ND Veteran's Cemetery, 2012

We celebrated Christmas with our little family this past weekend.  Now everyone is free to go and do whatever they want for the rest of the holidays.  Early Sunday afternoon we led the way to the North Dakota Veterans Cemetery a few miles south of our house.  Quite an amazing sight it was.  This picture in no way shows all the monuments in the cemetery but gives an idea how it appears with the Christmas wreaths placed at the foot of each stone.  I've forgotten the number buried out there, but I think it's between three and four thousand.  Often times we've had to wait before entering Highway 1806 because a procession led by a hearse followed by mourners is passing by as it carries they escort a veteran on his final ride.

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How can a person write anything without thinking of the other funerals taking place now in Connecticut?  It's been hard to watch the news lately because it's hard to wrap brains and emotions around the murders.  Some rethinking is taking place among previous stalwarts of the 2nd Amendment.  A reinterpretation of just what is meant by the language has been heard.  Written in the day of single shot muzzle loading rifles, how does it apply to today's rapid-fire multitudinous bullets spraying from the tip of a barrel?  Joe Scarborough, self-professed right-wing conservative, gave a compelling argument that gun ownership needs to be looked at again. He said that his previous gun views were no longer relevant.  His video of the long argument he makes can still be found and viewed on MSNBC and probably other sites after Googling it.

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Movies and video games do their part in making violence seem normal or natural.  When we last were in a theater for "Lincoln" the previews seemed especially  graphic, basically terrible.  One of them featured a slave turned gunslinger who had lots of scores to settle.  Bang, bang.
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Maybe history is violence.  Going back to the saying that if you think you've got it tough, read a history book, I currently reading William Manchester's third book in a trilogy, The Last Lion, which is the biography of Winston Churchill.  He stands tall as a historical figure and the story of just how tall he stood when Hitler's bombs were falling all around him is worth the read.  Churchill wasn't just a fat, toady looking little man.  In an obscure fight known as the Battle of Omdurman in 1898 he rode as a cavalryman as England fought to keep its empire together.  On horseback his unit was ordered to charge with sabers drawn.  With a lame shoulder he knew he wouldn't be able to fight well, so he drew his pistol and entered the fight with it, killing three. 
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It's best to get off the violence talk.  We are in a season where we should proclaim peace on earth and goodwill to all men.  Merry Christmas.

12-12-12

The statue of boots, rifle, and helmet stands at the entrance to a military installation in Bismarck called Fraine Barracks.  It seemed appropriate to take a picture and post it today when a funeral was held yesterday for one of the North Dakota National Guard boys killed in an explosion.  Behind it stood a flag pole flying a flag at half staff.  Four members of the guard died recently, two of them in Iraq and  two by their own hand after returning.  Sad stories at Christmastime.

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I just received a Christmas letter from my old English teacher, Mrs. Slatta.  Actually two came, one written personally to me by her daughter, and the other written on behalf of her mother by the same daughter.  You see, Mrs. Slatta is now 103 years old, so she gets help doing some of these things.  Both women enjoyed knowing how I got reacquainted with the son through the Western Writers of America.  Her husband at the time was the school superintendent and our civics class teacher.  I still remember the day when we talked about the Russian's orbiting Sputnik.  1957.

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Winter came to Mandan, snow, cold, and wind. I always think about those Southern boys up here in the oil patch and how they must be complaining. I saw a sign in the window of the Medora bookstore that would answer them: If you think you've got it tough, read a history book. One of the benefits of Mary's family history collecting is the hard times that those of a couple generations ago suffered through. Two different cases of extreme hardship come to mind. In each of them families of immigrants traveled westward to new homes, and a woman had to give birth in the middle of a snowstorm. The wagon boxes the families rode in were turned upside down to make a shelter, and the woman was wrapped in horse blankets. Each time things turned out okay with the births, though in one of them the man complained, upon being rescued, that he had run out of tobacco during the night.

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Last Saturday's weather threatened, but I drove west to Medora to do a book signing in the Western Edge bookstore. The business places in that town have been sponsoring a weekend filled with activities, eats, and shopping. I pulled into town a bit early to do some shopping for the little granddaughter for something Mary had seen in one of the shops last spring. A nice plate of goodies sat there, and I helped myself to a krumkake liberally sprinkled with powdered sugar. Mmmm. A schedule of business places offering treats and eats lay on the table. I counted 21 of them. No way could I visit all of them, but I took off for the Cowboy Hall of Fame building and the advertised Rocky Mountain oyster offering. Upstairs three ladies stood preparing them, but they were not done yet. I looked over the counter at those little raw bluish nuggets in a bowl and decided I could forgo that cuisine. I said to one of the ladies the only time I'd ever eaten them was when I was crazy-full of beer. She said, “Go down the street and drink three or four, then come back.” I didn't.

The hotel served a very hearty chili. The meat ingredient was not hamburger but chunks of steak. A bowl of that tasted good, and for a dessert, plates of truffles beckoned. One of them and I was on my way to the bookstore for what I discovered is a community favorite, Mary E's bread pudding with rum sauce. People lined up to get at that. A crowd like that promised a few book sales, and I didn't get at the pudding for awhile. Even though the drive home got a bit dicey from the weather, I was not disappointed since I returned home with a nice check.

Early November Miscellaneous

Below our house a large cornfield stood until stiff winds of a month ago knocked many of the stalks flat to the ground.  We noticed upon returning home from Branson that the field had been harvested for what still stood.  Hordes of geese moved in, tens of thousands of them, to finish gleaning corn laying on the ground. They provided an entertaining view each time we drove past.  One morning I heard shotguns blasting away, and now, there are no more geese gathering.  I miss them.

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We bought tickets for the new James Bond movie "Skyfall."  This was just for the heck of it.  James Bond isn't too brainy, so a person doesn't have to do much thinking, just sit back and watch.  We didn't feel cheated because it was entertaining.  Several months ago while we toured the North Dakota Cowboy Hall of Fame, I stopped to look at an exhibit.(How this got into a collection of cowboy stuff, I don't know.)  A Walther PPK pistol sat in a showcase and was identified as the type of gun James Bond carries.  So I looked closely when he drew his iron, and sure enough, it looked the same to me.

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The folks downriver on the Missouri have been complaining about the low level of water in the river that endangers barge traffic.  On one of our trips we spent time in Mark Twain's town of Hannibal, Missouri.  We stopped atop a hill overlooking the river and watched barge traffic float slowly by.  Barges are large, and I imagine cost of freighting grain, or any other products, is quite economical.  Politics will start getting played real hard to protect that industry.

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I can't resist telling this story on my wife.  Krolls restaurants offer a good bargain each afternoon: two-for-one burgers, fries, and malts.  When it's close to suppertime, we will occasionally go and fill up.  The best part of the deal is the malts.  They mix each one up in the silver cans we used to see as a kid.  They serve the finished product in a glass container.  The good part is this: There is enough left in the tin container to fill the glass once again.  And upon request, they bring a styrofoam cup to take the excess brew home.  I enjoy my malts to the last drop and like to draw hard on the last slurp and make it go braaackkk.  Drives Mary crazy!  Well, last week, there she was enjoying hers to the last drop and BRAAACKK she goes.  I made immediate eye contact with her over that, but the good part was that a brassy old woman had come in and ordered at the counter.  She turned around and said, "You big kid!!"  But she scolded in fun and we had a good laugh over it.  Some comeuppance for the wife, though.

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It's been an interesting week for me.  This coming Saturday I've been invited to come to Medora for a book signing at their Cowboy Christmas celebration...  I had an email from a gentleman who is reviewing my book for the Western Writers of America and needed additional information...  An email arrived from Paris, France from a gentleman researching the West who wants a book.  Not knowing postage costs I went to the post office and discovered that postage for the book is $10.03...  Ole, while not a brilliant scholar, was a gifted portrait artist. His fame grew and soon people from all over the country were coming to Minnesota to have portraits done. One day, a stretch limo pulled up to his house.

Inside was a beautiful woman, who asked Ole if he would paint her in the nude. This was the first time anyone had made this request of Ole. The woman said money was no object. She was willing to pay $50,000. Not wanting to get into trouble with his wife, Ole asked the woman to wait while he went in the house and conferred with Lena, his missus.

In a few minutes, he returned and said to the lady, "Ya, shoor, you betcha. I'll paint ya in da nude, but I'll haff ta leave my socks on so I'll have a place to wipe my brushes."