Yesterday I drove over to the capitol grounds to do some reading in the heritage center where there are on file hundreds of microfilms of old state newspapers. I think it’s fun to read through my old hometown paper and this time chose the century old 1909 volume of The Sheldon Progress. The writers wrote with flowery terms such as in the article about twin colts being born at the Creswell farm. “One survived only a few hours while the other one lived for several days when it followed its mate to the equine’s paradise.” I’ve known baseball was important during this period: “A little comedy on the great national game was perpetrated when the Enderlin high school team came over for a little practice session. The Sheldon team has had no practice whatever and can therefore be excused for the rotten exhibition it put up. About seven innings were played when by mutual consent the game ended, Enderlin at that time having secured twelve runs and Sheldon a fine, fat goose egg.”
Politically correct language was not in use yet, and minority groups were often the butt of slang expressions: “One coon cut another at Minot making a gash to close which surgeons took twenty-one stitches.”
One week a business advertised twine made at the state penitentiary, then a couple weeks later this item appeared: “A man named Bacon got a team from Farmer Lakin of McLean County with the understanding that he would work in the Ward County harvest fields awhile and divide the proceeds. He sold the team and skipped. He was recently captured in Minnesota and may develop into an expert twine maker.”
The following item shows vigilante justice was favored: “A number of Enderlin’s valuable dogs have recently gone to the dog heaven via the poison route. The bereaved owners are showing considerable feeling over the affair and threaten to make a present of a coat of tar and feathers to the poison artist if he is discovered.” This story wasn’t over yet. A few weeks later I read: “Bey Shafer autoed over to Enderlin on Sunday afternoon and took his two dogs along. When he returned he had but one dog, the other having died on the way home. While in the Soo Line town the dead dog evidently made a meal on some of the poison which an enterprising Enderlinite, as yet unknown, has been spreading broadcast over that village and which has already been the means of removing some thousand dollar’s worth of dogs from this dust blown sphere to the canine happy hunting grounds. Bey says the tragedy has not impaired his appetite or wrung his heart strings to any great extent, as the departed animal had been given away several times during his lifetime and always came back. This time he’s confident he won’t come back.”
The issue dated October 8, 1909 carried this headline: “Orville reaches unprecedented height of over 1600 feet - Ascends for fifteen minutes - Aviator descents in five minutes at a simply terrifying speed.”
More 10-8-09 items: “Owego - Albert Anderson is now handling the mail on route no. 2 and dishing out the pretty post cards to the rural dwellers.” “White Sox manager tolerates no loafing on bases - speed big factor in winning game.” “Peru is sending its president’s son to learn scientific farming in Wisconsin, though llama raising is but indifferently taught here.”
Whenever I want a change of pace I can go back to the heritage library and find lots of amusing entertainment. Times were different then, except I found one striking article that seems to translate to today’s concern for any changes or advancements: “The charge is made that the phonograph and the automatic piano are lowering public taste. That is one way of looking at the situation. These new inventions are taking music into homes where it never was before and never would be but for them. They are doing for music what the invention of printing did for the art of reading. There is still literature - and some of the beautiful creations in lit. come from those who under old conditions would never have learned to read. There may be hope for music.”
Tuesday, October 06, 2009
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
A Bit of a Rant
A few days ago a person we know sent us this bit of wisdom: “Never hold your farts in. They travel up your spine, into your brain, and that is where shitty ideas come from!”
The first thing I thought of after reading that was John McCain who must have squeezed his sphincter tight when he picked Sarah Palin to be his running mate. Without her he would have stood an even chance to be elected.
But I’m not here to criticize McCain, I’m writing to criticize Senator Conrad for not supporting a public option for health reform. After listening yesterday to reports that he had not voted for it in committee meeting I fired off the first letter I’ve ever written to a member of Congress. In it I reminded him that I’ve voted for him in every election but that I’m disappointed in his stand. State newspapers reported that he has taken money from the insurance industry, and I asked him if that influenced him. I reminded him that he should be an advocate for the common man, not the insurance industry. It is our votes that put him in office.
Recent figures show that one percent of the U. S. population holds more wealth than the other 99 % put together. I think of the elite status they must hold themselves in. The insurance industry needs no further assistance, but they must be clapping their hands with glee at the prospect of writing so many more policies. I place them in the same category as big oil and the banking industry. North Dakota’s BC/BS has had to have their hands slapped a few times for the “shitty ideas” they promulgate.
The greatest deterrence in this country to prosperity is the high cost of medical care. People are either in debt because of past medical events or are paycheck poor if they have to buy their own policies or are unemployed and have to beg for services. I pay no heed to those who say this is socialistic. What this country suffers from borders on criminal. We should stand idly by and let big business continue to steal from us? I don’t think so!
The first thing I thought of after reading that was John McCain who must have squeezed his sphincter tight when he picked Sarah Palin to be his running mate. Without her he would have stood an even chance to be elected.
But I’m not here to criticize McCain, I’m writing to criticize Senator Conrad for not supporting a public option for health reform. After listening yesterday to reports that he had not voted for it in committee meeting I fired off the first letter I’ve ever written to a member of Congress. In it I reminded him that I’ve voted for him in every election but that I’m disappointed in his stand. State newspapers reported that he has taken money from the insurance industry, and I asked him if that influenced him. I reminded him that he should be an advocate for the common man, not the insurance industry. It is our votes that put him in office.
Recent figures show that one percent of the U. S. population holds more wealth than the other 99 % put together. I think of the elite status they must hold themselves in. The insurance industry needs no further assistance, but they must be clapping their hands with glee at the prospect of writing so many more policies. I place them in the same category as big oil and the banking industry. North Dakota’s BC/BS has had to have their hands slapped a few times for the “shitty ideas” they promulgate.
The greatest deterrence in this country to prosperity is the high cost of medical care. People are either in debt because of past medical events or are paycheck poor if they have to buy their own policies or are unemployed and have to beg for services. I pay no heed to those who say this is socialistic. What this country suffers from borders on criminal. We should stand idly by and let big business continue to steal from us? I don’t think so!
Friday, September 25, 2009
On the Road to Yellowstone Park - Part II
Traveling with the expectation that Yellowstone Park and the motels catering to its tourists would have few patrons at this time of year, we were surprised to find out we were very wrong. Most of the people we encountered were willing participants of social security checks, that is, older folks. We thought getting a room at Gardiner would be easy, but nothing doing. The best option remaining was to drive to Livingston, fifty-some miles to the north. The extra miles proved to not be a problem though: the drive was beautiful as it passed through the Gallatin Mountains and Forest, and we experienced it again the next morning, only this time the sun lit the valley from the opposite direction.
The last time we visited the park we observed the charred rubble left by the huge forest fire in 1989. Now you can observe a lush new growth of trees caused by the fire’s heat which opened the tough-hided pine cones so they could reseed themselves. Old Faithful gave a good show with a powerful eruption lasting several minutes. We needed an ice cream treat after that where I saw someone I thought I knew from Leonard. I said “You’re from Leonard, ND, aren’t you, but I can’t remember your name. No, my name is Paul Smith and I’m from Texas.” A bit embarrassed, I added, “Well, it was nice meeting you anyway.” The ice cream was good.
After our sightseeing we exited the park at the West Yellowstone entrance for our drive back to Livingston. This highway wound through the Madison Mountains and the Gallatins past the Big Sky recreation area. Many fly fishermen waded the creeks and rivers as we drove along. We talked with one fellow from Chicago who had been in Montana fishing for three weeks and planned to stay another three. I dug out my copy of A River Runs Through It when I got home to re-read that author’s take on the sport. I know this type of fishing counts many passionate followers.
When we left home we thought we would stay 5-7 days in Montana, but we decided to head for home on the third day. I thought it funny when leaving the motel that morning to hear and see a chattering magpie perched on the roof. I don’t know what he was saying, but I imagined him laughing at us and telling us to go home.
Montana in places looked very dry, especially so in the Miles City area. Only where irrigators painted the landscape green did we see any color. Just east of Medora near the Painted Canyon exit a truck hauling bales sat burning. Lots of flashing lights from park ranger, highway patrol, and fire department vehicles created a scene of excitement, and west bound traffic stood backed up quite a distance.
I thought as I neared home how the mountain scenery let me forget my every day cares and how I hadn’t watched or heard any news for three days. My imagination still worked when near Dickinson I saw the oil pumps and told Mary they look like big birds bobbing down to peck seeds from the ground.
It was a quick trip but a long one: 1488 miles in three days. The Fusion told us on her digital mpg meter we made 29 miles to the gallon, but when I filled gas and did the math with a calculator I came up with 28.25 mpg at a cost $142.40. Considering we encountered a stiff headwind for most of the first day plus a lot of mountain climbing we were happy with the economy.
The last time we visited the park we observed the charred rubble left by the huge forest fire in 1989. Now you can observe a lush new growth of trees caused by the fire’s heat which opened the tough-hided pine cones so they could reseed themselves. Old Faithful gave a good show with a powerful eruption lasting several minutes. We needed an ice cream treat after that where I saw someone I thought I knew from Leonard. I said “You’re from Leonard, ND, aren’t you, but I can’t remember your name. No, my name is Paul Smith and I’m from Texas.” A bit embarrassed, I added, “Well, it was nice meeting you anyway.” The ice cream was good.
After our sightseeing we exited the park at the West Yellowstone entrance for our drive back to Livingston. This highway wound through the Madison Mountains and the Gallatins past the Big Sky recreation area. Many fly fishermen waded the creeks and rivers as we drove along. We talked with one fellow from Chicago who had been in Montana fishing for three weeks and planned to stay another three. I dug out my copy of A River Runs Through It when I got home to re-read that author’s take on the sport. I know this type of fishing counts many passionate followers.
When we left home we thought we would stay 5-7 days in Montana, but we decided to head for home on the third day. I thought it funny when leaving the motel that morning to hear and see a chattering magpie perched on the roof. I don’t know what he was saying, but I imagined him laughing at us and telling us to go home.
Montana in places looked very dry, especially so in the Miles City area. Only where irrigators painted the landscape green did we see any color. Just east of Medora near the Painted Canyon exit a truck hauling bales sat burning. Lots of flashing lights from park ranger, highway patrol, and fire department vehicles created a scene of excitement, and west bound traffic stood backed up quite a distance.
I thought as I neared home how the mountain scenery let me forget my every day cares and how I hadn’t watched or heard any news for three days. My imagination still worked when near Dickinson I saw the oil pumps and told Mary they look like big birds bobbing down to peck seeds from the ground.
It was a quick trip but a long one: 1488 miles in three days. The Fusion told us on her digital mpg meter we made 29 miles to the gallon, but when I filled gas and did the math with a calculator I came up with 28.25 mpg at a cost $142.40. Considering we encountered a stiff headwind for most of the first day plus a lot of mountain climbing we were happy with the economy.
Thursday, September 24, 2009
On the Road to Yellowstone Park - Part I
We left Mandan Monday, September 21 at 6:00 am with the intention of driving to Red Lodge and spending the evening. Montana hasn’t shrunk any since the last time we drove across it. The buttes and hills still seem so lonesome that they talk to each other sending messages airmail by hawkback. Fences still crawl up crazy little hills and knolls as if placed there by gymnasts. We stopped for coffee at a Conoco in Glendive; the gal there was talkative, she said a lot of people moved away since they built the prison. Why? Afraid of escaped convicts? No taxes went up and the older folks couldn’t afford to stay.
We kept driving along the interstate, past where the Yellowstone River crawls along like a snake, where the horizon looked like teeth on a rough-cut saw, where black Angus cows looked like pencil marks against dry parchment hills, where a sign advertising red Angus read “Better Bred Red,” (say that a fast a few times) where herds of antelope seemed to say “We’ve live here and we’re used to it,” where an old sheepherder’s wagon stood with big holes in its canopy top.
Our Ford Fusion ran like a hound through that countryside, past Billings, past Red Lodge, up and over the Bear Tooth Pass, and still we kept driving. Above the tree line there was a light dusting of snow. We stopped at the main overlook and looked down at the big trough we had just driven and climbed through, at the slides of scree, scrub brush, stunted plant life, an Alpine meadow. Mary thought I was looking around too much as we rolled along and got too close to the cliff edges. She’d holler at me as we passed through the switchbacks and curly loops.
We peaked and then dropped down again past a sign reading “This Is Grizzly Bear Country,” where we didn’t see any, past a sign reading “Open Range, Expect Cows On Road,” which we did see and had to slow down for. We stopped in Cooke City and bought ice cream at a funky little shop filled with old books and classical music albums lining the walls. The manager said he has chess tournaments in the winter; I told him I could enjoy a place like that.
There were some buffalo on the hillsides; Mary stated there were buffalo all over the place. Huh? I looked again. I should have realized her eyes were getting road weary - what she saw where rocks that in the shadowed light did look something like those critters lying down. I laughed at her but admitted she was right. We thought we would stay in Gardiner for the night, but when we arrived we couldn’t find a single available room. The place was crawling with older folks like us thinking we would travel in the fall when there weren’t so many people around. We drove north to Livingston to stay the night. The trip meter registered 650 miles.
We kept driving along the interstate, past where the Yellowstone River crawls along like a snake, where the horizon looked like teeth on a rough-cut saw, where black Angus cows looked like pencil marks against dry parchment hills, where a sign advertising red Angus read “Better Bred Red,” (say that a fast a few times) where herds of antelope seemed to say “We’ve live here and we’re used to it,” where an old sheepherder’s wagon stood with big holes in its canopy top.
Our Ford Fusion ran like a hound through that countryside, past Billings, past Red Lodge, up and over the Bear Tooth Pass, and still we kept driving. Above the tree line there was a light dusting of snow. We stopped at the main overlook and looked down at the big trough we had just driven and climbed through, at the slides of scree, scrub brush, stunted plant life, an Alpine meadow. Mary thought I was looking around too much as we rolled along and got too close to the cliff edges. She’d holler at me as we passed through the switchbacks and curly loops.
We peaked and then dropped down again past a sign reading “This Is Grizzly Bear Country,” where we didn’t see any, past a sign reading “Open Range, Expect Cows On Road,” which we did see and had to slow down for. We stopped in Cooke City and bought ice cream at a funky little shop filled with old books and classical music albums lining the walls. The manager said he has chess tournaments in the winter; I told him I could enjoy a place like that.
There were some buffalo on the hillsides; Mary stated there were buffalo all over the place. Huh? I looked again. I should have realized her eyes were getting road weary - what she saw where rocks that in the shadowed light did look something like those critters lying down. I laughed at her but admitted she was right. We thought we would stay in Gardiner for the night, but when we arrived we couldn’t find a single available room. The place was crawling with older folks like us thinking we would travel in the fall when there weren’t so many people around. We drove north to Livingston to stay the night. The trip meter registered 650 miles.
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Almost Forgot
Another Wednesday has rolled around, and a short while ago I realized I hadn’t yet written this blog. If I would have forgotten to write today the world would have continued to spin, the sun still would have glowed in the sky, and anyone who reads it would have discovered they got along just fine without it. But, this has all gotten to be a habit and is probably one that I will not break (even though I threaten to do so occasionally). My near-omission in writing came to light as I listened to public radio and heard Meryl Piepkorn and Clay Jenkinson discussing the Teddy Roosevelt Symposium scheduled for the middle of October, and I said to Mary as we drove home from the Merle Norman beauty works store in Bismarck, “Hey, is today Wednesday? I haven’t written my blog yet!”
The symposium at Dickinson State College this year is their fourth one and bears the title Theodore Roosevelt: Family Man in the Arena. TR raised quite a brood of children and the topics will discuss how he interacted with the family. Prominent writers and speakers always attend and the author of one of the best single volume histories of Roosevelt will speak: Kathleen Dalton, author of Theodore Roosevelt: A Strenuous Life.
Mary flies off to Minneapolis during that time to babysit our grandkids, so I will be free to make like a bird and go to Dickinson and soak up some interesting information. Part of the symposia will be a trip on Saturday to the Elkhorn Ranch in the Badlands. Jenkinson said today that past authors and speakers have all said they wished they would have visited that site before writing their books.
Dickinson State University has earned some notoriety in the academic world because they have worked with the Library of Congress in developing and now housing a digitized library of all of TR’s writings, a massive undertaking. Anyone interested in looking at this work go to www.theodorerooseveltcenter.com and click on Documents.
The symposium at Dickinson State College this year is their fourth one and bears the title Theodore Roosevelt: Family Man in the Arena. TR raised quite a brood of children and the topics will discuss how he interacted with the family. Prominent writers and speakers always attend and the author of one of the best single volume histories of Roosevelt will speak: Kathleen Dalton, author of Theodore Roosevelt: A Strenuous Life.
Mary flies off to Minneapolis during that time to babysit our grandkids, so I will be free to make like a bird and go to Dickinson and soak up some interesting information. Part of the symposia will be a trip on Saturday to the Elkhorn Ranch in the Badlands. Jenkinson said today that past authors and speakers have all said they wished they would have visited that site before writing their books.
Dickinson State University has earned some notoriety in the academic world because they have worked with the Library of Congress in developing and now housing a digitized library of all of TR’s writings, a massive undertaking. Anyone interested in looking at this work go to www.theodorerooseveltcenter.com and click on Documents.
Wednesday, September 09, 2009
Tonight
I will forgo listening to the president’s speech to congress tonight and will instead attend a talk given by George McGovern who is in town to discuss his recent book Abraham Lincoln. I’m sure tomorrow I will find the president’s address all over the talk shows and internet where it will be thoroughly replayed and dissected then. I’m glad some voices of reason came from the Republican ranks yesterday regarding his talk to school kids. Laura Bush, always known for her graciousness, supported it, and Newt Gingrich found it to be of value, too.
McGovern’s book is very readable and interesting. I know, I bought a copy at Barnes and Noble yesterday. I’ve always admired the man and since he isn’t getting any younger I’m going to take this one chance to see him. He is a World War II veteran, and that puts him somewhere in his 80’s. Here is a good place to let Ole and Sven have their say:
Ole and Sven, the old retired Norwegian boys, lived at the Old Retired Norwegian Home. One afternoon they were sitting on the front porch looking at the sunset and talking about this and that. Lena, who lived there too, was standing around the corner and heard the boys talking. Being a mischevious lady, Lena decided to play a trick on the boys. Taking off all her clothes, she ran around the corner and raced past Ole and Sven as fast as she could run.
Ole and Sven watch in astonishment as Lena runs past. Finally, Ole asks, "Vasn't dat Lena?" Sven replies, "Yah, ay - ay tank so..." Ole says, "But, vat vas she vearing?" Sven shakes his head and says, "Yah, ay don't know, but vatever it vas, it sure needed ironing!"
…
A doctor in Duluth wanted to get off work and go hunting, so he approached his assistant. ‘Ole, I am goin’ huntin’ tomorrow and don’t want to close the clinic. I want you to take care of the clinic and take care of all my patients.’ ‘Yes, sir!’ answers Ole.
The doctor goes hunting and returns the following day and asks: ‘So, Ole, How was your day?’ Ole told him that he took care of three patients. ‘The first one had a Headache so I gave him TYLENOL.’
‘Bravo, Mate, and the second one?’ asks the doctor. ‘The second one had stomach burning and I gave him MAALOX, sir,’ says Ole.
Bravo, bravo! You’re good at this and what about the third one?’ asks the Doctor. ‘Sir, I was sitting here and suddenly the door opens and a woman enters. Like a flame, she undresses herself, taking off everything including her bra and her panties and lies down on the table and shouts: HELP ME – I haven’t seen a man in over two years!!
‘Tunderin’ Lard Yeezus, Ole, what did you do?’ asks the doctor.
‘I put drops in her eyes!!
McGovern’s book is very readable and interesting. I know, I bought a copy at Barnes and Noble yesterday. I’ve always admired the man and since he isn’t getting any younger I’m going to take this one chance to see him. He is a World War II veteran, and that puts him somewhere in his 80’s. Here is a good place to let Ole and Sven have their say:
Ole and Sven, the old retired Norwegian boys, lived at the Old Retired Norwegian Home. One afternoon they were sitting on the front porch looking at the sunset and talking about this and that. Lena, who lived there too, was standing around the corner and heard the boys talking. Being a mischevious lady, Lena decided to play a trick on the boys. Taking off all her clothes, she ran around the corner and raced past Ole and Sven as fast as she could run.
Ole and Sven watch in astonishment as Lena runs past. Finally, Ole asks, "Vasn't dat Lena?" Sven replies, "Yah, ay - ay tank so..." Ole says, "But, vat vas she vearing?" Sven shakes his head and says, "Yah, ay don't know, but vatever it vas, it sure needed ironing!"
…
A doctor in Duluth wanted to get off work and go hunting, so he approached his assistant. ‘Ole, I am goin’ huntin’ tomorrow and don’t want to close the clinic. I want you to take care of the clinic and take care of all my patients.’ ‘Yes, sir!’ answers Ole.
The doctor goes hunting and returns the following day and asks: ‘So, Ole, How was your day?’ Ole told him that he took care of three patients. ‘The first one had a Headache so I gave him TYLENOL.’
‘Bravo, Mate, and the second one?’ asks the doctor. ‘The second one had stomach burning and I gave him MAALOX, sir,’ says Ole.
Bravo, bravo! You’re good at this and what about the third one?’ asks the Doctor. ‘Sir, I was sitting here and suddenly the door opens and a woman enters. Like a flame, she undresses herself, taking off everything including her bra and her panties and lies down on the table and shouts: HELP ME – I haven’t seen a man in over two years!!
‘Tunderin’ Lard Yeezus, Ole, what did you do?’ asks the doctor.
‘I put drops in her eyes!!
Wednesday, September 02, 2009
Rambling
I wondered out loud to Mary if all the street work in Bismarck might be the result of an injection of stimulus money. Sure enough, an article in the Bismarck Tribune said it was. Forget about getting someplace fast in that town for awhile. Four lane streets line with orange cones that funnel traffic into two lanes.
This news is so fresh that reactions haven’t been recorded yet, but the Bobcat plant in Bismarck will close by the end of the year, and all the production will be moved to the Gwinner site. Good for Gwinner, Lisbon, and the surrounding area, bad for Bismarck. I know two men who work at the Bismarck plant who will have to look elsewhere for employment.
I drove over to the Target store this morning to develop pictures taken of my pickup in preparation for an ad to sell it. While waiting for them I went across the street to Barnes and Noble for a good cup of half-caff coffee and some reading time. I picked up a book in the New Biography section about Abraham Lincoln written by George McGovern of South Dakota, a past nominee for president. McGovern has always fascinated me. In the seventh grade a gym teacher branded him a “physical coward” because he wouldn’t somersault over a vaulting horse. The teacher’s undeserved assessment of McGovern’s bravery psychologically bothered McGovern a lot through the years, but it never stood up since McGovern enlisted in the army air force at the start of WWII, became a B-24 bomber pilot, and flew 35 missions over enemy territory. He was highly decorated for his BRAVERY.
This news is so fresh that reactions haven’t been recorded yet, but the Bobcat plant in Bismarck will close by the end of the year, and all the production will be moved to the Gwinner site. Good for Gwinner, Lisbon, and the surrounding area, bad for Bismarck. I know two men who work at the Bismarck plant who will have to look elsewhere for employment.
I drove over to the Target store this morning to develop pictures taken of my pickup in preparation for an ad to sell it. While waiting for them I went across the street to Barnes and Noble for a good cup of half-caff coffee and some reading time. I picked up a book in the New Biography section about Abraham Lincoln written by George McGovern of South Dakota, a past nominee for president. McGovern has always fascinated me. In the seventh grade a gym teacher branded him a “physical coward” because he wouldn’t somersault over a vaulting horse. The teacher’s undeserved assessment of McGovern’s bravery psychologically bothered McGovern a lot through the years, but it never stood up since McGovern enlisted in the army air force at the start of WWII, became a B-24 bomber pilot, and flew 35 missions over enemy territory. He was highly decorated for his BRAVERY.
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Thursday, A Day Late
Sometimes a fellow just doesn’t have much to say. Of course, it’s probably got something to do with yesterday. I donated blood again, or more specifically half of it was plasma and the other half red blood cells. My iron count wasn’t high enough to give double red blood cells so they determined half of that was what they’d take. Whatever the decision, the process of being a donor always steals energy from me, so today I’m dragging around like a lazy dog. However, I still look on it as my little way of payback to society, so I plan to continue doing it. I’ve received blood transfusions on two different occasions in my life, and I won’t forget that somebody had to donate it for me.
I keep working at my second book and search for inspiration under every rock. It goes slowly. The problem might be that I’ve already started the third volume in my head, a fact which detracts me from the one at hand. The third one with have a unified theme, while this one as well as the first one I published bounced all over the place with poems of whatever took my fancy. The last piece I completed starts with this stanza:
Every small town bar has one, an unprincipled expert
of political issues, a verbal bull who will gore
and skewer his opponents with his horns in a quarrel…
I had lots of fun writing that one, and I only had to go so far as to dip into my own barrel of experience to dredge it up. The third volume’s theme will concern the early transportation enterprise that cut trails through my home territory. It’s a good story, and I hope I can do it justice.
I keep working at my second book and search for inspiration under every rock. It goes slowly. The problem might be that I’ve already started the third volume in my head, a fact which detracts me from the one at hand. The third one with have a unified theme, while this one as well as the first one I published bounced all over the place with poems of whatever took my fancy. The last piece I completed starts with this stanza:
Every small town bar has one, an unprincipled expert
of political issues, a verbal bull who will gore
and skewer his opponents with his horns in a quarrel…
I had lots of fun writing that one, and I only had to go so far as to dip into my own barrel of experience to dredge it up. The third volume’s theme will concern the early transportation enterprise that cut trails through my home territory. It’s a good story, and I hope I can do it justice.
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Health Care
In regards to the current health insurance debate I suspected all along that something like the following was the case . My local paper yesterday carried a political cartoon where a patient wearing a tee shirt emblazoned with “No Gov’t Healthcare” sat in a doctor’s office with his mouth wide open saying “aaaahhh” and the doctor says “All that yelling and screaming at town hall meetings has damaged your throat!” The second panel shows the patient asking, “So, will my Medicare cover it?”
A few days ago another similar episode occurred where a placard reading “Keep your government hands off my Medicare” was spotted in a crowd. Bill Maher, a clever commentator on current events said, “That’s a bit like driving a thousand miles on a highway to protest road construction.”
I don’t know what health care reform will look like when it’s over, but I do wish that people would study the issue and try to think it through a bit before shooting their mouths off. They make themselves look stupid. I heard one guy tell an interviewer that he doesn’t get his news from regular network newsmen; he doesn’t trust them; instead he listens to the Fox network. (?!%@#)
For awhile the kooks were saying, “Don’t pull the plug on Grannie!” Talk about sound bites. I’m just glad I qualify for Medicare. It takes a lot of stress off from the budget. So long.
A few days ago another similar episode occurred where a placard reading “Keep your government hands off my Medicare” was spotted in a crowd. Bill Maher, a clever commentator on current events said, “That’s a bit like driving a thousand miles on a highway to protest road construction.”
I don’t know what health care reform will look like when it’s over, but I do wish that people would study the issue and try to think it through a bit before shooting their mouths off. They make themselves look stupid. I heard one guy tell an interviewer that he doesn’t get his news from regular network newsmen; he doesn’t trust them; instead he listens to the Fox network. (?!%@#)
For awhile the kooks were saying, “Don’t pull the plug on Grannie!” Talk about sound bites. I’m just glad I qualify for Medicare. It takes a lot of stress off from the budget. So long.
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
100 Degrees Today
Stiffness sets into my joints so that my body tells me of my age even though my brain still does not recognize it. Somebody has said “At the threshold of old age it will take only a few steps to walk through and enter the room.” The day will probably come when I will go to a doctor and he will say he has both good news and bad news. I will say, “Lay it on me, Doc. What’s the bad news?” He’ll say, “You have Alzheimer’s!” After gulping, I’ll say, “Good heavens! What’s the good news?” “You can go home and forget about it.”
Then I’ll put a bumper sticker on my car that says “I’m speeding because I have to get there before I forget where I’m going.”
…
I suppose I should write about the past since there is more and more of it, and I’ll never run out of material. In Winnipeg we visited a graveyard adjacent to the St. Boniface Cathedral; in it rest the remains of one Louis Riel, known as the leader of the Metis, named thus because they were part-Indian and part-Frenchmen. They felt they were encroached upon by the government of Canada which wanted to claim the lands they had been living on for years. It interests me because the Metis, by the hundreds, drove the ox-cart trails which I am presently studying. It is significant to me because the period of the Metis’ unrest and outright rebellion was 1869-70, a fact which coincides with the ox-cart freighting taking place in the part of the state where I was born and raised. From Riel’s life I am gleaning lots of information regarding the people and culture of the drovers who cut deep ruts through the prairie and forded the Sheyenne River to get to Fort Ransom.
A timeline of the years 1867-1870 reveals several events pertaining to transportation: the golden spike was driven at Promontory, Utah; transcontinental rail service began; the Suez Canal opened; first railroad bridge across the Missouri at Kansas City; construction of the Brooklyn Bridge began; etc. plus one more interesting one. In June of 1867 2000 Chinese workers on the western railroad struck because they had not been paid in weeks. They also demanded the whippings stop and that hours spent in hot tunnels be limited to eight hours a day. The Central Pacific manager cut off the strikers’ food supply and threatened to fire the workers. The strike collapsed after a week.
Then I’ll put a bumper sticker on my car that says “I’m speeding because I have to get there before I forget where I’m going.”
…
I suppose I should write about the past since there is more and more of it, and I’ll never run out of material. In Winnipeg we visited a graveyard adjacent to the St. Boniface Cathedral; in it rest the remains of one Louis Riel, known as the leader of the Metis, named thus because they were part-Indian and part-Frenchmen. They felt they were encroached upon by the government of Canada which wanted to claim the lands they had been living on for years. It interests me because the Metis, by the hundreds, drove the ox-cart trails which I am presently studying. It is significant to me because the period of the Metis’ unrest and outright rebellion was 1869-70, a fact which coincides with the ox-cart freighting taking place in the part of the state where I was born and raised. From Riel’s life I am gleaning lots of information regarding the people and culture of the drovers who cut deep ruts through the prairie and forded the Sheyenne River to get to Fort Ransom.
A timeline of the years 1867-1870 reveals several events pertaining to transportation: the golden spike was driven at Promontory, Utah; transcontinental rail service began; the Suez Canal opened; first railroad bridge across the Missouri at Kansas City; construction of the Brooklyn Bridge began; etc. plus one more interesting one. In June of 1867 2000 Chinese workers on the western railroad struck because they had not been paid in weeks. They also demanded the whippings stop and that hours spent in hot tunnels be limited to eight hours a day. The Central Pacific manager cut off the strikers’ food supply and threatened to fire the workers. The strike collapsed after a week.
Friday, August 07, 2009
A Trip to Winnipeg
We returned last evening from a trip to Winnipeg where we took in a half dozen shows of Folklorama, their large multi-ethnic celebration of the many cultures that live in and mix with that city. We’ve been there a couple times before, but each season the two week long production is different. This year we attended the pavilions of Africa, Scotland, and Colombia the first evening and Israel, Russia, and Korea the second.
Each of the two nights we ate appetizers at the first location, the main course at the second, and dessert at the third. Some of the food was good, some not so. My favorite was the main course we ate at the Russian venue; it seemed like real food. Scotland’s main course included haggis, a dish I’d heard much about. It was a dark lump of heavily seasoned sausage-like tripe that I did not care for, but then some people don’t think much of lutefisk and lefse either, so I can’t condemn that whole culture because of their favorite dish.
Music performances from each of the countries were a great crowd pleaser, even though some of it was loud. Korea included a demonstration of tae kwon do; I would not want to pick a fight with any of those people because of what they showed they could do to an opponent.
Israel’s show was held on a Jewish campus in the city, and I could not help but notice the patches on the uniforms of the men directing parking. They identified them at that campus’s private security force. With Jews under attack from terrorists in so many parts of the world, this Winnipeg enclave of Jews obviously planned to take no chances by leaving themselves open to attack.
Winnipeg’s mural painters are given exterior walls of businesses to create their large scale art which gives the city an attractive, decorated look. The city overall has a clean proud look about it that makes it a pleasure to visit.
Each of the two nights we ate appetizers at the first location, the main course at the second, and dessert at the third. Some of the food was good, some not so. My favorite was the main course we ate at the Russian venue; it seemed like real food. Scotland’s main course included haggis, a dish I’d heard much about. It was a dark lump of heavily seasoned sausage-like tripe that I did not care for, but then some people don’t think much of lutefisk and lefse either, so I can’t condemn that whole culture because of their favorite dish.
Music performances from each of the countries were a great crowd pleaser, even though some of it was loud. Korea included a demonstration of tae kwon do; I would not want to pick a fight with any of those people because of what they showed they could do to an opponent.
Israel’s show was held on a Jewish campus in the city, and I could not help but notice the patches on the uniforms of the men directing parking. They identified them at that campus’s private security force. With Jews under attack from terrorists in so many parts of the world, this Winnipeg enclave of Jews obviously planned to take no chances by leaving themselves open to attack.
Winnipeg’s mural painters are given exterior walls of businesses to create their large scale art which gives the city an attractive, decorated look. The city overall has a clean proud look about it that makes it a pleasure to visit.
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Bumper Stickers
I find a world of wisdom in bumper stickers. For example here we are in the growing season with lots of moisture and the grass needs more than its fair share of attention. This sticker could well be my motto: “I fought the lawn and lawn won.” One that applies to me as well as almost everyone I’ve ever known cautions us to “never miss a good chance to shut up.” If my better angel had been sitting on my shoulder to remind me of this countless times, I would have appreciated it. Alas, where was he?
Money is a popular topic on bumper stickers. A few of them are - “Money talks, but all mine ever says is good-bye!” “Money wouldn’t be so important if everybody didn’t want some.” “If work is so terrific, how come they have to pay you to do it?”
This one especially hits the mark at my house. “Laugh and the world laughs with you. Snore and you sleep alone.” My wife tells me I am afflicted with this ailment, so I have tried the sticky butterfly thingies on the outside of my nose as well as the oval inserts you stick up your nostrils, neither of which seems to work very well. I always can tell when there has been a problem in the night when I wander into the living room in the morning and find a rumpled quilt on the couch.
I love this one. “More hay, Trigger? No, thanks, Roy, I’m stuffed.” Does that one might make you think a bit? Speaking of the dead, these work for me - “I intend to live forever. So far, so good.” and “Never knock on Death’s door. Ring the bell and run, he hates that!”
I know this stuff is silly, but what the heck. Here are a couple that remind me of me - “Whenever I think of the past it brings back so many memories,” and “My life is based on a true story.”
The one I have found to be the most profound deals with physics (I think, something to do with every action having an equal and opposite reaction) - “What would happen if the whole world farted at once?”
Good-bye!
Money is a popular topic on bumper stickers. A few of them are - “Money talks, but all mine ever says is good-bye!” “Money wouldn’t be so important if everybody didn’t want some.” “If work is so terrific, how come they have to pay you to do it?”
This one especially hits the mark at my house. “Laugh and the world laughs with you. Snore and you sleep alone.” My wife tells me I am afflicted with this ailment, so I have tried the sticky butterfly thingies on the outside of my nose as well as the oval inserts you stick up your nostrils, neither of which seems to work very well. I always can tell when there has been a problem in the night when I wander into the living room in the morning and find a rumpled quilt on the couch.
I love this one. “More hay, Trigger? No, thanks, Roy, I’m stuffed.” Does that one might make you think a bit? Speaking of the dead, these work for me - “I intend to live forever. So far, so good.” and “Never knock on Death’s door. Ring the bell and run, he hates that!”
I know this stuff is silly, but what the heck. Here are a couple that remind me of me - “Whenever I think of the past it brings back so many memories,” and “My life is based on a true story.”
The one I have found to be the most profound deals with physics (I think, something to do with every action having an equal and opposite reaction) - “What would happen if the whole world farted at once?”
Good-bye!
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Buzz Aldrin, etc.
We just marked the 40th anniversary of the moon landing. Some people just won’t accept facts as evidenced by those who say that walking on the moon was all a hoax, (a hoax akin to those who contend the earth is flat or that Obama is not a U. S citizen even though he was born in Hawaii of a mother who was a U. S. citizen.) I am convinced the moon landing really happened because if there had been some shenanigans taking place regarding its authenticity the just-elapsed forty year span would have exposed people with a guilty conscience who would have taken the opportunity to write a book and make some money from the supposed scam. One of the astronauts, Buzz Aldrin, has become my hero, because when confronted by a verbally abusive critic, he up and popped him. The guy tried to sue but the judge declared he had it coming. You can watch it happen. Go to Huffingtonpost.com and scroll down in "Most popular on Huffington Post" until it comes into view. The video is titled “Buzz Aldrin Punches Moon Landing Conspiracy Theorist in the Face.”
… … …
I worked in the hayfield again Monday morning even though the weather threatened to drive me out. A dark blue storm cloud slid around to the south but put on quite a show with all the sharp lightning it produced. It made me think back to another time when I was in a wheat field near Kiowa, Kansas. Cauliflower clouds had grown tall all that afternoon and when night came on and our combines still threshed away sharp lightning lit the sky and kept coming toward us. With lightning dancing all around we finally got scared enough to stop, shut the machines down, and dismount. That decision was not what the owner of the field thought should occur. He came roaring up in his pickup and swore up and down that we should keep those machines going. He was more than likely afraid of hail wiping out the nice crop and our safety was not particularly high on his list, an attitude I found to exist among certain other farmers down there. Luckily he backed off and we did not combine anymore that evening.
Reminded of old combining stories, there is another that comes to mind. I was atop a machine running in road gear for several miles down some highway in Nebraska, it was cold and drizzly, and, with no cab, I drove all hunched up. The highway was a bit narrow, and I guess I was weaving across the center line a bit, but I didn’t think much. A man and woman in a car passed me; I remember seeing grocery bags in the back seat but thought little else of it, except when he passed and pulled over to the side of the road which blocked me from going further. He got out and proceeded to holler and scream at me about keeping “that goddamn thing on my side of the road!” He kept at it, and I was not going to take any more of it and took the machine out of gear, locked the brakes, and started getting out of my seat to confront him. He saw my reaction and screamed, “If you don’t know it, I’m the sheriff of this goddamn county!” Just then the boss of the outfit pulled up in his pickup and everything settled down. I may just have punched him out, but unlike Buzz Aldrin, I don’t think the judge would have sided with me to tell the sheriff he had it coming.
… … …
I worked in the hayfield again Monday morning even though the weather threatened to drive me out. A dark blue storm cloud slid around to the south but put on quite a show with all the sharp lightning it produced. It made me think back to another time when I was in a wheat field near Kiowa, Kansas. Cauliflower clouds had grown tall all that afternoon and when night came on and our combines still threshed away sharp lightning lit the sky and kept coming toward us. With lightning dancing all around we finally got scared enough to stop, shut the machines down, and dismount. That decision was not what the owner of the field thought should occur. He came roaring up in his pickup and swore up and down that we should keep those machines going. He was more than likely afraid of hail wiping out the nice crop and our safety was not particularly high on his list, an attitude I found to exist among certain other farmers down there. Luckily he backed off and we did not combine anymore that evening.
Reminded of old combining stories, there is another that comes to mind. I was atop a machine running in road gear for several miles down some highway in Nebraska, it was cold and drizzly, and, with no cab, I drove all hunched up. The highway was a bit narrow, and I guess I was weaving across the center line a bit, but I didn’t think much. A man and woman in a car passed me; I remember seeing grocery bags in the back seat but thought little else of it, except when he passed and pulled over to the side of the road which blocked me from going further. He got out and proceeded to holler and scream at me about keeping “that goddamn thing on my side of the road!” He kept at it, and I was not going to take any more of it and took the machine out of gear, locked the brakes, and started getting out of my seat to confront him. He saw my reaction and screamed, “If you don’t know it, I’m the sheriff of this goddamn county!” Just then the boss of the outfit pulled up in his pickup and everything settled down. I may just have punched him out, but unlike Buzz Aldrin, I don’t think the judge would have sided with me to tell the sheriff he had it coming.
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
...What we choose to recall
Merle Haggard sings a line “… everything does change, except what we choose to recall.” I heard it again this morning, and for some reason I have been running it through my head a bit today. When I attended graduate school I ran with a great group of guys who had lots of fun together. We hung out after hours at a joint called The Driftwood and enjoyed a carefree life. Since that time, however, I’ve only seen two of the guys one time each and neither was the same fellow I knew back then. I wonder if the Driftwood still stands to dispense the fun and drink. Probably not. It was in Greeley, CO, a town which has seen lots of growth since 1969. The way things sometimes go it was probably leveled to make room for a shopping mall.
A picture of Sheldon’s main street, taken about 1900, hangs on my study’s wall which shows at least two city blocks solid with store fronts with standing horse teams and buggies tied in front of them. I don’t have that particular memory, but the one I do have differs greatly from the reality of today’s main street. Only a few buildings still stand, and I have heard several of them are going to be taken down because of their vacancy and state of disrepair. A couple of years ago the old city hall and Newton’s cream station and feed store met with demolition. Each time I drive down that street I still picture how it used to look.
In any small town drive around a bit and then make your way out to the community cemetery. It’s usually the only that’s growing. Farms grew larger, families shrunk in numbers, the kids went off to the bigger towns for employment. I guess it is only the memory we choose to recall that stays the same.
…
A Swede enters the bar in the town where he stopped for the night. He grabs a barstool and orders a drink. After sitting there for a while, he yells to the bartender, "Hey, you wanna hear a Norwegian joke?
The bar immediately falls absolutely quiet. In a very deep, husky voice, the woman him says, "Before you tell that joke, sir, I think it is only fair — given that you are new here — you should know five things:
1. The bartender is a Norwegian.
2. The bouncer is a Norwegian.
3. I'm Norwegian and a professional weightlifter.
4. The woman sitting next to me is Norwegian with a black belt in karate.
5. The man to your right is a Norwegian and a professional wrestler.
Now think about it seriously, Mister. Do you still wanna tell that joke? The Swede thinks about it for a second, shakes his head, and declares: "Nah, not if I'm gonna have to explain it five times."
A picture of Sheldon’s main street, taken about 1900, hangs on my study’s wall which shows at least two city blocks solid with store fronts with standing horse teams and buggies tied in front of them. I don’t have that particular memory, but the one I do have differs greatly from the reality of today’s main street. Only a few buildings still stand, and I have heard several of them are going to be taken down because of their vacancy and state of disrepair. A couple of years ago the old city hall and Newton’s cream station and feed store met with demolition. Each time I drive down that street I still picture how it used to look.
In any small town drive around a bit and then make your way out to the community cemetery. It’s usually the only that’s growing. Farms grew larger, families shrunk in numbers, the kids went off to the bigger towns for employment. I guess it is only the memory we choose to recall that stays the same.
…
A Swede enters the bar in the town where he stopped for the night. He grabs a barstool and orders a drink. After sitting there for a while, he yells to the bartender, "Hey, you wanna hear a Norwegian joke?
The bar immediately falls absolutely quiet. In a very deep, husky voice, the woman him says, "Before you tell that joke, sir, I think it is only fair — given that you are new here — you should know five things:
1. The bartender is a Norwegian.
2. The bouncer is a Norwegian.
3. I'm Norwegian and a professional weightlifter.
4. The woman sitting next to me is Norwegian with a black belt in karate.
5. The man to your right is a Norwegian and a professional wrestler.
Now think about it seriously, Mister. Do you still wanna tell that joke? The Swede thinks about it for a second, shakes his head, and declares: "Nah, not if I'm gonna have to explain it five times."
Wednesday, July 08, 2009
July 4th Considered
Another July 4th has come and gone. I really believe that with each year I reflect a bit more on why we celebrate that day. Reminded of a recent book by David McCullough entitled 1776 when a local columnist in our daily paper made mention of it, and with lots of spare time that day I drove over to Barnes and Noble and bought a copy. McCullough proves himself a very readable historian; I think any history researched and written by him is worthwhile reading. I haven’t finished reading the book yet, but it gives a clear picture of the political and military workings of the period.
An event in England surprised me completely when I read that the House of Lords and the House of Commons did not, in their debate, wholly support King George III by voting for military action in the colonies. Approximately 1/3 of the members in each body voted nay, but with their country’s rule of law the majority prevailed and the war commenced.
In the colonies complicated feelings for or against freedom from England did not encourage simple actions in the colonies, but, driven by strong leadership, we all know the final outcome was independence and freedom from domination.
History and biography always take priority in my reading, and I’ve just finished a volume that illustrates the length that people go to protect freedom. The book - World War II on the Air, Edward R. Murrow and the Broadcasts that Riveted a Nation - tells of the CBS newsmen led by Murrow who invented on the spot reporting in the European war zones. Because of these men the world received news of Hitler’s armies and his attempts to dominate the world. The book and its companion CD of actual wartime recordings made by the reporters clearly draws the picture of the struggle and the lengths that the Allies went to to defeat the menace.
A quotation by Murrow stood out prominently, “Europe has no doubt that America is mighty in battle. Our nation, which was created by people who wanted to leave Europe, is the center of the hopes and some of the fears of millions who are in Europe today.”
An event in England surprised me completely when I read that the House of Lords and the House of Commons did not, in their debate, wholly support King George III by voting for military action in the colonies. Approximately 1/3 of the members in each body voted nay, but with their country’s rule of law the majority prevailed and the war commenced.
In the colonies complicated feelings for or against freedom from England did not encourage simple actions in the colonies, but, driven by strong leadership, we all know the final outcome was independence and freedom from domination.
History and biography always take priority in my reading, and I’ve just finished a volume that illustrates the length that people go to protect freedom. The book - World War II on the Air, Edward R. Murrow and the Broadcasts that Riveted a Nation - tells of the CBS newsmen led by Murrow who invented on the spot reporting in the European war zones. Because of these men the world received news of Hitler’s armies and his attempts to dominate the world. The book and its companion CD of actual wartime recordings made by the reporters clearly draws the picture of the struggle and the lengths that the Allies went to to defeat the menace.
A quotation by Murrow stood out prominently, “Europe has no doubt that America is mighty in battle. Our nation, which was created by people who wanted to leave Europe, is the center of the hopes and some of the fears of millions who are in Europe today.”
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Dear Mary
Dear Mary,
Things haven’t gone too badly since you’ve been gone again to Mpls to babysit our grandkids. Last time you went I filled the hamper and didn’t have anything to wear - well, I figured it out this time: I haven’t changed clothes. So when you come home you won’t have to worry about washing. Just throw these away!
I know how possessive you are of your lawnmower, so --- since mine is getting repaired --- I’ve left yours alone. The grass is getting long, but that will make it seem worthwhile mowing when you get home. After 35 years of marriage I know when to leave well enough alone.
I’ve been out to the ranch helping to put up hay. It’s really pretty out there, so green. Old flatlander that I am, I didn’t know how settled I’d be when we moved out here, but there’s a beauty in this country that really appeals to me. This morning, Tuesday, was very foggy as I drove south of town and the layers and patches of fog blended into the lay of the land. One sight was especially striking: Little Heart Butte was completely surrounded by the white haze except for its peak that stood up high and clear. It reminded me of Mt. McKinley, except for its smaller scale, of course.
On Monday at the dinner table Marty asked Angie to stick around this morning to give me any change in instructions. She drug her feet a bit since she likes to take a morning walk. I suggested she could just stand in front of the house and run in place. That didn’t go over well. Her sense of humor is something like yours.
Did you hear the one about the lady who after looking in the mirror got all depressed. She told her husband, “I’m not the woman you married. My face is wrinkled, I’ve got granny-flab hanging on my arms, bags under my eyes, etc. Please, honey, say something positive about me so I can feel better about myself.” He thought a minute and offered this, “Well, your eyesight is good.”
Well, I’m writing this Tuesday night so I can get a good start in the morning to come and get you at the Fargo airport. I’m tired and could use a good night’s sleep. My back gets stiff bouncing around in the tractor, my eyes get tired in the sun, I’ve got a bit of sunburn, etc. I wonder if you’ll say something good about me to make me feel better when I see you.”
Love,
Lynn
Things haven’t gone too badly since you’ve been gone again to Mpls to babysit our grandkids. Last time you went I filled the hamper and didn’t have anything to wear - well, I figured it out this time: I haven’t changed clothes. So when you come home you won’t have to worry about washing. Just throw these away!
I know how possessive you are of your lawnmower, so --- since mine is getting repaired --- I’ve left yours alone. The grass is getting long, but that will make it seem worthwhile mowing when you get home. After 35 years of marriage I know when to leave well enough alone.
I’ve been out to the ranch helping to put up hay. It’s really pretty out there, so green. Old flatlander that I am, I didn’t know how settled I’d be when we moved out here, but there’s a beauty in this country that really appeals to me. This morning, Tuesday, was very foggy as I drove south of town and the layers and patches of fog blended into the lay of the land. One sight was especially striking: Little Heart Butte was completely surrounded by the white haze except for its peak that stood up high and clear. It reminded me of Mt. McKinley, except for its smaller scale, of course.
On Monday at the dinner table Marty asked Angie to stick around this morning to give me any change in instructions. She drug her feet a bit since she likes to take a morning walk. I suggested she could just stand in front of the house and run in place. That didn’t go over well. Her sense of humor is something like yours.
Did you hear the one about the lady who after looking in the mirror got all depressed. She told her husband, “I’m not the woman you married. My face is wrinkled, I’ve got granny-flab hanging on my arms, bags under my eyes, etc. Please, honey, say something positive about me so I can feel better about myself.” He thought a minute and offered this, “Well, your eyesight is good.”
Well, I’m writing this Tuesday night so I can get a good start in the morning to come and get you at the Fargo airport. I’m tired and could use a good night’s sleep. My back gets stiff bouncing around in the tractor, my eyes get tired in the sun, I’ve got a bit of sunburn, etc. I wonder if you’ll say something good about me to make me feel better when I see you.”
Love,
Lynn
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Channel Surfing
Sometimes, when I sit vegetating in my chair, I pick up the television’s remote control and start running through the few dozen channels cabled into my house. Once in awhile I land on a station that catches my interest and watch it through to the end. I channel surf in my thoughts, too, with a variety of images flitting in and out of my mind. Many of them get little attention and quickly pass, while others linger a bit longer to get mulled over a bit longer. I think I’ll do a little of that right now and see what pops into this screen in my head.
Channel 21 - Here comes one of Clark Douglas’s trucks with its stock rack rattling on the washboards on the gravel road. I can’t see it yet; it’s hidden in a cloud of dust, but I’ve been expecting it to come to pick up my 4-H heifer and take her to Lisbon for Achievement Days, so I know it’s him. The big Ford drives into the yard and Gene Jaster jumps out, pulls down the ramp, and my blue ribbon winning Holstein walks right up.
Channel 34 - My buddy and I pitch our tent in Manitoba, unload the boat, and proceed to do some fishing. Evening comes and some Canadians, camped near us, invite us over to drink some of their rye whisky. I drink too much and fall soundly asleep in the tent but am awakened by what I take to be my buddy’s loud snoring. I stumble out the next morning to discover our campsite has been torn to shreds by a marauding bear.
Channel 45 - The Sheldon Shadows are playing basketball in the old town hall. A time out has been called, and I’m a bench-rider standing on the outside edge of the huddle. Coach Grosgebauer, in one of his usual lapses of strategy to overcome a score deficit, looks about for someone to chew on. He spots me, “Bueling, I haven’t seen you doing anything yet!” I reply, “You haven’t put me in yet, Coach.”
Channel 53 - My first year out of graduate school and I’m the principal of Wind River High School in Wyoming. The car I drive is a 1966 Chev Impala that has served me well, taking me round trip to Alaska and through a year of grad school in Greeley, Colorado. Home for Christmas vacation I decide to treat myself by retiring the old steed and buy a new car, a 1971 Buick Skylark in which I fly off to the future.
Channel 72 - The girl who will be my future bride and I drive through the fall foliage of the Sheyenne River Valley near Fort Ransom, and she loves the scenery, brilliant colors, and my company. I think I’ll set the clicker down and watch this channel. It should be an interesting program.
Channel 21 - Here comes one of Clark Douglas’s trucks with its stock rack rattling on the washboards on the gravel road. I can’t see it yet; it’s hidden in a cloud of dust, but I’ve been expecting it to come to pick up my 4-H heifer and take her to Lisbon for Achievement Days, so I know it’s him. The big Ford drives into the yard and Gene Jaster jumps out, pulls down the ramp, and my blue ribbon winning Holstein walks right up.
Channel 34 - My buddy and I pitch our tent in Manitoba, unload the boat, and proceed to do some fishing. Evening comes and some Canadians, camped near us, invite us over to drink some of their rye whisky. I drink too much and fall soundly asleep in the tent but am awakened by what I take to be my buddy’s loud snoring. I stumble out the next morning to discover our campsite has been torn to shreds by a marauding bear.
Channel 45 - The Sheldon Shadows are playing basketball in the old town hall. A time out has been called, and I’m a bench-rider standing on the outside edge of the huddle. Coach Grosgebauer, in one of his usual lapses of strategy to overcome a score deficit, looks about for someone to chew on. He spots me, “Bueling, I haven’t seen you doing anything yet!” I reply, “You haven’t put me in yet, Coach.”
Channel 53 - My first year out of graduate school and I’m the principal of Wind River High School in Wyoming. The car I drive is a 1966 Chev Impala that has served me well, taking me round trip to Alaska and through a year of grad school in Greeley, Colorado. Home for Christmas vacation I decide to treat myself by retiring the old steed and buy a new car, a 1971 Buick Skylark in which I fly off to the future.
Channel 72 - The girl who will be my future bride and I drive through the fall foliage of the Sheyenne River Valley near Fort Ransom, and she loves the scenery, brilliant colors, and my company. I think I’ll set the clicker down and watch this channel. It should be an interesting program.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
A Great Find in Rummage
Saturday mornings around here often finds us searching out two or three garage sales; it’s not that we need anything, but the thrill of the hunt supersedes any needs. And, it is only once or twice during a summer that we stumble upon choice items. The treasure I uncovered last Saturday may have been my allotment for the year, and I found it in the unlikely place of a recently closed farm implement building on main street. Odds and ends of that business were being offered as well as household items that had been brought in. There, neatly placed on shelves were a couple hundred older hardcover books from which I chose two. One of them, a history entitled Red River Runs North!, contains information I had not run across before about my historical research interest of ox-cart freighting. A wealth of facts in it will feed my writing project regarding the trail from Fort Abercrombie to Fort Ransom.
The other find grabbing my attention that day was an autobiography written by North Dakota’s own Eric Sevareid, Not So Wild a Dream. I find Sevareid’s writing pretty irresistible; how can an old farm boy not keep reading after scanning the first two lines of chapter one: “The small brown river curved around the edge of our town. The farmers plowed close to its muddy banks and left their water jugs in the shade of the willows.” Having read this book previously, I am familiar with his story. It is this book that carries the oft-quoted passage regarding how people reacted when he told them he hailed from North Dakota. To them this state “… was a large, rectangular blank spot in the nation’s mind.”
Sevareid’s use of the English language was superb! I still remember his radio and television commentaries and how precisely his two minute’s worth of words described his topic of the day. Whenever he started talking I usually stopped to listen, and since it’s been a number of years since last I read him, I’m enjoying his penned words all over again.
As a young man he demonstrated an adventurous spirit and the places he went and the enviable experiences he gained shaped his world view and influenced his professional life. He was present in Europe working as a news correspondent prior to and during World War II and sent out breaking stories and bulletins, a feat few other correspondents were able to accomplish. He’d beg or bluster his way through the management of radio stations and get small doses of airtime to inform the world what Hitler was doing at the outset of this period. His report was the first indication to the outside world that France had capitulated, offering little resistance to the Nazi army. When things started getting dicey for him and his family he knew he had to get his wife and one week old twin boys out of Paris and safely home to the United States. That story alone raises goose bumps when he found out that procuring transportation made him compete with the thousands of refugees who wanted a place on available ships, too. After a time when he knew his own life to be in danger, he made his way to England to find and report to his boss Edward R. Murrow. He had left Paris without permission, something I suppose most of us would do if our lives were in danger, but worried whether or not Murrow might fire him for insubordination. Murrow’s response to the contrary, “This is the best news I’ve had for a long time … You have pulled off one of the greatest broadcasting feats there ever was.”
The book is long and wordy, but I enjoy every page of this great writer. A symposium on Eric Sevareid will be held in Bismarck next April, and a one night lecture is scheduled at the Heritage Center in November. I plan to attend both events.
The other find grabbing my attention that day was an autobiography written by North Dakota’s own Eric Sevareid, Not So Wild a Dream. I find Sevareid’s writing pretty irresistible; how can an old farm boy not keep reading after scanning the first two lines of chapter one: “The small brown river curved around the edge of our town. The farmers plowed close to its muddy banks and left their water jugs in the shade of the willows.” Having read this book previously, I am familiar with his story. It is this book that carries the oft-quoted passage regarding how people reacted when he told them he hailed from North Dakota. To them this state “… was a large, rectangular blank spot in the nation’s mind.”
Sevareid’s use of the English language was superb! I still remember his radio and television commentaries and how precisely his two minute’s worth of words described his topic of the day. Whenever he started talking I usually stopped to listen, and since it’s been a number of years since last I read him, I’m enjoying his penned words all over again.
As a young man he demonstrated an adventurous spirit and the places he went and the enviable experiences he gained shaped his world view and influenced his professional life. He was present in Europe working as a news correspondent prior to and during World War II and sent out breaking stories and bulletins, a feat few other correspondents were able to accomplish. He’d beg or bluster his way through the management of radio stations and get small doses of airtime to inform the world what Hitler was doing at the outset of this period. His report was the first indication to the outside world that France had capitulated, offering little resistance to the Nazi army. When things started getting dicey for him and his family he knew he had to get his wife and one week old twin boys out of Paris and safely home to the United States. That story alone raises goose bumps when he found out that procuring transportation made him compete with the thousands of refugees who wanted a place on available ships, too. After a time when he knew his own life to be in danger, he made his way to England to find and report to his boss Edward R. Murrow. He had left Paris without permission, something I suppose most of us would do if our lives were in danger, but worried whether or not Murrow might fire him for insubordination. Murrow’s response to the contrary, “This is the best news I’ve had for a long time … You have pulled off one of the greatest broadcasting feats there ever was.”
The book is long and wordy, but I enjoy every page of this great writer. A symposium on Eric Sevareid will be held in Bismarck next April, and a one night lecture is scheduled at the Heritage Center in November. I plan to attend both events.
Thursday, June 11, 2009
Freedom of Speech
As aggravating and damaging as it can be at times, it is our duty as citizens of this country to promote and protect free speech. As a youngster I clearly remember how frustrating it was to be bullied and intimidated by older, stronger boys and then be forced to follow their dictates. Being made to “shut up” developed into strongly entrenched resentment and prevented useful, satisfying dialogue from ever developing. The present national political scene emulates this childish approach to important debate and I am sad for that. I always enjoy hearing the oft-repeated anecdote regarding Ronald Reagan and Tip O’Neill. During the day their ideological differences were topics of fierce debate, but occasionally at night they set their differences aside by enjoying each other’s company over drinks and story telling.
My history book tells me that the first attempt to codify personal rights came about with the Magna Carta signed into effect in 1215 by King John who was forced to do so because some of the English barons rebelled. The thought set down in that document became a guiding star our own forefathers borrowed from when they wrote the U. S. Constitution and guaranteed Freedom of Speech in the First Amendment. One of my sources states “The First Amendment, also called the Great Amendment, is in many ways the cornerstone of America’s free, open, and tolerant society… It guarantees that Americans can share the information they need for a robust public debate on the issues, and to act on those issues.”
I doubt whether the one-sided diatribes heard daily on television and radio shows meet the criteria for and add to a robust public debate and I have for the most part stopped listening. I choose to open my books and study them for the knowledge therein and not feel as though I’m being told to “shut up.” After drawing my own conclusions, I am grateful to have the freedom and opportunity to express myself on this humble web log.
***
Family health concerns concerning our three surviving parents weigh heavily and take up quite a bit of our time and energies. A trip to Lisbon yesterday prevented my posting this blog. I am certain faithful readers of this blogsite will understand. We are glad the auction sale in Lisbon went well. It took lots of energy, but we were gratified by the large turnout, the good sales, and the great crew who came to help us load their possessions and haul and unload them at the site of the auction. We were also gratified to hear that their landlord was pleased with the clean condition of the property. My brother and his wife worked hard at cleaning when they came to visit, and anyone who knows my wife knows how hard she worked.
My history book tells me that the first attempt to codify personal rights came about with the Magna Carta signed into effect in 1215 by King John who was forced to do so because some of the English barons rebelled. The thought set down in that document became a guiding star our own forefathers borrowed from when they wrote the U. S. Constitution and guaranteed Freedom of Speech in the First Amendment. One of my sources states “The First Amendment, also called the Great Amendment, is in many ways the cornerstone of America’s free, open, and tolerant society… It guarantees that Americans can share the information they need for a robust public debate on the issues, and to act on those issues.”
I doubt whether the one-sided diatribes heard daily on television and radio shows meet the criteria for and add to a robust public debate and I have for the most part stopped listening. I choose to open my books and study them for the knowledge therein and not feel as though I’m being told to “shut up.” After drawing my own conclusions, I am grateful to have the freedom and opportunity to express myself on this humble web log.
***
Family health concerns concerning our three surviving parents weigh heavily and take up quite a bit of our time and energies. A trip to Lisbon yesterday prevented my posting this blog. I am certain faithful readers of this blogsite will understand. We are glad the auction sale in Lisbon went well. It took lots of energy, but we were gratified by the large turnout, the good sales, and the great crew who came to help us load their possessions and haul and unload them at the site of the auction. We were also gratified to hear that their landlord was pleased with the clean condition of the property. My brother and his wife worked hard at cleaning when they came to visit, and anyone who knows my wife knows how hard she worked.
Wednesday, June 03, 2009
Random Thoughts on the 3rd of June
The auction sale is done! A nice crowd attended; some things sold well, others not so well. My mother expressed relief that a prized trunk built by her dad stayed in the family when one of the Devitt girls bought it. The saddest part of the sale is that the financial proceeds from it will be eaten up in about one month at the nursing home.
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Mary and I have an anniversary coming up, number 35. Those years have passed by quickly. I guess that’s what happens when you marry the right one.
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This Saturday marks the 65th anniversary of D Day. There are several good websites containing history of that battle. One of the good ones: www.militaryhistoryonline.com. A scene from that battle plays over and over. A few men are pictured coming ashore and one soldier is hit and goes down. I’ve always wondered if he survived his wound. Casualties that day amounted to 1,500 Americans killed with 3,200 wounded and 1,900 missing in action. A veteran told me once that the term "missing in action" often means being blown to bits by an explosion and no trace of the body could be found.
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Much is being made of the Republican party’s demise and how they can’t get it together. I presume they will in the future, but there sure is a lot of acid coming from the mouths of some of their commentators. It makes me think of Newton’s Law of Motion - To every action there is an opposite and equal reaction. Having just suffered through eight years of government ineptitude and corruption, this new administration’s approach to governing should have been expected.
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We heard of a Norwegian who was so dumb he thought the word “innuendo” was an Italian word for Preparation H.
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I watched the NBC special last evening of Brian Williams and crew roaming around the White House for a day. One thing that impresses me about Obama is that for his youth and inexperience he exudes a confident air. Whether or not his term(s) in office will be successful remains to be seen.
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Mary and I have an anniversary coming up, number 35. Those years have passed by quickly. I guess that’s what happens when you marry the right one.
---
This Saturday marks the 65th anniversary of D Day. There are several good websites containing history of that battle. One of the good ones: www.militaryhistoryonline.com. A scene from that battle plays over and over. A few men are pictured coming ashore and one soldier is hit and goes down. I’ve always wondered if he survived his wound. Casualties that day amounted to 1,500 Americans killed with 3,200 wounded and 1,900 missing in action. A veteran told me once that the term "missing in action" often means being blown to bits by an explosion and no trace of the body could be found.
---
Much is being made of the Republican party’s demise and how they can’t get it together. I presume they will in the future, but there sure is a lot of acid coming from the mouths of some of their commentators. It makes me think of Newton’s Law of Motion - To every action there is an opposite and equal reaction. Having just suffered through eight years of government ineptitude and corruption, this new administration’s approach to governing should have been expected.
---
We heard of a Norwegian who was so dumb he thought the word “innuendo” was an Italian word for Preparation H.
---
I watched the NBC special last evening of Brian Williams and crew roaming around the White House for a day. One thing that impresses me about Obama is that for his youth and inexperience he exudes a confident air. Whether or not his term(s) in office will be successful remains to be seen.
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