Tuesday Twitterdeedum

I could walk to the barn this morning, barely.

Kea wanted to jump up to lick my hand.  Kea's never happy until she licks my hand.

I told her to stay away because I needed to plan every step to avoid going splat on the ground.

Kea did not understand, especially cuz dogs don't seem to have much of a problem moving around on bone-breaking ice.

Slippin' and slidin' was a bit less intense this morning from the all-day "watch-your-every- step" challenges of yesterday. 

For early morning chores, I had slipped on Bill's Yak Tracks, which happened to be hanging on the exercise bike next to the door.

For mid-morning chores, Bill's Yak Tracks were gone, off to work with him.

That meant looking for mine, and I'm sad to say that Yak Tracks are afflicted with that same separation disease so endemic in gloves and socks. 

When you least suspect it, one half of the pair disappears.  Yesterday morning, after searching every possible hiding spot for the pair of lifesavers on ice, I called Bill at the office.

He went out to his pickup and found one track.

So, I looked again with no luck, all this time, slippin' and slidin' with every trip out to the remaining vehicles for searching under seats, in cushions, etc. 

Well, now, after a trip to town, I have three items to keep me safe on the ice.  The two crampons purchased yesterday "ain't no Yak Tracks," I'll tell you. 

Thinking that I now could walk with ease over the ice, I took off down North Kootenai Road.  Just a few feet down the road, one of the crampons threatened to fall right off my boot.

I slipped it back on and then took on a new gait just to keep the piece of rubber with metal edges where it belonged.

So, today I'm glad the ice is less slick and I'll be looking for that lone Yak Track which is hiding somewhere.

Looks like we've got a good week in store once tomorrow's predicted rain passes----four-five straight days of sun and warm temps.

If we're lucky, by next week most of the ice and maybe even most of the snow will be gone for a while anyway AND it will be February.

Of course, I'm sure Matt Smart would like to see the snow hang around for a while.  This morning I received my first note announcing "ski joring" practice at Matt's place up Rapid Lightning Creek Road.

In case there's anyone out there with a horse or skis and a snowboard who would like to compete in this year's second annual contest, here's the scoop straight from Matt:

Just a reminder. We are having a Ski Joring practice on Sunday, Feb.5 at noon at Mountain Horse Adventures (377 Sugar Mountain Road , Sandpoint).

Bring your horse and or skis. The course will be very similar to the competition course. I am looking to build some more, solid Sandpoint teams.

Horses should be unloaded at the foot of Sugar mountain Road, and walked up, as the road is not currently friendly. 

Please RSVP so I know about numbers of people/horses/skiers.

And get ready for Skiiiiiiiiiiiiijoring!! competition on Feb 18-19. Please forward this to all interested. . . . Thanks, Matt---263-8768----610-2025

So, there ya go.  Winter Carnival has been moved to February (President's Weekend) this year, and Ski Joring will again provide a highlight to the slate of activities. 

Bill and I enjoyed a small taste of his retirement yesterday.  He came home early, so we loaded up in his pickup, stopped at Samuels Store for some treats and then drove for several miles on the Upper Pack River Road.

Now, those folks living up there have some snow; I'd say at least twice as much as we do.  It actually looked kinda depressing, thinking about how long it will take them to really dig out and see some spring.

There's no prettier place in the spring, summer and fall, though. 

Birds are singing outside my open window,  and the sky doesn't look too threatening, so we can look forward to a nice day ahead. 

So, I'll bid you adieu, sing a few "Hallelujahs" about saying good bye to January and wish you a happy Tuesday. 

Pranks R Us

Ray Gapp's birthday is today.  I sent him a birthday wish via Facebook.  Don't know if Ray ever reads his Facebook stuff, but if he does, he might smile.

Of course, I'm smiling, thinking of Ray Gapp and the day Ruth Straley CUT HIS TIE RIGHT OFF.

I don't know her motive, but I know that Ray was taken aback, and he had to wear a short tie for the rest of his teaching day at Sandpoint High.

Yup, Ruth was the school secretary at the time, and Ray was teaching imps like me how to type. 

"Leave your machines alone, please. Leave your machines alone."  

That was Ray's daily mantra, as we never seemed to remember to "leave our machines alone" while he was reading out loud from the typing manual for the next "fjf-space" drill. 

I think Ray must have used up Ruth's patience that day in the office, so she picked up a long pair of scissors and snipped away as he bent over the desk in her face.

Now, that was a good up close and personal prank, especially for everyone who witnessed it and for everyone who heard about it. 

I don't know what Ray thought, but he survived.  And, so did Ruth.

I've been reading the Steve Jobs book and have decided that, brains aside, Steve and I may have shared at least a few kindred spirits bouncing back and forth.

I appreciate a good prank and have even pulled a few myself over the years, mainly on the telephone.

But that damn Steve Jobs and his nerdy techno-genius crowd with all their telephone advancements have ruined all the good ol' ways we could make prank calls, while the party at the other end had no idea.

I'm sure that my friend Merriam Merriman has Caller ID these days and would no longer pick up the phone if she saw my telephone number appearing in the window. 

These days, she'd just let it ring, figuring that more than likely Marianne may be disguising her voice and trying to sell Merriam vacuum cleaners or chastising her for remarks made about the Stanford University president. 

Yeah, there's truth to both stories.  I haven't teased Merriam for a long time, but I will tell you she was a good victim.  

For some reason, I could even hold my own by not even giggling in the middle of my impish spiels to Merriam. 

Pranks can work well for boring speakers too.

My friends and I all loved it the time one of my teaching colleagues got up during halftime of a painfully boring speaker's presentation, marched to the electrical closet and pushed the breaker button connected to the sound system.

When the microphone and overhead projector would not work after halftime, our colleague sat in the crowd poker-faced while the speaker endured a visible meltdown, bringing the presentation to a speedy close.

"Oh darn," we all thought as we were dismissed early, headed to our cars and learned who the "culprit turned hero" happened to be.

I had another friend who brought a whoopee cushion to a faculty meeting.  The principal never did figure out why we all seemed so jovial as he conducted the meeting, but the victim did AND there were mild threats of death to the perpetrator afterward.

We all loved it. 

So, you can imagine how much I loved the story in the Jobs book about the pocket remote that could screw up television signals.  He and his buddy Steve Wozniak devised it and made a practice of walking into rooms where people were watching TV.

They'd push the button and picture would turn to static.  Someone would get up and bang on the TV.  At that instant, one of the Steve's would push the button that cleared up the screen.

After a series of these incidents in one setting, they were amazed at the control they had over the viewing crowd and the crazy antics people would employ to get the television working again----everything from pounding the set to dancing on one foot to get the TV to work. 

Now, I would have definitely enjoyed being there, as long as I wasn't the victim.

Ever since the years of "Candid Camera" and because of my own fetish for pranks, I try to remain vigilant against victimhood when situations don't appear as they should.

One of the more common settings is the produce department at any grocery store.  

Ya know those plastic bags for tomatoes, cucumbers, etc.?  Well, sometimes they refuse to open.

After trying both ends and having no luck, I've been known to survey the room, just to check and see if there's a camera filming my every move.

Seeing none, I usually go back to fingering and massaging the bag until it opens. 

Of course, my extra vigilance in the produce department may stem from the day when I bought a clump of bananas at the old IGA.  I selected the clumb because it had the biggest, fattest banana I had ever seen.

We were going on a picnic that afternoon, and I'd figured that banana would be mine. 

When we sat down to eat, I wasted no time grabbing the banana clump to get that prime piece of fruit.

It would not separate from the rest.  I pulled and pulled, only to discover that the banana was attached to the rest of the clump with tiny, thin wire.

It was rubber and fruitless. 

I figured there were a few morals to be had in that prank:  fat bananas will fool any fool. 

Happy Monday. 

Game Faces

Several extended family members met at Sandpoint Middle School gym fka Sandpoint High gym last night to watch Willie's JV team take on Lewiston.

It was a tough game for the Bulldogs; some of their regular players had been promoted to varsity and some were new players.
From the looks of this morning's sports section, the JV's loss of players was the varsity's gain, as Sandpoint defeated Lewiston.  
Congrats to Tyler and the varsity. 

While watching Willie's game, we provided a cheering section of sorts---with a little foot stomping and a lot of yelling.

The JV game was okay in the minds of several young cousins from Salt Lake, Bellingham, Tacoma and Plummer. 

Nevertheless, they were much more keen on action at halftime and after the game.

Finding some balls to bounce and listening to a word or two from their older cousin Coach Love, they played a little full-court pick-up ball. 

Teamwork was sketchy, at best, but the players managed to get the ball up and down the floor and even dump a few balls into the basket.

Of course, the greatest part of any high school sporting event comes from the concession stand, as Jacob demonstrated while watching Willie's team.

Kidz had fun, and adults enjoyed visiting and cheering. 

For family, it was an overall win, to say the least.

 Life returns to normal today with the week's worth of company headed home.

We hope they all arrive  at their various destinations safely. 

Happy Sunday.

Saturday Slight: Marianne's Political Endorsement

Yup, I'm bypassing the Presidential primary stuff and jumping right into one of my most important political endorsements of the year.

Vote for George Eskridge to serve another term in the Idaho State House of Representatives.

He's a Republican.  That's okay!  :)

He has represented our area since 2000.

George is a Sandpoint High School graduate, and I used the same sophomore literature book he used when I went to high school.

That was back in the days when we put our names on a graphic box stamped just inside the textbook.

I did not know who George Eskridge was at the time, but the name stuck in my mind over the years since we were bound for life by textbooks.

Actually, I finally met George until a few decades later when he returned to his hometown after a successful career elsewhere.

At that time, what had really endeared me to George was his brother Vern.  I knew Vern through my summers spent working for the U.S. Forest Service. 

I think anyone who ever knew Vern would second the motion that he was one of the nicest people around.

And, if George was Vern's brother, he had to be okay.

Since then, I've gotten to know George and his wife Jenise and have figured out that Jenise and I are kindred spirits, of sorts. 

George is as decent and committed as they come, so that's while I'll continue to vote for him as our State Representative.

Go GEORGE!!

~~~~~

We had a busy day yesterday attending the funeral of Helen Thompson (she was my husband Bill's wife Marianne's brother Mike's wife Mary's mother).  

Bill gave a very succinct explanation of the family relationship during his eulogy for Helen. 

The Presbyterian Church was packed, and the new minister Andy pulled off a coup by welcoming the folks sitting in the front overflow section as new members of the choir and reminding them that practice is Wednesday nights at 5:30.  

Those who came to remember Helen represented a true cross section of Sandpoint and the Wrencoe community. 

It was a lovely service, and the visiting afterward was fun.

~~~~~~

Today we'll probably attend Willie's JV basketball.  They played last night against Lakeland.  This afternoon Lewiston comes to town, and we're hoping some of the cousins and their kids will be able to attend the game.

~~~~~

I guess this is going to be a short Saturday Slight because there's not much else on my mind except to get on with the day.

So, happy Saturday.  A good day to all.

Mad Sky and Seeds

Turnabout is definitely rewarding play when you're carrying a camera.

I took a lot of lake photos the other day.

Cold Pend Oreille water on the move was the draw, for sure.

Photography, however, has taught me to look for all dimensions.

There's the obvious:  a pretty lake.

Turn away from the lake, and there's a sky begging to be photographed.

Mad skies have appeared off and on around here over the past couple of days.

The wind blew this one in the other day while I was walking the shoreline of Pend Oreille.

The anger in this one, however,  simply floated onward, probably on a mission to scare someone somewhere  in Montana. 

To catch a contrast of colors outside in January is not always that easy.

This scene offered itself, so I accepted and snapped this shot.

I liked the result and decided to feature it this morning.

The sky today looks pretty blah.  No threats.  No promises.  Just there.

And, that's what we can expect for the rest of January.

So, I'm thinking we got off easy this year. 

During this last week of January,  my geranium seeds from Burpee came in the mail.

The packets are lying on the kitchen island.

I opened one the other day, just to see what geranium seeds look like.

I'd never seen one before.  

Just little brown seeds.

As with photography, I always think about the magic stored inside seeds of any kind.

It's truly amazing to me to think about the beauty that can sprout from those dried-up little  drops of potential life.

There's no clue in the outward appearance of a seed indicating what it's gonna be.  

I'm guessing the care and nurturing makes all the difference as it does in all living things.

As the second step in the process of my early, early spring excitement, I shoveled a pathway to the greenhouse yesterday----enough to allow the door to open and close.

Once inside, I rounded up 25 pots and set them inside a big square pot holder.

Burpee sent me at least 40 seeds---maybe even a few more.  

So, I'll take great care to avoid dropping any of them on the floor; after all, they cost about 75 cents a seed.

By the time the weekend's over, they'll be resting in their potting soil inside pots upstairs here under a grow light.

Burpee says to expect them to pop out of the soil in 14-21 days. 

Next, when two leaves appear on the plants, they should be transplanted to bigger pots. 

Thoughts of all those brilliant red blossoms scattered about our yard will motivate me to take really good care of the seeds, seedlings and eventual plants. 

If all goes well, in a few months, I'll be out in the yard with my camera snapping photos of those pretty homegrown geraniums.

Stay tuned.  

For now, enjoy the mad sky and have a great weekend.

On Golden Pend Oreille (Pond-er-ay)

We live in what has often been documented as one of the most beautiful areas in America. That's nice to know.

What's even better, however, is that many days out of the year we can have a piece of that phenomenal beauty all to ourselves.

That was the case yesterday when I drove off from Schweitzer Conoco with my Snickers almond bar and French Roast coffee (afternoon caffeine fix) and headed down HWY 200 to take some photos.

I made up my mind about ten miles out that Trestle Creek picnic grounds would be a nice place to stop.

We do have all those turn-outs on the highway between Pack River Flats and Hope, but with the beauty of our Lake Pend Oreille, sometimes it's just nice to get a little more connected----connected with the sound of frigid waves of water slapping shiny wet rocks, with the sight of a Bald eagle eyeing your every move from a limb high up in a tree and with the knowledge that yours are the only footprints making a trail through what's left of last night's snow.

In my walk, I looked for photos and found a few----nothing special, though,  when you consider the infinite array of drop-dead images our lake provides every second of every minute of every day of every year. 

I wanted to blow really hard----even though the wind was already doing that---up toward Schweitzer and send that bank of clouds hanging over the mountaintop on its way.

That would have made a nice picture. The stubborn clouds hung over the basin.

As always along lake and river shorelines,  I scanned my rocky route for arrowheads.  Finding an arrowhead in North Idaho still remains on my bucket list.  I've spent years searching with no luck.

The best part of the entire walk was knowing that the eagle and I, along with a few Canadian honkers,  were the few occupants of that lovely picnic grounds where summers bring hundreds of sunbathers, swimmers, picnicers and boats.

An even greater aspect of yesterday's experience is knowing that I can enjoy that same solitude along several of America's "most beautiful" lakeshore lines many months out of the year. 

And, it doesn't cost a cent---'cept the gas, the candy bar and the coffee. 

Wet, Wild and Warm

Kiwi and Kea came through the door looking like Panda bears.  It was 8 p.m. last evening and about time to shut them in to the garage for the night.  

I'd never ever seen them so coated with snow.  They had black rings where their eyes where opening and closing must have melted off the snow. 

I'm sure I could have scraped off enough of the sticky white stuff from rest of their bodies to build at least a snow dog.  

I looked out the door and saw the vehicles completely covered.

"Must be this storm is a little worse than predicted," I thought, closing the door.

The steady dump of heavy flakes was still going strong when I went to bed.

Our roof occasionally roared as deposits slid off to land on top of the latest 4-foot high piles.

So, this morning I was expecting another messy challenge of making my way to the barn.

But no.

It warmed up over night.  High, blustery winds were in full force blowing away some moisture.

Turns out the walk to the barn was easy.  

The barn door, however, hadn't heard about the weather change.  It still refused to open on the first try, requiring several hefty pushes and a few cuss words to start moving.

Other than that, chores weren't bad this morning, and the air feels so good outside.

The sky has cleared, and it looks like a pleasant day ahead. 

I'm hoping the warmth will take away some more snow.  Maybe this will be the worst of the winter.

Whatever the case, January is almost over.  Every year, its conclusion marks reason for celebration for me.

Yesterday,  while visiting with my mother, she kept saying "nothing's new."  Finally, I reassured her.

"It's January," I said. "You know how January tends to grind on."  

She laughed, and agreed.

Trying to muster up something fresh and hopeful for her day, I pointed at the calendar on the wall with the cats doing Yoga. 

"You can turn your calendar over soon," I said, "and see what exercises the cats are doing for February."

Mother loves her Yoga cat calendar.  Any mention of it makes her laugh.  Those cats with their crazy expressions are, indeed, funny.

We resort to the trivial sometimes just to make it through January.  

Seems like stuff that normally goes without notice becomes big and important----a helpful means of breaking the monotony of winter. 

I'm sure we would not get very excited about cat calendars in June, July or August.  

In fact, we might be so busy we forget to turn the calendar into the next month.

Speaking of which, Bill had one calendar on the wall next to his desk that stayed on the same month for about three years.  I think he finally took it down.  

I'll have to go check when I go downstairs.  That will give me a task to break the sameness of this January morning. 

Actually, it's not that bad, but I must say that every day in January requires a little extra in the mood-lifting department.

Oops, Bill just came back in the house.  I do not need to go downstairs to find out what happened to the calendar next to his desk.

"What did you do with that Quest calendar," I yelled to him. "Is it still hanging on the wall?"

"No, it's in the pile on the floor between the desk and the wall," he said. "It was about four years old and people were giving me calendars, so I took it down." 

I don't know how traumatic taking the calendar (featuring photos of the Quest Kodiak) was for Bill, but he's moved forward in life.  

No longer is March 2007 on the wall next to him providing guidance on what he's going to do on given days.

Yup, it's Jan. 25 upstairs here----wet, wild and warm---a little like my mind.

And---just one more speaking of calendars item----I had a wonderful telephone visit with my friend and classmate Andrea.  

She's been sitting in a field of flowers on the bed next to my computer since January 1. 

In a calendar photo, of course!

Happy Wednesday/Almost-End-to-January!

When the Sun Shines Bright . . . .Let Pictures Do the Talking

Sunday Snow Shots

It was a miserable morning of trying to do chores yesterday.  For the second consecutive day, the barn door would not budge when I tried to open it.  

That was after I had to warm up ice-coated latch snap in my hand for five minutes.  

After several minutes of chipping away at the bottom of the metal door, it finally began to slide open.  

After leading the horses outside to their hay, I started the usual barn cleaning.

For some reason, the horses spent the night creating bigger-than-usual messes in their stalls.

Generally, I could get all the bedding and manure in one cart.  Yesterday's cleaning took three, fully loaded. 

And, of course, pushing or pulling a cart full of anything through deep snow presents a challenge.  

I also discovered that the spewing automatic waterer was putting out a larger stream.  

Nothing was easy.  I had grown tired of the week's worth of winter, especially knowing the car I drive will have to go to the shop so the doors will close.

Bill heard a tirade when I came to the house.  I know he lacks the digits on which to count the number of times I've spewed my distaste for winter.

Those moments usually come after trying to accomplish something outside which, in good weather takes 20 minutes.
On days like yesterday, the same tasks require four times as much effort and triple the time. 

The day wore on.  I plowed out a big area next to the barn for future cartfuls of manure.  

I checked the automatic waterer and determined that Ron, the plumber, needs to come to fix its plastic housing.  That does mean carrying water to two stalls until it's repaired.

Anyway, my mood improved as the organization phase of getting ready for the next day's excitement went well. 

This morning four more inches of snow came.  It's breath-takingly beautiful out there.  Schweitzer,  recently designated as America's best small-town ski destination, is a skier/boarder's paradise this morning. 

Jimmy, the snow reporter, says Schweitzer has received 34 inches of new snow in the past week, at the lodge, no less.  More is expected.

I'll probably put on some snow shoes today and trudge through some fields with my camera.

When the commotion and the organization of yesterday's problematic chore situation died down, I took off afoot, walking as far north as Eva Whitehead's farm, snapping a few snow photos.  

Annie, the our neighbor who owns the pretty house with the Cabinet Mountain backdrop, can enjoy the scene more than any of us.  She's living in Hawaii for the winter.

Just figured I'd better do it because that's the one aspect of winter I do enjoy.

Snow creates a host of problems, especially on farms, but capturing its sheer beauty makes up for its downside.

Today Bill will try to figure out what we can do about the car.  For now, I'll probably hang out here, shoveling and shooting (my camera). 

Happy Monday! 

Sunday Morning After

I guess this could be appropriately called the "morning after."  

Attending last night's Gonzaga basketball game against San Diego IN THE KENNEL in great seats would rank right up there in lifetime highlights.

On this morning after, it's a gorgeous winter day.  

All is calm and all is bright, except for an occasional "boom" sounding off up at Schweitzer for avalanche control.

As far as yesterday is concerned, it was nip and tuck whether Lasean and I would make it to the Zags game.

First, one of my car doors would not shut.  Then, two.  Then, three.

Bill surmised that the problem is electrical, so the car sits in the storage shed, and tomorrow we'll have to figure out how to get it to a shop with three doors flying open.

Plan B involved taking his Ford Ranger pickup---the deerslayer.  

Even yesterday, I'm betting deer were staying off the roads.

We even considered a rental car as we moved through the morning, plowing, shoveling and testing those Jimmy doors to see if they would ever decide to shut.

Lasean and I had originally planned to meet at Sagle between 1:30-2 p.m. because our wonderful benefactor had told us it's a good idea to get to the McArthey Center an hour before the game.

At one point in the morning, I came inside to check my Facebook and learned that a horrific accident had blocked HWY 95----for as much as six hours.

Long story short, the highway was blocked for ten hours.  One person died, four semis were involved and some other vehicles.  

The Idaho State Police website said to take another route. 

I read in one account that the Dufort detour was safe.  Roads had been sanded; people were making it through.

I told Bill about the awful wreck.  He said he'd go out and drive the highway in the Ranger to see just how bad conditions were.

During that time, Lasean called me back from an earlier call and said, "Let's forget it." 

I agreed.

Then, Bill came home, saying the roads were not that bad.

Eventually, I called Lasean back to suggest that maybe her son Charles could take her to the game.

She said Charles was plowing somewhere north of town and had told her the roads were not that bad.

So, we decided to give it a try.

We drove the Dufort route and enjoyed mainly dry roads all the way to Spokane.

From the moment we walked into McArthey gym, we were mesmerized by action on the court and action all around us. 

We enjoyed watching the entertaining hour-long workout the Zags do before the game, all to upbeat, cool music. 

We also watched for familiar faces, like John Stockton, the KHQ commentators and Coach Few. Mark Few appears at the last minute before the game.

The cheerleading squad is phenomenal. 

Seeing the Gonzaga student body in the Kennel trumped almost every aspect of our visit last night.  The electricity, enthusiasm and magnetism are difficult to describe. 

One must see and hear that scene for oneself.

In short, the ZAGS folks know how to put on a good three-hour show, and the nitty gritty of the whole event----a basketball game---was exhilarating, to say the least. 

Seeing those players, close-up, in real life, gives a whole new appreciation for their athleticism and tremendous basketball skills. 

I enjoyed every minute of the game which went by much too fast AND they won handily. 

The trip home was a bit dicey from Rathdrum north as new snow was falling, coating the highway and diminishing visibility.

Normally a lead foot, I did not mind driving 45 miles an hour, nor did the folks behind me.  I think everyone on the road last night was aware of the tragedy that had happened earlier in the day. 

So, we made it home safe and sound.  Again, this morning, I feel very grateful toward angels, Pat and Carol, who gave up their seats for us to enjoy an unforgettable night.

Thank you so much!

Saturday Slight

Payback:  We all knew we were getting away with something.  Still, we shamelessly boasted about our wonderful weather and all the stuff we were doing to enjoy it----stuff we normally don't get to do from November to at least March, sometimes even May.  

Of course, some of our friends get to do that stuff all year round cuz they get out of town.

I was actually, for a while, shamelessly so, feeling sorry for some of my friends who headed south shortly after Christmas.

"Poor saps," I thought.  "And they coulda saved all that money and just stayed home to enjoy themselves THIS YEAR." 

Envy is among the seven deadly sins, but  my sinful soul remained blank in the Big E   department, for a while anyway.

I'm starting to feel a little green this morning, and it has nothing to do with being Irish.

It's all because we've been enduring the Mother of all Paybacks this week.  Catholics call it penance.

Only in this case, I'm finding myself uttering more cuss words than "Hail Mary's."  

Take this morning, for example.  

Rain on crusty snow---not too bad walking to the barn, cuz when you pick up your feet at least the snow stays put, rather than loading down your boots.

Rain on crusty snow---about four inches worth.  The Kubota tractor is gonna be grunting and groaning to clear that out.

Rain on crusty snow, topped off by heaving frozen ground.  Wet gloves by the first grab at the barn door.   Door handle coated with a good layer of slightly melting ice. 

Rain on crusty snow, topped off by heaving frozen ground:  old woman yanking, heaving and growling while trying to budge the stubborn barn door open. 

Ice-coated shovel sitting next to the door that won't open.  Sopping gloves by the time a few shovelfuls of crusty snow are removed from in front of the door.

Door finally decides to give in----sliding stubbornly about one third of the way open. 

The horses can get out, I surmise,  and head quickly to the hay pile, grabbing almost half a bale to take to the barnyard through the crusty snow.

Half a bale in one hand and a gate that won't open in the other.  Too much snow to move it.  So, I squeeze my body and the bale (dripping hay in my face) through the narrow opening. 

Hay is heavy when you're carrying nearly half a bale.  Just inside the gate, hay topples over into a big pile. 

That's when cuss words start flying. 

Okay, enough of that.  Long story short---it was downright miserable doing chores this morning.  

The barn door finally decided to open.  The automatic waterer between two box stalls, which, thanks to heaving frozen ground, sits uneven and sizzles as it constantly refills because of a dripping stream of water coming out a corner. 

Heather Horse does not like the sizzles so she shies while coming into the barn; I made a mental note to warn Bill of Heather's sizzlephobia when he puts the horses in the barn tonight. 

I shoveled out the 16-ton wet snow from behind the barnyard gate.  It opens now. 

Bill and I have another situation to work out this morning:  the passenger side door to the Jimmy SUV won't close, probably due to freezing rain on snow with a little chaser of ice build-up.  

That door needs to close before this afternoon because I'm planning to have a passenger with me while taking off on a driving adventure to Spokane. Destination:  ZAGS game, and I don't want her to fall out before we get there.

Yes, there are angels alive and well around here.  A few weeks ago, a ZAGS angel generously bestowed some game tickets on a Catholic saint and a Catholic sinner.   The sinner will drive the saint to the ZAGS game, with tickets subsidized by the angel.  

I'm hoping God will be good to us as we make this trek from Sandpoint to Spokane and home again during this intense period of Mother Nature payback time.   My saintly friend Lasean deserves to see the ZAGS in person tonight as they take on San Diego. 

And, I, the sinner, am most happy to earn some redemption for my many failings by seeing that she gets there and back and has a good time in the process. 

God has been busy this week, and we're all issuing a grateful thanks to Him for watching over my brother, his wife and their dog.  

While on their way to Sandpoint the other day, they hit black ice on the John Day Bridge in Oregon.

Their pickup spun around several times.  They came to a stop after another vehicle slammed into the back of their truck.  

They were shaken up but fine.  My brother went to the rear of the pickup to see how their dog Holly made it through the accident.  

She was gone.  

It was a dark night, and no amount of calling for her did any good.  After having their pickup towed to a small town called Arlington, they spent a sleepless night, as did all the family praying that God would perform a miracle.

He did.

Mike called Thursday morning to tell me their prayers were answered.  

Another angel, working for the Oregon Transportation Dept.,  spotted Holly along the roadway that night about a mile from the accident, picked her up, took her home and kept her for the night.

The next morning he started making calls, which led him to Mike and Mary.  

Happily, Holly and her family were reunited later that afternoon. 

So, the fact that Mike and Mary are all right, safely in Sandpoint, and that their dog survived a traumatic experience, calls for a "Holly Lujah" chorus, indeed.

With that in mind, this not so good Catholic proclaims this morning that "God is Good" and that I have faith that He'll see that we survive payback time. 

GO ZAGS!  Thank you, Angel Pat. :)

Helen: A Wrencoe Treasure Passes On

Mary Thompson Brown and Sigrid Thompson Brannan with their mother Helen at the 2008 Women of Wisdom luncheon.  Helen Marie Burnstad Thompson was honored as one of Sandpoint's Women of Wisdom in 2001. 

Ever since that wintry February day in 1967, when we all stood side by side in the Thompson living room at Wrencoe, and  Probate Judge Frances Sleep asked George (never mind that his name is Mike) if he would take Mary Louise Thompson as his bride, our two large families have been connected.

So, we all experienced deep emotions,  running the gamut from loss to a life well lived,  when Mary's mother Helen passed away yesterday afternoon after 95 adventurous, productive and blessed years on this Earth. 

Soon after Helen's passing, the Facebook walls of family members lit up, sharing tributes to their mother, grandmother and lifetime inspiration.  

I have a feeling that a multitude of tributes and wonderful anecdotes will be shared far and wide for this lady who touched so many lives so positively throughout her years. 

A few decades ago, Helen Thompson, mother of seven,  was named America's Mother of the Year.  

That meant appearing on a "Good Morning America" segment. 

If I recall correctly, her son Mike accompanied her to the set.

Yesterday a friend told me about how, back in Sandpoint, the mayor gathered everyone at City Hall around a television set to watch. 

Great expectation ensued as the mayor watched the interview, waiting anxiously for the moment of supreme pride when  Helen would announce to America she was from Sandpoint.

"I'm from Wrencoe," Helen told millions of viewers. 

Sandpoint's claim to national fame would have to wait----trumped by Wrencoe, the little rural community a few miles to the west of what we now know of America's Most Beautiful Small Town.

Helen's fame was sealed, however----all around Sandpoint, Wrencoe, or wherever she went. 

Over the years, we "outlaws" united by the marriage of Mike and Mary,  have spent many a good time together, hiking, driving to mountain lakes,  sitting in the sun at the Thompson cabin, watching the next generations get acquainted.  

Many of us have shared a common love for horseback riding, for watching horse shows, for talking horses.  It's a lifelong family thing for both clans.

Helen would be proud to know that love of horses continues through the generations.  Horses were important to this independent proud woman who hailed from Burnstad, North Dakota.

Helen was always proud of her seven children---Jim, Mary, Mike, Chris, Beth, Sig and Kirsten.  

She had good reason.   All have lived stellar lives.  All contribute generously to their communities.  All carry on their Mother's love of learning.

Heck, I even heard that some Thompson sisters were playing Scrabble yesterday afternoon after saying good bye to their mom.  

Helen loved Scrabble. 

Helen so loved her children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren.

And, they all adored Grandma Helen. 

The Thompson clan is gathering and I'm sure they'll be organizing a proper celebration to honor their matriarch.  

Once again, the "outlaws" will spend some time together.  

I'm sure there will be many such lively and fun gatherings in the future.

And, as the years go by, Helen, A true "Wrencoe Treasure" will not be forgotten. 

RIP Helen Marie Burnstad Thompson. You did well.