Brothers

I clipped an article from my mother's Fargo Forum last Sunday in Lisbon with the headline: Ransom County was home of war hero.  It wasn't much of an article; it didn't mention once the town where Myron Ranney and his family lived - Sheldon.  He was a member of the now famous Easy Company of Band of Brothers fame.

The article did serve to jog my memory a bit and made me go back and read some of that history.  Ranney's parents were buried in the Sheldon Cemetery and the stone above bears witness to that.

In his army role as a sergeant, Ranney was characterized by Stephen Ambrose as a "mutineer" when a rebellion took place against an intensely disliked officer, an event that caused Ranney to be busted to a private.  He went on to quickly earn his stripes back, however, after he landed and fought in Normandy.

Ambrose related to Ranney's being one of a squad that destroyed a German gun emplacement aimed at Utah Beach.  They all received medals for bravery, Ranney's being the Bronze Star.

In the Sheldon Community History book published in 1981 Ranney wrote an interesting article, but he mentioned little of his wartime experiences.

The last paragraph of Ambrose's book Band of Brothers is a quote from Ranney.  "In one of his last newsletters, Mike Ranney wrote:  In thinking  back on the days of Easy Company, I'm treasuring my remark to a grandson who asked, 'Grandpa, were you a hero in the war?'

"'No,' I answered, 'but I served in a company of heroes.'"

That which we are, we are...

I have this excerpt from a poem hanging on the wall of my office:

Tho' much is taken, much abides; and though

We are not that strength which in old days

Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are . . .

                         from Tennyson's Ulysses

I think that rather well describes my high school graduating class of 1960.  We had a great time at our reunion on Saturday night.  Age does show.  At one time, lots of beer and drinks would have been consumed.  We have become sedate.  On Saturday night I doubt whether anyone drank more than the one they carried in from the bar.  We've spread around the country a bit: Washington, Minnesota, Florida, South Dakota, and North Dakota.  Fifty two years ago it seemed like the future was there for us to experience forever.  Of course, now at the age of seventy, we do a lot of looking back.

Members of some other classes were invited also.  A couple of them I absolutely did not recognize.  One fellow, three classes ahead of me, stood there, very bald.  Finally word spread of who he was, and I went over to visit with him.  I told his wife that at one time he had this curly, wavy hair and looked like a real stud.  She got a kick out of that.

One of the fellas still works steadily at road construction.  I asked why work so hard at his age.  He said that when his wife divorced him she took all his money.  Others have divorced and some spouses have died.  Some who could have come but didn't, apparently didn't  give a darn.  After a few hours of visiting everyone picked up and left.  Here I sit back in Mandan, thinking about other things.  

Olympics

I've been pulling for Michael Phelps to break the total Olympic medal record - plus some if he can get them.  He did it and still has a couple events to get more.  Phelps functions well with his handicap, ADHD, a disability which many don't overcome.  Go, Michael.  And how about that Flying Squirrel, Gabby.  Poetry in motion, I'd say.

I doubt if those badminton teams kicked out of the games have gotten any sympathy from anywhere.  They tried to lose so they would be paired with easier teams as they moved through the brackets.  Apparently it was so obvious that the paid ticket holders started booing.  I can't blame them, they wanted to see some competitive spirit.
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A friend sent these observations to me.  They seem appropriate since we have a class reunion Saturday.

Reporters interviewing a 104 year old woman: "And what do you think is the best thing about being 104?"  She replied, "No peer pressure."
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Know how to prevent sagging?  Just eat til the wrinkles fill out.
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It's scary when you start making the same noises as your coffee maker.
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These days about half the stuff in my cart says "For fast relief."
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The Senility Prayer:  Grant me the senility to forget the people I never liked anyway, the good fortune to run into the ones I do, and the eyesight to tell the difference.

Two Teachers

This coming weekend we will drive to West Fargo to attend a reunion for several Sheldon High classes, '56-'62.  How those years were arrived at I've never heard, but since my class of '60 falls in there, I'm going.  In thinking about a reunion it is natural to remember teachers.  A year ago I became reacquainted with the son of my first high school English teacher, Mrs. Slatta.  I emailed him a week ago to ask if her status was the same as he told me it was last year - alive at 103 years of age.  Yes, she is still alive and enjoying playing the piano and listening to books on tape, a necessity since she is blind.  He sent me her address in Oregon, and I sent off a friendly note to her today.  I'll be sure to take the address along in case someone else wants to do the same.

And then there was our math teacher, Miss Hanson.  I have run into her a couple of times since 1960, and since I knew she resides in Bismarck, I decided to give her a call.  When she answered the phone, I said, "Miss Hanson, what is the Algebra assignment for tomorrow."  "Oh, Lynn Bueling, how are you?"  

I told her I wanted to touch base so I could report to the reunion that she was alive, well, and happy.  She replied, "Yes, I am alive, I am well, and I am happy!"  Talking to her on the phone was very enjoyable, and I'm glad I did.

Our little town where we graduated no longer can host any gatherings of the type we well attend.  So off to West Fargo we go.  It's a sad story, but one we have to live with.

Reading some History

Pick up any community history at random and you'll usually find the same kind of stories - no matter what town.  The stories tell of a hard life with few luxuries.  Take these for example: "There was no indoor plumbing in those days so behind every home was a privy or biffy and were most inconvenient and uncomfortable on cold wintry days when everyone made a run for it and never lingered any longer than was necessary" ...  "This house had two rooms, one was to live in for the family and the other was for the ox team and the cow" ... "The ocean voyage took 16 days on very rough seas" ... "Peter used a walking plow and plowed strips of sod which were so rooted that they made good building blocks" ... "The first lights were rags burned in a dish of tallow which soon gave way to tallow candles and then to kerosene lamps" ... 

"Because John didn't have a horse, he walked 12 miles to town to get groceries.  When he got there he bought a wheelbarrow, loaded a 100 lb. sack of flour in it along with some sugar, coffee and maybe a few other items and proceeded to walk back pushing the wheelbarrow all the twelve miles back home" ... "They had some big prairie fires in those days with large open stretches of prairie and no graded roads to where they would stop" ... "I cut Charles' hair one night as he wanted to go to a dance, and he looked so wooly" ... "In the spring of 1908 he bought a team of oxen and on Sundays they would hitch them to the wagon and drive over to preacher Johnsons to church" ... 

"The horses were driven around in a circle moving the gears that turned the shaft that run the threshing machine" ... "One fall a prairie fire came through and burned up all of Dad's hay stacks.  He had to go some where else and put up some more hay so he could winter his livestock" ... "They lived in a sod house and when it rained hard it also rained inside.  So to keep flour dry as there were no cupboards yet, they set it in the doorway between a room where the rain didn't drip down so much and sat on it" ... "To them it seemed the wind would never stop blowing.  The only change was that some days it blew harder"

Each of the above quotations came from a different family.  Tough living!

On the Road Again

I made another trip to Dickinson yesterday.  I just can't quite get "retired."  In fact, another trip in a couple of weeks is in the plan.  Driving westward on I-94 for some reason reminded me of the first time I drove over it.  I was young, hadn't had my driver's license very  long, and was called on to drive my Grandpa's little green Falcon to Fargo so he could see his doctor at the VA hospital.  He'd had strokes that kept him from behind the wheel.  It was a grand adventure, even though the interstate was by no means completed, maybe 15 or 20 miles was complete.

Dickinson is super busy!  Street work adds to the confusion plus lots of new building construction activity.  It looks like a boomtown.  I wonder what it will look like when it "busts."

When I got home, two pieces of anticipated mail awaited.  One was a package of three books from the Western Writers of America that sent them to me for review, the other a large manila envelope with information and pictures about the man whose biography I am preparing.  It sure helps the cause having  his family descendent assisting in the process.

Difficult Lives

Mary attended the annual Germans from Russia convention last weekend, it being held in Bismarck.  She has put a lot of time, effort, and some expense into research and writing.  Because of my proximity to her efforts, a lot of the stories have become familiar to me, too.  Years leading up to, during, and after the Russian revolution in 1917 were years of many sad, tragic stories. Under Catherine the Great German settlers were recruited to come to the Russian steppes and farm the rich land.  While there they successfully farmed and prospered.  But those years surrounding the revolution proved to be unsettling.

One good book telling some of these stories is We'll Meet Again In Heaven: Germans in the Soviet Union Write Their American Relatives 1925-1937 by Ronald J. Vossler.  The book's dedication states: "This book is dedicated to the Germans living in Russia who were starved, deported, shot, frozen, and worked to death under the Soviets."  That pretty well says it all.

Opening the book at random, a letter pops out saying the man cannot work any longer because he froze his hands and feet, and, then because he couldn't work, they wouldn't give him anything to eat.

Another story told of them going to bed with as many clothes on as they could bear in case the authorities came in the night to take them away.  At least they would have what was on their back.  They feared the sound of the clip-clop of horses hooves in the night pulling a wagon known as the "black crow" in which prisoners were hauled away.  One story we have heard was of a young man forced to drive one of these wagons and unknowingly had his father as a passenger whom he drove to his execution spot in the forest.

Carve it away til you find a horse

I used to carve figures like this but haven't done so for three or four years.  I reached the point where I wasn't improving much, or maybe it was that I lost interest.  A piece like this might take up to a week to finish, but then when I took it to a show and put a price tag on it, usually just to cover my time, browsers thought it was too much.  So my tools were put away three or four years ago and now lay in the drawer collecting rust.

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Today's the big day at Penn State.  Yesterday they hauled away Paterno's statue, boo-hoo.  That happens when gods get made out of ordinary people.  Warts get found ... Interesting letter today in Tribune wondering why a $300,000 dollar ND college president needs a 3% raise ... The Olympics will start soon, I hope they keep it positive without finding things to gripe about ... It won't take long for the massacre in Colorado to fade away, I think they call it 24 hour news cycles ...  I almost melted in the recent heat, I'd rather dissolve in cool rain ... A headline says the debate over fracking uses bad science, sometimes no science at all, I still wonder about it ... and so it goes here in Mandan ...

Most everyone likes Ole and Lena stories.  From time to time I receive one through an email.  This one came yesterday:  Ole was turning 78, was overweight, so his doctor put him on a diet.  The doctor said, "I want you to eat regularly tow two days, then skip a day and repeat this procedure for two weeks.  The next time I see you, you should have lost at least five pounds."

When Ole returned, he shocked the doctor by having lost nearly sixty pounds!  "Why that's amazing!" the doctor said, "Did you follow my instructions?"  Ole nodded, "I'll tell you, though, I thought I vas gonna drop dead on dose third days."  "From the hunger, you mean?" asked the doctor.  "No, it vas from all dat darn skipping!"

In the Archives

I spent the morning yesterday at the Heritage Center archives.  I always enjoy good time spent there and usually find useful information.  In reading an article in North Dakota History: Journal of the Great Plains I spotted a reference where the old pioneer I am writing up crossed paths with Teddy Roosevelt.  Since Dickinson State University has established, in conjunction with Harvard University and the Library of Congress, an electronic data base of Teddy Roosevelt's papers, I came home to see if I could find the letter in reference.  Sure enough, one sent to George Bird Grinnell, and on the bottom in his own handwriting he made a brief statement to his friend Grinnell.  After about half an hour trying to decipher his scrawl, I finally understood what he was trying to say and it was appropriate to what I was looking for.  Great find!

Writing a few book reviews for the Bismarck Tribune caused me to get another job.  The editor of the Western Writers of America ROUNDUP magazine wrote asking if I wanted to start reviewing some for them.  OK, I responded.  We'll give 'er a try.

This spot was reserved for another visit with Ole and Lena, but somehow they remain silent.  The news this morning is horrific: the gunman opening up on a crowded movie theater in Colorado.  A person can't even wrap his brain around it looking for some rationale why a person would do that.  Too many people are running around in the "life imitating art" mode.  Too many violent movies, video games, terrorism in the news, whatever.  Without some solid, positive goal in sight, this is what he accomplished: 14 dead, 50 wounded.

Mental Manure

 This picture of a large statue, 7 or 8 feet tall,  along the Missouri River has nothing to do with the rather crass title of this blog.  It is quite a nice work done by Indian students at the United Tribes Technical College in Bismarck.  Artists in that school have created several.  Unfortunately they have been damaged at times by vandals.  This one has a large dent in the ball; the ball represents the world, I think, and the eagle often appears in their renderings of the spiritual world.

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The last issue of the AARP magazine featured an article about life changing rules that can be helpful.  The one that caught my eye was rule number 3 - Your Brain Craves Challenges.  The opening line was "If your brain is a garden, new activities are mental manure: the fertilizer for new brain cells."

It so happened that that same day I received that magazine, our local paper printed an article with the headline "Memory strategies help fend off forgetfulness."  Articles like these are not uncommon where they tout using your brain to create new pathways in the brain.

The futility of it may brought to the front with this story, though.  Not long ago a science researcher who has devoted her career to finding a cure for Alzheimer's received the diagnosis of her developing Alzheimer's herself. There she is, using her brain cells more than the average person, and she has developed the disease.  The interviewer asked her if it wasn't particularly hard being at this stage of the disease and still being able to realize what is happening to her.  She agreed it was.
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If senility goes with aging, there are some benefits:
- Your secrets are safe with your friends because they can't remember them either.
- You have a party and the neighbors don't even realize it.
- Things you buy now won't wear out.
- You quit trying to hold your stomach in, no matter who walks into the room.

- Now what was it I was going to do next?

Her Pride and Joy!

I set out to write about "mental manure" but got sidetracked into taking this picture and posting it.  As we drove into our garage after a day in Fargo, the wife said, "Look at my lilies!  They've opened up, you've got to take a picture of them."  It was 98 degrees outside; I wanted to get into my central air.  "Sure, I'll do it in the morning when it's cooler."  "No, they're Day Lilies, they're only open for one day!"  So this picture is the result of that repartee.  I must admit, they are nice.

There's one lady in town whom Mary has become acquainted with who raises day lilies (until they're coming out of her ears).  I believe I heard she has over 150 varieties of them.  When you drive by her yard in the spring all you see is small markers with the variety written on them.

When we were in Hawaii we visited an orchid operation; their showroom displayed many varieties.  I've often thought they would be nice to have, but no.  She tells me they're too hard to raise.  OK.

The subject of "mental manure" will have to wait until Wednesday.

A columnist in the Bismarck Tribune writes a column on Mondays regarding various topics and destinations on the internet.  Under the headline Where to find simple answers he listed several that look interesting, such as The Universe in 10 Steps, Explain it in 60 Seconds, Minute Physics, Simply Explained, and Explain it Like I'm Five.  I checked them out and plan to return.

So much to read, so little time...

One of those ten books I toted from out the used bookstore in Dickinson on Tuesday was A Study of the 1876 Bismarck to Deadwood Trail.  Published by the Butte County (SD) Historical Society, it  contains lots of good information.  The trail or road followed the most direct overland route between the two places of Bismarck and Deadwood.  At the time of the trail's heyday, Bismarck was the end of the rail line, a fact which meant that freight headed to the Black Hills gold rush could go no further, so it was off-loaded onto wagons and made its way slowly pulled by oxen.

When the railroad bridge across the Missouri was completed and freight hauled further west, closer trails to the Hills were established. The bridge pictured above sets on the original pilings constructed for the first span.  An interesting picture I have seen shows eight steam engines each with their tenders parked on the bridge.  The caption explains they were exhibiting the strength of the bridge. Luckily it was strong enough.  The fact that the original piers still stand in use attests to the quality of construction.

A closer look at this picture shows a sandy beach with people strolling on it.  This beach has not always been there.  It resulted from the deposits of last year's huge flooding in the river.   It has become such a popular spot this summer that the police can hardly control the traffic and parking problems that have arisen.

Another book I found, Whoa...Yuh Sonsabitches, written by a local rancher named Edgar "Frosty" Potter lived somewhere in the Flasher vicinity and wrote of the old days living on the ranch established by his father.  There are so many stories in it, but one caught my eye last night as I paged through.  He wrote, "The big horse barn was made out of two-inch by twelve-inch cottonwood planks hauled from old Fort Lincoln south of Mandan.  This was, of course, after General Custer had taken on the Sioux and Cheyenne in the Battle of the Little Big Horn."  So that's where it went!  The old settlers didn't let things go to waste.  I imagine the lumber from the buildings went many directions, first come, first served.  Fort Ransom suffered the same fate.  After the army abandoned it, those buildings were dismantled and hauled away to build other structures.

On this Friday, the 13th, this blog entry should end with Ole and Sven taking their first train ride. They had brought bananas for lunch.  Just as they began to peel them, the train entered a long, dark tunnel.  "Have you eaten your banana yet?" Ole asked excitedly.  "No," Lars said.  "Vell, don't touch it then," says Ole, "I yust took vun bite and I vent blind!"

Dickinson

Teddy Roosevelt gave a speech here where this statue stands.  In keeping with the legend that has grown up around here, the sculptor included his eyeglasses setting on a book, a gunbelt, and a speech in his hand.  It is on the grounds of the Stark County Courthouse in Dickinson and is just one year old.

North Dakota can't claim many folk heroes, but the ones it has sure get a workout.  Add Sakakawea, Lawrence Welk, and Roger Maris to TR's name and you've about run through the list.

The Hall of Fame in the state capital building exhibits portraits of a good many other people who have been honored, but who cares about Peggy Lee, Angie Dickinson, or Bobby Vee?

At any rate, there stands ole Teddy holding the speech with which he addressed the crowd.  I don't know if it was any good or even if the people could hear it as he gave it, but we're not gonna forget it!

I was called back to work again yesterday  to drive my old passenger to Dickinson for a meeting, so while I killed a few hours waiting for the return trip, I went to the nearby courthouse with camera in hand.  And, I found more to do, too.  First, I went to a hundred year old Episcopal Church building which has metamorphosed into a neat coffee shop.  One coffee and caramel roll later, I found their old Carnegie financed library with a beautiful interior: pressed tin ceiling tiles, solid oak woodwork, a large brick fireplace, etc.  Its shelves held a fairly large section of North Dakota history and biographies, and I spotted a few I had once owned, but for some reason forgotten by me now, I got rid of.  For example, there stood Whoa...Yuh Sonsabitches, a book written about the old days in North Dakota.  I longed to own it again.

Right close by I found  another place to stop - a used bookstore owned by the library as a fund raiser.  The helpful volunteer worker steered me to a section of Western literature where I began filling a bag with books.  Luck smiled down on me this day for there was a copy of Whoa...Yuh Sonsabitches.  It went directly into my bag; it had a one dollar price tag.  When all done I laid a ten dollar bill and a few coins for tax on the counter and lugged out ten books.  I have another story to tell about my book finds, but it will wait for Friday's blog.

Reading the Sunday Editorials

 I don't know who this character is, but he unexpectedly worked his way into my blog site.  Not knowing anything about him, I suspect he knew how to pick a good  wife.  With all that flesh hanging on him she probably feeds him pretty well, too.

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Lloyd Omdahl served as the lieutenant governor when George Sinner was governor of North Dakota. He was a political science professor at UND, maybe still is for all I know, and now writes a pretty sensible column.  Yesterday's proves the point.  It dealt with the theme of polarization in politics, something which applies nationwide, not just North Dakota.  He contends that the Congress in Washington is not at fault for the large division between left and right wings.  Instead he says Congress merely reflects the population's thinking as a whole.  And the population's rift has grown because of their fears.  He gave a whole list of reasons why people are afraid:
- The attack on the Twin Towers let us know we can be attacked on our soil
- The collapse and stagnation of the economy concerns retirees and investors uneasy
- The real estate bubble
- Unemployment
- Demise of unions leaves workers with little security
- National debt

Omdahl may well be right in his conclusions.  I believe the only time people enjoy talking politics is when the topics are agreeable all the way around.  Boy, if someone interjects a contrary opinion the fight is on and tempers can flare.
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My father-in-law is 95 but can still visit about some of the "old days,"  Yesterday I asked him if he ever knew William Wade, the one who established the Anchor Ranch adjacent to his property.  He doesn't hear well and replied, "Weeden?  Oh yes, they were good neighbors.  Mrs. Weeden was the daughter of Wade so I thought that was close enough.  He then told me about how he would help them castrate their calves and about the resulting "oysters."  The Anchor Ranch  has been added to the Cowboy Hall of Fame's roster of historic ranches in their Hall of Fame.

Water wagon, etc.

You don't see many of these water wagons around anymore.  This one appeared one day not far from where I live, so I made sure I got a picture of it.  The  present owner must think it will make a fixer-upper for display.  It surely comes from the old steam engine days on the farms when they needed to  take water to slake the thirst of the boilers.  Fully loaded, I'm sure it was a heavy load to pull for a team.  Not much got said about these wagons by my Dad or any of the other old timers I've listened to.

The parade in Mandan was a big one.  It is claimed that 5,000 people take part in the parade itself; that's not counting the thousands lined up on the street to watch.  The route is over five miles long and there are so many entrees in the parade that the beginning has already started returning to the staging area before the tail end of the parade has left.  I never fought the crowd - it was televised live.

The Bismarck Tribune published another one of my book reviews yesterday: Hard Country.  Set in New Mexico from 1875 through 1918, it followed a family making their living on a harsh country ranch.  The who the story swirls about was left motherless as a baby and the father could not care for him.  It was four years before he could come to claim.  By then the boy had developed feelings of abandonment and aloofness which affected him the rest of his life.  It was a good read.

And there's time for one sick joke:  Minnesota's worst air disaster occurred earlier today when a Cessna 152, a small two seater plane crashed into a Norwegian cemetery here early this morning.  Ole and Sven, working as search and rescue workers, have recovered 123 bodies so far, and expect that number to climb as digging continues into the night.

The 4th of July

The 4th comes around once a year, in fact this observance should make it the 236th time.  This city of Mandan really goes out to celebrate.  Yesterday we strolled through "Art in the Park," and I ended up buying another bookcase from a furniture craftsman from Madison, SD.  It is the 5th piece I've gotten from him, solid oak.  I can't bear to go into a furniture store and buy any of that junk they sell, veneer and chipboard and glossy finishes and whatnot... Today there is one huge parade, and a nationally known rodeo plays for three days.  Mandan is under consideration for the title of the most patriotic city in the USA.

I brought the 47 star flag back from New Mexico.  That state is celebrating just 100 years of statehood this year compared to North Dakota's123 years.  President William H. Taft signed the documents making them a state.  He told the gathered delegation, "I am glad to give you life.  I hope that you will be healthy."  When I recently visited that state, the locals complained about budget shortfalls and underfunded programs, but that's pretty typical.  About one month later Arizona came into the Union as the 48th state.

I went to the gym on Monday.  While there, I asked a grizzly old Vietnam vet (who has a purple heart on his pickup's license plate)  if he was going to celebrate the 4th.  He quickly answered, "At my age just getting out of bed in the morning is celebrating."  He's the one who told me he almost got it in Vietnam, he and two other guys being pinned down on a riverbank with Viet Cong firing at them from the jungle.  To them it seemed as if it came out of nowhere, but a patrol boat showed up with guns a-blazing.  He said those bullets really cut the jungle apart, and he survived to tell me about it. 

It's hot and humid around here these days.  This morning I opened up the patio door and just as quickly closed it.  Fresh cool air it was not.  

Paracosms

I learned a new word yesterday - paracosms.  I found it on the editorial page in David Brooks column.  He built a very interesting case around the word using the example of how Spanish youth exhibit a great deal of enthusiasm for Bruce Springsteen and his music.  As Brooks says, there they were singing the words along with Springsteen to the song "Born in the USA."  They were neither born in the USA nor even born at the time he made it a hit.  Maybe it had something to do with the sad state of the Spanish economy, but they had built, in their minds, a hankering for our life.

The dictionary definition for the word: a detailed imaginary world, or another, a fantasy world invented by children and can have a definite geography, language, and history.  There is nothing wrong with this.  In fact, I think it is pretty normal since I've practiced the phenomenon from time to time, and not necessarily while a child.  There was a time when I really dreamed big (and unrealistically)!  As a teen-ager I thought Alaska was the land of opportunity, and I thought I would be a big rancher.  So I wrote the Agriculture department in Juneau inquiring as to the possibility of establishing a large-scale cattle operation in that state.  I must have laid it on pretty thick and excited some bureaucrats up there since I received a very welcoming letter in return.

My little granddaughter is in a little princess phase, and in their new house in Fargo they are decorating her new bedroom with that theme, complete with a mini-crystal chandelier handing from the ceiling.  It should be fun!

But back to Brooks's thesis.  He tells the politicians not to be everyman.  "Don't pretend you're a member of every community you visit.  Don't try to be citizens of some artificial globalized community..."  He ends with the simple advice that candidates should just be themselves.  Voters recognize phonies.

Very Interesting Day!

Yesterday was a very interesting day!  The pundits were all waiting for the decision regarding the constitutionality of the Affordable Health Care Act to come down from the Supreme Court.  Well, in general, the law stood and it took the conservative chief justice to make it happen.  It seems appropriate to quote some old west wisdom here: "You never can tell which way the pickle's goin' to squirt."  I'm still shaking my head over Romney's pronouncement that he will stop the law if elected to the presidency; this law is similar to the one he promoted while governor in Massachusetts.  This haggling is one of the reasons why I have never run for President. :)

The Bismarck Tribune sent another book for me to review, and I am enjoying it.  Hard Country by Michael McGarrity covers the time frame of 1875 to 1918.  About one-third of the way through, I find myself wanting to read on to see how it ends.  The author writes very clear, easy-reading sentences that flow in a satisfying way.  A picture of the author on the dust jacket does not ring a bell.  He is from Sante Fe, and if he was in Albuquerque attending the Western Writers convention, I don't recognize him.

I am in contact with the descendants of the man who is the subject of a re-print autobiography I am tackling.  Mary's family lived on the ranch next to his south of Raleigh.  He was a contemporary of Custer and Sitting Bull.  He said Sitting Bull loved little kids, and one day the author's little four-year old nephew was with him when they ran into the now-famous chief.  Sitting Bull extended his hand and shook the boy's hand who did offer his, but when they finished shaking the boy ran around to hide behind the man's legs.  Another story tells of how Custer's dogs ran loose in the countryside and scared away the deer and elk that the woodchoppers working on the river depended upon for venison.  One day the dogs got shot, and, of course, nobody knew anything about it.  These stories are the reason I like the book so well, the people are human, not the mythic figures they have become in today's books.  The publication date is a few months in the future, and I will advertise it at that time.

Pretty Lobelias

On Monday morning we were out of here by 5:30 am and drove to Lisbon to visit with my mother in the morning.  Then we headed to Fargo to be with my son who requested our presence as the builder of their new house did a walk-through.  It's big, lots of rooms, and will keep them in comfort for many years to come.  I filled our gas tank in Fargo where gas is .30 cheaper than we pay.  Why?  That question gets asked many times here, but we get no satisfaction.

I'm always glad when I have an excuse to go to the state archives library and do a bit of research.  I did so again today and found some good "stuff."  These projects get me in contact with interesting people, both historical and contemporary.  Maybe I've bit off to much to chew but what the heck.  Someone asked me in Fargo yesterday when I plan to retire.  I replied, "I plan to die with a pen in my hand."

It's too hot to get out and mow the grass, but who cares?  I'm staying in with my central air conditioner.  That lets me stay in and read another book that I received from the Bismarck Tribune.  It's a good Western, and it reads well.

 

 

Maltese Cross Blossoms

Bob Dylan wrote a famous song some years ago, "The Times They Are A'Changin'"  I think they have changed and left me behind.  Last evening I went to Subway to buy a supper sandwich and felt like I stood out.  Here was the scenario: the man ahead of me was fully tattooed, the man behind was was tattooed, the girl behind the counter taking my order wore a ring in her lower lip that made her lisp so I couldn't understand her, the next employee down the line needed a shave and wore a long ponytail, and the cashier was overweight.  Well, darn me, they all probably thought I looked queer.

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One of the great contemporary historians is David McCullough whom I have enjoyed reading over the years.  He has a son with "Jr." behind his name.  He made some news lately when he gave a commencement address and said, "You're not special."  That lifted some eyebrows, and he prepared himself for lots of negative criticism.  Quite the contrary, he received mostly positive comments in his emails, the count: 700 in support, only 4 negative.  The latest Newsweek magazine carries an article he wrote.  The jist of the whole episode: get out there and earn your "special status."  Graduating from high school doesn't put you there.
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Ole walks into work, and both of his ears are all bandaged up.  The boss says, "What happened to your ears?"  Ole says, "Yesterday I vas ironing a shirt ven de phone rings, and I accidentally answered the iron."  The boss says, "Well, that explains one ear, but what happened to the other ear?"  Ole replies, "I tried to call da doctor in the other ear."