School Board classics AND CONNIE'S REOPENING

Breaking news or, at least, a rather timely scoop . . . .

Connies Restaurant at Fourth and Cedar in Sandpoint will reopen at 6 a.m. sharp tomorrow (Tuesday, May 1) morning. Go there and get a Square . . . .

Yesterday, I included a note about my friend and fellow journalist Mindy Cameron who's running for re-election to the Lake Pend Oreille District 84 School Board. She lives out there past Sagle, so she represents that district. I think just the people in her zone get to vote for whoever they want in the position on May 15.

Mindy has served one term on the Board, and local education has moved along at a nice pace since she got involved as a retiree with lifelong interest in education. She and husband Bill Berg helped found the Panhandle Alliance for Education, which I learned just last week, has put together a million dollars for local teacher grants in its short existence of just a few years.

That's pretty impressive, especially for this area where it seems like forever that the word "depressed" didn't just refer to people's moods during ugly weather time. Seems like there was rarely money for much of anything extra during most of the time I taught. If you wanted something extra for your classroom, you organized a bake sale or a raffle. So, it's wonderful for teachers these days to know they've got some passionate guardian angels willing to find the funds to help them enrich their classroom offerings.

Now, I didn't plan to just talk about Mindy today. When I was thinking of her quest for re-election, I got to reminiscing about some of the School Board members I knew during my 33-year tenure as a local teacher----Venus Verhei, Jim Feuling, Ralph Sletager, Ann Souza, Ford Elsaesser, Debbie Ferguson, Marian Ebbett, and Pat Venishnick. Others served, but those are stand-outs on my wall of school board fame.

Venus served a long, long time and rankled more educators than I'd care to count while keeping the constituency happy. Seems like a very well-meaning Venus always instructed people to vote NO when it came to schools. He thought the money could be better spent somewhere else. Voters often followed Venus' advice.

The classic, somewhat anachronistic Venus comment that I'll never forget came one day while he was touring the high school in the '70s, saw those built-in lockers and wondered outloud where the students kept their rubbers. That one got repeated a time or two. Of course, those pure of mind knew that Venus really meant galoshes.

Debbie Ferguson served several terms, at least one with Pat Venishnick. I don't know who was more emotional---Debbie or me---the day we dedicated the auditorium at Sandpoint High School to Pat, who devoted so much of her later life to schools and their students. She served as the perennial accompanist for scores of music students performing solos at spring contests in Coeur d'Alene. Therefore, it seemed appropriate that the cultural gathering place at the high school should bear Pat's name.

Both Pat and Ann Souza liked to visit classrooms---unannounced. I must say that this always intimidated me when they'd suddenly appear and take a seat with the students. I never did get over the insecurities of feeling like someone was "watching me, much like the deer do." It was always a relief when they left, and the students would ask, "Who was that?" I guess they must have thought things were going okay cuz I kept getting hired back.

One of the more memorable visits from Pat came one day shortly before spring vacation. This time she brought along Bob Leonard, our superintendent.

To properly convey my discomfort, I must explain the minutes directly preceding Pat's appearance. It was paragraph-instruction time for my sophomores honors students. The research unit following spring break would include several topics dealing with the Roman Empire, to be researched and boiled down into various types of paragraphs----descriptive, chronological, spatial, persuasive, etc.

To prepare the students, I had put together a paragraph-writing overview of about ten pages. It included explanations and examples dealing with topic sentences, proof statements, transitions, etc. I handed the packets to the students, and, as a joke, simply sat down at my desk and said, "Read it and learn it." They looked at me with blank stares and wondered out loud if I was going to teach them anything.

"No, I'm floatin' into spring vacation, so you can learn it yourself," I quipped, sitting back in my chair as if I were going to take a nap. They pressed me further, to which I again said, "C'mon, get busy. Read it and learn it all. We'll talk about it after spring break."

So, they dutifully began reading. After a minute or so, I broke the silence and said, "Well, okay, I could go over it a bit." On this day, the kids weren't letting me off easily. Playing along, they insisted they could learn it themselves and told me to just sit back and relax.

So, I obliged and got busy with something at my desk. About ten minutes later, I heard some movement, looked up and saw nearly 30 paper airplanes launched from the hands of my learned sophomores. A few hit me head on, while several crash-landed on the floor around my desk.

The classroom door opened. In walked Pat Venishnick and Bob Leonard.

That moment marks one of the few in my life where I was rendered speechless and definitely powerless to explain what was going on in my classroom. I don't know what feeble explanation I tried to give, but my students weren't helping the situation.

Pat and Bob told me to just continue on with what I was doing. Well, sitting at my desk while my students read their paragraph packet didn't exactly provide the shining light of my teaching expertise, but that's precisely what I had been doing when they walked in.

Their visit lasted about three minutes but felt like three days. Finally, they left with impish smiles on their faces, thank God. Fortunate for me, they had sensed that this day before spring break wasn't exactly the time to decide a person's professional future.

That was definitely a day where my own joke turned on me BIG TIME. The rest of the hour was spent with students practicing paragraphs of persuasion/explanation to the superintendent. Then, a few students helped me construct a giant paper airplane container for the letters, addressed to the superintendent and to Pat.

Though it wasn't delivered to the district office exactly by airmail, the package did fall on Bob Leonard's desk by that afternoon and by my hand. Fortunately, the hour involved some learning for the students, a big lesson for me, and a lot of fun for all involved.

I don't know if Mindy's ever encountered such a bizarre scene in local classrooms during her School trustee tenure, but I'm sure she's as aware as anyone that a sense of humor in education is definitely a must, even for school board members.

Sunday Slight

Everything's coming out petals at the Lovestead. This morning I took my own sweet time walking to the paperbox so I could properly appreciate the gorgeous row of blossoming Japanese cherry bushes in the north lawn. And, the regular cherry tree is alive with thousands of little white puffball blossoms. Contrast that with the deep green lawn with its yet sleeping dandelions, and it's all pretty easy on the eyes.

I mowed lawn Friday, waiting until late into the day in hopes that the next round of prolific dandelions could be held down until the weekend is over. By Saturday noon, however, the little yellow buggers were popping up all over. Pat Gooby would be proud to know the extent of his influence as the Dandylion god.

Since Saturday Slight was more than slight, it's time for a Sunday version. Here goes:

• Four members of the Koffee Kult, plus my mother, came for a visit, some coffee and fresh-baked oatmeal cookies yesterday. After strolling the yards and admiring daffodil shows in the flower beds, we all sat around the dining room table for nearly two hours of good talk and ample laughs. Unfortunately, yesterday was a low turnout for Koffee Kult, but I decided at the last minute to invite them, knowing that the sans dandylion window was pretty limited. The Koffee Kult has no attendance policy. In fact, if it did, I'd have been booted out long ago. This group, though several decades in existence, stays together because of its laid-back informality. Folks just show up when they can. Very little is announced in advance except for Alice Coldsnow's annual Christmas brunch, which I've managed to miss the past two years in a row. Otherwise, some Saturdays four people might be sitting at the table; on others, nearly ten. I picked a day when most members must've had other projects going. That did not dampen the enthusiasm, though, and some members said this would have to happen again and that we'd have to plan a picnic down in the God Tree pasture sometime this summer.

• After Koffee Kulters headed on their way, the next item on yesterday's agenda was to get ready for the Cattlemen and Cow Belle (they really are Cattle Women now, but I prefer the old name for the organization) social gathering at Western Pleasure Guest Ranch in Gold Creek. Bill and I had been billed as the guest speakers for last night's prime rib feast. I decided to talk about cows, which is a good thing at such an event, while Bill chose to give a rendition of his Humbird Lumber Co. talk, with special attention shown to the early Sandpoint mill's influence on the development of many of the farms/ranches owned by the membership. My cow stories were mostly personal---cow chasing, cow bawling next door, cow demise and general cow admiration, but I could not help but lead off with one of my favorite all-time cow stories ever. It was penned by comedian Steve Martin, and I often read it to my classes and anyone else who dropped by my classroom. It comes from the book Cruel Shoes, which is loaded with some of my favorite stories ever. So, it seems appropriate this morning to share this wonderfully insightful story with just one more audience:

Cows in Trouble

by Steve Martin

Cruel Shoes

Press of the Pegacycle Lady, 1977

Putnam, 1979

These were not the average "contented" cows. They were cows born for trouble. They were not cows who could stand by and let people call them "bossy." They were cows who could not hang around all day lowing. They were cows who could be just as happy chewing someone else's cud as their own. They were renegade cows.

My first experience with the renegade cows began one day as I was admiring a particularly attractive cow at Johnson's Weed Farm. As I stood there watching her sultry body moving lithely through the rushes, I noticed several other cows staring at me through the weeds, giving me that look that only a cow can give.

Later that night, I was at home thinking over the day's events. The Rubber Duck Throwing Contest, the parade that followed: bands and floats and baton-tossing girls all marching down the middle of the Missouri River. I should have been analyzing the glare of those cows I'd seen earlier that day.

The doorbell rang. I opened the door, glad to have a visitor, but found myself face to face with three renegade cows. I could not see their eyes behind the dark glasses. They ambled in and I did not try to stop them.

That night they just stood around my bed and watched me sleep, much the same way my potatoes do, and I guess you might say I learned my lesson: Don't fool with renegade cows.

********************


I don't really know how Steve Martin's classic went over with the group. I do know that nobody came up afterward and said, "That sure was a stupid story." Conversely, nobody came up and said,"I loved the renegade cows story." So, I'll just have to move on and keep looking for more audiences who may appreciate such tales.

• On another note of a more serious nature, we have a School Board Trustee election coming up in a couple of weeks (Tuesday, May 15). Because I believe she's very dedicated and doing an excellent job on the Board, I'd like to direct local voters who are eligible to cast a ballot in this election to (http://www.northidahoelections.com) where Mindy Cameron has responded to a questionnaire about her philosophy and her accomplishments on the Board. Since moving full-time to the area a few years ago, Mindy has given a good portion of her life toward the betterment of education in our school district. Her efforts and influence have been clearly evident, especially through the overall support our teachers and schools are now receiving. I know that she would like to continue her work along the same positive course.

Guess that's enough for the Slight today or I'll have to rename the post. Besides, it's another pretty day out there, and I'm anxious to get out there and enjoy it.

Happy Sunday to all.

Saturday Slight----ly later

Check back in a few hours for today's

Saturday Slight

I've got cookies in the oven,

and

the Koffee Kult coming to the Lovestead.

Since it was a last-minute idea, you all know I've got vacuuming to do, and junk to hide in the closets.

Stay tuned and do come back. The "Saturday Slight" should be up by noon Pacific Daylight Time.

Aw, what the heck. The coffee cult's come and gone, and it's too purty a day to be writing or reading the "Saturday Slight." So, just check in tomorrow, and all Saturday Slight items will appear on a Sunday version.

Enjoy the lovely spring!

How important is that piece of paper?

I read a story in this morning's paper (http://www.spokesmanreview.com/nation_world/story.asp?ID=186733) that blew me away.
Once, on one of the television news magazines, I saw this very articulate lady engaged in an interview. After listening to her, I was impressed with her common sense and thought how lucky they are to have someone like her on their staff. This woman has been the dean of admissions at Massachusetts Institute of Technology (MIT). She has worked at the school for 28 years but works there no more.

The admissions dean resigned yesterday because of the revelation that some items on her resume---which originally got her the job---are bogus. In fact, administration at the school now suggest that she may not even have a 4-year college degree.

Therein lies a fascinating question. If she has performed well enough for one of the most prestigious colleges in the nation to keep her on staff for 28 years, entrusting her as the most visible conduit for all students who make up the university, why must she go?

Has her performance for nearly three decades at the institution been substandard? Seems like if she was elevated to the much prominence among MIT staff and the MIT presence in the world of elite educational institutions, she must have been doing something right.

Now, before readers get too shocked with my questioning of this decision for her to step down, please remember that integrity ranks right up there with motherhood, horses and nature in my bag of staples. People should tell the truth. People should be honest about their past and take the consequences. People should not mislead. I live by that every day of my life, even though sometimes the truth can be painful.

In addition, I can remember an instance or two when, as a professionals, my colleagues and I doubted the so-called credentials of highly-paid people telling us how to do our jobs. It angered us to think that we were educators who earned our Bachelor's along with continuing education credits throughout our careers----and some people, who were directing us, who took home much higher salaries than ours, could not and would not produce proof of their own college degrees.

We viewed these situations as insulting, especially in education circles where the name of the game is education. After all, it is kinda nice that everyone who's running the game has an education-----it's sorta that level playing-field concept.

Still, I question this situation dealing with the MIT dean. First, I wonder, even after reading the story, if there's much more to the story. If the woman has been derelict in her duties, thus causing someone to research her credentials, how did she last this long----at MIT, no less?

Who hired her in the first place? Who supervised her and reviewed her performance over the years? Who chose her for the position?

If she has been doing a stellar job as admissions dean and someone who had an axe to grind dug up this information to do her in, is she getting a fair shake? I can think of countless examples where people without college degrees have achieved greatness in their field. Correct me if I'm wrong. Does Bill Gates have a degree? Did CBS anchor Walter Cronkite have a degree? Did Peter Jennings?

Nearly every year my sophomores read a story in our literature anthology by Somerset Maugham called "The Verger." A gentleman had worked for years as the verger his church. He was meticulous, dedicated, much-loved and appreciated until one day a new bishop came to the church. Soon, the new bishop learned that his veteran employee could not read. Consequently, he quickly dismissed the verger because certainly a verger who could not read could not adequately perform his duties that he had done for so many years.

Dejected, the verger walked home and uncharacteristically decided to have a smoke. So, he looked for a tobacco store. He could not find one on the street where he was walking, so he went to another street. Still, no tobacco store. This happened on several streets and inspired a new line of work for the verger. He eventually set up one tobacco store after another.

One day when he went to the bank to deposit his all his money, the official asked him to sign a form. When the verger could not read where to sign, the awestruck official said something to the effect of "How have you made it this far? What would you be doing if you could read?"

To which, the tobacco magnate said, "I'd be the verger at St. Albert's church."

Stories like this are rare, but it's obvious they still can and do happen. And, to have occurred at a place like MIT! Seems like there could be a lot of other officials on staff who might be questioning their judgment these days.

Unless, of course, she did her job and did it well.

I hope this receives more attention and more discussion. It will be interesting to learn all the facts and then debate the issue of whether this was a case that deserved some individual attention and some common sense.

White fences, green fields and horses

On my things that "rank right up there," I've always envisioned a time where I could enjoy the daily fix of gorgeous horses racing through green grass bordered by white fences. Well, that dream is coming to fruition. Just one item remains----get the fences and green grass together.

Nonetheless, yesterday marked a milestone of sorts. Though it has a few more boards to go, the fence around our barnyard, which months ago consisted of four strands of electrical wire, is covered with a fresh coat of white paint. We've got two sections to finish----one, where we had to wait for the water to go down to set a post; the other just north of the barn which needs some post holes dug and filled and a gate.

If all goes well, we'll have the whole project finished in the next couple of weeks. Even partially completed, the fence adds a striking touch to this place. On the north side, those white boards contrast with Stan Meserve's row of huge spruce trees, which he and Geneva planted nearly 60 years ago. Looking to the east, there's the fence, the budding fruit trees, Taylors' deep-green rolling field and the snow-capped Cabinets. You can't ask for anything prettier, except a few nice-looking horse friends posing in the foreground.

There's not much grass in the barnyard because the horses have been nibbling every little sprout that's popped up in the last few weeks. Yesterday while painting the last few boards, I looked over to see Casey standing near the still-remaining wire stretch, looking longingly--- probably hinting to me---at that tall, green grass on the other side. He and his buddies have nibbled a neat path, which extends as far out into the field as their necks will stretch along the fenceline.

Well, yesterday afternoon, my horse trio enjoyed an unexpected surprise. All it took was opening the gate to the pasture across the way from the barn. They knew good times were ahead. Composing their restraint, each demonstrated impeccable manners and patience as I led them one by one to that field of lush grass---first, Lily, then Casey and finally Rambo whose nose directed him to rich grass clumps which his eyes could not see.

The horses focused on what horses deem important when set free in a field of new spring grass. Meanwhile, I focused on their time spent there to make sure they didn't gorge too much. That's always a danger in the spring because the healthier the grass the more dangerous it can be to their sensitive systems. The herd had been eating hay all day, so their tummies couldn't take a lot of grass.

And when, the initial spring feast of green goodies had satisfied the palates, it was play time. As if a gong had gone off in her head, Lily suddenly darted across the field, full-speed ahead and first alone---then joined by Casey. I watched bucking, kicking, snorting, high tails and sprinting for about ten minutes last evening. Rambo just kept on eating during the side show, but then--as quickly as play time began---it ended.

Three horses stood at the gate, sufficiently saffonsified (sp?), as the expression goes, and ready to return to their fancy board corral to sleep off a long-awaited day of fresh, sumptuous nibbles and celebratory springtime frolic.

My longheld dream of watching those beautiful animals in much-envisioned settings is close to reality. Even though it came in segments yesterday, it was still oh-so beautiful.

Idol thoughts

I think it's a toss-up this year. Trying to guess who's going to be the American Idol at this point seems much harder that it's been in any past year. The talent seems evenly matched, and it would be hard to figure out why America would prefer one contestant over another.

I think Melinda is a stand-out among the singers. I'd love to see her win. There's something deep within this young lady that reminds me a lot of one of my former students who works in Alaska. It seems like she's been an overlooked and under-rated flower bud with so much inner beauty and talent to offer, just waiting to burst open. Once unleashed, she's put on a show like no other. I still think Melinda may fit in the under-dog category, but that may just elevate her to Idol-dum.

I think Blake has the best chance to win. He's multi-talented and seems to adjust well in any musical genre. Besides, he looks a lot like Beckham, that soccer star who's moving to Los Angeles this fall. It would be nice to have a Pacific Northwest American Idol, and Blake could fill the bill since he's from Seattle.

My third choice for winning would be Jordan, the 17-year-old phenom. The poise, the maturity, the voice and the range are unbelievable, and her age could be a factor in the voting. I'm guessing a lot of teen-agers would like to see one of their own as the American Idol.

The other three---Phil, Chris and LaKisha are nice people, good singers and definitely deserving to be in the top six, but for various reasons, I don't think they have the strengths and broad appeal of the other three. It's hard to define the distinctions, but my gut and the amount of time I've put into watching nearly every Idol show tells me I may have arrived at the top three----but there are always surprises.

I thought last night's musical offerings definitely showed that each contestant put his or her best foot forward. I loved every song and loved how each provided an individual stamp to what they sang. I was surprised at the criticism of Blake's version of Lennon's "Imagine," mainly because I thought he sang it better than Lennon. And, that's going somewhere. It was so pure and heartfelt.

What I thought was going to be a "ho-hum" Idol season is turning out to be one of the best ever. Any of the final six could serve as an excellent Idol, so it will be sad to see them go as the weeks eliminate one more from the mix.

Again, I still don't know why I'm so mesmerized by this show. I think a lot might have to do with the parallels I so often saw as a teacher. Watching students come in kinda rough around the etches, watching them bloom, and later seeing them as full-fledged, often polished human beings. Idol presents a great storyline for each contestant who can hang in there for several weeks.

Painted ponies, posies and waiting 'maters

Friends, Romans, Country men and women

Friends, Romans, Countrymen, lend me your ears
I come to praise Shakespeare and speak of Books of Love.
William has already been buried, and he's had a lot of praise over the past 400-plus years.
The noble William was born on this very day;
The noble William died on this very day.
The noble William lived from 1564-1616 in Merry ol' England.
William was an honorable man,
and
this honorable Englishman wrote a lot of good stuff.

That he was ambitious,
It was not such a grievous thing,
for many countrymen and friends and even Romans have read Shakespeare's plays
The world around.

I find it indeed fortuitous that today, the birth and death day of Shakespeare,
should be the birth of the launch of my own great literary
endeavor.
Maybe friends, Romans and countrymen AND women will read it the world round.

Well, I don't know if that's gonna happen, but I do have the same motive as Marc Antony this morning. I really want to stir something up. Antony was stirring up the rage of the Roman commoners in his famous funeral oration after the gruesome stabbing of dictator Julius Caesar by a pack of Roman Senators.

My motivation is much more benign. On this morning of Shakespeare's birth and death day, I ask for the loan of your ears, eyes and tongues in an enterprise much less gory than the heinous event Cassius coerced Caesar's close friend Marcus Brutus to engineer.

My motive is to get folks to read a book. Lessons with Love: Tales of teaching and learning in a Small Town High School ($16 plus tax and shipping --- Keokee Books at (www.KeokeeBooks.com) will become available for readers. The books are due to arrive within the first couple of days in May and will ship from Keokee by May 5.

Also, Keokee and the Panhandle Alliance for Education aka PAFE ( http://www.panhandlealliance.org/) are sponsoring a book launch on National Teacher Day, Tuesday, May 8 in the Commons area of the Seasons at Sandpoint Resort.

This open house is scheduled to run from 5-7:30 p.m. with speaking/reading set for 6 p.m. Keokee will provide hors d'oeurves and beverages. Dress is casual.

I'll be introducing some of the folks who, behind the scenes, have played integral roles in helping produce this book. Artist Cheryl Klein will be there. My son Willie, who wrote a story in the book, will be on hand as will Colin Moody who wrote the "Foreward." I'm hoping my sister-in-law, Mary Brown, who has pre-edited all three of my books, will be able to make it also.

I'm also hoping to introduce several or maybe all the generous souls who endorsed the book or wrote really nice things (they knew their grade depended upon it).

Cheryl Klein's painting of Lincoln School, which appears on the cover, will serve as a fundraiser for PAFE. A silent auction for the original piece will begin that night and run through Sandpoint's "Lost in the '50s" celebration May 19-20. It's also possible Cheryl will have prints and/or cards of her painting available at the book launch.

Besides the silent auction, PAFE will receive a percentage from every book sold that evening. If you check the website, you'll see this organization has given away thousands and thousands of dollars' worth of grants to local teachers for use in their classrooms.

Finally, I'll also be reading an excerpt or two from the book. I'll bring my pen along too, just in case someone wants me to sign a book. The evening's event will offer an opportunity for books autographed by all folks mentioned above. It should be a fun for all, and there will be plenty of information about the book launch in the media over the next couple of weeks.

Another event with the book is scheduled at Vanderford's Books at Second and Cedar in Sandpoint, Saturday, May 12 (the day before Mother's Day) from 1-3 p.m. I'll be there to sign books, which might just make a nice Mother's Day gift.

So, friends, all you Romans, and all you country men and women, I hope to see you as the book craziness begins. More than anything, I hope you enjoy the stories, which provide at least a partial tapestry of my 33 years of working with Sandpoint's students and even teaching them a little Shakespeare.

Oh friends, I must pause now because my heart and mind have turned toward that tomb where William put a really scary curse on anyone who ever dared move his bones.

And, so he has stayed in there all this time, and not even the modern-day folks from CSI have unearthed his remains to check the DNA and see if that's really William, the bard, inside that vault at Holy Trinity Church.

Painted ponies

I have a couple of painted ponies in my living room. I have another in my barnyard. The following website tells the story of the painted ponies that have found their way to my living room. (http://www.trailofpaintedponies.com/thetrail.htm) My cousin Barb from Phoenix introduced me to these exquisite pieces of equine art when she sent me my first pony and a book to go with it.

I purchased my second pony while on a layover in Phoenix Airport a couple of years ago. I'd love to keep adding to the collection, but it's just another of those things on the "to do" list. After all, when I spend nearly a whole day painting the new board fence, how would I have time to sit down and order my third painted pony-----but wait!

I didn't need to order. I have a real live painted pony without spending $29.95. She's a work in progress, and when I'm all done, I'll take her picture and show you just how easy it is to bypass the retail stores and to have your very own, totally unique model. I'm sure no one else in the world has one like my Lily.

Lily likes to help people. She spent the morning helping Bill nail more boards on the fence---now, we're down to 25 left to go. As Bill's carpenter assistant, Lily did a lot of supervising, but she spent some time with the tools too.

If Bill happened to lay the hammer on a post while getting a new board, Lily removed it with her educated lips. If Bill didn't notice right away, Lily pounded the hammer (into the ground) with her front hooves. We hadn't planned to nail any boards on the ground, but if we did, Bill had an assistant with plenty of practice with ground hammering.

When I came home from coffee cult yesterday, I changed into my paintin' clothes. Since it was white fence paint, I just turned my white sweatshirt inside out and figured if paint dripped on it, nobody would know. It's not quite the same situation with horses' noses and ears, though, unless they're all white.

Prior to yesterday, Lily already had a pretty nice coat pattern, but today she's lookin' just a little different with a lot more chrome on that face and those ears. See, Lily got bored from helping Bill nail boards, so she joined me as I painted boards. I told her to get away cuz she was going to get paint on her face. But horses don't look in the mirror.

So, Lily didn't show much interest in removing herself from the painting action. I took great care to keep the brush away from her, but she failed to take great care in checking my fence artwork up close and personal.

One time I told her it was time to go help Bill again. To my surprise, she listened. She immediately ambled over his way and resumed her carpenter's assistant role of supervision and hammer pounding. Later, however, she got bored again and returned to the board I was painting. That big white glob in her ear looks pretty good, and those new white spots on her nose might wash off in the water trough.

Lily also played a little pied piper role during yesterday's painting festivities. Her face makeover looked so appealing that Kiwi (who gets very jealous of the attention shown to Lily) decided she needed a new "do" too. So, now I not only have a painted pony in the barnyard, but I've also got a painted border (get it--bored's and boards) collie who chases coffee cans.

All in a day's work at the Lovestead. Oh yeah, our fence looks pretty good in spite of the unpaid help.

Saturday Slight

Today is an "Oh, My God!" day---so far, anyway. Such days occasionally come along and, through their sheer all-encompassing beauty, separate themselves from any other normal day. Days like today remind us that we're mighty glad to be alive---cuz we'd sure hate to miss all the action from a vibrant spring landscape that's sure to feed all our senses throughout the hours ahead.

Another week has raced by, fraught with tragedy but hopeful with budding trees, warmer temperatures, dryer ground and greener than ever grass. I must take note here, however, that I believe Pat Gooby has found where we live. I believe it was Tuesday that I spotted my first dandelion here at the Lovestead.

Pat's the dandelion guru, and he's really happy when anyone's carpet of lush green grass gives way to those yellow stars which reproduce faster than rabbits. I thought when we moved out of Goobyville we'd be safe, but Pat of Dandelion Seed must've come one night and sown his crop, just so's we wouldn't forget him. Usually, I don't see a dandelion until May. Does that mean I can go ahead and plant the rest of my garden?

I doubt it, cuz there's a heckuva lot of snow left on Schweitzer, and that means Baldy's probably got its share. Folks who've lived in Sandpoint forever use a bare Baldy Mountain as the indicator for garden planting safety, so I may hold off on the squash, cukes and cantaloupes. And, my two foot high tomato plants may reach Jack-in-the-Beanstalk variety before I dare introduce them to outdoor dirt.

Enough garden and dandylion speculation---it's time for the Saturday Slight.

• Thanks, Bill and Kathy, for stopping by yesterday at the Lovestead. The Berkleys were out checking out neighborhood nurseries so they went on a Lovestead hunting mission and found paydirt. They found me in the barn and the dogs there to greet them in the driveway. Glad you approved of the place, and it was good to see you.
• The Lovestead is turning into a "walking farm" now, so we'll have a good time showing folks the woods and the ever-greening, rolling fields. Bill will be happy to sign up a few more members to his Lodgepole Society.
• May 8, which is National Teacher Day, is also book launch day for Lessons with Love. More information about what's gonna happen here in Sandpoint after the book arrives will be published on William Shakespeare's birthday on a slightdetour.blogspot.com near you. Also, it wouldn't bother me a bit if readers would start spreading the word to spread the word during that first week of May, especially to bookstore owners in your area. In fact, I'm going to be thrilled with whatever grass roots support there is to launch this book beyond the Sandpoint borders. A big thank you to anyone who helps out.
• Miss Lily is adjusting to her round pen quite nicely. Her owner is learning along with Miss Lily as we have our longeing sessions. It's been a while since I've done this stuff on a daily basis, so I'm mostly uncoordinated as I stand in the middle with that big glob of longeline in my hand and the whip in the other. I've already apologized to her several times for being such a klutz, but she doesn't seem to mind and continues to progress nicely.
• We're going to start purchasing five-gallon buckets of paint soon and start the long task of painting all the boards we've nailed up this winter. I counted the other night and calculated the need for another 34 before the barnyard fence is complete, but it's effective enough to keep those horses where they belong and to add a nice touch to the place. Can't wait until that job is done and we've got a white fence. That should be real purty.
• Bill continues to head to the woods and come back with Bill Boards. He's brings them to the garage much like the cats would do with their mice----because he wants me to see them. I am getting concerned that we may have Bill Board Lumber Co. operating right out of our garage. Of course, a lot of successful bands and businesses have started in a garage, so maybe Bill's got something there.
• AND FINALLY, some BIG news: a lease has been signed and the sign along Cedar announces that Connie's Restaurant will reopen May 1. Thanks, Cis, for reminding me. Saw the sign last night, and Bonnie Eng wrote me earlier in the week telling me of the lease signing. Still waiting to hear back about when the lessees want to talk about their plans.
  

Well, I don't want to waste this "Oh My God" day, so I'll close the Saturday Slight with a wish for all to have a wonderful day wherever you happen to be.

A day of remembrance

We've been hearing about April 19 and April 20 a lot this week, especially after the Virginia Tech massacre. Talk of Columbine, the Waco disaster, the Oklahoma Bombing and even a man called Adolf Hitler come up and remind us of the dark side of humanity. Now, with this year's tragedy, we'll have a week's worth of horrible images to replay every year.

In spite of all that, I view April 20 as a happy day. A third of a century ago, Bill Love, a kind, good man from Louisiana, gave me an engagement ring. It was prom time. I was advising both the drill team and the yearbook. So, when Bill Love gave SHS teacher Marianne Love an engagement ring it was good news at a school.

The school helped us celebrate as did my friends Dick and Helen Whittaker. After all, Helen had offered her mansion down on the river the previous August to serve as the setting for Bill's and my first official date. Of course, accompanying us on that date were about a dozen drill team and Monticola members and about a dozen good looking young college men from the South.

That first date involved meeting at the City Beach, piling into cars and going to Whittaker's house. We played pool in the pool room, we stood around a campfire down on the beach. While Bill and I took a short trip in the rowboat out on to the still waters of the Pend Oreille River, Helen serenaded us from shore. Later, Bill wowed me and the entire gathering with his harmonica music.

The following spring, talk of a wedding heated up during April. We went to Art Ruyle Jewelers and picked out a ring----a half carat diamond set in antique gold. The antique has pretty much worn away but not the meaning of the ring. April 20, 1974 was a Cinderella day for this country bumpkin who'd found her beau. And, the Whittakers of both generations saw to it that we felt special that day.

Helen and Dick took us to dinner. Then, we went back to the Whittaker house where a prom party was in full swing. Holly had served as prom chair, so it was a special night for her. When we attended the prom later, our engagement was announced, and we enjoyed a special dance in our honor. We also had our photos taken, but sadly, those burned in our 1984 house fire. I do remember though that I was a size 12 back then. Haven't gotten that skinny since.

I did turn back into a bumpkin later, but I never got into glass slippers anyway. Bumpkindom has always been fine with me, and Bill doesn't seem to care that his wife is a hick from the sticks. It's hard to believe that a third of a century has passed since that magical night of our lives. The world has changed too. Back in the '70s we weren't spending so much time dwelling on days of horror in schools and other institutional settings.

Why is it that so much of the magic in life gets mired and hidden in the dark, murky shadows? Maybe if our media spent a little more time simply reporting news and less time analyzing every single reason someone goes ballistic, the insane among us wouldn't get so many bizarre ideas or have so much textbook instruction on how to create more horror.

I don't know the answers to that question, but I do know that this anniversary date of a very special time in my life reminds me of how lucky I've been in spite of what's happening in that world outside of Sandpoint.

We still have some of the magic here, both at the Lovestead and in our community. For that, I celebrate this day.

A Jenny view . . . .

Some of us have grown taller, while others have grown inwardly---thanks to our association with Jenny (second from left)---since this photo was taken three years ago. All of us have grown older, and for Jenny, that is a very good thing.

I'm gonna keep my big mouth or loud fingers---whatever we call the instrument that sends out what's going on inside our heads----fairly controlled today. Instead, I'd like to send readers to the blog of my former student, good friend and hero, Jenny Meyer who's looking at a milestone today.

Bittersweet as it is, Jenny's milestone and her perspective dealing with this anniversary are worth reading. Go to (http://www.mangymooseacres.blogspot.com/), and send her a pat on the back. She's truly a wonderful example of living life well and a formidable opponent for the Bonner County Fair cookie championship.

It will take a lot to beat her in this year's competition, but I'm gonna give her a good run.

Spring pedaling

With the lawn getting its first spring manicure and looking lovely, indeed, I actually had some free time last night, so I took advantage of it to simply enjoy all that lives around me. The dogs and I first set off through the fields toward the woods.

I could even wear my bright-red North Face tenny runners because most of the standing water in the fields has dissipated except for that which runs from swale into the back-fence neighbor's pond. And, there were high spots enough to keep from getting wet toes. As Kiwi found trees where squirrels might lurk and where she could sit at their bases to watch and hope, I kept my eyes fixed on the ground cover, and Annie just ambled to no place in particular.

This is the first year without goats grazing in the woods, so this is a year of discovery for whatever vegetation does normally grow among our ten acres of trees. So far, I've found two volunteer tree seedlings---a white pine and a grand fir. I've also found a section where several small dewberry plants are making their appearance.

This makes me happy because dewberries represent a symbol of my childhood when I'd go off to the woods and the roadside ditches each morning in July with a jar and pick my share of black dewberries and slivers. When there were berries enough, Mother would make a pie. There's nothing better, except maybe dewberry jam. So, I'm hoping the goatless woods and the ditches along South Center Valley Road will yield enough for such treats once again.

After a peaceful walk through the woods, I grabbed my bike and did the Forest Siding loop, which includes Selle Road for about a mile, then a left turn off to Forest Siding, which is near the Spokane International (now UP) railroad tracks. While pedaling down Selle Road, I saw Monique Miller's brand-new miniature Shetland baby. She stopped by on Sunday as I rode Rambo out the driveway and told me the foal had been born that morning.

Next, I pedaled past a pond where two ducks were engaged in an eating fest. I couldn't look at them too long because a car was behind me, and I needed to pay attention for fear of pedaling right off into the pond. I saw very few vehicles during my ride last night, which is a new pleasure after living along Great Northern which had gone from a quiet country road to a main thoroughfare. Selle Road is busy, but that activity falls off once folks get back home from their jobs or other business in town.

The only other vehicle that got my attention was a riding lawnmower with Shelley Marine Neely mowing her grandmother's lawn. The deep green grass put out a strong, sweet aroma which is so telltale of spring's full arrival. Not even my own lawn had smelled so sweet when I'd mowed it the day before. Further down the road, I must have caught a robin snoozing because it suddenly flitted from the ground to a tree branch.

The ride down Forest Siding featured an ample number of deer grazing in their chosen fields. I'd never noticed the rustic and charming old house on the right just before Stockdale's place. In its field I spotted a herd of turkeys and a tom in full-turkey regalia strutting behind what must have been his hen harem.

There's a new development on Forest Siding near the railroad track just past where the road starts running east and west. Lake Country Realty is offering this plot of old farm land, but its entrance road is pretty rocky so I didn't pedal too far before turning around and returning the the main road. Lots of small farms along this route have lots of ponds, and the colorful images reflecting off the sky and mountains were breath-taking during these moments just before dusk.

Back on South Center Valley Road and headed south, I pedaled a couple of pastures and said hello to Jack Filipowski's Hereford cows and their adorable baby calves. They did not return the greeting, but they all gave me a good stare. Further on, I met Bill Carter (SHS 1978) who was at the Outpost Arena to practice drums for the Albeni Drum and Fife Corps. He was walking along the road enjoying the solitude of the evening when I interrupted his reverie.

We talked about the beautiful country areas outside Sandpoint. He told how he had lived in Portland and "about went nuts" cuz he's not a city boy. He's hoping for a job as the city water filter operator, which excited me because that's what my dad did for the City of Sandpoint for 33 years.

Bill says he'd even work at McDonald's if that's what it would take to get to stay here. He never wants to leave. He also told me about a great concert with the drum and fife corps at the Panida this Saturday night and encouraged me to go. An Irish band will be there too, he said. I promised I'd look into tickets and then headed on my way.

An artist or photographer would have been in heaven with the photo or painting possibilities along my bike route last night. I know I was.

This and that . . . . .

Someone asked to see a photo of Rambo. This is the big boy with my sister Barbara at the Regional Arabian Show in Yakima several years ago. He and Barbara had just won reserve champion show hack for Half Arabians. He won another reserve championship at that show. Then, he got kicked and fractured his forearm. That ended his bigtime show career, but he continued to wow his fans at a few local shows. Since then, he's been my pasture friend and reliable mount, no matter how blind he is now.

Lots to think about this morning, especially after yesterday's tragedy at Virginia Tech. One of my former students reported his upclose perspective on the event in this morning's paper. Andy Schaudt definitely used his Cedar Post skills in reporting what he was seeing outside his office window at the university where he works as an engineer.

"Stunning" seems to be the word that kept coming to mind as I watched the news yesterday. It seems that when reacting to events such as this, there is nothing wise to say. Later in the afternoon, I talked with a former student who works for one of our U.S. Senators; she said the gun control issue had once again surfaced in her office after the shootings. I still say that when someone decides to do harm, controlling everyone else's ability to have guns is not going to stop them. They will find a way.

Whenever this issue comes up, I always wonder why we don't enact a car-control bill. Let's limit access to cars. Seems to me a lot fewer people will die. Let's have fertilizer control. A lot fewer people would have died in the Oklahoma bombing had fertilizer freedom been abolished. Or, let's have jumbo jet control. We could have avoided thousands of deaths in 9-11. At the core of any of these horrible tragedies is a human being, who, for whatever reason, has gone out of control.

I was also stunningly amazed at the ravenous, ridiculous way the press hounds interrogated the officials at Virgina Tech, acting as if these individuals were supposed to have dotted every "i" and crossed every "t" in their investigation just minutes after the incident.

Has our instant-impact society gone so far as to expect neatly-packaged answers for why an event happened almost before it was completed? Maybe I'm old-fashioned, but I believe the blame game, which inevitably these days seeks out whose heads need to roll, ought to sit tight and wait for the emotional aspects of this event to work themselves out.

The answers will come---and they should---when all the facts are put in place in a methodical, common-sense fashion. Possibly a few mistaken assumptions can be avoided if this investigation is given a few days rather than a few minutes or hours.

I guess I'm naive enough to think that the president of the university and his law officers deserved a bit more understanding and empathy yesterday from the press wolves with the magnitude of the issues they were dealing with. If we don't know until tomorrow why this horrific event happened, it's not going to change the shock and grief felt by students, their families and the whole nation.

I'm sure the hungry media wolves and armchair quarter-backing on this event will continue to dominate the air waves 24-7 with the same fervor as the regurgitation we witness of every minuscule tidbit associated with Anna Nicole Smith soap opera-----until the next wacko comes along, performs the unthinkable and sends the hounds on a new chase.

It would be refreshing to see a little more compassion and good old-fashioned patience on the part of all concerned when horrible, shocking events like this happen to good people and their grieving families. We can jump to the conclusions later when the well-researched facts support them and the emotional turmoil has some time to settle.

Horsin' around

The old guy looks pretty good, and it felt pretty good to take him for a spin down the road yesterday afternoon. My big bay gelding Rambo will turn 22 this year, which is hard to believe. It seems like just yesterday that he shot into the world in our barnyard around 2 a.m. the day after the Fourth of July in 1985. His mother was a huge black Quarter Horse mare named Mrs. Black.

His dad was my sister's Arabian stallion named Sunrise Request, a beautiful and smart-performing show horse who met a tragic end from a twisted intestine when he was just 7 years old. Ricky passed along his smarts and his refinement, while Mrs. Black gave Rambo size----16 hands, to be exact.

Rambo's been through a lot of medical difficulties during his life---fractured forearm which kept him from going to the Arabian Nationals as a show hack and hunter horse, a fistula on his urethra which cost lots and lots of bucks to diagnose, blindness in one eye from uveitis, and blindness in the other from a displaced lens. Nonetheless, Rambo has a lot of common sense and maintains a good attitude, even though he occasionally bumps into stuff up close like barns and stall boards.

I decided to take him out on a solo ride down South Center Valley Road yesterday. Whinnying a bit to his whinnying friends who were racing around the barnyard pasture as we left and returned, he did pay attention to business for most of the ride.The only disappointment came from those sharp rocks which were a bit too much for his unshod hind hooves. As long as cars weren't coming, we could plod on down the middle of the road away from the rocks.

He also has an uncanny sense of smell or possibly a little vision left in the eye with the displaced lens because as we neared Jack Filipowski's field of Hereford cows and calves, he acted like the old Rambo. Looking their direction and dancing off to the side of the road for fear those cows might come and get him, he eventually decided they were okay and moved on.

I don't think I'll take him on the road again unless he gets some shoes behind, but I do know that he's as good as ever on a ride by himself. I've always said Rambo is one of my heroes because he's never let a handicap get in the way of his job of acting like a horse. He's the boss of the herd and they approach him with great respect----except when he's trying to get a snooze.

I've gone out several times to see Lily standing near him with three legs on the ground and a front leg resting on Rambo's side. He tries to sleep, but cusses at her adequately until she goes off to find someone else to bother.

And, speaking of Lily, she had her first session in the round pen yesterday. It's obvious she's had some experience in an Oklahoma round pen because she walked through the gate and went right to work. It will be nice to have the facility where she'll perfect her longeing, get the feel of a saddle on her back, learn some ground driving and eventually get the feel of a saddle and a human on her back. I've got plenty of patience in regard to the latter, but if I am that human and live to tell about it, there'll definitely be another good horse story.

My next goal for this spring is to get Casey hitched up in the cart and see if we can go down the road without creating some Amish kindling. If successful, that could turn into a full-time hobby, and I wouldn't mind that a bit.

My horses are unimpressed with all the plans I have for them this year. They just stand out there in their barnyard pasture and keep communicating to me, through their wistful expressions, that the grass sure does look greener on the other side of their fence. So far, the fence and I have been able to withstand their strong desire to get a taste of that lush stuff.

That won't last long though. They'll soon be out for short periods of time grazing, getting slicked up and looking beautiful in the fields of green, and I'm looking forward to enjoying that scene every day.

Spring and dew dew come to the Lovestead

Aggie's excellent springtime adventure

Spots of fun, deaf folks and dollar signs

I haven't seen Miss Lily this clean for several weeks. Annie---be sure to visit her blog to see her lovely tulip photos (www.nnlove.blogspot.com) took the photo in December when the only time her blanket came off was to show her off to visitors. Since March, she hasn't worn her blanket every day, but she has managed to find some good ol' soupy mud holes. It would be safe to say that Lily feels very much at home in her new digs.

It's also safe to assume that I've been having a lot of fun with my spotted filly. I've also continued to put out a lot of money to ensure that she doesn't spend her life simply eating and pooping. Last December, I told Appaloosa Journal editor Diane Rice that something was wrong with this picture when my expenses for one assignment exceeded my income by at least 15 fold. Translated: at the time of purchase and transport, I'd have to write 15 more Journal stories to come out even.

Well, it's gotten worse. Yesterday Lily had her feet trimmed by my longtime horse shoer, John Fuller. That was about $20, so not bad. Two days ago, O.D. Offermann brought me a load of 3/4 minus gravel (about $150) to spread out in the pasture spot where there's going to be a round pen for Lily.

Before going any further, I must digress. I learned this week that some of us other than our mother can't hear. I took Lily to my sisters' arena last Saturday for a refresher in longeing techniques. She was still standing in the trailer when I walked down to where Barbara and Laurie were grooming horses and Mother was watching from her new golf cart.

"Is Lily coming?" I heard.

"Yeah, she's out in the horse trailer," I answered.

Mother looked a little puzzled. Certainly she knew I was bringing my mare, but certainly that's not what she had asked.

"Is Willie coming?" Mother already knew Lily had come but wondered if my son Willie was coming up for Easter.

A few days later, I was talking to Annie on the phone and telling about all that was happening here at the Lovestead this week. John would be coming to work on the horses' feet, and I was getting Lily a round pen. I went on to tell her I'd ordered the round pen, and it would cost $1,300.

Annie was shocked.

"Why does it cost so much?" she asked.

"Well, it's metal panels and it has a gate, and . . . "

"Oh," she said, "I thought you said you getting Willie a round pen, and I couldn't figure out why a writing pen would cost so much."

Back from digression, our family deafness has led to some good dialogue this week, and the round pen, a training corral for horses, has arrived to the tune of $1,300. It's spring and soon the round pen will be up and usable for Lily to learn her walks, trots, canters, reverses, and all other ground disciplines within a confined area.

That will be Lily's lesson plan for 2007. Possibly in the fall, we may put a saddle on her and pray that she doesn't buck with all four feet six feet off the ground like she's been known to do while frolicking in her barnyard with her buddies, Rambo and Casey. And, possibly, I might stay on her and not have to add too much more to the tab with a hefty doctor bill.

So far, calculations indicate that I'll be working for the Appaloosa Journal for a long, long time if I'm ever going come out on top dollarwise with Miss Lily. So far, however, she's provided more than her share of spots of fun for me and everyone else who's come to love her here at the Lovestead.

In loving memory of a husband, father, grandpa, great-grandpa, friend to nature,

and

lover of good pickup trucks,

Harold Tibbs

April 12, 1916 ~ November 21, 2003

We'll never forget you.

Sad thoughts revisited

During my early-morning reflections about my friend Betsy yesterday, I misstated some facts. Later, upon reading Betsy's obituary at www.lakeviewfuneral.com, I realized the mistakes, felt terrible and made the corrections. So, please reread yesterday's tribute to Betsy and note the changes.

Also, my apologies for the oversights.

This morning I send condolences to the family of my teaching colleague, Tom Dryden who passed away yesterday. Tom taught biology at Sandpoint High School for decades.

He was known for his dry sense of humor, and I remember his spring bean projects where students nurtured a single green bean in a styrofoam cup. In fact, I wrote a story about Tom and the green beans a while back, and if I can find it, I'll post it later today.

Tom had a wonderful wife Cathy and phenomenal children. I taught most of them and appreciated each as respectful, friendly and smart young people who have all done well for themselves since graduating from Sandpoint High. My thoughts and prayers go to each of them and to all the Dryden family.

This is another tough week with old friends.

Farewell, Betsy

One of the sweetest women in Sandpoint died yesterday. She will be sorely missed. Cancer eventually took Betsy Foster, but it will never erase the dear memories that so many people will cherish about their relationship with this wonderful human being. All who knew Betsy could easily reach into their bags and pull out a variety of heartfelt stories that eloquently illustrate her gentle, kind and gracious nature.

After reading of her passing, I found it difficult to concentrate on the Imus stories and commentary in this morning's paper because I was so distracted by intermittent thoughts of Betsy who embodied the antithesis of what we see every day in the Imuses, the Sterns and all the nasty tongues who profit and delight in flinging nasty barbs with every moment they enjoy on the air.

I doubt that Betsy could muster up too many unkind thoughts or utter an acerbic comment toward anyone. She was just too sweet, and that's how the town knew her as she and her husband Dick developed Foster's Crossing in downtown Sandpoint as a warm, hospitable must-stop for anyone interested in antiques, crafts or a delectable lunch or coffee treat.

We who knew her as a member of the coffee cult all felt pain over the last few years as we watched Betsy fight her cancer bravely. When she showed up for coffee cult, looking weak and frail, we were happy to see her. She probably relished the opportunity to put the disease aside for a few moments and enjoy some good ol' friendly gabbing with friends she'd known for years.

I first met Betsy in 1975. I thought she had just moved to town. That was correct, but I learned later that she was a Sandpoint long timer just like me. She had attended the high school in the early '50s, gone away and had returned home in the '70s. By that time, her youngest Liz was accompanying her to the first antique store down on Pine Street.

We met because the United States Bi-Centennial was coming up, and we signed up to be on the local committee to coordinate a community celebration. I didn't know enough to say no at the time and got appointed as chairman, while Betsy took responsibility as secretary. Eventually, when I realized the whole thing was a lot bigger than I could handle, Wally Staglund kindly took over and saw the Bonner County celebration to its fruition.

By that time, however, a friendship with Betsy and her family had been sealed. Through the years, I've known Betsy as a business owner where my mother spent many years working at the Country Loft upstairs at Foster's Crossing. My mother adored Betsy, and the feeling seemed mutual.

Over the years, I've known Betsy as a parent of three children, Bill, Barb and Liz and loving wife to Dick. It was fun to eventually have Liz as a student in my honors English class and to follow her high school and college career which took her to Duke University.

And, later, Liz married Steve Neuder, another of my many favored students. Of course, we attended the wedding where Dick and Betsy gave their youngest daughter off to the fine son of two highly respected Sandpoint people, Dick and Mary Neuder. I've enjoyed getting to know Steve and Liz's two lovely daughters.

I shared another distinction with Betsy. People in town used to get us confused with our then brown hair and big brown eyes. She was called Marianne a time or two, and I learned to answer to Betsy after two or three people began conversations with me that didn't quite make sense.

One of the better stories I heard came from Boots Reynolds, who claims he knows nobody's name. Betsy had gone to his house to talk about something dealing with their antique furniture business. Boots got on the phone to his wife Becky, who was in town, and was trying to tell her about this lady who'd shown up, unannounced. He described her appearance, and Becky still didn't know who it was. So, then he said she was that lady who wrote books.

Becky was at the other end scratching her head wondering why Marianne was out there talking furniture to Boots. Eventually the mystery was solved, and I didn't get any of Boots' antiques.

I wrote about my other favorite Betsy story a few weeks ago when telling about seeing her at Connie's Restaurant the morning Annie was born.

"Have you had that baby?" she asked as I walked past the booth where she and Dick were enjoying breakfast.

"No, but I'm headed over to the hospital to do so right now," I snapped back as matter-of-factly as if discussing the weather. Betsy reacted with her characteristic awe. Her eyes widened and her mouth dropped open as I calmly walked out the door.

My heart goes out to all the Foster family, with whom we've enjoyed so many pleasant memories over the years. Betsy spread love wherever she went, and that love was particularly reflective in her children. The family has endured more than their share of tragedies with the loss of their son/brother Bill's daughter. And, now Betsy.

Her strength in adversity and her constant positive attitude will, no doubt, provide an enduring example for them and her many, many friends as the gravity of this loss sets in. Betsy Foster was one fine, sweet woman who contributed so much to this community through her constant radiance, grace and sincerity.

Farewell to a fine friend. Thanks for the memories.

Welcome to Kootenai National Wildlife Refuge

A few rules of the refuge:

You can walk.

You can ride your bike.

You can drive your licensed car, your licensed pickup, your licensed truck

or even your licensed motorcycle,

but

No grannies--no matter how old they are---will ever be allowed to drive unlicensed, electric, soundless golf carts.

Please follow other rules as demonstrated in photos below.

Watch the birds

Keep dogs on leash

Keep Granny in the car

Enjoy some laughs while Granny sits in the car.

Stay out of off-limits areas

Enjoy the scenery

Ride and visit at your leisure