookbook with tons of recipes and lots of neat historical pictures of Bonner County. I've been told that my neighbor Helen Baker, who's the president of CAL, will be there signing the cookbooks.

I also learned earlier this week that Susan Daffron, who writes "Pet Tails" in the local paper, will be there with three of her books. Haven't heard what they're about, but I think they have something to do with computer stuff cuz I've heard she's an expert on a lot of computer "how to's."

So far, I haven't written anything in this post that's gonna get me in trouble, but I'm sensing bad times ahead as I mention a word that some people will just look at you, puzzled and wondering if you're talking about some kind of cough medicine, while others will go nutso and almost lie down and lick your feet cuz you've had encountered the word firsthand: Viggo.

Viggo's books will be available at the museum open house. Please read this: Viggo will NOT be there, but his books will be available for sale AND Viggo will sign them, after the fact, personally to whoever purchases them. I don't know how Ann is going to organize this. We had talked about a silent auction, but it's possible they'll go for face value. All I know is what I read in my emails, but I also know that Lord of the Rings King Viggo Mortensen was very generous to do this.

Again, all profits from tomorrow's author signing go toward the museum's needs, and believe me, the museum has many needs because it operates on a shoestring and through the generosity of its many volunteers who give so much of their time to keep it going.

Besides what has been mentioned above, you'll have a chance to purchase books covering at least a dozen different subjects written or illustrated by Bob Hamilton, Ben Olson, Mark Story, Paul Rechnitzer, Virginia Overland, Nancy Renk, Sandy Compton, Becky Kemery, Linda Hackbarth, Winston Cook, Dolora Cook Deal, Bonnie Shields, and yours truly, Marianne Love. Mapmaker Sylvie White will be there with her map of Lake Pend Oreille.

I think it's going to be a fun event. I know there will be food and beverage provided by the museum board of directors and the army of volunteers. And, I know Ann will be thrilled to have all visitors enjoy a self-guided walking tour of museum exhibits.

So, I encourage readers in the area to show up, meet the authors, buy some books and help boost the museum coffers. By the way, you can also sign up as a member of the Bonner County Historical Society. All your efforts will make a wonderful gift as our county celebrates its hundredth birthday next year.

And, to think you can even purchase your very own taste of cough syrup----oops, I mean a touch of Viggo through his artistic talents. Pass the word! See you there!

Doting

I went to the barn at 10 p.m. last night to check on Lily. In fact, I spent half an hour out there and even took her for a walk down the lane. When I left the barn at 8 (about three hours after her arrival), she had not left any horse apple deposits in her stall. That's always cause for concern with horses, but then again, I reasoned that a lot has happened in Lily's life since she left Oklahoma on Friday.

When I went to check on her at 10, still no apples. I visited with her and the other horses for a while and then decided to let her roam the barn alley way. Within five feet of her stall door, she left a large pile of certified green horse apples. I breathed a sigh of relief while watching her sniff around and, within seconds, find the container where the grain is stored. Later, I put on her halter and took her down the aisle to meet Casey, who's in the far stall. After all, Casey is the resident guard horse, and he needs to know that Miss Lily is now part of the family.

The snow outside had frozen, but I walked the young lady slowly down the lane. She was all eyes but no craziness. She walked calmly beside me the whole way and seemed less concerned about the ice than I. I've learned quickly that Lily learned from a young age to pivot on her hind legs when she turns. She's been shown at halter since she was a baby, and she learned her lessons well.

After our "let's get better acquainted" walk, we re-entered the barn. She again pointed that nose right toward the grain container. So, once Lily was back in her stall, everybody got a treat. I'd better not do this too often because horses are creatures of habit, and we don't need to get in the habit of midnight snacks. Last night was special, though, just as the day was while anticipating her arrival.

At dusk, Gary and Cindy turned onto Center Valley Road. I teared up, thinking about the magnitude of this crazy horsey whim of mine. Earlier while waiting, I stood along the road, looked into the sky toward Pack River Cemetery, and said, "Harold, this is for you. I hope you approve." One of several motives for Miss Lily's addition to our family has to do with my dad, who's famous for his Appaloosa association back in the 1940s and '50s.

When Lily stepped out of the trailer, even in the darkness, I could see her name was appropriate. She's a sweet thing, very refined, tall, elegant and endowed with an ample Quarter Horse derriere. Her reddish coloring is vivid, to say the least---much more dramatic in person than in the pictures. She walked through the driveway beside Cindy like it was an everyday occurrence. When she arrived at the barn, my two boys got excited but not out of hand. It was the calmest transition I could ever imagine.

My sisters and mother came later, and while Gary and Cindy visited with Bill in the house over pizza, Laurie removed the horse blanket with the care of unwrapping a present. I could sense instant approval, although my sisters are often reserved with showering too much praise.

"Are you going to show her at halter, Marianne?" Laurie asked.

"Well, she'll probably be shown at halter, but you can do it," I responded. Laurie suggested that I ought to get back to doing such things. Barbara's immediate reaction was that she's a hunter. Laurie whispered to Barbara, "I think we're going to have to give Marianne's hunt saddle back to her."

I heard that comment and insisted that an English rider I'm not. People have laughed at my ineptitude in the few English classes I've ever ridden.

"You can learn," Laurie said. That interchange was all that I needed to sense that my sisters highly approve. Of course, the judges in them noted pasterns which could have a better angle, but John the horse shoer could work with that, they said. Mother said Lily reminded her of our Fancy Pants Appaloosa stallion from back in the '50s. My neighbor and classmate, Gary Finney stopped by to inspect. He thought she looked pretty good. Bill says she's a keeper.

I know that he's sincere because when I first arose this morning, I looked out the window and saw Bill headed for the barn. Bill doesn't go to the barn to visit horses at 5 a.m. He came back with a good report that they're all doing just fine.

Lily has left more apple piles overnight and has consumed a full bucket of water. She has picked up a cough, however, which will be attended to whenever Cherise can come today. Other than that:

One pretty Appaloosa filly from Lawton, Oklahoma, named Lily
One good lookin' horse blanket to keep her warm
One wonderful set of horse haulers named Gary and Cindy Thoreson
Two smitten geldings named Rambo and Casey
Profuse piles of horse apples
One family of Loves and Tibbses immediately enamored with the new addition to the barn.
Memories of a dad and a true horseman who loved his Appaloosas

Priceless!

Lovestead menagerie shows growth

Today could be the day. Miss Lily of the Selle Valley (full name coined by Bill), my new Appaloosa filly, may be on her way to the biggest shock of her young life. She was supposed to leave Billings, Montana, in an 11-horse trailer this morning. Could be she was the sole horse too cuz the Thoreson's were dropping off other horses in Billings, which they'd picked up in Texas. They were planning to have their truck serviced yesterday and hoping to hit the road to Sandpoint today.

Of course, leave it to North Idaho. When weather cooperation is needed, weather does not cooperate. That's often a given, and anyone who's lived here for as long as I have will simply say, "Deal with it." That's precisely what I'm doing, even though I'll admit to letting a cuss word fly from time to time while overcoming the increasing obstacles associated with slop.

After Bill spent the weekend building a nice board gate to the outside for Lily's box stall, snow started sliding off the roof along the side of the barn. Yesterday I dug out doors both morning and night to let Rambo and Casey out and to let Rambo and Casey in.

I even prepared for smotheration (Iz that a word, Stephen Colbert?) while shoveling the two foot berm of snow in front of Rambo's stall door yesterday afternoon. That foot-deep remaining blanket of wet snow on the roof's edge above threatened to fall on me all the while, but I out-shoveled its tortoise-like motion and got out of there in time.

Needless to say, Miss Lily will not be exiting her side door for a while. I'm hoping the rest of the snow will slide off today so that I can do some major shoveling at those oft-deposited berms. Besides the door problem, Miss Lily will also have to learn how to walk. Her arrival at the Lovestead will signal her first experience of ice, snow and general slop. This morning Casey almost slid on his behind as he hit a patch of water-polished ice while coming out the big barn door.

If well-seasoned Casey is sliding, I know Lily's definitely in for an awkward moment or two as she develops her new methods of travel. She's used to hard Oklahoma ground and lots of sunshine. She's been eating in a pasture and frolicking around her fields at Royce's Appaloosa farm where she's spent her young life. I'm figuring this melting slop and ice will be about as bad as it gets. Nonetheless, she'll have to adjust to some fairly restricted travel during her first days here.

After all, you don't just turn out a new horse with the rest of the herd. It's a gradual process of getting everybody acquainted and making sure all surroundings are safe for all involved when noses get in the wrong places and the shoving, pushing, kicking and squealing to establish pecking order occur. I did talk to Rambo and Casey about showing some hospitality and manners as they get acquainted with their new little sister.

Life won't be all that bad for Lily. She'll get more than enough attention from her new brothers and her new family of humans who intend to love the heck out of her. I don't know what Lily's future will be. Even if she turns out to be just another pet at the Lovestead, she won't be just another pet. Like all the rest of the menagerie, she'll work into the dynamic, and she'll become a much beloved part of our family.

Bring on Miss Lily of Selle Valley!!!