Well, this is a big day for lots of folks. In our family, it's big cuz Willie's covering the Humanitarian Bowl in Boise, so we might check in and try to see him along the sidelines. I did see him on TV at a BSU game this year when he was coming through Boise on his way from a high school championship game in Pocatello, bound for his office in Nampa to start his day's at the paper.
He called me from that game and told me to look for him near the 5-yard line. He was dressed in black. Well, I spotted him once, and that was kind of fun. So, it would be great to see him again today. Then, again, maybe he's been elevated in stature and will be sitting in a real live press box. I'm not sure if he's flying to Seattle after the game, but I know his wife Debbie will be there for our daughter Annie's New Year's Eve party.
It's party day and not just for New Year's. We have two family birthdays. My sister-in-law has joined the BIG SIX-O club today. So, we're hoping she has a happy celebration. And, I'll be joining my sister Laurie and my mother in taking our sister/daughter Barbara to lunch for her birthday. She's got a long ways to go before joining our club though.
It seems like someone else---maybe an in-law or outlaw---in our extended family also has a birthday today. So, if I have that right, and you're out there reading this blog, have a happy one. Tomorrow, one of the younger generation of family members turns 10.
Speaking of the BIG SIX-O, I must publicly welcome my friend Edna to the ranks. And, with that, I'd say we 1947-ers have now done our thing; it's time for the '48s to spend the year acting like they're the only ones who ever turned 60. Why is it that we make such a big fuss out of these things? I can remember similar rantings half a life ago when 30 spelled the fabled end of youth.
I've found many times since that the myth is not true cuz I act just as childish as an old fogey as I ever did while teeny bopping. Just a little smarter and more selective in my impish performances these days.
Onward----I want to extend a late but sincere congratulations to my friend Jeanne (yes, she's 60 also) who celebrated her retirement a few days ago. I had mentioned to her the possibility of attending the farewell party, but it just didn't work out. Jeanne retired from the Spokesman-Review, along with another friend Donna. I'm sure it's the paper's loss but the beginning of a whole new, wonderful era for both of them. Have fun, ladies!
It's also another ZAGS day. Let's hope our team ends the 2007 year on a higher note than their recent game at the Battle in Seattle. The prevailing consensus is that when they get the team machine oiled, they're going to be hard to beat, and that it may take a few more games. We love 'em, win or lose, because we've vested ourselves in knowing all the trivia about all the players. So, today at 5 p.m. on KHQ----GO ZAGS!
One last thing on this last day of 2007: don't leave your driveway snow berms out on the road, especially tonight. If people have trouble fording those berms on Christmas Eve, imagine what will happen on New Year's Eve. This could lead to some major tragedies in the area and cause the sheriff to bring on extra patrols just to go cite the guilty folks who are out plowing their driveway and waiting in their driveway for cars to pass by rather than sitting out there in the middle of the road with their tractors blocking the traffic.
So, if you're going to plow your driveway, remember the New Year's Eve revelers and get it done early or they're gonna call the sheriff on you and then you're gonna have to change your name to protect your innocence when it makes you so damn mad that people don't have anything more to do than call the sheriff about snow berms which are about to be plowed away once folks pass by with their cars.
I wish I'd had known I could call the sheriff when I drove through the neighbor's snow berms out there on South Center Valley Road, just two days ago. I'll keep that neighbor's name to myself, just in case the snow-berm gestapos are reading this today and call in a post de facto complaint.
Word on the street is that some people have already learned the snow-berm lesson, and their personal berms are gonna stay put, inside their driveway, especially tonight!
Happy Birthday, New Year, ZAGS victory, and Safe Plowing to All!
Monday, December 31, 2007
Sunday, December 30, 2007
People who need people
I've just finished reading the two slim Sunday papers. Well, they're not so slim because the ad sections still make them pretty cumbersome when you carry them to the house from the paperbox. We are, however, reading less and less real news.
As is customary on the last weekend of any year, this morning's editions were filled with reminders of what happened in 2007. One of the big news items I think they forgot to mention on their lists of Top Ten's was the story about those who record the news. Their numbers have decreased significantly, and that didn't all happen because of war casualties. Economic factors have taken a big bite out of our daily printed journalism.
I continue to find that sad, but like anything disappointing, to lament the situation does not make it change. We move forward and learn to deal with what's to come, even with our newspapers. In two days, we change the calendar to a new year where a bundle of reflections for this time next year begin to unfold.
As I reflect the major news events in my life for 2007, I look forward to a better year in 2008. I've known deep sadness and frustration at many turns along the way. I've found it difficult at times to deal with these situations, but throughout my life a glimmer of light has appeared in the deep abysses. Sometimes it's hard to detect, but with constant help and support of people who surround me, I manage to claw my way out.
Which brings to mind more reflection. Always included among my interests of photography, gardening, hiking, horses, travel is the element of "people." Almost since Day One, the opportunity of meeting and getting to know people has always revved my engines, so to speak. In fact, I thrive in people situations, even these days when I often claim the deep desire to become a hermit.
Solitude is essential, but so are people. I'm discovering that factor more and more as I age and realize that we cannot solve all our problems by ourselves. I'm discovering more and more that the inclusion of new souls---even those with views and ways differing from ours---into our circle helps us continue to grow within our own souls. I'm discovering more and more and appreciating the constancy of good friends and family members who demonstrate their caring and thoughtful words at key times in our personal struggles.
As I look back on my year and think about the people of 2007, I see a myriad of faces too numerous to mention. A few stand out, simply because of the uniqueness of the experience. An afternoon and evening spent with Richard Benjamin from New York who'd come to gather material for a book was nothing less than joyous. Richard's appreciation for all the people he met along his way at the local fair and at various other stops was inspiring, to say the least.
I'll never forget the moments spent with my mother throughout the year but especially those days when her enthusiasm was bursting at the seams as she received a hug from Army Sgt. Brandon Adam who'd come home to Sandpoint after being injured in Iraq or when she climbed aboard Quest Aircraft's Kodiak turbo-prop jet for that ride into Spokane Airport to pick up Annie.
I gained a deep appreciation for all of our neighbors this year and wrote a whole column about their importance in our lives. I loved going to my former student Erica Curless' shower and subsequent wedding, seeing faces of former students and old friends I'd known forever. Almost all the weddings had that "local" flavor, prompting comments about how this familiarity just doesn't happen often enough around here any more.
Dogs and horses helped me meet some impressive women---Jane, the lady with 185 horses, 60 cows, dozens of cats and dogs, flocks of peacocks, rabbits and even some ducks at her Arabian ranch in Ronan. I won't forget Deb, the loving mother of daughters and nurturer of all those puppies who made their through the Love household last month. Both women left imprints in my heart because of their kindness and caring toward their animals as well as their genuine friendliness.
Earlier this year, one friend commented to me about the eclectic flavor of the crowd at the book launch in May when my Lessons with Love was unveiled to the public. I was proud. I was proud to say that "eclectic" is the way I view my association with people. I always have and always will.
I thoroughly enjoy meeting people from all walks of life, all socioeconomic levels, all levels of education, all philosophical persuasions. Each provides me enrichment. Yes, there are people I don't appreciate. I don't like rude, arrogant, thoughtless or deceitful people. I think that's a fairly common judgment. For the most part, though, I figure I'll probably specialize in happily adding to my "people" supply until my dying day.
Just last night, I made a new friend at the annual River Journal Christmas party. This is always a fun party because there are the familiar folks like George Eskridge, the Clawsons, Ernie and Linda and, of course, all of Trish's family. But every year a few new faces whom we've only seen in the paper join the crowd. Finally, we get to match a personality to the writer. Among them was Julie Hutzler who writes one of the three "Faith Walk" columns along with Gary Payton and Kathy Osborne.
By the time the evening ended, Julie and I had shared enough similarities in our lives to promise to keep in touch----coming from large family, love of outdoors, being surrounded by teachers, wacky senses of humor. I came home not so much excited about the nice gifts Trish gave each of her staffers or the great "Last Supper" at the Ponderay Diner but thrilled that my passion for meeting new people had been once more satisfied.
Julie, Gary and Kathy offer distinctively different voices of faith because they walk different paths. Nonetheless, all three aim for the same ends as they observe God working around them. Could that be called eclectic? I think so. That is the glory of this world filled with people. Everyone has something to contribute in the great smorgasboard of humanity.
And, humanity, as bad as it can act sometimes, sustains us all. People do need people. And, I be willing to bet that a really good bean counter could statistically prove that the good people far outnumber the bad.
As is customary on the last weekend of any year, this morning's editions were filled with reminders of what happened in 2007. One of the big news items I think they forgot to mention on their lists of Top Ten's was the story about those who record the news. Their numbers have decreased significantly, and that didn't all happen because of war casualties. Economic factors have taken a big bite out of our daily printed journalism.
I continue to find that sad, but like anything disappointing, to lament the situation does not make it change. We move forward and learn to deal with what's to come, even with our newspapers. In two days, we change the calendar to a new year where a bundle of reflections for this time next year begin to unfold.
As I reflect the major news events in my life for 2007, I look forward to a better year in 2008. I've known deep sadness and frustration at many turns along the way. I've found it difficult at times to deal with these situations, but throughout my life a glimmer of light has appeared in the deep abysses. Sometimes it's hard to detect, but with constant help and support of people who surround me, I manage to claw my way out.
Which brings to mind more reflection. Always included among my interests of photography, gardening, hiking, horses, travel is the element of "people." Almost since Day One, the opportunity of meeting and getting to know people has always revved my engines, so to speak. In fact, I thrive in people situations, even these days when I often claim the deep desire to become a hermit.
Solitude is essential, but so are people. I'm discovering that factor more and more as I age and realize that we cannot solve all our problems by ourselves. I'm discovering more and more that the inclusion of new souls---even those with views and ways differing from ours---into our circle helps us continue to grow within our own souls. I'm discovering more and more and appreciating the constancy of good friends and family members who demonstrate their caring and thoughtful words at key times in our personal struggles.
As I look back on my year and think about the people of 2007, I see a myriad of faces too numerous to mention. A few stand out, simply because of the uniqueness of the experience. An afternoon and evening spent with Richard Benjamin from New York who'd come to gather material for a book was nothing less than joyous. Richard's appreciation for all the people he met along his way at the local fair and at various other stops was inspiring, to say the least.
I'll never forget the moments spent with my mother throughout the year but especially those days when her enthusiasm was bursting at the seams as she received a hug from Army Sgt. Brandon Adam who'd come home to Sandpoint after being injured in Iraq or when she climbed aboard Quest Aircraft's Kodiak turbo-prop jet for that ride into Spokane Airport to pick up Annie.
I gained a deep appreciation for all of our neighbors this year and wrote a whole column about their importance in our lives. I loved going to my former student Erica Curless' shower and subsequent wedding, seeing faces of former students and old friends I'd known forever. Almost all the weddings had that "local" flavor, prompting comments about how this familiarity just doesn't happen often enough around here any more.
Dogs and horses helped me meet some impressive women---Jane, the lady with 185 horses, 60 cows, dozens of cats and dogs, flocks of peacocks, rabbits and even some ducks at her Arabian ranch in Ronan. I won't forget Deb, the loving mother of daughters and nurturer of all those puppies who made their through the Love household last month. Both women left imprints in my heart because of their kindness and caring toward their animals as well as their genuine friendliness.
Earlier this year, one friend commented to me about the eclectic flavor of the crowd at the book launch in May when my Lessons with Love was unveiled to the public. I was proud. I was proud to say that "eclectic" is the way I view my association with people. I always have and always will.
I thoroughly enjoy meeting people from all walks of life, all socioeconomic levels, all levels of education, all philosophical persuasions. Each provides me enrichment. Yes, there are people I don't appreciate. I don't like rude, arrogant, thoughtless or deceitful people. I think that's a fairly common judgment. For the most part, though, I figure I'll probably specialize in happily adding to my "people" supply until my dying day.
Just last night, I made a new friend at the annual River Journal Christmas party. This is always a fun party because there are the familiar folks like George Eskridge, the Clawsons, Ernie and Linda and, of course, all of Trish's family. But every year a few new faces whom we've only seen in the paper join the crowd. Finally, we get to match a personality to the writer. Among them was Julie Hutzler who writes one of the three "Faith Walk" columns along with Gary Payton and Kathy Osborne.
By the time the evening ended, Julie and I had shared enough similarities in our lives to promise to keep in touch----coming from large family, love of outdoors, being surrounded by teachers, wacky senses of humor. I came home not so much excited about the nice gifts Trish gave each of her staffers or the great "Last Supper" at the Ponderay Diner but thrilled that my passion for meeting new people had been once more satisfied.
Julie, Gary and Kathy offer distinctively different voices of faith because they walk different paths. Nonetheless, all three aim for the same ends as they observe God working around them. Could that be called eclectic? I think so. That is the glory of this world filled with people. Everyone has something to contribute in the great smorgasboard of humanity.
And, humanity, as bad as it can act sometimes, sustains us all. People do need people. And, I be willing to bet that a really good bean counter could statistically prove that the good people far outnumber the bad.
Saturday, December 29, 2007
Saturday Slight
Two more inches of snow overnight on top of a new layer created through a full day's worth of snow yesterday. That accumulation has created a magical scene outside with trees limbs weighted down with puffy white pillows and a horizon appearing like a vast table of marshmallow cream.
It's pretty for photographers and skiers but getting to be downright ugly for folks who have to plow the driveways and figure out where to pile it up one more time. The forecast calls for another three or four inches today, followed by lighter doses and eventually a clear day on Wednesday. Even though it creates a lot of work, I'll take this over yucky slush any day.
It's a ZAGS day today. Last year at this time, we were in Seattle for the Battle in Seattle. We watched the Zags lose to Nevada, but we had fun anyway. I got to see my classmates Janet and Rick, and I'm betting they'll be in Key Arena again today. We'll watch the game from the Lovestead living room.
This is also River Journal Christmas party day. Trish is hosting her crew with Italian cuisine at the Ponderay Cafe in the Bonner Mall. In keeping with tradition, we're supposed to bring our gag gifts. I've got a problem. I have not received any new AOL CD's this year. That's been my customary gift in the past, and people have been rightfully disappointed to open it.
So, I guess I'll have to do some searching to find something equally bad. There are a few re-gifting things I could do, but not remembering who gave me these items could prove embarrassing, so I'll probably avoid that ploy. Maybe it's time to start digging through those dozens of boxes that have sat unopened in our storage rooms since we move here. Certainly, there's something.
Speaking of gifts, this was a booky Christmas. Bill has two new Patrick McManus books, as does Willie. We have Boots' BEANS book on display atop the bookcase. Bill gave me Tom Brokaw's new book Boom.
I've heard Tom Brokaw speak of this on several interview programs and have been continually amazed at the knowledge this man has amassed over his years in the media. For a guy who got told to take a break from college and come back when he was ready, he certainly made up for lost time and exemplifies the "average guy" success syndrome just like David Letterman. I'm looking forward to reading his take on our Boomerdum.
I gave myself, my mother, my siblings and my kids each a copy of the beautifully-produced St. Joseph's Centennial Cookbook. Fr. T.J. O'Donovan and the cookbook coordinator Carol Kamp autographed each, and the book will be especially treasured by all of us forever because Mother's painting of St. Joseph's is on the cover.
My friend Margarete gave me The Best Things Anybody Ever Said, and I've been looking them over. It's a big thick book so there are a lot of best things said. From time to time, I'll use it to lead off some blog entries. Margarete loves language like I do, and I'm still planning to draw from the two books she gave me for my birthday: Ballyhoo Buckaroo and Spuds (Ingenious Tales of Words and Their Origins) and Movers and Shakers: A Chronology of Words That Shaped Our Age.
Those go in the pile with Richard Lederer's Presidential Trivia, sent to me by my cousin in California who's well acquainted with this prolific author of English language idiosyncrasies. I've dabbled in the book from time to time, and, yes, I did find some stuff about Hillary. Maybe that's why I haven't looked at it for a while.
The book I need to finish before starting all the aforementioned is Ivan Doig's The Whistling Season. Of course, there's a funny story to go along with that one. I was on a flight to Idaho Falls last month when a man who should have taken up two seats was assigned to sit next to me. Well, he sat on top of me---all the way from Seattle to the Idaho border when the plane had reached an altitude where it was okay to get up to use the restroom.
I pried myself out of the seat, met the attendant eye-to-eye and asked if I could please move to the empty seat a few rows in front of me. Up until that time, the lady across the aisle seemed to be the only person on that plane aware that I might be in some misery. So, we talked, got acquainted and she sympathized, which made my suffering, smothered body feel a bit better.
The lady, who'd flown up from California, got off at Bozeman but took my same flight back to Seattle two days later. On that trip, she enthusiastically suggested The Whistling Season, which I obligingly purchased in Seattle Airport. I agree with her assessment that it's a book you wish would go on forever. Being a person who loves stories of a past times in ranch settings, especially in Montana, I'm hooked.
I read a few pages several times a week whenever I wake up in the middle of the night. At this point, the one-room school house teacher has run off to who-knows-where with the local preacher. So, the learned brother of the family's housekeeper from the East has taken over the classroom and is in the process of learning students' names, along with a little philosophizing.
It's a wonderful book, and I keep thinking that if that big man hadn't sat on me in that airplane seat, I may have passed it by in favor of some other book. So, I continue to read about the whistling housekeeper who can't cook for the widower and father of three boys who wishes she could, and I'm glad for the tip.
And the other books will sit in a pile like the deep snow awaiting their turn. If luck holds, maybe I'll dig into each and give them a little use before the snow disappears in the spring.
GO ZAGS!!! Happy Saturday to all.
It's pretty for photographers and skiers but getting to be downright ugly for folks who have to plow the driveways and figure out where to pile it up one more time. The forecast calls for another three or four inches today, followed by lighter doses and eventually a clear day on Wednesday. Even though it creates a lot of work, I'll take this over yucky slush any day.
It's a ZAGS day today. Last year at this time, we were in Seattle for the Battle in Seattle. We watched the Zags lose to Nevada, but we had fun anyway. I got to see my classmates Janet and Rick, and I'm betting they'll be in Key Arena again today. We'll watch the game from the Lovestead living room.
This is also River Journal Christmas party day. Trish is hosting her crew with Italian cuisine at the Ponderay Cafe in the Bonner Mall. In keeping with tradition, we're supposed to bring our gag gifts. I've got a problem. I have not received any new AOL CD's this year. That's been my customary gift in the past, and people have been rightfully disappointed to open it.
So, I guess I'll have to do some searching to find something equally bad. There are a few re-gifting things I could do, but not remembering who gave me these items could prove embarrassing, so I'll probably avoid that ploy. Maybe it's time to start digging through those dozens of boxes that have sat unopened in our storage rooms since we move here. Certainly, there's something.
Speaking of gifts, this was a booky Christmas. Bill has two new Patrick McManus books, as does Willie. We have Boots' BEANS book on display atop the bookcase. Bill gave me Tom Brokaw's new book Boom.
I've heard Tom Brokaw speak of this on several interview programs and have been continually amazed at the knowledge this man has amassed over his years in the media. For a guy who got told to take a break from college and come back when he was ready, he certainly made up for lost time and exemplifies the "average guy" success syndrome just like David Letterman. I'm looking forward to reading his take on our Boomerdum.
I gave myself, my mother, my siblings and my kids each a copy of the beautifully-produced St. Joseph's Centennial Cookbook. Fr. T.J. O'Donovan and the cookbook coordinator Carol Kamp autographed each, and the book will be especially treasured by all of us forever because Mother's painting of St. Joseph's is on the cover.
My friend Margarete gave me The Best Things Anybody Ever Said, and I've been looking them over. It's a big thick book so there are a lot of best things said. From time to time, I'll use it to lead off some blog entries. Margarete loves language like I do, and I'm still planning to draw from the two books she gave me for my birthday: Ballyhoo Buckaroo and Spuds (Ingenious Tales of Words and Their Origins) and Movers and Shakers: A Chronology of Words That Shaped Our Age.
Those go in the pile with Richard Lederer's Presidential Trivia, sent to me by my cousin in California who's well acquainted with this prolific author of English language idiosyncrasies. I've dabbled in the book from time to time, and, yes, I did find some stuff about Hillary. Maybe that's why I haven't looked at it for a while.
The book I need to finish before starting all the aforementioned is Ivan Doig's The Whistling Season. Of course, there's a funny story to go along with that one. I was on a flight to Idaho Falls last month when a man who should have taken up two seats was assigned to sit next to me. Well, he sat on top of me---all the way from Seattle to the Idaho border when the plane had reached an altitude where it was okay to get up to use the restroom.
I pried myself out of the seat, met the attendant eye-to-eye and asked if I could please move to the empty seat a few rows in front of me. Up until that time, the lady across the aisle seemed to be the only person on that plane aware that I might be in some misery. So, we talked, got acquainted and she sympathized, which made my suffering, smothered body feel a bit better.
The lady, who'd flown up from California, got off at Bozeman but took my same flight back to Seattle two days later. On that trip, she enthusiastically suggested The Whistling Season, which I obligingly purchased in Seattle Airport. I agree with her assessment that it's a book you wish would go on forever. Being a person who loves stories of a past times in ranch settings, especially in Montana, I'm hooked.
I read a few pages several times a week whenever I wake up in the middle of the night. At this point, the one-room school house teacher has run off to who-knows-where with the local preacher. So, the learned brother of the family's housekeeper from the East has taken over the classroom and is in the process of learning students' names, along with a little philosophizing.
It's a wonderful book, and I keep thinking that if that big man hadn't sat on me in that airplane seat, I may have passed it by in favor of some other book. So, I continue to read about the whistling housekeeper who can't cook for the widower and father of three boys who wishes she could, and I'm glad for the tip.
And the other books will sit in a pile like the deep snow awaiting their turn. If luck holds, maybe I'll dig into each and give them a little use before the snow disappears in the spring.
GO ZAGS!!! Happy Saturday to all.
Friday, December 28, 2007
New family member
Miss Betsy June joined her mom, dad and big sister yesterday morning. She's a little lady, at 4 pounds, 14 ounces.
Her Brown/Tibbs side of the family now includes a great-grandmother, grandparents, five great-aunts and uncles, and a whole bunch of cousins---one being a year older today.
Happy Birthday, Laura, momma of the triplets.
Welcome, Miss Betsy.
Thursday, December 27, 2007
Wednesday, December 26, 2007
Tuesday, December 25, 2007
Monday, December 24, 2007
It snowed all day and part of the night. I can hear the dynamite blasts up at Schweitzer where they're doing avalanche control. We've heard a lot of blasts up that way this week. They must have more snow than they know what to do with. My sister's friend Colleen told her to forget the snowshoe day they'd planned over Christmas break cuz she wasn't going to miss one day of all that phenonmenal powder skiing up at Schweitzer.
Annie went snowshoeing yesterday at the Kootenai National Wildlife Refuge with Kiwi and her BSU college friend Kristy. Apparently, she didn't see any signs, forbidding travel by snowshoe---must be that restriction is only reserved for old ladies and golf carts. Quit being nasty Marianne---this is Christmas. Even the Feds who come up with strange rules deserve a little nice right now.
Anyway, Annie said it was kinda crusty up there, so it wasn't the best snowshoeing, but she had a good visit with an old friend.
I went north to Bonners Ferry yesterday too. I attended Mass at St. Ann's. The Mass was interspersed with a lot of blessings bestowed upon a couple who had gotten married somewhere else. There were enough blessings that yesterday's Mass could have been the wedding. It was a nice service, but leave it to this C and E Catholic.
The one time I miss staying home from Mass and actually go do my Catholic duty, my really good Catholic friend Mike Flaim and his wife Monica (a former student and fellow horse lover) stopped by for a visit.
I missed 'em completely, but Annie got to see them. They're home for the Christmas holiday from Amsterdam where they've been living for four years, and they were headed to Western Pleasure Guest Ranch yesterday, where they were sure to have the most exquisite of sleigh rides through this abundant snow.
At least they got to see the Lovestead, and I did visit briefly with Mike over the phone the day after they had arrived in Sandpoint. Mike taught with me at Sandpoint High School, and we did a nice job of being class clowns at faculty meetings. Most of the time we got away with our back-and-forth facial routines as the administrators droned on about tardy policies and copy paper usage.
Well, back to the snow. It brought our neighbor Gary Finney down for a visit last night. He came and plowed part of our driveway. I knew he had a motive. I gave him Christmas cookies last year. About two weeks ago, he stopped Bill at Co-Op Country Store and said, "I'll bet Marianne's baking those Christmas cookies about now." Bill had to tell him no, that Christmas cards were on that week's agenda and the cookies would come later.
Gary must've done some ciphering, and being the meticulous lawyer he is, Gary was dead on. I had just finished filling the cookie platters for the neighbors when I heard the dogs barking. I looked out, and there he was plowing out near the mailbox. It took only one hand gesture for that New Holland to rev up its engine and roll on into the driveway.
Soon Gary was inside the house sitting on the couch, munching the free-for-all stack of cookies and sipping on Russian tea. We had a great time talking about history and old things----no, we didn't talk about us. The old things were actual things, like Guy Hesselgesser's chaps that he bought off from a guy at a gun show. Guy was an old cowboy, often seen riding his horses around downtown Sandpoint. He could be considered one of the icons of Old Sandpoint, in fact.
We also talked about my dad Harold's bat-wing leather chaps, which he sold to Lorraine Bowman for $50 several years ago. We were horrified at the time to think that he would sell them, let alone so cheaply.
Gary said he was gonna find out if those chaps are anywhere in the Bowman family possessions, buy 'em off from them, hang them in his house with all his other old saddles and chaps, and then invite me down to look at them.
I said I might just get to the Bowmans first, cuz it sure would be nice to have those back in the family. Harold wore those chaps when he rode the range in Montana's Madison Valley back in the 1930s. He even convinced my mother one time that it got so cold over there at the Millard Easter ranch that he wore the chaps to bed to stay warm. She believed him for a long time until she caught him grinning one time.
We enjoyed our visit with Gary, and he seemed delighted that the Christmas cookie tray was all ready for him to take home and sample. He said he might have to come over to the bonfire tomorrow night and take a look at Kevin cuz he hasn't seen my brother since high school. And, us being old things, that was a long time ago when winters were about like this one.
It's been piling up, and we don't need to sing Bing to get the nostalgia we want this year. I envision plenty of snow forts and snowmen along with the festivities over the next couple of days.
If your Christmas isn't white, may it be bright, peaceful and filled with family and/or friendly fun.
Annie went snowshoeing yesterday at the Kootenai National Wildlife Refuge with Kiwi and her BSU college friend Kristy. Apparently, she didn't see any signs, forbidding travel by snowshoe---must be that restriction is only reserved for old ladies and golf carts. Quit being nasty Marianne---this is Christmas. Even the Feds who come up with strange rules deserve a little nice right now.
Anyway, Annie said it was kinda crusty up there, so it wasn't the best snowshoeing, but she had a good visit with an old friend.
I went north to Bonners Ferry yesterday too. I attended Mass at St. Ann's. The Mass was interspersed with a lot of blessings bestowed upon a couple who had gotten married somewhere else. There were enough blessings that yesterday's Mass could have been the wedding. It was a nice service, but leave it to this C and E Catholic.
The one time I miss staying home from Mass and actually go do my Catholic duty, my really good Catholic friend Mike Flaim and his wife Monica (a former student and fellow horse lover) stopped by for a visit.
I missed 'em completely, but Annie got to see them. They're home for the Christmas holiday from Amsterdam where they've been living for four years, and they were headed to Western Pleasure Guest Ranch yesterday, where they were sure to have the most exquisite of sleigh rides through this abundant snow.
At least they got to see the Lovestead, and I did visit briefly with Mike over the phone the day after they had arrived in Sandpoint. Mike taught with me at Sandpoint High School, and we did a nice job of being class clowns at faculty meetings. Most of the time we got away with our back-and-forth facial routines as the administrators droned on about tardy policies and copy paper usage.
Well, back to the snow. It brought our neighbor Gary Finney down for a visit last night. He came and plowed part of our driveway. I knew he had a motive. I gave him Christmas cookies last year. About two weeks ago, he stopped Bill at Co-Op Country Store and said, "I'll bet Marianne's baking those Christmas cookies about now." Bill had to tell him no, that Christmas cards were on that week's agenda and the cookies would come later.
Gary must've done some ciphering, and being the meticulous lawyer he is, Gary was dead on. I had just finished filling the cookie platters for the neighbors when I heard the dogs barking. I looked out, and there he was plowing out near the mailbox. It took only one hand gesture for that New Holland to rev up its engine and roll on into the driveway.
Soon Gary was inside the house sitting on the couch, munching the free-for-all stack of cookies and sipping on Russian tea. We had a great time talking about history and old things----no, we didn't talk about us. The old things were actual things, like Guy Hesselgesser's chaps that he bought off from a guy at a gun show. Guy was an old cowboy, often seen riding his horses around downtown Sandpoint. He could be considered one of the icons of Old Sandpoint, in fact.
We also talked about my dad Harold's bat-wing leather chaps, which he sold to Lorraine Bowman for $50 several years ago. We were horrified at the time to think that he would sell them, let alone so cheaply.
Gary said he was gonna find out if those chaps are anywhere in the Bowman family possessions, buy 'em off from them, hang them in his house with all his other old saddles and chaps, and then invite me down to look at them.
I said I might just get to the Bowmans first, cuz it sure would be nice to have those back in the family. Harold wore those chaps when he rode the range in Montana's Madison Valley back in the 1930s. He even convinced my mother one time that it got so cold over there at the Millard Easter ranch that he wore the chaps to bed to stay warm. She believed him for a long time until she caught him grinning one time.
We enjoyed our visit with Gary, and he seemed delighted that the Christmas cookie tray was all ready for him to take home and sample. He said he might have to come over to the bonfire tomorrow night and take a look at Kevin cuz he hasn't seen my brother since high school. And, us being old things, that was a long time ago when winters were about like this one.
It's been piling up, and we don't need to sing Bing to get the nostalgia we want this year. I envision plenty of snow forts and snowmen along with the festivities over the next couple of days.
If your Christmas isn't white, may it be bright, peaceful and filled with family and/or friendly fun.
Sunday, December 23, 2007
Christmas family treats
Willie will be coming home at 4 p.m. on Christmas Day. So will Debbie. The last time Willie spent Christmas with us was seven years ago, although we didn't see much of him. He took off early in the morning and drove to Spokane Airport. Then, he boarded a plane for Boise. Once there, he went Debbie's grandparents' home, where she was taking part in holiday festivities.
Willie went to the house with a bouquet of flowers and a small box. As tears streamed down Debbie's grandfather's face, Willie descended to one knee facing Debbie, offered the flowers and asked, "Will you marry me?" Debbie said yes. He gave her the engagement ring, which he had allowed Annie and me to help him select a few weeks before at Kincaid's Jewelers.
After a short visit, he went back to the airport, flew to Spokane, drove to Sandpoint and met us at Connie's, where we had our Christmas dinner.
Well, this time things will be a little different. Willie and his bride of six years will fly in to Spokane. Then, we'll drive to Post Falls and have dinner at Mallard's Restaurant. When we arrive back at the Lovestead, everything should be ready for the big family bonfire.
We started this tradition three years ago. Willie and Debbie will attend their first. One thing they're going to have to be aware of is the need to be able to run fast through snow. Besides the flames leaping into the air, there will be human bodies sneaking, leaping and darting among the trees, flinging snow balls at other human bodies trying to dodge the assaults.
Each year we wrap my mother up in blankets to make sure she stays warm while watching all her old kids turn into young kids again for a couple of hours. Besides being the grandma observer, Mother also serves as a demilitarized zone for the snowy combat going on all around her. Anyone wishing for a break from the pelting need only stand beside Mother's chair. It's good for her cuz she gets to visit with the family and good for the person who can avoid injury for a moment or two.
In all this craziness, triplets and dogs are running around. Sometimes giggling, shrieking triplets are being swooped up by older uncles and carried through the night air. Sometimes the young'uns are helping other older relatives built a snow fort for further protection.
Usually, Bill is wisely avoiding combat and simply adding to the fire. In the midst of it all, a smore or two is consumed and maybe a few charcoal marshmallows as flames jump from the fire and ascend toward the dark sky. Some folks are just as happy pairing off and visiting quietly under the stars, while avoiding the snowball war.
When everyone's worn out, the mass of humanity and caninity and even the token felinity, Miss Fuzzy Wuzzy, heads for the house via 4-wheelers, sleds or feet where an assortment of desserts and beverages awaits. Again, Bill stokes up the wood stove, while groups mingle throughout the house, visiting and bantering.
This has been a good family tradition, and it's going to be all the more special because the Loves of Boise will be joining the army of family bonfire addicts. Not a bad way to top off a Christmas day. Can't wait!
Willie went to the house with a bouquet of flowers and a small box. As tears streamed down Debbie's grandfather's face, Willie descended to one knee facing Debbie, offered the flowers and asked, "Will you marry me?" Debbie said yes. He gave her the engagement ring, which he had allowed Annie and me to help him select a few weeks before at Kincaid's Jewelers.
After a short visit, he went back to the airport, flew to Spokane, drove to Sandpoint and met us at Connie's, where we had our Christmas dinner.
Well, this time things will be a little different. Willie and his bride of six years will fly in to Spokane. Then, we'll drive to Post Falls and have dinner at Mallard's Restaurant. When we arrive back at the Lovestead, everything should be ready for the big family bonfire.
We started this tradition three years ago. Willie and Debbie will attend their first. One thing they're going to have to be aware of is the need to be able to run fast through snow. Besides the flames leaping into the air, there will be human bodies sneaking, leaping and darting among the trees, flinging snow balls at other human bodies trying to dodge the assaults.
Each year we wrap my mother up in blankets to make sure she stays warm while watching all her old kids turn into young kids again for a couple of hours. Besides being the grandma observer, Mother also serves as a demilitarized zone for the snowy combat going on all around her. Anyone wishing for a break from the pelting need only stand beside Mother's chair. It's good for her cuz she gets to visit with the family and good for the person who can avoid injury for a moment or two.
In all this craziness, triplets and dogs are running around. Sometimes giggling, shrieking triplets are being swooped up by older uncles and carried through the night air. Sometimes the young'uns are helping other older relatives built a snow fort for further protection.
Usually, Bill is wisely avoiding combat and simply adding to the fire. In the midst of it all, a smore or two is consumed and maybe a few charcoal marshmallows as flames jump from the fire and ascend toward the dark sky. Some folks are just as happy pairing off and visiting quietly under the stars, while avoiding the snowball war.
When everyone's worn out, the mass of humanity and caninity and even the token felinity, Miss Fuzzy Wuzzy, heads for the house via 4-wheelers, sleds or feet where an assortment of desserts and beverages awaits. Again, Bill stokes up the wood stove, while groups mingle throughout the house, visiting and bantering.
This has been a good family tradition, and it's going to be all the more special because the Loves of Boise will be joining the army of family bonfire addicts. Not a bad way to top off a Christmas day. Can't wait!
Saturday, December 22, 2007
Taking a break
Have a Happy Saturday. Places to go. People to see. Packages to wrap. Cookies to eat.
Friday, December 21, 2007
The Gift of Good Neighbors
Love Notes
by Marianne Love
for The River Journal
December, 2007
Back in the 1950s, the Clarence Best family lived down North Boyer Road from us. They had a Holstein dairy and a television while our family had just a couple of cows and no TV. When Gorgeous George and his opponents were going crazy on the pro-wrestling mat, Mrs. Best would call up and invite us down to watch.
She also called whenever she had a new supply of her rich homemade cottage cheese. My brother would walk the half mile to her house and retrieve the gallon pail, always filled to the brim. Then, he and my mother, who always smothered hers with several layers of pepper, would feast on the stuff for several days.
Mrs. Best also served as a gauge for the level of decibels we sent into the air while playing or screaming at each other. “Yell just a little louder, and Mrs. Best can hear you,” Mother would advise. Mrs. Best and her husband represented my earliest notion of “neighbors.” That notion has not changed much in 60 years, regardless of where we’ve lived. I still view having good neighbors and being a good neighbor as a necessary fabric of life as well as a much overlooked blessing.
In any good neighborhood, most folks just mind their own business, going about day-to-day details. They do that because most of other folks appreciate being left alone. Just have something go wrong, however, and those same seemingly aloof neighbors will drop whatever they’re doing to help.
They also keep track. They keep track of anything that seems amiss at their neighbors’ homes. Often they’ll be on the phone just checking to see that everything’s okay. Occasionally, some neighbors even send us samples of their caring and friendship through simple thoughtfulness or unsolicited favors.
I look back on the era of old-time neighbors like the Bests and can easily cite some great and poignant stories associated with names like Gooby, Roberson, Dusty, Best, Hudon, Delamarter, DeGroot, Paulet, Allen,Watts, or Burnham, etc. I can’t leave out old Joe Carter in the little cream-colored house a quarter mile beyond the Best farm, always wearing those bib overalls, a work shirt and a fedora. Joe hired me once to mow his lawn with one of those push lawnmowers. That was one of the first paying jobs I ever had.
The Goobys, over to our west, were always around for farming advice and for farming help. Basil Gooby advised my dad to buy the Harney dairy, which bordered our original 40 acres. Basil figured it would be a good investment, but I figure, if he were still alive, he’d be pretty shocked at just how good. My folks did earn a respectable profit off that $15,500 real estate transaction.
Actually, I could write a book about all those neighbors of the good old days. In fact, I have mentioned quite a few of them among the stories in my first two.
Moving on to my adult life, I’ve found that good neighbors continue to be treasured. Among those, I always think of Karen Feist who, 23 years ago just before Christmas, struggled her way through a field of drifting snow, cradling her baby boy Chris in her arms, to alert someone that our house on Great Northern Road was burning down.
Karen continues to have one of the biggest, most caring hearts in Sandpoint. In that neighborhood, there were also the Thorpes who worried about our dogs, and the Goobys who extended their neighborly gestures to a second generation in more ways than I care to calculate. The Larry Books of “wolf-crossing” fame continue to earn their immortality in my own published books.
Before moving to Selle, we met Howard who had just relocated here from Twin Falls. We got acquainted with this displaced Eastern Montana cowboy when he boarded his horse at our old place. Since then, Howard has gone out of his way on our account with countless helpful and much-appreciated gestures.
During our last few years on Great Northern Road, Quest Aircraft Co. moved to the land east of us. Even as the manufacturing facility continued to grow, its managers and employees always made a concerted effort to extend us genuine respect and consideration.
When Quest eventually bought our place in 2006, and I jokingly suggested that they throw in a ride on their Kodiak prop jet, along with the purchase price, CEO Paul Schaller had the contingency written into the contract. Just before this year’s Thanksgiving, they scheduled a trip, which took us to Spokane to pick up our daughter. We all enjoyed a magnificent late afternoon flight in that state-of-the-art plane, which is sure to put Sandpoint on the map worldwide with its missionary and recreational use.
Since moving to the current Lovestead, our neighborly good fortune has continued. Community Assistance League president Helen Baker was the first to stop by one morning and welcome us. The Meserves next door welcomed us with cucumbers from their garden. For two years now, the Taylors have brought us honey harvested from Chad Moore’s hives which occupy the Taylor pasture across the road. Gary Finney hauled my Amish cart home from the Draft Horse sale last year.
The Heynens have dropped off little surprises of a musical nature, while Ron Britton came over one day and volunteered some house repairs. Jack Filipowski showed up with his tractor when he heard we had a horse in trouble. The Kaubles next door helped me through that tough situation.
Betty Anderson called me one morning this past summer, wondering if I owned an Appaloosa. It seems that a rather colorful young mare had just escaped certain death by dump truck on Selle Road near her home. Sure enough, we’d left a gate open, and Miss Lily lived to escape another day, thanks to the Anderson family who rounded her up, gave her some hay and made the phone call.
And, speaking of the death of horses, we’ve regrettably suffered such a loss a couple of times this year. My sisters said good-bye to one longtime friend from their herd too. I can think of no less appealing job than to bury a horse, especially when you know it’s a much-beloved family member.
We have a neighbor named Jim who’s done just that three times for our family this year, adamantly seeking nothing in return. My husband stood with him as he so compassionately and carefully brought each animal to its final resting place, topping off the chore by descending within the grave, patting the horse, saying a few words and wishing each an eternal gallop through the Heavens.
So, at this Christmas season, I continue to be overwhelmed by the cherished gift of good neighbors. I want to publicly thank them all for the special impact they’ve already had on our lives and will surely continue to have until we hopefully find ourselves on our own journey through the Heavens, bumping into them from time to time.
Thursday, December 20, 2007
Traditional bad news day
I always feel a bit apprehensive around this time of year, especially today. This marks the 23rd anniversary of the day our house on Great Northern Road burned down. We lost everything but gained a tremendous sense of the powerful goodness of the human race.
Just as Pearl Harbor Day, JFK's Assassination and 9-11 touch generations deep to the core, December 20 will always remain infamous within our immediate Love family unit. Bill attended his father's funeral that same week, maybe even the same day.
Nineteen years later, on Dec. 20, one month after his grandfather had died, Willie rolled his grandfather's pickup, fortunately walking away unscathed but terribly upset at the circumstances. He had driven the truck no more than two miles down HWY 95 after making a deal to buy it from his grandmother. He was bound for Les Schwab's to get some snow tires when he hit a patch of ice and slid over the embankment near Selle Road.
The calendar date hit me square in the eyes afterward and only intensified the subconscious dread I harbor for the date and the relief I always feel if the day goes without incident. Well, the day stands true to form in the news. So far, so good for the Love family, though, and our fingers are crossed.
Nonetheless, I can't help but think about the calendar when the first news item I read this morning was about a significant earthquake in New Zealand---the other Heaven I know on earth and home to some wonderful friends. Ironically, I had a very vivid dream last night that our family had traveled to New Zealand.
Of course, in my quirky existence, there was a complicating twist. I had forgotten to reserve a hotel room, and we were already there. Somewhere in the murkiness of the dream, efficient Annie, the hotel queen, had come through and taken up the gap where Mom's brain had faltered. Then, I woke up, soon to read about the earthquake and hoping my friends are well.
The next disturbing item I read was on Huckleberries Online. The blogfather, Dave Oliveria, had posted at 1 a.m. this morning to inform his blog followers that his wife and daughter had been involved in a three-car collision a few hours before. They fortunately walked away, but his daughter did go to the ER for observation. Oliveria noted in his posting that all-too-familiar phenomenon----how quickly life can change for us.
So true, and so sad when I realized this morning with the obituaries that 42-year-old Angie Johnson, whose name and death announcement appeared in yesterday's obituaries, was the bubbly, friendly Angie Bond Johnson who made it a point to call me whenever they had a new supply of barbecued beef at the Pack River General Store.
I'm still stunned to learn that she died because of complications with heart surgery. I'm sure this has sent a wave of grief across our community. Her mom was the cook through most of my career at our high school.
I taught several members of her family and her in-laws. I'm sure her SHS Class of 1983 grads will feel the sting. And, for sure, anyone who ever visited the Pack River Store knew and appreciated Angie's warmth and willingness to serve. I can tell you that's an eclectic group and I know a community is feeling as saddened as I am this morning.
My heart goes out to Angie's family and to the staff at Pack River General Store who have certainly lost one of their shining lights and phenomenal cooks.
It's a date on a calendar, and its shadow of wariness continues to intensify in my heart. There's not much we can do about the grand scheme of things, so I guess the message continues to be: make the most and give the most with every day because we never know when those life-altering events are going to strike.
Just as Pearl Harbor Day, JFK's Assassination and 9-11 touch generations deep to the core, December 20 will always remain infamous within our immediate Love family unit. Bill attended his father's funeral that same week, maybe even the same day.
Nineteen years later, on Dec. 20, one month after his grandfather had died, Willie rolled his grandfather's pickup, fortunately walking away unscathed but terribly upset at the circumstances. He had driven the truck no more than two miles down HWY 95 after making a deal to buy it from his grandmother. He was bound for Les Schwab's to get some snow tires when he hit a patch of ice and slid over the embankment near Selle Road.
The calendar date hit me square in the eyes afterward and only intensified the subconscious dread I harbor for the date and the relief I always feel if the day goes without incident. Well, the day stands true to form in the news. So far, so good for the Love family, though, and our fingers are crossed.
Nonetheless, I can't help but think about the calendar when the first news item I read this morning was about a significant earthquake in New Zealand---the other Heaven I know on earth and home to some wonderful friends. Ironically, I had a very vivid dream last night that our family had traveled to New Zealand.
Of course, in my quirky existence, there was a complicating twist. I had forgotten to reserve a hotel room, and we were already there. Somewhere in the murkiness of the dream, efficient Annie, the hotel queen, had come through and taken up the gap where Mom's brain had faltered. Then, I woke up, soon to read about the earthquake and hoping my friends are well.
The next disturbing item I read was on Huckleberries Online. The blogfather, Dave Oliveria, had posted at 1 a.m. this morning to inform his blog followers that his wife and daughter had been involved in a three-car collision a few hours before. They fortunately walked away, but his daughter did go to the ER for observation. Oliveria noted in his posting that all-too-familiar phenomenon----how quickly life can change for us.
So true, and so sad when I realized this morning with the obituaries that 42-year-old Angie Johnson, whose name and death announcement appeared in yesterday's obituaries, was the bubbly, friendly Angie Bond Johnson who made it a point to call me whenever they had a new supply of barbecued beef at the Pack River General Store.
I'm still stunned to learn that she died because of complications with heart surgery. I'm sure this has sent a wave of grief across our community. Her mom was the cook through most of my career at our high school.
I taught several members of her family and her in-laws. I'm sure her SHS Class of 1983 grads will feel the sting. And, for sure, anyone who ever visited the Pack River Store knew and appreciated Angie's warmth and willingness to serve. I can tell you that's an eclectic group and I know a community is feeling as saddened as I am this morning.
My heart goes out to Angie's family and to the staff at Pack River General Store who have certainly lost one of their shining lights and phenomenal cooks.
It's a date on a calendar, and its shadow of wariness continues to intensify in my heart. There's not much we can do about the grand scheme of things, so I guess the message continues to be: make the most and give the most with every day because we never know when those life-altering events are going to strike.
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
Got the trots? Anyone? Anyone?
Does anyone else out there have the trots?
In some cases, I could even call it the gallops and in a few cases, the sprints. Of course, most people who've know me for any length of time, know that I have a tendency to be on the move a lot, and that's in more ways than one. My sister used to always love to detect my misery. She could see it in my face, and she'd correctly announce, "Marianne's about to launch off."
Sunday I blamed my present malady on a latte overdose. I'd had a homegrown latte Saturday morning and a Starbuck's high-priced variety that afternoon. Then, I made brownies that night and sampled the dough. The next morning, shortly after having my third latte in 24 hours, all innerds broke loose and continued to do so throughout the day. So, I figured I'd overdosed.
That period, however, was followed by chills and achy muscles. So, Monday I just figured it was the flu cuz I still didn't feel that great. Well, whatever it is, the stuff is hanging on, and I'm having a hard time being predictable. The one thing that's predictable is that while talking or trying to write my blog, I might have to break off mid-sentence and run. Not fun, especially for the person left standing there wondering what's with that lady. Of course, with the blog, you can't see me running.
Well, for years I've lived with such stuff, and it's never fun. I've learned to deal with it through my sense of humor and one heckuva lot of patience coupled with constant rejuggling of plans. My bosses, during the later years of my career, knew never to stop me in the hallways if I was out of my classroom with an obvious mission on my mind. My kids also knew not to abuse the situation, lest they get their heads chewed off when I returned.
So, yes, I use a humorous approach to an otherwise miserable albatross of life, but I'm hoping this time it's just a bug that other folks have been suffering and not to worry because it will go away.
It was actual worry that led to this more chronic debility in the first place. My doctors, after tons of tests and attempts at cures over the years, finally concluded that some people get migraines, some get hives, and some trot a lot when stress gets too intense. I tend to believe they were right because retirement slowed down my running habits quite a bit.
I guess the cure for such things is to do nothing and resign one's self to a life of sitting in front of the boob tube. Then, there'd be no stress. I doubt I'll take that route. So, I'll just keep on running and hope it's a flu bug that will eventually fly or trot away.
Gotta run!
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
Season's greetings from the Lovestead
I've been picture-taking again. And, all photos definitely indicate that winter is upon us. Christmas is a week away, and the weather forecasters seem pretty sure that we'll have a white Christmas. Some photos were taken this morning; others, Sunday when Sarah came to visit the Lovestead. She also has become the newest member of the growing Lodgepole Society. Kiwi continues to teach Miss Kea the ropes, and Lily enjoyed a day in the sun without her blanket. I have yet to snap a photo showing that Lily is rather "tail-impaired," thanks to her pal Lefty. Soon to come at a blog near you. Enjoy.
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