Happy Birthday, Conscience

We all have them. As we take this journey through life, there are those individuals along the way who keep us honest. They unwittingly drive us to achieve beyond even our own desires. Their faces pop up in our minds whenever we consider the consequences of actions we may take or actions taken. These people come into our lives at different times, from different places, for different reasons. I really don't think they consciously sign on to rule others with such power.

Maybe we ourselves subconsciously select them for this position as the rudders of our lives. I like to think of them as major players in that force within us called "Conscience." Their presence exudes a unique combination of fear, respect, example, influence and high level standards to which we respond.

My parents have and continue to do their time in this role, even my dad from his grave. My friend Joy O'Donnell served that role. I learned through a few experiences to avoid igniting the ire of my longtime teaching colleague, for I knew there'd be no "joy" in what came next. Some bosses along the way have also played influential roles in forming my conscience, but none more prominent than Mr. Richard Sodorff, who turned 85 today.

Mention the name "Dick Sodorff," and my first thought always goes to the Lincoln School playground on a spring day back in the mid1950s. The elementary classes gather round a metal pole extending from a car tire and rim toward the sky. From its top drops a nylon rope holding a volleyball.

A tall man with black hair stands with the other adults. Our principal Mrs. Ekholm introduces him as Mr. Sodorff. He's the principal at Washington School, and he has come to teach us how to play tetherball.

From that day forth, the tetherball remained a fixture for playground competition at Lincoln Elementary, and from that day, Mr. Sodorff remained a fixture in my mind. As I progressed from Lincoln to the junior high, he progressed through the school district administrative ranks also. By the time, I reached Sandpoint High School, he had been there for about three years, serving as principal. I don't recall a lot of encounters with him during my high school tenure.

I actually knew his wife Claire better during those years because, in addition to serving as Girls' Counselor, she taught accelerated junior English. Apparently, I was accelerated because I sat in her class. That class, by the way, offered one of the most valuable educational resources I've ever encountered: Word Clues, the study of Latin and Greek roots. It has carried me throughout my life.

During my senior year, I was talkative in our sixth-period American government class. Our teacher was inept. The game in class each sixth hour, among many, was to count how many times the teacher said, "All right, Marianne, be quiet." Sometimes that total would exceed a dozen---within 15 minutes. One day, the teacher kicked me out. I gladly obliged and got up to leave.

He then thought twice because he knew I was an office girl, and that I probably talked as much in the office as I did in his class. After that second thought, he tried to coerce me back to my seat, even grabbing my arm and leading me there as I continued to insist that I really wanted to go to the office to tell the principal how chaotic our class was. The teacher won that battle, but it wasn't long before he was replaced by a respected disciplinarian and wonderful teacher, Mr. Anderson.

I think Mr. Sodorff knew that something had to change in that government class, and he didn't need me to tell him. For the rest of the year, we actually learned government and behaved. At the end of the year, my principal wrote in my yearbook that "every class needed a whip, and that I had served that function." Little did he know that he had been and would continue to serve as one of my whips.

Later, during my University of Idaho experience, I came back home to Sandpoint to do my student teaching. At the end of my experience, Mr. Sodorff asked me if I'd be interested in replacing a retiring English teacher, Mrs. Ruby Phelps, who also advised the yearbook. Coming off a mediocre college experience followed a phenomenal student teaching stint with Mr. Ragner Benson, I was thrilled beyond belief. The last person in the world that I ever wanted to disappoint was Mr. Sodorff.

While teaching at Sandpoint High School, I was reluctant to call my former principal and new boss anything but Mr. Sodorff. Eventually, however, it became more comfortable to refer to him on a first-name basis. It never became comfortable, though, to do anything less than my best in this man's eyes. I failed at that once or twice and have chronicled one giant messy failure in the first story of my new book Lessons with Love. It's called "Ponderettes and Pie--Not a Good Mix."

The story captures the ultimate example of the best laid plans of pie-eating and high school kids. Pie-eating was definitely misnomer in this story. Very little got eaten, save for the nine pies consumed by David Jones for the top prize. Most of the cream pie landed not in student stomachs but on the sacred walls and floors of the Sandpoint High School gymnasium. And some almost landed on my "Conscience." Not a pretty scene and not a pretty scenario for a young teacher who thought she'd planned for everything.

From 1969 to the early 1980s, Dick Sodorff continued his reign over my conscience. He and Claire became good friends and often served as confidantes whenever I was going through some of the valleys that often occur in a person's teaching career. When he retired, Dick never lost his love for Sandpoint High School. He later founded Sandpoint High Alumni and Friends for the purpose of raising scholarship money for high school seniors.

I see him from time to time, and, at almost 60, I still get a twinge of that sense that I'd better have all my ducks in line----or should I say pies! We all need people like such as this man in our lives. They subconsciously keep us on the straight and narrow. Mr. Richard Sodorff served as one of those in my life, and for that I salute him on this special milestone in his own life.

Happy Birthday, Mr. Sodorff, and may you enjoy a delicious piece of Cyrus O'Leary cream pie for your birthday celebration.

Note: If anyone else wishes to send him greetings, post them in the comments section, and Claire and I will see that he gets them.

Note: GO ZAGS!! Big game tonight against Stanford! 8 p.m. PST

Already tired

Annie called last evening to report on how her first day on the job went yesterday. She was walking home after the group had gone to celebrate a co-worker's birthday. She figures that it will be fairly easy to get her work done without feeling a lot of stress. Only two people came to the door. The staff communicates by Internet Messenger so it's pretty quiet at the office.

She's anxious to get acquainted enough to help out with marketing and with ideas for the company which is coming up with new concepts to develop already popular ways to have fun with GPS devices. She was measured for a staff jacket, and they're paying her bus fare to work. She felt pretty good about the day and the future with Groundspeak.com.

While we were visting, the suddenly ubiquitous Hillary appeared on the television screen. Of course, I commented about having to see her, hear her, read about her for the next umpteen months. I told Annie that it seems there's no escape from Hillary. Then, my daughter interjected an even more revolting thought----that it could be ten years before she goes away. I groaned.

"Now, you know how I felt about George Bush," she added. "It's your turn, Mom."

By now, readers may have figured out that I don't like Hillary. Never have. Never will. The mere image or mention of the woman turns my stomach, and my stomach's still not feeling up to snuff. An aside: is anyone else suffering from this flu that keeps on giving?

Back to the topic. I've been a Democrat. I've been a Republican. I've even refused to vote for the candidates listed for President on the ballot. I think that rebellious act occurred back when Nixon was running against Humphrey. I may have voted for Pat Paulson that year because he seemed like a much more palatable choice. Most of the time, I'm pretty moderate. You might call me old fashioned in that I look at the individual long before I care what party he or she represents.

It seems that during all those years of my voting eligibility that we have never been subjected to nearly so much misery as we face when it comes to electing our next President. Why must it take two years and one hundred thousand million billion dollars to do it? Why do we have to endure the posturing, the sound bytes, the photo ops, the constant analysis of every word, every grimace, every piece of clothing, every slip of the tongue (intentional or not), the fawning of candidates in the midst of those who will make them look good along with the fawning of all those smiling psychophants who will make them and themselves look good.

Then, come the gimmicks. I'm already tired of hearing how sitting at a nice couch in a living room encouraging "conversation" makes a better candidate. That strategy seems to have replaced past years where "good ol' boys" dressed in plaid shirts and jeans and propped themselves in front of bales of hay. Now, we have two years of couches and conversations to endure. I just don't know if I'm up for it.

Give me Barack Obama. I'll take him any day over Hillary. So far, he hasn't resorted to gimmicks, and long before he ever even thought of running for President he wrote a book about his life, which these days would be considered a "tell-all." After all, he has already told people he smoked marijuana. He has avoided the public relations blitz of making up some stupid story that he may have smoked a joint or two but failed to inhale.

He seems intelligent. He seems refreshing. He seems to me like a natural leader who could unite. I've often heard, "but he lacks experience" to which I look back on all those experienced souls who've been leading our country and if we're in such bad straits what good has all that experience done. Sometimes fresh ideas along with fresh faces can breathe some healthy fresh air into an institution.

Right now it seems that Obama poses great fear among the Democratic establishment. So, during this very early stage of the Presidential race, which is nearly two years away, we low life, easily impressionable voters are being carefully subjected to all the phantom skeletons hidden in his closets wherever in the world his roots have been planted. There must be something really wrong with this man, and we must find it and reveal it early on so that we can discredit him and make those couch conversations on the Internet look that much more appealing.

There. I've done it. I have now confessed publicly of my disdain for Hillary and have revealed a small portion of my present thoughts as I begin to endure and dread this next Presidential election. Lord knows, I've got plenty of time to formulate a lot more opinions, so from time to time, maybe even when my stomach's not turning, I'll throw out a few more tidbits for folks to chew on and maybe even some reasons to chew me out for my thoughts.

I'll happily take a penny or even a nickel for my thoughts. Pretty insignificant when we consider how much we're going to pay for the next two years of political indigestion. And, if there's anyone out there that can give me any remote reason to change my mind about Hillary, the door is open.

Anyone? Anyone? I'll even welcome conversation from Hillary.

Monday mishmash

Annie starts a new job today with Groundspeak in Seattle. Go Annie! Go Geocaching.com! Bill broke two jars of Litehouse honey mustard salad dressing when he accidentally knocked them off the cabinet shelf this morning. He bled. Band aides fixed the finger. I stayed far away while he cleaned up the rest of the mess. Harvey's bringing hay today. He wants winter to end because he's tired of plowing snow. He's not alone. Today marks the official start of tax Hell at this house. By week's end, I hope to have that annual dread under control so Ms. Bev (Wright) Kee, CPA can figure out our sad financial news, come March 1. I heard from Dr. Chad McCormick yesterday. Dr. McCormick takes care of ears, noses and throats in Coeur d'Alene. When he goes home, he helps his wife care for their six-month old twin daughters. Chad used to be in our 4-H club. He used to be in my English class, and he threw footballs for Sandpoint High School. He's doing well for himself. As always, I'm proud. Speaking of Chad whose father Dr. Don McCormick was one of our veterinarians, think good thoughts for the great horse, Barbaro. He needs a lot of those as he faces yet another challenge from his Preakness accident. Hang in there, Barbaro! Keokee predicts late February for the book release. It is in its proofreading and cover design stages this week. I cherish this week (especially Wednesday) every year----the end of January. That means letters about the Bypass and all other things that make people mad will get really good in the Daily Blat. That was an observation made by my dear friend Joy O'Donnell who's been gone a year. Joy, I'm doing my best to carry on with your curmudgeonly views of life in Sandpoint. I hope you're proud. Now, let the winter end and spring begin. If I recall correctly, black birds start showing up in early February. I'll be watching the skies and the bird feeders for their return.
Enjoy the pictures. Think flowers. Think spring. Go WINTER! Go ZAGS!

 

 

 

 

 

Feeling good

Bill stopped reading the paper and looked up, puzzled at the extended loud rumbling he'd just heard. It was not snow tumbling off the roof. That has all been completed after the last dump of white stuff from the sky. It was not an avalanche blast up at Schweitzer. We usually have to be outside to hear those as the crew readies the ski hill each morning.

"That's my stomach," I announced. "It hasn't had much to eat, and it's hungry." Granted, the living room was pretty quiet as we both read our Sunday papers, but I'll be the first to admit that the gastrointestinal roar put out some decibels.

I'll also announce that in spite of its tumultuous protest, the ol' tummy's doing a lot better today than it was yesterday. Whether it was flu, a touch of food poisoning or drastic disagreement with whatever I fed it the night before, something put me under the weather on one of the most beautiful winter days of this year.

I spent the day, mostly inside, looking outside at that glorious sunshine and sparkly snow, lamenting that it was all going to waste. My mind wanted desperately to be out there tromping around on snowshoes or going for a brisk walk down the road. In the morning, I had to call in sick for a luncheon date at Bonners Ferry's Chic 'n Chop with my sisters, my mother and some horse friends from Libby.

Nearly every year toward the end of January, when there's need to get out and see some different scenery and some different faces, Dolly calls from Libby and sets up the time for us to meet in Bonners Ferry. The talking goes on for two or three hours; at least ninety percent has to do with horses. I was excited about this year's gathering because I had some significant horse news of my own and was planning to take along some pictures of Miss Lily.

That will have to wait until another meeting, maybe in the summer when Dolly comes over for a horse show. There was no way that any food of any kind, even with an ample side of horse talk, was going to lure me out of the safety of my home, my bathroom and my couch.

In spite of the misery, the day turned out better than expected. Bill had to go to Spokane, so he left about 8 a.m. That meant a minimum of responsibilties: feeding the fire, cleaning the horse stalls (talk about feeling 95), washing about three dishes, and occupying the couch with a snuggly fleece blanket and the TV remote at arm's length.

The day involved napping, moments of thinking I was feeling better, leaving the couch for about ten minutes, realizing I wasn't feeling better, returning to the couch, napping some more, jumping from slumber confident of full recovery, strutting with zesto for about three minutes, slowing down, feeling 95 again, returning to the couch, watching some skating, watching a great Meryl Streep movie "Music for the Heart," even watching a classic boxing match from 1984.

I seldom allow myself to relax. The excuse of that stubborn stomach ailment and its accessory aches, chills and utter exhaustion made me slow down, and I didn't fight the situation. Instead, it seemed like willingly submitting to it was the best strategy for ensuring a new day of feeling like a new woman. After all, I knew I couldn't feel much worse.

By late afternoon, I had the nerve to drink coffee instead of 7-Up. No inner retaliation, a good sign. I tried a short hike out to the woods, where I hadn't been for nearly a week. After crossing the pasture where my feet sank two feet downward with virtually every step, I entered the woods where the shelter of trees have kept the deep snow at bay.

Looking down the path which goes through an opening in the trees, I decided I'd gone far enough. My muscles and bones were insisting that we'd surely been hiking for at least 50 miles. So, I turned around, headed back through the deep crusty snow and welcomed the plowed-out lane back to the house and to the comfort of that couch, that warm fire and some more televison. By this time, the Zags game was starting.

I ate a few chips and settled into a very satisfying match-up between Gonzaga and the University of San Francisco. The Zags were on their game and looking good for victory. Bill came home at halftime with his Costco groceries. We enjoyed the rest of the game and flipped the channel to the WSU-Oregon game.

About that time, I made the rounds to see that all house pets were in their proper spots for the night. I called my Tabby cat, Festus, several times. He had gone outside at midafternoon. I'd last seen him lying in the snow outside the front deck, soaking up the sun. After calling and calling, I experienced another sick feeling in my stomach . Festus always comes running from the barn area by at least the third summons.

"He's gone," I said to Bill. "We'll never see him again." Bill tried to convince me that Festus had done this before.

"That was in the summer," I insisted. "He always comes running in the winter." Throughout the WSU game, I kept going to all doors and calling. At one point, Bill and I put on our coats, hats and gloves and grabbed flashlights to see if he was down at the far barn. He wasn't.

"He's been hit by a car or snow has fallen on him from one of the barn roofs or some creepy critter has gotten him," I surmised as we walked back to the house. Next, we put the dogs in and headed down the road. Thankfully, we found no cat corpses. We walked back. My assumptions of my beloved cat's fate had narrowed to two, and neither presented a pretty picture----the critter or the sliding snow. To find Festus as a victim of either would be horrifying.

We watched the rest of the game as Oregon came back at the end and defeated the Cougers. Again, I kept going to the door and calling. I was at the point of breaking into tears once Bill had headed for bed. This feeling was even worse than the flu, which I knew would go away. I searched every knook and cranny in the house, hoping he had sneaked in and curled up in a new spot. Again, the search was fruitless.

One last time I went to the garage door and called at the top of my lungs, watching toward the barn and praying he would suddenly appear. Nothing. As I was about to shut the door for the night with the dread of not being able to sleep thinking about my cat, I sensed movement off to the right in the front yard.

The most beautiful sight of January 27, 2007, came trotting through the darkness. Festus, unaware that there'd been a problem, came across the driveway and stood for a moment outside my reach, acting as if maybe he really didn't want to enter. Finally, he came. I swooped him up and hugged him like never before. And, yes, the tears came, but definitely tears of happiness and relief.

So, this morning all stomach disorders, including cat demises, have passed. All is well at the Lovestead, and like so often after a sick setback, I'm ready to enjoy every minute this day and this life has to offer. And, I'm guessing that was exactly what Festus was doing last night.

Very slight

It could be something I ate, or it could be a touch of the flu. Whatever it is, it has slowed down my brain this morning, so I'll just wish you all a good day.

Go Zags! Watch that National Figure Skating Championships from Spokane, Washington. Sounds like a good plan for the day.

Happy Saturday.

Fence building

If the fog had lifted, we'd have been out of here. I've been determined this week to find a day when I can pick up my mother and take her for a drive. The cold weather and ice have kept her pretty close to home the past few weeks, and it's time for her to see something besides her in-home walls. Yesterday looked like a possibility, but that fog just hung around and hung around, so we couldn't go away.

The day was not lost on the fog, though. Bill came home for the afternoon and we did some fencing. I'd venture to say that we were probably the only crazy folks in North Idaho out building fence yesterday, but Miss Lily's apparent desire, last week, to check out the premises outside her in-home confines necessitated some quick action.

A couple of electric-fence encounters have taught her respect, but we figured that adding at least one layer of board fence around the pasture would send an even clearer message to Lily to stay put. So, we bought a unit of 2 by 8 by 12 foot fir boards, and we've been nailing them up wherever possible since Sunday. It will be spring before we can finish all the top boards because some areas around the pasture don't have wooden fence posts, and it's pretty hard to nail those boards to metal posts.

The job hasn't been really all that easy because even the horses hadn't paved a pathway through the two-feet of snow around the fence line. Walking with those heavy boards has involved a little praying that the board and the body don't fall face-first in the snow to remain planted until spring. Dropped hammers, drills, level and nails call for immediate retrieval before they sink clear out of sight in the deep snow. We've also had to pull out insulators for the top levels of electric fence wire to make way for the boards.

Even though wintertime fencing presents a definite challenge, it also provides plentiful rewards. The obvious visual and comforting satisfaction of a better enclosure coming into shape remains foremost, but along with that come priceless mini moments not to be forgotten.

With my job of holding each board in the middle while Bill drills nail holes and secures it into position with his hammer, I've had time to look over the young orchard in the front lawn and dream of spring apple and cherry blossoms. I've also had moments to look upward through the well-endowed limbs of Stan Meserve's huge spruce trees and watch chickadees flit in and out while singing their songs. I've noticed that bored horses have nibbled away at the bark of the young birch trees just outside the north fence. I've watched and admired as curious Miss Lily has sniffed at each board, at all the pockets on Bill's carpenter holster, and at the growing fence in general.

Best of all, during fencing, Bill and I work as a precise team, once we establish a routine. As he measures the next length I pound in nails three and four. With Lily following, he heads across the pasture for another board while I remove the next series of insulators and then stand leaning against the newly nailed board for another moment of admiration of this place we've come to love so much and so quickly. Soon he's back, handing me the next board. We then work in unison to see that it's level before the second nail pierces the post.

Through these outdoor fence-building sessions, little conversations also ensue. In one exchange yesterday, I learned about the boards which come from the heart of the tree. Those are the red ones, and that part of the tree is essentially dead, but those boards usually last longer than the lighter white ones which come from the newest growth on the tree.

I think every marriage would do well with a little fencing project. In our case, we not only build a fence to keep the horses where they belong, but we add a little more spice to a well-seasoned relationship.

How do you spell K-y-r-g-y-z-s-t-a-n?

I decided to include my current column in today's blog posting, simply because the fascinating information supplied to me by my former student Betsy Dalessio took up far more space than available in the print version of The River Journal. So, publisher Trish Gannon and I agreed to team up and feature Betsy's story on two online venues, this one and (http://www.riverjournal.com/).

That decision comes with a bonus. You can click on The River Journal online version and read Betsy's story along with all the other latest news and columns.

Also, if you have questions or comments about the story below, please post them, and I'll encourage Betsy to respond in today's slightdetour comments section, so do check back.

Love Notes

by Marianne Love

for The River Journal

January, 2007

With University of Idaho graduation weeks away in March, 2005, Sandpoint’s Betsy Dalessio was seeking a post-college experience of exploring the world and fulfilling some long-held humanitarian goals. After researching the Peace Corps, she signed on, hoping to use her Spanish minor in a Central American country. Upon learning her assigned destination, Betsy could hardly pronounce the country’s name, let alone use its language: Kyrgyzstan.

Kyrgyzstan, a Central Asian country bordering China and known for its proud nomadic culture, became independent from the Soviet Union in 1991. Its 5 million residents live in an area about the size of South Dakota. Kyrgyzstan is known for its breath-taking mountains, its predominantly Muslim religion and the world’s largest walnut forest.

During her 15-month stay in various venues as an English teacher, she encountered expected hardships associated with the “toughest job you’ll ever love.” One particularly irritating nuisance of sexual harassment seemed to follow her wherever she went, eventually prompting Betsy to cut short her planned two-year Peace Corps stay.

Nonetheless, the 2001 Sandpoint High graduate and U of I journalism major feels the experience of teaching and offering her students, especially young women, hopes for a better future set her well on her way to making a positive difference in the world. Now looking toward an advanced education degree, Betsy is back in Sandpoint, working as a substitute teacher.

She’s the daughter of LPO Alternative High School principal Rick Dalessio and District Magistrate Judge Barbara Buchanan. Betsy is also one of my former English students. When I heard of her recent adventure, I figured she had a story to tell. Indeed, she did:

Why Peace Corps? I had never been overseas, and the Peace Corps seemed like a good way to help people, to travel and experience more. I also was tired of college life. I felt like I was wasting something that I could be offering to people in need.

How does the Peace Corps prepare its recruits for overseas duty? I went to a three-day training with 67 other volunteers in Philadelphia before I left. We basically learned different ways to deal with homesickness, stress and other situations we might encounter.

After that, we were sent on our way. I didn’t even know how to say ‘hello’ in Kyrgyz yet. We spent a week at a former Soviet hotel in the capital, Bishkek, where we met our language and cross-cultural advisors.

The overall group is broken down into groups of eight, and every four volunteers had their own instructor. This instructor was a host country national and was in charge of teaching us language, cultural sensitivity and traditions for about 11 weeks. During this time we lived with host families in small villages outside the capital city. We studied at least six hours a day, six days a week.

After the intensive cultural submersion, we had to pass a language test. Next, we were sworn in as official volunteers at a ceremony with the U.S. Ambassador and sent on our own into villages throughout the country.

Did you have contact with other Americans during your stay? Within our group of 67, there were six married couples. Surprisingly, we all had cell phones which kept us in contact. It’s funny, the country doesn’t have power most of the time, running water or plumbing, but they have cell phones. I was within an hour of another volunteer, and within the region I lived in, there were 13 other Americans.

Describe your major culture shocks? Women are expected to marry young. Most women are bride-kidnapped. If you are not married by 22 or 23, you are shamed by older, respected members of your community and family.

Girls weren’t given a chance to live their lives or to go to school. Only the more privileged families could afford to send their daughters to college in the city . . . . Most women married and became a ‘kelen,’ a girl who marries and basically becomes a slave to her husband’s family. She moves into their compound, must cover her head at all times, never wear pants and immediately begin to have children.

She runs the entire household, cooks, cleans and cares for the children. Males live with their parents forever. Females are expected to marry and move out. . . . I lived with a family that didn’t have a kelen, but the mother was constantly pushing her oldest son to marry and bring one home to take care of them.

What difficulties did you face? I had a hard time dealing with the drinking problems and unemployment. No one seemed to work. Men were always gathered in small circles drinking vodka. Vodka was prevalent everywhere. No matter where you turned, people were drinking. The time of the day didn’t matter. Age didn’t matter.

They don’t have pets. Dogs and cats run wild. No one ever lets animals in houses. Animals were abused and mistreated. There are no diapers. Moms just try to anticipate their children and change their pants a lot.

How about the schools? School was another tough shock. The students hardly showed up and showed no motivation to learn. Boys rarely came to class, and that was okay with the staff. There was no electricity in the school where I worked. Mice ran wild in my classroom. Teachers drank during lunch. No one seemed to care about the kids actually getting an education. You could bribe the teachers with a sheep or money to change your grade.

Driving was risking my life. I couldn't drive, but riding in a taxi was life-threatening, almost every time. There is no right or left side of the road. No speed limits. No police. No lines on the roads. No driving laws. No driving age limits. It was madness. I don't know how many times we went off the road into a field to avoid a herd of sheep. Sheep were everywhere.

If you had to describe Kyrgyzstan to the world in a short summary, what would you say? Kyrgyzstan is a former Soviet republic that declared independence in 1992. Since the fall of the Soviet Union, the country has tried to become independent and economically stable. A revolution in 2004 turned the government upside down, and the country is still repairing damage. It is located below Kazakhstan and borders China, Uzbekistan and Tajikistan. Kyrgyzstan is known for its beautiful mountains and the second-biggest salt water lake in the world, ‘Lake Issicule,’ which means ‘hot’ lake.

Describe the customs. People entertain themselves by guesting. Guesting is a huge part of the Kyrgyz culture. Usually I found myself guesting twice a week. Guesting usually consists of a three-course meal, lots of bread, vodka and dancing. Most people are trained in traditional dancing, which is beautiful and fun to watch. People also play soccer, the most popular sport in the country.

What foods did you like? Which turned your stomach, if any? I ate only bread, rice and eggs. People of Kyrgyzstan eat sheep meat, horse meat and lots of fat. I was constantly sick. I would find myself in a squat outhouse throwing up because someone offered me a sheep eyeball.

I never got used to the food. Usually I could order eggs but we had to watch those too. Sanitation was not practiced. I was constantly ill, as was every other volunteer. I did enjoy a rice dish from Uzbekistan called plov.

How did Kyrgyzs respond to you? I was treated like a celebrity most of the time. Absolutely everyone stared at us all the time. Most people pointed. Even in my local village after a year, I still was the talk of the town. I couldn’t walk down the street without someone yelling something like, ‘America’ or ‘Jennifer Lopez,’ or ‘I love you.’

Because of American status, people automatically think that you are rich. Everyone begged for money. Some families sent their children to my apartment door to ask me for money. Taxi drivers and shopkeepers always upped their prices when we came around. No one ever believed that the Peace Corps actually had us on a local budget, comparable to what host county nationals lived on.

I made a lot of friends in my community, mostly older girls in my 11th grade classes. I would meet with them and make pizza and talk about life in America. They loved it, and so did I. In the summer we would go swimming in the reservoir and eat ice cream at the park. I really miss the friends I made there. I spent a lot of time guesting with girls’ families. It was the best part of my service.

What classes were you teaching? I taught English as a second language to 9,10,11, and 5th grades. I also had an adult English language group that met at a cafe one night a week, and I privately tutored five or six young girls after school.

Describe the facilities. The schools were left from the Russian days. They were brick buildings, usually two to three stories with small classrooms. There was no electricity in my school, no water and no heat.

Other schools in richer parts of the country had computers and power, but I was not fortunate enough to have resources. I relied on two grammar books from the States and a chalkboard. I made a lot of posters and decorations for my classroom walls, but they mostly were stolen.

When it rained, we had an inch of water on the floor and had to sit on the desks. At the end of the day, the kids (the girls) had to scrub each classroom and the school windows.

The bathroom was a brick outhouse with four squat holes in a row outside, away from the school. In warmer weather the kids would wash their hands in a stream nearby, or with snow in the winter.

How open to learning were your students? What seemed to be their strengths and weaknesses in their education? Most kids were not open to education. They seemed to think that their lives were set, that they couldn’t change their futures, and that was the hardest part of being there.

They would look at me and say, ‘This isn’t important, I am going to live with my parents and work in the bean fields the rest of my life anyway.’ The motivated ones were few and far between, but they were there. They were the ones going to summer camp, and getting private tutoring after school every day.

Students generally excelled in Russian language and math. I noticed that a lot of the girls really did well in math. Unfortunately, everything is taught in a dictator style, the old Soviet way. I don’t know if the education they were receiving would hold up around the world.

How difficult was mastering the language? It was hard to master the language. I can’t say I ever did. I passed my test and became a volunteer, but I could have studied more. I just didn’t want to waste all of my time studying. I learned enough to get by and more, and then I stopped studying and started interacting. That was more helpful.

It is a tough language to learn: different alphabet, and most of the words are very similiar to other words. The word for ‘house’ and the word for ‘cow’ sounded exactly the same. I never knew if I was asking ‘Where’s the house?’ or ‘Where’s the cow?’

What do you think you accomplished in meeting your humanitarian goals? I got a start in doing something that I really want to do. I broke the ice. Made that first trip around the world, lived it and then came home for a break for a while. I will go back overseas. I just need a year to breathe, and then I want to do it again somewhere else.

What was your greatest satisfaction? Working with the 4th grade at a school in the city for a month. I taught five or six classes a day. The kids were extremely eager to learn English. They ran to class every day, they brought me apples and gifts, they studied English words at night, and came back to tell me what they remembered the next day. They were so eager and willing to learn English. I had so much fun, struggling through lessons in broken Kyrgyz and with their broken English. I loved teaching them

Tell me more about the sexual harassment experiences with a few specifics and with what happened when you complained?

I love the sun and the beach. In my first community, I had a reservior that I would hike out to everyday. One day, a Russian man followed me and proceeded to take his clothes off and sit on my beach towel. I immediately ran away, looking for other people to help me. He followed me the entire five-mile hike back to my house, where he then stood outside my gate for hours.

I reported it to the Peace Corps safety and security officer, who sent a Russian militia officer to my house. Unfortunately, I don’t speak any Russian. I spoke Kyrgyz. I had to find a translator just to file a police report. It was a tough situation.

I also was being sexually harassed by some students in the 9th grade. I found it absolutely impossible to teach them, and after a few months of no changes, I reported the issue to the Peace Corps. My school did nothing to help me with the boys, only told me that ‘boys would be boys’ and that I was too young.

I was immediately yanked from the school and my house and brought into a small city about an hour away. I got a job at a local private school, but due to a lack of funds, the school shut down, and I was out of a job. After three weeks, the Peace Corps had not found me a new job. I now lived on my own, instead of with a host family, in an apartment in an unsafe part of the city.

I was scared all the time. My door got kicked in one night. Money was stolen from my room. Men followed me home at night and beat on the door. I didn’t have a job, and was waiting on my program manager to find me one. I couldn’t ride in a taxi without fearing that the driver might take off for the mountains. I had to give up. I couldn’t live in the city, without a family for support. I chose to come home instead of remaining in country until June.

What challenges did your decision to come home present to you? It was really hard to give up and leave the other volunteers behind. I sat in my apartment and made lists of reasons to stay and reasons to go, and I was just feeling too defeated. Sometimes I regret not sticking it out, but I was starting to be depressed and miserable, so I know I made the right choice.

I felt like I was letting my fellow volunteers down. They all were going through the same culture shocks and difficulties as I was, but not the harrassment. I was a magnet. I could be walking down the street with six girls, and the men would pick me out and follow. That was strange. Unwanted attention is the worst.

How did this experience affect you or change you?

I am an extremely materialistic person. I have clothes, a nice car, money and pretty much everything I ever wanted. I got over there, and people have nothing. No families have cars. Girls have one or two outfits. They have to get married after high school. They have basically no rights.

I came home with a new outlook on life. I learned to appreciate absolutely everything so much more: family, friends, everything I have. I know what it’s like to live in an apartment with nothing: no amenities, no water, no bathroom. It’s hard. It’s miserable, but you become such a stronger person.

They say the Peace Corps is the ‘toughest job you’ll ever love,’ and it’s true. At times I absolutely hated what I was doing, and at times I thought I was the luckiest person in the world to get a chance to experience something like this. It was amazing.

What were some positive highlights of your time spent there?

I helped to organize an English summer camp for about 60 junior high and high school students. We raised money from back home and put on a week-long day camp. The camp was awesome, we brought students together from all over the region and taught them about sanitation, hygiene, health and other important issues that their country is lacking. The kids loved it. It was by far one of the best things I did there.

I also had a girls’ club twice a week, where high school girls came to my house to talk about anything they wanted. They opened up to me about things that were forbidden to talk about in their culture. They asked me so many questions about life in America.

Once we got past language barriers, I really felt like I was helping them. I tried to show them ways that they could go to places like America. I tutored them in English and helped one girl become a finalist for a scholarship program to study in America for a year. That was really rewarding.

Would you ever want to go back? I was really close with one volunteer’s host family. I would love to go back and bring them gifts and see how the kids are growing up. One boy, Edu, was speaking amazing English when I left. He is going to come to America in a year, and I can’t wait to see how his English has come along.

Otherwise, I wouldn’t want to go back. I would like to see other parts of the world. I spent enough time there to completely absorb the culture, realize that I wouldn’t be able to change things, and move on. But I know that I made an impact on some of my students, and that’s why I went there.

Describe your last day in the country and your trip home (the route and how long it took). My flight left at three in the morning. I flew out to Istanbul with two other girls headed home.

We spent the day walking around the capital city, having final medical exams and tests and buying last-minute souveiners. We wandered around the city for hours. We tried to spend every last bit of kyrgyz currency we had, and enjoyed ourselves. We bought CDs of Kyrgyz music, ate Kyrgyz food and then sat in a hotel room and talked about what it would be like to be back home.

We flew out at 3 a.m. and arrived in Istanbul the next day. We parted ways there. I headed to Chicago; one, to Washington, D.C, and the other, to New York.

That next flight was a killer. Sixteen hours, then customs and then another two more flights ‘til home. By the time I got through customs, (which wasn’t too bad because I have a government passport), I missed my next flight and had to take a later scheduled one. It ended up being about 48 hours of flying and airport time.

Who met you when you arrived back in the United States? What was it like to be back in your home country? My mom was waiting in Seattle, and we flew into Spokane together. It was wonderful to be back home, but I was pretty concerned with completely having to rebuild a life and find a job. And then of course my luggage was lost, which I had paid extra for, since I had so much stuff.

What other world traveling have you done, and where would you like to go?

I got to see a few places while I was over there, but mostly just the surrounding countries. I lived on the border of Kazakhstan, and in the winter that was the only route into the city. The mountain pass closed, and I had to leave the country and then come back in order to travel. That was pretty intense.

I got detained for eight hours at the Kazakhstan border my first time travelling alone and was pretty scared. I ended up paying $100 American to have a private taxi take me the seven hours into the city after being robbed on the bus, once I got released. It turned out my passport and visas were good only at certain border crossings, and because I didn’t speak Kazak or Russian, I didn’t understand.

A bus took me to a secondary border, but people were touching me and watching me and my luggage, and I had to get off. That was a pretty scary day. I got into the city at 9 that evening, on New Year’s weekend, and checked into the Hyatt with friends to celebrate.

What skills or experiences will help you as you move on in your life? I feel like I can pretty much adapt to any situation that I am facing. I had to deal with so many ups and downs in Kyrgyzstan. I really had to learn patience and acceptance. Otherwise, I might have gone insane.

What are your short-term and long term goals? Short term? I am just having fun, spending time with friends and trying to adjust to the working world. I am applying to grad schools for the fall and hopefully will get a teaching degree soon, or a Master’s in non-profit management.

Long term? I want to work for the Bill Gates Foundation. I tried to apply all ready, but you have to have a Master’s Degree even to be an assistant! I would love to work in non-profit management and get to travel the world, helping people at the same time. I like teaching English as a second language and will work toward certification in that as well. I love teaching, especially middle school age and kindergarten.

What advice and/or information would you share with others others who are considering joining the Peace Corps? While the Peace Corps is an amazing organization, it is tough. You do feel a bit controlled and limited in what you can do, but they take care of you. You have health care and security and a lot of people to help you. I recommend it completely; you just have to be prepared. It’s not the same program that JFK started back in the ‘60s.

Anything else you care to add about the experience? I really did enjoy it and what I learned from it, despite all the hard times. I made lifelong friends and got to know myself and what I my capabilities.

Quick Facts about Kyrgyzstan, compiled for the CIA World Fact Book

https://www.cia.gov/cia/publications/factbook/geos/kg.html

Kyrgyzstan: A Central Asian country of incredible natural beauty and proud nomadic traditions, Kyrgyzstan was annexed by Russia in 1864; it achieved independence from the Soviet Union in 1991.

Nationwide demonstrations in the spring of 2005 resulted in the ouster of President Askar AKAYEV, who had run the country since 1990. Subsequent presidential elections in July 2005 were won overwhelmingly by former prime minister Kurmanbek BAKIYEV.

Current concerns include: privatization of state-owned enterprises, expansion of democracy and political freedoms, reduction of corruption, improving interethnic relations, and combating terrorism.

Location: Central Asia, west of China, slightly smaller than South Dakota, border countries: China 858 km, Kazakhstan 1,051 km, Tajikistan 870 km, Uzbekistan 1,099 km, (landlocked)

Climate: dry continental to polar in high Tien Shan; subtropical in southwest (Fergana Valley); temperate in northern foothill zone

Terrain: peaks of Tien Shan and associated valleys and basins encompass entire nation

lowest point: Kara-Daryya (Karadar'ya) 132 m
highest point: Jengish Chokusu (Pik Pobedy) 7,439 m

Resources: abundant hydropower; significant deposits of gold and rare earth metals; locally exploitable coal, oil, and natural gas; other deposits of nepheline, mercury, bismuth, lead, and zinc

Land use: arable land: 6.55%
permanent crops: 0.28%
other: 93.17%
note: Kyrgyzstan has the world's largest natural growth walnut forest (2005)

Environmental concerns: water pollution; many people get their water directly from contaminated streams and wells; as a result, water-borne diseases are prevalent; increasing soil salinity from faulty irrigation practices

Geography note: landlocked; entirely mountainous, dominated by the Tien Shan range; many tall peaks, glaciers, and high-altitude lakes

Population: 5,213,898 (July 2006 est.)

Ethnic groups: Kyrgyz 64.9%, Uzbek 13.8%, Russian 12.5%, Dungan 1.1%, Ukrainian 1%, Uygur 1%, other 5.7% (1999 census)

Religions: Muslim 75%, Russian Orthodox 20%, other 5%

Languages: Kyrgyz (official), Russian (official

Literacy: definition: age 15 and over can read and write
total population: 98.7%
male: 99.3%
female: 98.1% (1999 est.)

7 provinces (oblastlar, singular - oblasty) and 1 city* (shaar); Batken Oblasty, Bishkek Shaary*, Chuy Oblasty (Bishkek), Jalal-Abad Oblasty, Naryn Oblasty, Osh Oblasty, Talas Oblasty, Ysyk-Kol Oblasty (Karakol)

Independence: 31 August 1991 (from Soviet Union)

Economic overview: Kyrgyzstan is a poor, mountainous country with a predominantly agricultural economy. Cotton, tobacco, wool, and meat are the main agricultural products, although only tobacco and cotton are exported in any quantity.

Industrial exports include gold, mercury, uranium, natural gas, and electricity. Kyrgyzstan has been progressive in carrying out market reforms, such as an improved regulatory system and land reform.

Kyrgyzstan was the first CIS country to be accepted into the World Trade Organization. Much of the government's stock in enterprises has been sold.

Drops in production had been severe after the breakup of the Soviet Union in December 1991, but by mid-1995, production began to recover and exports began to increase. Kyrgyzstan has distinguished itself by adopting relatively liberal economic policies.

The drop in output at the Kumtor gold mine sparked a 0.5% decline in GDP in 2002, but GDP growth bounced back in 2003-05. The government has made steady strides in controlling its substantial fiscal deficit and reduced the deficit to 1% of GDP in 2005.

The government and international financial institutions have been engaged in a comprehensive medium-term poverty reduction and economic growth strategy, and in 2005 agreed to pursue much-needed tax reform.

Progress fighting corruption, further restructuring of domestic industry, and success in attracting foreign investment are keys to future growth.

general assessment: development of telecommunications infrastructure is slow; fixed line penetration remains low and concentrated in Bishkek
domestic: two wireless telephony service providers, but penetration remains low
international: country code - 996; connections with other CIS countries by landline or microwave radio relay and with other countries by leased connections with Moscow international gateway switch and by satellite; satellite earth stations - 1 Intersputnik and 1 Intelsat; connected internationally by the Trans-Asia-Europe (TAE) fiber-optic line

A cup -a cup-a cup a real coffee, please

Bill's brimming all over with a cup and a half of excitement this morning. He accepted some payola from one of his clients who's from Louisiana. The guy gave him a pound of Community Coffee, so he's going to brew it up at the office today. He's equally thrilled because Jeannie Mikkelsen's excited too.

She works at the local Department of Lands office, and she makes the best frybread in town. Today she's looking forward to getting her first taste of the stuff so much so that she even told Bill that she'd forego morning coffee so her tastebuds would be ready for the chicory treat which has its roots in South Louisiana just like Bill.

I borrowed some history off the Community Coffee website, and here's what they say:

Community Coffee Company is steeped in tradition as rich as our coffee. As the largest family-owned retail coffee brand in the U.S., our company’s roots grew from a small country store in Baton Rouge where more than 80 years ago, founder Henry Norman 'Cap' Saurage brewed his popular coffee.

The coffee became so popular that he named it Community in honor of his loyal friends and customers. Cap eventually turned his attention away from the grocery store and devoted all of his time and energy to making great coffee.

Today, Community Coffee Company is so much a part of people’s lives and spans so many generations that it has been dubbed the State Coffee of Louisiana. We invite you to enjoy this family tradition and experience a little bit of Louisiana in every cup.

Bill lamented that Jeannie just won't get the true flavor because the IDL office doesn't have one of those drip percolators that they use down South to brew the coffee properly. I think that was the kind his mother used. It sat on the kitchen range, and the first time I ever visited their home in Oakdale, someone poured me a cup of coffee, knowing full well I was in for a shock.

Remembering my manners on this maiden visit, I tried really hard to pretend that I liked it, but the folks watching could see from my expression that it had presented a formidable shock to my Northern tastebuds.

I'm sure it took me a while, but I quickly found a nice way to ask if they'd pour just a quarter cup so I could dilute it with three quarters of a cup of water. For years thereafter, any time I visited, Bill's mother Ora did not need to be reminded that Marianne could go for days on one pot of Community Coffee. I could stand the stuff only if it couldn't stand up on its own in my cup.

This morning we talked of how that tendency of brewing coffee so strong it could compete with a can of Drano has gradually been making its way into virtually every coffee shop across America. Bill says the onset of Starbucks everywhere has even kinda diluted the appeal of a good cup of pure chicory which he's so used to drinking in the South.

I can remember trips to Louisiana when I savored that last cup of coffee on the plane before landing in Dallas or Houston, knowing I was gonna have to get back home to enjoy a good cup of Folger's or Hill's Bros, which was available not only in my kitchen but in virtually every local restaurant. Try to find that now!

I swear that even the Folger's folks are sneaking some of that creosote into their coffee grounds. Or, maybe I get that idea because Bill makes the coffee almost every morning and probably puts in six tablespoons to my three. I yearn for a good cup of mild coffee, and I'm wondering these days where a person can go to find one. Seems like every restaurant has gone over to the other side, even the convenience stores.

I think Sandpoint's Connie's Restaurant still accommodates the wimps around town whose tastebuds recoil with revulsion on taking that first sip of the "in" stuff. Last time I went to Connie's, I remember actually enjoying the three cups I downed while visiting with a friend.

In all other cases, I find myself pretending that I like the concoction which leaves an oily film on my tongue with every swallow. Generally, my cup remains three quarters full in these situations. I also submit that there are a lot of coffee-drinking hypocrites out there who hate the stuff as much as I do, but they put up with it because it's fashionable.

Try as I might, my buds have never developed a taste for anything that resembles chicory or creosote. In fact, I've even resorted to taking my "mocha latte creation" powder with me whenever I go to Saturday coffee cult. When the waitress isn't looking, I dump in the chocolate powder and then relax, knowing that this time, I can actually enjoy my sipping as much as I enjoy my gabbing.

Am I the only one, or are there others out there who'd almost pay extra for a good ol' cup of regular coffee? Anyone? Anyone? If you exist, let's get together, form our own coffee company and bring back an old flavor called "Wuss Brand" for us Northern wimps whose tastebuds long for a soothing cup of non-intimidating, mild brew.

In the meantime, I'd give anything to see Jeannie's face this morning when she takes that first sip from the Community pot.

Where's the beef?

Twice in the past week, I've gone to a place where I've seen dozens of frenzied souls. In many cases, they act like they're recovering from a three-week drug binge. They trudge forward almost in slow motion with dazed expressions suggesting that they have no idea why they're there and no idea where they're going. Some have even told me they don't really know what they want. They brought along a list, but it just gets too confusing. For the most part, they feel like strangers in a strange land.

Ironically, the true strangers to this strange land have no problems. They don't know where they are anyway.

In fact, last Saturday in this setting, I met up with one lady who lamented that she must be getting old. "Before I came here, I thought I knew what I wanted," she told me as I passed by. "Now, I hardly know my own name." I told her that was really bad because she's nearly ten years younger than I am. I also assured her that her confusion and her memory would only get worse. That was of no comfort to her. She didn't even want to stand and just visit with me; she seemed too weary for idle chatter with all that was burdening her mind.

I moved on. Where IS the toilet paper anyway?

There is a curse taking over at Ponderay's Yoke's Pac 'n Save, and it's doing a number on all the loyal customers. Yoke's is remodeling its store with a "fresh market" theme and disordering the minds of virtually every shopper who's patronized the place for umpteen years. There's that big open space in the middle of the store. All display counters have been moved aside, and most grocery products have found new homes on new shelves. The toilet paper is now at least ten aisles down from its former location near the dogfood. But then, the dogfood has moved too.

Yesterday, I dropped my mother off at the store. She had not shopped for two weeks, so I told her I'd hurry around to do my errands, which involved purchasing some paper at Staples, mailing some letters and stopping by Keokee to see Cheryl Klein's completed artwork for my new book. I ran into our longtime family friend Mardette in the parking lot and talked much too long, so I encouraged her to go to Yoke's to see Mother.

That would buy me some extra time, I thought. Seeing a train blocking the tracks to Ponderay and its post office, I stopped first at Staples. When I came outside, the train was still there, so I decided to go to the Sandpoint Post Office after all. Fortunate for me, the new Love stamps had come in, so Olie forgot to interrogate me on that long line of "do you want's?" After all, he'd already convinced me to purchase a sheet of the stamps.

Escaping there much quicker than anticipated, I went on to Keokee to see that my former teaching colleague, Cheryl, had done a magnificent job capturing the essence of Lincoln School where I started my education journey. The Keokee folks are equally pleased.

"I've got a Mother shopping at Yoke's," I said, quickly dismissing myself from the gathering. Driving down Cedar, I figured that by now Mother and Mardette had gotten into some serious visiting so I took extra time to stop at Nieman's to order a rose for Cheryl and a rose for my friend Helen who was coming home from the hospital. Wendy and I chatted long enough for her to tell me that son Paul is getting married in Mexico this June.

"Gotta go," I said. Back at Yoke's, I walked in to see lots of action at the checkstands but no Mother. We had agreed to meet at the coffee shop if she finished early. Jean Offerman said she'd seen Mother and that she'd seen Mardette. What she didn't tell me, though, I learned later. Mardette had never found Mother. She'd probably given up on finding anything familiar in the store and gone home.

There was no sign of Mother at the coffee shop, but I did meet head on with Larry Jeffres and his wife Mary Ann.

"I know something you don't know," Larry told me.

"Is someone getting married?" I asked, "someone like Carson and Karen?" Sure thing, I'd guessed right and took pleasure in telling Larry that Carson's was the second upcoming wedding I'd heard about in five minutes' time. We agreed that if they're getting married in Karen's hometown of San Diego, they'd better plan it for winter time if they want lots of Sandpoint guests. And, if they really want to draw a hometown crowd, they'll hire the Hoot Owl crew to cater the eats.

Larry and Mary Ann went on their way, and I continued my pursuit of Mother, still thinking I'd find her and Mardette jawing away near the catfood, wherever that was. I went to the ice cream section. No Mother. I walked past each aisle and stepped out into that big opening and still found no mother. I figured she surely had to be past the potatoes and bananas by now, so skipping the produce section, I headed for the meat department.

Finally, I spotted her down by the eggs, selecting a six-pack.

"I bet you've been visiting with Mardette," I said, confident that my mother enjoys Yoke's just as much for the visiting as for the shopping.

"I haven't even seen Mardette," she said. "I'm only half done with my shopping. I can't find anything." Fortunately, for Mother the produce, the meats and dairy products have stayed put. She still hadn't found the catfood or the Spic n' Span or the 69 cent paper towels. So, relieved that I hadn't left her to wait on me, I pointed her toward catfood and grabbed a bottle of Spic n' Span two aisles over.

After yesterday's experience, I'm convinced the only people who might be less thrilled than customers with the remodeling confusion are the clerks who have to field hundreds of questions a day of "When is this gonna get finished? Why'd they move the ------? What's that big open space in the middle?" They just smile and provide whatever information they know. Nonetheless, I'm sure it gets just as annoying as the old school teacher dread of those students walking in the room every single morning with "Are we doing anything important today?"

It's January. I've seen conflicting reports that yesterday or today are notoriously the most depressing days of the year. When depression sets in, change is good. So, I suggest that anyone who needs an emotional lift and some goodies for the cupboard, put together a list and head on down to Yoke's ever-evolving "fresh market" approach to shopping.

You'll not only see a lot of people in the same disordered mindset as you, but you'll also be embarking on some slight detours from what you're used to, and that can be a good thing.

Training in Selle

The wall behind my computer is slowly getting cluttered. I said I wouldn't do that in this new house, but I guess I'm accustomed to clutter and can't function too long without it. Life would be boring without a little clutter to clean up or to remind us of things we think are important.

One item in my growing wall collection is an original mock-up of a Spokesman-Review front page. Susan Drumheller, a former Spokesman reporter, gave me that after I wrote a last-minute front-page story right at deadline time about a dug-out canoe discovery in Lake Pend Oreille.

Some official researchers from the national center where they determine authenticity had come to the museum to report their findings. After spending the week in the water filming and examining the canoe, they had determined that it certainly was old. That story about the rare finding in our lake was the quickest turnaround piece I'd done in years, and Susan thought I ought to have the Spokesman's original photo of that front page.

Since moving here, I've also pinned up a small collection of enlarged, laminated family pictures. There's Willie and friends at his 1995 graduation. Below that are Annie and friends standing next to Bill who's on the '56 Ford tractor. The old Ford, with its fine character, merited another blow-up with Bill and Willie posing next to it. Another meaningful shot zeroes in on my dad, my sisters and my brother Kevin at my dad's 80th birthday in 1997. I missed that party because he celebrated it at the same time we had taken young journalists to a convention in San Francisco. It's a fine shot, especially with that chocolate cake with the big "80" sitting on top.

Two larger photos on the wall captured my children at moments of innocence. As dapper as dapper can be, Willie and Annie stand side by side in Marilyn Chambers' living room. Willie's wearing an all-white suit with white shoes and a black bow tie. His blond locks almost match the ensemble. Annie clasps her white gloved hands together like a First Communion angel as she stands next to her brother in the most exquisite long white dress imaginable. Her hair is exquisitely styled for participating in the elegant backyard Chambers family wedding setting.

I'm glad we captured that moment because its suggestion of total innocence was so fleeting. Within an hour of the shutter snap, my little angels were being shoved into the family car and hauled home never to perform as flower girl and ringbearer again. The white suit had green knees and a split crotch. The lovely white skirt on the lovely white dress had separated from its top.

That sudden egress from the Chambers wedding festivities occurred just as the two little Love children were attempting to scale the silver stakes holding up the feast tent. The photo immortalized a story to be told over and over as the children grew into fine adults, eventually taking on exemplary wedding behavior.

Another photo shows Willie standing in a simple, dark background with phenomenally soft face and body lighting. My husband snapped that shot one night when we came home early from yet another Chambers family function. This time it was their annual Christmas party. This time it was because our babysitters kept calling as we had made our way from one Christmas party to another. Willie was about three at the time. After our departure for the parties, Willie began a bout with the stomach flu, and the babysitters had to keep changing his clothes.

The final call, while we were at the Chambers, revealed that the teen-age girls had run out of clothes and had finally substituted one of Bill's T-shirts, found in the dryer. When we came home, Bill couldn't resist snapping a shot of our young son standing near the sliding glass door with that bright yellow T-shirt draped over his cherubic body, extending to the floor. I wish I had the negative to that photo because it will melt anyone's heart.

So, that's the extent of the family picture clutter---so far. This past week I pinned up one more item for the collection. It's a calendar sent to me by my former student Bryant Jones, who's gotten in the habit over the years of sending me calendars. He used to specialize in Duck Boy varieties. Last year he brought me a fine calendar from China where he spent the year teaching. It not only includes the dates for each week but also hundreds of paintings, some even done by his colleagues at the school where he taught.

This year Bryant, who's working on an advanced degree in Washington, D.C. and helping out in Congressman Mike Simpson's office, decided I needed something to remind me of what I left behind when we moved to Selle. It's the 2007 Union Pacific calendar with huge color photos of the company's trains on the move around the country and even in Japan.

Bryant figured I missed the trains, which have been a basic ingredient of day and night throughout my life. Our last home was not much more than a football field away from the Burlington Northern Santa Fe (once the Great Northern) switch tracks. We also saw Spokane International trains loaded with logs go past each afternoon.

In 1997, we even had nine cars in a train derail and spill over into our pasture. We've watched the "Nuke" trains go by our house, and I've enjoyed riding my horse down the road and waving to strangers as elegant tour trains cruised by almost silently except for their characteristic whistles. So, Bryant was right when he sent us that calendar.

The minute Bill saw it, he said I should tell Bryant that the one and only train passing through Selle is the Union Pacific. This morning I wrote him a note and told him I seldom hear the train unless I'm outside. Ironically, when I finished the sentence, a whistle off to the northeast broke the early morning silence. Then, I heard it rumble through the countryside, headed south.

So, that morning train through Selle made a liar out of me, but that's fine. As I said to Bryant, the sound reminds me that all is okay with the movement of life and maybe even some of the clutter that fills up space and creates yet another wonderful story to be told.

Sunday Slight

Since I posted all those pictures yesterday, I've decided to turn the Saturday Slight into a Sunday feature, this week only, I think. It seems appropriate since there are lots of little items that are really big items but probably best discussed briefly. So, that's what I'll attempt to do this morning.

On to the Slight details:

• My friend Helen is doing fine and due to get out of a Coeur d'Alene hospital soon. Helen Newton is a member of the Sandpoint City Council. Ten days ago she was diagnosed with Guillain-Barre Syndrome. It's a mysterious disease resulting from a variety of possibilities such as a virus, surgery, etc. The auto-immune system takes over the body's nerve endings. If not caught and treated early, it can lead to paralysis from the neck down. In Helen's case tingly fingers and an inability to walk gave her the clue to get to the hospital emergency room. An ambulance with a nurse was sent from Kootenai Medical Center so that she could begin treatment almost immediately. After being treated with a cocktail of IV meds for five days, she began therapy. She's now living in a hospital apartment as an "independent" and getting around nicely with her walker. I talked with her yesterday and she's gung ho to get home. Helen does not let a little illness get her down when it comes to her City Council responsibilities. For a meeting this past week, she arranged to have a phone set-up in the hospital conference room, but technical difficulties and lack of a quorum shut down the meeting. I'm sure that Helen appreciates the hundreds of prayers and well wishes that have been sent her way.
  
• Annie's posted some neat new pictures on her photo blog (http://www.nnlove.blogspot.com/). She attended yesterday's opening of the new Olympic Sculpture Park in Seattle.
• I've experienced an epiphany of sorts this past couple of weeks. It finally dawned on me that living this much further out of town, adding to our animal menagerie, having small catastrophes turn into big ones and combining all the aforementioned with Mother Nature's winter wrath does not make for a stressless life. The concept began to dawn on my slow brain the day Casey's horse blanket strap pulled the frost free hydrant to a 45-degree angle, causing water to rise around the hydrant, causing me to call a plumber, causing the plumber and me to decide that it was best to just turn that hydrant off for the winter, causing me to realize that doing so would also turn off the automatic heated water tanks in the barn which have made life so easy until then, causing the need to buy more water buckets for the horses and to purchase a hose to reach from the other frost-free hydrant to the barn AND another water trough for inside the barn to cut down the distance for hauling buckets of water to stalls, causing the new hose to freeze the first time I used it. I thought I'd emptied all the water out of it, but I thought wrong, causing the need for a hammer to pound what little ice must be inside that hose, causing a hole to form in the brand new hose, causing water to spray all over my pants and immediately freeze on my pants. Oh yeah, I forgot to mention several days of minus degrees which made all this so much more fun, including the buckets in the barn which froze solid within two hours, causing me to go out every night before bed to refill them. Did I mention the day I came home from the spelling bee to find my brand-new horse Lily outside her pasture? Did I mention the trail around the house and the barn indicating all the things she'd gotten into during her freedom? Here I must mention that only a wing and a prayer and an electric fence have taught Rambo and Casey to stay away from their surrounding goat fence where the top wire comes up just above their knees. Nobody told Lily, and nobody had introduced her to an electric fence, so in my absence, she just climbed over the intimidation-impaired goat fence and had a grand time while Rambo and Casey watched her. The only lucky part for me is that horses, once they gain freedom---especially if their other horse comrades haven't gained freedom----these loose horses don't really know what to do with all that freedom besides hang around and make a mess. I spent two hours cleaning up after Lily and another hour chipping the electric fence connecting wire from the frozen ground underneath one foot of cementlike snow. Bill came home about the time I was chipping away at the wire and cussing really loud. Bill didn't think the electric fence would work, but I'm like Helen Newton, and I don't give up until I'm convinced that something won't work. "Just turn it on," I said. "Let's see if she notices when she touches it." First, she leaned against the wire with her chest and nothing happened. Bill was about to do the "I told you so" when she touched it with her nose. I've never seen such an insulted expression on a horse's face. She stepped away with utter disdain and went to the protection of Rambo and Casey who were probably unsympathetically saying, "We told you so."
  Long story short, my epiphany has made me realize that saying "yes" to outside commitments while having an animal farm in the winter time is not a good idea. It takes me a while to realize that the hours in the day did not extend just because we moved farther out of town. And, when you're farther out of town, it takes you that much longer to get home to find out what the animals have done in your absence. So, there's my long-drawn-out story of epiphany. I've learned my lesson and will do my best to stay home to watch the critters as long as winter continues. I did forget to mention the $1,000 worth of fence lumber we purchased the day after Lily went on her excellent adventure. Soon, we hope, we'll have one fewer goat pasture and one more horse which respects an electric fence.
  
• Today is Saints day. Bill, my saint husband, who loves his New Orleans Saints will probably hurry home from church to take in the game. I hope the Saints win, even though I've got a host of Chicago roots. New Orleans can do with the good news.
• Today marks the 60th birthday for at least one of my classmates and probably another two. I can't remember if Robin Melior and Andrea Balch celebrate their birthday on the same day as Janis Puzuhanich, but to all of you, have a wonderful day. You're paving the way for a long line of us who will be starting the next decade this year. I talked with Janis last night, and she's headed to Las Vegas to spend her special day. And, when I talked with Janis, I also talked with another classmate Dann Hall, who's down that way taking in the golfing venues. They're all hoping for warmer weather.
• Guess that's it for the Sunday Slight. May you all have a pleasant day and a good week ahead.