Where'd 50 Years Go?

A few days ago one of my old classmates suggested we should start thinking about celebrating the fiftieth anniversary of our high school graduation in 2010. A reunion would be a great time, and if it can be organized, I will be in attendance. I got to thinking how fast these forty-nine years have passed by and all that has transpired.

When we graduated in 1960 Dwight D. Eisenhower sat in the Oval Office. Since then ten others have been elected, one being assassinated, one resigning in disgrace, and a couple more who probably should have.

It’s hard to count the number of wars we’ve fought in, but Vietnam ranks as the toughest one, evidenced by the black wall with the names of over 50,000 dead inscribed on it. We’ve gone to Iraq twice, Bosnia once, and now Afghanistan. Our forces have also been involved in little skirmishes in South America and Africa and have gotten our noses bloodied by Castro in the Cuba Bay of Pigs fiasco. And I still remember getting the daylights scared out of me when Kennedy and Khrushchev faced off with atomic missiles pointing at each other over another Cuban matter.

Periods of prosperity come and go, and now we are facing a serious downturn of the economy. On a personal note, I’ve reached the age where I have retired and, thankfully, did not stick too much of my savings into stocks in spite of those around me who kept bragging about how much money they were making in the market. (He who laughs last laughs best?) I have married one woman, raised one family, built one new home, bought a few cars, and could never figure out what people were doing who were building all the large mansions. It turns out they didn’t know either since they have to figure out how to pay for them in this economy. Well, that’s enough of a blog for now, but that’s where I stand.

Wisdom of the Elders

I like to listen to people who look at things in a different light. This past weekend I tuned into “Book TV” on C-Span2, something I occasionally do on weekends because I find their discussions stimulating. One of the authors during a panel discussion contended in his book, the name of which I didn’t get, that there seems to be little or no room for adult or mature voices in the digital media where today’s youth spend much of their time. They live in a horizontal world where their learning and information come from each other, sort of a blind leading the blind. Not enough time or interest gets paid in vertical character formation where older people, knowledge, stories, and wisdom exist such as that found with parents, grandparents, clergy, neighbors, books, etc.


One time I remember reading that when an old person dies it can be likened to a library burning down taking with it all the information stored within. I have explored that concept a bit in my poetry and plan to delve into it even more deeply. That thought came to me again when I recently attended a funeral where I wondered to myself how much of her life has been lost because she never shared it with her family. Stories she never got around to telling have now disappeared into a deep, dark void and can never be retrieved.

Dad tells stories of old days that I always enjoy listening to. While visiting him last Friday he told a tale of a man whose descendants may never even have heard it. It was a story of Johnny Anderson, a man who, when I knew him, lived just north of Sheldon on a farmstead he’d built, the place now occupied by Joe Bartholomay, his wife, and their Arabian horses. We were talking about a recent weather event in the Bowman, ND area, and Dad was reminded of the time when Mr. Anderson rode horseback to Bowman from Sheldon to visit a brother out there and check on homestead opportunities. Few other facts of this journey are known to Dad, but it made me think about things like how and where did he cross the Missouri River, how many days the trek may have taken, when did he go, did he return in the same manner, etc. We decided he may have ridden straight west to the Fort Yates area where I know a ferry operated and probably rode about 40 miles per day which would then have taken him at least five or six days. What else can be conjectured about a journey of this length? Maybe he preserved his memories of that journey in some manner, but I have to doubt it. Old timers like him took facts of a hard life for granted, no big deal!

A passage in Arnold Toynbee’s history book states: “The Greek historian Herodotus reports that the Persian emperor Xerxes wept after he had reviewed his immense expeditionary force because he realized that not a single member of it would still be alive one hundred years later.” I can stand in any cemetery and wonder about all the knowledge and wisdom that lies buried there just as Edgar Lee Masters did when he wrote The Spoon River Anthology. In it he twines and interrelates each buried person to the other, showing all their strengths and weaknesses. Some were scoundrels, some had illegitimate children by someone buried nearby, some were stalwarts in the community, some were just average people, but each had his or her own story. It’s a fictional account loosely based on the actual town where Masters lived.

When I was young I went about my merry way playing cowboys and Indians or whatever. Now I wish I would have paid more attention to older family members as they told their stories. I would be richer for it.

All This on Feb. 25

We made a trip to Lisbon on Saturday to visit my parents at the Lisbon medical facility and hosted a small gathering of relatives and friends who dropped in for cake to celebrate their birthdays and anniversary. Dad turned 94, Ma turned 89, and being married in 1941, they marked their 68th anniversary. From there it was off to Richfield, MN to make the acquaintance of our new granddaughter Lily Grace who, of course, we found to be perfect.

Sad news often accompanies good news. My cousin’s wife called this morning to tell us that Violet Bueling passed away early this morning. I am glad that I stopped in to see her several times in the hospital and that she was always in good spirits those times.

I will be off shortly to pick up the new computer I bought at Best Buy yesterday. While this humble laptop still does the job, it does it just barely, and I thought it was time for an upgrade, especially since I started publishing some of my written efforts.

I began writing this as President Obama gave his first address to the U. S. Congress. Much had been said in anticipation of what he would say and how he should say it. I have confidence in his ability as an intelligent and independent thinker to believe that he would give the right message. As with all previous presidential addresses where I remember watching the minority party sit on their hands with almost comic reactions of not cheering or standing in union with the boisterous assent of the majority party, so it was with this address. I noticed, however, that as his speech developed through carefully chosen words and phrases the minority party felt they were given the openings to stand and cheer in bi-partisan support of many of his plans. I am still confident that he will bring about an improved nation.

The Pendulum Swings

I heard a talking head make a point of interest the other day that just might have some truth in it. He said people like Barack Obama, Hillary Clinton, John McCain, etc., all U.S. Senators, seem to be more than ready to assume other roles besides that of Senator. The Senate has become such a dogpile of argument, stalemate, petty maneuvering, and individual feelings of powerlessness that other jobs look attractive. In the history of this world it is only occasionally that lone figures stand out to steer their constituents towards a new direction of thought or action, be it good or bad. A list of examples is unnecessary since everyone can remember some from high school history classes. In our state I am reminded of a man who started a movement for change with his willingness to put himself on the line, organize support, and wring change from the status quo.


In 1916 this prepossessed man and a fleet of Model T Fords transformed the politics of North Dakota with a new political reality. His name was A. C. Townley, the organizer of the Non-Partisan League in North Dakota. By 1917 the movement he led had taken control of the state legislature, but after 1923 it diminished to become just a memory. The time was right for change since farmers experienced hard times, a fact fostered by the railroad monopoly, eastern grain millers, and a puppet state legislature. Townley was a bankrupt farmer who studied socialist ideas to create better times in his way of thinking. Many farmers in this state were first generation Europeans who came from backgrounds where socialistic thought was thought the standard. When Townley found organizers willing to go out to recruit farmers he furnished them a Model T car so they could range about the countryside at large. The farmers listened to the pitch and signed on.

The effort worked — for a time, that is. But in-fighting developed and the overly ambitious Townley set his sights on and became involved in a national movement which weakened North Dakota’s because without his leadership no one stepped up to take his place. Looking back one historian wrote “All that was left of the League in 1923 was its office furniture, a large volume of uncollected postdated checks, and a fleet of old Ford cars...” Vestiges of the NPL’s accomplishments remain here, namely the State Bank of North Dakota and the State Mill and Elevator. Todays’s national politicians probably do not look to our small bit of history and our socialist institutions, but I note with interest the current discussion of nationalizing the nation’s banking system. Auto industry? Housing industry? The cover of the February 16 Newsweek proclaims “We Are All Socialists Now.”

Roll Up Your Sleeves

Ole honest Abe Lincoln will soon celebrate his 200th birthday. It seems to be a given that he ranks as one of this country’s best presidents. Even though his Emancipation Proclamation was considered a great act, I believe his greatest achievement was the preservation of the Union. Without accomplishing that fact we would have divided into two separate countries with unknown futures. Lincoln’s generals, at the outset, provided little success in battles. Finally, Lincoln chose U. S. Grant to head the army because he had confidence that Grant would engage with the Confederate Army and aggressively fight to the finish. Previous generals gave Lincoln too many excuses why they weren’t able to win victories or even enter into battle. His estimation of Grant was correct.

Teddy Roosevelt worded it the best when he gave his “Man in the Arena” speech. He said in part “The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood ... his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who knew neither victory nor defeat.” His entire statement can be found on the internet with a search for his “Man in the Arena” speech.

I stick with President Obama in his efforts to improve this country’s economy. He is rolling up his sleeves and engaging in the battle. I think back to times when I tried to make changes and got battered by naysayers who wanted to stay comfortable in their old ways of doing things. Even though I failed at times, I do not regret the effort and the sincerity of thought I put into the issues. NPR’s website carried an article that interested me a great deal this past weekend. The headline “Is America Weighed Down By Dead Ideas?” really jumped out at me because of my past experiences. The gist of the article stated “... while many of our current notions of economic and social well-being made sense when they first gained traction 50 years ago, they don’t hold much water today.” In the article he says “In every era, people grow comfortable with settled ideas about the way the world works. It takes an extraordinary shock to expose the conventional wisdom as obsolete...” The writer goes on to name what he thinks are dead ideas: 1. Your kids will earn more than you, 2. Free trade is good, no matter how many people get hurt, 3. Your company must fund and manage your health and pension benefits, 4. Taxes hurt the economy, 5. Schools are a local matter, and 6. Money follows merit.


It looks like we are being extraordinarily shocked with the present economic crisis. The concept of socialism often gets lumped with the word Communism in our discussions , but my February 16 issue of Newsweek magazine proclaims on its front cover “We Are All Socialists Now.” The sub-heading says, "The perils and promise of the new era of big government." I don’t know how we’ll emerge from this situation, but I’ve been doing some reading of high interest into how citizens of North Dakota once took over the reins of state government throught the Non-Partisan League. It’s a fascinating story, and I’ll write of it next week.

Drawing Blanks

Sometimes it's hard to be creative. Recent events puts one's mind into a mode of taking care of business. My father is in a Fargo hospital after having fallen and breaking his hip. At the same time we put my mother in the Lisbon swing bed facility because she is unable to live alone with her ailments. So, until the future, adios.

Spring Will Come

Often times when I walk across the street to get the mail in the cold air with deep snow covering the ground I tote back seed and garden catalogs addressed to my wife. I don’t have a green thumb, but she does, is included on several mailing lists, and now shows signs of itching to get out and start digging. Just the other day our thermometer registered 20 below, and she was rummaging around to find her little starter flats. She had seen to it a couple of weeks ago that I buy potting soil at Menard’s, and her seeds were already on hand. With a planter rack placed by the sunny patio door, we now watch the tiny seeds sprout into skinny little tendrils. I’m reminded of an Indian snake charmer who blows melodies on his flute to entice a cobra to slowly uncoil and rise from its basket. There are probably two dozen little compartments in that starter flat and each is properly identified with a little name tag, namely geranium - hot pink, geranium - red, spinach, and lettuce. Now, mind you, this is only the beginning of her seed germination efforts. Before she is done that rack will groan with the weight of as many flats as can be reasonably squeezed onto its crowded shelves.

Long ago when I was the little boy I remember watching with fascination Dad’s placing of grain seeds into a damp, rolled cloth and setting the bundle in the southern window of our house. I learned an early lesson at that time about percentages; he counted the number of seeds he placed in the roll and after a few days could see how many of them had sprouted compared to the duds and came up the the percentage of germination, a figure that is still important for a farmer to know. It’s been a long time since I’ve inspected the tag on a bag of seed grain, but the last I saw that number is listed.

I know Mary’s dreaming about making the yard come alive with her plants and flowers which in turn draw lots of bees, birds, butterflies, etc. We watched a great program on public tv last night that focused on the migration of the Monarch butterfly. They are a remarkable creature. In the fall they migrate 2,000 miles from Canada to a small spot in Mexico, and nobody knows how they do it. Their targeted spot has been set aside as a reserve by the Mexican government, but, of course, thieves come and go with their illegal cutting down of the trees the butterflies depend on. It so happened the night before my old college friend Jens called from Nebraska. We hadn’t visited for a few years so we reminisced about quite a little. One event came back regarding a summer school session we attended: he was enrolled in an entomology course and needed to collect bugs to identify and display. We had the perfect solution. He drove along a country road and I held a net out the passenger window over the tall grass on the shoulder. Occasionally we would stop and inspect our catch and usually caught up quite a collection, butterflies included. To lubricate this scenario we several times took an empty gallon jug into a little hide-away bar where the bartender filled it with tap beer for a dollar and away we’d go. Those were the days we talk about.

With all past things aside, this summer we again look forward to our little property coming alive with growing things and beating wings.

A New President

What else could be more interesting to write about than yesterday’s presidential inauguration, an event of historic proportions that really gripped the country as evidenced by that huge mass of people who gathered standing in the cold to witness it first hand. I watched on television much of the day from the comfort of an easy chair with a computer on my lap so I could write and record these thoughts. The throngs of people expressed high spirits of hopefulness and expectations of a better future. To me it is obvious that common folks feel an empowerment that they had not felt for some time and that they will be well represented in the Office of the President by an honest, intellectual executive.

From my read of history I couldn’t help but be reminded of the stories surrounding the inauguration of Andrew Jackson. A well-known name, Daniel Webster, made this observation: “Persons have come five hundred miles to see General Jackson, and they really seem to think that the country is rescued from some dreadful danger!” Jackson didn’t want much commotion since his wife had died not long before this, but he couldn’t stem the enthusiasm of the people. Right after he was sworn in the crowd pressed upon him so tightly that he had a difficult time escaping. A near riot developed and they headed to the White House, entered without being invited and proceeded to wreck the place looking for food and drink. After a time White House servants baited the revelers to withdraw from the building by serving wine and ice cream on the lawn.

When Teddy Roosevelt assumed the presidency after the assassination of McKinley he created a fury shortly thereafter. He invited Booker T. Washington to dine with him in the White House. Some southerners thought this was a terrible affront. What would they think now that Obama sits in the Oval Office?

A book in my personal library contains all the presidents’ inaugural addresses. I have looked at them and thought as I listened to Mr. Obama’s speech that it was of average quality. More ear-catchy statements have probably been made by others, i.e. Kennedy’s “... ask not what your country can do for you— ask what you can do for your country,” FDR’s “...the only thing we have to fear is fear itself,”or Lincoln’s “With malice toward none, with charity for all... .” However, Obama uttered solid words which he will now need to back with deeds and action. He has told us repeatedly that there is much to do and it will take a long time before improvement can be seen, but I remember one of his statements where he implored America to get up, dust themselves off, and begin again.

I couldn’t help interjecting myself into Washington after I saw a news item this weekend. Cameras caught Bush landing for the last time onto the White House lawn in his helicopter. In the background stood the Washington Monument, tall and white in the distance. I made sure to look to the top of the spire and note the tiny window just under the roof line. Only a few years ago I, the tourist, peered through that window towards the White House and saw the same helicopter land where Bush and his wife stepped onto the grass. Now I can say I’ve seen the event from two different directions.

My hope for the future is that at the end of eight years there will be as great a feeling of good will towards President Obama as there is presently.

Remember the Memories

With some mild respite from the weather, I can think about other things this morning, even though after I’m done writing I will go out to move some snow around, such as that which has piled up on our deck, our roof line, and other piles that don’t belong where they lay. I experienced a bit of synchronicity last night as I sat reading with one eye and watching a public tv program with the other. The chapter in the book I was reading from bore the title “Writing from Memory;” the tv program’s title was “Colorblind.” It was about an elementary school class from Detroit, MI that experienced the tutelage of a great teacher who happened to be African-American. One of the class members, prompted by her curiosity, started contacting members of the class to reminisce about their experiences in school and how their teacher guided them through their mixed feelings of racial problems during the time of Martin Luther King’s murder.

It might be a bit of a stretch to compare the theme of the program to the material I was reading, but the relationship stood out for me. One quote from the book states, “If you are open to a short safari into the Country of Memory just fifteen minutes will give you enough things to write about to last all morning.” Like those students mentioned above who revived strong memories, I know I can conjure up images and feelings from the past without much trouble. For example, I saw myself as maybe a six or seven year old on a Saturday night when a fellow youngster told me there was a bum sleeping in the old stockyards on the west edge of town. We wanted to go see in the worst way, but parental influence dissuaded us from that. Another time someone told of laying a nickel on the railroad tracks, then after the smoke-belching steam engine and its train had passed, picking it up all squashed and flattened. They, trying to talk me into doing it, met resistance; a nickel bought a single-dip ice cream cone. I wasn’t going to waste it on a train. One other time, the school superintendent came to tell us to stay out of the grain elevator over the noon hour. It seems one of the older students went into the alleyway and fooled around with the manlift. It’s counter-balance was set for the weight of the employee, and when the student got on he shot to the top of the elevator in very fast time.

Now, I’ve gone and opened a gate and the memories are running through like hungry calves to their mothers. I’ll take the space and tell of one more. A grain elevator that used to sit in Sheldon was purchased and moved to a farm site south of Casselton. I can still see it being jacked up and hauled slowly away and think of it each time I pass the spot where it presently sets.

Since I want to spend time researching and writing other things I need to cut back on time thinking and writing blog-things. Instead of posting this several times each week I am going to cut it back to once a week, most probably on a Wednesday. Abe Lincoln once said “Give me six hours to chop down a tree, and I will spend the first four sharpening the axe.” I need to free up those first four hours.

The Sky Continues to Fall

The headline on the front page of the Bismarck Tribune says it all this morning: Sky Continues to Fall. We’re at the five foot depth and it’s only January 14. Emerson’s poem “The Snow Storm” says it well with these first few lines:

Announced by all the trumpets of the sky,
Arrives the snow, and, driving o'er the fields,
Seems nowhere to alight: the whited air
Hides hills and woods, the river, and the heaven,
And veils the farmhouse at the garden's end.
...
I start to dream of better times and better places. Some show on the Travel Channel, Anthony Bourdain’s I think, pictured a fellow in a foreign location carrying a quarter of meat from some critter on his shoulder on the way to the barbecue pit. That image took me back to Wyoming and the elk hunting season, 1969, in the Wind River Mountains. I hooked up with a local hunting party to grunt and climb in that rough terrain and admit to having had a good time experiencing it. My friend had purchased a pack burro from somebody who bested him on the deal. The beast had a set of broken down pasterns and fetlocks that creaked and dragged on the ground with every step, so much so that it was decided the animal could carry but little weight. This was decided after one of the party did bag a large bull. Beasts of burden were not in plentiful supply, so yours truly got to shoulder one of the quarters and hike out a couple of miles to the nearest pickup.

One of the men decided he was hungry and started slicing raw meat off the animal and doling it out to us to hold over a small fire to barbecue on the spot. Without salt, pepper, and tenderizing we could as well have been chewing on shoe leather. As I write I remember one other amusing thing. When I went to slide my rifle into its case I realized I never would have been able to hit an animal if I tried. It was missing the front sight. I could just as well have shot with my eyes closed.

Those memories came back and to add to the reverie our next door neighbor called last night all excited telling us to look out a back window. Two deer were eating on dried flower vines right next to our house. If a window had been open I could have reached out with a fly swatter and touched one of them.

More Snow and Thoughts

I joined the Rooster Tail Society again this morning. A one-day blizzard came through yesterday afternoon and evening and left deep snow in places that necessitated cranking up my John Deere blower again. I was thinking today that we are really getting set up for a catastrophic winter storm. If we’d get one of the infamous three day blizzards that can hit this area it would really do a lot of harm to livestock, wildlife, and people. It is only January and a lot of bad weather can strike for the next three months. I hope it doesn’t happen.

I’m not in too bad a physical condition, but I still get tired messing around with the snow. It saps mental energy, too, and leaves many things pile up on my desk that I want to get done. I’ve got lots of books to read and poems to write. I’m writing a “cycle” of poems that deal with the earliest white settlements and activity in my home area. I just finished one that deals with an interesting, though tragic, event. When Fort Ransom was still a viable installation being served by the ox cart freighters that interest me it so happened that a huge prairie fire swept down on an encampment of Indians near the fort and at least twenty were burned to death. Two little girls tried to flee the fire with a cart trying to get to the safety of a spring. Their cart struck a rock and overturned:

A glowing-orange ribbon
colored the far horizon
long after the setting sun
ceased to paint the sky. The men
worried where it burned and if
it may block their trail and wrap
them and their slow train in flames.
***
Strong winds drove that blaze for days.
It closed on the Indian
camp near Fort Ransom to taste
its sweet, screaming flesh, then chased
two girls fleeing in a cart,
catching them when a wheel broke.
They and eighteen others died.

Back at My Keyboard

Yesterday I joined the chorus of members of the Rooster Tail Society, that is, the many of us who went about arching plumes of snow through our snowblowers. Two more snowstorms have been predicted to pass through next week, followed by low-dipping temperatures.
...
I read a thought-provoking article recently that stated the gene pool in wildlife is being weakened. No longer can the strongest of the species survive to pass on their characteristics --- they are the quarry of hunters out to bag a trophy to hang on their wall.
...
I agree with our president-elect's seeming strategy of lowering expectations by telling us it will take awhile before things get better economy-wise. If he goes into office painted as a superman out to swiftly right wrongs, we will all get disappointed in him real fast.

January 7, 2009

A man with a duck on his head walks into a doctor’s office. The nurse asks what the doctor can do for him. The duck answers, “I want him to get this guy off my ass.”
...
A headline on an article in today’s local paper caught my eye, “More cows in the sales ring.” The sub headline stated, “Rising market value, inclement weather prompt sales increases.” Kist Livestock Market in Mandan serves as the major market for area farmers and ranchers and always bustles with a high amount of activity, but today they are expecting more than 6,000 head to run through their auction ring. A normal sale would see fewer animals than that. Mary called my attention to the article this morning and noted that yesterday afternoon when she drove by the entrance to the sale barn many pickups hooked to cattle trailers were parked on Memorial Highway waiting to turn into the long driveway and get to the unloading docks. Problems surround the cattle producers in a hard winter - water supplies icing over, cattle consuming larger quantities of feed, slower weight gain, hay costs for those in short supply approach $110 per ton delivered, etc.
...
Newsweek says, “Give Us a Sonnet, Doggonit.” The writer here speaks in reference to the upcoming presidential inauguration where sometimes a poet has been asked to present an original piece. She mentioned JFK’s ceremony where Robert Frost could not read the poem he composed because the winds kept fluttering the pages. I remember that time, and I believe he was also having trouble seeing the print because of the harsh glare of the sun. At any rate, he scrapped that effort and recited another one of his poems from memory.
...
In the same magazine a full two page picture caused me to stare in dumb solemnity. A four year old girl is being laid into a crypt by two men after she was killed in the most recent Israeli-Palestinian fight. Her body is wrapped in a green shroud, but her face is unadorned, and except for the trickle of dried blood coming from an unwashed nostril, she appears to be asleep.

Wildlife

The deep snow affects the wildlife around here. Yesterday morning I looked through the glass of the patio door and saw a yearling deer casually rummaging through the compost pile on the back corner of our lot. I believe she found good grazing in there since she stayed for several minutes. Then a half hour later I looked out the picture window to the street in front of our house and there walked a pheasant rooster as if he were the grand marshal of his parade.

In the research project I’m now undertaking I found an item of high interest regarding wildlife in my home area. In a publication I had ferreted out someplace with the publication date of 1909 I found this tidbit as seen from a hilltop then known as Okiedan Butte five miles south of Lisbon: “Colonel Creel, ..., then in the United States regular army, in the early sixties [my note - that would be the 1860's] had his command surrounded by an immense herd of buffalo and had to wait several hours for them to pass. He stood on Okiedan Butte for over four hours with his field glass, watching the herd pass. It was a solid moving phalanx extending in every direction beyond the vision of the glass. He estimated the herd at several hundred thousand. They were on their annual migration south to spend the winter.”

It’s hard to imagine that mass of buffalo moving in that area which is now all farmland, shelterbelts, and homesteads. Here’s another story of interest: “Large game used to be plentiful in the sand hills of Owego. In 1883 Clark Brooks and George Severson went into the hills for a hunt. George stepped on the log of a fallen tree and was peering through the prickly ash to shoot a ‘cotton-tail’ rabbit, when a monstrous cinnamon bear rose up erect within six feet of him. George says he could not run because the briers on the ash were so thick. It will never be known which was the more frightened, George or the bear.”

There are so many interesting stories of life in those settlement pioneer days, and I enjoy finding them.

Happy New Year

I haven’t spent a lot of time formulating new year’s resolutions except to keep on having fun. I’m still remembering how it seems like yesterday when we were worried about what the new millennium would bring, and now that’s been eight years ago already. About the only thing we know for sure is what has happened in the past.

One hundred years ago - 1909 - Robert E. Perry reached the North Pole, Federal spending totaled .69 billion dollars, a first class stamp cost .02 cents, Pittsburgh defeated Detroit in the World Series, and Marconi won the Nobel Prize for developing the wireless.

Seventy-five years ago - 1934 - Hitler became fuhrer in Germany, Bonnie and Clyde and John Dillinger were eliminated, the Dust Bowl calamity occurred, Federal spending totaled 6.54 billion dollars, unemployment stood at 22%, a stamp cost .03, the St. Louis Cardinals defeated Detroit in the World Series, and Enrico Fermi bombarded uranium with neutons.

Fifty years ago - 1959 - Castro assumed power in Cuba, Alaska and Hawaii became states, Federal spending was 92 billion, unemployment was 6.8%, a stamp cost .04, Dodgers defeated the White Sox in the World Series, Texas Instruments developed the first integrated circuit, and the dark side of the moon was photographed for the first time.

Twenty-five years ago - 1984 - A gas leak in India killed 2000, the Bell System was broken up, Reagan was re-elected in a landslide with 59% of the vote, unemployment was 7.5%, a stamp cost .20, Detroit defeated San Diego in the World Series, and Apple introduced the Mac computer.

So it goes. Who knows what 2009 will bring, but at the least I can wish everyone a Happy New Year!

As the Crow Flies

Snow keeps piling up around these parts. I told Mary we’re getting set up for a good three day blizzard; those high banks plowed off to the side of the streets would fill to the tops, and we’d have to sit waiting for heavy machines to come in to clear the roads. A December snowfall record has fallen — 42.3 inches, over twice the average amount. The local reporting station is located at the Bismarck airport, but as the proverbial crow flies that spot is only about two miles from here, so that amount more than likely holds true for our location, too.
...
I can tell another story regarding the line a crow flies. For several years I’ve been gathering information on the old time ox-cart freighters who crossed my home area hauling their loads, much of it between Fort Abercrombie and Fort Ransom. Their two major routes meandered a bit, one followed the high water route and the other the low water route. The low water route followed a more direct path between the forts. When the Sheyenne River ran low some accessible fords let them make better time on their journey.

We used to put up hay on a virgin sod meadow on the farm where I grew up, and I remember my tractor bumped over deep ruts each time I mowed or raked across it. Dad told me it was an old prairie road, but little else was said. Lately I’ve gotten to wondering if those tracks may have been part of the low-water route so I have spent some time in the Heritage Center library looking at old maps. There I found an old atlas dated 1884 that lays out a beautiful picture of how the land looked. On it two principal locations gave me information I wanted. On Christmas Day I brought the subject up with Dad again and he told me that an old-timer told him the trail in question was the Owego to Sheldon road and that he had hauled mail over it for a time. Given that information I laid a ruler between the two settlements of Owego and Sheldon and its crow fly line intersects our old meadow perfectly. So I can’t claim to have found an ox-cart trail, but I proved something else that was personal to me and that is satisfying.

My research will result in my writing a long poem, and this one verse came to me:

Handed this piece of the past
that otherwise would fall prey
to the vast Pit of Forget,
I recalled the times when I,
astride my hayfield tractor,
double-bounced over the cusp
of those ruts and cussed at their
presence.

Presidential Stuff

George W. Bush is this country’s forty-third president, and most of us are ready for number forty-four. I believe Mr. Obama is taking the right course by being relatively quiet as we approach his inauguration. He says we have only one president at a time. Bush can earn his paycheck until then and take the credit or discredit for what transpires. It appears as though Obama closely studies the presidency of President Lincoln; there is probably none better to take as a role model.

Santa Claus brought me the book of the second president that I had wished for: John Adams by David McCullough. I have opened it to read a few pages, and it looks to be a great read. Adams has probably been overshadowed by the book-end presidents of Washington before him and Jefferson behind him, but my previous reading illustrated how important a leader he was at our country’s outset.

He was at odds with Jefferson throughout his presidency and served just one term after Jefferson defeated him. One quote attributed to Adams was “Thanks to God that he gave me stubbornness when I know I am right.” Because he was stubborn he kept the U.S. out of war when France attacked our ships at sea. He knew we were not prepared for a military action, but instead he proceeded with diplomatic action. When talks were taking place he approved the building of six new ships, one of which was the U.S. Constitution. He wanted to be prepared for the next incident. He was the first occupant of the White House and a note he left upon leaving was carved into the mantel of the State Dining Room: “I pray Heaven to bestow the best of Blessings on this House and all that shall hereafter inhabit it. May none but honest and wise Men ever rule under this roof.” He died at the age of ninety, the longest living president until he was surpassed by Ronald Reagan who lived to be ninety-three. Then Gerald Ford broke Reagan’s record when he lived to be 45 days older.

The Best Laid Plans...

The English poet Robert Burns wrote this line in the poem To a Mouse on Turning Her Up in Her Nest with the Plough: “The best-laid schemes o’ mice an’ men gang aft agley.” To translate from the olde English he said “The best-laid plans of mice and men often go awry.” We discovered quite rapidly our responsibility lies here in North Dakota so we have canceled our planned bus tour to the Southwest.

Some days ago Mary’s dad, 92, slipped on the ice and fell breaking the femur bone quite badly in his right leg. He has been hospitalized ever since and will need close attention for some time. Recently a phone call from my dad informed us my mother, 88, was taken by ambulance to an emergency room in a Fargo hospital to reset a dislocated shoulder suffered from a fall. It was her second episode with the shoulder, the first being a visit to a local hospital and an overnight stay. Then, we also found out that my dad, 93, had fallen while taking garbage out to their dumpster and could not get back up and laid there about a half an hour before help came along.

We’re in the midst of a hard winter with lots of cold and snow. We have decided it is best to stay right here, stock up with lots of books, and offer as much assistance as we can to our parents.

Shoes and Stalin

More on shoes: I remember a time when I was guilty of throwing my shoe at a target, too. One day I sat relaxing in my house in Sheldon, and I saw movement in the entryway. Myron Boeder’s pet raccoon, an animal with a local reputation for being a fearless pest, had opened my screen door with his claws and strolled into the kitchen snooping around for some treats, I suppose. My shoes sat on the floor in front of me, and I reacted immediately by picking one up and flinging it hard in the animal’s direction. He moved much faster on the way out than on the way in, and thereafter I got in the habit of latching the door’s hook.
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A small article buried deep on page 4 of our local daily paper caught my eye with the headline Russian treason bill could hit critics. The lead sentence stated that “new legislation backed by Prime Minister Vladimir Putin would allow Russian authorities to label any government critic a traitor — a move that rights activists said...was a chilling throwback to times of Soviet dictator Josef Stalin.”

If the present Russian leaders act as Stalin did then citizens of that country will again be severely restricted if they want to speak out against government leaders and policies. To avoid punishment for treason individuals will have to restrain and censor their speech and actions. History says Stalin in his “Great Purge” killed off thousands of people whom he perceived as being dissenters, including many of army’s top generals.

Leon Trotsky rose to a high leadership position after the Russian Revolution. Then when Stalin began to exercise his murderous tendencies Trotsky fled the country, eventually settling in Mexico City where he continued to verbally assail Stalin’s tactics. Stalin quieted him though when he sent an assassin. Trotsky, unwittingly, welcomed this man into his home to hold a discussion. The assassin had a pick axe hidden under his topcoat and struck Trotsky in the head with it. His last words were “I think Stalin has finished the job he has started.”

Tragic-Comedy: Shoe Throwing

President Bush got a pair of shoes thrown at him in Baghdad, and I laughed along with all the jokes the comedians started making about it. In fact, I told Mary when I first saw the news of the incident that this will be a bonanza for the late-night talk shows. Well, I was right. The Huffington Post even features a video section where you can see several of the comedians accumulated in one clip: "Watch: Late-Night's Shoe Throwing Joke Bonanza." Last night Keith Olbermann talked to a comedian in a separate studio who ducked dozens of shoes thrown at him. But it's probably enough already!

I thought about it a bit and have concluded this is a tragic-comedy. Bush's demeanor at the time was admirable in that he tried to downplay it by saying something like that can happen in a free society. The tragedy is that we make our President into something like a buffoon and that the amount of respect paid to him has fallen to this level. Rodney Dangerfield made the quotable remark "I don't get no respect," and unfortunately that's where Bush is at. I'm glad a changing of the guard is near at hand.

Brrr!

Brrr! and Baby, it’s cold outside! With wind chill the temperature is 41 degrees below zero. Our short but severe blizzard moved on but didn’t want us mere mortals to forget, so it left us with temps registering in the lower levels of the thermometer after dumping a foot of snow. Yesterday after the wind lessened I cranked up my faithful John Deere snowblower to take the bulk of the snowbanks off the driveway and sidewalk and then went out this morning to clean up the sidewalk a bit, but I couldn’t stay out more than a couple of minutes. That air is just too sharp to be breathing while exerting. Thankfully it was a short storm. My standard for judging the severity of a blizzard always goes back to the one in March of 1966. It was the worst one in my memory. It was for other people, too, enough so that two gentlemen, Douglas Ramsey and Larry Skroch, published a book in 2004 entitled One to Remember: The Relentless Blizzard of March 1966 containing 661 pages of small type.

The tally of lives lost in that storm came to 18 humans plus uncounted livestock deaths. I spent the three day storm cooped up in a house in Bowdon, North Dakota that I shared with two other bachelor teachers. Believe me, the time passed very slowly. My mother got caught home alone, and luckily when the electricity failed the heating system in the house didn’t require blowers to radiate heat. Dad spent the time at a meeting in Fargo and couldn’t make it back. The cows didn’t get fed for awhile. In the book reference was made of my aunt Lorraine Devitt who stayed to work in a Lisbon nursing home for 30 hours straight before someone could get there to replace her so she could go home to rest.

As I write this I am listening to a radio talk show and hear several old timers call in to speak of the March 15 blizzard of 1941. A Google search turned up these statistics: only one inch of snow fell but 75 mph winds accompanied it and 39 lives were lost in North Dakota and 29 in Minnesota. As we’ve traveled around the country a bit the usual comment from people, upon learning we are from North Dakota, is “I hear it gets cold up there.” Duh.

A Blizzard and a Veteran

The threat of a blizzard roaring through our region this weekend hangs over us, and it makes me think about what needs doing before it hits. I’ve always said I don’t mind North Dakota winters so I’d better get mentally prepared for it. This morning I headed to the hospital again to visit the father-in-law who seems to be doing very well. Tomorrow will be a two-for-one visit since my sister-in-law will also be a patient on the same orthopedic floor with a knee replacement job.

I enjoy meeting people with interesting stories to tell. This morning we had to wait in the hospital hallway while nurses tended to Adam, and as we did so the gentleman in the next room stood in his doorway trying to get a staff person’s attention. After a bit one of the aides came and asked him what he needed, his answer was “Coffee, please.” He spoke to us in his Massachusett’s accent, and it wasn’t long before I realized he wanted to talk to someone. He told us he’d been hospitalized because he’d had a stroke. It didn’t take long before he said he was a veteran of the Korean War and was thinking of finding a veteran’s home. I mentioned the new one under construction in Lisbon but he didn’t care much if it was new or not but what kind of people ran it. We needed to report everything we said so it wasn’t long before I saw him dig a small hearing aid out of his pocket and fit it to his ear.

He walked with a limp so I asked if he had been in combat; he told of two bullet wounds in his leg and a bayonet stab wound in his shoulder. Yes, it was hand-to-hand combat. Was he a rifleman or a machine-gunner? He was a chaplain’s assistant. I was unsure if a clergy type carried weapons. He said, “I carried a .45 pistol, but I couldn’t shoot it with a Bible in my hand!” Apparently he had to set the Bible down since every able bodied man was needed to repel the waves coming at their hilltop position. By then, he had visibly tired and wanted to go back to lie down. I think I’m going to try and find him tomorrow and visit with him again.

Turns of Fate

We were reminded Monday evening of the speed at which a life can turn around. My father-in-law, 92, walked to his mailbox at the front of the house and slipped and fell on a patch of the treacherous ice that accumulated in our area. Wearing only a vest he was not prepared to lay in the below zero wind chill we had at the time. He hollered for his daughter in the house, but since his voice has weakened with age he did not make himself heard. Luckily, a house dog did hear him and signaled Sharon that something terrible happened. His persistence clued her to investigate after some minutes had elapsed, and she found him where he had fallen. She called 911, then us, and by the time we arrived at the scene five minutes later the ambulance and a fire truck were already on the scene.

In the ambulance he did not complain much about the pain, but rather how cold he was. Not to make the story much longer, he got hooked up with a good orthopedic surgeon who operated yesterday morning and put a rod into his badly broken femur bone, and, voila, Adam took his first steps on it today already.

Many of these old-timers possess incredible inner strength with a strong will to survive and do not let things such as this get them down. I think, too, of my parents who have been hospitalized and rose to live active lives again. For some reason the poem "Invictus" popped into my head as I thought about it all:

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find me, unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate;
I am the captain of my soul.

(In Latin, Invictus means unconquered.)

A Fable

I don't spend a lot of time reading the countless stories that get forwarded in my email, but the following one made sense to me, so it is my blog for the day.

Once upon a time a man appeared in a village and announced to the villagers that he would buy donkeys for $10 each. The villagers, seeing that there were many donkeys around, went out and started catching them. The man bought thousands at $10 and, as supply started to diminish, the villagers stopped their effort. He next announced that he would now buy donkeys at $20 each.

This renewed the efforts of the villagers and they started catching donkeys again. Soon the supply diminished even further and people started going back to their farms. The offer increased to $25 each and the supply of donkeys became so scarce it was an effort to even find a donkey, let alone catch it!

The man now announced that he would buy donkeys at $50 each! However, since he had to go to the city on some business, his assistant would buy on his behalf.

In the absence of the man, the assistant told the villagers: "Look at all these donkeys in the big cage that the man has already collected. I will sell them to you at $35 and when the man returns from the city, you can sell them to him for $50 each." The villagers rounded up all their savings and bought all
the donkeys for 700 billion dollars.

They never saw the man or his assistant again, only lots and lots of asses!

Now you have a better understanding of how the WALL STREET BAILOUT PLAN WILL WORK !!!!

Research

On my way to Bismarck this morning I noticed ice floes in the Missouri River. Winter! My destination was the Heritage Center’s library to do some research on a few townships located in my home area: Greene, Owego, and Shenford. Since publishing my humble book of poetry I have suffered through a non-productive time. My mind has been blank except for a couple of decent poems I’ve been able to conjure up. I need many more if I’m to publish a second volume. Then out of the blue a whole trainload of ideas ran by which has prompted me to get excited about researching for them.

Idea # 1: As a young lad, I raked hay in an old meadow of virgin sod and always bumped across a pair of deep-rutted tracks that ran the width of the field. From where they came and to where they headed I often wondered. Then the epiphany struck — were they part of the old ox cart trail that ran from Fort Abercrombie to Fort Ransom? My trip to the heritage library to find old Ransom County atlases resulted in my copying a few pertinent township maps, namely Greene, Owego, and Shenford. With them I gained the section coordinate numbers to compare to locations listed in old research articles I copied several years ago when I became interested in one of the old ox cart freighters, Donald Stevenson. It is an interesting project. Some imaginative soul gave Shenford its name because of the crossing of the Sheyenne River was only SHIN-deep and can be easily FORD-ed. With the application for their post office the spelling Shinford was submitted, but it came back as today’s spelling Shenford. I don’t know if I can identify that two-wheel track in the meadow, but I’ll sure have fun trying.

Idea # 2: A few years ago I got extremely interested in a bucking horse in this area that was never be ridden except for one disputed time. It was before the modern rules of rodeo were written, so even with the cruel and unfair advantages riders possessed when they mounted him he fought back with fury. He was rejected as a World War I mount destined for the battlefields of France because of being unbreakable and escaped the glue factory because his owners saw money in him as rodeo stock. In the end he had been turned out to free range pasture and died unheralded in a blizzard. I wrote a long, rambling poem about him and read it at the Cowboy Poetry Gathering, but I know now I can make great improvement over that first effort.

Idea(s) # 3: Both Mary and I have collected numerous stories of ancestors who all suffered hardships. Their stories will soon be forgotten unless they are preserved in some literary form, just as the above two ideas need be.

Idea # 4: Many more will come my way. We attended our bank’s appreciation holiday feed last evening where we ran into two people we traveled with on our recent trip to Branson. They complimented me on the poetry book I gave to them and the couple they were with wondered if it was cowboy poetry. I stated some were but there are so many other good poems to write, too. So off I go.

Blood Letting

This morning I sat in the blood donor chair again and gave one unit of red blood cells and two of plasma. It takes awhile, probably an hour counting the intake interview, then they want you to sit in their waiting room for fifteen minutes before leaving. I don’t mind sitting the extra time because I partake of lots of their free pop and snacks. While the pump was drawing blood out of my body and circulating solution back in I had time to look around. One gentleman came after I was settled in and I couldn’t help but notice that he wore something remarkable - jeans with patches on the knees.

My mind turned to the archaic system of blood letting to cure sick people of their ailments, and those procedures weren’t very sophisticated. In fact, the barbers did a lot of the work including tooth extraction. Today’s barber poles with their red and white stripes reflect that. The pole represents the stick that the patients gripped in misery, and the stripes the bloody bandages that were wrapped around to dry. The shaped bottom of a pole represents the leech pot.

One of the first medical clinical trials on record took place in France in 1836. There a doctor treated pneumonia with blood letting, and some he didn’t. After a period of time he noticed the pile of dead bodies stood taller where they were stacked by the blood letting sink than the untreated pile. He determined that blood letting probably harmed the patients. Quite an epiphany, I’d say.

As far as famous people treated with the procedure I read where Andrew Jackson submitted. My history said, “Periodically, he experienced episodes of hemorrhaging and difficulties breathing, for which he was bled.”

Frosty Morning

A frost fog clouded the valley floor this morning; at the edge of this opaque whiteness emerged a herd of deer, a wonderful sight! We’ve counted close to a hundred deer at times that come to eat at the dormant alfalfa in this large acreage. Throughout the year several species of wildlife romp in that field: turkeys, pheasants, coyotes, deer, and who knows what else. At times they have visited Mary’s gardens, a fact attested to by the footprints we find.
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Since graduating from or attending colleges and universities, Mary and I receive regular mailings from their alumni offices in the guise, of course, of keeping us informed of our “beloved” alma maters. Their ability to keep track of us in our moves is really uncanny; they’d sure love to get a piece of our estates when we leave this old earth. Admittedly, there are bits of interest in these publications, and last week I received The Bulletin from Valley City State University where I read of the passing of an old history professor of mine, Dr. Donald Welsh. I remember especially one day in his class. It was a sad time in our country. I had learned just a few minutes earlier that President Kennedy had been shot. Dr. Welsh came in visibly saddened and told us our history class would not be held that day. For about a week a gloomy pall hung over everyone’s head.
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Who will replace Hillary now that she has been nominated as Secretary of State? I think one name I’ve heard mentioned was done in jest - Bill Clinton. I don’t think the U. S. Senate is a big enough field for him to play in, but it is not without precedent that a past president gets elected to congress. In my history book I read that our sixth president, John Quincy Adams, served seventeen years in the U. S. House of Representatives after his term of presidency.

I Had To Go Do It

Well, I had to go do it, shopping on Black Friday, that is. I was not, however, one of those to go wait in line for the 4 a.m. opening. We got to the mall around 8 a.m. and as the morning progressed we were joined by more and more people. I lamented a bit about not going to the gym instead, but after I finished ducking, sucking in my gut, doing pirouettes, stopping short for those who did the same in front of me, listening in on nearby cell phone calls, and on and on, I'd had enough exercise. To start the morning out I was very polite and said "Excuse me" each time I ran into someone or got banged by a woman's purse when she turned sharply. Mary told me it was time to go home after I told her that I'm going to stop being polite and start saying, "Get the hell out of my way," or "Watch where you're going, Lady" or some other more graphic expletives. Mary knows me pretty well by now so I had to agree.

We lucked out with finding a good parking spot since we happened on someone just backing out. I made a couple of trips taking things out to the car and felt a certain diabolical pleasure in teasing other cars who thought I might just be leaving. I'd open my trunk and they'd sit waiting for me to get in and drive away. Then I'd casually close the trunk, open the car door as if to get in, and then change my mind and walk back into the mall. I haven't quite gotten into the Christmas spirit yet.

To top the morning off, I thought about buying an item for a gift that was a "Door-Buster Special," but I held off because I wanted to ask Mary if I should. After finding her she agreed with me and we returned to buy the item only to see two store clerks cleaning out the basket because the time had come and gone for this special pricing. Merry Christmas

Interested in Learning

The recent election of a new president made me interested in learning more about all the presidents of the United States. One day while browsing around in Barnes and Noble, I spotted a book on their bargain table and bought it, The American President, A Complete History. In it seven or eight pages is devoted to the lives of each man. I’m finding each one an interesting read; last night I finished the seventh president’s story, Andrew Jackson. He was a very colorful character, liked by some, despised by others.

Jackson had to make his own way through life. He became orphaned by the age of 14 and learned to be combative. It was said of him that if a fight occurred at school he was usually in the middle of it. He participated in several duels and carried around a bullet slug in his chest received while killing his opponent in 1806. When Tennessee became a state he served as its first congressman and became a high ranking officer in its militia. In the War of 1812 he, to quote a line from a Johnny Horton song, “beat the bloody British in the town of New Orleans.” This was really quite an unfortunate affair as far as I’m concerned because the British had signed a peace treaty several days before the battle. News traveled slow in those days.

His reputation was that of supporting the common man. When Congress tried to recharter the Bank of the United States, he promptly, as President, vetoed the bill. If he would have had any power in the not yet existing state of North Dakota, he would never have gone along with our Bank of North Dakota, the only one of its kind in the country. His support for the common people did not extend to slavery or Indians. It was under his guidance that the ill-fated Trail of Tears, the relocation of Indian tribes, took place.

Our visit to his plantation site east of Nashville showed where he showed compassion to his favorite slave by letting him be buried close to Jackson’s grave. Compassion? While standing by the grave sites at The Hermitage, I looked northward to an open pasture area and saw a herd of black cows with white belts. It was a bit of information I passed along to my Uncle Russell while he lay in his hospital bed. I know he liked hearing the story since he's the one who founded the Buelingo breed. Now it’s on to the story of Martin Van Buren.

Thrift

I missed my keyboard Friday, but we felt we needed to drive to Lisbon to visit my mother in the hospital. When a member of the family falls ill everything else gets set aside. I've been thinking about blogging regarding a recent article in our daily paper titled "Americans Turning Toward Thriftiness." The first line of the article stated that frugality is making a comeback and that Americans are showing an enthusiasm for thriftiness not seen in decades. As we drove back home I thought that my mother and dad and Mary's mother and dad plus many more in their generation wrote a big chapter in that book.

My thought turns to a popular style of jeans where the knee, sometimes part of their rear end, shows through a rip or frayed spot usually manufactured to be that way. While we were growing up we earned the look the hard way. Small bales of hay required our walking along and throwing them onto a rack. Most of us used our thighs and knees to give the bale an extra boost, especially when the load grew higher. New pants hardly ever took their place. My mother and many others patched them, and when that patch wore through, they sewed another over that spot. A basket full of holey socks always waited on her attention, and an old light bulb sat in there, too, which she inserted to give some body to the sock as she sewed with needle and thread.

The article talked about people staying home more and cooking their own meals. We never did go out to eat a meal. Physical work on a farm dictated a large breakfast, an even larger dinner of meat and potatoes, and leftovers added to and prepped for supper. Cows were milked for fresh cream and milk, chickens were kept for fresh eggs and meat, garden fruits and vegetables were preserved for winter eating, and on and on.

This Christmas season will probably wash out some marginal businesses because of people tightening up. In the long run, though, it doesn't bother me because I think this trend towards thriftiness is good for the country as a whole. I probably won't do much different since I've always been thrifty. I had good teachers.

History

Last evening a program on public television caught my attention, so much so that I passed on the semi-final of “Dancing with the Stars.” The title of the two hour program — “The Bible’s Buried Secrets: Exploring the Evolution of the Bible, from the Origins of the Israelites and Beyond.” I find it intriguing how, with bits of writing and shards of pottery, so many conclusions can be drawn from the smallest of clues. Apparently some discussion has gone on whether or not King David was a historical figure or a mythic character. On a found bit of stone tablet, dated to about 1000 B.C., an inscription indicating “The House of David” proved to archaelogists that he did indeed exist. So many points regarding the development of the Bible and monotheism were made that I’m not going to try to summarize them. One interesting point though was the discovery of two tiny silver scrolls that pre-dated the Dead Sea Scrolls by 400 years that when unrolled revealed the Priestly Blessing still used today as found in the Book of Numbers, Chapter 6.

As I watched I was reminded of a book I’d read many years ago. James Michener’s The Source which, for the main point, centered on an archeological dig and told of successive discoveries made as the scientists reached deeper and deeper into one cities’ past. Michener, in all his genius, explored the evolution of the Jewish religion in this large novel.

I’m further reminded, given my and Mary’s interest in family geneology, of how difficult it is to ferret out information of family after two or three generations have disappeared. Most of us do not have to go back very far before we hit a solid wall which we cannot travel through. The average person who passes through this life does not make many waves and facts of his or her life are not recorded in history books. About all we can do is make generalizations about their lives by reading history of the period in which they lived.

The VP

The vice presidential candidates received more than their fair share of attention this year. The election is finally over so we can get back to more important issues, but the vice presidency intrigued me, though, and prompted me to do a little research on the beginnings of this office since I'd forgotten most everything I'd once learned in Political Science 101. The first vice president was John Adams. It was no question that George Washington would be elected president, and, after only a little discussion, Adams was chosen to serve as VP because of the solid reputation he'd earned with his domestic and foreign statesman experience. Also, his peers considered him to be a man of high intelligence who inspired a lot of the thinking that went into the Declaration of Independence, although Thomas Jefferson has received a lot of credit because he was the better writer. With input from Benjamin Franklin these three gave birth to the document. The Declaration did not meet immediate approval from the Second Continental Congress. There, Adams had to go to work promoting it because he was much the better orator; Jefferson was poor at speech making. It was adopted, as we know, on July 4. At this point Adams and Jefferson were still on friendly terms.

Washington retired from the Presidency after his second term, probably with a belly full of the bickering that had developed within his cabinet. Alexander Hamilton held the post of Secretary of Treasury and Thomas Jefferson was the Secretary of State. These two battled over their huge ideological differences, and as an outgrowth of it, the political party system began to take shape. Adams was in the background to this because as VP he had no voice in the cabinet, but he agreed with Hamilton who supported strong federal powers. Jefferson believed in strong states' rights, and when the election took place it was Adams versus Jefferson. The electoral college met to elect a president and chose Adams with 71 votes to Jefferson's 68 votes.

Adams was now the top man and Jefferson's second place made him the vice president, the only time in our country's history that men of opposing political parties held the top two positions in the government. Since Adams supported the Hamiltonian philosophy of government, he was at odds with Jefferson. The rift between these two former friends widened, and in the next election Jefferson went on to defeat Adams. Still, these two held enormous respect for each other, and after a period of several years of no communication between them, they started their friendship up again. It seems as though their destiny revealed itself with this improbable fact: they died hours apart on July 4, 1826

Makes Sense To Me

Somebody said something a couple of days ago that I thought made good sense even though it will never come to pass. It went something like this: Wal-Mart hasn’t made its money by attacking Target or K-Mart. They’ve made it by telling people what they have to offer. Now wouldn’t that be a refreshing way to run a political campaign? Instead of attacking their opponents and digging up as much dirt as they can, they would instead concentrate on what they have to offer. Too often it seems we have to guess at the outcome by voting for someone.
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We missed quite a snowstorm last week by getting out of here and going to Branson. Schools, businesses, and roads closed, and all we had to do in Branson was complain how cold it was down there. Every time we go on a trip we run into cold weather. Two years ago Texas threw lots of it at us, and last year Florida caught a lot of our group without warm clothing.
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Our friend Ole is really ugly. When he was born, the doctor slapped his mother. His mother was so ashamed of him, she borrowed another baby for the baptism. His parents had to tie a pork chop around his neck to get his dog to play with him. One night a woman stopped him on the street and asked him to follow her home. There she asked him into the bedroom. Anticipating some excitement, he followed. In the bed was a little boy sniffing and crying. “There,” said the woman, “I told you, Junior, if you didn’t stop crying and go to sleep, I’d bring the boogy man in!”

Branson

We returned last evening from our Branson, MO trip. As usual, it was a great time meeting new folks on the tour bus, attending shows and eating good food. A last minute schedule change got us out of Bismarck on Wednesday night because of the threat of weather socking us in. The hunch was correct. We enjoyed hearing about the blizzard without having to experience it. It takes about a day and a half to get there and Omaha, NE was the overnight point both coming and going. The Farmers Union tours are popular and the bus was filled to capacity.

A rundown of the shows we attended includes:

1. Baldknobbers Jamboree Show - Good music and comedy, the highlight being three hillbilly comedians, two of whom took out their false teeth and one who put in a set of buck teeth. We laughed so hard I had a sore throat yet the next morning.

2. Doug Gabriel Show - Good music furnished by Gabriel, his wife and kids, and some good backup.

3. Daniel O'Donnell - My favorite, a world class entertainer. He has a tremendous ability to connect in his folksy style with an audience, and I always enjoy hearing the little old ladies in the audience squeal when he wiggles his hips. His singing partner Mary Duff is good, too.

4. Dixie Stampede - An arena show featuring lots of horses. The audience sits on five rows of risers facing the arena and food is served. No eating utensils are furnished, you eat with your fingers. Those who have never attended before were surprised when a whole Cornish hen got plopped on their plate.

5. Red Hot and Blue - Billed as the hardest working entertainers in Branson, and they may well have been with their singing, dancing, costume changes, etc. as they performed music from different time periods.

6. The Promise - A Biblical show depicting the life of Christ. Excellent production on a large stage with lots of scenery changes. We visited with one of the actors before the show, and I remarked on the barely noticeable tiny microphone he had strapped on his head. He said they cost $10,000 apiece and the cast had 28 of them.

7. Shoji Tobuchi - Always a class act show! He has the most elaborate sets and costuming in Branson. He doesn't speak English well, but he talks a lot anyway and tells funny stories. He said he is a good fishing buddy with Mel Tillis and that Mel says in his show that he can't afford to fish with Shoji anymore because Shoji always eats the minnows.

It was our fourth time in Branson, and I'm sure there will be more in the future.

We're Taking Off

We're going to Branson, MO for a week and just got a message from our bus company that we're going to leave tonight because of the threatening weather. I'll be back at my blog in about a week.

Slavery thru 16th President

Finally, the last day of the political campaign is here! I doubt if anyone will miss the ads on radio and tv when tomorrow comes. I heard a tidbit this morning that I think is remarkable; it would have been legal for the first 16 Presidents of this country to own Barack Obama as property, i. e. as a slave. So that means the following list of men could have used a whip on him to go hoe the fields and pick the cotton: Washington, Adams, Jefferson, Madison, Monroe, Adams, Jackson, Van Buren, Harrison, Tyler, Polk, Taylor, Fillmore, Pierce, Buchanan, and Lincoln.

I'm not sure how many actually did hold slaves, but I know Jefferson did and has been linked with one of his slave women as bearing a child by him. Andrew Jackson was a slaveholder; I have seen his grave site at The Hermitage in Tennessee where, nearby, his favorite slave is buried.

The Thirteenth Amendment to the Constitution officially abolished slavery and was adopted on December 6, 1865.

Headin' to Mpls

We gotta go celebrate grandson Luke's 3d birthday this weekend. I don't look forward to the drive, but we're gonna do it. I drove by the big bridge they dunked in the river yesterday; it's really strange to drive by on the new bridge and not have anything obstructing the view as I look north.

Ole dropped by and told a couple of stories about himself again: A Swede in our town was never able to develop a liking for Norwegians. So, one of his fellow Swedes was surprised one day to see the Swede give a coin to a monkey perched on the instrument of a Norwegian organ grinder. "I thought you didn't like Norwegians," said the friend. "Yah, dat's true," replied the Swede, "but they are so cute when dey are little."

Another: A Danish lady sent her husband downtown to get a pair of loafers. So he came back with two Norwegians.

One more; Ole proved he isn't so dumb --- An ocean liner was sailing the Atlantic when it hit an iceberg. Survivors were able to take to lifeboats except one boat taht was overloaded by three persons. Nobly, a Frenchman volunteered to sacrifice himself, leaping into the water with a shout, "Vive la France!" Next an Englishman stepped to the edge of the boat, bravely shouting out, "God Save the Queen!" and then jumped in the ocean. Finally, Ole the Norwegian stood up, reached over and grabbed a Swede. He shoved the Swede into the water, and then shouted out, "Long live Norway!"

The Bridge Came Down

The remaining two spans of what was once the only vehicle bridge spanning the Missouri
River between Sioux City, IA and Great Falls, MT fell into the water today after a series of about 300 detonations broke it into countless pieces. Both local television stations broadcast the event live and just before the plunger made contact, I turned the sound off my tv set to hear for myself the energy that was uncapped. As the proverbial crow flies, I sit about a mile away from the scene, and the slower sound took two or three seconds to get to me; it was loud, something like a kettle drum roll or a nearby thunder clap.

An employee of the state historical society stood with the reporter from the station I watched and gave interesting perspective about the bridge which bore the name Liberty Memorial Bridge, so-named to honor veterans of World War I. He said that with two years of the 1923 opening of the bridge, 2200 vehicles were crossing it each day. Designed for cars like the Model T or the Model A of the period, the span became increasingly out-dated with heavier vehicles crossing it in later years.

Animal rights people complained after the first event a couple of weeks ago. Clouds of pigeons swarmed out of the section that time with the explosions, and I heard some concerns also stated about the fish underneath. To appease the critics this time, bottle rockets were set off to scare the birds away, although it looked like thy just flew in a circle and settled back in. They said something was done about the fish's safety, too.

The best story of the day featured a 98 year old man who remembered the bridge construction when he was 12 years old. He said he asked a construction worker at that time how long the new bridge would last and was assured it would stand longer than he would. There he stood, though, in his walker being steadied by a man on each side, with the key words: there he stood.

1968

Today, for some reason, my thoughts ranged back to the time I spent in Alaska, 1968. Literature and stories of that place "where the world is young" had been gnawing at my imagination for a couple of years, so I just had to go find out if what I'd been hearing and reading were true. I arrived in Anchorage seven days later, driving through lots of rain and mud (the Alaskan Highway was not fully paved yet). I discovered a person needed a permanent address to even apply for work, and I did not want to jump through the hoops in front of me. With winter coming on, I did not think it a good time for me to be there, and with my financial resources steadily draining, I decided to get out of there. I thought a grand adventure would be to hitch a ride on an Alaskan ferry southward, so I drove the long road to Haines, the northern terminus of the ferry system, bought a ticket, and watched deckhands drive my Impala in the hold of the ship.

Prior to that I had a few hours to kill so I drove a few miles along the Lynn Canal and took the fishing pole out of my trunk. Never before and never since have I caught fish like I did that day. Those Dolly Varden trout bit and fought everything I threw at them, and I soon tired of it. Besides, a thickly wooded area surrounded me, and I remember worrying that a big bear might come out of the trees. I drove back to the loading dock at Port Chilkoot and turned my keys over.

The M. V. Wickersham was a sleek appearing, narrow bowed ship built in Sweden that carried up to 1300 passengers and 140 vehicles. She was a working vessel that served ports along the route with passenger and freight hauling. I found the receipt for my fare: $33.25 for me and $96.00 for the Impala. I rode for about thirty hours as we stopped at Skagway, Juneau, Sitka, Petersburg, Wrangell, Ketchikan, and Prince Rupert, BC. As we sailed along, I enjoyed sitting in the solarium lounge on the top deck with a beer in hand while I watched the world of the north country come at me through the glass. Mary and I went to Alaska by cruise ship to celebrate our 25th anniversary, but it did not compare with my first journey, more of which can be shared in the future.

"Shocked"

It'll be good to have both this political season over with, though I'm afraid we'll have to live with hard economic times much beyond the electing of new politicians. Alan Greenspan, past head of the Federal Reserve, said yesterday before some committee that he was "shocked" at what's happening in the economy and that he put too much faith in the self-correcting power of markets. He had been a champion of de-regulation all along, and it must hurt him now to admit to being "shocked." Of course, there are always cries of "Socialism" arising from the din if and when the Federal government steps in to correct some wrongs, and I think I even heard Sarah P. accuse Obama of being a socialist.

I have been re-reading a history book A People's History of the United States that I purchased a year ago at a gift shop in The Hermitage, Andrew Jackson's home. Authored by Howard Zinn, he writes from the point of view of the average, common person, not the big figures of history. It's a good read, and his populist point of view is refreshing.

Zinn writes, too, in my last issue of The Nation magazine an article titled "A Big Government Bailout" and makes the case that we have always had government intervention in our economy and gave examples, among them the establishment of tariffs to subsidize manufacturers, subsidizing manufacturers, subsidizing canals and the merchant marine, giving 100 million acres of land to the railroads, infusing cash into the aircraft industry after World War II, giving oil companies an oil depletion allowance, bailing out Chrysler Corp, bailing out the savings and loan industry, establishing the New Deal to rebuild the nation's infrastructure, establishing social security, etc.

Presently we have a lot of problems that everyone seems to be looking to the new President to solve. It'll take citizen participation to at least not answer the question of what is the biggest problem - ignorance or apathy with a shrug of the shoulders and say "I don't know and I don't care."

I'll Miss the Jokes

I'll miss this political campaign season when it wraps up; actually, what I'll miss are the jokes. Some of the issues aren't so funny, but there's always a comedian ready to jump on any opening. I like the one Jimmy Kimmel told: Sarah Palin had a good thought. She suggested that while Barack Obama is over in Hawaii visiting his grandmother, it might be a good idea for him to keep an eye on Japan.

Palin is a rich lode for the comedians. The spoofs they do about her on Saturday Night Live rate extremely high. I wonder what jokes they'll tell tonight about her $150,000 wardrobe when, after all, she is just another hockey mom. Comedy material dealing with her lack of knowledge of the constitutional duties of a vice president doesn't seem very funny,though. Contrary to her statements, a VP does very little constitutionally. LBJ found that out when he was JFK's VP. He thought he could continue to wheel and deal as before, but he frustratingly found himself shut out of any decision-making. She does not exhibit many of the characteristics I would find necessary in a potential leader, such as intellectual curiosity or being well read.

I can take a few stabs at writing comedy about her in the Ole and Lena style: Did you hear about the Norwegian secretary named Sarah. She is so experienced, she can type 20 mistakes a minute; or, Sarah was once a waitress in a nice cafe. One day a customer complained, "Waitress, I can't find any oysters in this stew." She replied, "Vell, yew vouldn't find any angels in an angel food cake, either, vould yew;" or, Sarah was elected to the town council as mayor. At her very first meeting, she suggested that they buy a new fire engine. When asked what the city should do with the old engine, she replied, "Vell, for one thing, ve could use it for false alarms."

With that, I shall quit because they won't get any better.

McCarthyism?

I got plenty disturbed last Friday afternoon watching "Hardball" on MSNBC with Chris Matthews. Politics is usually the topic du jour, and one of his guests that day was a U.S. Congressperson from Minnesota, Michele Bachmann, who accused Barack Obama and other members of Congress with having anti-American or unpatriotic views and should be investigated. Thankfully, Katrina vanden Heuvel, publisher of The Nation magazine followed Bachmann's rant and with an angry, impassioned response put it in very plain terms what this would mean - McCarthyism !

This country has operated quite well with divergent views since its inception, much like a pendulum swinging back and forth between left and right philosophies. If the U. S. of A. operated like Bachmann seems to want, we might as well call our system an oligarchy where a small group exercises control, much like we have been seeing in the Bush Administration and the financial system, both of which are corrupt and in shambles.

I am old enough to remember the period of McCarthyism when Senator Joe McCarthy of Wisconsin made wild charges, something that was not very comfortable to watch. He made the accusation that more than 200 Communists worked in the State Department and were committing traitorous actions. Subsequent investigations found no Communists, but he started the ball of rumor and innuendo rolling and went on to drag many before the House Un-American Activities Committee and asked the familiar question, "Are you now, or have you ever been, a member of the Communist Party?" His tirades continued until finally the Senate condemned him for "conduct unbecoming a member." I don't know what fate awaits Ms. Bachmann, but there is already a petition circulating to tell Congress to censure her.

Talkin' About Old Times

My father-in-law joined us for a supper of macaroni and hamburger hotdish last evening. He will soon be ninety-two years old, and like my parents he holds a huge library of memories inside his head. It is interesting to get them talking about their "old days," and I always try to preserve some of their stories on paper. How about this one we heard last night, for instance? No names will be mentioned here, but on a bull buying trip to Mandan, one of Adam's companions got drunk and rode all the way back home, 75 miles or so, in the trailer with the bulls because he wanted to get sobered up. Adam worried about him and checked on him several times, but apparently he rode back there all the way home.

These stories are all 60 to 70 years old. Here are a few more.

* A neighbor's house burned down because the man's kitchen matches were in the pockets of a pair of overalls that was hanging in an open porch. The wind kept slamming them back and forth and ignited the matches.

* A cow belonging to an acquaintance of his living in Mandan somehow got trapped in the city's ground level water tank and died there, a fact nobody knew about for some time as they drank the water.

* Adam rode the train a few times when he shipped his cattle by rail to Sioux City. His wife, my mother-in-law, always packed a big lunch which his companions always poked fun at until, of course, they got hungry and helped themselves to it. When they got to Sioux City, he said, you could buy a big steak dinner at the stockyards cafe for seventy-five cents. Then, cattle only brought about $50 per head.

* He made whisky a few times using as ingredients corn, potatoes, wheat, and chunks of sugar. He'd run it through the still two or three times, then test its purity by burning it in a spoon. If it all disappeared in the flames it was good.

* A hired man who Adam often hired at harvest time liked to drink, got drunk this one time, slept in the garage, and in the morning the new litter of kittens were crawling all over him. He tried leaving the garage later on and somehow got his head caught between the garage's sliding doors. There he hung, and Adam said he thought he was dead, but everything turned out all right.

* There are many more tales to tell and so many of them are tragically sad like the one where a relative in Russia drove a wagon load of prisoners to be executed and found out later on his father was in the wagon. They will be told at another time, however.

Redecorating

I'm back at my computer keys after taking a few days to redecorate my study. It took one false start (wrong color), a painting re-do, laying a new carpet, a little cussing at each other, and now it's done and I'm good to go. Mary works hard at these projects, and when she consented to helping me, she really dug in. I, of course, would not be able to do many of these things without her, but I do have to put in my two cents worth, although I mostly kept my mouth shut except to say, "Yes, ma'am."

This morning we hung pictures, one of them is a poster depicting our local national sports hero, the famous bucking bull Little Yellow Jacket. I admire him for being the accomplished sports champion that he is, besides the colors work well in here. The second picture up is my favorite of all time, "Found." In it a Collie dog howls for his master to come after he found a lost lamb in a snowstorm. I've always liked that picture for as long as I can remember. The folks had that scene hanging up when I was a small boy and still do. Familiar things feel good to me.

I've had a collection of black and white pictures grouped together that we hung up again, too. Four of them are of family members standing with teams of horses. Grandpa Bueling, a young man, stands in Plum City, Wisconsin in the early 1900's at the head of a large, strong team that he holds by their bridal straps. Dad's always said that he was a good horseman and broke a lot of them to work. Grandpa Sandvig, in another picture, sits on the seat of a hay mower hooked up to his team. He poses thoughtfully while giving the animals a rest. My mother and her brother, Marion, are young kinds, but in another frame, there they stand holding a mismatched team hitched to a hayrack. They look too young to have done much heavy lifting, but they probably were put to work doing something. One more horse scene shows my dad holding in one hand the reins of his team, Chub and Queen, and, in the other, my hand, a young toddler. I remember that team because they were still around as I grew older, and, under close supervision, got to drive them.

Two more pictures went into my grouping: one, a scene of Sheldon's main street taken sometime in the early 1900's, and the other, a picture of a man standing in a suspended wool sack who is packing the fleeces in it. He is a relative of Mary's, and it is the only picture I have ever seen taken of that kind of activity. It is meaningful to me because I used to do that and have always remembered how my shoes became soaked with the lanolin oil from the wool.

The TR Symposium

I drove over to Dickinson Friday and attended the Teddy Roosevelt Symposium sub-titled The Conservationist in the Arena. They had some top-notch scholars giving presentations, each of them full of interesting anecdotes. I started jotting down a few of them.

* Douglas Brinkley recently spent time with Lance Armstrong to prepare an article about him for some magazine. He said he found him to have such a strong inner strength that he wouldn't bet against him in the next Tour de France, a strength he compared to TR's of whom he is writing a biographical book.

* Dr. Donald Worster, history professor at the University of Kansas, said there are no checks and balances at work when the government acts as a business partner with corporatons. I think he was alluding to present day circumstances.

* Dr. Robert Morgan, author of Gap Creek, Boone: A Biography, plus other novels of Appalachian Mountain folks as well as some top rate poetry thought Daniel Boone and TR must have been close in temperament, both having a certain blood lust for killing wild game.

* Clay Jenkinson, our North Dakota humanities scholar, gave up many stories like these: TR took up jiu jitsu for awhile and said there was nothing more exhilarating than being thrown over the head of a 300 pound Japanese man; TR rode on a cattle train and ran along the tops of the cars to get to downed critters and prod them to stand up; TR thought it a great episode in his life when in Wibaux, Montana he downed a drunk bully with his fists and heard the drunks two pistols fire as he went down; TR said the most important time in his life was being a cowboy in Dakota; TR felt so strongly about conservation issues that he refused to give a speech in the Redwoods of California until signs welcoming him were removed from the trees he valued so much; they must have complied with his request because he was then attributed with this quote --- "I feel most emphatically that we should not turn into shingles a tree which was old when the first Egyptian conqueror penetrated to the Valley of the Euphrates."

All of the speakers spoke of the dichotomy present within TR. On one hand he became known as a conservationist, but on the other he loved to go on hunting trips around the world and shoot lots of animals. No one disagrees with the fact that TR was an imperfect man.

Dickinson State Univ., working in conjunction with the Library of Congress, has gotten the honor and responsibility for turning all of TR's papers to a digital format enabling scholars to research his life on-line. It is a huge task since the Library of Congress possesses 485 microfilm reels containing a half million of his documents. A representative of the LOC spoke to us and described the process. Anyone wishing to do research of TR will have to access documents through DSU's portal, a fact they are proud of.

Fall on the Missouri

The leaves started turning colors and falling from the trees in the Missouri River Valley. The beauty of fall never lasts, especially when the wind blows and the leaves start flying off like they are today. Mary keeps busy putting her gardens to bed for the winter, and our neighbor came over yesterday with his air compressor to blow out our underground sprinkler system lines. We can only wonder what kind of winter waits for us.

We had excitement around these parts on Monday. Demolition experts set explosives and dumped part of the Missouri River bridge into the water. A new bridge alongside the old one opened for two-lane traffic a couple of months ago, but the other two lanes were not in use yet because the west end of the old steel structure stood in the way. So down it went and construction to complete the new bridge goes on. I had driven by a couple of days previous to the explosions and saw workmen using cutting torches high up on the arches to weaken their joints.

We did not drive to the site when it was detonated, but television crews were there so we could watch the action live. I believe there were some 190 simultaneous explosions set off. Everything happened fast: we saw the twinkling of all the charges blowing, lots of dark smoke, and the almost immediate collapse of the structure. I couldn't help but notice the hundreds of birds taking wing from underneath to get out of there. In seconds it all lay in the riverbed. Workmen got busy right away to clean out the debris since they had only 24 hours to get it out of there. The bridge was 86 years old, and for a time was the only one across the Missouri. Prior to that barges ferried traffic across. After the smoke and dust settled a transportation department supervisor showed how the rust had worked and weakened the steel. He commented that it was worse than they thought it to be.

Clearing the Table

At 6:30 this morning we checked Mary into Same Day Surgery for a colonoscopy. The build-up to it with the fasting and drinking "witches' brew" yesterday made the actual procedure seem anti-climactic since it took only about 15 minutes. They gave her anesthesia so that took awhile to shake off, but the good news was that everything looked good and the doctor said she didn't have to do it again until ten years have passed.

The Friends of the Library held their regular sale of used books last weekend. As usual, I bought a bunch. Now I have so many that I had to build a new bookshelf yesterday to hold them all. It is time to downsize, of course, but how can I stop buying. At 50 cents a pound for hardcover books and a dollar a pound for paperbacks, it is one place where a twenty dollar bill goes a long ways.

I am still in the process of addressing and mailing my book of poetry to friends, relatives, and others. I sent one to Ted Kooser, a recent past U.S. Poet Laureate whom I have met and visited with. I hope he responds with a critique. I told him I'm a crusty old school administrator who can take the bad with the good, and I am looking for ways to improve. I have read and studied most of his work and admire his ability with words. This week Friday I plan to attend the Theodore Roosevelt Symposium at Dickinson State University. One of the presenters there is Robert Morgan who writes both prose and poetry. I hope to visit with him and slip a book into his hands. Well, I'm not too old to stop dreaming. And like it or not, I plan to keep on writing.

Back at It

I neglected my blog on Wednesday. I busied myself with printing my chapbook of poems and preparing it to mail out. I told Mary that I felt like I had just given birth. Of course, that immediately became a subject of ridicule. Then I told her that she didn't know because she'd never published a book. Again, I was corrected and I didn't think she'd ever stop laughing. A couple of years ago she published a family history book that became the top award-winning publication with the Germans from Russia Society. As she crowed and preened her feathers, I slinked away to do my own modest little thing.

Katie Couric interviewed the vice presidential candidates, and in one segment asked them to name their favorite movie. Joe Biden named "Chariots of Fire" and gave some insightful reasons why he felt so. Sarah Palin listed a couple, the names of which I've forgotten, but she liked them because they were about winners. It caused me to think what might be my favorite, and I would probably say "Saving Private Ryan." I've read a lot of history, but no amount of reading could let me imagine how horrendous the invasion of those beaches must have been. The scenes in movie were as close to realism as can be portrayed by actors and special effects, or at the least that is what I think. As time passes I realize I relate to the after effects the surviving veterans live with. So much gets said now about post-traumatic stress syndrome, but at the time it was not recognized as an ailment.

As a kid growing up I remember seeing many veterans spending a good deal of time in the bars drinking. I know now they were trying to dull their senses and memories of their wartime experiences. Unfortunately, they got pegged as drunks while scenes of death and destruction swirled in their heads. I'm sure battlefield veterans from any of world history's wars experience those same feelings and find it hard to function in a society that expects a certain homogenized behavior. I can only wish now that I had been more sensitive to these veterans. In brief that is why I think "Saving Private Ryan" tops my list of favorite movies.