Tuesday twitter and tumble

I have filed the last of my story assignments this morning. Now, I wait for editors to respond with whatever reactions their eyes and brains have upon reading the words I've crafted with information gathered. The usual reaction is "cut it down."

Editors worry about space. Writers worry about having priceless nuggets cut from their copy.

I learned long ago, however, to avoid falling in love with what I've written. Others may not feel the same passion as I, and if I want to appear in print, I'll have to deal with the most unkindest of cuts from the "Brutal" editors. Still, I know exactly how Caesar felt.

Well, speaking of the most unkindest cuts, how 'bout that stock market? Ouch! Ouch! Ouch!

That invested pittance I referred to a week or so ago has been feeling the wrath. Last week, it fell by $300; then, it regained most of that back. Yesterday morning it was back down by almost $300. This morning it has lost another $500.

Oh well, with all the see-saws we see, by the end of the day, maybe I'll be happy for a few hours.

Mother was telling me yesterday about her memories of 1929. She remembers her Aunt Annie grimacing every time another bond went down. She also talked about money hidden in mattresses, coffee cans and dresser drawers.

That practice continued in the family for decades after. One time when Mother and Harold were going to purchase some property, she borrowed the money from her adopted mother/cousin Louise. She had to fly back to Michigan to get it.

Louise went to a bedroom and pulled the amount out of the top dresser drawer. Hundred-bills. Enough to buy 55 acres back in 1966. You can do the math. We knew exactly where the money was stashed when Mother stepped off the plane at Spokane Airport. That was when you could still watch people get off planes out on that concrete area surrounding the terminal.

She held her purse tight to her stomach, and we figured there was a good reason for that. We drove home that night, and later watched as she pulled out the makeshift pocket from beneath her blouse and laid out those hundred-dollar bills on the bed. That was the most cash we had ever seen, and I'm thinking it's the most I've ever seen since.

After all, who sees cash anymore?

Who will see cash or credit? That is the question. Not to get too Shakespearean with you, but we may be seeing several of the most unkindest cuts of all yet to come.

I don't know what they're going to do to fix all this mess, but I thought Bill had a phenomenal idea yesterday morning. He said this bail-out bill ought to offer incentive bonuses to the folks who have paid their bills, paid off their mortgages, never faulted on their taxes, etc.

Seems offering an incentive for doing things right would send a positive message to all have followed the other routes of living on plastic and over-extending themselves. Plus, it would reward rather than punish those who own no responsibility in this situation.

We have some bills to pay today, and we'll hand over the money as soon as the services have been rendered. Our chimney sweep, Norm, who called on that hot day in August, called again last night. We were a little more inclined to want his services now as the calendar turns over to October tomorrow.

While he's cleaning the chimney, I'm expecting Larry from Naples to come rolling in the driveway with this year's supply of barn shavings. Larry found a method to compact the shavings into big bales, which he sells for $35 a piece. He'll bring me six of them, and they'll last the winter.

Well, I guess that's enough twitter on this lovely Tuesday. The one thing I can say positive about yesterday's morbid Monday was that the weather was gorgeous, so it made the news just a little easier to stomach. I hope they get this situation figured out by the time winter dreariness sets in, because if it's not, my opinions could get pretty ugly.

Have a nice day, and keep your fingers crossed that some brainpower will be injected into the American money mess.

A great moment at the horse show

The last time I rode in a horse show was about 25 years ago, maybe more. My daughter Annie told me yesterday that she couldn't remember ever seeing me on a horse in a show. She'll be 30 in less than a month.

The Thank Goodness It's the Last Show of the Season Show took place over the weekend. A week ago, my sisters told me there was a walk-trot class for all ages. I asked what day it was. They said Saturday. Knowing I had a busy weekend with company, I put the idea out of my mind.

Saturday when I went to the show for a few minutes, I learned that the class was Sunday instead. That started my mind going. I could see myself riding Lily in a walk-trot class because we have walked and we have "jogged," as they say for Western classes. We have never broken into a lope, and a horse show is no time to try that for the first time. I doubt I'll ever lope Lily anyway cuz I'm 61 and know how the body reacts when falling off a horse at a run. I'd like to keep my body in one unfragmented piece.

As I said, I could see myself riding in the class, but I couldn't see any clothes in my closet that would suit the situation. So, I asked my sisters if they could help. By 6 p.m. Saturday, they had found the necessary items: chaps, hat and Barbara's $200 sequined, shimmering shirt. We were about to eat at Second Avenue Pizza when Laurie called to let me know.

I drove home and thought about it. The more I thought, the more I thought that I shouldn't put Lily through something like this and that I get too stressed to put myself through something like this. So, I called my sisters and told them "thanks," but I'd better be sensible.

That allowed me to get a good night's sleep. With adequate sleep and a beautiful day ahead, my mind started in on the horse show scenario once more. I went about my usual morning business----blogging, reading the paper, throwing out some breakfast for the guests and thinking more and more, that I could do this. I asked Bill to hook up the horse trailer.

By 10 a.m. I had washed Lily. By 11 a.m. I had arrived at the fairgrounds. By noon we had saddled up and ridden through our first class. It turns out there were two walk-trot classes at the show: one honoring the memory of a beloved horse show mom and horse show announcer's wife: Elizabeth O'Brien. It's called the red hat-pink shirt class.

Well, I had a pink hat after Annie brought it from home, and my blanket was red. Somehow, I didn't quite meet the dress requirements, but that was okay. Lily and I were getting some experience inside the arena. With 16 other horses, we spent a lot of time dodging in and out of clusters where getting too close could mean a kicking Lily.

I also spent a lot of time kicking Lily on the outside rib. She's a bit on the lazy side, and she needs constant reminders that when asked to jog, that means to jog for more than three steps. I kicked on that outside leg so many times that a cramp suddenly seized up my hip in the middle of the class. An old body just isn't used to such things, but perseverance took over and I dealt with the pain. We ended up seventh and reserve. Six ribbons were given, but everyone was given a beautiful red rose. Lily later ate most of the stem.

In the afternoon, I made a mistake. I hurried to get ready because my class was the second one listed after lunch. I rode Lily to the gate steward who couldn't find my number listed.

"I signed up," I told her. "Ask Maureen."

Well, it turns out that she couldn't find my number because the second class after lunch was walk-trot for 9 and under. Maybe I would have stood a chance in that one, but I've been accused of trying to outrank kids before, so I left and spent the next hour riding around the fairgrounds and doing some trail riding in the woods.

Finally, the class came. Laurie gave me a few tips: fingers on the bit, bend the elbows, don't give her her head, that collects her . . . .
I tried to remember my coaching, used my rein when the judge wasn't looking, gave Lily a few love taps on the rear to remind her to keep going, and dealt with Jack, the announcer's queries of "Are you going to stay on?" and his daughter Anne's quips about "biting that tongue off."

When the class ended, I heard the judge (who's from Sandpoint) say, "I've never seen her on a horse before."

Later, when I heard, "First place, no. 152, Marianne Love," I hugged my horse and smiled for the rest of the day.

So with something borrowed, with some helpful tips and a wonderful horse, that return to the horse show arena after 25 years turned out A-Okay.

Miss Lily and me.

The hat: my dad's. The shirt and chaps: my sister Barbara's. The blanket, the reins, the horse show class experience for Lily and last-minute tips: my sister Laurie. The breeder who sold me Lily: Royce Crosby of Oklahoma. The photographer: Bill. The wonderful horse: Miss Lily. It takes a village for moments like this. Thanks to all.

Book and geocaching parties

Yesterday was filled with things to do, places to go, including Keith Lee Morris' book signing for his new novel The Dart League King. Keith read from his novel at the Pend Oreille Winery reception.

I also attended Grandpapa's geocaching event at the Ponderay Event Center. Lots of fun in both instances.

Keith answers questions about his book at Pend Oreille Winery. For SHS grads, that's Glenn LeFebvre standing.

The professors: Keith, a Clemson University professor, visits with Susie Fenton Kubiak. In the background, Brian Daniels, former George Mason University French professor.

Mr. Leckner and Mr. Sanborn enjoy a laugh.

Grandpapa, on the right, wanted to have a geocaching event. So, he did. It was held yesterday at Ponderay Events Center, and it drew geocachers of all ages and experience from as far away as Cranbrook, BC, and Seattle. Lots of food, prizes and plenty of geocaching gab kept the participants engaged for four hours. Good job, Grandpapa!

Benet, the hostess with the mostest

Laurel, the observer

Bill might just be recounting a geocaching injury that sent him to the ER a few years back.

Duane

Annie and Raine

Saturday Slight

Can't complain about the beauty of this Saturday morning. I awakened later than usual today because I went to bed later than usual. I think it was pushing midnight when I headed for bed.

We stayed up late, for us, last night because Annie and the gang were heading over the mountains and across the desert for Sandpoint. She sent me a note from her new iphone when they rolled through Spokane.

The dogs started barking at about 10:30. We walked outside, and everyone was getting acquainted with the horses----who like to be part of the social mix any time someone comes to the Lovestead.

Last night marked the christening of the brand new storage shed/shop and just another night for the "New Old" Motorhome. For readers who've come on board during the past year or two, we own a 1976 Brougham motorhome. We bought it a couple of years ago from my sisters, and it soon became the subject of blogs and columns as Bill readied it for big adventures.

His first really solo overnight adventure, which followed several short trips to Yoke's, Wal-Mart and down a few country roads where he actually inspired road rage in one circumstance. Like a good Boy Scout, Bill planned every minute detail for his trip to Colville for a foresters' gathering.

He made it to Baldy Road (half a mile from our former home) before calling Annie and me, who were out at Bear's Pizza in Hope. Said he was having motorhome problems and we needed to come and rescue him. Bill managed to get the motorhome to the fairgrounds, while trying to direct it to Alpine Motors, where it had just undergone some mechanic work.

The wrecker took it the rest of the way, and Bill drove his pickup to Colville where he stayed in a motel. A check through my June, 2006, archives will show a few photos, including the motorhome in its piggyback pose.

Well, anyway, the motorhome hasn't gone too many places since then. Not so much because of any ailments it might have but more so because we just haven't had time. It has served as the "New Old" Motorhome Motel on Lovestead Lane on one occasion. That's was in July when Laura, Sefo and the triplets took up residence there for a few nights.

They seemed to do okay with their overnight accommodations, and we're still impressed with the fact that we needed no maid service after their departure. It was spotless!

Bill did take a little while before deciding to take it to our local disposal site----once again at the Bonner County Fairgrounds. No, he wasn't disposing of the motorhome; instead, he was . . . well, you know what I mean. Remember that scene from Robin Williams' RV? Well, that was what he was doing, but the hose behaved.

All set for occupancy, Bill drove the New Old motorhome into the brand new building and parked it. As I type, two young men, named Raine and Duane, are sleeping soundly, I think." We provided a space heater and extra blankets.

It will be interesting to see how they enjoyed their accommodations. Since the refrigerator is working, we're thinking we'll put some soft drinks in there so they'll feel like they've got the real deal in four-star overnight lodging.

With the economy the way it is, maybe Bill and I are on to something. Maybe we can make a few extra bucks while saving other folks lots of bucks as they travel through the area. Lovestead New Old Motorhome Sleep All Night Lodge. Twenty bucks a bed, add $5 for toast, jam and coffee continental breakfast.

We probably ought to work up a business and marketing plan, but for now we're testing the system with Annie's guinea pig friends. We gave them the introductory offer of free lodging in hopes that they'll fill out a survey and help us figure out any glitches to the system.

Well, Duane is here in the living room as I continue to type. He says the night was just fine, the bed was comfortable, and that he slept well.

Annie, her classmate Laurel, from SHS Class of 1997; Raine, and Duane have come over for a geocaching event at Ponderay Events Center this afternoon. Geocacher Grandpapa aka Pat Broehl has organized the potluck gathering. So, if you're a geocacher or just curious about the sport, stop by. It begins at noon, and there will be prizes from Groundspeak. Of course, Bill will be there.

I'll probably stop by for a while, and I'm planning to go to Keith's book signing at Pend Oreille Winery later this afternoon. Then, we'll do our obligatory when kids come home visit to Second Avenue Pizza.

A busy day ahead. Hope yours is a wonderful Saturday.

Friday Night Political Fight

We're staying home tonight. We're not going eat out like we usually do on Friday nights. I think I'll go over to Wood's today and pick up some German sausages. We'll each have one dressed with pickles, mustard, mayonnaise and wrapped in melted Tillamook medium cheddar and country potato bun for dinner, which could be spent in front of the TV set. I don't know yet.

I don't want to miss the debate. Maybe some people will, but I want to watch even if only one person stands up there and debates with himself. I enjoy Presidential debates, even though in this case I've probably heard the same rhetoric hundreds of times before. This has been a long election process, and, like many Americans, I have kept close watch on almost every curve in the road.

At this intersection, I'm thinking things are going to get really interesting. A year ago, the War in Iraq received top billing on the subjects Presidential candidates wanted to discuss. Today the war between the losers and the losers within the American boundaries has evolved.

First, there are the losers. These are the bigwigs and the poor scared saps who got us into our current financial mess. From what I've watched on the news, lots of regular folks are not happy with the greedy lenders and the naive borrowers. People would like to run them out of Dodge for creating such havoc with the American financial system.

I listened to one lady last night on CBS News and decided she was a loser, like a lot of us. She can't understand why she has to pay for this mess when she's already done all her paying in the right places. She pays her bills. She pays her taxes. She works hard for her money. She has not over-extended herself.

So, we have two classes of losers----some mad, some running scared.

It will be interesting to hear the words coming from the mouths of those candidates who have to take on this mess within a few short months. I don't envy them. It will be a tough challenge, for sure. It seems that solving and following through on this situation will directly impact virtually every other issue discussed in the election----money spent in Iraq, money spent for education, jobs, health care, etc.

The one thing I can say about this Presidential election is that it's been mesmerizing from the beginning. Hardly a dull moment, and the action will surely intensify as we continue to watch anti-climax after anti-climax. I've been on the edge of my seat several times so far, and I expect that dramatic surprises will unfold several times more before voting day----maybe even several times today.

The subplots have been good too.

Has anyone ever figured out what advice Bill Clinton is offering Todd Palin? Will Hillary or maybe even Elvis come back to save the day? How many brothers and sisters of Barack Obama living in poverty will be found in strange places around the world before Election Day? Does Michelle's "gyrating" on the Ellen Show make her less deserving to be First Lady than Cindy McCain, whose dignity and sophistication rises beyond compare? Honest to goodness, that concern has been expressed in a recent regional letters-to-the-editor forum.

Again, I'm excited to watch tonight's debate and all those that follow. In fact, as a political junkie, I'm looking ahead to Election Day and figuring things could get pretty dull after that. But then again, if the writers don't go on strike this year, maybe we can expect a full season of freshly-written scripts for TV to take our minds off the scary things happening in the real world.

Happy Friday.

The Silly Season

It gets sillier and sillier: Bill has just said, "So long" for the fifth time this morning. He's walked out the door at least three times, only to return for something. I haven't really been paying attention, except that I keep saying "good bye" to him. He only got one "Have a good day" during all those good byes.

That was the first time he went out the door. I figure one "Have a good day" is enough but maybe not. We all may need a lot of "good day" wishes, depending on what happens in places far away that tend to disrupt our routines, our future lives and our bank accounts.

This is not only the silly season, but it's also the scary season. Another comment Bill made in one of his re-entries was, "How many more days? Iz it 39?"

That was in response to my announcement that I'd read two headlines in the same Yahoo grouping yesterday. One dealt with President Bush advising the nation about the bail-out; the other noted that Bill Clinton was going to give Todd Palin some advice.

Now there are two cases of reassuring guidance the recipients really need.

My journalistically objective mind gave George Bush pretty high marks for summarizing the problems we're facing in the financial world. In fact, while listening to his short speech last night, I looked over at Bill and said, "He's actually giving a pretty straightforward overview of the situation." Bill nodded. Later, I heard something that I was waiting to hear in the President's address but did not.

After the speech, a Senator pointed out that it would have been nice for Mr. Bush to add that while the mice were playing with all that money and giving all those loans to all those people who couldn't pay all that money, the cats were off having a beer in some bar, letting the mice get away with with highway robbery. Well, that wasn't the way the Senator said it, but that was the essence of his comment.

I'm glad to see that the checks and balances, which should have been occurring during the years of this financial insanity, seem to be unfolding among members of Congress, both Democrat and Republican, who need to cover their behinds before election day.

Those folks know that checks and balances still exist for them. They screw up with their decision on this bail-out plan and all those people who can't write any more checks cuz their balances don't exist are gonna vote 'em out of office.

There's a lot more I'd like to say about this Silly Season, but I'm gonna remain neutral politically. Instead, I'm gonna just keep on watching the action, scratching my head, making comments to Bill and wishing everyone a good day.

I'm also gonna keep wondering what kind of sage advice Bill Clinton has to offer Todd Palin.

Have a great day!

One of those mornings

Note: After my initial posting, complaining of frustration, an accomplice told me of another place to pilfer the book cover. So, I got a mini-photo. You can see the real thing on any of the mega-bookstore sites.



As yet, this morning hasn't quite gotten off the ground right. I've had days like this, and, in my old age, am learning not to fight the forces that seem to get in my way.

The day started on an even keel. Early morning reading of overnight Internet action while sipping coffee. Writing a note to Keith to let him know the busy weekend could get in the way of my attending his book event at Pend Oreille Winery and promising I'd put his book cover on my blog today.

Then, I headed outside to do the usual horse turnout. I noticed the wind, which kept the temperature up, blew some of the covers from my 'maters. But the 'maters didn't freeze, and the covers were dry, so I put them away.

After watching the horses race in the wind around their lush green fall pasture, I picked the remainder of the plum crop----four total from the original eight. I yelled at Bill, who was in the bathroom, that he could take the plum crop to work with him.

Then, I walked out to get the papers. Empty boxes. Expletives. I can get mad, but no papers in the box can make me really mad. I didn't stomp back to the house because, of course, I'm getting older and learning to put a smile where the frown wants to be.

This, I thought to myself, will give me time to do my blog early and put Keith's book cover on the top and to tell people that Keith has a few expletives not deleted in his new book The Dart Board King. Keith doesn't always delete the expletives in his award-winning literature, and he told me this book needs an upfront caution to readers who don't like expletives.

I came inside, made my obligatory blog latte, and sat down to work. Keith had written me a note, telling me that he'd see that I got a copy of his book, even if I don't make it to the signing. I then proceeded to copy and paste the book cover from Amazon.com to my blog clipboard.

Amazon.com must have new rules. After half an hour of thinking of every imaginative way to steal that book cover, I gave up. So, unless Keith sends me a copy of his book cover, it won't appear on Slight Detour. Instead, I'll just tell you to go to www.amazon.com and check out all the information, including the book cover.

Keith is 45, and he's finished his third book. I was 45 when I finished my first book. Does that mean my students are a whole lot smarter than their teacher? Probably so. I wouldn't be much of a teacher, I guess, if I hadn't inspired my students to be smarter than I. No children were left behind in my classes; instead, they got ahead of the game.

And, Keith is a prime example, although he was a little slow at getting off his duffer and using that great big brain inside his head. He's made up for lost time, though, and I'm pretty proud of him. Keith Lee Morris, SHS Class of 1981, is an award-winning literary figure and a respected professor at Clemson University.

Actually, it was good he took some time to get off his duffer because it was while resting on that duffer, he came up with a lot of the material that shows up in his writing. So, maybe Keith was busy doing research while I thought he was wasting that brain. Guess I was the dumb one there, right Keith?

Anyway, the morning continues to be crazy as I try to finish this posting and Dennis, the dump truck driver from Red Owl Construction, continues to bring me gravel and sand in the midst of it all. Well, at least you now know about Keith.

His signing/reading/sipping event begins at 4 p.m. this Saturday, Sept. 27, at the Pend Oreille Winery in Sandpoint. You can buy his book, sip a little wine and find out why he won't delete all those expletives. If you can't make it, go to www.Amazon.com where they don't let you steal covers for blog advertising anymore.

In the meantime, I'm going to keep on trying to smile and hope that my day goes a little more according to plan.

Cold slopes and weighty 'maters

Not much beauty in this photo. I just had to document the beginning of fall as we're seeing it. Schweitzer didn't have a lot of time to be bare naked this year---maybe two months. Its first coating of white stuff came during yesterday's rains in the valley. Our first frost came last night, and I'm hoping those covered 'maters are still alive this morning.

It's been a good tomato year. I put 30-plus plants in the ground in June. I've picked probably 300 ripening tomatoes so far, and there are probably another 300 left to pick---if they're still alive, that is.

My tomato farming leaves something to be desired. I staked them up when they were young and maybe just a foot tall. Little did I dream, however, that they would become so loaded down with fruit. Over the summer, I've added bigger bamboo tomato stakes, to not much avail. After a day or so of flimsy support, the plants continued falling to the ground.

After reading garden advice, I picked off lots of stems and leaves about a month ago. The tomatoes kept growing and pulling their complete infrastructure closer to the ground. Finally I gave up on the support systems and let nature take its course. Hundreds of tomatoes have gone bad because of lying in the dirt. With the numbers I have, however, that may be a good thing, and they may make pretty good fertilizer for next year's crop.

I've got a whole winter ahead to study how to organize a better tomato garden, and I think the secret lies in stronger stakes.

In the meantime, one of the apple trees is suffering the same woes as my tomatoes. That one, so loaded down with little apples a month or so ago, is now heavily burdened with bigger apples. Most limbs are now partially connected with the ground. The fruit could use a little more growth and a couple of good freezes, so I hope the limbs survive.

They said it would be a good year for fruit, and they were right. I just never dreamed we'd have quite so much abundance, and I'm sure those weary apple limbs and tomato vines didn't either.

Speaking of tomatoes, I must say thank you to my sister-in-law, Mary, who sent me a book to read: The $64 Tomato. I've just skimmed the cover and a few pages, and it seems to imply that some gardeners border on insanity. I'll assure readers, however, that no $64 tomatoes grow in my garden.

Mine are cheap, plentiful and tasty. A couple of packets of Burpees seed at $2.99 apiece and a little potting soil. Those are my only expenses.

Oops, I spoke too soon. I forgot the $1,000 greenhouse, the $200 used rototiller, the $4 per gallon gas, the three tanks of propane to keep the greenhouse warm during our never-ending winter and none-existent spring, and $25 worth of wussy tomato stakes.

Well, if I do the math, my 600 edible tomatoes still don't add up to $64 apiece. In fact, every time I slice up another plateful and feast on their delicious homegrown flavor, I figure they're just plain priceless.

Monday, Monday

Well, the Patton clan of DuPont gave yesterday's geography question a good try. The answer comes from the following passage in Wikipedia (www.wikipedia.org):

Mount Greylock, 3,491 feet (1,064 m), is the highest point in the Commonwealth of Massachusetts and is located in the northwest corner of the state.

Although geologically part of the Taconic Mountains, it is commonly associated with the abutting Berkshire Hills to the east. The mountain is known for its expansive views encompassing five states and the only Taiga/boreal forest in the state.

A seasonal automobile road (closed in 2007-2009 for repairs) climbs to the summit, where stands the iconic 93-foot (28 m) high lighthouse-like Massachusetts Veterans War Memorial Tower.

A network of hiking trails traverse the mountain including the 2,174-mile (3,499 km) Appalachian Trail. Mount Greylock State Reservation was created in 1898 as Massachusetts' first public land for the purpose of forest preservation.

Annie climbed the mountain Saturday with a bunch of geocaching reviewers from the East Coast. Before going there, she had heard it's elevation was 2,900 feet, but, as you can see, we needed to add nearly 600 feet of walking uphill to get to the top.

Today, she was planning to visit an Atlantic Ocean beach, walk the Freedom Trail with the legendary geocacher "Mountain Bike," and, of course, top off the day at the Boston Red Sox--Cleveland game. With Boston 1 1/2 games out of first place at this point in the season, it should be a memorable contest.

Yesterday, after her geocaching conference ended, the ever-ready-for-adventure Annie noticed she could visit another state within an hour's drive. So, she did, and she sent the photo above.

Knowing some of my readers pretty well, I have a feeling this geographical question will get answered rather quickly today. Name the state and the city. Also, what side of the Capitol is featured in this photo? The clue is there. And, it's okay to expound on a few fascinating state facts for readers. I know you're out there.

By the way, check out the (www.geocaching.com) website, if you're interested in the sport where "you are the search engine" and participating in the "fastest growing sport you've never heard of."

I peeked on the site this morning and saw that more than 650,000 caches have been placed and approved around the world. So, you could keep fairly occupied if you have a GPS and want to embark on some adventures wherever you live--in the city, the country or at the top of Mount Rainier. The caches are there to be found.

This Monday, Monday starts a busy week of writing, and, yes, the Beatles are a part of it. Betcha can't guess why?

Aren't I obnoxious with all my quiz questions?

I guess I must be fulfilling a need to revive the teacher in me. Have a great day. I'll check back to see whose fingers are up and pounding out the correct answer to where in the world the building in the photo above can be found.

Where in the world . . . ?

This may keep readers busy speculating while I head to Bonners Ferry to attend Mass at St. Ann's. I hope the church doesn't fall down from the shock of my presence.

So, where is it? And, what is it?

I'll be back to post more later.

Later . . . .

The drive to and from Bonners Ferry was wet and splashy. We're getting a soaking rain today, and we need it. I won't mind it too much if it doesn't hang around for too long.

My rain jacket has already gone through two short cycles in the dryer. I was fortunate a while ago to have the horses come from their new lush pasture to me rather than my having to race and stumble through foot-deep wet grass to catch each of them.

Grain rattling in the bottom of a can does wonders.

It was nice to go to Mass. I haven't been in such a long time. I joined St. Ann's Parish in Bonners Ferry at least two years ago and am lucky to make it up there half a dozen times each year.

Personal reasons led me to leave St. Joseph's, the parish where I was baptized, told half truths in Confession, received my First Communion and married Bill.

I'll return some day, but for now, I thoroughly enjoy Mass at St. Ann's with Fr. Carlos Perez. He moved here from Columbia. His accent is still thick but his message at the pulpit and among the people is clear. He loves God, and he genuinely loves his flock.

Today's message from the Gospel was a bit ironic, considering the way I've sputtered about the economy woes this past week. In the reading, workers who went to the field at the end of the day, tallying up just an hour's labor, got paid the same as those who had worked all day long.

Obviously, the day-longers had something to say about that, much like the way I've had something to say about the unfairness of the folks at the top squandering away the retirement savings accounts of the underlings---then getting paid huge severance packages for their screw-ups.

Maybe their story is just a bit different from that in the Gospel because it seems that they might have been guilty of one of the seven deadly sins, just like those of us who feel envious or jealous once in a while.

Fr. Carlos explained the point----that God is generous to everyone, and that we should be thankful that we all share in the pot, especially when we think of the beauty in which we live here in North Idaho and when we think of what it could have been like if we lived in Houston or Galveston over the past couple of weeks.

Good point, and it seems we often need to continue to remind ourselves of the grace and generosity we receive so much of the time as opposed to perceived inequities and real disasters.

Speaking of good times, I must say the photo above reflects a good time had by all. Still, nobody has wagered a guess as to what and where it is. Those associated with the management must keep mum on the subject until adequate time has been allowed for a few guesses.

In the meantime, I think I'll go make some dewberry jelly. It's a good project for a day like this.

Later . . . .

Draft and Mule Show in Sandpoint

Here comes the judge for this year's Idaho State Draft Horse International and Mule Exposition. It started yesterday at the Bonner County Fairgrounds in Sandpoint. It's spectacular.

The show runs through the weekend.

I met this gentleman's sister the other day, through a phone interview about Bat Waves snowboard mitts (www.batwaves.com) . She has sewn about 45,000 pairs of them and is getting her sewing machines revved up to sew several thousand more. That's a different story, though.

This is Dick Blakely, Betty Ann Custis' brother.

A couple of Carlaw Clydes from Cranbrook, British Columbia. The McGibbons, who own these horses, were gracious enough to offer me a ride on their 8-horse hitch during a Draft Horse Show class a few years ago. The experience was definitely a life highlight for me.

Mother had a great time at the afternoon show, which lasted four hours. There's also my buddy, Rose Marie in the background, and our longtime family friends Ann Gerrity (sp?) and Mardette Lewis. Ann's the mother of two veterinarians, one of which (Cathy from Deer Park) works with a program for veterinarians similar to Doctors without Borders. One of these days I've gotta do Cathy's story.

I had to include Lawrence McGibbon of Carlaw Clydes in Cranbrook. He told me yesterday they're ranked second in the World with one of their hitches.

Carol McGibbon from Cranbrook, B.C., who could easily pass for our friend Ginny Jensen, tends to a wound before participating in her driving class.

The distinctive yellow and black of the Cramers from Northwestern Washington often mean blue ribbons. They've been at this for more than three decades.

The audience expressions are almost as much fun as what's going on in the ring. People pay intense attention to the action.