Historically speaking

As mentioned yesterday, next year is Bonner County's 100th birthday. In 2009, the Northwest region will be recognizing the Bicentennial of British mapmaker and explorer David Thompson's arrival in North Idaho. In 1809, Thompson, along with his clerk Finan McDonald, came south from Canada to the shores of Lake Pend Oreille and set up a fur trading post for the Northwest Company near Hope. They called their structure the Kullyspell House.

The mere mention of either event often inspires lively discussion and a yearning for better awareness of our past history, which is exactly the intent of the two celebrations. Obviously, we all know that we didn't just accidentally show up here in North Idaho, and Bonner County didn't just happen. There are fascinating stories to go along with each of these significant events, and it takes dedicated people to record, preserve and share those stories.

That's where the works of the Bonner County Historical Society and its museum come in to the picture. Both entities will be playing a major role in carrying off each of these events, which will last over extended periods of time, focusing on several dimensions of the respective stories and occurring in a variety of venues. When they're over, the hope is that our residents and visitors will have a greater understanding and appreciation of who we are, why we're here and who impacted the events leading to our present-day community.

With that in mind, I'd like to use my blog today to launch an appeal. I'm passionately appealing to readers to join the Bonner County Historical Society. It's relatively inexpensive. In most cases, it involves no more than supporting the museum and its activities through your annual dues. In many cases, this move leads to an increased interest and desire to participate as a volunteer or simply to take part in the many museum offerings or programs that occur each year.

As a member of the museum's Board of Directors, I can tell you that I'm truly amazed at how well the museum does on its limited operating budget. Incoming funds for keeping the museum afloat vary from year to year and often depend on individual fundraisers or donations.

For the services and knowledge it offers the residents of Bonner County, the museum basically operates on a shoestring. I can also tell you that the curator works long, long hours for low pay and no fringe benefits. Ann Ferguson is a talented, knowledgeable and dedicated treasure. I call her a treasure because of what she gives to Bonner County's history in comparison to what is given to her to do her job. She's never complaining, always accommodating, always professional.

It seems to me that if we want our history to be preserved, we need to invest in that preservation. I also believe that if more people were aware of what goes on at the museum rather than passively accepting that it's simply there, they would be just as amazed as I am with the abundance of fascinating knowledge its programs and its collections provide. Much of this continues to happen because of volunteer efforts. And, those efforts will continue because of the folks who love to devote their time to the myriad of museum needs.

Nonetheless, if we could entice many more people to join or support the Historical Society----whether they live in Bonner County or if they reside anywhere else but still have ties to Bonner County---the museum and its staff could stay afloat financially and possibly even begin to thrive.

At times like this, I think of the old hymn, "If Everyone Lit Just One Little Candle, What a Bright World This Would Be." A grass roots effort to financially support the museum could certainly brighten the museum's future and provide a little more job security for the lady who so marvelously represents and drives the activities of our history center.

Here are the facts if you want to join or even donate: Membership dues and contributions are nice tax deductions. The annual dues include the following: Senior/student--$10; Individual--$15; Family---$25; Supporting---$30---Contributing---$50; Associate---$100; Sponsor---$250; Patron--$500.

Other possibilities include memorials sent to the museum in the name of a loved one or friend who has passed away. Or, just an out-and-out donation would be appreciated at any time. Checks should be made out to: Bonner County Historical Society. The address is 611 South Ella Avenue, Sandpoint, Idaho 83864.

If you wish to ask questions about membership or anything dealing with the museum, you can send email to bchsmuseum@imbris.net. You can learn more about the place by visiting the website at (www.bonnercountyhistory.org).

We have some major events of historical significance to celebrate in this area over the next three years. But, it's an understatement to say history is unfolding day by day and probably even more of an understatement to say that it takes time and effort to record those happenings. Let's help our local folks who dedicate so much of their time to preserving the history of our families, schools, businesses and organizations.

Join the Bonner County Historical Society, and tell 'em Marianne sent you. Every time I hear that a new member joined the Society because of this blog posting, I promise to contact you personally and extend my sincere thanks. I believe in the cause that much.

Thanks for your consideration of this appeal.

His story or mine?

I've got to write quickly this morning because the Bonner County Historical Society Board of Directors is meeting at 8 a.m. Bill told me about some of the topics we're going to discuss this morning because he's serving on the Bonner County Centennial Committee, which met yesterday. Our county will be celebrating its first century of existence in 2007, so a committee has been formed to plan the celebration.

Yesterday's discussion involved setting up a website and possibly organizing a blog to open up avenues of information flow from throughout the county. There is some concern, however, that maybe not all the information shared will be accurate, which is a problem any time you're dealing with history. As a person who writes a lot of stories based on historical events, I can relate to these concerns.

For example, Sam Wormington, our friend and the first manager of Schweitzer Mountain Resort, came to our house recently to show us an article written in a new regional magazine. The slick-looking, full-color periodical included several features about North Idaho culture---from Coeur d'Alene to Bonners Ferry. One article focused on Schweitzer. In a segment detailing the resort's early history, several major mistakes appeared within just a few paragraphs.

One included a misspelling of Sam's name. These days he's known as "Worthington." Until the magazine was published, he's been known by himself and everyone else as Sam Wormington. Another sentence told of how preliminary construction began in 1961, two years before Schweitzer opened. Sam disputes that and says 1963 was the correct year.

It further states that Spokane's Dr. Jack Fowler and architect Grant Grosbeck (incorrectly named "Jerry") stopped on their way home from a skiing vacation to stretch their legs and "while staring up at the snow-covered peaks, as ski buffs are wont to do, their eyes fell upon a large natural bowl nestled high in the mountains above. It struck them like a bolt of lightning . . . ."

When I wrote my history of Schweitzer in an article for Sandpoint Magazine, I found a different perspective offered by Jack Fowler. My notes taken from an interview with Dr. Fowler and Spokane radio personality Ross Woodward tell of the same situation indicated above. The realization occurred in April, 1960, without Mr. Grosbeck. In Fowler's words: I made a stop just beyond Hope. While the family stretched, I took in the scene. By then, the weather was clear. There it was, in all its shimmering white splendor. It was cradled in a protective bowl, which had preserved it into the change of season, while the pack on the adjoining ridges had melted away.

In reality, Jack Fowler later discussed his ideas about this potential ski area to his friend Grant Grosbeck over dinner. They visited the mountain a few weeks later over Memorial Day weekend in 1960. Fowler's detailing of that event appear in these notes from my museum research: We drove to the base of the mountain, took backpacks and sleeping bags and headed out for the eight-mile hike following a logging road for six hours. Wore our ski boots.

"When we finally reached the basin, the blisters on our feet were the size of silver dollars! We made camp below the Basin on a ridge we named Pea Soup Ridge. The name referred to the dried material we reconstituted and heated over a charcoal fire that night. The label called it pea soup. The taste bore no resemblance. It was terrible!"

The next morning we explored the basin. Hiked to the top of the South Ridge. Elevation at the highest part is 6,389 feet. Fowler and Grosbeck reached about 6,000 feet and then descended. Strapped on their skis and for the first time actually skied Schweitzer Basin. It was mushy snow, but it was the end of May. "That was important to our dream of establishing a ski area."

Disputing the mistaken items appearing in the recently published magazine may appear trivial or much ado about nothing, but when we're trying to chronicle "accurate" history for generations to come, each succeeding dilution or slight distortion of facts is critical. The original event gradually modifies to the point that the real story is barely recognizable. It works much like the old kid game of "gossip."

Therefore, it is essential that anyone recording or sharing history take time to check and double check every fact and especially ensure that their information is not taken out of context. That involves a lot of reading and careful research. The blog has great potential, but, as indicated in yesterday's meeting, let's hope information shared comes from credible sources, that names are spelled correctly and that dates, place names, perspectives etc. are accurate.

We owe this meticulous approach to the people who make the history and to those of future generations who will read the history. If everyone participating on the blog adheres to those basics, we've can have a lot of fun with the blog and dramatically expand on our county's history bank.

Family Foto Fun . . . .

The Kootenai National Wildlife Refuge is a mighty pretty place for bird watching, biking and escaping. It' five miles northwest of Bonners Ferry. Brother Jim, sisters Laurie and Barbara biking along the auto-tour on Laurie's birthday, April 7.

Jim and Laurie capturing some beauty of the bird refuge near Bonners Ferry.

Barbara on one of her many photographic stops at the National Wildlife Refuge. It's hard to find a bad photographic setting there.

The camera-bike crew arrives at the National Wildlife Refuge at Bonners Ferry: Jim, Barbara and Laurie Tibbs.

Jim, the cartoonist, shows off his new video strategy of panoramic photography---with bike tripod attached.

That's the way the ball bounces

Willie was driving from Nampa to Boise yesterday afternoon when he called with some big news. Even though the cell phone connection weakened at times, I think I got the main message which began with:

"Adam Morrison is going pro."

"Yeah, I just heard that on the KREM news," I told him.

Of course, Gonzaga's Adam Morrison going pro would be important to Willie who follows virtually all things sports, especially basketball and baseball. This year, he enjoyed a quick transition from NCAA March Madness to April's Mariner Mania. So, his TV remote has hardly been idle since he moved back to Boise to be with Debbie, who's been driving to Nampa regularly to work as recreation counselor at the Idaho Youth Ranch troubled teens home.

Willie had more important news, though, and it involved a TV and sports. Seems the Idaho Press Tribune in Nampa has a sports TV station playing continuously in its sports bureau. So, that means Willie can leave home without the remote and still keep up on the Mariners, the Cubs, and anybody else who's showing up on ESPN, et. al.

He started his first day as a sports reporter for the Idaho Press Tribune. I don't think he worked regular hours yesterday cuz he's gonna be going until midnight on his shift to cover daily sports happenings for 17 high schools across the Treasure Valley. Right now, it's a fill-in position, but if all goes right, he'll likely go full time.

An added benefit emerged yesterday when someone walked up behind him in the office and said, "Hi, Willie." It was Bryan Evans, his Sandpoint High School Bulldogs basketball teammate and classmate. Seems Bryan works in the advertising department at the paper. So, the ball bounced, and some old friends are working once again on a little different team.

And, speaking of teams, Willie (born April 1, 1977) and Chad Berkeley (born March 31, 1977) both played city recreational league basketball on the same team when they were about 12 years old. Later, Chad went the way of soccer and Cedar Post newspaper editor. Willie went the way of basketball and worked as a sports reporter on Chad's Cedar Post team.

The two reconnected this past weekend for a social evening in Boise. Chad and his fiancee Andrea moved to North Boise from Santa Barbara earlier this month. Chad's gonna take up flying helicopters. He's already started, and he's hoping to complete the flying school later this year. From what Willie reported yesterday, the reunion of the two teammates was a "good time had by all."

So, that's the way the ball bounces down Boise way, and it looks like some fun times ahead for all of our Sandpoint boys. I couldn't be any prouder.

Why I like spring

On this Easter Monday, I can finally write about spring. I like it a lot. Here are my reasons:

The first blue sky of 2006 without a cloud.
Red and gold finches fluttering about in the feeder outside the window.
Red-winged black birds, robins, ducks, geese, grackles and chickadees auditioning for the Mormon Tabernacle Choir.
Promises of future pinks, oranges, purples, exploding from newly-rising buds.
Resurrection is good in many ways.

Grass, rebelliously reviving from winter's sedateness, promising daily stand-ups to the Sears Craftsman.
The first distinct smell of soon-to-be mown lawn.
Green grass, without those damnable dandelions of May.
Daffodils bursting open their yellowness, even on Easter Sunday.
Yellow daffodils enhancing that deep green grass.
Aspen and willow buds ready to blast open their greenery for another year.

Hope for a release of those manure-mud tags when I curry my geldings.
A respite from the daily muck-down when Kiwi comes to the house.
Good bye to ducks, hello to rototiller in the disappearing garden pond.
Joyous good bye to driveway puddles.

Good moods. Good thoughts. Good work ahead.

Good bye, winter!
I won't miss you.

I like spring.
I'm glad it's here.
I've missed it.
I promise to make it feel really welcome this year.

Hallelujah!

Good Grief: good visiting, good food

If ya call ahead, Kathryn will bake those cookies. I still haven't tasted one, but next time I'm headed for Good Grief, Idaho, I'm gonna call. After all, when they have white chocolate, oatmeal, cranberry and pecans all mixed together, they've got to be good. Yesterday, when I asked her if she had any cookies to go with my coffee, she mentioned macadamia nuts but no cookies.

That's when I learned to call ahead. We hadn't planned to dine at Good Grief. We'd left Sandpoint and the rain to go explore the area around a couple of abandoned mines near the Canadian border. Bill was scouting out new geocaching possibilities. He'd put out caches at Meadow Creek, Copper Falls and the American Girl mine, so yesterday he was checking out the prospects for the Bethlehem and Tunsten mines.

We didn't make it to the Tungsten mine because the road up there turned from a hint of water trickling down the middle to a full-fledged stream cutting its way through foot-deep snow. After walking about half a mile, we turned around and headed back to the pickup. The next stop, turned out more productive----just half a mile up a bare road and there stood the old mine shack, with a claim scrawled in paint, apparently by the Brackenbusch brothers.

The shack was surrounded by cement blocks which had been used for folks to sit around a campfire. A few feet away and over a small hill, the mine shaft was closed off and a good-sized stream came flowing from beneath the door. Up above, Bill found a large hole in the ground leading to the mine shaft. It had been cordoned off by a metal fence, but that hadn't stopped someone from throwing the Forest Service sign to the bottom.

I think Bill is planning to put a cache there. It's a pretty area, especially nice for walking. We also drove up the Hall Mountain Road, where we startled two yearling moose, probably twins, who were standing at rest on an embankment just off the road. They started up the hillside and took a moment to check us out before disappearing. Bill and Kiwi found an established cache a few hundred feet up the road from the moose. He said the place was covered with signs of moose and elk.

Next, we decided to go back by way of Meadow Creek, but I wanted a cup of coffee by then. That's when I found out about ordering ahead for the cookies. I also learned that Kathryn knows about geocaches. Bill, who'd been sitting in the pickup, was quite pleased to know of her interest. So, after visiting the Forest Service picnic ground with all the fish sculptures alongside the Moyie River, we decided to go back to Good Grief for a bite to eat.

We enjoyed much more than good food. We were tempted to order the Good Grief pizza, which could rival a Second Avenue jukebox special any day. Kathryn brought it out to Mike and Dolly who'd shown up for lunch and had such a good time visiting, they decided to stay for dinner. The Good Grief (about $17) has the works: if we have it, you get it. That includes four kinds of cheese too.

I passed up the temptation, knowing I have to go to Mass today. My stomach doesn't always react to my weakness for food. So, I had the turkey bacon melt, while Bill enjoyed a huge chili cheeseburger with fries. All the time, we participated in the neighborhood gathering which seems to be a regular event for Kathryn.

We met Bill, a retired Marine and single action shooting friend to our Mayor Ray Miller. He enjoyed cracking his one-liners. We learned that he doesn't like or dislike horses (even though he wears a nice Western hat). He also holds a healthy skepticism for journalists. He's traveled several times to China, and he was pleased to learn of Bill's association with the Boy Scouts, since he's an old Sea Scout leader himself.

Now, Mike and Dolly have been living along the river in their Fifth Wheel for more than two years. Now that they know how much they truly love it up there, they'll break ground for a house this summer. Mike's retired, but Dolly runs the Dollar Value store in downtown Bonners Ferry.

As for Kathryn, she's been cooking and taking care of stray cats that wander to the restaurant for a little over two years. Her sister-in-law works at the Border; her brother's a retired ex-cop from California. Kathryn gets up every morning at 5:30, and starts cooking the staples, like soups and cookies. Then, she takes a nice walk and later opens the restaurant. I heard she also puts on quite a barbecue on the Fourth of July after the Good Grief area residents have marched in their short parade up at the Border crossing.

Could be we might keep the Fourth of July at Good Grief as a distinct possibility on our schedule. In the meantime, I'm keeping my Good Grief Grill & Grocery menu, which has Kathryn's telephone number, and I'll order ahead for those cookies the next time we head up there. I have a feeling that, since Kathryn suggested that Bill hide a cache somewhere around the restaurant, that it may be sooner rather than later.

Not today, though, cuz Kathryn's taking Easter off. Happy Easter to all, especially the friendly folks we met in Good Grief yesterday.

Happy Easter

A long, long time ago, I remember a discussion that took place in our living room. It had to do with the meaning of Easter, and we were very young. When quizzed on why Easter was important, one member of our clan simply replied, "Easter's for the chickens." At the time, when we were all a very Catholic family, the response was considered a wrong answer, although it has remained a family classic for years.

If I were asked today, what Easter's for, I'm probably spew out a similar answer. It's for the ducks. I looked out my window a few minutes ago and saw half a dozen mallard males swimming in my garden. Maybe Noah knows something about this and maybe Noah would understand why we've had rain for nearly every day of April, most of March and a major portion of February.

I don't know if it's hit the 40-day count yet, but at its present rate, I do know that I heard our KREM-TV weather man Tom Sherry announce two days ago that we'd already had more rain in the first 13 days of April than we'd had in the entire month last year. And, except for a few brief breaks, it's been raining continually ever since his assessment. That steady downpour has turned my garden into a nice swimming pool for the ducks.

Anyway, back to this Easter stuff, if it's for the chickens, God bless the chickens. If it's for Jesus Christ's resurrection, God bless the day. If it's for families to get together for church, brunch and a nice ham dinner afterward, God bless the families. If it's for dressing up in brand new spring fashions and going to a parade in some big city, that deserves a blessing too. If it's for spending a quiet day walking in the woods and beholding all that God has created, that's truly a blessing.

As adults, most of us who are raised Christian know the story of Christ's crucifixion and subsequent resurrection. We know of the characters---the denials, the alleged betrayals, etc. As children, it seems reasonable these days that chickens might come into the mix. After all, where do those painted eggs originate? I'd wager that at the time of the great revelation in our household, the responder was much more astute than a lot of kids who thought their bottled milk came from that truck driven by milkman. I'm sure in a lot of cases, no cow ever showed up in the picture for many kids until they got a little older and understood stuff about farms.

In our present household, we have varying traditions about Easter. My husband attends church several times during Lent. He's been down there at the Presbyterian Church almost every Thursday night when they serve soup and then have their service. Of course, he's there every Sunday also. In my case, I've been to Mass once in the past several weeks. My mother, my sisters and I will go to Mass in Bonners Ferry tomorrow and have breakfast at the Chic n' Chop Restaurant. (Hmmm. There's those chickens again). Then, Bill will join the rest of us for a ham dinner tomorrow afternoon at the Colburn farm.

I do not believe that God keeps score the same way humans do. I believe that God figures if we're doing the best we can to live out the basic principles of His teachings in our individual ways, he's not gonna strike us down for how many times we don't show up at church. I also don't believe we need to confess every error of our ways. This demand was pounded into us as children where I grew up, and I had a problem with it then. They'd already taught us that God knew everything. That basic lesson of God's ominscience came before they taught us that we needed to confess everything. Maybe if they'd turned it around, I would have had a different attitude.

Somehow, the need for confessing to a priest didn't quite make sense to me. Besides, through my religious teachings, I've been made to feel enough guilt to last several lifetimes. I always feel terrible the minute I know I've done something wrong. Since those teachings of long ago, during my childhood when the Church ruled all its flock with an iron hand, I've watched what has gone on in my church---among its leaders, many of whom were designated to listen to and comment on the sins of their flock.

A lot has changed since that long ago proclamation of Easter and the chickens. It may have been the wrong answer that day in our household, but I'm wondering what God was thinking when He heard it come from the mouth of an innocent child. I'll bet he chuckled a bit. I also wonder what God is thinking when He watches the hypocrisy which gets spewed across this world in the name of religion. I'll bet he's shed a tear or two.

I think God is much more forgiving than many humans. I believe that He smiles upon those who are doing their best both inside and outside the church buildings. If they're treating their fellow man, the Earth and all the wonderful beasts on this planet with respect---even the chickens at Easter, I'll bet He's smiling.

Happy Easter to all wherever you are and however you choose to celebrate.

Guestbook stuff

This past week, the web gurus have been dealing with some technical glitches in the websites where my (www.mariannelove.com) is hosted. In my case, the guestbook was inaccessible. This morning I could get into the guestbook but couldn't access my administration window. As mentioned a while back, I have a new guestbook because of the inordinate amount of spam that was blitzing the original.

So, once again, if any of you blog readers have signed before, I invite you to sign again, especially if you're a Sandpoint High graduate. I'd love for the guestbook to serve as a message board, of sorts, for SHS alumni. It would be great if folks sign in and give a few brief highlights of their lives after high school. The more the merrier because I'm guessing other graduates like to read that stuff as much as I do. So, sign in. Plus, you'll find several items of interest, especially under "Love Notes," which I've published during the past year or two.

This morning when I did access the guestbook, the following entry appeared. I thought I'd post it here on the blog for now, since I can't write back to this lady. If anyone knows information of interest to her, you can either send it to me or just post it on the guestbook. Eventually, the technical glitch will be corrected, and I can send it to her myself.

Here's her entry: I wonder if you ever heard any stories about the "DP" family that lived on the McNall farm in the mid'50s. I was the middle child--4 years old when we arrived in Sandpoint. We lived there a few years and then moved to Cleveland, Ohio. A few years ago, one of my sisters, Mom, and I made a trip back to Sandpoint to visit the McNalls. The people of Sandpoint and the McNalls welcomed us to America. Julia Pojuda Ruggeri of Austin, Tex.

Now, I know Robin McNall checks in from time to time to see the latest on Kiwi, my Border Collie. Robin thinks of herself as Kiwi's grandma, and rightly so. She and Kiwi's real mom, Sam, nurtured Miss Kiwi through her beginning stages of life. Anyway, if Robin or any of the McNalls has some information to share with this lady and if I can learn some more of her story of coming to America, I'd be happy to elaborate in a future posting.

I promise to all McNalls that if they respond to this morning's appeal, I won't tell one detail of the day one of their Shorthorn's turned the annual countywide 4-H picnic at the old fairgrounds ---next to the Moran Addition---into a circus. I think the errant cow's swimming venture in the Pend Oreille River has been well documented enough in old newspapers and in a chapter in my first book. So, there's no need for me to repeat the story and embarrass the family any more.

Speaking of McNalls and Miss Kiwi, she says she'd sure like to see it quit raining so she can go out there to Curlesses to learn the difference between her collection of Folgers coffee cans and Randy's herd of little lambs. Coffee cans are getting old. SO IS THE RAIN.

May you all have a good Friday.

Tobias Carlson reflections

I can remember when he used to sit in the back seat of his sophomore honors English class and lean his long body off to the side so I could see his face whenever he had something to say. He stretched a lot taller even after those days, it seems. I'm guessing he must stand about 6 feet, 6 inches by now---or maybe I've gotten shorter. By any means, I have to look up whenever I run into Toby Carlson these days.

And, it's been a while. I heard from him yesterday, though, when he contributed the following comment on my recent posting about "Developing blues."

Marianne, go down and check out our old lake place in the Moran Addition. Someone bought it for $1.8M, tore down the house, barn and corrals (and tore out the apple trees and the Italian prune tree), and they're building six (6) houses on the property. We rode bikes down there the other day, and they've moved fill around and lopped trees so that even the property contours are unidentifiable.

The only thing that remains the same is the wonderful view of the river, the bridge and the mountain. And I suspect the trains sound the same at night rumbling over the bridge (a few minutes after they've shaken the foundations of Seasons at Sandpoint).

I remember admiring that place, where the Carlson family lived, from the days when I used to go visit the Whittaker family who lived in the same neighborhood. Those were the days when everyone talked about the Whittaker "Mansion" down on the river at the edge of the Moran Addition. At the time, we figured it was biggest house in Sandpoint. A rich Californian had moved here, had bought the Pend Oreille Sport Shop and had hired local contractors to build it. Let's see, could that be the McCormick Bros.?

I wonder how many residents of Sandpoint would know what Toby or I speak of when referrring to the "Moran Addition." The Morans are a longtime family here in Sandpoint. If I remember right from the days of listening to Joy O'Donnell doing her sleuthing down at the museum, one of the Moran ancestors served as chief of police here during the early Twentieth Century. I taught Patty Moran, who was one of his descendants. Seems like her dad worked for the postal service.

I'm bettin' anyone who's moved here in the past twenty years wouldn't know where to go if they were sent sight seeing in that "new" part of town where the "rich" folks lived in their fancy homes. It's located south of the Lutheran Church and west of the museum. At the time, we'd also hear people talk about "Mortgage Hill" out there just east of Dover. A doctor or two lived up there. Now, ya have to drive a bit higher than Mortgage Hill to see its present day counterpart, called Ravenwood.

Anyway, back to Toby. I think I'll be seeing him if his class is having a reunion this summer. Thirty years ago he graduated from SHS and went on to college. I don't know where, but he must've done well enough to become a lawyer. He spent several years in Saudi Arabia before moving back to the United States and eventually settling in Spokane.

Seems like he brought a piece of Hadrian's Wall back with him and showed it to Joy, who'd also taught him English when he was a senior. I also remembering sampling one of his crepes during his entrepreneurial days at Northtown Mall. His wife Tani is part of that McCormick Bros. clan who, I think, built that mansion next to his childhood home. I taught Tani too.

Let's say the brain pool between those two is pretty substantial. Tani earned a degree in English and taught for a number of years on the East Coast. Last I heard (cuz I haven't heard directly from Toby until yesterday), he was serving in the Washington State Attorney General's office in Spokane and making a trip or two up here to the Hope area to enjoy the family houseboat.

Toby's kinda special to me cuz he wrote a testimonial on the back of my second book. I didn't even have to pay him to do it, and it was even very nice. Plus, it's a bit haunting when you think of the Sandpoint that Toby describes in his blog posting as compared with what he described for my book just ten years ago. He was living in Arizona at the time:

"Marianne Love's writing is pure escapism: it allows us to escape for a while from the frenzy, cynicism and noise of the 'modern' world into a slower, richer, funnier and altogether more authentic place. Those of us who were fortunate enough to grow up in Mrs. Love's Idaho are able through her writing to recapture the magic of those days."

I guess after rereading his comments for the first time in a few years, I've come to a couple of conclusions. A lot can happen to a place within a decade. I wonder what we'll be observing ten years from now in our hometown. And, I guess I'd better keep on writing, so we all can continue to escape through our memories of better times in our hometown.

Thanks, Toby, for continued inspiration.

In loving memory . . .

Harold Tibbs

April 12, 1916--Nov. 21, 2003

Husband, dad, granddad, great-granddad, friend

Harold Tibbs, a lifelong horse/animal lover and consummate story teller was born April 12, 1916, in Sheridan, Mont., to William and Iva Tibbs. His parents, both teachers, eventually moved the family to Bonners Ferry, Idaho, where Harold’s equine interest began. During the summers, he rode horses belonging to Kootenai Indian Tribe interpreter/elder Simon Francis. These experiences sealed his great respect for the Native American culture. After graduating from Bonners Ferry High School in 1934, Harold fulfilled his dream of becoming a cowboy by riding 40,000 acres of cattle range while employed at the Millard Easter Ranch in Montana’s Madison Valley.

He also worked in the woods around Bonners Ferry and as a truck driver for Big Lakes Logging Co. in Northern California. A horse logging accident near Bonners Ferry resulted in Harold spending the rest of his life limping from the pain of a broken leg that did not heal properly. He also contributed to the war cause as a civilian at Farragut where he delivered tools. He often told of being the last civilian at the World War II naval training station and having to check himself out of the facility. For 33 years, he worked for the City of Sandpoint as its water filter operator, frequently enhancing his knowledge with water treatment short courses at the University of Idaho.

As a person who loved the land, Harold seldom left his ranches on North Boyer and alongside HWY 95 just north of the “two halves of beef” at Colburn. Nonetheless, he’s known worldwide in Appaloosa horse circles because of the time he took his stallion Toby I to the first-ever National Appaloosa Show in 1948 at Lewiston and came home with a passel of trophies, including the performance championship. His name and story appear in several books, including the Farnam book about Appaloosas, Idaho Rodeo by Coeur d’Alene author Louise Shadduck and the recently released coffee table book Spotted Pride where he and Toby are featured in the first chapter.

For several decades, Harold raised registered Herefords and worked hard, through the Bonner County Cattlemen’s Assoc., helping organize annual bull sales at the local livestock auction company. He also helped with the early rodeos in the Sandpoint area when they were held on Great Northern Road and later on Baldy Road. He was an active member of the Sandpoint Saddle Club and the Bonner County Horsemen’s Assoc.

An outdoorsman and marksman who enjoyed rebuilding rifles and constructing black powder weapons, Harold bagged his share of wildlife, including elk, deer and antelope. He also loved to fish. From these experiences came many a story to swap with family and with his special group of friends on Saturday mornings at the Pend Oreille Sport Shop. Harold was a practical genius who could construct or fix just about anything, whether it was a fence or an old tractor. He gave of himself quietly for his neighbors and once received recognition from the Eagles Lodge with its annual humanitarian award.

Most of all, he was proud of his family, having taken on the responsibilities of three small children with his marriage to Virginia in 1954. The couple later “added to the litter with Batch No. 2,” but all six children, Mike, Kevin, Marianne, Barbara, Laurie and Jim, considered him their dad. His influence and many guiding principles helped direct each child to a successful life.

Harold and his 1940 Ford

Developing blues

Well, it's been a while since I've returned to one theme that has dominated this blog since it first began---that's the developing blues. Seems they just keep comin' on and they just keep getting bigger and curiouser.

About a year ago, I talked about piles of dirt/mud showing up in the neighborhood. Well, one of those major dirt settings was over on Boyer across from Roberson's. Now, from out of the mud have risen five beautifully-constructed homes. More are one the rise in Grandview Estates, a walled-community with grand and close-up views of the north end of Sandpoint's airport runway. I've sincerely admired the organization and the products produced by this developer. He knows how to go about a project and complete it efficiently and tastefully.

Nonetheless, I cling dearly to that Mark Twain attitude that if he could just move that subdivision somewhere besides right next to the runway where the leer jets are landing loudly, the long-range outlook might feel a bit more secure. People are moving into those houses, though, so maybe they've been constructed with some sort of top-secret bomb-proof and sound-proof materials that shield all outside intrusions to one's peace and quiet.

Big piles of dirt and big equipment lie in wait for better weather on my folks' former place. I'm sure as soon as we have three dry days in a row, feverish activity to build all those townhouses will begin up there. I wonder how tall those townhouses will be and how much of the view they will shield from the folks living in Nick's subdivision to the west (Mrs. Kinney's old place).

This weekend, while it rained, we went for a drive and Bill showed me a couple of places north of town which are bound to bring in folks willing to pay more than the $400,000 I've heard quoted for those airport runway homes. These are exclusive country settings "with covenants," and they're located on land once occupied by hard-working farm folk.

In one case, Bill thinks it could have been a homesteader who acquired a piece of property after the Humbird Lumber Co. days. To find this development, you can drive the Hidden Valley Road (that's the one with the half a church on the right before you get to Selle Road). Once there, you can check out the sign and have your pick of 20-acre lots with lots of mountain rock and preassigned homesites (in some parcels, the homesite is the only part that's not straight up and down).

Better get out there quickly, though, because only six lots of the seven remain, and they start at $350,000. In the meantime, the resident moose will continue standing and staring at you in its native habitat wondering what the heck is happening to its homesite.

The first parcel already has one of the larger log homes I've seen around these parts. It's in the midst of construction by the Feist brothers. I still wonder why people need 6-7,000 square foot homes. By the time you're all moved in, you can probably plunk down at least $1.5 million to live back in there. It's a nice drive, and if you're going to see it, you'd probably better go now cuz it may just have a gate on it when everybody's moved in.

Then, if you want some more of the same, only more open and with some spectacular views of the Selkirks, go have a cup of coffee at the Blue Heron (formerly the Blue Moon Cafe) off HWY 95 at the Pack River Road. You can sit in there, drink your coffee and look out those big windows across Walsh Lake and see that once pastoral hillside beneath the mountains all dug up and ready to go for a brand-new exclusive community.

I've heard the completed set-up will include lots of space for horse riding, hiking, etc. Folks will own their homes, and everyone who buys in to the concept will have access to common recreational ground owned by nobody but the developer, I spose.

It's happening----the Aspenization, the Sun Valleyitis, the Big Fork land jabs, the Tahoe Fever. It's hit Sandpoint, and it doesn't look like there's any cure for the Developing Blues. They say we need to stock the cupboards with tunafish and bottled water for the Bird Flu.

I'm wondering what prescription will be suggested for the common folk to survive this Landemic. Seems like it's gonna last a long time. And, it could be tunafish and Western Family bottled water are all some folks will be able to afford, once it's run its course.

My man wins the Master's

I don't spend a lot of time watching golf, but I did yesterday. It's a neat television sport because you can get stuff done and still tune in during the work breaks. So, when it did quit raining yesterday, I alternated outdoor projects with moments in front of the TV watching my man Phil Mickelson win his second green jacket.

Hadn't paid too much attention to the leaders except for the day that one of Bill's favorites, V.J. Singh, was leading. I have to admit being a terrible person for refusing to get excited when Tiger Wood wins tournaments. I'm not a fan of his. Granted, he probably is one of the greatest golfers the sport has ever known, but I've never cared for his attitude and there's something about the careful molding of a person from almost the day they're born that bothers me.

Tiger is a product of two overly goal-oriented parents. They've done a good job directing him down all the right paths and certainly they must derive great satisfaction from their pymalion efforts to create a larger-than-life athlete through which they can live vicariously. Granted, all parents wish the best for their kids, but somehow it seems to me that if the kid finds his or her true talents through independent discovery and through trial and error, the result is all the more satisfying.

That's why I like Phil Mickelson. He did receive encouragement from his parents, but that encouragement came to a young man who loved the sport of golf. He has worked himself up through the ranks and has earned his distinctions because of persistence and a hunger to achieve. Through it all, there's always the smile and always the willingness to bounce back from adversity. He seems like a true gentleman of golf-----a guy you'd like to know.

Anyway, I enjoyed watching him yesterday as he played a steady game of golf with his usual can-do attitude and smile. Bill thinks I like him cuz he's a leftie. Well, that's a good reason because I like lefties. We're a special breed who do things our own unique way, but Phil Mickelson offers a lot more to golf than his southpaw swing. Until a couple of years ago, he was known as the best golfer who'd never won a major tournament. Then, he won the Master's.

Yesterday's win came off a victory the week before where he came in first by 13 strokes. Not bad. The announcers said it was only the second time in history that a Master's Champion had won the tournament immediately preceding the Augusta tournament, which, by the way, offers the most beautiful setting imaginable for a sporting event. Some day I'd like to see that place during this time of the year when all those perennials put on such a show.

Bill likes Tiger. He also likes Davis Love III (I wonder why), but he seemed happy when he came off from a hike up Greenhorn to hear that Phil Mickelson had won. And, I'd have to say that if he likes Davis Love because of the last name, he SHOULD like "Phil" also, cuz if ya go to that Greek culture where Pygmalion molded his perfect woman from ivory and had her come alive, you'd learn that "Phil" means "Love."

So, not a bad day for the Love family golf fans.

"Triple Treat " Turns Four

Jacob, Justine and Grace,
The triplets
were born in Samoa
in 2002

They celebrated their first and second birthdays on the Pacific Island
before moving to a little town called Plummer

In 2005, the Plummer Community Hall served as setting
for birthday No. 3. Many family members from Samoa and the United States
were on hand to help the three turn three.

Today, they are four and spending their special day in Seattle.
Word on the street is that they'll go to the Seattle Zoo for
this very special day.

From here in North Idaho, we family members wish Jacob, Justine and Grace
a most happy day. May it be filled with much magic, many
exotic animals and lots of chocolates.

Happy Birthday, Triplets!

See their pictures below.

Principal Becky

Like the family into which she married, Becky Kiebert is making history. After all, her husband's Uncle Kermit served as director of the Idaho Transportation Department under Gov. Cecil Andrus. He's now one of my husband Bill's good friends in the woods industry and is currently serving as a member of the Bonner County Centennial Committee. Until last year, Kermit's wife Susan served as president of the Bonner County Historical Society.

The Kiebert family is long-established and respected in Bonner County as good, hard-working citizens. Plus, they're a lot of fun. I went to school with Becky's mother-in-law Kay Kiebert. Her hubby's aunt Ruthann Nordgaarden is one of my classmates. Their cousins, Rita and Allen, both graduated a year ahead of me. Then, shall we talk about the Andersons of Selle or the Dunns of Hope. How about John Burkhardt? The list goes on of family members who've left their mark here over decades, extending far beyond my lifetime.

So, it would stand to reason that Becky would join the ranks of family members and make history as the first woman principal at Sandpoint High School. The news of her selection was released yesterday, and I'm sure by now, most of Sandpoint knows it through the grapevine and the newspapers. As one who worked with Becky for a number of years at Sandpoint High School, I wish her well.

Serving as principal to the county's largest high school is no cakewalk. I saw more than enough evidence of that reality during my 33 years of teaching there. That span included Dick Sodorff, who probably lasted the longest of any principal (from the early '60s to the early '80s), Tom Keough, Jim Wilund, Chris Gorchels, Phil "Air" Sword, A.C. Woolnough, and my last year with Pat Valliant and Mary Steele.

Now, I could write some stories about some of the ups and downs encountered while working with those folks. Come to think of it, I have. In my new book, folks will read about Dick and the famous pie-eating calamity, Jim and the unforgettable Tony Bottarini story, A.C. and the decision to return to teaching, among others. Not every story shows these folks in their best light, but I'll refrain from spilling too many beans.

A high school principal cannot be all things to all people; therein lies the challenge. In managing a teaching staff and working with young people, the person in charge must walk a fine line while exerting leadership. Principals must clearly define their philosophies but be willing to compromise when suggestions are offered. They should work for inclusion and support of all staff members and work hard to avoid divisiveness by circling wagons.

They should continually recognize the efforts of their staff members and their students who come from all walks of life. In essence, the principal is the head cheerleader. That means keeping in touch with the community and remaining a visible symbol of their school. Consistency is another important key to success, as are knowledge, common sense, integrity and continued effort to keep up with sensible educational trends.

I wouldn't want to be walking in Becky's shoes right now, but I will say that from my own experience of working with her, she's got the heart, the intellect, the drive and a wide swath of educational experience to tackle this monumental job. In addition, she's worked in the local system long enough to have seen its idiosyncrasies and to know how to react when a familiar old problem may start rising within the ranks.

Becky's husband Mason is one of my former students----a smart one too. He loved literature when he was a senior and often added some great insights to class discussion. Like the rest of his family, his sense of humor is well-honed. Mason works as a lineman for Northern Lights, Inc. and takes folks on float trips down the Salmon River during the summer time. Mason and Becky have two cute daughters, who've trailed along with Becky as she's worked her long hours in education as a counselor and principal.

I'm happy for Becky this morning, and I wish her great success as she turns a new page in the history of Sandpoint High School. I'm going to place my bets and wager that she'll tackle the challenges, she'll slip from time to time, but overall, she'll write some good history for Sandpoint High School and for Bonner County during the next few years.

Happy Birthday, Laurie/Miss Tibbs

To little folks, about ten years old, she's Miss Tibbs, their fifth-grade teacher at Farmin Elementary School in Sandpoint. She teaches them their math, reading, history, etc. And, because of her love for all things Native American, they always get some hands-on projects in class to learn about Native American culture.

Every year in May, if they're good, she invites them for a day at Tibbs Arabians horse farm north of Sandpoint and shows them lots of stuff about horses, her first love. She demonstrates how to clean them, show them and ride them all in one day. The kids even get to try their hand with brushes and lead ropes.

Being a teacher who believes in nuts and bolts education, Miss Tibbs doesn't follow all the educational fads, except for high-tech computer stuff. For the past few years, her students have designed websites with several links and entered them in the EdTechQuest competition at the University of Idaho. They always bring back thousands of dollars' worth of technology, including several "smart" boards for their winnings.

In the summer, Miss Tibbs turns into "Laurie." To the folks showing up to learn how to ride, she's the one who always helps get the horses and the arena ready for riding lessons taught by her sister Barbara.

To horse people, she's the magnificent rider who almost always looks like a perfect picture on her Arabian horses in dressage, Western and English classes. She's earned great respect as a fine horsewoman, who not only wins often but always demonstrates respect for others and especially respect for her horses. In her mind, the horses always eat before the people.

To the hay hands in the summer fields, she's the hard-driving boss who gets right in there with the big strapping teenage boys and shows them how to buck an 80-100-pound bale properly. The crew all works hard, sweats hard and laughs hard when Laurie's around.

To our family, she is much loved and admired as Laurie---daughter, little sister, big sister to one, aunt, cousin, sister-in-law. She's the hard-working farm girl who loves the land, the horses and all animals more than people sometimes. She also loves to listen to Country Western tunes in her Ford pickup and to watch all things Western on TV. She has the dialogue memorized to most John Wayne movies.
Our family and all her friends wish Laurie a most happy day as she celebrates her life on this birthday.

More than likely part of her special day will be spent on a horse.

Happy birthday, Laurie

A paper wad morning

They come along every now and then, though with the happenings at this household, they're fairly rare. I'll have to admit this morning that when I sat down to write, my brain had nothing brimming over, just waiting to drop by the fingerfuls on to my text box. If I were sitting here with pen and paper, I'm sure there'd be a pile of paper wads scattered across the floor from all my strike-outs at having something to say.

Then again, if I were sitting here with pad and pen, I would probably not be feeling the need to write something every single day. For one thing, I'd have no audience other than me and the in-house menagerie----especially this morning because Bill has already left for work. I don't consider him part of the menagerie, mind you, except for when he leaves his Schwan's ice cream wrappers all over the house. He's got meetings in Coeur d'Alene this week, so if I did write something astute, he wouldn't be here to add his usual two cents.

Because of computer ease of writing and deleting, I've gotten into this morning blog habit. And, because of computers, people out there have actually been reading what I have to say. In fact, two told me yesterday they're regulars. So, because of a much-appreciated audience, I write on this morning of brainlessness. Just don't expect anything astounding today.

I do have news but can't tell everyone until it becomes true. My journalism mentor, Bob Hamilton, taught me that, as have another string of editors over the years. My yet-to-be-true news will make a great blog posting one of these days. So, do stay tuned.

And, to take a cue from Jim's cartoon this week---no cuts. It's no fair calling up and asking cuz I ain't gonna tell. In fact, I did tell one of my favorite email correspondents that this potential news has nothing to do with being pregnant, becoming a grandma or running for president. So, it just has to wait as will the audience.

I do have some tidbits today. While updating my story about Kristy Osmunson and her Bomshel activities, I learned earlier this week that their recent release (March 13) has climbed to "fourth most added" to the country stations across the nation. So, I'd say that's pretty darned good. I also received some information from the Powell brothers yesterday aka Rex James. They have some exciting news about their music ventures, with a press release coming up April 13. They promised to send me information.

I saw them perform one Sunday afternoon at Oden Hall in August of 2001. It was at a Lost Horse Press-sponsored literary event for women authors, and I actually got included on the list of readers. Besides good potluck in between readings, we enjoyed listening to these talented brothers from Sandpoint sing and play a variety of instruments, including the didgeredoo. Well, since then, they've come along way with their music, and folks are gonna hear about them soon.

I also learned last night that my daughter Annie has a new bike. Hers was stolen last year from her apartment deck in Seattle. So, with some nice weather in Seattle (does that mean nice weather coming to Sandpoint?), she bit the bullet, bought a new bike and took it for a spin on Bainbridge Island. Note the alliteration! She says the island is a good place to bike, though a bit hilly. She took her GPS with her and was looking for geocaches, but didn't find them on this trip.

She also went to a Lakers-Sonics game last Friday night, thanks to some free tickets. The word via Willie was that Ronny Turiaf (last year's Gonzaga hero) had a good night with the Lakers. I believe that's her first NBA game, and I'm sure she delighted in telling Willie the details.

Willie, by the way, has a line on a job working for a Congressman wannabe. If he's hired, he'll be writing for the campaign. This man is a Democratic candidate for U.S. Congress, and his name is Jim Hansen, son of Orville Hansen, who used to be a big name in Idaho politics.

Of local interest is that Jim Hansen worked for a law firm in Boise whose founding partner came from Sandpoint. Anybody remember the Pursley siblings of Ken, Ted, John and their sister who once lived on the corner of Boyer and Baldy Road? We rode the bus with them, and oldest brother Ken is the law firm founding partner.

Back to stuff that's news. Willie's news isn't news yet cuz it's not true yet. That does cause a problem from time to time cuz when we're brimming over to tell and it hasn't happened yet, it's kinda bad if it doesn't happen. So, keep your fingers crossed but pretend you didn't read that part about his working for the firm. The rest is true, though.

I don't wish a paper wad day on anyone. Hope yours is more eventful than mine has started out so far this morning. And, thanks for the readership. I appreciate you.

Liberated granny

Rokstad Ford probably never had a car sale quite like yesterday's. Take an 84-year-old great-grandmother, add a couple of her sons and a daughter. Throw in the grandkids from Tacoma. And, of course, the grandkids have a couple of her great-grandchildren. This four-generational crew all showed up at the same time at the Ford sales lot in Ponderay.

The salesman was probably thinking that Great-Granny Virginia came along for the ride. Well, he was in for a surprise. She came along for a new car, and she had a little help from her family. Being a smart salesman, Joe Johnson (SHS Class of 1974) directed Granny and her herd over to the Ford Freestyle line-up.

They're SUV's with three seats---one set that folds down for space, dual exhausts, sun roof, heated driver seats with adjustable height and back support, individual adjustable vents, floor shift----among other luxuries. Add in safety features galore and 18-24 miles per gallon on the gas.

She sat in the driver's seat of a pretty dark blue model. He showed her the range of adjustments. Then, he took her across the lot to try some other brands and models. Of course, she directed her feet and that cane right back to the Free Star. Then, it was time to take a spin. With her two adult sons sitting in the second seat and Joe, the salesman, in the front passenger side, she drove out of the lot and headed down the highway.

Within a few minutes, Joe was gently reminding Great-Granny Virginia that she was doing 70 mph. I'm sure she wasn't in Ponderay cuz she doesn't have any of their little extra speeding citations to add to the ticket price.

For the past several months, she's been having a problem every time she drives her Buick to town. Within minutes of taking to the road, she's had an excruciating pain in her back, which takes several hours to go away. After several sessions of facing the pain, she's cut back on her driving, relying on kids to take her to the grocery store. After a spin out of town and back to the car lot with the Freestyle, however, she says those adjustable seats actually help her back feel better.

And, she really likes that concept of heated seats. So, she bought the car. It took about four hours total, and, during that time, Joe, the salesman, got to hear a few of Great-Granny Virginia's Rosie the Riveter stories from her time spent at Kellogg Field in Battle Creek, Mich., during World War II. The rest of the sale staff listened in too; I think they were starstruck by Great-Granny Tibbs and her independent spirit.

She's proud that she whiddled down the price a bit. We, her family who got to watch, are proud of her for taking this step. If ever a car were well-named for its purpose with our mother, grandmother, great-grandmother, it would be the Freestyle. For, it has provided a new sense of freedom for our most beloved and "stylish" Great-Granny Virginia Tibbs.

And, we're all sure that Great-Grampa Harold, an old Ford man from way back, is looking down from Heaven, checking out all the phenomenal features of that car and grinning from ear-to-ear.

Don't Mess with Taxes

Usually, I start out in January, gathering all my receipts from the big yellow envelope and putting them in respective piles. Then, comes the stapler. Then, the calculator. All this is done methodically, a little at a time, so it's not painless.

One evening is spent going through the telephone calls of the past year, determining which long distance charges came from my interviews. Another evening might be spent putting my stapled piles into individual envelopes and writing the totals on the outside. Finally, I sit down at the computer, find "Taxes 2----" and save that document under "Taxes 2---."

Once the totals from each envelope are typed into the respective slot, I'm done. Over the past few years I've usually had my part of the annual tax preparation completed before March 1.

Next, comes the wait. I wait patiently until Bill finally feels the urgency of making an appointment with Trish down at H & R Block. He'll usually announce that it's coming up, and I'll proudly announce that I've had my part done for weeks.

I hate the next phase. He sits at his desk, starts looking over my records and then has the gall to ask questions about where certain items are.

"It's there," I bark, "Just look for it." Men don't always find stuff the first time. Eventually, he examines the pile closely enough and finds what he thought was not there.

Sometimes he has the nerve to ask questions like "Why did you . . . ?" That makes mad. I've followed the same tax records procedure for ten years, so my question is, "Why should it be any different from any other year?"

He really gets on to me about how I ought to keep a logbook in the car and write down, on that very day while looking at the mileage, how many miles I traveled to do an interview. I keep my logbook on my calendar and write down how many miles it is to Clark Fork. I don't see the difference. Numbers are numbers, and I hate 'em. Besides, why should Clark Fork be any further away on one day than it is on another?

After completing his annual interrogation, Bill puts the tax packet together and warns me to be around the telephone during his appointment time. I try to stay away from the phone and concentrate on anything else besides how much we're gonna owe this year. Eventually, he arrives home after the appointment, saying nothing.

I always wait at least five minutes, take a gulp, and then ask, "What's the bad news?" Three years ago, after I retired and got some bonus money, the bad news amounted to about $3,400 owed to the Feds and the State. So, I told the folks at the State Retirement System to quit giving me so much money and to keep some of it for the State Tax Commission. They complied. In the meantime, nobody was giving me any extra bonus money, so my earnings kind of evened out. I think we owed $600 the next year. Last year, it was a little less.

This year, the bad news is already appearing before the trip to H & R Block, which is this Friday. I haven't even written totals on envelopes yet. Nothing has been entered into the computer. My gut is wrenching, and even as I write this, I know I should be over there at the kitchen counter, tallying up. To know that I still have all that calculating to do and that Bill's interrogation session is yet to come does not make my day.

As the deadline approaches though, I know I'd better get on with it. So, the moral of this story is don't mess around when you should be doing your taxes. Cuz, regardless of denial, the numbers, the interrogation and the bad news are gonna come, sure as the rain in North Idaho.

I'd better get on with it.

A three-editor day

I've been meaning to post the photo below for some time now, but all those family birthdays got in the way. About ten days ago, Jeralyn Lewis Mire made good on her yearly Christmas card pledge that she, Kari and I should get together for lunch. She's been pledging that for about five years. This year, she made it a New Year's resolution, and we actually carried it out.

Kari had not yet arrived when the side door of Slate's opened, and in walked Colin Moody. I wrote a slightdetour posting about him on his birthday, March 10. So, with this wonderful gathering of three of my past yearbook/newspaper editors from Sandpoint High School, we had to get a picture.

Colin eventually went on to lunch with his Cedar Hills colleagues while Kari, Jeralyn and I shared time catching up on our busy lives. Like Colin, Jeralyn and Kari both hold very special places in my heart. When you work closely with students for three years out of their lives and yours, they become a part of your life forever. Again, as an aside, I feel so fortunate to have scenes like this with other treasured students/friends repeated often.

Jeralyn came into my life long before she showed up at Sandpoint High School as a good friend and classmate of my brother, the cartoonist. I still remember the hot July afternoon in 1975 when she, as an 10-year-old joined the troops on her pinto and rode HWY 95 from the end of the Long Bridge to Granite's roadside park near the Kootenai County border.

I was chairman of the Bonner County Bicentennial Committee at the time, and we were putting on a Pony Express Trail Ride to transfer Bicentennial scrolls from Bonner to Kootenai County. Jeralyn and about ten other riders took part. I was amazed at the resiliency and independence of this ten-year-old.

Later, I continued to be amazed as she worked on my yearbook staff and then took the reigns as editor. She was one of the most brilliant diplomats that I've ever met, making every member of the staff feel like they were the most important person on earth. I think that diplomacy earned her a chance to serve as president of Gonzaga University's student body and later as an recruiter for the university.

She's now a mom and a Lake Pend Oreille School District student counselor. She's got the inside scoop on the DeeDee Bars too, cuz her hubby Marty owns Dub's Drive-In here in Sandpoint.

I got to know Kari when she came to the high school. Again, talk about hard work and dedication. Besides being an all-around outstanding athlete, Kari had leadership skills and a heap of photographic talent. That might be attributed to genes and the influence of her dad Erik, who's an Academy Award-winning cinematographer.

I felt so fortunate to have this association, and I can recall having many folks comment that our yearbook at the time looked more like it was produced by college students. We had a crop of wonderful photographers, who worked with Kari. Several went on and used their skills in some high-profile situations.

Kari earned her degree in film from Montana State University and later worked as a production manager for national television commercials. For the past six years, she's been coordinating photograpy work for Coldwater Creek here in Sandpoint, and from all accounts at our luncheon, she loves her job.

She's also a mom to two adorable young ladies, one of which plays on the same soccer team as Jeralyn's daughter. Kari's married to another of my former students, Clay Saccomanno. He flies helicopters.

Not a day goes by that I don't pinch myself about the many opportunities I've had as a teacher of students like Colin, Jeralyn and Kari who remain lifelong friends. Picture below: Jeralyn, Kari, M.Love, and Colin.

Happy Birthday, Bill and Margaret

Today is Bill's 56th birthday. It's also his twin sister Margaret's. I understand she's the older of the two. Bill says she's in Calistoga, Calif. for her birthday. She works for the California State Parks out of Sacaramento.

Bill and Margaret grew up in Southern Louisiana, and their Louisiana heritage remains dear to them, almost as dear as geocaching is to Bill these days.

Bill's birthday present was a gift certificate to Sandpoint Outfitters, which closed for the weekend to open a new store right across the parking lot in Ponderay where their present store is located. I took a sneak preview and can attest that that new facility will be beautiful when it opens tomorrow. I'm looking forward to see how Bill spends his birthday certificate because it looks like there will be plenty to offer.

Anyway, today when I wish Bill his happy birthday, I can now say I've known him for half his life. I hope to double and triple that association.

Happy birthday to my dear hubby and to his dear sister.

The photo below shows Bill and Kiwi on the Kootenai River Trail near Chinese Rapids. Taken in mid-March on a geocaching hike. Note the GPS necklace--on Bill, that is.

Our beLOVEd April Fool --- William E. Love III

Happy Birthday, Willie
See story below.

Ain't no foolin'; it's all things Willie today

Happy birthday, William E. Love III. You're 29 today, and it's hard to believe. Your dad and I send you our very best wishes for a wonderful day. I'm going to indulge today and provide a few items of interest where you are involved.

First, the nice letter that arrived in my in-box yesterday morning from out of the blue. It was from your buddy Keith Chaiet, who now teaches middle school music in Bend, Oregon. He shared some memories of the days when he and you were pals:

I couldn't sleep a few nights ago, so I grabbed my trusty laptop
computer and started "googling" folks from years past. After
searching for some time I stumbled across your daily blog "Slight
Detour." I read some of your posts and my brain started thinking back
to my time spent at your house.

Your home (and barn) where such a
huge part of my life when I was kid. I have more memories of your
home than my own, perhaps because I lived in 5 different house
between the 8th and 12th grades (dad was into real estate even then).

I recall raiding your pantry with Joel Martin and Willie because "my
own mother wouldn't feed me." I remember playing basketball upstairs
in the barn and Rambo's desire to nip you in the butt if you weren't
paying attention.

One of the best memories I have is laying in your
field all night long during the meteor shower with Willie and Joel.
I'm sure there are other things you remember, but those are the
memories that stand out for me.

I must admit writing a email to my former English teacher (or was it
Language Arts?) feels a little like writing a short essay I have to
turn in for English class. I keep reading and rereading to double
check for grammar and punctuation mistakes (of which I'm sure there
are many).

Anyhow, just thought I would say "Hi" and thanks for the childhood
memories, I always felt welcomed in the Love residence (or is that
welcome?) :)

Then, after I sent you Keith's letter, you shared some memories with him:

One of my best memories was when we rigged the barn up for night basketball.
Keith, you took a jump shot and fell through one of the strategically placed
holes to send hay downstairs. I remember one second we were shooting hoops,
and the next second the lights were out and Keith was on the first floor of
the barn. It seems you cracked a rib or two if I remember correctly.

The barn played a defense that would probably scare Michael Jordan or now,
Adam Morrison.

Keith, we will have to get together next time you are in Boise. It seems
like Erin's sister lived around here.

Drop me a letter. I don't care about no stinkin' grammar.

Will

And, because it's your birthday, and folks might find it enjoyable, I'm going to also include a segment from the story you've written for Lessons with Love. Before inserting it, I must tell you that just thinking about you and Annie and Debbie when I sit here at the computer brings tears to my eyes. Your birthdays signify the true gifts of our lives!

Happy Birthday, Willie, and much love to Annie and Debbie on this family-wide celebration day. Here goes with a work from William E. Love III on his birthday, April Fool's Day, 2006. Every word that follows is TRUE:

When I was in eighth grade at Stidwell Junior High School, I was awakened from my sleep early one morning with the urgency that I knew in those days before high school was not a good thing. That morning started with Mom asking if I realized what I had done. Still waking up on that first day of winter vacation with a full interrogation, sleepy-eyed I honestly did not know what I had done.

“You were lucky he didn’t put your name in the paper,” she said of the Spokesman-Review reporter, Kevin Keating, who had written a story for the regional paper’s “Idaho Handle” edition on the afternoon assembly my school held at the start of the first Persian Gulf War. It was an emotional situation, especially for a group of junior high students who were coming to grips with the idea of war and the possibilities for some and the realities for others of their family members going off to the desert to fight Saddam.

After taking some lower-level education classes, I understood the assembly presented an appropriate venue for junior high school students to discuss their feelings on a serious matter. But being the intuitive person I was at the time in my life, I recognized the situation would call for a lighter moment and who better to give the class of eighth graders a laugh than me?

At some point, I had been to the small novelty shop All Smiles located near the Cedar Street Bridge – a shopping mall that crosses Sand Creek and now home to Sandpoint’s Coldwater Creek retail store. The store had shelves full of gag gifts and cards that would pique the interest of any future comedian, and I could spend hours in there devising my next comedy routine.

With the war brewing in Iraq and the American public learning that there were a number of ways to spell “Hussein,” I spent what little money I had on a roll of toilet paper with the text “Wipe out Saddam” surrounding a caricature of the now-deposed leader. The toilet paper was the type of bathroom humor that is my forte and something that was always a hit at home.

During the assembly I waited to share my thoughts with my friends and teachers until most of the sad stories had been told and the tears were shed. I have to say my purchase was a hit at the assembly when I lifted the spirits of the somber crowd with the help of another classmate. With toilet paper in hand and a captive crowd, we took the moment to share what the TP summed up so well, “Wipe out Saddam!”

It got the laugh I was looking for to solidify my goal of the class funny man, but what I did not notice at the time was whether or not the reporter from The Spokesman-Review – the regional paper covering North Idaho and Eastern Washington – quoted me correctly in his notebook. The next morning, during her daily “devour the newspaper before anyone else is allowed to lay hands on it” period, my mother found out that Kevin did, indeed, quote me accurately.

“The only reason he didn’t put your name in the paper is because he knew who you were,” which would not be the first or last time I would earn some advantage because of my last name. But Mom informed me Keating’s decision not to put my name in the paper was fortunate for me because I could have really embarrassed the family – a lesson she has had to continually remind me during my nearly three decades as the son of a teacher woman.

That morning some of my classmates were dealing with the possibilities of their relatives going off to war, but I was trying to defend an early-morning assault of my own from a one-person army in the form of an upset mother whom even the most vicious of despot would not want to confront.

Life did go on for me after this incident, and I learned not to make jokes about world issues with a newspaper reporter around. But I am pretty sure Mom did not keep that Spokesman-Review article in the scrap book.