Marriage wisdom from Louis L'Amour?

Paris Street: Rainy Day  Gustave Caillebotte

       You want to remember, Peg, just romance is not enough. You may often imagine yourself in love, but always remember you have to live with that person from day to day, in sickness and in health, as they say.
       You will want to be proud of him when you introduce him to your friends, and you want him to be comfortable with them, as you must be with his firends. One must never marry a man thinking he will change or that you will change him. If he does or you do, then he will not be the same man you married, and the less for it.

Louis L'Amour in The Cherokee Trail 

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.

What Happens in Vegas ...

Again, this is a post from memory, as I wrote nothing at the time.  And I am not sure what happened to our pictures from this day.  I thought we had taken a bunch, but maybe on one of the kids' cameras.  I only found a few and the were not that interesting.  Oh, except this one advertising an upcoming Air Supply show.  I remember listening to the annual countdown on New Years Eve my Freshman year in high school listening to see how many of their songs made the list.  I had some sort of competition with the neighbor boy between my band and his. 

Day 8, Monday, August 26
Vegas, Baby!  A place that wasn't on the list of sights to see on this trip.  I have nothing tangible against Las Vegas.  But I don't have money to risk losing.  I am far more impressed with the Beauty of God's earth than with glitz and flash of hedonistic America.  And, ... well, they don't call it Sin City for nothing.

It just wasn't high on my list of American Southwest family tourist destinations.

But it was raining on the north rim of the Grand Canyon.  It was raining on the south rim.  It was raining in Zion National Park.  It was raining along this entire section of our route.  And not just a little rain.  One of those steady, three day soakers that sends the water careening down the dry gulches of the American southwest in raging torrents.  As we were coming into Las Vegas there were places the muddy water had washed onto the highway.  The following morning's newspaper had pictures of flash flooding in nearby many areas.

So we ended up in Vegas.  Where we knew no one, and had done no research on what to see or do.  We considered a day trip to Hoover Dam.  But we crossed that off the list after some unsuccessful checking on parks in the vicinity.  We had purchased food for camping that needed to be used.  Some of it needed to be cooked.  Any outing we planned had to include a shelter and a grill for our noon meal.  Most of the park information for that area was somewhat vague as to the availability of grills or fire pits.  We did have our campstove if we needed to use it, but cooking on two small burners is kind of a slow process for the volume of food we needed to cook.

I did find out about a kind of cool sounding place just on the Vegas side of the Hoover Dam area.  On our next trip down to that part of the world, if it ever happens, we'll have to put Hemenway Valley Park, along with Hoover Dam, on our list for the next trip.  "One of this park's main attractions is the Bighorn sheep that come down from the mountains to water and graze." (from the Boulder City website).

Thankfully I was reminded by one of my online friends that she and her family live in Las Vegas.  Oh, yes, online friendships... My daughters tease me because they see the double standard.  We exhort our kids to only have online correspondence with those they know personally.  But on the other hand, we are all part of various on-line communities.  And we come to know and love the people we meet there.  And to depend upon them for support and advice.

I'm part of a Confessional Lutheran women's facebook group.   Many of these women are pastors' wives.  Many homeschool.  Many have large families.  All these women are committed to raising their families to know and understand what it means to be a Lutheran.  To train up our children to know firstly that they are sinful and live in a sin-filled world.  And secondly, but more importantly, that Jesus has died to save us from the guilt of our sin, so that we can one day have eternal life in Heaven with Him.  And that this righteousness, that is ours through Christ, is a free gift.  A totally free gift.  The Lutheran view of Salvation through Grace alone, Faith alone, and Scripture alone, and that also depends totally on God and His grace to give us the gift of faith through His Word and Sacraments, is unique among Christians.  We seek guidance and help in all areas of our parenting through our facebook friendships. 

And so we becomes close friends although we don't really know each other personally.  And to some we become closer to than others.  We have private message or e-mail conversations, or even write letters, call, or visit when  opportunities arise.

Erica S. is one of these friends who I've gotten to know a little better through private conversations.  Besides having in common the Lutheran and mothering and pastor wife parts of our lives, I've often thought that our families would get along especially well.  Various topics of interest that have come up seemed common to us.

And yes, Erica lives in Las Vegas.  But I had forgotten that.  After I posted from the hotel in Vegas about our plans changing, and about being in Las Vegas with no particular plans, Erica sent me a message suggesting that if we have time, we should try to meet in person.  I explained our dilemma of needing an outing that would include cooking our camping food.  And also that my teenaged girls wanted to experience a little bit of Vegas, and to shop at a Ross.

The day turned out splendid from our point of view.  We met the S.es at a park in their neighborhood.  A park with both a shelter and a grill.  Their two little ones played with our little ones on the well-appointed playground.  They got sopping wet in the drizzle, but it didn't seem to bother any of them.  Erica and her husband, Vincent, visited with Joe and I.  Joe cooked burgers, while Erica and I got the other foods set out.  The teen girls worked on photos for the "Planking in Vegas" project they plan to produce.

We had a lovely visit.  After lunch, the S.es invited us over to their home.  Erica had noticed me putting our dirty dishes into a plastic bag to wash later at the hotel, so she kindly offered the use of their kitchen sink.  And she threw the kids' wet clothes in her dryer.  So very thoughtful and kind.

The kids played some more.  The men played.  They watched break-dancing videos and engaged in feats of valor with wooden practice swords, escrima sticks, to be precise.  They talked theology and science fiction/fantasy, among other things. 

After the clothes were dry, we moms and the older five girls took off to see the city.  We shopped at Ross and TJ Max, and found a few things.  We drove the strip and saw the sights.  Said sights would include a moving billboard of three scantily clad or unclad women advertising a certain phone business.  Yep.  Stuck in downtown traffic behind the truck that was the billboard.  Stop, start.  Stop, start.  All the way through downtown.  Mostly naked ladies staring us in the face.  Two pastors' wives and a carload of teenaged girls. 

We went to the Fashion Show Mall on the strip.  We zipped off the strip to catch a quick supper at a fast food Mexican joint. 

Then back to the strip to meet the rest of the gang.  Vincent and the S. children decided to call it a night and so they didn't come downtown.  They were all tuckered out after a day with the Abrahamsons.  Imagine that!  But Vincent gave Joe directions to meet us at the Fountains of the Bellagio.  Louisa had seen the Magic Fountain of Montjuïc, in Barcelona, Spain, so was interested in this famous fountain, too. 

As things happen, especially where the Abrahamsons are concerned, things got a little confused.  Erica and the girls and I thought we were meeting in the lobby of the Bellagio.  Joe with the littles thought we were meeting at the fountain, along the road near the parking lot.

We women folk walked through the indoor gardens adjacent to the lobby, and when Joe still wasn't there, we went down the hallway to the chocolate fountain. 

Joe and the kids watched the fountain go.  Every fifteen minutes.  For about 40 minutes.  They saw three of the repetitions.  Inge had to go to the bathroom and so fussed nearly the whole time.  And really, what's a dad to do?  He is trying to keep order on a 4, 6, 7, and 9 year old in a jostling crowd.  The nearest restroom is who knows where, but no doubt at least a several minute walk through the jostling crowd.  And he had no idea when we were finally going to arrive or what the hold up was.

We women finally ran out of things to look at inside the Bellagio and so Erica gave Vincent a call to see how long ago Joe had left and where he expected Joe might be.  Ah-ha!  Down by the road.  So we hurried down the walkway along side the fountain.  Scanning the rows of people gathered to see the fountain.  Stopping so we didn't photo-bomb any of the many shots of people posing along the walkway.  Somehow managing to get separated into three groups on the way down to the road. 

I found Joe, and he kind of threw Inge at me.  "She has to go to the bathroom!  Immediately!"  I grabbed Inge and started the way back up the sidewalk to the lobby.  Along the way I found Erica and the girls with her, and pointed out Joe to them.  I found the bigger girls, and told them where to head.  And then I, continued on to the bathroom, hoping that by the time we were done, everyone else will have found each other. 

All told, we women got to see one of the musical selections that the fountain presented.  Joe and the kids saw three.  But I'm not sure Joe really enjoyed it, since he had a crying little one, and no clue how to help her, and whether she might at any minute wet her pants and her dad.

And where was our cell phone in all this?  Safely in the van, of course.  Where we could use it in case of a roadside emergency...

Oyweh!

Eventually we all found each other, used the bathroom, and saw both the water and the chocolate fountains.  We said our goodbyes to our new friend, Erica.  And then we assembled in the van to head to the hotel.  Tired and ready to sleep.

Strange thoughts about Life and Grey's Anatomy

I started watching Grey's Anatomy on hulu awhile back, but hulu only offered the first season.  Now I have netflix, so I can watch the rest of it.  And I have been.  Not tons.  But a few episodes every now and then. 

It's OK.  Not great, but OK. 

So why do I waste my time on something that's merely OK?  Three things:  Scenery.  Art.  Psychology of Human Nature.

Having grown up in the Puget Sound area, I like seeing the Space Needle and other Seattle scenes.  It makes me all mushy inside when those panoramas flow past the screen.

I also like the artistic angle of how the show is put together.  There are facets of the production that appeal to my emotions like good art does.  It hits me deep down inside.  Like the music.  I'm not a music person.  I mean, I can't name all different kinds of musical genres and bands and instruments.  But I almost always notice the music in this show.  I like how the producers combine the music and the weather and the moods of the characters. 

And I like the glimpse into hidden parts of human nature.  The portrayal of humanity.  How do the patients deal with their crises?  How do they deal with their families during crises?  How do the doctors deal with the patients?  How do they deal with each other?  And in what ways do the issues the patients deal with help the doctors, at a basic human level, to be better people? 

And yes, I know it's not a Christian show.  I realize that the solutions and answers to which all these issues lead are not foundationally the same as the solutions and answers to which I'd come myself, or toward which I'd advise a friend. 

The writers do, however, seem to capture little nuggets of interpersonal truth at some level.  They get it.  They see how we broken human beings interact.  How we feel and cope.  How we use and manipulate.  How we analyze and muddle. 

It's kind of strange to me that through this artistic medium we call television, the writers and producers of this show capture life truths and reflect them back to viewers.  They give us an opportunity, impetus, to think about our own lives and interactions.  To examine our own interpersonal mechanisms to see how we measure up.

Last night's episode was called Enough is Enough.  It's in Season Two somewhere toward the beginning.  There was a character, a patient, who had ingested doll heads.  Ten Judy Doll heads.  Judy Dolls are apparently similar to Barbie dolls.  Ten.  He swallowed the heads whole.  Very strange. 

I did a little search to see what Judy Dolls were.  But in the process of trying to find that out, I noticed that most of the google search hits about Judy Dolls have to do with this particular episode of Grey's Anatomy. 

So see, I'm not the only one to whom this show does something.  A cursory glance through the search hits showed me that others viewers write about the characters and their various psychoses.  People think about the episodes and turn them over in their brains.  If a person is so inclined, he or she might put to paper the thoughts and feelings elicited through such analysis.  Viewers emotionally ingest the episodes, the various issues and hurdles the characters face.  They apply such to their own lives and come to some sort of resolution.  And then they spit these thoughts and lessons back out in written analysis.  It's in interesting cultural phenomenon, is it not?

I happened upon the following blog post last night.  I like it.  I like the Christian solution to which this writer alludes.  She doesn't phrase things exactly as I would.  But I understand her use of some cultural thing, a television character with emotional trauma, as a metaphor for life. 

I get it.

And so I'm passing it on.  Nothing big or earth shattering.  I just like it.

Why do we eat Judy Dolls? on If Words Were Medicine blog.

A Small Town Christmas: Many Wonderful Happenings

The Plummer Tree Lighting

I had a wonderful little hometown Christmas season afternoon and evening on Friday.   It was a soothing and joyful balm in the wake of the tragic and frightening news out of Connecticut earlier that day.

School Program

The K-3 school program in the afternoon was fun and cute. Mrs. Bernstein does such a nice job.  The kids all love her.  Her energy, charisma, zeal, and kindness come through from the stage!

Third Grade

John and a small group of other kids did a good job with their harmony part.  John did his speaking part loudly and clearly.

Even Stella had an unexpected speaking part; she was asked to step in for another child who was absent.  But, alas!  Stella had the second line of the program.  I was fashionably late, as usual, and so I came in the door just as she was finishing up.  I think I will have to ask Mrs. Bernstein never to give any of my kids parts near the beginning of the programs.  "Just a general notice for all future programs...no Abrahamsons near the beginning."

Giving Back

After the program, I got to play Santa!

I am so grateful for our little schools here, and for all the wonderful people who work to make them what they are.  Everyone gives 200%, and I know it's not always easy.  I try to do a little something for my kids' teachers each year, as a token of how very much I appreciate them. 

I spent my fall crocheting scarves.  It all started when I got a few things ready for the Nazareth Fancywork sale in mid September.  I had used some nicer yarns that Louisa had given me before she left for Italy, from her left-overs yarn stash.  Since I generally use only the cheapo basic yarns, crocheting with these other, fancier fibers was a new thing.  I discovered a sensory experience I had not imagined.  I found a sort of serenity in seeing all the colors and patterns run through my fingers.  I was soothed by the feel of all the different textures.  The soft yarns and the bumpy, stretchy knots in the crochet; the combination of smooth and rugged.  Plush and firm.  There's also the soothing, repetitive rhythms of the handiwork itself.  And the sense of accomplishment at finishing something.  The pride in creating something lovely.  It was all very healing for me.

Soon I found I was creating scarf after scarf with no particular end in mind.  It wasn't long before I came up with the idea of taking a box of scarves into the school from which the the teachers could each choose.  Well, really it started with a more vague idea of giving scarves as Christmas gifts.  But since I don't know the teachers well enough to have a sense of their style, and don't see how they dress except a couple times a year, I didn't want to choose the scarves for them.  I have four kids in school, so I figured I'd need a dozen or so scarves.  Enough for each homeroom teacher, plus a handful of extras in order to provide selection, so that each could find something he or she likes.

I easily reached a dozen.  But then I kept going.  And going.  I couldn't seem to stop.  I was having too much fun.  Soon I had enough scarves for the homeroom teachers and all the various teachers who have worked with my kids this year.  But that didn't suit the kids.  They kept wanting to add more and more people to the list.  I think that says something powerful about our school.  My children have so many people there that they love, and think of as their "special people."  They listed playground helpers, the "Grandmas" who come in to help, the library and special ed teachers, kitchen workers.  I don't think there was any school worker demographic that was not represented.  (Oh, that reminds me,...I still need to get one to our bus driver...).

I felt happy, but I sure look somber showing off my accomplishments

I would have loved to take a big, big box, filled with a hundred or more scarves, and put up a sign that said,

Everyone, Please choose a scarf!
Choose for yourself, or to use as a gift
Thank-you for all you do for our children.  
You are all a wonderful part of this place!  
Have a Merry Christmas!

But alas, time ran out and I had a mere 30-40 scarves.

I contacted all of my kids teachers, plus any school workers I've gotten to know when I need their help with school related things.  I felt a little bit sad, though, the whole time I was there, as the other teachers and workers came and went to see what all the excitement was.  I really, really would have loved to have enough for everyone!  I can't say enough how much I appreciate the fact that it takes every one of those people to keep a small school running.  And I'm thankful for how personal and caring everyone is.  They are like family, especially for my kids who have no extended family nearby.

But I'm getting ahead of myself a little bit.

After the school program, Sophie and I scuttled out to the van to grab the booty.  I had prepared a box, wrapped in Christmas wrapping, from which the scarves could tumble forth.   I had some homemade hot fudge ice cream topping for each of the homeroom teachers.  I arranged for the teachers to mosey into the teachers' lounge when they had the extra minutes in between their after-school responsibilities. 

It was great fun!  Sophie stayed for part of the time, until she had to go to her Honors Choir obligations.  I got to meet many of the teachers and workers who I previously knew only by name, those teachers who have not worked with my children, but who my children love and talk about.  Yes, those that my children consider special people, but for whom I did not have scarves enough.  (Sad sigh.)

As I was hoping, the female teachers had fun wrapping around themselves many scarves at once to compare, or holding them up for each other, or setting them out to get a better look.  The male teachers were a little more mixed, choosing for their wives or themselves.  Some had definite ideas, and some looked at the box in confusion, wondering what would be a good choice.  Or in one case (I'm not telling who) even trying to remember what color coat his wife wears.  The difference between the men and women tickled me, because it so aptly fit the stereotypes.

At one point, when nobody was in the lounge "shopping" I stepped out into the hallway and, peaking around the corner, I saw a handful of teachers visiting outside their classroom doors, waiting for the buses in front of the school to pull away.  Waiting for that Friday afternoon moment to arrive, when they too could head for home.  They joked that they were worse than the kids.  And I smiled because they all had their scarves wrapped or flung around their necks. 

That's exactly what I wanted!  Not just a Christmas gift, but a bit of fun along with it.

I had the camera along, and had wanted to take pictures, but not once did I think to get it out.  Sadly, I am not much of a photographer.  My plan had been that Joe would be taking photos of all the fun, but Inge ended up spiking a fever just before it was time to leave home.   He stayed home with her and they both had to miss all the fun.  And I missed the opportunities to take photos.

It was great fun.  But the fun didn't stop when scarf giving was finished.

Clara and Sophie, along with the rest of the school Honors Choir, had been asked to sing at the Plummer Tree Lighting celebration, which was scheduled for the evening.  Fun activities had been scheduled throughout the evening, including the arrival of the Canadian Pacific holiday train.  Joe and I went out on a limb, and planned to partake of a rare family activity.   Inge's illness put a damper on the family aspect of it, but the rest of us could still enjoy the fun.  

Visiting Friends

During the school program, Donna and Sohpie and I had sat with our friends, the Roues.  Rachel Roue is Louisa's good friend, and between those two girls the families have become friends.  My John and Rachel's brother, Jonathan, are also classmates and great friends.  I think they perhaps make things a little challenging for their teachers.  They both have very active and curious minds, and a tendency to get distracted by their ideas and dreams of various creations, many of which are of Legos and Star Wars and Superheros.

After the program, Rachel offered to take my little ones to their home, since I was planning to be busy with the scarf thing.  I had not planned to go home in between the program and the evening activities, since Plummer is almost 20 miles away from our home.  But Rachel's family lives nearer Plummer, so it was a handy place for us to spend extra time.  I had no set plans for my family, but I had brought along a bag of snacks to use in lieu of supper.  Of course, in all the excitement, I didn't think to send that bag along with Rachel.

This all worked out very well for me.  I could relax and enjoy the scarf giving, and visiting with the teachers, without any distraction or commotion from my littles.  And Rachel and her mom were kind enough to find some food for my kids while they were there.  I joined them, too, for about an hour.  We got to visit in the comfort of their home.  It's always a treat to visit Rachel's family.  They are wonderful people and we are very blessed to have them in our lives!

Oh, and I got to meet Louisa's and Rachel's friend, Josh B.  Louisa went to prom with Josh, but I had not met him.  He was to spend the evening with Rachel at the Plummer festivities.

And speaking of festivities, ...

Learning to Dress for Winter Weather:  Duh!

I have lived in Minnesota for most of my adult life.  Those years not in Minnesota were spent in Wisconsin and the Chicago area.  Although not all of these years did I spend in as cold an area as that in which I live now, I did experience winter in each locality.  BUT, I still mess up on this winter thing.  And Friday night could have been a really big mess up, if not for the help of Rachel and her mom in winterizing us.

Because of a combination of having homeschooled for many years; trying to keep our family home-centered and not externally focused; and having spent much of the last 20 years either pregnant or with an infant; all these things have combined to equal a mom who is not in the habit of orchestrating outings.  It seems crazy, but I did not even consider that we'd be outside in the cold for much of the evening.  We were all in dress clothes.  John and Stella because they had to dress up for their program; and Donna and I, too, since... well..., that's how I was raised.  You dress up for programs and concerts as a way of showing honor and appreciation for the work the performers and directors put into the occasion. I chuckle when I compare the two ideas.  I may know how to dress for a concert or performance, but don't ask me to dress my kids for weather.  Can you tell I did not grow up in an area where we had winter?

John and Stella were not so badly off, since they had snow pants in their school bags.  They had their winter boots.  John had left his gloves in the classroom, but otherwise they had the capability of being dressed for the weather.   But Donna and I had nothing!  Dresses and tights and church shoes.

As I was hustling the kids together, to get ready to return to Plummer from the Roues, it dawned on me how utterly unprepared we were!

Rachel's mom, Renee, offered some of Jonathan's extras for Donna, and a pair of gloves for John, which Rachel quickly gathered for us.  They offered to find extras for me, too, but I figured I could tough it out.  Mark, Rachel's dad encouraged Rachel to pull on some Carhartts.  She instead opted for several layers of coats and jackets.  Josh also didn't have much for winter wear, but he also opted to tough it out.  Let me just say that there were several times during the course of the evening, when I wished for some Carhartts to pull over my skirt and boots for my frozen toes.  And I'm sure Josh thought some of those same thoughts. The many people walking around town with their Arctic Cat bibs, gloves, boots, and neck gators looked toasty warm. 

I am very thankful, however, for the warm things my kids were able to use.

Next time, I hope I am neither ditzy enough to forget to prepare for winter weather; nor stubborn enough to refuse the kind offerings of friends.

Santa

When we got to Plummer, we found the line for Santa in Centennial Park in front of the gazebo.  My kids don't have much experience with the whole Santa thing.  We try to keep the focus on Jesus at Christmas.  I was never raised to believe in Santa, which at the time I felt was a great injustice.  I felt a little bit robbed at not being able to enjoy the magic of it all.  And although my husband was raised to believe in Santa, he made the decision that we would enjoy that man in a fictional kind of way in our home.  We honor St. Nicholas, by periodially reminding the kids of who he was and the things he did to care for others.  And Santa is not "off limits" in our home.  We simply don't put much focus on or energy into him.

A few of our kids have been to see Santa with other families.  But this was the first time either Joe or I had taken any of our kids to such an event.  John, Stella, and Donna got sit on Santa's lap and tell a little about what they want for Christmas.  John of course wants a DS (whatever that is, some game thing, right?).  I was quick to assure him teasingly that he had not been that good.  He smiled, because he knew that what I meant was, "We don't have that kind of money, my son.  I'm sorry.  But don't ever forget that I love you."

I was glad that Rachel took pictures of my kids.  Again, that dumb camera phobia came to plague me.  I'll try to remember to add them after she posts them.

Throughout this part of the evening, I couldn't help but think of my friend, Deb H. from highschool.  She often amused us classmates with her vocal imitations.  She frequently did her mother, who happened to be adamantly anti-Santa.  Perhaps Deb's best loved and remembered imitation was given one day when we were all joking about going to get our pictures taken with Santa.  Knowing how Deb's mom felt about the whole Santa thing, one of us asked what she would say.  I can still hear Deb's response to this day, and it ran through my head during the time my kids were in line to sit with Santa, "Deb, Deb!" spoken in Deb's funny Mom voice, "Who's that little red man your sitting on, Deb?"

The RLCC Plummer Honors Choir regaling the crowd

Museum

Our little local towns never cease to amaze me!  The city of Plummer has a very cool museum that I never even knew existed.  The Tri-River Pioneer museum was open Firday night from 6:00-9:00.  What a little gem of a place.  It features a hardware store, blacksmith shop, school room, kitchen, harness shop, gas station.  They have a fire truck and a pump wagon, over which Charlie Bishop was presiding, and about which he was teaching the kids.  He let the kids line up on each side to try out the pump mechanism. Up, down, up, down went those little bodies lined up on each side.

The Pump Wagon

It was fun to visit with many friends and neighbors.  It was so interesting to hear the older, long time residents talk about who had donated this piece or that piece, and how they used the various things in the old days.  In the harness shop, along the wall, hung two large leather nettings.  I was curious about these, so Rachel asked one of the older men who she knew.  They are fly nets.  They were laid across the backs of the horses to keep the flies from bothering. 

I didn't make it into the hardware store, but I could see through the window that one of the area ladies was dressed in period costume visiting with and gently teaching all who came in.  We'll definitely have to get over there sometime when Joe's parents are around.  I don't know what the regular hours are, though.  Or if they have regular hours.  But I'm sure I can find out.

The museum was a nice place to come in out of the cold.  They served coffee and hot chocolate, and cookies and goodies.   Just as with Santa, this was free to visitors, with the request for a free will donation of non-perishable food items.

Christmas Train

Until last year, I'd never heard of the Canadian Pacific holiday train, but what a fun concept.  Starting in 1999, in Canada, and being added in the US in 2001, CP has sponsored holiday trains to raise awareness of and food for local community food shelves.  For three weeks each December, the trains run throughout the CP routes, with scheduled stops in the communities along the line.  The communities are encouraged to use the occasion as an opportunity to collect money and food items for their local food shelves.  Plummer did this with the Santa visit and the "little lunch" in the museum.  The local businesses also pitched in with a $1000 donation.

For those of you not along a CP line, what exactly happens when the train comes?  Read along to experience it second hand.

Seemingly the entire community is assembled in Pummer's Tri-River Pioneer Museum.  Some sitting at the tables enjoying their snacks.  Others trying to maintain a tight hold on excited and rambunctious children.  Others are wandering the museum displays.  Many are milling about visiting friends and neighbors.  The honors choir has assembled outside, and is leading visitors in singing Christmas and holiday carols.  A joyful and friendly cacophony.

Then the call goes out!  The train is within two miles of town!

The timbre of the gathering changes markedly.  There is an audible shift in the level of excitement.  Parents gather their children.  There is a rush to get coats and hats and gloves back on.  The crowd starts to flow toward the doors of the museum.  This becomes a bit chaotic, as everyone jostles for position and kids slither through the crowd in ways parents cannot.

But eventually everyone gets outside and parents are reunited with those children who have slithered ahead.  The train crossing is just a block or so from the museum, so the excited mass moves that way.  Nobody will get into town from this direction tonight.  The street is filled with people.  As we near the crossing, the adults make room for the kids near the front.  Everyone is friendly and happy, encouraging parents with small children to make their way forward.  The train, ablaze with lights and color is rumbling nearer.  The crowd squeezes closer.

(This was all quite a bit to take in on a first visit, so readers who shared the occasion will have to forgive any misrepresentation in my description, and please, add your own version in the comments.)

I see the train a-comin'

The train chuffs into town.  There is a feeling of excitement and anticipation.  The lights.  The sounds.  The holiday cheer and excitement.  The train comes to a stop before the surging crowd.  Christmas music pours from the train.  In a moment, Santa issues forth and the little ones press toward him.  He hands out candy canes to each of them.

I notice, as the train pulled to a stop, what appears to be a large silver screen on the boxcar that is situated directly across the roadway, immediately in front of the crowd.  Earlier in the evening, I had learned that this is to be the first time the train has a scheduled stop in Plummer.  A question that I heard repeated often was, "Are they going to perform?"  I did not know what to expect.  Do they project some sort of show onto the silver surface mounted on this strategically placed boxcar?

My kids and I were with Rachel and Josh most of the evening, since Jonathan and John wanted to enjoy the festivities together.  I have to insert here that much of the time Josh and I, being both of more reserved natures, were left together.  The younger ones ran around enjoying the fun and playing with all their school friends.  Rachel did her Rachel thing, which means visiting with and hugging everyone.  Rachel worked for several summers with the Oklee Community Rec, so children of all ages know and love her.  She is also a favorite of the parents too.  Having just graduated last spring, Rachel has friends among the high school kids and other young adults.  Even the older people seem to want to hug her and ask how things are.  I was continually impressed with how many people's lives Rachel has touched.  And I myself felt a special fondness for this dear young woman many times throughout the evening, as I realized that these two young people, Josh and Rachel, had no embarrassment or awkwardness at all, spending their evening hanging out with me, a comparably old lady, and her crazy kids. 

Rachel and Josh

As the train pulls into town, Rachel explains that until it's fully stopped, the people must stay back a ways, but later everyone can come right up to the stage.  Hmmm.  Stage?  Curioser and curioser.

Then suddenly, the large silver surface about which I had wondered, seems to drop from the side of the boxcar.  Several other things occur simultaneously.  Pink and purple fog issues from the boxcar, and the music grows in intensity.

What had previously appeared to be a silver wall falls opened to become a stage.  The ClayTones appear, rocking to a familiar holiday tune.  They will entertain us for about half an hour, jamming away to their own rock and country renditions of various Christmas and holiday songs, and some original numbers, as well.

The ClayTones

In between musical sets, different speakers come forth for a brief statement encouraging support for the local food shelf.

The crowd is huddled cozily together and we keep each other warm, both with the close proximity of the many bodies, and the dancing and swaying in which we all participate as the band gets us going.  

At one point during the performance, the announcer mentions that those with tickets into Thief River Falls can board the passenger car.  Apparently, those who desire it can purchase a ride between legs of the route.  How fun!

When the performance is done the train pulls out again, slowly gathering speed.  The crowd turns away and drifts into the night.  Rachel and I have a hard time pulling John and Jonathan away until the train is completely passed.  They don't want the night to end.

It was an afternoon and evening full of of fun and excitement, neighbors and friends, holiday cheer and good will.  It was filled to overflowing with the goodness of small town life.

The Simple Pleasure of Sharing in Cultural Silliness

Inge and Donna sang all through lunch today.  The Itsy-bitsy Spider, Sing a Song of Six Pence, London Bridge is Falling Down, etc.

Regarding the Itsy-bitsy Spider, however, I've never gotten them converted to the word, "itsy-bitsy," their preferred pronunciation being, "insy-binsy."  If I sing it the "right" way, they correct me.  So I've just kind of given up.  It's not really important anyway, right?  I think they can still grow up to be reasonably stable adults.

Today at lunch I asked Inge what insy-binsy meant?  She said it meant spider.  Donna laughed at that, so I asked Donna what it meant.  She giggled and shrugged her shoulders.

I explained, "The way I learned it, the words are itsy-bitsy, and that means little tiny.  But, "I continued, in kind of a puzzled sort of tone, "I'm not sure what insy-binsy means."

Hmm, that got them thinking a minute, but then they started in singing once more. 

Joe was getting his tomato sauce out of the canner in the kitchen, and he piped up from the other room, "Down came Duane and washed the spider out.  Hey, who's Duane?"

Then he continued, with his particular brand of silliness, "Knock knock."

Without missing a beat, the girls responded, "Who's there?"

I was getting ready to give what I thought was a very silly and unrelated pun. 

But Joe beat me to it, "Duane in Spain stays mainly in the plain."

I love that we have all this shared cultural literacy upon which to draw.  That little pun, which totally cracked me up, is only funny because of the movie, My Fair Lady.  It wouldn't make a whit of sense otherwise.  But becasue Joe and I share a background of that song, and that musical, he could grab onto that little pun and run with it.  And I got to enjoy it, even if I didn't get to say if first.  I probably enjoyed it more, knowing that we were thinking alike, even though it was obscure.

Shared culture, it's a beautiful thing.

I'd be curious to know whether any other readers saw it coming, too?  I have an inking that anyone who reads a blog this well,... confused, strange, unusual, obscure, random,... on a regular basis, just might share the same cultural silliness, too.

315 Stations and Nothing but Bad Songs On (well four stations, anyway)

I had to run into Thief River today already.  But first I had to stop by a friend/neighbor/member's house to pick up Joe's paycheck.  This man lives about 12 miles east of us; TR is west and north.  So it made a bit of a drive.  (And yes, even though he's twelve miles away, when you consider how few people are in between, he's still kind of a neighbor, right?)

Often I like a nice long drive.  It gets me out of the house, and up and rolling right away.  And when there's good music or good talk or good news on the radio, it can be kind of fun.  But I'm still in my anti-talk radio and anti-current events mood.  So I flip through the music stations.  There is an eclectic station out of the Community College in Thief River.  There is a Public Radio music station. There are a couple of pop/hip hop type stations, but they don't come in very well; and there are four country stations.  Oh, and classic rock.  I can usually get one or the other of two classic rock stations.  I can almost always find something I like.  And so the drive flies by.

I don't know if I've written about it here, but my car is like my rebel place.  I love to find a song I like and just go crazy singing out loud and jamming to the tunes.  

But lately, I don't know, lately I'm having this ADD radio thing again.  I don't like ANYTHING on the radio.  NOTHING!  Well, very little.  I've gradually fallen into a mostly country radio habit, but lately, all the songs I had previously come to like are "old" so they don't get much play time.  I don't happen to like most of the "new" songs.  Or if I do, they are of the sort I probably ought not to like as well as I do.  

Some I like for the music.  It's interesting, complex, or has a fun beat.  An example of that, a song that's older now, but that I always find myself grooving to until I realize which song it is, at which time I feel chagrined, since it's one I don't allow my kids to sing out to, is this a long enough run-on sentence yet, is Honky Tonk Bedonkadonk by Trace Atkins.  I really think that's a cool sounding song.  But you know, I just can't get myself to feel right about a song, the entire purpose of which is to celebrate a woman's backside and how she clothes and moves it.  I don't know...maybe it's just me.

Then there are those songs that are just plain fun, but too hedonistic for me to say I really like them.  An example of this is George Strait's Here for a Long Time.  I love to sing out on that one at the top of my lungs.  It's just so fun.  But there is that one swear word that I can't in good conscience sing in front of my kids; and in general that song is all about hedonism.  Have fun and take no responsibility.  Louisa has tried to assuage my guilty feeling by explaining that it could be about not worrying, or not striving to accumulate things or power or position; and I suppose that could be true.  But to me, it feels hedonistic.

Then there are the melancholy songs about days gone by.  And quite frankly none of us needs any encouragement to wallow in the guilt, shame, or pain of the past; or any temptation to dwell on the good times to which we can't return.  Memories are fine, and good, and a rich blessing. And occasionally a country music song will celebrate memories in this healthy fashion.  But that's not the kind of song I'm talking about.  Most country music songs are not rejoicing in good memories.  Instead such songs pine for the past in an unhealthy way.  They tend to tantalize the discontent and covetous aspects of our sinful nature.  There are a few bands or individuals, though, whose melodies, harmonies, and musical arrangements come together so compellingly that they draw a listener right into the songs, and thus put people right back into old times.  This kind of song, too, I prefer not to listen to very often, even thought I may love the sound of these songs.

Lately, though, it just seems like either the songs are totally boring, on the one hand.  Or they are fun or interesting or lovely musically, but fit into one of the above categories.

And so today, driving a total of about 80 miles, I heard one song I really liked.  ONE.  I heard only TWO of the songs that I like from the previous "guilty pleasure" categories.

But the one good song was a really good song.  Josh Turner's Why Don't We Just Dance.  I suppose that I ought not to complain.  If I had to hear just one good song, I'm glad it was that one.

Turning into a Busy Day

I like to laze around a little on Saturday mornings.  The bigger kids don't have to rush off to school; and because of the quieter morning, the little ones sleep later, too.  But somehow, each week, the lazing around time passes all too quickly.  Soon, I find myself still sitting around, still being lazy, but with the Saturday chore list built up around me in a somewhat intimidating fashion.

Today I began my day with a nice warm cup of coffee and reading Article VIII of the Smalcald Articles, in study for a discussion I'm in the midst of on God's workings in our daily lives.  I hope to post about that eventually, once I get everything sorted out in my mind.  I also had a couple of internet conversations on the above topic first thing this morning. 

Later, just as I was about to get up and rolling, I was treated to a brief phone call, suggesting a skype conversation with one of my very bestest of friends.  This friend is fairly new to e-mail stuff and so even our frequent e-mail exchanges of late feel like a great gift.  But now we have conquered the skype thing.  This was our first time.  It was awesome!  Totally!  So wonderful to see her smiling face.

After that I sat down here to formulate some tentative plans for my day, but then one of my daughters came and sat down next to me, and we got distracted with a little bit of what my teens call facebook creeping.  This cultural phenomenon consists of doing a facebook search for someone you want to know more about, or show pictures of to another person, etc.  It feels a little bit like stalking, but I suppose it's no different than looking at pictures in a high school year book and sharing them with a friend.

When Elsie and I were finished with our "quality time" I realized that, once again, I am behind already this Saturday.  So what do I do?  I sit down and spend more time at the computer composing this blog post.

Today I hope to

• get three meals on the table
• catch up on all the various bits and pieces and piles of dirty dishes that are sitting around my kitchen
• finish Matt's preliminary Marine Corps paperwork (the part where they ask all the details of every person in our lives, to give to the FBI, so they can determine whether or not Matt or anyone in his circle of people is a threat to national security
• get Elsie's confirmation invitations in the mail
• orchestrate Saturday chores for everyone
• fold some laundry
• get three more laundry loads run through
• get all the little ones through the Saturday bath cycle
• take a walk or exercise in some way

That's the plan, Stan.  Wish me well.

A Tale of Three Joshes

I am luxuriating right now in a little free time.  Really free.  I am at the library in Thief River Falls working on a few personal computer projects.  At least that's what I'm supposed to be doing.  But I got a little sidetracked.  Any surprises there? 

It all started when, as I was setting my laptop and purse, etc, on the library table, I glanced at the magazine rack directly adjacent to it.  No, let me back up.  First, I was looking around at the quilts hanging above the library in the Theif River Falls Quilters Guild's annual quilt show.  I don't get to this library very often, but I'm always pleasantly surprised when I happen upon the quilt show.  These lovely quilts will be on display the entire month of April.  Come and look if you get a chance.

My admiration of the quilts led me to thoughts of appreciation for the TRF library.  Generally I use the Red Lake Falls library, and I love it for many reasons, not the least of which is the friendship I enjoy with the librarian there.  But this morning, I was feeling thankful for the library here in TRF.  So I was glancing around at all the many things they have to offer, and taking time to really notice things.

Brolin as James Hickok

Well, confessions be made, I couldn't help but notice the cover of the current issue of the Wall Street Journal Magazine on which Josh Brolin, one of my current favorite actors, gazes soberly (and yes, handsomely) at all passersby.  I first discovered Brolin while on a recent kick of watching the 1989 television series, The Young Riders, on hulu.  The show is an fun mix of fantasy and historical fiction.  It is set in the wild west, which is an immediate draw for me.  I have plans to feature it in a future post, so I'm not going to let myself get sidetracked talking about it here.  Because I loved the characters in the show so much, and because I had never heard of most of them, I did a bit of research on their lives and work.  And I requested some movies from the library which featured some of these men and women.

It was fun to see Brolin on a magazine cover begging me to pick it up and scan the article.  The article was mostly fluff.  The usual fare of Brolin's "rugged good looks", and the "layers of depth" he manages to bring to his characters.  I'm not discounting either of those things, mind you.  It's just that I've read many articles about Josh Brolin in the last several months and they all say pretty much the same thing.  This article, too, didn't included much new information.   But there was this little quote that lends some further detail to the frequent assertion that he embraces his ranch upbringing; and that he and his wife, actress Diane Lane, attempt to eschew the Hollywood glitz mentality.

...and he [Brolin] chauffeurs himself around in a black Dodge Ram--the latest in a series of pickups.  (This sounds so dumb," he says, "but I really love my truck.") 

I know many people who can appreciate that sentiment.

As I was putting the Wall Street Journal Magazine away, my eyes fell upon a second Josh, one with whose musical talents I've only recently become familiar.  Josh Turner looked out from the cover of Cambria Style with his friendly and somewhat mischievous smile.  So I had to pick that up, too.

I know nothing about Cambria Style.  The only Cambria I know of is a little town in southern Minnesota, along the Minnesota River between New Ulm and Mankato.  That Cambria, incidentally, is famous for the hamburgers served at the local bar and grill.  But I'm pretty sure that they don't have their own magazine.  Perhaps they ought to.

I get the impression that the Cambria Style magazine is about interior decorating.  It seems to feature articles that highlight products made by Cambria, and weave them into human interest type stories.

The particular human interest angle of the article in which Josh Turner takes center stage, celebrates the history the Grand Old Opry, and accounts its restoration after the devastating 2010 flooding in Nashville and its surrounds.  The restoration included Cambria counter-tops in the dressing rooms, hence the inclusion in Cambria Style. 

Josh Turner and the Opry seating

But the Josh Turner angle is what drew me into the article.  Turner credits his December 2001 appearance at the Opry for launching him to stardom.  He sang Long Black Train not once but twice, as he was sent back onstage after a standing ovation to sing it again.  In 2009, at the age of 29, Turner was inducted as a full time member of the Opry, becoming it's youngest member ever. 

"I just love how you can go there and hear a lot of different styles of country music and hear artists from a lot of different eras and get a picture of what country music really is," Turner says. But he also notes that being a member of the Opry is about giving back to the institution and the fans that helped to launch his career. "I was extremely honored to have that bestowed upon me so soon. But I knew then and I still know now that being committed to playing a show like the Opry requires a lot of responsibility."

But I titled this post a Tale of Three Joshes.  The first title that flitted through my head was something about two favorite Joshes.  But I couldn't do that because there is another Josh who is infinitely more dear to my heart than either of the pop cultures stars mentioned above. 

A young man in our church, Josh B., captures the spot of my favorite Josh.  (I did have to think through to make sure none of my many nieces, nephews  or God-children were named Josh before I could make such a claim.  But I'm safe there.  One of my best friends has a son who carries this name.  But I don't see this friend very often.  I have only seen that Josh once in his life, so although I love him vicariously, I can't say he's a true favorite.)

But I've seen Josh B. grow from a little three year old boy, to a fine junior high aged young man.

When we moved to this area ten years ago, Josh B. was one of my daughter, Clara's, first playmates.  He bought a cool cowboy vest at a second hand store once that he through he could use for their wedding.  (Sorry, Josh, I just had to include that little story.)

Josh falls in age almost exactly between two of my girls, Clara and Elsie, so as he got a little older, his friendship shifted to Elsie for a time.  But then the kids grew up even more, and it became uncool for a growing boy to play with girls. 

About the same time as his friendship with my girls began to wane, however, I started teaching Josh's class in Sunday school, so I still had a personal tie to his life.  I think I had the privilege of teaching his class for three years.  One of the great blessings of teaching Sunday school is getting to know the congregation's children more intimately.  The children in Josh's class were all fantastic kids, and I enjoyed each of them them immensely. 

I've been thinking much about Josh lately.  Last fall Josh's oldest brother, Jake, died.  Our congregation is still mourning his loss.  My family is mourning his loss, because among other reasons, he was my son Matt's best friend.  I am amazed at how suddenly the painful thoughts can overtake me.

But I know that the pain and sadness I feel can be nothing compared to that which his immediate and extended family are learning to deal with.  I know and you know that Jake is at home with his Father and his Brother.  But I also know that you still suffer.  I pray for you all continuing healing, and increasing peace. 

The grace of the Lord Jesus Christ, and the love of God, and the communion of the Holy Spirit be with you all. Amen.  (II Corinthians 13:14)

OK, I feel a rant coming on...or maybe two...

I was e-mailed this little thing the other day.  Generally I don't even open these, but this one from someone who rarely sends this sort of thing, so I thought I'd see what kinds of things she does send.

The Green Thing

In the line at the store, the cashier told the older woman that plastic bags weren’t good for the environment. The woman apologized to her and explained, “We didn’t have the green thing back in my day.”

That’s right, they didn’t have the green thing in her day. Back then, they returned their milk bottles, Coke bottles and beer bottles to the store. The store sent them back to the plant to be washed and sterilized and refilled, using the same bottles over and over.  So they actually were "recycled."

But they didn’t have the green thing back in her day.

In her day, they walked up stairs, because they didn’t have an escalator in every store and office building. They walked to the grocery store and didn’t climb into a 300-horsepower machine every time they had to go two blocks.

But she’s right. They didn’t have the green thing in her day.

Back then, they washed the baby’s diapers because they didn’t have the throw-away kind. They dried clothes on a line, not in an energy-gobbling machine burning up 220 volts – wind and solar power did the drying. Kids often got hand-me-down clothes from their brothers or sisters, not always brand-new clothing.

But that old lady is right, they didn’t have the green thing back in her day.

Back then, they had one TV, or radio, in the house – not a TV in every room. And the TV had a small screen the size of a pizza dish, not a screen the size of the state of Montana. In the kitchen, they blended and stirred by hand because they didn’t have electric machines to do everything for them. When they packaged a fragile item to send in the mail, they used wadded up newspaper to cushion it, not styrofoam or plastic bubble wrap.

Back then, they didn’t fire up an engine and burn gasoline just to cut the lawn. They used a push mower that ran on human power. They exercised by working so they didn’t need to go to a health club to run on treadmills that operate on electricity.

But she’s right, they didn’t have the green thing back then.

They drank from a fountain when they were thirsty, instead of using a plastic bottle or cup every time they had a drink of water. They refilled pens with ink, instead of buying new pens, and they replaced the blades in a razor instead of throwing away the whole razor just because the blade got dull.

But they didn’t have the green thing back then.

Back then, people took the streetcar and kids rode their bikes to school or rode the school bus, instead of turning their moms into a 24-hour taxi service. They had one electrical outlet in a room, not an entire bank of sockets to power a dozen appliances. And they didn’t need a computerized gadget to receive a signal beamed from a satellite 2,000 miles out in space in order to find the nearest pizza joint.

But they didn't have the green thing back then!

OK, maybe I'm not going to rant.  I changed my mind.  I love this anecdote, even if it is fiction.  We don't have to contrive various ways to "be green" and spout about them all the time.  It doesn't make us somehow more righteous to use cloth diapers or ride a bike to work.  These are choices each person might make.  And the ways to "be green" are so much more varied than the popular ideas being crammed down our societal throats non-stop. 

How about shoe repair?  Do you know how hard it is to find a cobbler?  And it's also more expensive these days to get a good shoe repaired than to buy cheapo shoes and just replace them.  But I do it because it makes more sense to me. 

How about mending clothes? 

Or buying parts for appliances?  Oh, that one really torks me.  They make these totally cheapo appliances that are made to break down.  And the parts are nearly as expensive as buying a new one.  My Mother-in-law just replaces the stove she had for forty-some years.  Why? Not because it needed to be replaced.  But because she could no longer find parts for it.  And she had to get a cheapo piece of junk that will last her maybe fifteen.  Maybe.  And only because she's not cooking for a family anymore.  They wear out much faster in that case.  Trust me, I know.  But our society is not geared toward those common sense practices that used to be common.  Because a certain segment of our population wants new things all the time, producers don't make things that last.  We have to invent ways to "be green" since common sense has flown the coop.

Ok, I guess I did rant.  And I think I just might a second time.

As long as I'm on the subject of environmentalism, I am going to spout just a little about something that really irritates me about the elementary school my kids attend.  I might even rant.  This is just a pet peeve thing, really, not anything important, just really, really irritating.  Officially, the kids are not allowed to bring homemade treats to school.  I had planned to approach the school board about getting this rule changed, but now I've heard it's become a state law in Minnesota!  

I think this is ridiculous on a number of levels, but the two that I might draw upon to convince the "super, hyper, protect everyone from everything crowd" that makes rules like this is such a law's health and environmental impact.  How so, you might ask?

I can make food that's way, way healthier than what I can buy pre-processed at the grocery store.  Really.  I don't feed my own kids store bought treats except on rare occasions (a road trip, for instance, might warrant a package of vanilla wafers to be split ten ways), because I don't believe in giving them junk.  I don't even bake much because I don't think kids need to develop a sweet tooth.  When I do, I generally cut back the sugar, or use raisins, dates, honey, or molassses for part of the sweetening.  I tweak all recipes to make them healthier.  I don't use dyes or preservatives or additives or fillers.  Just regular wholesome ingredients.

On the environmental front, how many packages in the course of a year is this going to add to our landfills with all the store bought stuff?  If I were to make something to send to school, I'd send it in Tupperware.  Which could be sent home, washed and re-used.  But the store bought stuff has at very least, a plastic wrap to toss.  It might have a plastic wrap and a cardboard box.  It might have styrofoam.  It's even likely the treats would be individually wrapped.  Yikes!  I bought fruit snacks for our recent road trip for the way home (only six kids along) and the wrappers are still driving me nuts.  I found one floating around the grass when I mowed today.  I thought I had them all contained, but sure enough there went one under the mower.  Good grief!

So, in these days of health and environmental consciousness, even a protectionist should be able to see that this is a stupid law.  And it's not like the food supply is safe anyway.  I'd like to see a comparison of how many people get sick from bake sale items compared to the allegedly tested and approved things they are constantly recalling because somebody or some group of somebodies has gotten sick from something that has passed the inspections. 

Ok.  I'm done now.  I feel better.

Sharing Pop Culture with my Teenaged Daughter

Louisa gets irritated because I am so negative/cynical of the state of chastity and commitment among the rich and famous.  She exhorts me to "put the best construction on everything."  She is right.  I ought not to assume someone is fornicating simply because he or she is a pop star.

Louisa has exhorted me to look at Taylor Swift and the Jonas Brothers as examples of stars who choose to wear purity as part of their persona.  So today, while I was having my coffee break, I started reading about Taylor Swift.  She is a lovely girl and seems to have her feet on solid ground.  But I didn't find anything that would indicate a particularly chaste lifestyle choice. Nor did I find anything particularly indicative of and unchaste lifestyle.  She did attend a Christian school for part of her high school and was homeschooled some of the time.   She doesn't like to talk about the degree of intimacy in her relationships.  That, at least, is laudable.  That's as much as I can say about her morals from what I could find readily on the internet. Perhaps Louisa is familiar with more sources than those I am finding.

I like several of Ms Swift's songs that Louisa has shared with me.  But I thought Thug Story was especially cute.  Together with reading at least eight on-line biographies, this video helped me to appreciate the variety and personality behind Taylor Swift's stardom.

Meet the Cowans

From what I can determine, it was in September of 2009, when this video of Marlow and Frances Cowan first "went viral" on youtube.  The following is that original video clip.



I enjoyed this video clip so much I did a little research on the Cowans. They are from Iowa. Marlow is 91 this month. They perform at local functions on both the piano with handbells.

Because of their youtube fame, the Cowans returned to the Mayo Clinic Atrium for a less impormptu performance last March.  The mayo clinic posted a series of videos of that performance.  I've not watched them all, yet.  (I have a somewhat slow connection.)  But I hope to take time to watch them all soon.

Return I


Return II


Return III


Return IV


Return V


Return VI


Return Finale


After that concert in March, their fame continued to escalate and they appeared on Good Morning America last year, in May.  I love their take on life.

Interview


Very inspiring.  If only I had that much spunk and such an good attitude at my age, 40 something.  I will aspire to that in my daily life.  I didn't find any more recent news of this delightful couple.  I pray they are well.

A Basketful of Music

I've recently spoken ill of country music, both on this blog and a few facebook comments, so I'm going to make a few amends.  Sort of.  You'll have to read through to the end to find the best part.

Country is probably not my first choice in listening, but if one is in the car, and one is sleepy, and one has only a few stations from which to choose, I have found that country is a musical category that one can listen to, even when one is not familiar with the songs being played.  I don't know why that is.  Oldies, too.

But hip-hop, or rap...  Boy, if you don't know the songs, it just sounds like ever so much noise.  Perhaps that is due to my age?  My oldest daughters seem to have no trouble at all with new dance songs...

Regardless of my preference, the radios stations in my neck of the woods are somewhat limited.  I can pretty much always tune into a country station.  I can pretty much always get NPR.  And if it's during daylight hours I can get AM talk radio and an oldies station.  In the name of full disclosure, I can also, if I choose, get a variety of sports and Christian stations, but generally, I do not generally choose them.  I am not a sports nut, and I prefer to get my Spiritual Food from other venues.

Last night on the way into Thief River, I tuned into the Public Radio show, American Routes.   It's a show I've found interesting and entertaining in the past.

One of the reasons I rag on country and pop music is because of the blatant and subtle messages so often promoted.  But I heard an oldie last night on American Routes that totally cracked me up. I suppose that contemporary country and pop and rap have no monopoly on "untoward" messages. After So Round So Firm, So Fully Packed by Merle Travis was done, the announcer explained that back in the days when both cigarettes and commenting on the female shape were more in vogue, this song brought the two together metaphorically.    Apparently that description in the title is of the preferred kind of cigarette.  Hmmm.

I heard another very cool segment, an interview with Sonny Landreth, who has apperantly made a specialty of blues slide guitar.  I'm married to a quite adept guitarist, but I've never heard tones like this.  It was amazing. Mr. Landreth calls it the finding the voice of the guitar, and truly, it had a very vocal quality. 

I kind of lost interest in American Routes later in the show, and I'm quite glad I did.  I tuned in to a country music station. Yes, I did.  And I heard a song I really, really liked.  Good voice, good background music, and best of all terrific lyrics.  Good job, Craig Campbell.

There's dirty shirts to wash

Dishes in the sink to do

And there's how many times

Does 17 go into 52

There's bedtime prayers to pray

Sleep tights and I love you's

And then there's a pair of eyes

I get to lose myself into 

 Sounds like my life.