Beware of springtime hitches

Among farmers, there's often talk of 1-2- and 3-point hitches. In this "farmer's" case, there's talk this morning of a springtime damn sore hitch. It's called a hitch in my get-along, and this one is up in my shoulder area.

I'm sitting here with one of those warming pads filled with spices, which I bought a few years ago at a craft sale at Coolin. That day my mother and I nearly froze to death while sitting at our table hoping to sell her artwork and my books.

Thanks to Vicki Bushee, who sold me the long fleece pad, my lower back stayed warm that day. While setting up our table, I bent over to pick up a box of books. At that point, a chronic lower-back hitch reared its painful reminder that I should be careful bending over, picking up heavy stuff.

Vicki saved me that day cuz she had her pads and a microwave oven for heating them. Throughout the day, I returned to her booth to warm up the pad and give that back pain some relief. It worked wonders.

Ever since, I've kept the pad handy. Both Bill and I have used it for our various aches and pains over the years, and I must say it works miracles.

I can thank several activities yesterday for today's damn sore hitch, and I'll be thinking about that rototiller, that love seat and that spike-tooth harrow every time I bend, turn or reach for something today.

I guess I overdid it. And, spring tends to foster such behavior, which is usually followed by out-and-out pain, especially for old coots like me. Spring in North Idaho probably multiplies the possibilities cuz we all know we have so much to do and so little time to get it all done.

So, we overdo, and later, the pain screams, often when we're performing trivial tasks, like rolling over in bed, making the bed, reaching for a towel, putting kindling in the stove, picking up your computer laptop, combing your hair, etc.

Here's what led to my demise today. First, I rototilled the big garden in the north lawn, which has finally lost its lake. A few spots in that garden are kinda tight, so I have to maneuver the rototiller at weird angles to keep it from taking off through the woven wire fence. That happened two or three times.

The time the tiller fell in the hole which I had dug--the same one the juniper tree once occupied, I had to perform some rather unusual contortions to get it back on level ground. The tiller is a nice, light Troy-Built, rebuilt by my friend Tony, but even the lightest of rototillers can give you sensations much like you'd maybe experience while trying to pin a 1,500-pound rodeo steer.

I finished most of the garden except the northeast area where I suddenly grew four inches taller, thanks to the mud packs on the bottoms of my shoes. I decided the wind needed to dry that out a little more.

So, I left the rototiller, finished some other projects and then headed to my mother's house with four puny tomato plants, freshly transplanted into bigger pots and needing to go somewhere different in hopes they'd grow.

Mother's garden window seems to be the ticket, cuz the plants I took over to her several weeks ago were beginning to touch her ceiling. Lest she have a "Virginia and the tomato stalks" ensuing nightmare, I promised to take her plants, exchange them for my puny ones and maybe help out both sets in the process.

My greenhouse can help stunt her long, lean Burpee wonders while her garden window and her cranked-up heating system can maybe give my Burpee punies a boost.

While I was there, we talked about the new love seat she's getting today. I measured its twin in the living room and told her she'd be gaining almost of foot of length in the area where the new one will go. I also moved her love seat closer to the television set to make sure the new one, a recliner would have plenty of room to recline.

After a couple of pushes, I found that her love seat moved a lot easier when she wasn't sitting in it. My left shoulder probably took note of that too. Anyway, we got all that details discussed about the new piece of furniture, and I headed home with those string-bean tomato plants.

After getting them situated and fully propped up in the greenhouse where they'll have more head room, I decided it was time to drag the barnyard. I love this time of the year because the barnyard looks pretty rugged after a winter's worth of snow, ice, mud, manure piles, etc. It had dried out enough for me to take the tractor in there and tidy it up.

I also decided I could run fast enough at the gate to head off any horses just dying to get out of that barnyard and race down the lane to feast on green grass. Well, that job was easier said than done because the harrow behind the tractor kept getting caught on things; in this case, a post in the open gateway where those horses wanted to escape.

Long story short, the harrow got caught twice---going in and coming out. Both involved some quick action jumping off the tractor, throwing rocks at advancing horses while grabbing that mass of heavy iron, lugging it out of the way of its obstruction, racing back to the tractor, finding the right gear and getting the hell IN the barnyard and getting the hell OUT.

I think that was the straw that strained Marianne's shoulder beyond tolerance. It had suffered enough throughout the day. So, about 3 this morning, it launched its revenge. I could find no comfortable position, while rolling over.

When I finally arose, I knew, with every minor movement from my left shoulder upward, I had sinned against my body. My penance will come throughout the day. I'm hoping Vicki's miraculous pad will help because there's still too much to do, so little time.

I'm willing to bet that springtime damn sore hitches are pretty prevalent in this area where we wait so long to do a year's work in one week.

As for my sore shoulder, it had better get over it, cuz time is a wastin', and I'm not gonna let a little pain slow me down too much.

Well, at least I think I'm not. We'll see.

Her and that other dude shrunk the kids

I reached a "PLEEEEEEEEEESE!" point this morning. I reach those quite often but seldom write about them. It's difficult for a single individual to resurrect the grammar that once united us all----yes, when all the grammas learned their grammar as well as they learned their multiplication tables.

I think both have taken mortal hits over the past couple of generations. Is that an understatement? I just don't know.

What I do know, however, is that within an hour's time I read about a tennis player and an economy involved in compromising grammatical scenarios.

The fault lay in neither aforementioned party. The fault lay in the "professional" writer who penned a cutline and the "professional" writer who penned the Yahoo headline.

How much do these people get paid to tell us that "Her and doubles partner" Jane Doe are peaking? It's nice to learn they're peaking while we also learn that basic grammar----which guides us to know that "Her" is objective case and used only in objective case situations---well, that basic grammar is going down the tubes while those players are peaking.

Even if a person doesn't know basic grammar, wouldn't that person know that removing the doubles partner (second half of the compound subject) from the sentence would make a pretty stupid sounding sentence: Her is peaking at the right time.

Heck, even when my English students couldn't grasp the nominative, objective and possessive case, I could throw out the possibility of eliminating the second subject, and they'd understand.

And, people are getting paid for this usage!

The "shrunk" thing makes me really mad a lot of times. This morning the Yahoo headline US economy shrunk at steeper-than-expected pace during 1Q. Did that person watch the movie Honey, I shrunk the Kids too many times?

Or, has that person listened and read all the abominations of "shrunk" over the past few years often enough to become a believer that no such word as "shrank," using no helping verb, ever existed?

When ARE we going to use "shrank" ever again if this continues? If we're not going to use it where it belongs, get rid of the word. We've got enough to worry about with this language anyway.

I don't believe in correcting emails, casual conversation, or casual writing belonging to anyone unless they ask me for advice. I think that's downright rude, but when people still have jobs in the journalism business and they are getting paid for using the language correctly and we keep seeing flagrant violations of basic rules once taught to sixth graders, we must speak up.

So, that's what I'm doing today. Where are the editors who let this stuff get past them? In these cases, two people bear the burden---the writer and the editor who is supposed to review everything that goes in print. Is this another symptom of the lack of importance placed on truth and accuracy in reporting?

There's plenty more where that griping about grammatical irreverence came from, but I'll save my rants for another day.

As long as "her goes to state as a tennis player" and if the economy will just stop that shrunking, I guess good grammar doesn't matter all that much.

Besides, from what I read in this morning's paper, coming out of an Idaho legislator's mouth, we teachers need to quit our griping and go play golf.

Maybe I'll do that. I wonder if you have to follow the rules in golf.

Tuesday Twitterdeedum

I have discovered a good reason for us to still be wearing several layers of clothing in late April. This may be applicable for only this year, however. We had those two warm days last week, and a bunch of colorful blossoms popped out----daffodils, hyacinths, forsythia, even iddy biddy purple violets.

Well, ever since, it's been too damn cold for them to do anything but sit on their stems and look pretty. I have rather enjoyed the long visit of the spring blossoms, especially cuz they're such a lovely contrast against the deep, green lawn carpet so I'll not complain too much about having to bundle up to go outside.

I've mowed only once, so there's a plus too.

Some years blossoms last all of one day and lawn mowings occur almost every other day for those first few weeks. And, need I say anything about the dandelion delay. Only Pat Gooby would complain about that cuz he proclaimed himself dandylion king several years ago. He likes dandylions. I don't.

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I stuck at it throughout the day, and I've got the sore hands to prove that strawberry weeding does take time. Approximately 97 spears of grass remain attached to their berry friends out there in the patch, but I made progress yesterday.

Visitors can now stroll past my berries and know what's growing in there. Plus, I separated a lot of the entangled roots systems and extended the plot.

Maybe today I'll be able to remove the remaining grass and then smile upon a very difficult job finally done. And, maybe in June and July we'll have more berries than usual.

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I planted potatoes in the manure pile yesterday, lots of them. This year's experiment in using the manure pile for as much garden as possible will be interesting to monitor.

I know from experience that cantaloupe grow very well in manure piles, so I've decided to extend the possibilities. This year, the cucumbers, water melon, potatoes, cantaloupe and squash will occupy space on those mounds.

It will be fun to see how each item grows and more fun to enjoy the results.

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Speaking of results, Bill and I enjoyed another spinach, lettuce, kale, egg and bacon salad last night. The first three came from my greenhouse pots, while eggs and bacon came from the store. Then, however, I experimented with a honey mustard dressing, concocted in the kitchen, and it wasn't half bad, plus a lot less expensive than store bought.

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Yesterday was a tractor day too. When you finally reach a stage in life where you have a tractor of your own---in our case, we have two now----and nobody's looking at you with skepticism cuz you don't know tractors---and you can go out there, fire it up and go farm---that's a good place to be in life.

Since the fabled day in my youth when I got my dad's tractor (probably the one we now own) partially impaled on the barnyard gate after I came too close with the side-delivery hay mower, I haven't been trusted with tractors. But I've come of age, and so has that tractor. It lived through my youthful recklessness, and it now resides here at the Lovestead.

Yesterday, I hooked up the harrow, which Bill had laid out nicely in the field, and started dragging the pastures. For those who are not farmers, dragging the fields means that you redistribute the wealth. Instead of solid horse piles dotting the field, you have tiny morsals of those original piles scattered throughout the field for fertilizing purposes.

Plus, the grass underneath those piles that have sat all winter snuffing it off gets to have a chance to grow again. In the pasture closest to the house, I never did get that leaf pile fully burned last fall, so today the leaves are distributed throughout the field.

I love sitting aboard a tractor, with the breeze blowing in my face and panorama of infinite beauty surrounding me as I go round and round and the harrow does its work with those metal teeth.

I started the hayfield late yesterday afternoon, but the old Ford ran out of gas after the first round. Bill filled it up after dinner and harrowed a section of his own. Today he's hooked up the Kubota cuz it's got diesel, which lasts longer than gas, so I'll finish the hayfield sometime today.

No better feeling than finally driving a tractor with the long-awaited liberation of legality and a true sense of purpose.

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I was going to talk about the swine flu, but it seems that everyone is talking about the swine flu, so I'll spare you of my thoughts on that and my thoughts on how it seems to me the media needs another "big" story to pounce on before it scares the whole world to death----much sooner than the swine flu could do.

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Enough. Have a great Tuesday. I'll be out farming.

Monday morning maniacal weather et. al.

Yup, this is what we're watching outside the window this morning. Actually, I was standing on the ladder wiping off the satellite dish when I snapped this photo.

It continues now, snowing for more than half an hour, wind blowing, snow whirling around in suspended animation, flower beds turning white against a deep green lawn.

April showers bring May flowers, they used to say.

But they used to mean rain.

Yup, our climate continues to change---on an hourly basis.

Yesterday offered several entrees but no snow. It was cold. It was sorta warm for a while. It was dry. It was wet. It was pleasant. The sun shone. The clouds rolled in, some dark purple, loaded with water.

Climate change is an ever-changing phenomenon.

Some people say it's that volcano up there in Alaska. As it continues to erupt, our weather patterns continue to spew out all kinds of surprises.

I do remember weird weather with the Mt. St. Helens major eruptions in May 1980. Hard to believe that's been nearly 30 years.

It took a while for the weather to figure itself out that year too. So, if the volcano is the culprit, I guess we have to be patient.

Meanwhile, I had planned to go to a horse geocaching event at Farragut yesterday. Yes, you can go geocaching via horseback, and a bunch of 4-H'ers were going to learn how to use GPS to go find caches on their horses.

Too many variables got in the way, so I didn't go, but Bill and I sneaked off in late afternoon and did some geocaching of our own. Along our way we met an 83-year-old Minnesotan who had trained at Farragut Naval Training Station in 1942.

He later went to the South Pacific, and vowed that he'd never come back to Idaho again after his experience of riding the train to Farragut and going through boot camp.

Turns out he went back on his word and returned in 1959 to farm and log. Now he plots out subdivisions and hopes to sell a few lots. He came along while we were looking for a micro-cache and thought he had some hot customers.

Instead, he had a couple of folks more interested in hearing his Farragut stories and finding the micro-cache. Both wishes were satisfied.

We also ended up at the grange hall pictured below. I don't know what it is about grange halls, but I love 'em. The older and more paint-chipped the better.

Anyway, weather continues to play a role in our daily lives but we didn't let it stop us from having a pleasant afternoon.

We were able to dodge yesterday's afternoon rain showers. We first went to ?????

. . . in search of a geocache.

Bill digs through a cache planted by XC Shadow. XC Shadow student taught with me in 1973.

Any ideas who he is, and where he teaches?

A day of Check-offs

No play on Anton's name this morning, although he is one of my favorite short-story writers. I always loved teaching his tale "A Slander" in my sophomore English class. Very, very short but big lesson. Trying too hard to erase guilt can make you look guiltier than sin and pretty stupid too.

Anyway, I wasn't thinking about Anton until I wrote my headline, so I'll put him aside and talk about days when we can check off a lot of accomplishments. Yesterday was one such day.

Item No. 1 occurred in the barn when I let the horses out. I discovered a week or so ago that Heather, our "gift horse," still shies and flees at the sight of a halter. I've led her in and out of the barn all winter but only with a rope over her neck.

The day I chased her around the stall for five minutes trying to halter her disappointed me greatly as I've worked with her a lot over the winter---brushing, leading, and attempts at clipping. I discovered early on that she is head shy, which means haltering and clipping up near her ears are no-no's as far as Heather is concerned.

Well, I told Heather that morning after finally catching her that if things didn't change, she may be looking for a new home. There's nothing worse with a horse than dealing with something so basic as putting on a halter, cuz if ya can't do that, what else will be next to impossible?

I laid it out clearly to Heather that I'd give her every opportunity possible, and if she'd change her ways, I might reconsider ousting her from the Lovestead herd. I think she was listening, and my efforts on a regular basis have helped too.

Each day since that day, in twice-daily circumstances, Heather has changed her attitude about halters, so much so that she even comes and puts her nose in the halter willingly each time I take her out or bring her in.

Adding to that, yesterday morning she allowed me to snip off the three-inch high hair growth in her bridle path, improving her looks greatly. It will be a while before the clippers go up there for a trim, but we're making progress, and I came to the house with renewed hope that little gestures on a regular basis lead to large achievements.

Item No. 2. Raspberry plants transplanted to a better spot. One of my friends gave me at least a dozen raspberry starts last summer. I planted them. They did fine until winter. Only four were still living when the snow disappeared, so I've moved them to a different garden patch where I can keep track of them and hopefully nurture them along.

Item No. 3: Not done but a good start on weeding my strawberries. I believe no worse gardening job exists than weeding strawberries. I did not plan to weed strawberries, but upon pulling up some spears of grass, I noticed that the roots came along willingly. So, I figured time was of the essence. If I took this opportunity, maybe I could stick at it and get that patch cleaned up and looking a bit more respectable. I'm nearly half done.

Item No. 4: Back to head shy horses who hate clipping. I have two out of three in my barnyard. Little Lefty---he's a darling. I took him to the barn, brushed him down and clipped him with no problem.

But then there's Lily.

We have epic stories of our efforts to clip Lily anywhere around the head. Her former owner told me she didn't care for clipping. That was an understatement, I soon learned. One day, three of us---my two sisters and I---attempted to clip Lily's ears and beard. Lily won.

And, she has continued to win ever since. We even told her trainer last year it would be nice if he could figure out a way to clip her. He didn't.

So, yesterday I brought Dr. Pavlov into the mix. Not that I haven't tried kindness, firmness, life threats, profanity, encouragement . . . . everything short of having the vet put her under like dentist do when they take out wisdom teeth.

Well, yesterday I started what will, no doubt, be a long process: a can of grain and a pair of clippers. Lily will get used to seeing those two items hand-in-hand, and I'm hoping that some day, maybe when she's ten (that's six years), we'll both revel in clipped ears and a big, big helping of grain for being such a good girl.

Item No. 4: A local affair. Bill was looking at the license plates in the parking lot as we walked into the golden anniversary celebration for Jack and Shirley Parker yesterday at the new Panhandle State Bank. He spotted a 7B 323 and brought it to my attention.

Except for the fact that we were going to a party, I think Bill would have enjoyed surveying the entire lot to see how many low numbers there were on plates of those attending. Inside, his observation was confirmed many times over as---I'm guessing---90 percent of the guests represented generations worth of Sandpoint locals who could jokingly claim to know each other for a hundred years.

And, everyone throughout the gathering seemed to be reveling in the fact that we could be at this party where we all knew each other. Those situations seem to be happening less and less as we all grow older and the local demographics continue to change.

I even enjoyed a few conversations with old adversaries where we shook hands on on mutually letting bygones be bygones. That's a pretty cool feeling when you've lived in a small-town all your life where occasionally divisive and passionate situations are part of the territory.

So, I count that as a supreme achievement on a day of satisfying accomplishments.

It's always a good feeling to let go of the frustrations in life in favor of big smiles and warmth. I saw that with Heather, my strawberries, to a small degree with Miss Lily and in a big degree with some folks I've known forever.

It was a very good day, indeed, and I shall savor all the memories.

Saturday Slightly Green

Talk of snow in the weekend weather forecast. Please. No more. Isn't next week May?

Oh well, I guess I shouldn't gripe because we still had a snow drift on the east side of the house in May last year. Now, just one little ridge of frozen white stuff remains in a section of the Lodgepole pasture.

So, we're ahead of last year. The leaves haven't popped out yet, and that may not happen until May with nearly freezing temps every night for the next several days.

Anyway, enough on weather, I want to talk about food, musical chairs and paint controversies in the local restaurant business. This has been a "go out and eat" week, cuz I took my friend Helen to lunch at the Bread Basket Bakery in Bonners Ferry this week.

We'll be going to the Tango Cafe in the Panhandle State Bank Financial Center this afternoon for a 50th wedding anniversary celebration honoring Jack and Shirley Parker.

Over the past half century, Jack and Shirley have been one of the model couples of Sandpoint, both in their professional lives and in their community service. Plus, they've got a pretty nice family---Jackie, David, Greg and Anne Marie.

When you've taught all the kids, written about some of the kids, taught with Shirley, whom I fondly call "Shirl the Pearl," have worked in the civic sector with Jack and admired his mother Mary (one of the nation's ten best teachers back in the '60s), and continued to remain friends in retirement, you've got history with these folks.

And, believe me, they're rock-solid good people, pillars of Sandpoint and fun friends. Bill and I will both enjoy taking part in the festivities, and sampling whatever goodies are available at the reception.

I've had a dessert at the Tango Cafe, and I know the food offerings will be tasty.

Last night, Bill suggested the DISH cafe. It's the second time he's suggested going to the new restaurant which occupies space on the west end of town (HWY 2) once held down for decades by the Northern Lights electric cooperative. The first time we drove down there, the restaurant was not open.

So, when he suggested it again last night, my reaction was lukewarm at best. I envisioned it as one of those go-up-to-the-counter, order-your-stuff, take-out places. Don't ask me why, but that's what I had assumed.

Silly me. It's a full-fledged, busy, sit-down, we'll-serve-you place, having been open for about six weeks. I walked away with egg on my face---only figuratively so because I had once more assumed wrong.

The minute we walked in the door, I spotted familiar faces both at the tables and at the serving sector. There was Uriah Duperault and later my neighbor Remi Wilson, who's gone off to college and graduated since I saw her last. Denise and Pierre were there with Mia Bartlett and another lady I know from horse gatherings.

The familiarity itself signaled a good experience. And, the food was delicious too. Like Jalapenos where you get those baskets of chips and salsa, this place offers fresh-baked, warm, tasty rolls and butter---and, if you want seconds while waiting for your meal, you get 'em.

I had a Kobe-beef hamburger, while Bill enjoyed an attractive and ample dish of lasagna. The wine and beer were good too, as was the service. I learned later that our server is married to one of my former students, Jon Waldrup. Jon and his adorable little girls, Lark and Lily, came in with his mother Jan, a teaching colleague who's also retired.

The proprietors of DISH Home Cooking owned the Coit House Bed and Breakfast, and owner Laura Peitz came over to our table to visit.

She says the place is doing very well since its opening---breakfast, lunch and dinner. Chef Gabriel Cruz prepares the delicious and attractive plates.

I'm impressed with DISH and especially impressed that the West end of town is now a dining mecca. Dubs, of course, will always attract its crowd. The Dairy Depot serves a good hamburger and great ice cream. Zips has the fish and chips and good coffee. In the same complex as DISH, there's a pizzeria and a Subway.

Folks on that end of town are not going to go hungry, and they've got a nice array of dining offerings.

Now, let's talk about some other restaurants. I can hardly keep it all straight. New tenants at Connie's. They're planning to re-open the restaurant by Lost in the '50s as a full-fledged nice diner.

I'm told these people were running the Beach House after Jorge O' Leary left last year to go to Hope to what was the Dock of the Bay Restaurant, formerly run by Barney who now has the Tango Cafe.

I'm also told that the Trinity folks will be running the Beach House and that the sushi bar will be moving from the old Bill Gill's Mobil station building across the street to the old Pastime Cafe.

And, my oh my, that has ignited an outrage of mixed but strong opinions. Seems the outlandish colors of green slopped on the building front this week---was that on Earth Day?----have raised a ruckus all over town.

The same day, somebody painted the Sand Creek Grill another tone of green. I do believe they have heard so much about how important it is to live green lives that they've been dreaming it and while dreaming, they went and got some paint and in the midst of their nightmares filled with green monsters, they went downtown and started slapping on the paint.

This green stuff is a good idea, and I think most of us have already lived pretty "green" lives as it is, but sometimes when we discover a new, old concept, some folks just go overboard.

I don't know what comments to make about the new colors on the old Pastime front, but I'm bettin' old Ted Grant who used to spend hours inside the Pastime talking really loud about the good ol' days before Sandpoint's village council went crazy back in 1935---why, I bet Ted would be rolling over in his grave if he went walking downtown after this week's green attack.

Anyway, the restaurant stuff does get confusing, but I don't really care. As long as there's a good place to eat where Bill and I can get a seat on a busy Friday night in Sandpoint, we're not gonna complain about what color the building is.

After all, any of us who've ever read William Least Heat Moon's Blue Highways know that a restaurant isn't worth its salt, pepper or Freedom fries unless it has at least six calendars advertising local businesses hanging on the walls.

Now, how many restaurants in Sandpoint can boast that? If anyone can tell me of one, I'll be glad to go patronize it.

Happy Saturday. May your day be GREEN, blue and sunny.

A day to celebrate trees. Happy Arbor Day

A lovely tree at the Lovestead.

This Scotch pine graces our front yard. My mother once said that it looks like two lovers embracing. I think she called it right.

Trees can be symbolic creatures. We have a few here at the Lovestead, which advertises to all who pass by that this is a tree farm and that it's associated with the Forest Stewardship program.

Many readers have heard countless times about our God tree aka Lodgepole Society standard-bearer. Well, this morning I went around and snapped a few quick photos of some others that remind us every day of the permanent nature trees can take on---especially with our memories.

I could feature more, but I'll save those for another Arbor Day.

I'm married to a forester, so trees are important, but they've always been important.

I remember a huge bull pine (Bill will correct me if I'm wrong) which stood out in the middle of the west pasture at our North Boyer farm. I loved to go out there and sit, watching cows, horses, birds, and feeling alone with my thoughts. That tree is long gone but not from my memory.

There was the grove of trees out in the north woods next to Boyer where I sat, as a five-year-old thief thumbing through the mail I stole daily for three weeks. Their fallen needles provided a nice cache for hiding my postal booty.

I don't know how many of the original trees still stand out in that spot, but with every drive by down the back road, I glance that way and remember my indiscretion/crime.

And, while we're in the old neighborhood, I still beam with pride that the trees I transplanted early in Bill and my marriage still stand---much much taller---at the site where we lived in our first home. All remnants of our past are gone from that site---now a subdivision for "affordable housing----but those trees. Bill often remarks that I broke all rules in transplanting those trees, but the trees knew what to do, and they have thrived.

I used to drive by some other trees of pride every morning while going to work at Sandpoint High School. Our SHS Class of 1965 raised the funds to plant those big spruce that run along the east lawn bordering Division Street at what's now Sandpoint Middle School. I believe that all but one have survived their transplant as young trees 44 years ago.

Joyce Kilmer said it all when he wrote that poem we had to memorize in Mrs. Morris' seventh-grade literature class, and I've rattled off a few of those same words several times since.

I think that I shall never see a poem lovely as a tree. . . .

Happy Arbor Day.

Tree of memory.

This juniper (I'm guessing) was in a little pot, given to Willie by the Newport/Gem State Miner staff when his Grandpa Tibbs died in late 2003. It has been moved a time or two, most recently to the orchard lawn at the Lovestead.

Its continued growth reminds us all more profusely of a man whom we all miss.

Not a good tree picture but a good tree.

This blue spruce has been moved three times since it was given to Mom and Dad Love on the night before William and Deborah Love's marriage Aug. 11, 2001.

Milestone spruce trees: planted nearly 60 years ago by Stan and Geneva Meserve during their first year of marriage.

As yet, aphyllous poplars

Seeing the forest for the trees.

Tackling round-to-its

I decided this morning to get around to snapping a photo of this yellow bush at the entrance of our driveway before its spring show ended.

I wanted to get a photo because last year the poor bush could hardly get around to blooming. The yellow leaves came in bits and pieces, and more than likely when it did get around to it, we were well into May.

So, I've accomplished one of my round-to-its for today.

I intend to complete another later when my friend and I go to Bonners Ferry and the Mennonite bakery for her birthday lunch.

Her birthday was Nov. 22.

It was so long ago that the card I've had sitting on or near the counter for her has all but disappeared in a box full of clutter.

I'm thinking that if I don't find it, I can use it again this year when she celebrates another birthday. That way, I'll be ahead of the game, and she'll never know unless she reads my blog, that is. And, last I knew, she is a regular reader.

This has been a "round-to-it" week of sorts.

I paid some bills yesterday that had been either lying in the pile on my counter or swirling around in my head for at least a couple of weeks. I knew that if I didn't take advantage of that memory fart which alerted me to the fact that I had let them lie, they may stay on the counter and get mixed up in the mess to occupy a space wherever that November birthday card is.

Then, I'd have an awakening. The next month's kindly reminder that "you're overdue" would not be nice.

I never like to be overdue unless it's a book at the East Bonner County Library, which was overdue by about 15 years when I spoke at the library dedication a long time ago.

Librarian Wayne Gunter was nice enough to excuse the overdue-ness cuz I finally got "around to" confessing my biblio transgression. I now own Wanda Hickey's Night of Golden Memories and Other Disasters. That is thanks to Wayne's spirit of absolution.

Now, I need to find that book. It's been packed in a box ever since we moved here three years ago. I'll get around to that some day.

In my old age, I tend to address "round-to-its" with a whole lot more urgency. I'm old enough that if it was on my mind to get this done on one day, it may completely evaporate the next.

So, I know that I'm headed for trouble if I let the "round-to-its" sit around too long.

My strategy these days is to make those lists. I usually did that as a classroom teacher, where virtually every minute's worth of planning had better be written down, lest it be forgotten when all the other endless distractions disordered my mind while standing in front of 30-plus young minds.

As I recall, many of my students had a problem with "round-to-its" too, especially in the homework department. Some never did get theirs, but they did get a lot of zeroes.

Anyway, after retirement, I decided I didn't need to be so rigid in my day-to-day planning. Of late, however, I'm finding a different reason to "write it down," or you'll forget it.

I always wondered why my friend Joy who called me almost every day for 30 years, in her later years, resorted to a check list while chatting in each conversation. She would literally check off what we had just discussed, and it was always obvious that she was using her "cheat sheet" for reference before introducing the next topic of conversation.

Now, I'm beginning to understand. And, I've considered that for today's lunch---which I'm finally getting around to bringing to fruition--maybe it would be a good idea to jot down a list of conversation topics to make sure we get everything covered.

After all, it may be sometime before we get around to celebrating her birthday again.

One has to take measures to stay ahead of the getting around to it game, and I'm doing my best.

Squirrels and Marie Osmond's girdle

More and more, as spring rolls on, our two pups' daily routines change. Coffee container chases, squirrel watches and horse vigilance keep their day both varied and busy.

This morning a squirrel dared to enter the poplar tree, probably fully aware that the dogs had their eyes glued to the horses. When Bill decided to go for his usual morning stroll to the woods, however, the squirrel was outed, and the horses got some relief.

Since this photo was taken, Kea has been multi-tasking between the barnyard corral and the tree. Apparently, Kiwi issued orders that her lieutenant should cover both bases while she, the colonel, made sure that Lily had no opportunities to sneak a spear of lawn grass from beneath the fence.

Coffee cans will have to wait today as more important animal matters are ruling the agenda.

~~~~~~

Now, I've got to talk about Marie Osmond's girdle. I read this morning that, at 50, she's doing well with multi-tasking, just like Kea. Marie has no squirrel watches on her agenda, but she does have a new talk show, a Las Vegas act with her brother and a new book---that talks about GIRDLES, no less.

I'm gonna have to check to see if she got any ideas from my Pocket Girdles and decided to clean up the girdle image from what I portrayed while recounting my seventh-grade "ditch-the-girdle-daily" story.

According to the story in this morning's newspaper, Marie claims she "liked" her girdle. Of course, she's 50, and I'm almost 62. Half a generation between us, and when you think of how much computers have improved in 12 years, I guess a girdle could too.

Still, I've never met a soul yet who's made such a public pronouncement regarding an affinity with girdles. If anyone knows Marie, please tell her to get in touch with me. I'd like to get a spot on her new talk show where we thoroughly examine this the why's and wherefores of liking or detesting girdles.

Seems like it could promote a lively discussion. By the way, Sharon, I know you'd be on my side. Thanks for your note yesterday about YOUR insidious girdle.

I know I'm among friends in the undergarment assessment department.

~~~~~~

Girdles and squirrels aside, this is Earth Day, and I hope everyone celebrates it in a meaningful way, even if it's to pick up a clod of Earth and disorder the mind of a Border Collie bent on catching a squirrel.

Happy Earth Day to all.

Nuttin' but blue skies, black flies all day long

Flies have not yet died.

They say swallows must come and eat them.

All I know is that we have the usual sunny spring buzzing around the house and virtually any stationary object near the house.

They're not as bad as they were two years ago but bad enough to be irritating like flies can be.

Horses had flies forming little armies around their eyes and noses yesterday.

My mother sat in one of our chase lounges and had flies landing on her baseball cap.

Soon the swallows will come and enjoy several helpings of the critters and we'll be complaining about bees.

We're not complaining about the blue skies and the nearly 80-degree temps, however.

I won't complain if I get a chance to ride Lily tonight.

I'm hurrying through my blog posting this morning because John Fuller is coming at 8 to trim a winter's growth of toenails from Lefty and Heather's hooves.

He'll reset Lily's shoes from last year. They've been lining the wall in the barn, and after today, will no longer be decorations. They'll spare Lily the pain of walking on sharp rocks. She has pretty tender hooves, so I'm sure she'll be glad to have her shoes on for another year.

And, I'll be glad to climb on and take her for a ride down the road on a warm, spring evening.

Happy sun and a great day to all---except those annoying flies!

Woodside Bike Ride

Woodside Road runs north off from Selle Road. It's at least a mile west of South Center Valley Road, which also runs north off from Selle Road. Woodside Road is paved, probably from materials gleaned from the gravel pit on the mountainside off to the east.

Generally, it's not a good idea to go for a leisurely bike ride down Woodside Road, at least during daylight hours on work days. Dump trucks filled with road and fill materials roll up and down that road to get new loads of gravel pit yieldings and deliver them to construction sites around the area.

I rode my bike down the road one afternoon a couple of years ago, watching carefully to stay out of the way of the trucks, but still I received a gentle warning from the dispatcher who works in a small office alongside the road that it might not be a good idea to be out there during the day.

So, I have obliged.

That has not stopped my evening rides down the road, though. The scene is just too good to bypass, and in the evening, if a motorized vehicle comes down the road from either direction, it's probably a member of the Wood family who own the gravel pit and all the land on either side of the road.

That happened last fall when I had ridden as far as one is allowed to ride without a hard hat. I'm guessing it would be about two miles. The road is flat, goes north, crosses a cattle guard and then veers off to the right toward a gateway, where one sign says 10 mph, another one says a hard hat is needed and another says "unauthorized personnel" should go no further.

So, again, I oblige.

On that evening last fall, a pickup came from the unauthorized area. It was Brian Wood, who owns the Woods Crushing operation, which is part of the greater Wood family operation of cattle ranching, meat preparation, guest ranch, etc. Brian had been target practicing in the gravel pit, readying himself for an upcoming week of elk hunting.

We had a great visit that evening, talking over old times and past trail rides we'd enjoyed long ago when we were both so much younger. I told Brian how much I enjoyed riding my bike through their land, and he seemed to be quite okay with that.

Late yesterday afternoon, I headed off toward Woodside Road for my first visit of 2009. Determined to enjoy this as a relaxing ride, I worked hard at not working too hard pedaling. Still, it all came easily, and I thoroughly enjoyed cruising past the neighbors' homes. Through the trees, I saw Wes and his kids walking through their yard.

There were lots of folks at the home next door which is owned by Seth Burnett. Two guys sitting out by the barn waved at me. I pedaled past Stacy Wood Reif's country school house, which has evolved so beautifully since she opened a couple of years ago.

There's a satellite dish on the south side of the building, an old bell in the bell tower, and the white fence around the adorable red school house keeps kids safe from wandering off to the busy Selle Road. Stacy's dream of running a country school has become reality, and it now serves as a center for many dreams to come.

Just beyond the school, I turned right on Woodside Road and settled into a leisurely pace, knowing I didn't have to keep looking behind to see if cars were coming and urging me closer to the side of the road. That's another reason I love the ride. If I want, I can point that bike to the middle of the road and weave back and forth to my heart's content----just like I did when I was ten.

As I progressed northward, I spotted five deer in the field on the left. They stood like statues for several minutes watching me. Yes, to my friend Brent---the deer were watching me. It's an old joke, and I don't know if Brent is reading, but I always think of him when I see deer watching me.

Probably the main reason I like Woodside Road is that when you get about a mile in, you're surrounded by nothing but quiet farm fields and groves of trees. A few cattle feeders sit out in the middle of some pastures, but the feelings of such solitude and insignificance in a grand pastoral setting are rare treats in this busy world of ours. I feel blessed, living in such moments.

As I turned right at the fork in the road and pedaled over the second cattle guard, taking care to ride the solid metal beam rather than go bumpety bump on the openings between beams, I saw more of those watching deer. Only two this time, but that put my wildlife quota for the night up to seven.

I rode to the turnaround gate, reminisced fondly of the nice visit I'd had last fall with Brian and almost sadly headed back. Still, no invading vehicles, but about half a mile into my return trip, the gong went off in my head as I looked to the right and saw not a watching deer but a huge moose----staring intently my direction.

That brought instant scary reminiscence of the time the kids and I were up Grouse Creek in our van. I had spotted a mother moose across the meadow, gotten out to take a picture, whistled to get her to pose, and instead of posing, she put her head down and started running toward our van.

The van didn't have a lot of get-up and go, so she covered a lot of ground before I had gunned the motor enough to vamoose from that meadow. Scared the living daylights out of me, and made me a lifelong moose respector. If there is such a thing as a "respector."

Visions of that brush with certain moose death inspired my feet to push really hard last night as I looked back at the moose watching me from across the field. Suddenly solitude was not my friend.

Other visions danced through my head as I continued to pedal really hard and as fast as 62-year old legs and feet could do. Visions of Marianne being found squashed and entangled in her pink mountain bike on Monday morning when the first dump truck came to get its load did not seem desirable to me.

I don't know how I want my death to come, but somehow making headlines and having another possible moose picture in the Daily Bee "moose" paper is not a scenario I relish. I'd rather go more silently.

Anyway, the moose never moved, but I did---as fast as possible, out of there. I lived to tell about it this morning, and I did enjoy the rest of my ride back down the Woodside Road. Tally by the time I reached Selle Road---seven deer, one kind moose and a beautiful bluebird launching from a fencepost.

A great, eventful ride, indeed. I'm hoping to take that route several more times before the snow flies, and I'm hoping to avoid the dump trucks, the moose and any other hazards while enjoying the bounties of nature and solitude at its best.

And, who knows, maybe one of those evenings, Brian will come along in his pickup and we have another visit about old times.

Spring happenings

The Gift of Earth

Beneath the deep infernal noise
That cries and swirls surrounding me
There reigns a touching, silent peace,
All calm, enduring, full of poise.
The quaking earth, its broken side
With dark brown lines from my old plow,
Accepts the seed I scatter now.
It yields to my observing stride
And takes, in silence, all my care –
Absorbing, patiently, the sun
To finish work I have begun
With water, dung, and bits of prayer.
Prolific crops may grow, or none.
I sense them growing in my dreams,
In visions, in reality
As I am witness at each dawn:
I see the earth has moved. The wind
In hurried rushes, as a breeze
Or as a storm, advances, streams
And struggles with the pregnant land:
The gift that is my food, the birth
(for which there is an ancient song)
A miracle. When strength is gone
Then I will gift myself to earth.

~~Alan Humason

I thank my friend and fellow writer, Alan Humason, for sharing his poem (above) with me and for graciously allowing me to feature it on my blog this morning.

I had been digging in the dirt, cleaning out last year's dead garden clutter and working up the soil for planting when I came to the house for a sit-down break at my computer. During my time in the garden, Alan had sent me his poem.

Later, Alan told me that he and his wife Pam (Eimers) had been planting a garden. I don't know the full inspiration behind the words, but I do know that the words reflect a myriad of universal thoughts as we all return to our own plot of earth each spring to dirty our hands in launching garden life and to begin a new chapter of planning, hope, promise and supreme culinary delight.

As for Alan, he's a gifted writer who lives in California. His wife Pam is a longtime teaching friend of mine. Pam and Alan met while working on staff at Sunset Magazine.

Pam and the Love family endured the beginning unknowns of the Mount St. Helens volano ash fallout on May 18, 1980. The ash came to Sandpoint, and nobody knew for a few days if it was safe to travel, so for those first hours, Pam stayed with us and later drove to her home a couple of miles away.

Pam will be interested to know that the Love family (maybe even yours truly) will climb Mt. St. Helens this summer.

And, Pam is the recipient of Love family Christmas cookies---they could be at least 25 years old this year, and they're stuffed away in a cannister in the Love house as they've been passed back and forth between households over the years.

I have promised to give the cookies to Pam and Alan's son Kyle when he graduates from high school. I think I have two years to search through the moving boxes to find them. If I don't, I'm sure Kyle won't miss them.

Anyway, Alan, thanks for your beautiful and apt poetic thoughts as we begin our spring projects.

More photos from a spring day at the Lovestead appear below.

Folgers coffee-can season returns.

Saturday Slight

I'm back on my laptop after a three-day absence. Earlier this week, a full-fledged pop-up attack, including naughty girlie sites started disordering my mind and my ability to get anything done. I'd come back to my text window to make an edit, and hot sexy broads were advertising their availablity.

Since I'm not interested in hot, sexy broads, that irritated me. All I wanted at that moment was a text window---not a sensuous woman. After about three days and trying to get my virus program to remove the pop-ups, I bit the bullet and hauled the laptop down to Sandpoint Computers where Mike, the doctor, performed surgery and extracted all those nasty pop-ups.

We'll see how long I can go before having to return. That's the first time I've had to take my laptop in for maintenance in five years, so that's not too bad. I also used the occasion to purchase an external hard drive. It's about time after loading five years of photos on this computer. They were nice enough to back 'em all up on the new hard drive. Now, I've gotta spend some time organizing.

Anyway, it's Saturday and it looks like the sun is truly going to shine today. My big plans to fry my skin went awry yesterday when the sun went somewhere else. I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw the cloud cover come rolling over the mountains and then watched the rain fall while sitting inside next to my wood stove to stay warm.

The fog has lifted and the white board fence is gleaming out there against the backdrop of greening fields. Should be a pretty day.

http://roadtripnation.com/roadtrips/media.php?roadtrip_id=1313
Check out the link above. It's about and produced by a young man named Willie----who's not my son. He is a former student though, and he comes from an intellectually humorous family called the Wittes---pronounced "witty." Get it.

Well, Hunny, his mother sent me the link, and I've sat here this morning watching the 13-minute clip, which appears on www.roadtripnation.com. Willie sets off for Indonesia with a film crew and famed surfer Rob Machado. His focus is to learn from the film makers and from the surfer how they broke loose and followed their professional dreams.

Willie is in search of that answer for himself, and as he sits casually interviewing each individual, he finds out for himself that there's no tried and true answer, except maybe that travel is a key to finding one's niche in life. The clip is aptly named "Free Willie."

Willie Witte sat in my sophomore English class during my last year of teaching. He was in to drumming at the time and very active in the SHS band. I had one of his sisters that same year, and she went off to LA to follow her dreams. Willie's dad Bob is a radio personality in Sandpoint.

I'm impressed with Willie's production, and I encourage any Sandpoint readers to pass along the link cuz it's always nice to see one of our own succeed at pursuing a dream. Looks like Willie is arriving at his.

~~~~~~
It's just too pretty outside to spend much more time sitting here, so I'm gonna call it quits and get out there to enjoy the day.

Looks like Dr. Mike did a good job with my computer cuz no girlie girls have appeared on my screen this morning. Good riddance, and thanks, Mike.

Happy Saturday.

Fry Day on the Farm

I hope to fry a bit today. My sisters and I used to call this "Fry Day" because we went to Connie's after a week of school and celebrated with fries and ranch dressing. Can't do that these days cuz Connie's keeps closing.

My sources, however, tell me the folks who run the Beach House are taking over Connie's. Yesterday added a bit more support to that tidbit. My friend Mike Rosenberger, who does steam cleaning, was parked in front of Connie's door with his van and with lots of hose strung from the vehicle through the doorway.

So, they're cleaning carpets for something. Maybe we can go have fries there again soon.

Anyway, this could still be a "Fry Day" in that it's supposed to get really warm. That makes me happy, and I'll have to watch how much time I allow my bare skin, especially the arms, get exposed to the sun. I learned a long time ago that those first burns of the year make a person pretty uncomfortable.

This year I'm going to try to avoid my truck driver arms by putting on a sleeveless shirt while working in the garden. Seems like every year I'm too busy to think about cosmetics and before I know it, I'm branded with that telltale line on the biceps. Seems like once you've got it, you can't erase it, even with sleeveless tops later in the spring.

Today is designated as rototilling day and maybe painting day. At least 15 cart trips back and forth to the manure pile have yielded a garden full of rich fertilizer. And, it could be dry enough to get my rototiller to take it all on. We'll see.

In the meantime, I've already enjoyed a yield from my winter planting projects. Yesterday in between loads, I walked into the greenhouse, checked to see if any red stuff was showing beneath the radish leaves, and sure enough, it was. So, I plucked one from the pot, walked to a faucet, washed it over and ate my first bite of garden produce for 2009.

I love radishes cuz they let you love them for hours afterward whenever you burp. And, they're never sour burps; radish burps always have that certain pleasant reminder that you've been eating produce, which, I'm told is supposed to be good for you.

For dinner, I remembered the tasty salad we had on Easter Sunday at Barbara and Laurie's. They put a little hard-boiled egg in it. So, I went to the greenhouse, plucked a handful of baby spinach, a few sprigs of kale and a a dozen or so baby lettuce leaves. I'd have taken another radish, but they're still babes in the pot, and they need time to grow a little larger.

I fried up some honey-flavored bacon pieces, boiled some eggs, stole a little store bought lettuce and mixed it all up in a bowl with Litehouse Honey Mustard lettuce. Better than yum, I'll tell you.

Now, I've got to let some more lettuce and spinach grow before enjoying another salad like that. I'll tell you, though, gardening can be more expensive than we'd like, but the flavor of something fresh from the dirt, something you've grown yourself, something unspoiled by the stuff that keeps produce from spoiling----that flavor is beyond description.

That's why I garden---at least one reason anyway.

I read a column this morning by one of my favorite writers----yes, I'm an Obamican who loves conservative columnist Peggy Noonan. Her observation of what we're going to be facing as Americans because of the economy might sound to some as depressing but to folks like me, it's downright exhilarating to think that we could return to the America that she describes.

So, I'll leave you on this Fry Day, with a scene that only the great Peggy Noonan could paint in words. Here's the link: (http://online.wsj.com/article/SB123992073614326997.html)

May the sun shine on all you have planned for this day.

This and That Thursday

Seems like a lot of little things on my mind this morning. Sixty-degrees today and rising temperatures---can't complain about that. Actually, I don't have a whole lot of complaints this morning.

This is the season when grousing and moaning gets put on the shelf with the winter clothes---well, most of those bad-weather duds anyway.

I'm still wearing boots because of mud, but I'm guessing by next week my turtle necks will get folded and stuffed away in exchange for my polo shirts and my boots will start living in the closet again.

It's been fun lately wearing thin, unlined jeans cuz I actually look and feel thinner in them and have not put on too much blubber over the winter. The only complaint I have about jeans right now is that they get dirty from the work I'm doing outside, and I often wear as many as three pair in one day.

Yesterday I put the cushions on the chase lounges and put the lounges on the deck. Snow is gone, and the only visible remnants on our trek deck are the warps caused from snow load. Until we figure out a way for the snow to shoot off the roof a different direction, we're gonna have warped decks. Still, a warped deck is much more inviting than one with five feet of snow.

Spring has been presenting itself in several forms this past week. For example, I've got a stack of scholarship applications sitting on my kitchen island. That signals the senior season when all the 17-18-year-olds are driving their parents crazy, tuning out their teachers and looking ahead to freedom----college, the military, anything but Sandpoint.

Well, 33 have applied for the Women Honoring Women scholarship for college, so I'll be reading what they have to say. And, then, a committee from the committee will decide the winners to be announced at Class Night next month.

Another sign of spring is the announcement of the 2009 Women of Wisdom class. This is the 11th time "the committee" has chosen a group of women to honor at a festive luncheon in June.

There was a first in the selections last night. We now have the first two-generations-in-one-family winners. The WHW committee selected Ginny Jensen, Betty Faletto, Lois Miller, Helen Williams-Baker and Bobbie Huguenin.

Bobbie's mom Jean Brown won the distinction in the inaugural year for Women of Wisdom, so there was history in the making with last night's decision on whom to honor this year.

And, speaking of history, after I returned home and sat down to enjoy a bowl of ice cream, the phone rang. It was Annie, wondering if we were watching the baseball game.

Well, we weren't, but we should have been because on the 60th Anniversary celebration of Jackie Robinson's breaking the race barrier in baseball, Ken Griffey, Jr. hit his 400th home run as a Seattle Mariner.

Annie was in the ball park, and she apparently caught a second or two of TV time as the home run ball flew through the air. She also caught a great night to be in the Mariners' stadium because the famed Ichiro, in his 2009 debut, hit a grand slammer later in the game. The Mariners look like they're for real this year, and what a night for our daughter to be there!

Yup, baseball certainly is a sign of spring, and we're doing our best to figure out a way to attend a Cubs game in Chicago next month, mainly for our mother, a Chicago native who always loved the Cubs but never got to see them play at Wrigley Field. We're finding the task easier said than done, but we'll give it our best shot.

Speaking of 60 years, my neighbors next door to the north were married 6o years ago today. They've been living in their home for that long, and they've got the beautiful tall pines and spruce trees to prove it.

Congratulations to Stan and Geneva Meserve on their 60th wedding anniversary. When we first moved to this farm three years ago, I was told by another friend down the road that they are the nicest neighbors you'll ever have. What a true statement!

Stan and Geneva exemplify so many wonderful human traits that I could not count them on my fingers and toes. I feel blessed to live next door.

Spring is definitely in the air, and I'll probably not be complaining for some time. Too much work to do----manure runs to the garden, plants in the greenhouse needing more and more water, seeds needing soil for sprouting, soiled horses to groom, horses to be shod and trimmed, horses to be ridden and a lawn soon to be mowed.

But I'm certainly gonna take time out to admire the daffodils, smell the roses and lounge on that warped deck with a cup of coffee in my hand and a great big smile on my face.

Love it all!

All these gizmos

First, it was one follower. Then, it was two. Next time I noticed, I had four and then three. Now I'm back to two. Must be two were just trying me out for size and didn't like what they saw. Anyway, I have "followers" on my blog. I know that because the icon on my dashboard tells me so.

A couple of weeks ago another foreign creature showed up on my list of blog options: monetize.

I had no idea where that came from, so I clicked on it, and it said I could earn money for writing my blog. That money would come through ads posted along with whatever I have to say each day.

Somehow, I don't think what I have to say on some days is worthy of earning money from unsightly commercialism. I prefer to remain "pure" as a blogger. Owe nuthin' to no one, and that way you can say as you darn-well please. That's my mantra.

This morning I noticed cell phone and envelope icons on my dashboard. For non-bloggers, the dashboard is the place where you drive yourself through the blog mechanisms, specifically where you've been and where you might be going with a "new post."

I'm afraid to click on the cell phone and the envelope for fear I might have received a crank call or a poison pen letter overnight. After all, I satirized yesterday, and sometimes when I satirize people don't like it. So, I'm gonna leave that phone and that envelope alone until another day when my curiosity gets the best of me.

The blog nation is busy all the time adding new gizmos to our range of possibilities. I've noticed my Hotmail is doing the same thing by offering a network and reminding me of whom I may want to include in my network by showing a small group of names and email addresses each time I open the program.

It really bugs me every time I go into Hotmail to learn that my network folks, whom I have yet to select, "haven't done anything lately."

Do I care?

I can post my birthday on my Hotmail network, but I've got my birthday on Facebook, and, speaking of Facebook, talk about a place where stuff happens. I would venture to say that to be a Facebook pure addict, one would require at least 24 hours to get caught up on all the things offered each day which you can do to learn about yourself and to spy on others.

My list of possibilities sits there untapped. Oh, by the way, cousin Brendan, I do not plan to ignore your invitation to buy "Indie" on whatever day that is.

"Buying Indi" means you're going to support ONLY independent bookstores on that day. And, if Brendan will send me the list, I'll post the independent bookstores where you can purchase his book and mine.

After all, I'd rather earn my money by selling books than posting on my blog every morning.

If you're in the Facebook crowd, you can take a test to learn some of the most off-the-wall things about yourself and about everyone else in your Facebook circle.

Over the weekend, there was a glut on Easter egg decorating (Gina Emory really got into that one), and several of my FB friends have been learning what famous horses they most resemble----in mentality rather than physicality, of course.

But then again, I wouldn't be surprised if a few horses have signed up for Facebook. Hey, that gives me an idea.

Next time I go to Facebook, I think I'll sign my Lily up. I'll give her an email address, and I'll start a Miss Lily fan club. After all, I signed up for DICKS Hamburgers fan club a while back.

So far, I've not received notice of any upcoming gatherings at the funky hamburger joint in Spokane which has its loyal cult following, but if there is one, I'll be sure to tell Bill. Maybe he'll go there to buy some fish and chips and plant a geocache at the same time.

Yup, there's a lot you can do to waste your time on the Internet, and now that all those crazy distractions are starting to appear on my blog dashboard, I may have to drive somewhere else to have my fun.

Wherever it is, you can be sure I'm not gonna "monetize," and that it's fine with me if you don't want to be my "follower."

It's a "drive-by" story as I see it

There's much ado about drive throughs in Sandpoint. Everyone's in a tizzy. Even I've been in a tizzy over this issue, but the more I look at it, the story seems to be more drive-by in nature than anything else----and it's precisely the kind of news that sells.

When you drive by and shoot at something, you never quite know for sure what you're going to hit. And, if you do hit something, there's sure to be a reaction. At least, that's the way it seems from the movies and the stories where I've learned about drive-by's.

The day I first heard about this issue arising, our newspaper was late. It was Saturday morning, and I had to go to Coeur d'Alene. Naturally, I was feeling like something was missing cuz I hadn't had a chance to get my fix and glance through the news before hitting the road.

Just as I got in my car, I noticed the papers had finally arrived, so I went to the paperbox and brought them to the house, taking a cursory look at what was new in Sandpoint.

I saw the banner headline above the fold, saying Sandpoint was gonna ban drive-throughs, and I saw the full-color aerial photo of a portion of Sandpoint's quickly developing West end.

In the photo I noticed the bright red roof on Zips, one of the newer drive-through restaurants owned by one of our Sandpoint City Council members. That's how I knew it was the west end of town.

That's about as much thought as I put into the headline and the photo below, except to think that "drive throughs" probably meant those places with big parking lots next to stop lights/signs at busy intersections where people get sick and tired of waiting and take a shortcut through the parking lot to get where they're going----sorta like that one at the Travelers---oops, Mitzy's on Fifth Avenue.

I've seen firsthand my friend Brian Spade get mad when people do that to catch a quicker route to Schweitzer by zipping through the Sand Creek Conoco lot, so I figured there was probably some wisdom behind banning "drive through's" especially coming from business owners.

Well, I was taught and I taught my journalism students for years never to ASS-U-ME, and I learned yesterday that I had broken one of my cardinal rules when I had assumed incorrectly and learned that drive-throughs are those things I've used for years when my kiddies were little and I had to do my banking and I didn't want the kiddies and me to have to go park somewhere, walk to the bank, make a ruckus and completely miss out on the free lollipops.

I think about all those lollipops Willie and Annie consumed over the years and how the window tellers gave them to the drive-through customers with little kids so the kids wouldn't come in the bank get a lollipop, stick it in the mouth, take it out, fondle it, get it all over their hands and then wipe off the sticky stuff all over the fancy bank chair where some customer might come in to sit while waiting to get one of those loans that seem to have been causing so much havoc with our economy.

Since Willie and Annie eventually grew up and went on their own to get their lollipops somewhere else, I've taken my doggies through the drive-throughs. My doggies learned quickly where the drive-through's were and which ones gave the best biscuits. I've actually had a dog wake up from a deep sleep as I turned into a drive-through parking lot, just to be good and ready for the tasty handout.

Now that I have two dogs, I don't want to break the bank (they've had enough help) so I don't take them to town to do my drive-through banking. Instead, I've been taking my mother quite often lately. She uses a walker to get where she needs to go on the ground, so she really appreciates being able to just sit in the car and take care of her banking at the window.

After reading the stories, I began to wonder where we were going to have to park downtown if drive through's got banned in our "walking" town and how far my 88-year-old mother was gonna have to push that walker through our walking town to get to the bank, especially if it's in the summer when all the parking spots are filled by noon.

I was getting really worried about that, but my worries somewhat subsided when I watched the news on the TV station last night, and they said it really wasn't quite the same story we had read in the first place. So, I was more confused than ever when I watched that rather disjointed television news story, and I thought to myself, as an old journalist, why are they getting rid of all the journalists who know how to get a story right.

I still didn't know what the deal was about these drive-through's being banned in Sandpoint, but I sure knew it was making headlines far outside the boundaries of our little town, and that people were doing a lot of head scratching and maybe a little laughing about yet another controversy in that little North Idaho town, which seems to reap more than its share of national headlines.

Then, I got to thinking that maybe it was all just a journalistic ploy. Maybe if just enough facts to make people really mad got printed in that one newspaper story, a whole lot more newspaper stories would have to come along afterward to explain it all, and a whole lot of letters to the editor would get written, and that would sell a whole lot of newspapers.

And, we all know about the newspaper business in this tough economy. Those that are still alive could use all the help they can get to stay alive----and in Sandpoint, we no longer have the 50-year Byway controversy to argue about anymore. Furthermore, the most recent school levy passed, so what's there to talk about?

Well, we've got drive-throughs, and I have a feeling in this "walking town" of ours that story is gonna have a lot of legs before it ever gets resolved.

In the meantime, I'm telling my dogs not to worry cuz they'll still give biscuits at the Bonner County transfer station, and I'm telling my mother---well, I don't know what I'm gonna tell my mother, but I know what she's told me----and that is that banning drive-throughs at the banks and restaurants in Sandpoint is the stupidist thing she's ever heard of.

As far as the kids and their sticky lollipops----that's for someone else to figure out. And, then there's that new rule coming after the drive-through issue----about bright red roofs on Zips and orange Home Depot pollution and such.

We've got good times ahead in keeping Sandpoint in the bright lights of national journalistic prominence. But didn't I hear somewhere about a light pollution issue too?

Please enlighten me.