Thursday This and That "Wolf, Wolf"

Last day of September and one week until I get over the latest segment of dread--another speech to give to librarians from around the state next Thursday at their fall conference in Post Falls. 

As for September, I loved Kenny Leen's idea the other day.  Kenny sends out email updates from time to time.  And, I enjoy them. They're stream of consciousness stuff, usually filled with catchy nuggets of down-home wisdom. 

In his most recent message, he came up with a solution for this year's sorry garden scene.  In Kenny's words: 

Hey There............Tis I, once again.  Sun is suspose to shine here in North Idaho again today and.......if we are not tricked....the rest of the week.  Have tons of tomatoes hanging green in the garden, and corn as tall as a shallow heaven .........waiting for more summer Sun and heat to bring them along.........don't think hanging a big calender turned to the page of August in front of the garden will help......although when I'm close to the garden I will look at my cell phone for the date and utter out loud.......30th of July .....one more whole month of Summer.   Well best get out and get busy........got stuff to do........a man without stuff to do must be a lonely man........that' not a quote from me.......was just floating by and I snatched it up........one would be amazed at a lot of the stuff I let float by.  I could go on here but think better of it.......and there is another little word, used but not thought of much.......it... what is it, maybe who is it.....don't do it.......better get off these keys and get started doint it..........stuff outside, of course........don't think I'm one of those lonely fellers do you..........from one who talks.....and lies to his garden.........catch you later

                           your friend and mine........kenny leen

~~~~

So, if you've got green tomatoes, take Kenny's advice and go lie about the date to your garden.  Probably as effective as anything's been this year.

~~~~

I heard about a wolf sighting this morning.  While out getting my papers,  I saw a lady just south of me coming my way a brisk morning walk.  As she came nearer, I said good morning and told her I was trying to figure out who she was.

"You don't know me," she said.  "I'm here visiting my daughter over on Selle Road."

As she got closer, I introduced myself and we exhanged a little small talk.  Then, she told me she saw a wolf the other day.  She said she was driving on North Kootenai Road and spotted the wolf lying out in the middle of a field in the Arcadia Greenhouse area.  

She told her granddaughter," That's not a coyote; that's a wolf."  They watched it for a while and then my new friend whistled.  The animal got up and ran off, she said. 

After telling me the story, she said, "Your wolf crossing sign isn't too far off base."  That's when I told her another neighbor had reported seeing two wolves in our area a couple of years ago.

One never knows if reported wolf sightings are for real, but the stories keep arising.  So, the possibilities are worth pondering and worth a little vigilance. 

I'll still never know if the "wolf" I saw so many years ago back in our old neighbhorhood was for real, but the story thereafter involving the Book family and all their vehicles pulling me out of hub deep mud was very real and very dirty, especially for Jolene and Ardella.  ("To ASS-U-ME It's a Wolf" from Postcards from Potato Land, available at www.amazon.com).

Lucky for my new friend that she didn't drive her vehicle into uncharted territory and get stuck while pursuing said wolf in the field. 

Then again such a move might have guaranteed her a "wolf crossing" sign from her rescuers.

~~~~

As for the hair appointment yesterday, most of my hair stayed.  Still, Kelly said it definitely needed a trim AND some color.  So, I've once again gone from a blonde to a brunette and will stay that way until the sun (Will we have a bunch more sun?) fades it out.

Kelly maintained that if she'd let me cut it with a new do, she'd guarantee that I wouldn't have to wash it and blow dry it every single day.  So, I'll ponder that for the next several weeks.

~~~~~

I rode Heather last night.  It had been three weeks since my last ride, and she seems to have retained everything she learned in her training.  Still no calls from people just itching to buy her, so I'm figuring "the little fairy princess" is gonna stay here, at least through the winter.

With the beautiful day ahead, I'll probably spend some time lying to my tomatoes in between saddling up Lily and taking her out to search for wolves. 

To cut or not to cut . . . .

I have a hair appointment today.  I've told my hairdresser Kelly that I've been thinking of a change in the fall.  Well, fall has come,  and today could be a crucial decision-making day.

My gut tells me to just leave well enough alone.  Still, the idea of having her chop off these long locks remains tantalizing.

Generally what happens at my hair appointments is the zapping (highlighting) and the trimming.  Kelly introduced my former hairdresser, the late Joyce Campbell, to a different zap method about three years ago.  Since Joyce's passing earlier this year, Kelly has taken over my head.

Instead of using a (sometimes very sharp) crochet needle to pull clumps of hair through a plastic bag tied to my head, the new method involves wrapping the hair up in white paper strips and painting it with the coloring goop. 

After the timer goes off, indicating enough coloring action on the hair, Kelly instructs me to step over to a sink for a good washing.  Except for my neck thinking it's going to break while stuck down there on the porcelain sink edge, I kinda like this segment of each appointment.  

Those professional fingers do a nice massage job on my head.  Before my cousin Sue thinks I'm weakening in the massage department, I'll say that I've never been too modest about fingers running through my hair. After all, there's no undressing. 

On the rest of my body, however, there's a limit, and it's gonna stay that way.  Modesty is the best policy, I believe, and you're never gonna catch me in a massage parlor. 

Anyway, after Kelly washes my hair, I move back to the styling chair where she gives me yet another lecture on snipping away at different parts of my hair in between appointments.  It's just like the dentist chastising you because you let ten years lapse in between appointments.

You're sitting there, stuck in that chair, and you can't escape with any excuses.  Last time I visited Kelly, I took a proactive approach and started in with the verbal flogging before she did.  

"Okay, okay, I whacked in a few places, and you're gonna notice it," I told her.  

Well, the key word "gonna" was a misnomer.  Kelly had already noticed, and Kelly was all ready to start in on her lecture.

Sorta like Tony who has to keep coming to fix my lawnmowers.  I've been proactive with him too, offering for him to give me 40 lashes for being too rough with that big mower of mine.

I figure beating these people to the punch  lessens the pain and keeps me more in control of what could be a bad situation for my bad behavior.  

Hairdressers know when lay people should have the scissors at home well hidden.  They've got those expert eyes which will notice a hair or two out of place and definitely those clumps  "out of whack."  

Anyway, after I admitted to my scissors sins, Kelly moved in for the kill, giving me instructions on what to do if I insisted on homestyle whacking over the next two months.  No more than two fingers from the hairline, she told me, referring to a strategy to take when my bangs were driving me crazy. 

This is sort of like my mother's instructions from Dr. Lawrence:  only two fingers of wine, he tells her. 

Only problem is when the wine-ordering time comes, we have to think about whether those fingers are standing-up fingers or lying-down fingers.  On some days,  the former is more desirable in the wine-consuming department, and sometimes the same may suit me when I get mad at my bangs. 

I've been pretty good this time, and I doubt Kelly's gonna have to get mad at me for getting mad at my bangs.  I've pretty much left them alone. 

Deciding whether or not to turn her loose with the scissors today is more difficult for me to process.  There are pluses and minuses to either choice.

If I leave my hair long, I can pull it back out of my face and wear baseball caps without looking too stupid.  I also tend to wash my hair less frequently when it's long.

If it's cut, washing is the key.  I have naturally curly hair, which when short, gets messed up in ugly ways while I'm sleeping overnight.  And, when those unruly curls stick out toward Nellie's one day and toward Sally's the next, washing and blow drying is the only cure. 

I hate washing and blow drying my hair every day.  It's a nuisance, to say the least. 

Then again, if I gave Kelly the go ahead for a major cutting operation today, I could have a new lease on life for a while.  Kelly, who has short hair, reminded me that people often spend inordinate amounts of time "controlling" their hair. 

She maintains, therefore,  that short hair needs less control.  Of course, Kelly doesn't have naturally curly hair.

The more I think about this decision, the more I think I'll think about it.  Now, I feel better.  

Decision made.  

I'll think about making this major hairstyle move until next time. 

Can You Hear Me Now?

Last week, I happened to be the third person in a conversation with Sam Wormington (he's 90) and my mother (she's 89).  Both were talking about their World War II experiences-----at the same time.  

I participated as a nervous listener.

All my life it's been unsettling for me to  be on the sidelines when two people are talking at the same time.  I remember one conversation in particular, back when my dad and Boots Belote were still alive.  

Boots  lived on his ranch with his wife Jewel at the base of a mountain off Sagle Road.  Like so many around this area, his farm land eventually turned into a prime location for high-priced homes. 

He was a colorful character.  He chewed snoose and spit a lot while spinning his many yarns. I think he participated in a few back-room card games in downtown Sandpoint too.  Our family mental archives could supply many good Boots stories.  

He was a good friend to our family and a horse trader, among other things.  For a while he sold tack. 

At that time I was ready to purchase a Western saddle all my own.  And, at that same time,  Hereford saddles were the rage.  Boots came to the house one day to help me pick out my saddle from his catalog.  

When the 'splainin' and dickering period at our kitchen table had ended amidst Bull Durham smoke rings and several exits by Boots for snoose spitting, the only participation I had enjoyed in the deal was writing the check for the saddle which Boots would deliver later, along with a complimentary lariat.  

Beyond that, Harold and Boots happily duked it out verbally---two ol' cowboys with an endless supply of tales to tell about saddles and horses they'd known over the years.  Each told their simultaneous stories while I listened.  

That was my first real experience at monitoring a "talk-at-the-same-time" conversation.  It gave me good practice for refereeing during all those years in front of English classes when discussions on hot topics turned spirited.

In spite of my years of teaching, I still get nervous while watching two people talk at the same time without listening to each other.   

With Sam and Mother's conversation, I was especially sensitive because I knew Mother never heard a word about Sam's experience as a gunner during WWII in Europe, and, for sure,  while  telling his tale, he had no idea that Mother had worked as a Rosie the Riveter. 

I tried, with little success, to moderate the conversation so that each participant would get some semblance of what the other was saying.  Finally, I just stood up and relayed information coming from Sam's mouth over Mother's direction. 

And, soon, Sam announced to me, "I can hear, ya know." 

"Yeah, I know you can hear, Sam, but Mother can't," I responded.  "You've got to talk into her left ear."  Sam was sitting about ten feet away on Mother's right.

Shortly after that comment----whether she heard Sam and my interchange or not, I'll never know----Mother said, "Ya know, Marianne, I think I need to get a hearing aid."  

To which I said, "Yes, that would be a good idea."  

Mother once had a hearing aid, but she lost it a few years ago and figured she really didn't need a new one anyway.  Lately, however, she's been in situations where she's decided it would be nice to know what other people are saying, especially when the conversation participants aren't trained---like her family members---to increase the decibel level.  

So, today that's where we're headed---to Costco for Mother to have a hearing test and to get fitted with hearing aids.  People tell me this should make a world of difference for Mother, and I believe them.  It will be nice for her to increase what she once called "40-percent" now diminished to about 20-percent hearing ability. 

Plus, we won't have to talk so loud while visiting with her,  and other people won't have to remind me that they "CAN hear, ya know."  

Horsin' stuff --- Alltech FEI World Equestrian Games

Lefty starts school today.  I hope he and his teacher slept well last night.  His seasoned instructor,  Monty,  should not be suffering from a stomach tied in knots or a clenched jaw from worrying about the new student occupying Stall No. 1 on the left side of the aisle.

Monty won't have too much trouble memorizing his name either.  The vet technician the other day said to forget all that stuff about Ravenwood Mokadot and just wrote "Lefty" on the form.  

Ravenwood Mokadot might get announced at shows a few times if Lefty turns out to be a nice little Western horse and if someone decides to ride him in a show.

Western Pleasure and Bombproof Behavioral Science are his double majors  at the Monty Collison (not to be confused with COLLISION) College of Equine Education.

When he graduates from his preliminary training stint next month, I'm hoping that other family members will enjoy riding Lefty when I take off down the road on Lily.  

Debbie loves our little, plump, kind-hearted guy so I have a feeling she'll climb on him a time or two, and probably Annie whenever she comes home for visits. 

While Lefty's at school, I'll probably keep riding Heather and giving her more experience under saddle.  

Haven't had the phone ringing off the hook this weekend after the Nickel's Worth ad to sell her.  In fact, the only response I've received came from the lady who used to caretake the place where Heather was born.  She recognized her by the description in the ad and told me she used to refer to Heather as her "little fairy princess."  

My attitude is that if the "little fairy princess" is meant to stay here, she'll stay.  If the right person comes along with a nice home and a knowledgeable kind hand with horses, she may go.  We'll just have to see what's in the cards.

Speaking of horses, I'm a member of and equine freelance writers' newsgroup, and my in-box with comments from newsgroup members has been busier than usual lately.  

I'm usually a day late and a dollar short on tuning in to what's going on in a lot of the world around me, and when I tuned in to their half-dozen or so notes per hour this weekend, I realized they were sharing news about something rather magnificent in the horse world.

It's called the World Equestrian Games (WEG), and it's a lot like soccer's World Cup.  Every four years these games occur somewhere in the world, and this year they're in Kentucky.  I copied a news release from Saturday's opener, and I'll be paying closer attention to those emails for the next two weeks.

These writers come from all over the world, and they're there to cover the huge event at the Kentucky Horse Park.  They also have the inside scoop on a lot of what's happening behind the scenes too.  For example, the notes began to fly when a participant in the opening ceremony fell off his horse just outside the arena.

Seems he's a well-known and well-loved cowboy dressage specialist.  He suffered a heart attack and then ruptured his spleen in the fall.  The last I read from the equine freelancers, he's not out of the woods, but, according to those who know him,  he's a fighter.  

Below is the opening ceremony news release which gives highlights about the event for anyone who's interested in following it on TV or for those who have the means and time to actually attend.  You can learn more about WEG by visiting the website at http://www.alltechfeigames.com/. 

~~~~

Games open with inspiring ceremony

Staff Writer 

 

The first day of the 2010 Alltech FEI World Equestrian Games came to a close Sept. 25 with a total attendance of 23,081 and an opening ceremony unlike any other. 

Spectators packed the stands of the Rolex Stadium, which was transformed from an already impressive arena into a decorated stage with dozens of lights and spectacular performers.

The ceremony did not disappoint with hundreds of talented equestrians, singers, dancers and an orchestra all coming together to showcase the horse, Kentucky and the United States.

Forty different acts were featured in the opening ceremony each adding something special. From a Thoroughbred race reenactment to Western roping and riding, audience members were able to see the versatility of the horse. Audience members also saw exciting drill teams, a legendary quadrille performed by Friesian horses and a Mardi Gras-style parade. 

The entire ceremony, directed and produced by Dr. Everett McCorvey, was choreographed visually and musically. Singers and musicians at the ceremony included Kentuckian Wynonna Judd; opera stars Denyce Graves, Cynthia Lawrence and Ronan Tynan; Sarah Lee Guthrie; Cherryholmes; and Jazz at Lincoln Center among other notables. 

Equestrian entertainers included Culver Academies, Mario Contreras, Stacy Westfall, Tommie Turvey, Dan James, Vince Bruce, the California Cowgirls, Riata Ranch Cowboy Girls, Eitan Beth-Halachmy and more.

Governor Steve Beshear, Mayor Jim Newberry and FEI President HRH Princess Haya all spoke during the ceremony. World-renowned boxing legend, humanitarian and Kentucky native Muhammad Ali also made a special apperance. 

If you missed the opening ceremony, don’t worry, there are 15 more days of competition at the 2010 Alltech FEI World Equestrian Games.Click here to purchase tickets now.

About the Alltech FEI World Equestrian Games:
The Alltech FEI World Equestrian Games are the world championships of eight equestrian disciplines recognized by the Fédération Equestre Internationale (FEI). 

The Games are held every four years and this will be the first occurrence in the United States. Tickets to the 2010 Games are still available and can be purchased at www.alltechfeigames.com/tickets, at www.ticketmaster.com, through the Ticketmaster hotline at 1-800-745-3000, or at your local Ticketmaster outlet.

The Games will be broadcast on NBC Sports, which marks the largest commitment to network coverage of equestrian sport in U.S. television history. 

The 2010 Games are expected to have a statewide economic impact of $167 million, and current sponsors include Alltech, Rolex, John Deere, Ariat International, Inc., Meydan, Kentucky Ale and the University of Kentucky. For more information on the Alltech FEI World Equestrian Games please visit, www.alltechfeigames.com.

Selle Valley Critter Choir

I just looked out the window and was surprised to see the gloom.  It must have suddenly set in because just an hour ago, there was promise of another beautiful fall day.  Maybe it's just some passing fog.  Hope it finds its way somewhere else cuz we've dealt with enough gloom for one year.

Earlier when I went out to take the horses to pasture (one fewer this morning with Lefty gone), I started charting the day ahead, which, this time, would not be mostly spent sitting.  

We sat in the pickup from home to Spokane and back, with Lefty making a liar out of me.  He screamed with one whinny only just four times the whole trip---when we left the driveway, when we parked at the veterinary hospital to pick up the Coggins test, when we got gas at Cocolalla and when we arrived at the equestrian center.

Lefty turned out to be a pretty cool customer, making the trip smooth and stress-free for all.

After leaving  equestrian center, we did some more sitting at Jimmy C's in Athol where we had fun reminiscing about Bill's  Boy Scout Jamboree experiences at nearby Farragut.  Bill really enjoyed the "all-you-can-eat" fish and chips, and I tried to eat my huge burger covered with 8 dill pickle slices and four big pieces of bacon.  

Then, there are the French fries.  The cooks have found the right formula for deep frying cuz these big fries are crisp, flavorful and not greasy. 

Bill liked his plate of  fish and chips and managed only one extra filet beyond his original serving.  I asked the restaurant just how many filets the big eaters have downed.  She said usually up to six and sometimes as many as eight.  Well, these filets are the size of a big boneless chicken breast, so you can imagine what those stomachs must endure.

We had a brief break from the sitting after arriving home.  Bill went to the woods, while I picked some beans and worked on a project in the north garden.  Then, we received a call from Willie telling us that the Boise State game started at 5 rather than 6.  He had invited us to watch in his digs with his digital big-screen TV.

The grandpuppies joined us on the couch as we ate some more----this time pizza---and watched the game.  The Broncos made some major mistakes which cost them lots of penalty yards and an unhappy coach, but they won the hotly contested match-up with Oregon State.  The game was exciting from beginning to end. 

Enough sitting for the weekend.  This morning after thinking about what I wanted to accomplish for the day, I figured no better time than right now to get started.  So after the two trips down the lane, I went to the car and grabbed the two bags of grass seed purchased earlier this week at Co-Op.

Being out of range from the barn radio, that's when I started realizing the the Selle Valley was alive with music of the critter variety.  First, there were the calves over toward Taylors.  There comes a time in the fall, sometimes the same day when mother cows and calves on farms all around us are separated.

On this morning, it seemed, that a select few babies wanted their mommies, and they wanted them badly over there to the east.  I chuckled to myself as I walked to the north garden where grass will replace dirt.  

After seeing the garden under water through June this year, I've decided to follow another strategy with that plot of land.  Plant grass and build planters to go on the grass.  Have the garden dirt up high instead of beneath the sea which comes flowing from the north any time we get too much rain.  

So, I'm working on the first step and will plug away at that area throughout the fall.  While sowing grass seed in the early morning loveliness (much nicer than it looks out my window right now), the sounds around the Lovestead intensified.

I think the bawling calves cued up the rest of the critters to get a little choir together.  And, this morning, the Taylor's rooster got up early to join in.  Meanwhile, off to the west, the new neighbors' rooster, which knows when it's time to get up, was crowing away.  

In between the bawling and the crowing, I heard a sort of hybrid sound from a hybrid critter.  It was probably coming from one of Rex Finney's mules.  They've been pastured at Seth Burnett's little farm to the southwest of us. This interesting sound mimicked exactly what its owner happens to be----half and half.  

I've never heard a "whinney----EEEEEEAWWHH" before, but I heard it this morning.  It seemed like a very first attempt at spitting out something, anything to be a part of the noise action.  And, that cued up Lily.

She has a whinny which sounds a lot like a baby horse, so I can always recognize her calls to any horse or mule who will listen.  Lily and the Finney mule did a brief duet, while the roosters kept up a steady rhythm to their crowing.  And, the calves bawled on. 

So much for the pleasant, peaceful silence of an early morn, but it was fun for me as I scattered that seed.  I don't mind the Selle Valley Critter Choir one bit because it serves as another semi-melodious reminder of just how much fun it is living in farm country.

I do mind the fog, though, and I think I'll go outside and yell at it right now to float on to somewhere else.  And, may if I yell loud enough, the critter choir will  join me. 

Saturday Slight

Welcome to the "before latte" segment of Saturday Slight.  I'm starting my mini writing detours early this morning and will continue later during "official latte" time, as usual. 

A head start will be helpful because we're on a schedule this morning.  We need to be out the driveway before 9 o'clock, with a young horse loaded and headed for Spokane.  There's a stop along the way.  Lefty's Coggins papers are at the Fry Creek Veterinary Clinic south of the Long Bridge. 

Dr. Jenny Grimmett called me last night and said she'd leave them there for me.  She says Lefty is Coggins free.  I've never before thought to ask what the Coggins test tests.  I just knew you have to have one for each horse every year if you're going to cross state borders so you get it done and pay the bill.

Jenny says Coggins tests for Equine Infectious Anemia, which is very contagious,  so other states don't want it anywhere near their horses.  Makes good sense.

Anyway, Lefty's okay on that count.

I hope he settles down with his loud, piercing, baby horse screams once we get a ways down the road.  Everyone knows we're coming when Lefty's in the trailer.  He'll have a big hay bag, and since he's spent a lot of time in the fat pen, I'm sure the lure of  that hay bag will keep his mouth occupied most of the trip.

It will be sad to leave him there and not to see him for a month cuz he's a sweet, lovable little horse who makes every trip to the barnyard  a delight.  But he'll come home educated and more than likely bomb proof as a saddle horse, so his absence should be worth the sacrifice. 

~~~~

I went to the Draft Horse Show yesterday.  Sat with my friend Rose Marie, her friends Barb and Mary and her hubby Jim.  The grandstand was full, and the action in the ring was as exciting and spectacular as ever.  I never tire of watching those huge horses and their spit-shined hitches and harness. 

One class had 12 entries with two-horse hitches,  and when there's that much horse power pulling those big wagons around the arena, the arena looks pretty small. 

The organizers  and entrants do a wonderful job of putting together fast-moving entertainment for their audiences.  I encourage anyone who's never attended a Draft Horse Show to go check it out.  It's truly mesmerizing.

~~~~~

We're planning to sit on Willie's couch with Willie and the dogs tonight while watching the Boise State-Oregon State football game.  The Beavers painted their practice field blue this week so the team could simulate playing on the Broncos bright blue turf. 

I guess every little bit counts when you're out to beat the Broncos these days.  Hopefully, good ol' raw football, whether it be on a green, red or yellow surface makes all the difference in a victory.  And, I think Boise State certainly prepares well in that category.

I'm wondering what the pundits will say if they win again this week and win big.  Last week, some sports commentators could not bring themselves to acknowledge that a 51-6 lead was a definite defeat.  Instead, I heard one say that the Broncos were going to have to win by big margins in every single game if they want to get any respect in the polls.  

LATTE-INDUCED THOUGHTS:  Regardless of what the pundits pontificate, ESPN believed Boise State had earned enough sophistication to plan today's two-hour Game Day program in Boise.  In fact, my TV is now alive with shots of a huge, boisterous crowd in Bronco Stadium and within the Smurf Turf. 

I turned on just in time to see rafters floating down the river near Boise and then an aerial shot of the our Idaho Capital city.  They say it will be 80 degrees there today.  GO BRONCOS!  And, best of luck to our other regional teams. 

~~~~

It's gonna be a beauty here today also.  Just light clouds in the sky and possibility of a temperature in the high 70s.  If the weather forecast for the next few days holds true, I might just get to harvest a bunch more beans.  Mother Nature is giving us one more chance to enjoy some garden goodies, and for that I bow down to her and say thanks. 

~~~~

I can't think of anything more to share even with help from my latte.  The beautiful morning is calling me away from this computer, so I'll heed the call and wish you all a wonderful weekend day wherever you are.

Courtney's getting married

Leave it to Erica to help me remember.  

She posted on Facebook the other night that she was headed off to Portland for a wedding where the bride was wearing a hot pink dress.

"Oops," I said to myself, "Time sure got away from me."  This was the time since I received that unusual wedding invitation sometime back in July, putting it aside, thinking September's a long way off.

Well, September's almost over, seemingly overnight, and Erica's reminder that she was headed off to that wedding shocked me into the instant reality that I had totally forgotten Courtney's wedding---cuz it was a long way off, of course.

It's this weekend, and I'm going to have to scurry to get a gift/card off to Courtney.  I do know of cases where wedding gifts do arrive after the fact, so maybe she and her hubby will forgive ol' Mrs. Love.

Courtney's in the photo above.  I ran across a pile of photos from way back just yesterday while looking for something else I had put in a safe place----just like that wedding invitation which is somewhere in a pile all its own.  

Good thing about losing important things----you find other fun stuff you haven't seen in years.

This photo was taken during the late spring of 1993 in the Love family front yard just before the Senior Prom.

The group of senior girls, plus their friend Karen who was coming in on a plane later, decided to go to the prom en masse and pick their dates. 

Most of their selections were underclassmen who were quite happy to be asked to the prom.  

After picking up Karen at the airport, the group went to dinner at Chucky Cheese in Spokane. 

I don't remember the rest of the evening's agenda, but I do believe part of it involved going to the actual prom.  Sometimes that doesn't happen, I've heard tell.

Anyway, that was 17 years ago and this is now and  Courtney is getting married this weekend.  Some folks may know her folks, Tim and Debbie Ferguson.

Among these young ladies of SHS Classes of 1993-4, one became a teacher (that's Karen, who doesn't appear in the photo), Sarah (on the left) studied biology and later became a fisheries biologist, Talitha (she endorsed the back of my first book with her brilliant wordsmithing) is now a veterinarian in Boise, Erica lives in Liberty Lake and has turned from full-time journalism to equine massage and motherhood.  

And, our wedding girl Courtney is a writer, which, of course makes me proud.

Back Row:  Luke is a teacher but also a soldier.  He's served in Bosnia, Iraq and, I believe, will soon go to Afghanistan.  He married his classmate Kami.  

Andy has traveled the world and had a stint doing sports reporting at the Dallas Morning News.  I'm not quite sure what he does these days. Aaron lives in Boise and has a family. Willie---well, most folks know he's now the SHS Cedar Post adviser---from which most of this group got their journalistic background.  

Caleb got into horticulture and, if I recall correctly, he puts his talents to use at a New York museum. I wonder if he ever learned to type faster than minus three words per minute.

They were a rollicking fun group, to say the least, and their mass prom date that year pretty much matched the way they live their lives----successful, fun, a little on the offbeat side and always interesting.  

So, today I dedicate my blog posting to Courtney as a substitute for the soon-to-come wedding gift.  I wish you a wonderful, memory filled, rollicking good weekend.  And, knowing some of the folks who are gonna be there, that should work out just right.  

Congratulations, Courtney. 

Thursday Mutterings

This, like all others it seems, has turned out to be a busy week.  I'm officially one day late on filing my column for October.  Thank goodness for a flexible publisher who trusts that when I tell her I'll be late, she'll see the finished product in ample time.  

I'm writing my column about singer/songwriter/ guitarist Megan McCormick and her numerous local roots.

Yesterday, thanks to the folks at Coeur d'Alene's The Long Ear,  I received my very own copy of her CD "Honest Words."  After listening from beginning to end, I was emotionally blown away with the potpourri of talent and profound sense of the world displayed through her words and musical know-how.

I don't know which aspect of the album I like most, but her guitar mastery is something else---at times overpowering and at other times, pleasantly, softly and purely beautiful.  I can see why Oprah has included Megan's CD on her i-tunes list.  

Over the next couple of days, I hope to complete her story along with anecdotes about the friends and family (including members of the band Trestle Creek) who know her on a local and regional level. 

This morning,  I'll share one great snippet which came from her mother Shelley ( a third-grade teacher in Wasilla, Alaska)  in an email interview.  

Shelley wrote, "One day in her room, listening to a Gladys Knight cassette tape her Papa Chuck (Bell) had recorded for her, it broke.  I heard her crying and ran in to see what was wrong.  She was so upset it broke because she, 'had to learn those songs . . . who will take her (Gladys') place when she dies?'  

"She was SERIOUS," Shelley added.

This will be a fun column and a tribute to many of her family members, whom I've known and loved for years. 

~~~~~

The annual Idaho Draft and Mule International Show opens today at the fairgrounds.  That means my neighbor up the road, Gary Finney, is busy this week.   He's always been part of the sponsoring organization, and he'll probably be showing his Percherons in the competition over the next three days.

My plan is to take Mother for tomorrow afternoon's performance.  My buddy Rose Marie will meet us, and we'll feed on one of those brats we missed enjoying at the fair when Rose Marie was gone.  

I hope the weather cooperates.  Seems the "fair" days on the forecast mysteriously turn bad.  After seeing all suns on one forecast this week, I learned this morning to expect more rain over night.  In Spokane, they say today is supposed to be blustery.  On the Sandpoint radio, they say the winds are coming overnight.

I guess we can pick and choose what we want but just live with it in the end.

~~~~

I don't know if I can do this when push comes to shove, but I've advertised Heather, my gray Arabian mare for sale. I love Heather very much, but I don't love the constant expense that comes with having three horses while feeling lucky to have the time to ride one.  

It's a difficult decision, but if someone comes along with the money after reading my Nickel's Worth ad AND the assurance that Heather will have as good a home as she's had here at the Lovestead, I'll follow through.

In my mind, Heather deserves to have an owner who knows horses and has the time to give her both tender loving care and a sense of equine purpose.  

If nothing happens as a result of the ad, I'll figure that Heather's home here is meant to continue. 

~~~~

In the meantime, this weekend I'm getting rid of Lefty.  Before horse lovers assume I'm a hard-nosed old goat, please know he'll be gone for just a month.  Saturday morning we'll be taking him to Spokane where he spent a month a couple of years ago, learning young-horse basics from Monty Collison.

I told Monty he'd probably have more fun than work while riding Lefty five days a week over the next month.  I'm excited to see the results because Lefty has had all the basics----lungeing, driving, riding----off and on for the past two years, and, except for that night when the lightning storm set him off,  he's always been a willing learner.

Lots going on, and Todd Mitchell will be here soon to take care of some electrical problems we've had lately, like no yard light.  

So, I'll wish you all a happy Thursday.  Check out that album of Megan's; it's available at Amazon.com   and at the Long Ear in Coeur d'Alene. 

A 791-Word Escape to the Outdoors

I can remember watching the frustration back in the days when we used to assign the "300-word" theme.  

"Okay, class, we're going to write a theme today," I would make that pronouncement much in the same manner as  I'd heard from English teachers before me.  

"You can write on the subject of your choice.  Write on one side of the paper.  Use blue or black ink. If you make a mistake, cross it out with one neat line.  Due at the end of the hour."  

That usually took care of the next 54 minutes for me.  At least I could sit there and average grades or work on lesson plans for a change rather than doing all the talking.

At that moment, I wasn't actually thinking about the ten-twelve hours of work I'd assigned myself for the weekend while grading all those "themes," as we called them back then.

Often, even the classroom scenario did not turn out to be as relaxing as I had anticipated.  For most kids in my class, I might as well have sentenced them to the hangman's noose.  In their minds, they heard, "If you're not done at the end of the hour, you're gonna die by the rope."

While a few self-motivated souls went straight to work, not taking time to breathe because their brains were on fire, others would just sit there staring into space.

Others would write two or three words furiously and then emphatically pick up that piece of notebook paper, emphatically wad it up and emphatically throw it on the floor near their desk.  

Others would look up briefly to see the what prompted the commotion.  These scenes repeated themselves several times throughout the hour, often at the same student desk.

By the end of the class period, some kids spent more time picking up their fruitless efforts from the floor than they spent looking over the finished assignment one last time before turning it in. 

When I faced my computer screen this morning, I could not help but think of those days when kids were working at a distinct disadvantage to what we know these days.

Take that a step further and imagine Mark Twain or Thomas Jefferson when they embarked on a writing assignment.  What could these men have accomplished with a computer as opposed to a turkey feather and a bottle of ink!

I don't know how many papers got thrown on the floor by these great men of letters, but I can only imagine the frustration they felt when pressed to come up with the right words.  And, if they came up with the wrong words halfway through the assignment, how maddening must that have been!

I faced my computer screen this morning with an empty mind.  Well, it had a few items swirling around inside.  First and foremost was "What am I gonna write so I can get outside on this beautiful September morn?"

Isn't that the name of one of Neil Diamond's songs?

Well, whether Neil (who happens to be one of my most favorite performers) penned "September morn" or not and wadded up several pieces of notebook paper before coming up with that astute lyric phrase, I still had little activity in my mind.  

Fortunate for me I can't wad up my computer screen and throw it on the floor for all to hear in this household.  Well, so what if nobody's here to hear!  Why would I wad it up anyway?  I have not strung enough words together to make a mistake, get mad and throw it on the floor.

Well, maybe I have, and maybe once more these thoughts about how hard it is sometimes to come up with a writing idea and put it into full motion have humbled me into actually feeling sorry for those kids from long ago with their notebook paper and the 10 words followed by a spelling error, followed by a wadded up ball on the floor. 

Why did we do that to our students?  Amazing they still speak to us. 

My son came to get the dogs the other night and said he had to get home cuz he had papers to grade.  I wondered what he had assigned them,  and I wondered if he had seen any wads of paper on the floor.

The beat goes on for another generation, but I'm betting that he hardly introduced the assignment with a gleeful look and the pronouncement that "We're going to write a 300-theme today."  

Fortunately, times and technology has changed, and maybe the students aren't suffering so much in the process. 

Well, now I've written about 791 words, and I can go outside.  And, my computer screen has remained intact.  

Have a nice day. 

Tuesday Twitterthosemice

Was I talking when I should have been listening?  I know that's a rarity for me, but it's possible I could have been talking when Tom Sherry told us to expect an all-out rip-roaring ballistic blitz from the sky last night. 

Did Tom predict that, or did he tell us the yuck weather was gonna get better?  I must have been distracted because when that lightning, thunder and complete spray wash doused out any plans to spend time outside last night, I was totally shocked.  

Well, I could have been totally shocked if I'd been out there standing in it.  The storm resembled some of those Shakespeare used to talk about when someone important was going to die in England, Scotland, Denmark or Rome.

The storm came on so fast I didn't even have warning to round up the animals, and Old Annie Dog "went" missing, as they say.  The rain was slapping so hard, the lightning was striking so violently and the thunder booming so loud that one dared not go out in it. Furthermore, we missed our burned-out yard light even more than ever. 

Without the light, the darkness outside was more than pervasive.  You couldn't see past your nose, and if your nose had been out there, you would have been struck down dead, for sure.

I went into the shop next to the garage where the cats stay and saw a river running under the door and flowing quickly along the east wall.  Three cats were there; Lonesome was missing.  Turned out he was hiding where I couldn't see him somewhere in the shop.

The rain and lightning and thunder continued, much longer than anticipated.  Where was Storm Tracker 2 last night?  Why wasn't the obnoxious banner constantly streaming across the screen telling us we had a storm?

Maybe it was cuz we really did have a storm, unlike the many other times that banner has streamed and streamed only to have the weather outside be totally delightful.

Long story short, it sure was a doozy last night, and the wet stuff didn't let up much throughout the night.  

I worried about Annie Dog but hoped she had found some place to hide.  After all, we could have gone out there trying to call her, but Annie's pretty deaf.

I ran out once before going to bed and opened the barn door, hoping she would wander in.  She was not in there this morning, but upon a further search, I found her curled up comfortably in a safe spot inside machine shed at the end of the lane.

Looks like the storm has finally passed, and, according to the weather reports, we're supposed to have some dry days ahead.  Considering some of the past prognostications, I'll believe it when I see it. 

~~~~~

In the "They're back . . . " category, I spoke of transitions yesterday.  Well, I was not aware at the time, that signs of another transition had shown up---in the garage cabinets.  Yup, the signs were there:  ripped up bits of paper and little black turds.  

Of Mice and Misery has returned to the Lovestead, and I'm guessing it has started at almost the same time we first witnessed the invasion last year.  This year, we've got the full arsenal ready.  And, I think we're going to need it.

Yesterday I started with one trap, dabbing it with peanut butter and carefully putting it in place on one of the cabinet shelves.  Later, I checked.

I've since learned that these are smart mice.  The peanut butter was licked clean but no dead mouse.

So, I reloaded.  Later, I told Bill they had returned.  He had brought home a package of new traps.  When we went to bed last night, three traps sat on that shelf.

This morning when I walked by and checked, the first trap was once again missing its peanut butter.  I commented about it to Bill. 

That's when he told me that two of the three had yielded carnage and he had already disposed of it earlier. Those two traps are reloaded, and I guessing it's best to save the peanut butter for them instead my old-style trap.  

Apparently mice have been doing laboratory studies on old-style traps, and, after all that intense research,  they know how to eat and run.

Fun and games.  I'm hoping all the aluminum foil I stuffed in every nook and cranny last fall will keep them out of the house.  In the meantime, I'll be checking those drawers and checking them twice, always hoping to see no mice. 

~~~~

It was good to have the new TV shows start airing last night.  I watched most of "Dancing with the Stars."  It looks like they will have some excellent competition this year. 

The Breakfast Boys on K102.5 were doing their "Dancing with the Stars" commentary this morning, noting that there were a lot of "friendly fingers" at work on women's bodies as some couples stood waiting for their comments from the judges.

Maybe that's the key to receiving bad news.  Get someone to fondle you while you're digesting the information.  Then, maybe you'll find it more palatable.  

~~~~~

Guess that's enough commentary here.  Time for these friendly fingers of mine to quit fondling the keyboard and go find some work to do.  I wonder if there are any more mice corpses to fling.

Happy Tuesday

Transition time; in between Roosters

My friend Cis called it the "in-between" season on her blog, and since I don't want steal her thunder,  I'll dub it the transition time.  I'm noticing my routine change slightly these days, as it does every year in between summer and fall.  

This year transition season has started much earlier than ever.  That's because summer started much later than ever and decided to head south long before the calendar intended.  

That daily early morning watering?  Pretty much done except for Mother's tomato plants which are bearing fruit in their pots inside the greenhouse.  Who woulda thunk that we needed to put tomatoes inside the greenhouse throughout September?

This is supposed to be prime time for taking your extra tomatoes and finding hungry friends who don't plant gardens.  I've got two tomatoes in the refrigerator.  One's a cherry variety, about the size of a marble; the other is a beefsteak about the size of a golf ball.  

I found those red 'maters over the last couple of days after desperately searching beneath the leaves of my heavy plants.  Lots of tomatoes there but all green except for these two.  That's why I'm figuring Mother's potted plants might give us some semblance of a ripe, juicy, homegrown tomato.  

Anyway, my morning watering routine hasn't been too necessary thanks to the buckets of rain Mother Nature has been dumping on us the past few days.

So, this morning after taking Lily and Heather to the pasture and throwing some hay to Lefty, I used up the usual watering time by taking a walk in the woods. Bill has brush-hogged some trails enough that my pant legs didn't get too wet.  

Kea joined me, jumping up and licking my hand every so often.  I noticed the imprints of deer tracks in the grass and kept a watch out for the critter which had probably walked through the woods just before I did.  And, the pine needles have been falling, creating a nice carpet on the already, soft ground.

It was a peaceful, lovely walk and especially enjoyable because I did not hear squirrels but instead noted that the rooster belonging to the new neighbors to the west has a better perception for crowing time than the one over at Taylor's to the east.  

For the past couple of months, we've been in between the roosters, and Taylor's head chicken crows whenever he feels like it.  But I've heard crowing from the west almost every morning while walking the horses down the lane.  

Having time during this transition period to walk around the farm has been nice.  Seems like I'm usually so busy, I don't make it to the woods as often as I'd like.  It's definitely a sanctuary which reminds me every time how lucky we are to live here.

Another transition I've noticed the last few nights, and especially with the gloomy weather, deals with slumber.  I've been dozing off during the 8 p.m. television hour.  A few weeks ago I wasn't even in the house during the evenings until after 9.  

With darkness, however, comes the sleep, and I've had more than my share the past few nights.

Maybe, if we're lucky, transition time will end for a while.  The rain will stop, the dark, gray, heavy clouds will disappear, and we'll be able to enjoy a little more semblance of summer.  

For now, I'm just looking for the bright spots in the yucky weather, and the roosters, the walks and some good sleep have provided just that.  

Happy Monday. 

The Digs

Raindrops are falling on most heads not curled up in blankets on the couch or still snoozing in bed.  It's wet outside this morning and getting wetter.  It's so wet, in fact, that when I took Lily to pasture, she chose standing in the shelter over grabbing bites of grass.

I was pretty wet by the time I came into the house because "Digger Dog Brooke" had been at her favorite activity in the barnyard.  While taking a pitchfork of hay to the barnyard (aka fat pen) shelter for Lefty, I came upon a deep hole with Brooke's clawprint on it.  

Lefty was right behind me not looking for deep holes, and he stumbled.

So, I spent 15 minutes filling Brooke's latest claw work.  Brooke has a thing about digging.  Last week squirrels made her do it.  They were chattering up a storm out in the woods.  Every time Brooke heard them chatter, she ran to the base of whatever tree they happened to be occupy at the time.  

Then she dug in.  

We didn't realize what Brooke had been doing until we took a stroll through the woods.  I knew she had a digging pit out there somewhere because every time I called her back from the woods, her paws were coated with wet dirt.  Well, when we went on our tour, we could track every tree that a squirrel had once occupied.  

Each tree had a freshly-dug deep hole at its roots.  

Brooke did that digging for a day or so and then quit cold turkey.  In fact, she hadn't been digging since, until creating a little hole in the yard on Friday and that big barnyard hole this morning.  I think it has something to do with the weather because during nice weather Brooke leaves the ground alone.  

Anyway, I got pretty wet filling that hole in the barnyard, and I'm hoping my raincoat will be dry by the next time I head outside.  

Yesterday, Bill and I made like Brooke and did some digging. No squirrels.  No rainy weather at the time.  We used a spade and a special edging tool newly purchased from Home Depot to dig a trench from the house to the TV satellite dish.  

We buried television cable.  That resulted from my mowing a piece of cable sticking out of the ground near the satellite dish on Thursday.  I knew immediately after running over that cable that I had done a bad thing.  My race to the house to turn on the TV confirmed just how bad it was.  

"Searching for satellite" does happen occasionally when the dish gets packed with snow but not when the air is perfectly dry outside.   

Mowing that cable is not good for watching much-anticipated TV programs, and knowing there were some key football games Bill wanted to watch this weekend, I wasted no time calling our main satellite office here in town.

"We can send someone out there Monday afternoon," the clerk told me.  

"No sooner than that?" I asked pathetically.  

The clerk felt no empathy, especially because they were booked up with service calls and he was headed out on vacation.

I asked if there were any other locals who could fix my cable.  He gave me a name and said to call back if I could get the cable repaired sooner.  

I called the second company.  She also said Monday.  

"Oh, that's the same day my regular company said they could do it,"  I said, again summoning my most pathetic, desperate tone.

Suddenly she changed her tune and said maybe someone could come Friday.  Then, she said someone could, for sure, come on Friday, even though he'd be mad at her for schedule one more call.

Her words were music to my ears cuz Bill was gone on his overnight forest products tour, and if all worked out right, the cable would be repaired and TV up and running by the time he returned.

When 4 p.m. Friday came, I started worrying, so I called and learned that the technician was behind schedule but still coming.  He arrived about half an hour later.

"You will have to bury the cable," he announced.

"Huh?" I said. "We didn't have to do that before." 

Well, I learned that it is fairly common for people to have to bury their own cable cuz my sisters have one still lying above the ground.

Turned out this situation of having the cable repaired quickly wasn't the neat, clean escape from feeling stupid like I had anticipated.  When Bill came home, he would see the boards out there lined up across the yard.  protecting the cable.  Once more, he'd know I'd done something stupid in his absence. 

Not that Bill ever says anything; it's just that I get so embarrassed with ALL the stupid things I do which break things while he's off at work.  He always comes home to deal with the residue of his klutzy wife."  

I told the technician with great confidence that I was going to do the cable burying myself.  After all, it was my fault.  I needed to pay the consequences.    

Nevertheless, when Bill offered to go to town yesterday morning to get the edging tool for digging, I was appreciative.

And, when he actually came outside to help me dig the trench, I really appreciated that.  

Three hours later, when the two of us dragged our tired bodies into the house, I appreciated my husband's kind demeanor AND help more than ever.  

Now,  I'm resolute about future encounters with a TV cables while mowing the lawn.  I shall find every means of protection for those cables, and if I have to pick the grass from around that satellite pole by strand by strand by hand, I'll do it. 

Besides the story having a moral, it had a happy ending.  Two of our two teams won their football games handily yesterday, and WSU kept their game entertaining, despite their loss.  We watched two of those three games and just snippets of the other.

Why just snippets of the other?  We were out digging in our yard during that game.  

So, that Digger Dog Brooke has nothing on us. 

Saturday Slight

I'm taking the lazy route this morning and posting my most recent River Journal column.  I've written segments of this story on the blog---back in July---but the column pretty much provides an overall view. I hope you enjoy it, and I hope it may prompt some of you to do some family research of your own.  

Enjoy.  

Love Notes

By Marianne Love

For The River Journal

September, 2010

I almost hung up on Huck.  I thought he was a telemarketer.  What else is one to think when an evening caller says, “I’m looking for William Love”?  Spells telemarketer to me, and I seldom give them the time it takes me to drop what I’m doing, trip over my feet running to the phone, pick up and learn it’s some script reader trying to help out a good cause.  

I like good causes, but I resent anonymous callers trying to rake in a buck over the phone in the name of these entities.  I’ll initiate my own donating decisions, thank you!

For some unknown reason, I extended Huck more mercy than usual.  Good choice, I quickly learned. 

 “And what do you wish to speak to him about?” I asked rather cynically. 

“His mother Helen was my grandmother,” the yet unknown voice said, “Bill is my uncle.” 

Oops! Huck was NOT a telemarketer, and I now had a mystery on my hands as well as telephone receiver ready to pass on to Bill. 

“This gentleman says he’s your nephew,” I told my husband.

Curiosity got the best of me.  I raced upstairs and picked up the other phone.  Huck Walling from Oklahoma was telling Bill how he had come on to Bill’s name and number.  He’d first tried Monroe, Louisiana, reaching a nonworking number.  Two William Loves were listed for Idaho, one in Boise, one in Sandpoint.

Bill was quick to tell him the other was our son, Willie who had recently moved from Boise to Sandpoint.

After that, a fascinating family story unfolded.

Up until that early March evening, our two children and I had figured Bill’s only other living relative was his twin sister Margaret.   I was astonished to learn that he and Margaret had an older half sister but saddened when Huck explained to me that the sister had died in a tragic automobile accident near Oklahoma City in the early 1950s. 

The family had been on their way into the city where their mother planned to pick up the gifts she had purchased on “layaway.”  

Thanks to the efforts of another family member, on Christmas Day that year, in the hospital, the two small children did open their presents,  purchased by their mother.  Otherwise, all other reminders of the tragedy, including sympathy letters, family pictures, news clippings about the accident and the funeral guest list were sealed in a box and put away.  Throughout their lives, Huck and Sandy referred to the container as the “The Sad Box” and never opened it. 

Mildred “Millie” Walling’s death and her husband’s lengthy recovery also meant that Huck and Sandra Walling would grow up living with their paternal grandparents, learning very little about their other grandmother Helen Tingle Love or the young aunt and uncle born to her 22 years after their own mother.

About five years after Mildred Walling’s death, another tragedy led to even more family separation.   Helen Love died of cancer, leaving behind a set of 7-year-old twins, Bill and Margaret.  Her husband Edgar would eventually remarry.  From that point on, Bill and Margaret’s lives centered primarily around the new family with little or no word of the Oklahoma relatives. 

Fast forward several decades.  Huck Walling lives in Tulsa and co-owns SageNet, (www.sagenet.com) a provider of broadband data networking solutions.   His sister Sandy, an adjunct professor at the University of Oklahoma and consultant for nonprofit groups, lives in Oklahoma City. 

Both reared their own families, and life has moved on with no word of whatever happened to their aunt and uncle.  Now retired, Huck’s wife Debbie dabbles in genealogy. 

One day earlier this year, she asked “about my mother’s family,” Huck told me recently.  “I always remember thinking, ‘Now, what was my mother’s maiden name???  Millie Love or Millie Jones or what?  Very confusing for us kids.

“I had no idea where to begin, so Debbie went straight to her Internet tool kit (www.whitepages.com) and searched for William Edgar Love, Jr.,” Huck explained. A few minutes later, Huck and Bill were comparing notes over the phone about their faint memories of a time so long ago. 

In that conversation Bill remained characteristically cautious but realized later that Huck was the “real deal” after bringing up a toy sword that had captured the fascination of the two little boys during a rare childhood meeting. Huck described the sword in detail. 

A few minutes into that first conversation, I asked Huck if he had any photos of Bill’s mother.  I learned a few months later that my inquiry that evening led to even more emotional discoveries for the Walling siblings.

“This inquiry sent me to ‘The Sad Box,’” Huck explained to me.  “It was a green, metal locking box . . . we could write a book about ‘The Sad Box’ and its contents, but you may rest assured I had never opened it before your inquiry.”  Huck and Sandy grew up in a time when adults put tragedies behind them, rarely talking of them.

“As children, Sandy and I never heard much about our mother.  When anyone would speak about her, the waterworks came on,” he recalled. “We adopted a ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ policy long before it became popular.” 

When his paternal grandmother died, Huck became keeper of  “The Sad Box.” 

“I was resigned to open it some day and view its contents,” he said. “After only 58 years, I was finally man enough to face my past with the assurance that I could handle and get over anything that came my way.”

Once opened, “The Sad Box” almost instantly turned into “The Glad Box.”  

Huck and Debbie found a photo of Bill’s mother along with a host of letters written between the families after the auto accident. They also found the funeral guest registry for Mildred, which included a curious signature. 

Huck’s maternal grandfather Talmadge Jones (first husband to Helen Tingle) had signed the list and had included “Wanda Jane Jones (baby sister)” of Orange, Tex.  Turns out that Wanda was Millie Walling’s half sister from another of Jones’s marriages.  Huck wasted no time looking up her name in the white pages and stunningly found it.

He dialed the number and identified himself.  Upon hearing Huck’s voice and explanation, Wanda Jane Jones, a retired school principal, immediately asked him if his eyes ever got better.  The trauma of the accident had caused Huck’s eyes to cross, a condition that corrected itself after about three years. 

Revelations gleaned from the research and from the newly named Glad Box led to more phone calls, more letters exchanged and an eventual plan for these long-lost blood relatives to reconnect and even to meet other family members living in Shreveport, Louisiana. 

The official family odyssey began Friday, July 23 on the garage port at Wanda Jane Jones’ home in Orange, Tex.  After introductions and hugs, the group, including relatives and in-laws,  went inside the house where fascinating stories of long ago unfolded.  

A few hours later, after lots of talk,  picture taking and plans for the holiday season when Wanda might visit her niece and nephew in Oklahoma, the travelers headed on, bound for a Shreveport reunion with a stop-over in beautiful Natchitoches (pronounced Nack-i-tish), La. 

The next day in Shreveport, we met several members of the Tingle family, including Grady who is Bill and Margaret’s only living uncle.  Grady and his wife Regina  provided more information about Millie and her mother Helen.  

Millie was remembered as beautiful and much-loved, while Helen, who had married the first time at 14, was known as a brilliant woman and avid reader. We learned that both women were favorites among family members. 

Three days’ worth of reconnecting and getting acquainted after more than 50 years of separation ended all too quickly on a warm Sunday morning with Huck, Sandy, Margaret and Bill standing over the grave of Helen Tingle Love in Pineville, La.  After placing a bouquet of flowers at the headstone, Bill said a prayer of thanks.  Then, Huck sang two verses of “Amazing Grace.”  

“I once was lost but now am found” seemed more poignant than ever as this group of relatives parted company, determined to keep in better touch. 

This meaningful and memorable family experience all happened, thanks to a few quick clicks of a mouse, leading to Internet sites like www.whitepages.com or www.ancestry.com.  These sites provided just enough information for Huck to pick up the telephone and make some fruitful calls.  

Stories like this one are not new to our immediate family.  In fact, this is the third such discovery for us in the past ten years.  

Having suffered tragedy and loss of both parents early in her life, my own mother, during the past decade, has connected with and met dozens of her family members from the Chicago area, thanks to similar research efforts.  In her case, a telephone call opened one door, while a one-sentence posting under the Halter family name on http://genforum.genealogy.com/  opened the other. 

These days, it seems that many longtime family mysteries are often easily solved.  If  our three personal experiences are any example of the outcome, I can happily state that initiating the search is well worth the effort. 

One more moral to this story that I learned firsthand:  don’t always be so quick to hang up if you think there’s a telemarketer at the other end.  The unknown caller might actually have something to offer that can change your life.