Saturday Slightly Wet

When I put a note on Facebook yesterday morning---asking all folks leaving the area for spring break, bound for some exotic place in the sun---to please take with them a bucket of water so that the poor saps remaining here could dry out, I received a variety of responses.

Some people---in those exotic places---said they could use a little water.  Others concurred with my feelings, while still others told their horror stories.

When my friend Billie Jean noted that South Center Valley Road less than half a mile north of us had been breached with water for the second time this month, I took off with my camera.

Yup, those photos (do note the fencepost tops) show what a little rain for endless days has done to the roads.  

That portion of road has dried up now cuz the rain did stop for a few hours last night.

During that time, Bill and I and the dogs took off for an evening drive to survey flooding.  I took my camera, but even with the extended daylight, grey gloom ruled the evening.  Bill  figured the Rapid Lightning Creek area would be pretty dramatic, so we headed that direction.

It was.

Even after the rain break, Lower Pack River had spread its banks to just even with the roadside in several places but not quite enough to overflow.  

It's all pretty ugly with the muddy color and all the debris floating in the water. 

We moved on up Rapid Lightning Creek, which IS earning its name.  Wet stuff is flowing pretty rapidly.

We then turned onto the connection road to Gold Creek and actually drove through some areas where winter hasn't yet heard that April starts tomorrow.  It might just be in the that April Fools mode.

Some homes in that area are still surrounded with three or four feet of snow.

Bill had gone earlier in the day to check out the Grouse Creek Road, noting that there were some areas that could get bad.

Well, when we were about to turn off the road that goes past Western Pleasure Guest Ranch and head north to Grouse Creek, we had to turn left toward Albertsonville instead.

A sign just off Gold Creek Road noted "Road Closed."

Beyond that,  we could see a dark crevice where an entire section of road had washed out.

Actually, upon arriving home at just about dark, our ponds and extra streams looked pretty tame. 

Somebody told me the other day that she "liked" the rain.  I told her that when you watch your horses walk through almost knee-deep mud, you don't like the rain.

I've been feeding my horses in the morning on the far side of the barnyard.

Yes, they have to walk through yucky slop to get to their breakfast, but it's comparatively dry, and there's a straight, short pathway to the shelter shown above.  

So, March is ending as a record month for rainfall.  The record,  with data going back to 1891,   fell two days ago, and we've had a heckuva lot of rain since then.  The day is young.  

It could be a long time before the 2012 record falls, and I hope it doesn't happen in my lifetime. 

And, to think we have not yet hit the month when April showers bring May flowers. 

Oh, and I did not win the lottery.  Just in case you were wondering!  

Sorry, Helen.

Happy Saturday.   

Please Play Responsibly

DO NOT ERASE.

DO NOT USE RED INK.

IF YOU MAKE A MISTAKE, MARK THE 'VOID' BOX. 

MAKE SURE THE NUMBERS YOU HAVE CHOSEN ARE THE ONES YOU WANT.

THE TICKET, NOT THE PLAYSLIP, IS THE BEARER INSTRUMENT AND THE ONLY PROOF OF SELECTIONS AND PURCHASE.

There's work to be done today.  I have five combinations of numbers to select.  I have flexibility cuz it says I can select the same number for the Powerball that matches one I've already selected in the regular boxes.

Got my slip, and I'm ready to play the numbers.  

I don't know if I'm ready to count the money, but I can get that way in a hurry.

What better task to take up on yet another rainy day than to spend a little time ciphering out tickets for half a billion. 

What better way to spend the rest of my life:  figuring out each day how I want to spend $52,000.  

Bet I could get a little help from my friends AND family. 

We made a pact last night after Debbie and I purchased our Mega Millions tickets at the Samuels Store.

We were there for the annual birthday dinner for Willie and Bill.  The birthday barrage has already started with one brother yesterday, a cousin today, a close friend and former student tomorrow, Willie on Sunday, Bill and his sister Margaret on Monday, Laurie on Thursday, the triplets on the 9th.  

Have I forgotten anyone?

Look at all those people who are gonna get really friendly with me after I win the Mega Millions tonight----and that ain't even half the family.  

So, friends, you'll have to wait in line.

Anyway, we had a wonderful dinner at the Blue Heron.  It was Mexican night so the birthday boys dined on their attractive and sumptuous Mexican plates, while Debbie and I enjoyed one of our favorites----the bacon cheeseburger on homemade, toasted buns. 

Afterward, we made our lottery-ticket purchases, and as we drove home, Willie piped up that Sandpoint High School may have to find a new journalism teacher after tonight's drawing.  We all agreed to share our wealth.

I brought my playslip home because I've been listening to all that advice this week of not letting the machine do it for me.  So, I've got decisions to make before taking my $5 worth of choices back to the Samuels Store.

I'm betting that if I win, those folks will be happy, and we'll get all the bacon cheeseburgers we ever want, while Bill and Willie could show up on prime rib night, fish and chips night and Mexican.  Now, there's a way to spend some of that $52,000 per day.

And, we'll leave a nice tip too . . . maybe even once in a while we'll buy dinner for the whole house.  Lots of our friends and neighbors eat there.  We think they like us now, but I'm betting they'll like us a whole lot better once we win tonight. 

There IS one problem if I win.  Most people quit their jobs.  I guess I could quit doing the vacuuming, cleaning the barns, mowing the lawn, all that stuff. 

Come to think of it, I LIKE most of that stuff, 'cept maybe the housework.  

We're pretty practical people.  Years ago when little Willie----gosh, that was 35 years ago this Sunday---was sorta "WEE WILLIE," we got invited to an Amway gathering.

Mind you, we were young and dumb then and (at least I) did not KNOW it was an Amway gathering.  Many other young and dumb people that we knew also showed up.

The honchos gathered us into a semicircle and asked us to dream of what we'd do if we had a whole bunch more money.

Well, we listened to folks talk about beaches in Italy and cruises and all kinds of fun, worldly stuff.

When it was our turn, I did the talking.

"We'd probably buy some new fencing materials," I announced.  I could feel the stunned looks from all around me.  

Still, we did need a fence on the new piece of property we had just bought and with a brand new baby boy, we did not need to go to the beaches----just yet.

Well, we found a way to get out the door at halftime during that Amway session.  The escape occurred right after Bill poked me in the side with his elbow, articulating physically what he'd already told me verbally.

"It's Amway," he had insisted, at least a couple of times.

When I kept insisting that it certainly was not, Bill reverted to his usual strategy with his opinionated wife.  

He shut up.

So, the poke in the ribs was a clearly stated and understood, "I told you so." 

We made it out the door before the second half and learned how to escape BEFORE honoring such special invitations in the future.

So, through the years we remained reasonably poor.  I think the fencing materials came incrementally---a metal post here, some smooth wire there---and by the time Willie was about 10, we had a complete fence around the place. 

So, after all those years, filled with life experiences and life revelations, I think I'm finally ready to be rich.

I heard more than once this week that the only way you win the lottery is to play the lottery.

So, I'll say Happy Friday and begin the task of "playing responsibly," whatever that is!

Stay tuned.  If there's no blog tomorrow, you'll know I quit this job. 

Let the Fun Begin . . . .

They're here.  Those little blogger gremlins have started the process of automatically converting us oldsters to the new blogger format. 

I've noticed over the past several weeks that the photo-posting procedure has changed, meaning that I've had to take some different routes just to get a photo published.  

This morning, upon signing in to Blogger, I met up with a new publishing format/dashboard or whatever you want to call it.

So, expect the changes to unfold visually within the next few days as I take off down this "slight detour" in the morning Slight Detour process.

Maybe it will work out just fine, and, more than likely, once I get it all figured out, the gods will throw another change at us--------just like that Facebook timeline they keep putting on our FB walls.

I've looked at other people's timelines on Facebook and remain basically confused. Must be my age, I guess.

Anyway, change has come.  Change will continue to come to the cyber world, and I'll work with it to the best of my lame brain's ability.

Some things aren't changing this week, especially in our natural world.  

Take the rain, for instance.  It just keeps happily falling to the ground with no gods threatening to alter its pathway.  

Actually, this morning, we're dealing with a calm rain.  

I thoroughly enjoyed my walk after chores.  The redeeming feature of all this rain is that it's opening up lots more bare ground, allowing me to take a variety of slight detours through our beautiful woods.

We have ten acres of trees, much of it beautifully thinned by foresters who have and do live here.  Bill has been making progress over the years at managing his forest toward a very esthetic result.  

Neat stacks of wood from thinned trees greet me throughout my morning walks.  Piles of residue---cones, limbs, bark---provide nutrients for the growing fir, lodgepole and pine trees. 

And, the walk these days is so cushy.  Several inches of pine needles provide a lovely brown carpet and wonderful comfort in walking. 

I haven't seen the Lovestead woods grouse the past two days, but it's there.  One morning I watched it walk through the trees, seemingly unaware of my presence.

One morning I was unaware of its presence until the bird startled me with that explosive flutter that only a grouse can do. 

Those moments of once again being able to walk through the woods are among the best of the day.  

Eventually, each morning,  I reach the yard, and,  gradually, the walk through its expanse to get the paper is becoming more and more enjoyable.  
Soggy doggie do's are disappearing as are cones, limbs, rocks and stems.  

Wherever I've raked, a brighter green hue is emerging.  

I was thinking yesterday while raking during a sun break,  that in a couple of weeks, I'll be riding the lawn on the mower at a rate of twice weekly.  

Hard to believe how fast things can change.  

This annual transition from winter to spring is always a change I can happily master any year. 

As for the blog format, that may take some time.  So, be patient as the "fun" unfolds. 

Happy Thursday.

Rain on My Parade?

I befriended KXLY weather forecaster Mark Peterson on Facebook a while back.  That means every morning Mark provides the FB weather forecast.

This morning he talked about an "endless parade of storms splashing through the region," leaving rain in the valleys and snow in the mountains FOR THE NEXT WEEK.

Well, speak of raining on parades, what's gonna happen if something more powerful rains on all those parades marching in to keep us wet?

This is one parade scenario I wouldn't mind seeing, but not much I can do about it except wear those new rain pants.  

They do work well, and I feel a whole lot better out there walking through the slop and even working in it.

Yesterday's one-day break in the midst of those storms was a God send, allowing plenty of time for outdoor work and opportunities for new aches and pains from all that work.

It was a layer-down day.  I took off at least two layers and was down to just two layers for tops at one point.  One does have to measure progress, and we've had some significant progress, not only with outdoor wear but also with diminishing snow.

The only problem with diminishing snow is that it tends to have a treadmill effect.  Just get some new grass areas raked up and looking good and somewhere else in the yard, the snow diminishes exposing that many more doggie deposits, twigs and leaves.

But I'm getting there. 

Today I'll take time out from the work schedule to enjoy some pecan-crusted chicken salad with my friend and outlaw Rose Marie.  Anyone who ever comes to America's Most Beautiful Small town MUST try the Trinity Restaurant's pecan-crusted chicken.  

A true delight, always a tad bit different, always good to the last bite.

Anyway, Rose Marie and I will catch up on news since our last meeting for BRATS.  

Seems we can't get together unless we eat.  It's BRATS at the Draft Horse Show or the fair and salad in the spring. 

I'd heard the word but was saddened to see the official reports that our school superintendent Dick Cvitanich is leaving us and heading to Olympia.  

Our loss will definitely be Olympia's gain as it was when another Western Washington school district lost Dick a few years back so we could have him.

Best superintendent ever----since the days of Jack Jones and Mike Lamanna, back when I first started teaching.  We had many in between, and the district suffered one nightmare after another in the process. 

Dr. Dick Cvitanich has worked wonders with our school district through his knowledge, his experience and his well-honed common sense. 

We'll miss him but wish him well.  Let's hope the district attracts another superintendent of his caliber.  As my husband said last night, he's leaving the place in good shape so it should be an attractive draw.

An announcement concerning this blog:  Before beginning this morning's posting, I read the big red letters announcing "changes coming to Blogger in April.  Update now."  

Sometimes the mechanisms in the cyber world are beyond our control, so I'm just giving you a heads up that this blog may suddenly look different one of these days.

My Picasa photo program updated today, and it's gonna take a while to figure it out too.

So, bear with me.   If you see changes and some that don't make a lot of sense, two things are happening:  my blogging routine is no longer under my control and my brain is taking some time to figure it out.

Thanks for your patience whenever this happens. 

Gotta get going, so will wish everyone a great Wednesday.  Stay dry.  

Tuesday TwitterdeeHurry-up Offense

Gotta write in a hurry today.  Mother Nature is giving us a brief break in the seven-day forecast for rain, rain, rain.  

If I spend too much time writing my blog this morning , heavy, dark clouds are likely to roll in and blast us again with more than enough liquid.

Then, it could be six more days of conjuring up mundane things to do in attempts to forget the frustrations of wet slop outside.

Yesterday I did just that, lots of mundane projects. I made two trips to town with the total rationalization that I had errands to do. 

The strategy worked well, especially because one of the errands that needed to be done was to finally find some rain pants.

I've been looking for the kind that zip up the front.  I've gone to almost every clothing-related store in town and in Bonners Ferry looking for zip-up rain pants but to no avail.

The reason I want zip-up rain pants is that I have elastic-band snow pants.  They keep me dry, but they're not helpful when I've downed too much coffee.  

And, that's most of the time.

It takes an act of God to get those pants down and a whole lot of work to pull them back up.

Considering how much time I spend drinking too much coffee and wanting to be outside in wet, sloppy weather, something needed to change.

Well, yesterday turned into Desperation Day.  I finally went back to Wal-Mart, broke down and picked out a pair of elastic-band rain pants.  They looked like they might just be a looser fit than the snow pants.

In all the busy-ness of pretending I had lots of things to do on that miserable day, I brought them home, tried them on, and, "voila!"  I quickly discovered that they're much easier to pull up and down than the snow pants. Bring on the coffee!

Plus, I could even slip them on over my boots if I wished.

So, in celebration, I walked outside into the fields and through the wet, wet, wet woods with my new Coleman rain pants, my Coleman raincoat and my Seattle Sombrero.

Every step brought on a welcome sense of liberation.  

After that walk, I even celebrated more, grabbing the lawn rake and cleaning up a whole lots of gravel and twigs along the driveway where more snow had melted.

During that time, I could detect a clear feeling of defiance.  As a lifelong guilt-ridden soul,  I know that it's not nice to have that attitude toward Mother Nature.  

Still, I'm not alone.   Many North Idahoans have perfected bad attitudes, thanks to lots of experience with bad weather.

When Annie called last night and told me she gets to go work where the sun is shining in Southern California for the rest of the week, I abstained from articulating any jealous rage. Instead,  I told her about my new rain pants and talked about our miserable weather far so much that I finally said, "Enough, no more weather talk." 

Today the sun is with us briefly, and the sky is blue.  The rain pants will have at least part of a day off in their new habitat here at the Lovestead.

I'm figuring, though, that before the sun goes down (in Los Angeles), I'll be wearing the rain pants again.

And, if that ol' Mother Nature decides to pound us again for six days, my defiance will continue.  

Happy Tuesday.  Stay dry. 

The March Hair

I got my first literal taste of this time of the year last week when we took the dogs to the pooch parlor.  

It was blow-dry time for Kea.  The groomer wrapped Kea's ears with a towel, just in case the dryer noise scared her.

It did not.

Kea's tail wagged vociferously throughout the blow-dry phase. 

The busy tail told the truth:  Kea loved all the attention, and she loved the warmth of the forced air as it dried her hair.

As for me, I did not enjoy the doggie blow-dry phase.

It couldn't get over soon enough as I continued my mommy duties and caressed little Kea during the last segment of her bath.

The staff had given me a nice apron to protect my clothes from the water and suds.

There is no protection, however, for loose hair.

Loose hair likes mouths for some reason.

When one's hands, fingers and sleeves are covered with loose, wet hair, the attempt to remove the irritating invaders from landing on the lips and lodging themselves inside the mouth turns out less effective than just grinning and bearing with the hair.

Still, it's hard not to make a lame attempt at removing the nuisance.

As usual, for every hair that had already affixed itself to my lips, four or five more would join it each time I tried to wipe it away.

Oral blow drying doesn't work either.

You can blow all you want out your mouth, but that hair is just like all those dead flies that show up in the upstairs rooms every winter.  Get rid of one black corpse and several more commit suicide to take its place.

So, I stood there at the Pooch Parlor where my dog was enjoying pure Heaven, knowing that soon the my own Hellish misery would end.  I could remove my apron, dry my hands and rub the hair from my lips.

Never mind the strand that hid itself inside my mouth.  I finally located that one on the side of my tongue about halfway home and, after several attempts,  managed to remove it. 

Yup, in my experience errant hair and devilish hoses rank right up there as some of life's biggest nuisances. Throw in a twisted, uncooperative vacuum cleaner cord while we're at it.  

Can't tell you how many times this winter my Dyson cord has wiped out the entire row of boots and slippers on the platform around our wood stove.

The garden hoses have yet to test my patience for the year.  

That's always a summer project as they hook themselves to tree roots or knot themselves up like a pretzel while I'm on my morning watering rounds.

No, this time of year is the hair-hating season.

My own hair drives me nuts whenever I'm outside cuz we've had so much wind lately.  If I don't wear a hat or nail it down with 45 barettes, it's in my mouth or attacking my eyes.

The hair that really gets to me (literally), though, is shedding horse hair.

Yesterday's lovely sunny weather brought out the first round of springtime shedding for Lily and Lefty.  So, I grabbed the rubber curry comb and spent about half an hour apiece on each horse. 

Of course, the wind blew, and, of course, depending on which side of the horse I stood, the hair blew with it, many times landing on my face and all over my clothes with all-out vengeance.

There was a lot of spitting going on in the barnyard and the round pen yesterday.

And, along with that, there was a lot of brushing going on----not just on horses.

This is the time of year when every grooming session for a horse is followed up with another grooming session for the human cuz all that hair has to go somewhere. Why not on Marianne?

Devious hair strands don't get much satisfaction from simply wafting through the air and floating off to the neighbor's place. 

It's so much more fun dive-bombing into Marianne's mouth and watching her try to spit you out cuz her gloves are so covered with your buddies there's no way she's gonna pick you out.

And, so it goes.  

Hair season is upon us, but so is the rain.  

Weatherman Tom Sherry promised us SEVEN days of wet, wet, wet this time.

The only consolation is that I'll have to find something other irritant to drive me nuts, and I know that twisted up vacuum cleaner cord is downstairs, just sittin', waitin' and grinnin'. 
 

Here Comes the SUN Day . . . .

Often,  when we wish to escape uncomfortable realities of this world, a nice walk outside will do the trick.  

Reminders of pure beauty within our natural world can go far to blot out the ugly, nasty aspects of life in general.

Well, there's not a lot of "pretty" to be found around here just yet.  Bird sounds, happy cats, eager, always friendly dogs---they go far in soothing the soul.

But the mud, the dirty snow and "so-so" nice days tend to weight one down.

So, there's always the photograph library, where certain shots taken during spring and summer serve as reminders that good times are ahead.

That's precisely what I did this morning.  The mud will leave some day.  Grass will appear as will the colors of spring.  

"Freezing 50-degree temps" like we experienced yesterday will soon feel like 50-60-70 and beyond. 

Until those days, beautiful scenes from past years will have to do.  

Enjoy.  Happy SUNday!

Saturday Slight

Two days in a row on the same dry road in the same beautiful spot.  Only yesterday, Bill joined us at the Kootenai National Wildlife Refuge.
Our first sighting of wildlife:  all these deer in the meadow below the road.  We drove through part of the refuge, then found a parking spot and set out on a lovely walk.
Yesterday's adventure was amazing and almost magical.  We headed north because of the  rain/snow on a predicted "sunny" day continuing on into the afternoon. 
As we drove toward Bonners Ferry, the rain increased.  Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to try a second day of escaping.  Still, we kept up hope.
As we passed through the south part of Bonners Ferry, the rain lessened.  As we turned from downtown Bonners Ferry into the valley, I spotted some blue sky far off to the north.
Once we reached the flat land with massive farm fields on one side and the Kootenai River on the other, NO MORE RAIN. 
It was like we drove through a magic curtain, I told Bill.  The sun even managed a few rays through the clouds.  
As we left the car to begin walking a small squall over near the mountains threatened to come our way but dissipated within minutes.
We loved the walk as did the dogs.  
As we drove back to Bonners Ferry, the rain began again, and we had a wet wind shield all the way back to Sandpoint, where finally the clouds vanished and the sun came out.

This morning it's dry, no sun but much better than what we've seen for the past few days.
Bill thinks he may just try that fishing trip today, and I'll probably go over to my sisters' later for the annual horse-apple rally fundraiser. 
If the apples drop in the right square, I may win a whole lot of money.

In other news, the NCAA men's tournament is winding down and the women's is hitting its peak, and, yes, the Gonzaga women have reached the Sweet Sixteen.  So, we're still pulling for them in their game tomorrow.   Go ZAGS!

As far as bracketology, mine is looking pretty dismal.  I'm down to two Final Four teams,  still in the picture:  Kansas and Baylor. 
Kansas again won in a squeaker last night, and I think I know why they managed a win.

Let me explain.  A few weeks ago when I went to Palm Springs to visit my friend Mow and her husband Joe, Kansas was playing Missouri.  
Mow was buying goodies for a party at their house where some of Joe's friends---Missouri grads---were coming to watch.  
Joe and Mow, because of their Kansas City roots and association with KU,  are loyal Jayhawks.
So, when Kansas pulled out a win in another squeaker, Joe didn't mind rubbing it in to his Missouri friends. 
I'm also sure he wasn't nearly as disappointed as I was when Missouri got eliminated last week in the NCAA tournament.  After all, Missouri was among my Final Four picks.  
No doubt Joe and Mow were both as elated as I was when Kansas hung in there this past Sunday night to make it to the Sweet Sixteen----just barely too.  Maybe even in the final second of the game. 
Well, Kansas was set to play again last night, and we watched.  Again, they pulled off another "just barely."  As the final buzzer rang, I figured Mow and Joe were both pretty happy.
This morning I received a note from Mow, telling me that Joe, who has been in poor health for some time,  had passed away peacefully in his chair with his television set yesterday afternoon.
My first thought after the initial shock was that it was too bad Joe missed last night's game.
Then, I thought twice.  Joe  probably knew Kansas needed an extra boost of divine intervention.  
The Jayhawks got it.  Joe no longer suffers.  I'm sure he's up there in Heaven, smiling this morning.  Plus, I'm betting that Kansas University will continue to receive some extra help through the tournament. 
We send much love to Mow and to Joe's family.  
After all, we're related by dog. We also send our love to Webster, a sibling to the Lovestead Border Collie nation,  and to Bob, the parrot, as well as Webster's two canine friends. 
And, Joe, may you rest in peace.  We are so honored to have enjoyed your friendship. 

How Many 4-Letter-Word Days Do We Have in March Anywho?

If you drive north from our area toward Bonners Ferry, you're likely to find the sun.

To use geocaching terms, I happily thought to myself yesterday afternoon, "I've got a find." 

Yes, indeed, the sun was shining brightly at the Kootenai National Wildlife Refuge yesterday, and though that 4-letter word beginning with an "S" is apparent in the photos, I actually walked down a dry dirt road.

Our sparkling clean Border Collies walked with me, on leash.

We walked about 3.5 miles, watching and listening to eagles, hawks, geese and deer enjoying their day in the beautiful refuge. 

Actually, I usually don't like to go for walks with the dogs on leash, but yesterday seemed like a good idea, even if I was following  "the rules" at the refuge.  

I could keep Kiwi and Kea from dirtying their new "do's" in mud holes or other residue.

I went to the refuge---as I often do---to get out the snow and slop left over from a night's and most of a day's worth of snow deposits. 

Schools in Bonner and Boundary Counties were shut down yesterday, thanks to the winter storm.  I believe that's a record.  

They've shut down the schools in late March and early April in past years for mud vacation, but, for snow, I don't think so.

This ongoing SNOW is definitely a 4-letter word, and, on this March 23rd as I look out my window to more of it on what was forecast as a sunny day, I'm biting my tongue to avoid an attack of noise pollution.

I told Bill this morning that my 4-letter words of the past few days have not worked, so the new strategy is to begin plotting a month-long escape during the early spring winter months next year.

Bill would probably like that cuz then he wouldn't have to listen to me complain.  Of course, even he thought he would be going fishing today up Bonners Ferry way---on this predicted sunny day. So, I think, in his quiet way, even Bill gets tired of interminable winters.

Maybe by the time I finish my blog, however,  all will be well.  

The sun will find its way from behind that wet, socked-in, gray air mass.  

Welcome warmth of its rays will begin the melting process immediately. 

Mud will disappear.  Sorry, kids, no mud days this year. 

By noon,  on this March 23 (two days after the opening of spring) we'll be seeing green grass and crocus tips jutting toward the sky. 

I'll have to hurry in to town and get some gas for the lawn mower.  

I can bring out the weed eaters and get rid of dead grass.

 If there's time enough left in this day, I can even transfer some of my baby plants out to the greenhouse--with heater, of course.

Maybe I can give the horses a good rubdown and remove some of that winter hair. 

Oops, wake up, Marianne.  

You've been dreaming. 

Your blog for the morning has come to an end.

The snow still falls. 

Seven more days left in this month. How many more 4-letter-word days?

Damn!

BC Nation at the Pooch Parlor

Kiwi, Kea, Todd and Brooke with their adoring moms, Marianne and Debbie

When Willie and Debbie lived in Boise, they could take Todd and Brooke to a walk-in doggie bathing facility.  For $11 apiece, the pups could have a bath in a tub with warm water and soap suds, followed by a drying session.

I've often wished we had such a place here in Sandpoint, especially every time we load up Kiwi and Kea in a rig and go for a drive.  

Dog odor,  brought on by trips through manure puddles, occasional rolling in cow pies and just plain grit picked up from general doggie farm life, can do a number on human noses when sharing those close quarters.

Yesterday, I noted a particularly strong smell coming directly from Kiwi who sat in the front seat with me on our trip to the county landfill.  It's good that I love my dog in spite of her smell. 

Thinking about that putrid smell later led me to the yellow pages.  

I had never checked to see if we had a walk-in dog bathing facility.  I guess when you're a local, you think you know everything about the area.

Well, when I learned that the Pooch Parlor http://www.thepoochparlor.net/ had been providing walk-in grooming/maintenance for dogs, cats and even birds just down the road in Ponderay for 12 years, I was astounded.

In addition, the place is a grooming college, the only certified grooming school in Idaho. Owner DuAnn Chambers told me her students come from all over the country for a three-six month course for becoming a licensed groomer. 

Learning all this, I later figured my journalistic nose for news had been handicapped by too much dog smell. 

Well, all four pups walked in to the Pooch Parlor yesterday.  And, what a time it was!

The staff knew they were coming because I called and asked if they'd take four Border Collies all at once.

Still, when the dogs came in the door, one groomer stood there, appearing paralyzed with her mouth hanging open.

I thought maybe the scene of all those dogs had intimidated her.  When she remained transfixed, I asked, "Is there something wrong?"

Finally, she broke her trance and said, "I LOVE Border Collies."

Immediately, she came to greet them.

I warned her to be careful around Kiwi because of her sensitivities and her occasional growling at strangers.

"I'll bond with her," she assured me. 

Kiwi offered no reason for concern, even when we led her up the steps to the bath tub.  In fact, her bathing session went without incident.

As did Todd's and Brooke's. 

When it came time for Kea---the Lovestead's more outgoing and always busy "patrol" dog---the staff had to call me.

"Kea can't take a bath without her mom," the voice at the other end said, adding that they'd tried several strategies, but Kea had refused all attempts for anyone to bathe her.

"If you want to come down in a few minutes and help us, you may get a little wet, but we should be able to bathe her if her mommy's here," the Pooch Parlor caller suggested.

So, I drove back to the pooch parlor and found Kea in the grooming room, very happy to see me. 

She did not like the muzzle, but she let me put it on.  With a little help, she actually climbed the stairs to the tub.  

Someone brought me an apron, and a staff member came over to begin the bath. 

At first, Kea was still a bit resistent, but as she began to feel the suds and the warm water and four hands massaging her body, she relaxed.

And, when the dryer started blowing that hair with warm air, her tail started wagging.

The staff was absolutely right. 

All she needed was her mom.

Anyway, at about 4 p.m., after owner DuAnn snapped a picture,  Debbie and I walked four beautiful, nice smelling members of the BC nation out the door.  

Knowing these beautiful coats would soon get wet with all the snow, we drove first to my sisters' home to show them off and then home for Bill to see them.

For the first time in a long time, Kea and Kiwi even enjoyed some time in the living room, on the couch in my lap.  

While stroking their lovely clean, soft coats, I inhaled deeply  with no concerns about "noseating"  asphyxiation.

During yesterday's experience, I learned that we can even take our dogs without an appointment and wash them ourselves, just like Willie and Debbie used to do in Boise.

Heck, the place even has a drive-through window for small dogs and cats.

Now that I know about the Pooch Parlor, our dogs are gonna be regulars.

Thanks, Pooch Parlor.  We loved the experience.  I think the dogs did too!

Corned Beef Epiphany

For some of us, it was the peas.

For me, it was corned beef, rice and liver.

I figured out early on how to eat my liver at the family dinner table.

Grab a bite of liver, bury it in a forkful of mashed potatoes, stick it in my mouth and swallow.

To this day, I still don't know why I never choked to death, swallowing that liver whole.

The method got me through many a meal when everyone else at the table raved about the liver.

As for rice, we were generally a potato-eating family.  Still, Lincoln School cooks served rice and raisins at least once a week.  I did not eat hot lunch very often, but it seemed like whenever I did, the menu for the day was that dreaded bowl of rice and raisins.

Raisins, they were okay by themselves, but when mixed with what I perceived as white maggots, I wouldn't even pick out the raisins.

The staff monitored our trays to see if we'd eaten most of our lunch, so more than likely one time I gagged down half a bowl of that gross entree.

I learned early on, however, from another student that those milk cartons could multi-task during a lunch period.  They could hold milk.  Kids could slurp down a whole carton at once and then spend the rest of lunchtime, spooning the maggots and raisins into the empty carton.  

I wonder if the nutrition nazis ever figured that one out.

Well, it worked during my whole tenure as a student at Lincoln School.  After that, I enjoyed liberation from time-honored grade school rules---like getting to write backhand AND avoiding rice all together. 

Now, my corned beef experiences left lifelong, deep-seeded opinions.

The one time I remember having corned beef at the North Boyer dinner table is etched in my mind as if it were yesterday.

A glob of corned beef sat on my plate, left on its own after the potatoes, peas, salad helpings had long since disappeared.

I sat in a chair, staring at that hideous red glob of meat, refusing to pick up my fork, stab it and insert it into my mouth.  I can remember Mother hovering over me and, at times, going about her duties of after-dinner clean-up.  Everyone else had left the table.

I could leave when I ate my corned beef.

I don't remember too many encouraging words uttered in my behalf, but I can remember some threats.  

The clock ticked on.  The corned beef glob on the plate got colder and even more repulsive.

In my child's mind, I'm sure I must have sat there two hours before finally picking up the fork, stabbing the glob, stuffing it in my mouth and not passing GO or collecting $200 before choking it down.

For some reason our menu at home never again included corned beef.  Maybe, just maybe that incident was as hard on Mother as it was on me.  

After all, having to stay in the kitchen for all that time to see that Marianne did eat her corned beef rather than stuffing it in her pocket took time away from relaxing in the living room.

I never had any more corned beef encounters until college---at least up close and personal corned beef encounters.

We could smell it clear across campus. I'd step out of a classroom on my way back to Carter Hall, detect the nauseating aroma of corned beef and cabbage and announce to whoever would listen, "I'm NOT going to dinner tonight." 

Seemed like they had corned beef and cabbage at least once a week, and on those weeks, before dinner was served, the University of Idaho campus air rivaled that of Lewiston's, where the distinctive paper mill smell alerts travelers that they're close to the city on the river.

On corned beef and cabbage night at Wallace Complex, I probably just smoked more cigarettes (to drown out the smell) and nibbled on treats from the vending machines.

Remarkably, I've not had a corned beef and cabbage encounter since those days in the 1960s. 

The dish has never been on our family menu, and I've not gone to any St. Paddy's Day events-----until last night.

It was the monthly Friends and Family Dinner at The Bridge.  When I walked in the door, my nose told me what was on the menu.

Now, ya can't stuff things in milk cartons or sit and stare at your food for two hours when you've come to enjoy dinner with your 90-year-old mother.  When Willie showed up, I whispered in his ear, "If you don't like the corned beef and cabbage, I'll buy you a pizza after dinner." 

Well, I'm here to announce on this March 21, 2012, just three months short of my 65th birthday that I've been short-changing my palate for most of my life.

Having to act civilized and mature, I put some corned beef on my plate, along with carrots, cabbage and potatoes, figuring on eating the potatoes, cabbage and carrots while making it look like I'd at least sampled the corned beef.

There's always a first in life, and last night, in front of my mother, my son and Joyce Boeck, who told me this was the fourth corned beef and cabbage meal she'd had in a week, I cut off a bite, put it in my mouth AND LIKED IT!

I cleaned my plate.  So did Willie.  So did my mother.

No threats, no hiding the food.  Instead, enthusiastic raves about how good everything tasted.

Now, I don't know if I'm gonna go to town and buy up all the corned beef left from St. Paddy's day specials, but I do know that there are moments in life we remember about facing certain foods.

I shall not forget March 20, 2012.  From this day forth, it will stand on my life's timeline as a very good day, the day of my corned beef epiphany. 

As far as personal paradigm shifts on rice and liver----I don't think that's gonna happen. 

I was getting tired of raking anyway . . . .

No snow plows over here this morning.  I don't care if we get ten inches on this first day of spring.  I'm NOT plowing.

My arms and knees are feeling some new aches and pains, thanks to that practice I had with the lawn rakes over the past two days.

I'm not plowing because I raked most of the stuff we had plowed onto the lawn over the winter---a whole lot of heavy gravel, to be specific.

Now, after two days of lawn work, it time to use different muscles, time to put those rakes away and time to get back in tune with the snow shovels.

Bill just called.  He's in Moscow and says it's snowing there too.

I proudly announced to him that I had NOT uttered ONE cuss word this morning, not one, two or ANY, as a matter of fact.

Maybe it's my mini Lenten sacrifice.  

Or, maybe it's cuz none of those cuss words have done any good anyway.

The snow keeps coming.

Have I mentioned before that the calendar gods got it all screwed up this year?

This is really January 20, ya know.

When the calendar gods sent out this year's schedule, someone on the staff wasn't paying attention to business and messed up, piling the 2012 monthly sheets in the wrong order.

All this time we've been thinking we were two thirds of the way through March.  

We just weren't paying attention in January.  

For some reason---probably wishful thinking that we might just get a good weather deal for once in our lives---that bare ground and those nice walks through the woods failed to give us any inkling that we were actually experiencing a glitch in the schedule. 

We had March in January. 

Now, we're making up for January in March. 

Mother Nature never short-changes us when doling out winter misery.  We oldsters should know that by now.

But we still cling to hope.  As they say, hope springs . . . .

Damn, why do they use that word "spring"?

Oops, broke my Lenten discipline, and the day is young.

I might be weak on the vow of not cussing on this first day of spring, but I'm not bringing that plow out to redistribute today's snow and all those rocks back onto the lawn for anything.

This is Tuesday Twitterdum Day so a few news bits are in order.

I saw Rick and Ann Gehring yesterday at Yoke's.  Faithful readers may remember that Rick spent most of 2012 recovering from a massive stroke, including four months in hospitals between Florida and Washington.

Well, I'll tell you, he looks great.  He still has problems speaking, which for Rick, THAT IS A HANDICAP, but he's making the best of it.

We had a great time visiting and causing shopping-cart congestion near the pharmacy department.  

In the midst of that congestion, along came one of my former students and her family.  She proudly announced to us that she had earned her Master's Degree and now has her own nurse practitioner practice. 

She told us of being discouraged from even considering going to college because she'd probably never make it.  With that "advice," her determination kicked in.

Against some pretty formidable odds, she persevered and met a very impressive goal.

Our shopping-cart congestion yielded an inspiring moment for the three of us former teachers as we listened to her story. 

It's always nice to be reminded that the human spirit can conquer the most discouraging of odds.

Rick's recovery reflects a testament to that too.  

Speaking of conquering discouraging odds, those birds outside the window are singing a happy tune in spite of the January weather. 

Happy Winter.  Hope . . . . [fill in the blanks]

March Mooseness.

When this gal showed up for the second time in a week yesterday morning, I had a camera.  The photo isn't that great, but when a moose is on the loose in the country, caution is often a plus.

And, when you've been chased by a moose----in your car----both caution and respect rule the day.

Yes, years ago one summer morning back when our neighbor and friend, Connie,  was still cleaning our house on a weekly basis, I loaded up the kids in the Dodge Caravan and took off for a drive. 

The idea was to be gone during the two hours while Connie was working in our house.

We headed up Grouse Creek northeast of Sandpoint. 

When we arrived in the big meadow just before the turn-off to Grouse Falls, I looked to the left and saw a mama moose standing off by the trees with her baby.  

In those days, my camera had a limited range, so I whistled at Mama Moose in hopes she'd at least look my way for her portrait.

Well, Mama Moose put her head down and launched into a gallop our direction.

I quickly opened the car door, set my camera down, and gunned the motor. 

That old van did not have a lot of get-up and go at that moment, but Mama Moose sure did.  

As she was closing in on us,  the van seemed to crawl down that road.  

Fortunately, all the cylinders finally took hold,  and we moved on down the road with just enough time to stay ahead of Mama Moose.

That incident scared the dickens out of me, so much so that when we returned several minutes later through that meadow, I already had the pedal to the metal before hitting the straight-away.

Thankfully, Mama Moose had left the area.

I thought about the Grouse Creek incident yesterday as while trotting down the driveway with my camera, but one item was missing from this moose scene. 

This rough lookin' gal had no kid to protect.

She actually seemed pretty docile, finally trotting off toward Gary Finney's woods and jumping high enough to spare his fence.

I knew she was out there when I walked out the door---not because of dogs barking but because of horses looking intently at something across the road.

The flock of turkeys, which Kea discouraged from coming into our yard last fall, has spent the winter in Gary's woods, occasionally coming over to Taylor's field.

So, I thought it was turkeys holding the horses' attention at first, but then I spotted the big brown body in Taylor's field across the road.   

She AND the dogs were staring back at the horses.

There seemed to be a three-way stare-down in full progress, allowing me time to go back in for the camera.

Now, taking moose pictures seems to have become a cottage industry here in the Sandpoint area, especially town-moose pictures.

I'd estimate that each week at least five out of every six local newspapers (we don't get a paper on Monday) have a photo of what are probably the same three moose.

A mama and her babies have enjoyed a winter-long photo shoot, mainly in the west side of Sandpoint's residential area. 

This gal feels no need to protect her young, which are almost as big as she is.

I did hear, however,  that the school administrators have felt the need to protect their young a time or two when the trio shows up on the playgrounds.  

Kids just hate it when they have to stay inside for recess and can't go out to play with the wildlife. 

I'm sure the teachers hate it also when the wildlife cause the kids to have to stay inside for recess.

Anyway, I felt a need to take a picture of our country moose, just to let folks know that they're still inhabiting the "wild" areas as well as downtown backyards.

I'm just hoping our neighborhood moose doesn't hang around for too many photo ops. 

Happy Monday.