Yesterday, while on a mission, I drove past the Parnell Ranch on Selle Road where folks can see all those beautiful Clydesdales in their wonderful surroundings.
To my delight, a cart pulled by a team of ranch Clydes was moving along the roadside fenceline.
First, I slowed down and snapped a couple of photos out my passenger window.
Not satisfied with that perspective, I rolled forward a ways and parked so I could get out of the car and take pictures.
As the cart approached where I was standing, I could see smiles on the faces of a couple on the cart.
They didn't seem to mind my intrusion.
Soon, I realized that one of passengers seemed to know me.
Looking closer under the shadows that cap, I recognized a familiar face.
I knew her as DeeDee Myers when she was a student in my sophomore English class. Now married to Todd Radermacher, she goes by Dianna Radermacher.
What a treat to see her after all these years and in a familiar setting: aboard a cart pulled by two magnificent gentle giants.
And, an equal treat to meet her husband Todd who drives the West Coast Budweiser Clydesdale hitch.
We visited briefly, long enough for me to confess to DeeDee that I had never ridden the downtown trolley (in the painting by my mother below).
"Go park that car and get on board," she said. "We'll take you for a ride."
Unfortunately, I didn't have time to take her up on the offer, but we both agreed it would happen.
Dianna and Todd were simply out enjoying a morning just helping out the Parnell's with their horses, some of which have Budweiser connections.
I've added a link this morning, which features Todd providing some information about the Budweiser horses.
Once again, we who live in Selle Valley are so fortunate because we never know what kind of surprise we'll encounter along the roadsides.
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Dianna Radermacher, former driver of the popular Round Town Trolley of times past in Sandpoint. |
International Left-Handed Day . . . .
After most of my childhood and young adult life, spent learning that maybe I, along with about 10 percent of the population, probably wouldn't do well writing with a pencil or pen, cutting fabric, knitting or anything else involving dexterity, at last, I found an equalizer.
A typewriter keyboard.
This morning, as I bang out this blog posting, my keyboard could care less whether I'm left-handed or right-handed.
The two hands must work as a team to get this job done, and never since my first experience on a Royal typewriter keyboard in Ray Gapp's typing class, have I noticed that the right hand types better than the left.
Granted, my speed at pecking away at those keys has never hit triple digits, like some folks I know, but I've spent a lifetime typing on typewriters and computers and have never felt the handicap of being left-handed while doing so.
We southpaws, as some like to call us, have and do lead a life on a slightly different track, maybe even a different perspective from the other 90 percent of the world who were born right-handed.
From a young age, I heard that the world is generally not set up for us, and, thus, we must work a little harder with a pair of scissors, a pen, to tie our shoes, etc.
Some of us, depending on age, went through early training to use the right hand, even though the left hand is dominant in our brain. I just read that President Harry Truman was born left-handed but was "trained" to use his right hand.
Thankfully, I never experienced that draconian approach to learning how to write and tie my shoes.
I did, however, listen to teachers in grade school who singled us pathetic left-handed saps, often using the word "can't" or often showing frustration with fellow students who had to go through painful contortions to get their pencils to work.
When one of my early educators told us that the left-handers in the class would probably never learn to write on paper as well as the rest of the class, that made me mad AND determined.
Eventually, with practice, my handwriting didn't look all that bad. In fact, it's much prettier than my husband, who's right-handed.
When we first met and then went our separate ways for a few months, he would send me "LOVE" letters from Lousiana, always printed, never cursive.
So, in a response, I asked him why he did not write cursive.
A few days later, I received an envelope in the mail with no return address and with the most pathetic looking cursive writing I'd ever seen.
Upon opening the letter, the first paragraph basically said, "Now you know why I print all the time." To this day, Bill has kept up that habit.
Anyway, left-handedness has sometimes been a curse, but as I've grown older, I've rather liked the uniqueness of operating mostly "wrong-handed."
And, to know that at least a few Presidents of recent times, whom I've admired have signed documents with their left hands, I don't feel so bad.
Anyway, to all my left-handed friends out there, raise your left thumb up as a sign of pride.
Yesterday afternoon, when I paid another visit to Michele, the phenomenal bread maker, her daughter Sheena held up a basket filled with rocks---painted rocks----and told me to pick.
When I was having a hard time making a decision, she pulled out the rock below.
No more need to choose.
So, now I have a new rock with some special meaning.
Thanks, Sheena.
Happy Thursday to all.
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