Showing posts with label history. Show all posts
Showing posts with label history. Show all posts

Saturday, November 30, 2013

Interesting Reads While Waiting

Lilly Pullitzer velvet men's trousers, circa 1970
Yesterday I had one of our several rumble down autos worked on.  Kelly L. helped me get the car started and followed me into town to make sure I made it safely.  He was also going to give me a lift home, if I needed to leave the car for any length of time.  Since Kelly had some business to transact at the Freedom Living Center, I waited in the very well-appointed main sitting room there until he was done with his business. 

While waiting, I picked up a Martha Stewart Living.  I have kind of a love-hate relationship with the whole Martha Steward thing.  The love comes, of course, from all the decorating ideas she promotes.  Her taste appeals to me.  The thought of having leisure to care how, for instance, the tops of my pie crusts are decorated, or whether the latest fresh flower arrangement is seasonally correct has some draw.  But there's the rub.  It's all so silly.  So vain.  So polar opposite of the reality in which I live. 

But every once in awhile, I like to peruse the pages in some waiting room or another.  Truth be told, once, ... I even bought one.  What a silly use of that $7.50 or whatever it was.  I can't imagine now what possessed me.  I must been gratifying some indulgent need for the fantasy of living a pampered existence.

Two of the many things I passed over yesterday stuck in my memory.  The first is an indicator of how Northern Minnesotan I've become.  The title of the article was something like, "What's your favorite big game recipe?"  Really?  Big game recipes in Martha Stewart Living?  I had to look twice.  And then thrice.  Then I scanned the recipes and was momentarily confused.  Chip and vegetable dips.  Appetizers and finger foods.  Crock pot fare.  But nothing that looked like it contained venison, elk, or moose.

"Aha!"  thought I.  "Big game.... I bet they're talking about a sporting event.  Perhaps the super bowl."

I checked the cover, and sure enough, it was the February 2013.  Big game recipes.  I get it now. 

I giggled at the thought of finding wild game recipes in Martha Stewart Living.  The whole East Coast chic thing doesn't really seem to fit with taking a rifle and firing it at a wild animal.  Those cute and fuzzy, noble beasts, falling to the ground and bleeding out.  The eyes that a moment before gleamed with life, fading to dull.  The skinning and gutting.  Just the notion cracks me up.  ""What's your favorite big game recipe?" 

The second article that caught my interest was on collecting.  The magazine featured a handful of collectors, photos of their collections, and a brief interview of how they got started and where they find their pieces.  

A colorful patchwork blazer for the man in your life
or perhaps trousers with an aquatic life theme?
Grassland birds?
And for the very fanciful man, fuchsia unicorns
One of the collections was Lilly Pulitzer Men's Stuff.  Wild floral prints.  Animal designs.  Bright citrusy colors.  For men. 

According to the article, they were quite the thing among the upper crust Palm Beach golf set.  It totally cracks me up. 


Lilly, whose mother was heiress to the Standard Oil fortune, was educated in all the best schools for a young socialite of the time.  She married a Palm Beach area citrus grower, who also had famous connections, being the grandson of the Pulitzer after whom the prize is named.  Lilly opened a citrus drink stand for the upper crust, in one of Palm Beach's premier shopping areas, just off Worth Avenue.  She discovered she needed clothing that would camouflage the juices that got splattered while working.  She designed a handful of sleeveless dresses to wear while working.  Her brightly colored dresses were so well-liked that she started making them to sell to others, and so began the line. 

Imagining the 1970s upper crust men wearing these prints on the golf course and while socializing tickles my imagination.  What a colorful time!  Do a google image search on Lilly Pulitzer Men's Stuff to see a far wider variety of colors and designs than I have shown here.

Thursday, October 10, 2013

Threads Across Time

Proud parents with our very lovely Louisa

In all the blogging I'm committed to regarding our vacation, I kind of forget sometimes to include news of the regular sort in my blogging.  And I even forget sometimes to tell about news of the more special kind. 

Blake D and Louisa
Louisa was honored by her classmates this month to be on the homecoming court.  She didn't expect to get the honor of homecoming queen, since that's voted on by the whole student body.  She is not in sports, and was gone for a year, so has not been as socially active and known by the younger kids as most of the other candidates.  But as one of my friends put it, "Wow, gone for a year, and her classmates still think highly enough of her to give her this honor!"  And it is an honor. 

Grandma, Louisa,and Grandpa

She wore the dress her Grandma Bergetta wore to junior prom in ( I think) 1962.  But more fun yet, Louisa's Grandma had gotten it second hand from her Aunt Bobby.  And Bobby's Mom, Bergetta's Grandma Roberts, had made the dress for Bobby.  So if you kept all that straight, the dress was made in the mid to late 1950s by Louisa's Great, Great, Grandma Roberts (Great Grandma Kindler's mother.)


Louisa chose to spruce it up with sequined pink strappy sandals and a sequin belt.  She looked marvelous, if you ask me.  And I'm proud of her decision to a cool retro dress with sentimental value rather than having to wear the latest new style.

Addendum from Grandma, "I forgot to tell Louisa that when I wore this dress for my junior prom, May 3, 1963, I met her grandpa for the first time. I'm so glad she asked to wear it. She is lovely in it. B"

Sunday, September 8, 2013

Mt. Rushmore and Patriotism

Donna, Inge, and Stella; with Washington, Jefferson, Roosevelt, and Lincoln in the background




Louisa is holding Donna; our friend, Rachel, is holding Inge; and John, against the backdrop of Mt. Rushmore National Monument.








A mama and young mountain goat along-side a trail at Mt. Rushmore.









Day 3, Wednesday, August 21
We saw Mt. Rushmore, had a picnic lunch, and explored Keystone. Then we came back to our home away from home for supper.

My kids, of course as is typical, made friends with one of the only other campground guests.  This time, Louie from Canada, who is traveling the US for perhaps seven months.  I'm always a bit nervous knowing my kids are so friendly and will talk to pretty much anyone.  But I was thankful that he came over and introduced himself, and we visited a little while.  I know where my kids get their friendly ways.  After Louie returned to his campsite, Joe asked me whether we should invite him to have supper with us. 

Joe gets that gift from his Mom and her parents who make friends wherever they go.  The day our oldest son, Jeremy was born, the rest of the family was hosting a surprise 70th birthday party for Grandpa Kindler.  After the party, Grandma and Grandpa headed west for a little vacation.  I believe they were actually on their way to Portland for an annual Marine Corp gathering of WWII vets who had served together. 

Grandma and Grandpa were hoping to have word of the arrival of their first great-grandbaby before starting out.  But alas there was not yet any news.  When they stopped for supper, they called the hospital to to check in.  As would become apparent, they had shared their joyful news with the other diners.  After Joe's mom told them of Jeremy's arrival, they hollered out, "It's a boy!" which announcement was met with cheers all around.

But returning to the tale of this trip, and to our campground, I was tired.  And we had evening plans.  So I when Joe asked if he could invite Louie, I asked Joe if he would feel too bad if we had a simple family dinner.  Or at least as simple as a family dinner for eleven, cooked over a fire, at a picnic table, with the dishes in a nearby camp bin, and washing up with water heated over the fire can be. 

After said simple family meal, we rushed to get the dishes done quickly, in order to hit the road once more.  We planned an evening trip back Rushmore for the nightly lighting ceremony. Wow, was that good! Really! I'm sad, though, that we didn't get any photos.  We had forgotten the camera in the van. 

The evening started out with a patriotic and informative film which focused on the ideals that has made America great.  And on the four presidents whose faces grace the stone monument, and how these men forwarded American ideals. After that, the big beacon lights were turned on, lighting up the mountain.  The film showed snapshots of our American life. The background music on the film curing that part was a vocal rendition of America the Beautiful. The second and third verses of that anthem never cease to catch me in the back of my throat.

O beautiful for pilgrim feet   Whose stern impassioned stress
A thoroughfare of freedom beat   Across the wilderness!
America! America!  God mend thine every flaw,
Confirm thy soul in self-control,  Thy liberty in law!

O beautiful for heroes proved  In liberating strife.
Who more than self their country loved  And mercy more than life!
America! America!  May God thy gold refine
Till all success be nobleness  And every gain divine!


Those two verses seem to capture much of what is best about America.

A park ranger then came up on the stage and asked us all to stand for the singing of the National Anthem. That was hard enough. Man! I love my country. I think we are a great land that has served humanity well. I feel especially blessed when traveling, seeing all the beauty of the land. Such riches in soil and minerals, and simple beauty to gladden the hearts or man. And the people!  Truly a great and glorious citizenship!

So of course I got all teary-eyed. Inge got a little rambunctious and started climbing around on the benches, which was a good thing. It focused me back on reality, and my job as a mother, rather than continuing to blather over how blessed we are.

But then...

After the National Anthem was over, the Ranger invited all active and retired service members to the front for the colors ceremony. All these many, many people who have served us. Provided our defense. Cared for us. Offered to give their lives if necessary. All these people. Probably close to fifty of them. They got to descend to the stage of the amphitheater. They stood at attention while the ones closes to the flag got to lower it and help fold it. When that was done, the ranger had them all introduce themselves and tell the branch of military of which they are or were a part.

It was very, very touching. Especially at this time of my life. On my way to my son's USMC graduation. I was undone. 

  America the Beautiful
Words by Katharine Lee Bates, Melody by Samuel Ward
  O beautiful for spacious skies,
For amber waves of grain,
For purple mountain majesties
Above the fruited plain!
America! America!
God shed his grace on thee
And crown thy good with brotherhood
From sea to shining sea!

O beautiful for pilgrim feet
Whose stern impassioned stress
A thoroughfare of freedom beat
Across the wilderness!
America! America!
God mend thine every flaw,
Confirm thy soul in self-control,
Thy liberty in law!

O beautiful for heroes proved
In liberating strife.
Who more than self their country loved
And mercy more than life!
America! America!
May God thy gold refine
Till all success be nobleness
And every gain divine!

O beautiful for patriot dream
That sees beyond the years
Thine alabaster cities gleam
Undimmed by human tears!
America! America!
God shed his grace on thee
And crown thy good with brotherhood
From sea to shining sea!

O beautiful for halcyon skies,
For amber waves of grain,
For purple mountain majesties
Above the enameled plain!
America! America!
God shed his grace on thee
Till souls wax fair as earth and air
And music-hearted sea!

O beautiful for pilgrims feet,
Whose stem impassioned stress
A thoroughfare for freedom beat
Across the wilderness!
America! America!
God shed his grace on thee
Till paths be wrought through
wilds of thought
By pilgrim foot and knee!

O beautiful for glory-tale
Of liberating strife
When once and twice,
for man's avail
Men lavished precious life!
America! America!
God shed his grace on thee
Till selfish gain no longer stain
The banner of the free!

O beautiful for patriot dream
That sees beyond the years
Thine alabaster cities gleam
Undimmed by human tears!
America! America!
God shed his grace on thee
Till nobler men keep once again
Thy whiter jubilee!

Monday, May 13, 2013

And local another mystery to solve

How about Pelan, MN?  Can anyone help me with that mystery, too?  Pelan is an abandoned town site up toward Lake Bronson.  A township or county park is rumored to be at the former town site.  But I can't find the park on most maps, and when I drove past the area where I think the town was supposed to have been, and where a park does show up on a few maps, there does not appear to be a park at all. 

In Search of Vahalla, or a Springtime Jaunt

I had a lovely trip into TRF last night to deposit Joe's paycheck.  The weather was perfect.  The music on the radio was a good fit for my mood.  I took the backroads.  Pure fun.  But I have to tell you, I was feeling just a smidgeon nervous by the time I got home.  I like to think I'm brave.  But it's sometimes easy to confuse brave with foolhardy.  Especially in the spring.

Here's how it happened.

I was looking for this little place I found once out in the country between Pennington/140th Ave, and US59; and Center Street and TRF.  It was a cute little township hall or school house or something, with several other farm sites on the adjacent land.  I think it was called something like Valhalla, but I'm not sure.  It's almost as if it was some time warp thing I slid into.  Another dimension or something.  I've never been able to find that spot again, and it doesn't show up on any county maps or township lists or anything.

The only thing I remember from that accidental find is that I had been on 59, going north, behind some sort of slow moving vehicle, with oncoming traffic or poor visibility or something that deterred me from passing.  So I turned off instead.  And discovered this cute little place.  And have never seen it since. 

The parameters I've described do not mark a very big area.  Maybe six or seven miles long and, because 59 goes at a diagonal, the width starts at about five miles wide and tapers to a triangle at TRF.  So really, really, with the pretty much perfectly square mile roads in this part of Minnesota, there are not that many places it could have been.  It's as if Valhalla was never really there. 

So last night, on an unplanned trip into town, with no real time frame or rush binding me, and after having cared for sick kids all day, I did a little exploring. 

On the way into town, by the time I got near the Casino, I was again behind someone going kind of slowly, and I didn't want to follow him all the way into Thief River.  I turned off and so began my adventure.  I found St. Pauli church, and a paved road I didn't know was there.  But that was the extend of my outgoing travels.

I turned north at the church and followed the paved road until it again joined 59 at that funky angle.  It was a pleasant little drive and I saw and learned some new things.  But it wasn't Valhalla.

After picking up a few things at Wal-Mart, depositing Joe's check, and filling the car with gas, I headed south out of town on Pennington.  I was bound and determined to find Valhalla. 

I passed the corner by Challenger, since I know where that road goes.  No mystery there.  I passed the first mile road, since I didn't think there was any mystery there.  I feels too close to town for my memory.

I passed the next mile road, since that's the one that goes to the Smiley bridge eventually.  I know that one, too.  The next mile, the one that should come out where the road curves past the airport, ... I don't think it goes through.  I'll have to check next time.  It's on the map, but I don't remember it. 

So I took the next one.

By that time, I had curved back to the west, so I felt kind of stupid meandering around out of the way, just for this silly notion I have about some cute place.  But, as I said, I was determined.  And the music was good.  The DJ had promised Miranda Lambert's new song, Mama's Broken Heart, which always make me smile.  It's such a fun song. 

Shortly after I turned east, the anticipated song came on, and I cranked up the volume.  I had opened my window while driving around town, and hadn't bothered to shut it.  So I felt kind of silly.  But I was loving every minute.  I felt like a teenager, which I kind of needed after caring for a sick child all day.

The sun was going down, but the light was still good.  The road was open.  The air was filled with the flavors of spring.  And the song was loud and fun. 

But suddenly there were ruts.  Deep ruts.  I heard the car bottom out.  Oh, shoot.  I guess I better slow down and stop cutting loose.  Like in the song, I guess.  I better hide my crazy and act like a lady.

I debated whether to stop and look at the underside of the car, but I figured I wouldn't really know what I was looking for anyway, ... Oh dear. 

I did stop briefly at the next intersection.  Kind of sat for a minute.  I figured in case something was leaking out the bottom, I'd give it a chance to make a puddle.  Then when I pulled forward, I'd see it in the mirror, right?

No puddle, so I guessed all was good.

"Hmm, I think that this must be about where Brian and Beth live.  Maybe I should stop and have Brian look underneath there."

And soon, sure enough, I saw their house up ahead.  To stop or not to stop?

"It looks pretty quiet there.  It's about 9:00.  They're probably trying to get kids settled down," I thought to myself.  "I've been OK so far.  If there was something badly wrong, wouldn't I know it by now?"

And so I drove past.  I did, however, turn my radio down before I got there.  THAT would have been totally embarrassing.

"What is that noise, Brian?"
"Some obnoxious teens out blaring their speakers."
"Wait! Look!"
"That was Mary!"

And so I came once again to 59.  And here is where I did the thing that probably defies common sense.  But hey.  I had been dealing with puke all day.  I really, really needed a little fun.

I continued east across 59.  At twilight.  Roads I had never traveled.  With a car that had bottomed out on the ruts a few minutes before.

In my defense, as I've said, the roads are all square.  Except where the river goes through.  I knew that as far south as I was, I'd get to the Kratka road and even, if the road went through, to the High Landing road before getting to the river.  I figured I was good.  What could go wrong?  I mean, even if something did happen, the people here are Minnesota nice.  I'd just ask for help at the nearest place. 

And so I drove on.  Window still open.  Music loud during the good songs.  The smells of spring filling the car.  The sights of spring filling my view.

It gave me wonderful sense of freedom and optimism.  And adventure.  Anything could happen, right?  What might I see?  What might I find?

I came to the Kratka road.  I briefly considered turning back toward familiar roads.  But I decided to stay on my little back road.  I knew the river would be up ahead.  I suspected that I'd have to turn south soon.  I knew there ought to be one more mile of east-west road between me and the highway.  I hoped that it was not too little a road.  I really, really was not ready for the highway yet.

One mile after the Kratka road, I came to the turn.  One of those places where to continue on would take me onto a minimum maintenance road.  Probably also a dead end, since I knew the river was angling south towards the River Valley Bridge.  So I tuned to the south for one mile, and then again went east.  I knew where I was, of course.  I was one mile north of the highway, and I could watch the road signs to keep track of each passing mile.  I know 290th is the Oklee road.  I was coming to an area I know, even if I'd never been on this particular stretch of road.

All was good in Mary's world.

Except that suddenly it was dark.

Then there wasn't much to look at.  There was a kind of deep ditch following along the right hand side of the road.  The road became minimum maintenance.  The ruts got bigger.  And there were no more farm places to run to in case something happened.

I started seeing things.  The deepening shadows became bears.  Or boogie men.  Or maybe cougars, out prowling for their supper. 

There were a few deer out, so I had to slow way down and keep a sharp eye.  I could just imagine hitting a deer out here in the middle of nowhere.

Or what if there was something falling apart from when I bottomed out?  What if it wasn't bad enough to cause a problem until just now?  Here.  Far from anything.

I watched the road signs.  I saw when I was on the north side of the section where Tyler lives.  Next I came to the north side of the section with the poplars across from Quinten and Alyssa's, that Tyler and Ryan are clearing.

I could see the radio tower.  Just over there.  Getting nearer.

I knew where I was.  I knew I could find someone if I needed.

But a whole section.  That's a mile.  I'd have to wander in the dark and lonesome night a whole mile before getting to any homes.

I began to see the folly of my actions.

I must admit that I breathed a big, giant sigh of relief when I hit the High Landing road.  And I gladly stayed on the tar the rest of the way home.

I had a little fun.  I lived a little dangerously.  I breathed the spring air.  I saw the spring.  The sides of the roadways and pastures are greening up.  The tractors are sitting out where fieldwork is beginning.  I was home safely.

But I never did find Valhalla.  Maybe next time.

Wednesday, January 9, 2013

Burnt Fingers and Tongues

Joe and I were just snitching nibbles off the cracklings we got off the pig he and Joe Walton butchered on Saturday.  I burned my fingers and tongue.  It reminded me of the section in the first chapter of Little House in the Big Woods about butchering.
     Pa owned a pig. It ran wild in the Big Woods, living on acorns and nuts and roots. Now he caught it and put it in a pen made of logs, to fatten. He would butcher it as soon as the weather was cold enough to keep the pork frozen.
     in the middle of the night Laura woke up and heard the pig squealing. Pa jumped out of bed, snatched his gun from the wall, and ran outdoors. Then Laura heard the gun go off, once, twice.
     When Pa came back, he told what had happened. He had seen a big black bear standing beside the pigpen. The bear was reaching into the pen to grab the pig, and the pig was running and squealing. Pa saw this in the starlight and he fired quickly. But the light was dim and in his haste he missed the bear. The bear ran away into the woods, not hurt at all.
     Laura was sorry Pa did not get the bear. She liked bear meat so much. Pa was sorry, too, but he said:
     "Anyway, I saved the bacon."
    ...
     Then one day Uncle Henry came riding out of the Big Woods. He had come to help Pa butcher. Ma's big butcher knife was already sharpened, and Uncle Henry had brought Aunt Polly's butcher knife.
     Near the pigpen Pa and Uncle Henry built a bonfire, and heated a great kettle of water over it. When the water was boiling they went to kill the hog. Then Laura ran and hid her head on the bed and stopped her ears with her fingers so she could not hear the hog squeal.
     "It doesn't hurt him, Laura," Pa said. "We do it so quickly." But she did not want to hear him squeal.
     In a minute she took one finger cautiously out of an ear, and listened. The hog had stopped squealing. After that, Butchering Time was great fun.
     It was such a busy day, with so much to see and do. Uncle Henry and Pa were jolly, and there would be spare-ribs for dinner, and Pa had promised Laura and Mary the bladder and the pig's tail.
     As soon as the hog was dead Pa and Uncle Henry lifted it up and down in the boiling water till it was well scalded. Then they laid it on a board and scraped it with their knives, and all the bristles came off. After that they hung the hog in a tree, took out the insides, and left it hanging to cool.
     When it was cool they took it down and cut it up. There were hams and shoulders, side meat and spare-ribs and belly. There was the heart and the liver and the tongue, and the head to be made into headcheese, and the dish-pan full of bits to be made into sausage.
     The meat was laid on a board in the back-door shed, and every piece was sprinkled with salt. The hams and the shoulders were put to pickle in brine, for they would be smoked, like the venison, in the hollow log.
     "You can't beat hickory-cured ham," Pa said.
     He was blowing up the bladder. It made a little white balloon, and he tied the end tight with a string and gave it to Mary and Laura to play with. They could throw it into the air and spat it back and forth with their hands. Or it would bounce along the ground and they could kick it. But even better fun than a balloon was the pig's tail.
     Pa skinned it for them carefully, and into the large end he thrust a sharpened stick. Ma opened the front of the cookstove and raked hot coals out into the iron hearth. Then Laura and Mary took turns holding the pig's tail over the coals.
     It sizzled and fried, and drops of fat dripped off it and blazed on the coals. Ma sprinkled it with salt. Their hands and their faces got very hot, and Laura burned her finger, but she was so excited she did not care. Roasting the pig's tail was such fun that it was hard to play fair, taking turns.
     At last it was done. It was nicely browned all over, and how good it smelled! They carried it into the yard to cool it, and even before it was cool enough they began tasting it and burned their tongues.
     They ate every little bit of meat off the bones, and then they gave the bones to Jack. And that was the end of the pig's tail. There would not be another one till next year.
     Uncle Henry went home after dinner, and Pa went away to his work in the Big Woods. But for Laura and Mary and Ma, Butchering Time had only begun. There was a great deal for Ma to do, and Laura and Mary helped her.
     All that day and the next, Ma was trying out the lard in big iron pots on the cookstove. Laura and Mary carried wood and watched the fire. It must be hot, but not too hot, or the lard would burn. The big pots simmered and boiled, but they must not smoke. From time to time Ma skimmed out the brown cracklings. She put them in a cloth and squeezed out every bit of the lard, and then she put the cracklings away. She would use them to flavor johnny-cake later.
     Cracklings were very good to eat, but Laura and Mary could have only a taste. They were too rich for little girls, Ma said.
     Ma scraped and cleaned the head carefully, and then she boiled it till all the meat fell off the bones. She chopped the meat fine with her chopping knife in the wooden bowl, she seasoned it with pepper and salt and spices. Then she mixed the pot-liquor with it, and set it away in a pan to cool. When it was cool it would cut in slices, and that was headcheese.
     The little pieces of meat, lean and fat, that had been cut off the large pieces, Ma chopped and chopped until it was all chopped fine. She seasoned it with salt and pepper and with dried sage leaves from the garden. Then with her hands she tossed and turned it until it was well mixed, and she molded it into balls. She put the balls in a pan out in the shed, where they would freeze and be good to eat all winter. That was the sausage.  from Little House in the Big Woods, Laura Ingalls Wilder.
I'm pretty sure Joe and Joe did not blowup the bladder for a balloon; nor did they roast the tail over the fire.  And I am very,  very sure I will not be cleaning any head to make head cheese.  Sorry.  Nope.  I do many things now I never though I would.  There are also many things I thought I might like to try which I've realized I probably won't really feel like doing if the opportunity arises.  Then come those things that I realize might be useful and important at some point in the future.  In the post-apocalyptic world.  That's where head cheese falls in my book.  And I'm going to wait until then to try it.

Monday, January 7, 2013

Living Word Pictures and Rough Language

I was feeling distracted and agitated this morning, pacing like a caged lion and unable to focus on anything productive.  I started a new scarf and got bored with it; played spider solitaire and dinked on facebook and got bored with them, too; took two naps; and ate junk (candy and crackers and anything easy to pick up).  I stood in the kitchen frenetically opening cupboards and the fridge.  Repetitively.  As if somehow, some new and improved sort of junk food might be waiting if I just keep checking.

Pacing, pacing.  Distracted and agitated. 

Finally I grabbed an apple and settled in reading On The Shores of Silver Lake.  

Ah, peace. 

I think this might be my favorite of all the Little House Books.  As in the other books, I love the descriptions and Laura's use of simile and metaphor.  But this one is a little more vivid, because at this time in her life, she must start seeing for Mary, who had been blinded by scarlet fever.  I love the contrast between Ma and Mary, and their pragmatic approach to life; and Laura and Pa's pining for adventure.  I so resonate with Laura and Pa.  I think that's why God gave me ten children.  What could be more adventuresome than that?

I'm going to share some of my favorite passages.

I love the following excerpt from the chapter just after they get to the railroad camp on the shores of the lake.  Laura had just come in from getting water, all a-fluster because of the excitement of seeing all the teams and men coming in from the work sight, chanting and singing their coming home songs.  Ma, in her gentle way, with just a look in her eye and a very slight nod, exhorted Pa to make it clear that the girls were to stay far away from the men and the camp.
     "There's all kinds of rough men working on the grade and using rough language, and the less you see and hear of them, the better."....
     "Yes, Pa," Laura promised, and Carrie almost whispered, "Yes, Pa."  Carrie's eyes were large and frightened.  She did not want to hear rough language, whatever rough language might be.  Laura would have liked to hear some, just once, but of course she must obey Pa.
Ah, yes, this perfectly summarizes the dance with danger in which we are so often inclined to participate.

I love how Laura shows the difference between her outlook and Mary's.  It gives a person pause, really, to stop and think about the different ways of seeing.  Metaphor or dishonesty?  Imagery or exaggeration?  These two excerpts capture that difficulty.
     Beyond the river the grassy land was a low curve behind curve and the road looked like a short hook.
     "The road pushes against the grassy land and breaks off short.  And that's the end of it,"  said Laura.
     "It can't be," Mary objected.  "The road goes all the way to Silver Lake."
     "I know it does," Laura answered.
     "Well, then I don't think you ought to say things like that, " Mary told her gently.  "We should always be careful to say exactly what we mean."
     "I was saying what I meant," Laura protested.  But she could not explain.  There were so many ways of seeing things and so many ways of saying them.
And it happens again, a few paragraphs later, after Big Jerry deterred a would-be assailant on the wide and lonely prairie.
     "Hullo, Ingalls!"  Big Jerry answered.  The other man gave them all a snarling look and went galloping on ahead, but Big Jerry rode along by the wagon.
     He looked like an Indian.  He was tall and big but not one bit fat, and his thin face was brown.  His shirt was flaming red.  His straight black hair swung against his flat high-boned cheek as he rode, for he wore no hat.  And his snow-white horse wore no saddle nor bridle.  The horse was free, he could go where he wanted to go, and he wanted to go with Big Jerry wherever big Jerry wanted to ride.  The horse and the man moved together as if they were one animal.
     They were beside the wagon only a moment.  Then away they went into the smoothest, prettiest run, down into a little hollow and up and away, straight into the blazing round sun on the far edge of the west.  The flaming red shirt and the white horse vanished into the blazing golden light.
     Laura let out her breath.  "Oh, Mary!  The snow-white horse and the tall, brown man, with such a black head and a bright red shirt!  The brown prairie all around--and they rode right into the sun as it was going down.  They'll go on in the sun around the world."
     Mary thought a moment.  Then she said, "Laura, you know he couldn't ride into the sun.  He's just riding on the ground like anybody.
     But Laura did not feel like she had told a lie.  What she said was true too.  Somehow that moment when the beautiful, free pony and the wild man rode into the sun would last forever.
Two other favorite sections come later in the narrative, but you'll have to read the book yourself for those.  They are lengthier passages.  If I could find an online text of it, I could cut and paste, but alas, I cannot.  But the reason they are also among my favorites is because of the attention to detail.  Laura is so gifted at giving a verbal description and through it, allowing readers to see what she was seeing, and even hear and smell and feel the various aspects of the scene.  She even gets the sense of excitement to come through almost visibly.

The first scene is when Pa takes Laura to the work site, where the men are building the railroad grade.  She describes so vividly how Pa explained to her all the machinations of the various workers, how each team worked together like clockwork, to be just where it needed to be at the right moment, cutting, loading, dumping.  She encapsulates in her descriptions not only a concrete description of how the work progressed, but also the excitement of that era of progress.

A second favorite part is one of which my friend Erica reminded me.  It's later in the book, after the railroad town had closed down for the winter.  The company wanted someone to stay in the fully stocked surveyor's house, to take care of it over the winter.  They asked Pa if he and his family would be willing to do this.  As the family is preparing to move in, Laura asked permission to run on ahead.  The entire chapter consists of Laura's detailed description of her excited exploration of all the wonderful food stuffs that have been put up for the winter.  The reader can almost taste and smell them.  The colors are so vivid.  Readers can reach out and touch for themselves the various shapes and sizes of receptacles.  Open that barrel and peak in.  It's an altogether wonderful chapter.

So are you ready for some winter reading?  Crack open the Little House books.  If you've read them before, isn't it time to do it again?  If you've never read them, pick one up and give it a try.  They are excellent for family read aloud time, or for individual reading.  You say you don't have time for the entire series?  Just pick one.  Any one.  Every one of them is an excellent self-contained adventure.

Just do it.

Tuesday, December 4, 2012

The High Standards of One's Ancestry

I'm thinking tonight about family histories.  I was corresponding with my friend, Marge, today about family history.  Her husband's family is from the rural Oklee community, but Joe and I know Marge and Ernie from our Mankato days.  Joe knows them from as long ago as his undergraduate studies at Bethany Lutheran College; and I from our time there during Joe's seminary years, and also when he later worked and taught at Bethany. 

Although I did not know Marge and Ernie well at the time we lived in Mankato, now, due to this marvelous thing called social networking, I enjoy the blessing of friendship with Marge.  We share many interests.  I love to see her pictures on the blog she keeps, of her lovely flowers and gardens, and also her household projects and accomplishments such as cooking, canning, and quilting.  I enjoy reading of her travels; and her adventures with and joy in her extensive family.  And I'm thankful for her voice of comfort and support in my vocation of motherhood.  She has built me up many times with her kind words.

But today we talked family history.  It started when Marge posted on facebook remembering and honoring the life of her late mother-in-law, Alma Fore Lillo.  Throughout the day, we exchanged a few messages about the Fore family connections up this way. 

I love family history.  And not just my family, but the histories of others.  I love to hear the stories of those who have gone before us.  I am often inspired by their courage and tenacity.  There are also many times I'm saddened by their tragedies and heartaches.  I am built up by the faith to which they clung, through thick and thin.

But often, I'm also shamed by my failures as compared to the valiant tales of such ancestors.  One of my constant challenges is to turn that shame into a good thing.  Into being inspired to do better and work harder, rather than being crushed by a self-imposed burden of comparison. 

I remember learning this poem when I was young. 
If You Could See Your Ancestors
By Nellie Winslow Simmons Randall

If you could see your ancestors
All standing in a row,
Would you be proud of them or not?
Or don't you really know?
Some strange discoveries are made
In climbing family trees.
And some of them, you know,
Do not particularly please.

If you could see your ancestors
All standing in a row,
There might be some of them perhaps
You shouldn't care to know.
But here's another question
Which requires a different view -
If you could meet your ancestors
Would they be proud of you?
See, and there's rub, right?  "Would they be proud of you [me]?  Hmmm.  The million dollar question.

I often feel the burden of living up to the standards of those who have gone before.  Sometimes that burden is Biblical, to live up to God's standards, as set forth in His Word and as passed on to me by my family.  And well I should be so burdened.  But along with the burden of God's perfect Law, my ancestors also passed on to me the joy of salvation through the Gospel of Jesus Christ.  I will never live up to the standards of God's Law.  But I am pure and white, washed clean in the blood of the Lamb.  May I ever hold to that One Thing Needful, God's Word, and use it for a guide in how I judge myself and what I pass on to my children!

But there is also a second kind of standard.  Those are the man-made standards.  Many of these are wise and good.  Many of these serve a societal purpose such as effecting a common courtesy, or providing structure and order in our households and neighborhoods.  Some provide efficiency and cleanliness in our homes and yards. 

But these standards vary from place to place and from time to time; from family to family and from community to community.  It often seems to me that these are the sorts of standards that often cause the biggest rifts between people.  They cause the most frequent hard feelings, and self-righteous judging of our neighbors.

But for me, such standards also tend to cause unnecessary guilt in my life.  I tend to beat myself up for not being able to live up to the standards, real or imagined, to which I feel I must perform.  I have to remind myself, as Paul did the Romans, to not give up on the freedom won for me by Jesus.  To not put myself into bondage under the law.

Thanks be to God who has freed me from such burdens and guilt.  Jesus' perfect life and sacrificial death cleansed me from all my real and concrete sins; those things I failed and constantly fail to do that I ought to do, and also those things I ought not to have done that I did and still do constantly.  Jesus cleansed me from the innate stain of sin on my very nature, that more subtle evil that pervades human nature.  But He also freed me from the obligation and guilt of standards that are of my own human fabrication. 

I praise Him for His goodness!  I thank Him for giving me the gift of faith in Him, through the tradition passed on to me from my ancestors, and through His Word and Sacraments at church and in the home.  I ask Him to guide and direct my ways that I never forsake the One Thing Needful, the message of salvation through Jesus.  As long as I've got that covered, it matters not how well I live up to any other standards I've put upon myself by comparison to my forebears.

Friday, August 24, 2012

There's Hoarders, and there's Hoarders

I hear people talk about hoarding.  The reality show, Hoarders, along with others of similar vein, seem to have put the more extreme mentality of hoarding into the mainstream consciousness.  And perhaps I even engage in a certain amount of hoarding.  I hate the idea of throwing things into the landfill that still have materials left on them that can be reused or remade into something useful. 

After going through nearly all of the totes of children's clothes I have collected throughout my nineteen years of parenting, I'm beginning to wonder if I quality as a full fledged hoarder.  In my defense, I think I simply had many children to clothe and was determined to spend little or no money on the process.  Because we live in a  very opulent era, everyone else has much more than they need and people like to pass things on.  To whom do they pass things?  They look for the people who would need them most, and well, large families tend to look "needy".  It's a very kind-hearted gesture.  And thankfully, you wouldn't believe it if I told you how little I've spent on clothes for my kids throughout the years.  But gradually, it appears, I have saved more of these gifts of clothing than I realized.  Certainly more than we would ever need. 

I currently have twelve very large boxes sitting in my front entry way waiting their trip to Goodwill in Grand Forks.  I also have several smaller boxes of things for consignment, and various other bags and boxes to go here and there.  Everyone still has a full dresser, and there are clothes packed away for most of the upcoming sizes.

So, the good news is, that I am making progress on what seemed for so long an impossibly daunting undertaking.  I am very excited about all the order, and new-found space we will have once I get everything hauled out.

In between my various jobs, I take a few minutes here and there to read.  I'm currenly re-reading the Ranger's Apprentice series.  It's a middle school level series of adventure stories with a fictional medieval setting that is roughly based upon Europe and the surrounding areas.  The main characters accupy a country called Araluen, which is somewhat comparable to England.  There is also Celtica, Teutlandt, Gallica, Skandia, etc.

The Ranger Corps is a sort of intelligence group that specializes in steath, gathering information, and a mysterious set of skills that give others the impression that they are almost magical.

Right now, I'm reading book four of the series, The Battle for Skandia.  In this installment, the famous ranger, Halt, and his apprentice, Will, team up with the Skandian jarl, Erak, to help the Skandians fight off an invasion by the Tumajai, who are roughly comparable to the Mongols.

Since the Skandians prefer a straightforward, bashing kind of conflict with their fearsome battle axes, they are dependent upon Halt and Will to lead them in forming some strategies to fend off the Tumajai hoards.  One of the ideas, the merits of which Halt and Will are discussing, is whether they could train some of the Skandian slaves to serve as archers.  These archers would be trained to release arrows at a command, which would include instructions indicating at what angle to hold the bows, in order to hit the invading armies at just the right spot.

The idea is Will's and he is waiting for Halt's reply.  He is pleasantly surprised when Halt, likes the idea.
Will had been waiting for his mentor to point out the fundamental flaw in his logic.  Now he saw that Halt was considering his proposal seriously.  Then he noticed the look of exasperation that grew on Halt's face as he found the flaw.

"Bows," the Ranger said, disappointment in his voice.  "Where would we find a hundred bows in time to let people train with them.  There probably aren't twenty in all Skandia."
At this point in the narrative, both Will and Halt are feeling a bit dejected.  It was a great idea, but it simply will not work.  But then Jarl Erak pipes up.
"I could let you have a hundred,"  Erak said in the depressed silence that followed Halt's statement.  Both the others turned to look at him.

"Where would you find a hundred longbows?"  Halt asked him.  Erak shrugged.

"I captured a two-masted cob off the Araluen coast three seasons ago," he told them.  He didn't have to explain that when a Skandian said season, he meant the raiding season.  "She had a hold full of bows.  I kept them in my storeroom until I could find a use for them.  I was going to use them as fence palings," he continued.  "But they seemed a little too flexible for the job."

"Bows tend to be that way," Halt said slowly, and when Erak looked at him, uncomprehending, he added: "More flexible than fence palings.  It's one of the qualities we look for in a bow."

Well, I suppose you'd know,"  Erak said casually.  "Anyway, I've still got them.  There must be thousands of arrow shafts as well.  I thought they'd come in handy one day."

Halt reached up and laid a hand on the massive shoulder.   "And how right you were," he said.  "Thank the gods for the Skandian habit of hoarding everything."

Well, of course we hoard," Erak explained.  "We risk our lives to take the stuff in the first place.  There's no sense in throwing it away.  Anyway, do you want to see if you could use them?"
A few minutes later, we see the big Skandian jarl in a very satisfied state of mind.
"Excellent,"  he said happily, rubbing his hands together.  "If you decide to use them, I'll be able to charge Ragnak."

"But this is war,"  Will protested.  "Surely you can't charge Ragnak for doing something that will help defend Hallasholm?"

Erak turned his delighted smile on the young Ranger.  "To a Skandian, my boy, all war is business."
I don't know whether anyone without the context of the various personalities can appreciate this interchange as much as those of us familiar with the story line can.  I love the quirky twist it adds to the character development. 

But it does interest me a bit, too, from an anthropological point of view.  Are Scandinavians thought of as hoarders?  Is that a personality trait stereoptype that is widespread today?  It certainly fits, to a degree, with most of those among whom I live who claim Norwegian and Swedish, or even Finnish descent.

And that is not meant at all as an insult.  We save and reuse and refit and refurbish until there is comparably little wasted.  It's a beautiful thing!

Tuesday, August 21, 2012

Conservatism, Libertarianism, Progressivism,...Paul Ryan and Ayn Rand

A girlfriend asked me last night to help her understand the seeming contradictions being brought up in various news outlets concerning Paul Ryan's views of Ayn Rand and her philosophy.  Boy, I felt a little bit out of my depth, since on the political front, I am still pretty much playing ostrich, with my head in the sand. 

I really don't know what's up with me, since I have always struggled to control argumentative and somewhat tactless nature.  And historically I've had a huge interest in politics and political discourse and political history.  Of late, however, I've gotten tired of the unproductive discussion.  I've tired of trying to explain my views and then have people who think they know what I believe spit answers back at me based upon what they think I believe and how they think I come to my ideals.

And sometimes, I suspect, I unintentionally treat them the same, basing my arguments on what I think they believe.

It becomes a situation such as those about which we tell our kids, "If you each keep saying the same things, and you still disagree, you must either find a better way to communicate your ideas, or you have to be content to realize you disagree, but love each other anyway.  The discussion of the same disagreement over and over, quickly becomes bickering."

Sometimes I have time and energy to do my own research and study on various current topics of concern, and other times I must merely trust others.  When one is merely trusting others, her opinion is not based upon as strong a foundation as when she has done the research herself.  And since I'm not inclined to spend time on political research and study these days, I feel kind of like a fake when I get into such discussions.  My foundation is not as strong as it ought to be.  So I find myself avoiding such conversations.

Here I am then, after two years of "head in the sand" business, and someone is asking me to explain something to her.  I'm going to summarize here my reply, and I'd appreciate any further insights in the comments section.  But please, if you got to this post from facebook, leave the comments here, rather than on facebook, so they have a more permanent home.  I'd appreciate comments on the summaries I've given, but also on the particular issue of Paul Ryan's opinion of Ayn Rand's philosophies. 

I started my answer to my girlfriend straight off by saying that I could not speak particularly about Paul Ryan's views of Ayn Rand.  But that I could explain a little bit about how and why Conservatives like some of her philosophies, and why they have problems with other parts of her thinking.

We then got into a lengthier discussion of political terminology.  Keep in mind this whole discussion was kind of a primer, to introduce someone who is somewhat new to the whole public discourse on political issues and political history.  In case it makes a difference in understanding the following, this friend is also mostly on the conservative side of things.  She does not, however, have a great depth of vocabulary and historical knowledge base.  So that's why the bigger discussion came in.

Also please keep in mind that I am aware that, in the nature of a quick summary, stereotypes are always made; and therefore one must use caution when using such stereotypes for discussion.  An important aspect of this whole subject of political discourse is listen, listen, listen.  Please don't use my summaries to tell someone else what they believe and think.  But listen to them, and then try to understand from them what they believe and think.   Generalizations are never accurate for individuals; they can only describe tendencies.

1) Conservative:  The term is used today mostly by those who seek to return our nation to the rule of law established in our Constitution and its Amendments.  Some of the biggest issues today's Conservatives fight for are smaller federal government, lower taxes, less government regulation, states rights on issues that are not enumerated in the constitution as have been given to the federal governement.

2) Libertarian:  There are two main "kinds" of Libertarians, those who are Christian or have some other external standard of morality, and those who tend toward atheism and relativism.  People within the second group are not necessarily a-moral.  But their standard of morality is not based upon any historical tradition outside themselves. Each person's moral code, therefore, is seen as equally valid.

The Christian Libertarians are going to be quite similar to Conservatives.  A difference is that Conservatives tend to be less adamant about abolishing the federal laws that promote the Judeo-Christian morality that was the norm when our country was founded.  That's a little bit of a contradiction, but in a bigger discussion, I could probably explain it better.  We want to place people in office who share our moral vision, but we also would prefer any "enforcement" of that moral vision to come at the local levels rather than the national.  And we tend to go about that similar goal in a slightly different order of priority than would a Christian Libertarian.

The Libertarians share many small government economic and regulatory views with the Conservatives, but also take a stronger stand against government regulation of lifestyle than Conservatives tend to.

The relativistic/atheistic Libertarians also share the small government goals.  But because their morality is less structured, you might sense a more fatalistic or nihilistic attitude of dog-eat-dog-ness in their free market ideals.  There is a much stronger sense that people ought to be free to live and act how they want.  These people, mind you, do have a morality under which they live.  But there will be less inclination to talk about it, because each person has to establish his or her own moral code, so there is less commonality.  Also there is a much stronger sense that any and every morality is OK.  Each moral code is equally valid.

3) Progressive:  Progressives see the flaws and faults and failures in the free market system and seek to use experts and institutions and the government to solve them, rather than allowing or trusting individuals, families and other local entities to do so.  I tend to lump Progressives into two camps, also.  Again it's based upon religious foundations.  This is where this discussion will likely become offensive to those who hold the Progressive view.  But again, I'm on the outside of that view.  This is a summary, and I am willing to learn where I am wrong.

There are Progressives who genuinely seek to better the world, and genuinely think the government and the experts are capable of fulfilling this better than individuals.  Many of these people are Christians, or hold to the Judea-Christian moral code.  They understand and believe that bigger and better and more inclusive government programs are a valid option to show Christlike love to our neighbors.  They see the societal ill of people suffering, as trumping the societal ill of ignoring our legal foundations. 

But there are other, less noble or ethical Progressives.  Again, these tend to be those who espouse no organized religion and who find all morality relative.  These people are Marxist to their core.  Logically, since they have no moral code because they believe in no higher power, they believe that a "noble" end justifies any means.  But again, how does one define "noble", under this Godless philosophy?

These people will use any person or people group and any situation as they see fit.  Their primary goal is to maintain their power.  We are seeing in America today, an accelerating use of the standard Marxist ploys in the currents of society and government.  This faction of the Progressive movement imprison people in dependency under the guise of generosity and care.  They provoke and nurture class warfare and jealousy.  They take advantage of crises, or even perceived crises, to grab more and more power.  They twist the truth in order to forward their agenda, because remember any means justifies their "noble" end.   It's not wrong to lie and deceive when you're trying to help people.

But all this, these people do under the mantle of those same Progressive ideals that the religious Progressives promote out of genuine love for others.  They cloak their talk in terms of love and peace and betterment.  But they see themselves as the brokers who ought to define what those same terms mean for each person, group and situation.

After that introduction to some of the political terminology that is active in the current discussion, I continued to explain to my friend the different levels at which one might claim adherence to or defend Conservatism.

From the legal angle, adherence to the Constitution and its Amendments is a goal.  Conservatives like to live according to the rules.  They feel that society is more stable and therefore more peaceful and prosperous when the rule of law is followed. And becasue they tend to believe in respect for authority, they consider following the Constitution to be the morally right way to govern.

From the academic or philosophical angle, Conservatives can explain based upon the long standing principles of free market capitalism, limited government, freedom, positive human rights, etc. why our system works.  And in a lengthier discussion, I could explain why we don't see capitalism as greedy or selfish or cold-hearted.  Let me summarize this aspect by saying that we believe in the intrinsic morality of individuals making their own choices for their altruism and their business dealings.  We believe that although there will under any system be bad people doing bad things, that more people are benefited when individuals rather than the government make more of the choices for people.

From the historical angle, Conservatives believe that history bears out the futility of solving societal problems with bigger government. Simply put, whenever and wherever it's been tried, it has failed.  People work less diligently when they are heavily taxed and heavily regulated.  There is an ever increasing number of people needing government help and and ever decreasing number of prosperous businesses and individuals to foot the bill.  People under such increasing government largess, do progressively fewer individual acts of altruism, and they gradually care less and less about their neighbors, since the governments and institutions can provide what others need.  "That's what the programs are for." 

From an economic angle, and somewhat related to the historical, Conservatives believe that wealth creation comes from individuals not the government.  Everyone's standard of living benefits from greater freedom, less regulation, and lower taxes.  From a purely economic analysis, in an institutional system of social programs, there is a huge cost involved in administering such programs.  Time and time again, the private sector has been shown to do a more efficient job of administering such programs.  But this focus on "the bottom line," when isolated from the bigger principles of Conservatism, can easily leave the impression that Conservatism is all about money.

In a word, Conservatives believe that history bears out the idea that big government is unsustainable from both an economic, and an ethical or moral stand.  Both prosperity and morality decrease as government control and social programs increase.  Freedom, motivation, and happiness itself is sacrificed when government is bigger and more invasive.

To bring this back now to Paul Ryan and Ayn Rand, again, I can't speak specifically to that.  But I can say that Conservatives tend to agree with Rand on the economic principles of small government and free markets.  But we also tend to demand a morality based upon the Judeo-Christian moral code that was the norm when our country was founded.  The founding fathers and other thinkers of that era wrote often that this system of government, and its economic and societal freedoms, would only work as long as the populace held to that same standard. 

This is not the same, mind you, as making laws to enforce a certain religion.  Each person's eternal well-being, and their views on the meaning of life in general, must never be codified by government.  But for a free society to work well, there must be some tradition of shared morality.

I suspect that Paul Ryan would agree with that.

The following quote is one of my favorites to explain how conservatives see morality working within the freedoms established in our founding documents.  It's from a letter John Adams wrote to rally the troops of the Massachusetts Militia.  But this little nugget of a quote is not nearly as good as the whole, so take a moment later to read the whole thing.

"We have no government armed with power capable of contending with human passions unbridled by morality and religion. Avarice, ambition, revenge, or gallantry, would break the strongest cords of our Constitution as a whale goes through a net. Our Constitution was made only for a moral and religious people. It is wholly inadequate to the government of any other."

The great French proponent of classical liberalism, Alexis de Tocqueville, toured America to discover the secrets of her greatness, and perhaps put them to use in his native land during her struggles and revolutions. He wrote extensively about his discoveries in the two volume, Democracy in America.  About morality in America, he wrote, "America is great because she is good. If America ceases to be good, America will cease to be great."

Those ideas must frame any discussion of Conservative principles as opposed to the principles of Libertarianism.  Conservatives will promote and strive for the limited government ideals espoused in our Constitution and her Amendments.  We will base arguments upon the historical wisdom and philosophies held to by those who founded our country.  But we will stop short of holding to any philosophy that is based upon a shifting or relativist morality.  In order for our system to work well and properly, there must be right and wrong.

Monday, February 13, 2012

Rattlesnakes and Temper Tantrums

I got lost again this morning.  On the internet, that is.  I shared a photo earlier today on Facebook that my cousin's son, Tanner, had shared.  It's of another cousin's barn that sits just up over the rim of Pine Canyon along the Sunset Highway between Wenatchee and Waterville.

That little Facebook post led to an unstoppable urge to see some pictures of Pine Canyon.  I have a different blog post rattling around my head, that will maybe feature a funny story or two, and would include a detailed description of driving up Pine Canyon in a lemon of a Buick Regal.  But the post is simply not forthcoming today.

What started out as a really good post in my mind, turned into a lengthy stream of consciousness with too many thoughts squished into a single paragraph with hugely ran-on sentences.  (Is a run-on sentence written in the past a ran-on sentence I suppose not, since all sentences one reads are written in the past and if this were the case they would all be ran-on sentences instead of run-on sentences so I suppose there is no such thing as a ran-on sentence what to you think?)

But one thing I did find warranted its own smaller blog post.

Joe often dreams of us being able to buy property in Washington that we could use when we visit the relatives.  It's just a dream, really, because we don't get there often enough to want to maintain a property there.

When I stumbled upon this ad for a couple of lots for sale in the Rimrock Meadows neighborhood, it made me feel nostalgic.  And it called to mind two somewhat poignant memories.

Rimrock Meadows appears to be some sort of resort association where members can go to camp and swim and play tennis or Foosball.  But what I associate with Rimrock Meadows is the rodeo.  There was the Omak Stampede, too.  Rimrock Meadows and the Omak Stampede.  Those two names, in my little girl's mind, meant rodeo.

I have two memories that I think happened at Rimrock Meadows.  I have no idea if they really did; but I'm pretty sure they happened somewhere.  And I'm pretty sure it was at some sort of rodeo or horse and cowboy thing.  I think I was probably three or four years old at the time.

We were walking along the dusty pathway, in some facility that was was set amidst the sage hills and rocky terrain of Eastern Washington.  Prime rattlesnake country.  There was a large group of us there, friends and relatives.  I believe I was walking with either my aunt Elinor or my mom's best friend, Mary Ann, who is also kind of my aunt.  It just might have been Mary Ann's daughter, Peggy, too.  She's mixed up with this memory somewhere, in that crazy way memories get jumbled up. I remember that whoever I was with had strappy seventies sandals on.  Probably Wrangler jeans, too.  But the jeans are not important to this memory, as the sandals are.  Probably my small size at the time made the visual impact of what happened next more lasting.

Suddenly a rattlesnake slithered over the open toe of my companion's sandal.  With a wisk and a whisper, the snake was gone as quickly as it had appeared, seemingly in a hurry to escape the meandering crowds. No harm was done, but I remember it being talked about throughout the day.  I'm pretty sure I asked both ladies about this episode at one time or another later, and nobody remembered it.  But it's a very real memory for me.

The other memory I have is of a possibly more humorous and slightly embarrassing nature.  I threw a temper tantrum.  A raging temper tantrum.  Apparently I liked the flavor of onion rings.  Apparently I didn't know they sometimes had discernible onions within them.  Again, there was a group of us.  We were in one of those outdoor eating pavilions that one finds at a county fair or festival.  I remember the wall going about half way up.  We were able to look out above the wall at all the passers by.  The group of us were sitting at several tables.  The menu items were the type of fare that came in a plastic basket with red checked tissue paper to soak up the grease.

I had ordered onion rings and was really looking forward to them.  The fragrance on the air screamed out grease and salt, and I couldn't wait for my food to come.  But as I took the first bite of my much anticipated onion rings, imagine my youthful chagrin when I pulled that bite away from the crispy salty edges, and a string of onion dangled from my chin.  Horror of horrors!  An onion in my onion rings!  Who put that there?  I don't want them!  I don't want onion rings with onions!  Take them back and get me some different ones!  Waaaaaah!  Waaaaaah! Sob and wracking sob.

I don't know how long I carried on, and I really don't know if it was as much of a production as it is in my memory.  But I remember first my mom, then my dad, then a variety of other friends and relations all trying in futility to calm me down. I remember my dad, particularly, trying to explain to me that all onion rings had onions.  But I was having none of it!  You can't fool me!  I was absolutely convinced that they were all lying to me, in that grown-up sort of way, in order to pacify me in my anger.  What did they take me for, anyway?  I'm not as gullible as all that.  Hmmph.

I did a little search on google to see if I could find anything about the Rimrock Meadows of my memory.  I didn't find much.  But this little news article from the June 7, 1972 edition of the Spokane Daily Chronicle was kind of fun.  I would have been five that summer, and it appears that Rimrock Meadows was being dedicated that year. 


What this tells me, though, is that if my memory has any basis in reality, I'm ashamed to realize I behaved in such manner at the ripe old age of five. I had really hoped it was a mere three or four.

Monday, January 23, 2012

Velma T.'s Vitamin Revitalizer

I'm really enjoying reading Moon Over Manifest, the 2011 Newbery award winner by Clare Vanderpool.  Ms Vanderpool combines a casts of colorful, loveable characters, a little history, entertaining news articles from the past, and advertisements for helpful remedies to whatever ails you.  Add several layers of mystery and a spunky protagonist, and the author hit just the right recipe for a really enjoyable book.  She also included within the book, a story within the story, and the ensuing two settings, both of which she does well enough that a reader can see and here and feel the story.  The primary story takes place in the late 1930s, the dust bowl, depression and prohibition.  The secondary story consists of flashbacks, in the form of old letters and the stories of the local diviner, which take the reader, along with the protagonist and her girlfriends, twenty years back to the days when the local boys were going off to fight in the Great War.

Considering the short, gray days of winter, and the blah feeling that often afflicts me this time of year, I'm thinking I might try to get ahold of some of this featured elixir.
Velma T's Vitamin Revitalizer
Need a pick-me-up? Try this 
chemist's solution to low 
energy and stamina. With a 
carefully tested combination 
of iron, potassium, and calcium, 
it will give you a new spring 
in your step and you'll be able 
to accomplish the many tasks 
asked of you throughout the day. 
Just one teaspoon at morning 
and night and you will have the 
wherewithal of your youth. See 
Velma T. at the high school to 
get your Vitamin Revitalizer today.

Sunday, October 9, 2011

The Magic Meadow

Most homeschool families are familiar with the biographical and historical picture books of Ingri and Edgar Parin D'aulaire.  Besides the historical value of the biographies of notable historical figures such as George Washington, Pocahantas, and Bemjamin Franklin, the D'aulaire's are known for their vivid lithography.  Their biography of Abraham Lincoln, for instance, won the Caldecott Medal in 1940.

But until reading about their lives in order to write this post, I didn't realize how very prolific was their body of work, and how interesting their backgrounds. 

Edgar was born in Germany, but was of Swiss citizenship.  His father was Italian, and his mother appears to have been an American who lived in Paris.  Both his parents were artists.  Edgar studied under Henri Matisse.

Ingri was Norwegian.

After they married and came to America, both pursued careers in art.  They were drawn into the world of Children's literature by the director of the New York Public Library, and worked together to produce eventually 27 picture books.

They seem to have specialized in the folk tales and historical figures from their combined cultural backgrounds, producing stories of Norwegian, Swiss, and American heritage, and also an extensive book of Greek Myths.

A few months ago, before the school year started, I took my elementary aged kids to the open house at their school.  The school librarian had placed a couple of boxes of "free" books in the hallway.  Even though I was in the thick of weeding out our home library, I simply could not pass it by without taking a peak.  And as any true bibliophile can understand, it's pretty hard for me to take a peak at a box of old books without finding at least a couple that simply need to come home with me.

One of the books I found in these boxes was The Magic Meadow by Ingri And Edgar D'alaire.  This book presents many apsects of Swiss heritage, including the story of William Tell, the freedom loving representative governmental system of the Swiss cantons, the rugged beauty of the Alps, and a snippet each of folklore and the history of tourism based economic development.  And as a constant backdrop, through it all, flows the quaintly beautiful lithograph illustrations.

I'm not sure how the D'aulaires managed to come up with a story that included so much, but somehow it all holds together.  As are most of the D'aulaire books, this one, too, tells a sweet story with lasting value at many levels.

Thursday, September 22, 2011

Greed Versus Wealth; and Those Pesky Nazi TEA Partiers

I'm increasingly frustrated by being considered greedy because I believe capitalism is the best way to help everyone at all levels of society.  I believe that statistics and history bear this out. 

I believe that socialist policies tear down a person's sense of self.  I believe that socialist policies and the dependence upon government largess enslave those upon whom such programs prey.

I heard something today on the radio that sums up well one of the intrinsic problems with current "anti-wealthy" rhetoric.  Whoever was speaking at the time said something like, "Wealth is not the problem, greed is the problem.  And greed is not isolated to the wealthy, nor are all wealthy people greedy.  So also, poverty is not somehow more righteous than is wealth.  Poor people can be greedy, too."

Marxist philosophy demands class envy.  Marxism thrives on such envy, and without such envy, Marxism cannot survive.  And yet, we who use such terms are considered fear-mongerers and name callers.

Speaking of name-calling, a high school Government teacher in Texas, Jonathan Bryant, called San Antonio Tea Party President, George Rodrigueza, a Nazi.  I have so many problems with this I don't even know where to start.  But let me list a couple anyway.

The salient points here, as I see them, are

  • Mr. Rodrigueza, San Antonio TEA Party president, is apparently part of a panel discussing the deportation of illegal immigrants. 
  • Specifically, Mr. Bryant, teacher at Kennedy High School in San Antonio, is asking about the possibility of teachers being responsible to report illegal immigrants. 
  • Mr. Rodrigueza, at his turn to respond, seems to agree with the sentiment of the previous panelist, that the law needs to be upheld.
  • But he adds that he'd also like if teachers would teach balanced content, and represent conservative principles to their students, instead of merely bringing a group of students with liberal placards.
  • Mr. Bryant says, "You can just say what you are, a Nazi."
  • After which he adds, "It's an objective observation, that's all." Then appears to strut back to his area, to the applause of the students.
1) Does Mr. Bryant really think Mr. Rodrigueza is killing millions of people?  Is he imprisoning anyone?  Is he engaged in any sort of thought control, euthanasia, or cultural purging as Nazi Germany did?  Mr. Rodrigueza appealed to the law of the land.  The law of the land of which Mr. Bryant is a citizen.  The law of the land which allows for free speech.  And the law of the land which allows for individual citizens, such as either Mr. Rodrigueza or Mr. Bryant, to become involved in changing those laws with which they disagree.

2) Does Mr. Bryant consider the response of Mr. Rodrigueza as "sins" of the same caliber as the atrocities committed by Nazi Germany? In context, then, requiring teachers to inform law enforcement of an illegal activityis on the same plain as fascism, genetic cleansing, and murder?  Or was it the request to teach conservative along with liberal principles that was the clincher?  I'm not sure to which part of Mr. Rodrigueza's response Mr. Bryant aimed his dart.

And does it not lessen the horrors of Nazi Germany to compare them to either opinion of Mr. Rodrigueza?

3) As a teacher, Mr. Bryant has the responsibility to be accurate.  He is using irresponsible name calling to sideline a public figure's opinions without staying the course and educating anyone on how Mr. Rodrigueza's opinions might be called Nazi.

One might argue that such a forum is not the time or place to do that, but I didn't get the impression that Mr. Bryant was inclined to explain at a later time. His smirk leads me to the perception that he was very pleased with the barb he threw.

4) And fianlly, as the President of the San Antonio TEA party group, Mr Rodrigueza represents the opinions of anyone else in the area who affiliates themselves with the TEA party movement.  The students Mr. Bryant teaches are of an age to be still under the care of their parents.  They ought not to have to be subjected to pejorative talk against various philosophies that might be part of such a child's upbringing.  By slamming Mr. Rodrigueza and his views, Mr. Bryant is painting as a Nazi anyone who agrees with either the individual opinion of Mr. Rodrigueza, or the TEA party group which he represents.

Now I realize that Mr. Bryant did not make his comment in the classroom.  And I also realize that teachers are allowed freedom of speech just as the rest of us are.   However, there were students present.  Mr. Bryant even pointed them out at the beginning of his comments.  He knew they were there.  Even if there were no children present who might agree with Mr. Rodrigueza, or from families who would support the goals of the TEA party movement, Mr. Bryant is still painting such students, in front of their peers, as Nazis or at least as affiliated with Nazis.

Not cool.

Thursday, July 28, 2011

Almost Exactly Two Years Ago, I First Read Barry Goldwater

When I first read Barry Goldwater's, The Conscience of a Conservative I enjoyed it immensely.  I'm reading it again, and enjoying it just as fully.

As stated in the Foreword, the book, written in 1960, is Goldwater's attempt to, "bridge the gap between [conservative] theory and practice."  He explains that conservatism had become something to be disparaged by those who did not hold to its principles, and something for which its adherents felt the need to apologize.  He attributes this to a lack of clear articulation of how conservatism is carried out in practice to the benefit of all in society.   

I love this introduction, because this is the same problem conservatives still have today.  We like to blame media bias, or liberal lies, or any number of other extraneous things when our message does not resonate as strongly as we'd like it to.  But we conservatives need to better learn the message.  We need to become more articulate spokespersons for conservatism.  We need to elect those who are statesmen and women rather than politicians.  (I'm not really sure if my disctinction is valid, but this is how I define the difference between these two types of leaders.  A statesman has an opinion, and is able to promote and defend such an opinion loudly and clearly, regardless of the end result.  A politician tempers his or her speech to effect what he or she considers the optimal political result.)

In The Conscience of a Conservative Goldwater addresses several of the most pressing issues of his day and offered a conservative solution for each: "The Perils of Power"; "States' Rights"; "And Civil Rights"; "Freedom for the Farmer"; "Freedom for Labor"; "Taxes and Spending"; "The Welfare State"; "Some Notes on Education"; and "The Soviet Menace".  The intrinsic problems addressed under many of these topics still plague us today.  Some have grown to even greater threats to our freedom and American way of life than at the time Goldwater's book was written.  Others have evolved to encompass slightly different issues.  And still others, most notably, what Goldwater calls The Soviet Menace, have mostly evaporated, or changed enough so that his concerns (and solutions) are difficult to recognize in the situation we face today.

I have often expressed frustration that during his first presidential campaign, the soon to be President George W. Bush took up the term Compassionate Conservative, as if Conservative itself is not compassionate.  I said at the time I first heard the phrase, and I still say today, that what we need is not leaders who apologize for conservatism, but someone who can explain and defend, loudly and clearly, the intrinsic compassion of the conservative political viewpoint.

Among those of my friends who tend to vote Republican, but who have no interest in being involved in the bigger discussion of political philosophy, the most often heard accusation against conservatism is that it is heartless, or that its adherents only care about money.

Apparently this idea is not new.  Goldwater includes two quotes in his first paragraph of the first chapter of The Conscience of a Conservative that indicate the prominence of similar sentiments already in 1960.  According to Goldwater, when President Richard Nixon was still Vice President Nixon, he had said, "Republican candidates should be economic conservatives, but conservatives with a heart."

And further, during his first term, President Eisenhower said, "I am conservative when it comes to economic problems, but liberal when it comes to human problems."

In a paragraph that is surprisingly similar to pop-political ideas, Goldwater highlights two slightly different views of those opposed to conservatism.  Firstly, that liberals are interested in people, whereas conservatives are interested only in preserving privileged classes.  Or further yet, a second view, that liberals care about little people, while conservatives care only about the, "malefactors of great wealth."

Goldwater, in the rest of the first chapter, claims the moral high ground for Conservatism.  He states as the underlying premise of that high ground, Conservatism's belief that each man has an individual soul, that each person is capable of great and unique good, and that he or she is more than a mere animal.

In light of that belief in each person's individuality, Goldwater turns the accusation of conservatism being only about economics on its head,
...It is Socialism that subordinates all other considerations to man's material well-being.  It is Conservatism that puts material things in their proper place--that has a structured view of the human being and of human society, in which economics plays only a subsidiary role.
Goldwater continues with three points defending the intrinsic morality of conservatism, basing it on the "accumulated wisdom and experience of history," regarding, firstly, the individuality of each person.
Only a philosophy that takes into account the essential differences between men, and, accordingly, makes provision for developing the different potentialities of each man can claim to be in accord with Nature.
Touching on the inter-connectedness of economic freedom and the freedom of the individual spirit,
[Man] can not be economically free,  or even economically efficient, if he is enslaved politically; conversely, man's political freedom is illusory if he is dependent for his economic needs on the State.
Goldwater continues the theme of the individuality of human reality. Because of the uniqueness of each person, government cannot direct well humanity's development.
Every man, for his individual good and for the good of his society, is responsible for his own development.  The choices that govern his life are choices that he must make: they cannot be made by any other human being, or by a collection of human beings.
When addressing the extent to which conservatism embraces freedom, Goldwater explains that tyranny in any form is abhorrent to a conservative.  He uses as an example, the French Revolution, during which tyranny was enacted both against the peasants by the monarchy; and also by the reformers who used the new egalitarianism to reign over and terrorize whomever they chose.  Goldwater sums up the conservatism of his day as being
...at odds with dictators who rule by terror, and equally with those gentler collectivists who ask our permission to play God with the human race.
Goldwater finishes up this first chapter by summarizing conservatism as being in favor of only as much government oversight as will maintain order in society.   He explains that political power is a "self- aggrandizing force; that its appetite grows with eating."  He exhorts "utmost vigilance and care" in keeping political power in its proper place.

The final paragraph in this introductory chapter discusses the many variations among governments on earth of the balance between order and freedom.  He warns that the current battle in America is not about establishing order; but on the contrary, about preserving freedom.  Goldwater suggests we always first answer this question when addressing the various societal issues facing our society,
Are we maximizing freedom?