tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19248997065863727242024-03-04T22:21:20.436-06:00ezbzontheroadAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17588787549462601947noreply@blogger.comBlogger868125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1924899706586372724.post-69275097874013892272017-10-17T18:30:00.001-05:002017-10-17T18:30:23.123-05:00Don't tell me...<div style="color: #454545; font-family: ".SF UI Text"; font-size: 17.9px; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText",serif,"EmojiFont"; font-size: 17.94pt;">Don’t tell me...</span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: ".SF UI Text"; font-size: 17.9px; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText",serif,"EmojiFont"; font-size: 17.94pt;">
To look at things in the past. You tell me the same or worse things
have been done. It doesn’t justify the now. Regardless of timing,
wrong in the past does not ameliorate wrong in the present.</span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: ".SF UI Text"; font-size: 17.9px; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText",serif,"EmojiFont"; font-size: 17.94pt;"> That he is better than the alternative. You simply can’t prove it.</span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: ".SF UI Text"; font-size: 17.9px; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText",serif,"EmojiFont"; font-size: 17.94pt;"> You’re up in arms about sexual harassment but you have the gall to support a misogynistic embarrassment to my gender.</span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: ".SF UI Text"; font-size: 17.9px; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText",serif,"EmojiFont"; font-size: 17.94pt;"> You can forgive the deceit and blatant lies. </span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: ".SF UI Text"; font-size: 17.9px; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText",serif,"EmojiFont"; font-size: 17.94pt;"> To respect the office of the president. How can I when he doesn’t?</span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: ".SF UI Text"; font-size: 17.9px; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText",serif,"EmojiFont"; font-size: 17.94pt;"> That we the people elected him. No! WE! Didn’t!</span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: ".SF UI Text"; font-size: 17.9px; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText",serif,"EmojiFont"; font-size: 17.94pt;"> To remain quiet because I will alienate others. If I don’t speak my mind, I’m akin to those who support him!</span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: ".SF UI Text"; font-size: 17.9px; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 21.4px;">
<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText",serif,"EmojiFont"; font-size: 17.94pt;"></span><br />
</div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: ".SF UI Text"; font-size: 17.9px; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText",serif,"EmojiFont"; font-size: 17.94pt;">I
taught speech. In my career, I spoke to my children of respect; it should not have to be earned...it has to be lost. He has. Yet today, I
speak to the good in this country. I speak to the good in this
people. I speak to honesty, dignity, and fair play. Mr. Trump, I can
not speak of you. </span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: ".SF UI Text"; font-size: 17.9px; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText",serif,"EmojiFont"; font-size: 17.94pt;">Don’t tell me...to remain silent any longer!</span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17588787549462601947noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1924899706586372724.post-84750091020771369292017-08-11T13:44:00.002-05:002017-08-11T13:44:35.354-05:00"A man and a woman are meant for each other--are meant for each other as husband and wife."<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSBUhGXysMKWbfA9VK7HLleFYYorO5cvTvIpU1ULVNuOLfk7yEDdazTiVPWT3gUNniYg5coqHlbRsAk9YzQ2j8LW3NtZsoTLKLIBEi-mqylQfElAJvq_8syPJiv97aJVyoJGHq8nuZb1c/s1600/yard.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1196" data-original-width="1600" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSBUhGXysMKWbfA9VK7HLleFYYorO5cvTvIpU1ULVNuOLfk7yEDdazTiVPWT3gUNniYg5coqHlbRsAk9YzQ2j8LW3NtZsoTLKLIBEi-mqylQfElAJvq_8syPJiv97aJVyoJGHq8nuZb1c/s320/yard.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">I sit here on the deck, the
fan hard at work keeping the flies away, the whirligig spinning in the
light northerly breeze, a third of the way into my whodunit, the dinner
plate hibiscus proudly displaying three amazing blooms, the beast curled
up at the feet of his mistress and the woman I love, having ingested a
small glass of wine and a nosh, the sun casting a shadow on the garage
proclamation..."You Are Loved," and I know it just as well could read
"You Are Blessed!" We have chosen to spend this, our 44th anniversary,
quietly together. We have spent previous anniversaries in exotic
places, exploring new and unusual things or returning to places we
love. Each has been an amazing event. But somehow, this is right. The
beautiful yellow butterfly. The busy dragonflies. Even the youngster
who has apparently started band this summer and has learned how to make
his trombone make loud and definitive noises stresses the idyllic
feeling of the day. I know that somewhere passed these garden fences,
there is turmoil...there is hatred...there is uncertainty. But today?
For us? The world is a quiet, a beautiful place...one in which we truly
celebrate each other--where we have been, and where we are
going--according to the most beautiful song sung at our wedding
ceremony: Together Forever. It is true. Blessed! And the garage is
right!<br />
</span></span><br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17588787549462601947noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1924899706586372724.post-60676727848464303472017-08-01T19:00:00.001-05:002017-08-01T19:02:18.966-05:00Music to my ears"They" say, music soothes the savage breast. Miss Lucy used to judge the tenor of our mood by how we played the piano. The harder we struck the keys, the farther from the piano she went. Eventually, "they" became right--the physicality of actually beating the piano keys had a calming effect on us as we played. Aggression was often replaced with the simple pleasure of making the instrument yield to our desires. Now don't get me wrong. After 9 years of lessons, I'm still lucky I can play from the John Thompson third grade book...but thank god for those 9 years. <br />
Miss Lucy is gone. I understand "they" are still around.<br />
During the first years of our marriage, we bought a Yamaha (the piano, not the motorcycle). And let me tell you, while there have been times I have "ridden" that instrument, during the last few months it's been ridden hard! Injustice irks me. Play. Bullies irk me. Play. Lying irks me. Play. Lying about lying really ticks me off. Pound. Pound. Pound.<br />
A good friend of ours recently donated to our musical library--Reader's Digest song books--tunes with which I am familiar--old hymns, songs of the 50's and 60's, The Beer Barrel Polka and Puff the Magic Dragon. Nothing gives me more pleasure than to sit at the piano and hit about 85 % of the notes correctly. Hot stuff! Sometimes, if they are in my 6 note range, I even sing along. You would be stirred by my three verse rendition of "The Battle Hymn of the Republic." But I digress.<br />
Let me give you an example. I watched the World News Tonight (for me, usually a HUGE mistake). The president's lawyer lied. And then lied about lying. Mr. Trump did write Trump Jr.'s response to the question of meeting with the Russians. And I pounded out a chorus of "Call Me Irresponsible." The North Koreans could easily have killed passengers on a plane with their latest ICBM missile test, and it was "Ring of Fire." Two sheriff's deputies were repeatedly shot, and it was "What the World Needs Now." Thankfully, by song three, I could begin to actually play rather than pound. "Brighten the Corner Where You Are" made me smile a little. "America the Beautiful" reminded me of the incalculable good that still exists in this country, and you would have stood up for "God Bless America!" "When Day is Done", I believe that there is goodness and truth in the world. I believe that in the end, it will win. I believe "We Shall Overcome!" I just hope the piano survives!Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17588787549462601947noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1924899706586372724.post-30092863073939965442017-07-27T20:54:00.000-05:002017-07-27T20:54:24.219-05:00Dear Mr. ScaramucciI've never met you. I'm glad. But I wish you had met Miss Lucy. She would have looked you in the eye (as she did me on SEVERAL occasions) and informed you that language is the true indicator of intelligence and class. The baser the vocabulary, the lower the intelligence and the lower the class. I just read on-line the publication of The Independent Daily Edition: UK and World News. You rant at the President's chief of staff using vulgarity and yellow journalistic epithets. The humorous comment that follows "I sometimes use colorful language" is perhaps the most blatant example of misrepresentation I have heard. Or so I thought. I went on to read that leaks upset you because you are a Roman Catholic? Huh? (See Miss Lucy's first caveat above!) Had you been in my classroom, Mr. Scaramucci, you would NOT HAVE BEEN in my classroom. I would never allow a student of mine to speak that way. I would never allow a child of mine to speak that way (nor would Miss Lucy!). I would never expect a reasonable adult to speak that way--especially a representative of the President. I know the words. I've used the words. Selectively. In private. When an appropriate audience is present. I would never speak that way in public. You see, I was a communications instructor for 34 years. I understand the power of language and it's ability to heighten or debase the speaker. And I am, above all else, Miss Lucy's son. Shame on you!Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17588787549462601947noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1924899706586372724.post-59615305905875189112017-05-26T20:40:00.001-05:002017-05-27T05:38:08.548-05:00Reflections on being Presidential<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br /></div>
As my second (and final) year as President of the South
Dakota Retired School Personnel swings into full gear, I believe it is time to
look back and reflect on what I learned year one.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(Understand, my “ascension” to the presidency
was a hard fought battle, fraught with late night strategy sessions and early
morning coffee.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I ran unopposed, and I
believe came quite close to losing.)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
lessons were many—some a review and some brand spankin’ new!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I will enumerate them—in my own executive
order!
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; text-indent: -.5in;">
1. <span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>When (not if, but when) you screw up,
OWN IT!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The phrase, “I made a mistake”,
is not anathema.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If, however, you choose
to sound a little more erudite, you can always do it in a foreign language—like
German—“Ich habe upgescrewed!” (I’m pretty sure that’s how it goes)—or Latin “Mea
Culpa!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mea Culpa!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mea maxima Culpa!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Perfection is simply unattainable.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Heck, even the electoral college screws up
occasionally!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; text-indent: -.5in;">
2.<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Having admitted your humanity, you have
several courses to follow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You can ask
for forgiveness.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You can attempt to
atone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You can cry, gnash your teeth and
pull your hair, but you must do all three. Unfortunately, not having the
ability to do part three, that option wasn’t open to me!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span> Once you have followed every course
available, MOVE ON!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Dwelling on past mistakes is like choosing to live in a dormitory your
entire life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>EEEEEEK!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; text-indent: -.5in;">
3.<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>When confronted with a Herculean task
(like planning the yearly convention), decide where you want to have it, come
up with a theme, appoint an amazing committee and then sit back and watch the
true masters at work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Put another way,
pick the right people and then get out of their way so they can do their
magic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(Side note—having made those "appointments",
not one chosen member has had to resign for collusion with a foreign power!)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; text-indent: -.5in;">
4.<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Recognize the worth of EVERY member.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; text-indent: -.5in;">
5.<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Never underestimate the abilities of
the people around you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You will only be
wrong (see #1).</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; text-indent: -.5in;">
6.<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Plan ahead.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; text-indent: -.5in;">
7.<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Monitor and adjust.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Your original ideas may be brilliant, but
there is always someone out there with higher wattage!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Allow them to shine.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; text-indent: -.5in;">
8.<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Be visible.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You can’t help someone if they don’t know you
are there.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; text-indent: -.5in;">
9.<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Delineate what is expected of your “staff”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Each person has specific responsibilities,
but can’t/won’t perform them if they are unclear (or non-existent!)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; text-indent: -.5in;">
10.<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Always, always, always bring fudge!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; text-indent: -.5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I don’t take Air Force One to my meetings—I take Ford Edge ’15—with
the VERY BEST DRIVER in the world.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t
own a plethora of red silk $500 ties (or for that matter, $.50 used ties
purchased at a thrift store).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wear old
man shirts that are somewhat loud, eschew ties, and are TOTALLY comfortable. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My shorts show my old man legs, but they’re my
best feature so if you’ve got it….<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My hair is cropped short, my wife is the
prettiest lady (and thankfully the most forgiving) I have ever met, I use
invectives on occasion (but NEVER Tweet), I have a treasure trove of PG 13
stories (and even more R rated that I don’t get to tell too often—Dirty Johnny
was my hero growing up!), I associate with the very best of the best, and can
truthfully say that edging out my non-existent opponent has been an amazing
experience.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I definitely can say it’s a
great year to be president—at least for me!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Know you are loved!</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17588787549462601947noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1924899706586372724.post-17112092504559951392017-05-13T07:11:00.000-05:002017-05-27T06:05:45.897-05:00Fiddler JonesPerhaps it's because we ran into former students and/or their progeny. Perhaps it's because on occasion, Mother Nature has an amazing way of reminding us to enjoy the time we have. Perhaps it's just because I am old and my mind wanders to an earlier time (and at least to this point, comes back!). Whatever the reason, this morning Fiddler Jones rests at the forefront of my thoughts.<br />
Those who truly know me know I have, since high school, been infatuated with Edgar Lee Masters' <b>Spoon River Anthology. </b>We performed the play as our senior drama farewell. Invariably, I had interpers do selections from the Anthology. I directed the play for Town Players. You would have thought I had cleansed my soul's need for sharing Mr. Masters. Yet, this morning, for whatever reason, there he was.<br />
<h4>
The earth keeps some vibration going <br />There in your heart, and that is you.
<br />And if the people find you can fiddle,
<br />Why, fiddle you must, for all your life.
<br />What do you see, a harvest of clover?
<br />Or a meadow to walk through to the river?
<br />The wind’s in the corn; you rub your hands
<br />For beeves hereafter ready for market;
<br />Or else you hear the rustle of skirts
<br />Like the girls when dancing at Little Grove.
<br />To Cooney Potter a pillar of dust
<br />Or whirling leaves meant ruinous drouth;
<br />They looked to me like Red-Head Sammy
<br />Stepping it off, to “Toor-a-Loor.”
<br />How could I till my forty acres
<br />Not to speak of getting more,
<br />With a medley of horns, bassoons and piccolos
<br />Stirred in my brain by crows and robins
<br />And the creak of a wind-mill--only these?
<br />And I never started to plow in my life
<br />That some one did not stop in the road
<br />And take me away to a dance or picnic.
<br />I ended up with forty acres;
<br />I ended up with a broken fiddle--
<br />And a broken laugh, and a thousand memories,
<br />And not a single regret.</h4>
All too often, we become driven by rhythms others would have us hear. We succumb to the expected...the norm (if there is such a thing!). We strive to be a "success"--in the eyes of others--and subjugate our own inner drums. We are the amalgam of other expectations. Don't misunderstand. That's not necessarily a bad thing. It can be, however, if during the process, we lose our own heart's vibration. There's a popular philosophy that states in the end, we don't regret the things we have done, we regret the things we never did. Socrates said, "know thyself/" Or as Mr. Shakespear;s Polonius opined, "To thine own self be true." (Thanks, Harlene!) You may not fiddle...but you have your own beat. Syncopate today!Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17588787549462601947noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1924899706586372724.post-49766956782029910692017-04-10T18:38:00.000-05:002017-04-10T18:38:01.079-05:00I miss you...<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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I miss you, little Ruth Marie Nelson Chase Olson.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I hear that Mitch McConnell’s proudest
moment is success at thwarting the constitution to get his desires, I miss
you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I hear that the Senate
effectively voted to overturn the rights of the minority to crown a new
supreme, I miss you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I hear we have
lobbed missiles into Syria
and are steaming toward Korea,
I miss you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I hear “fake news” and
“alternate facts” and watch the demise of programs that care for the poor and
threaten to cut support of the arts, I miss you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I think of Betsy DeVos, I miss you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Your clear head and rejection of
ridiculousness would have provided, if not answers, at least
understanding.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And along with you, I
miss my country:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The country that
supported democratic processes:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
country that worked toward reconciliation rather than division:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The country that understood that those less
fortunate than we need care:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The country
that knows the impact of the arts on development of a caring population.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Someone is taking it away from me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can’t listen to the news.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It only fuels my incredulity.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Instead, I read, or play the piano, or work
on a speech or volunteer…or cry.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I tell
people professionally that anger is a wasted emotion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It cedes control to the instigator.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I am to the point where I fear anger is
better than the feeling of despair.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
am 67 years old.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have lived my life to
do what I can to add value to the circumstances that I encounter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With a little luck (and some decent genes), I
will live a few more years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I believe
that in time, my country will recognize what’s happening and return to the
humanity it used to symbolize.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Tweets
will come from birds, bullies will be rebuked, and even though we disagree, my
right to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness will be recognized.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sooner than later, please!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Cue music—“This is My Country.”</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17588787549462601947noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1924899706586372724.post-62279104525097444912017-03-22T09:52:00.001-05:002017-03-23T06:20:52.394-05:00The "tour" de force--in rhyme, of course!<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">For those of you who have been here before, you know that inside me lurks a rhyming savant--I may not do many things well, but I can rhyme! Case in point...</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">The Great White Stay--Le Grand Sejour Blanc</span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0LmuOZr0Gyy_PFX1pozyGMQVdBTO9KJg5BhlgEiWWY_UDegLiRhvQvBtdZ15blwBKdPF8n7oiKNomE4WZ3Nc57kVwpZhWKUIVbn6USkSVCtM1stImZwXosiP6zm50frZZ_O8FiucvisA/s1600/great+white.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0LmuOZr0Gyy_PFX1pozyGMQVdBTO9KJg5BhlgEiWWY_UDegLiRhvQvBtdZ15blwBKdPF8n7oiKNomE4WZ3Nc57kVwpZhWKUIVbn6USkSVCtM1stImZwXosiP6zm50frZZ_O8FiucvisA/s320/great+white.JPG" width="320" /></a><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">So some of us drove and some of us flew<br />
Some we did know--we'll know all when we're through.<br />
Exposure the first? A room full of stuff<br />
'Twas boots, coats, and hats to warm us enough<br />
And thousands of geese who gave up their all<br />
To keep up us quite warm so we'll have a ball!<br />
<br />
The group quite diverse but not so with name.<br />
There's Bill, Bill, and Bill and none quite the same.<br />
The Y chromosomes, replete with three more<br />
And two start with T--Trent--Tad names they wore.<br />
That leaves us one man whose name is unique<br />
'Tis Jeffrey our friend, and fun he does seek!<br />
The ladies? Quite differ in manner and name<br />
There's Barbara, Denise, in no way the same.<br />
We've Jackie and Peggy, Patricia, Miss Vaugn,<br />
Nancy and Sarah and Cathy along.<br />
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And this was the group Samantha did meet<br />
Her job? To inspire and make trip so sweet.<br />
We start out with food, a supper surprise...<br />
The weather determined a railroad demise<br />
A plot shift indeed but options we talk--<br />
Then back to our rooms...I waddle...some walk.<br />
The bed it does call...adventure awaits<br />
I bid you good night...we're friends now...we're mates!<br />
<br />
Day two--jour deals<br />
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A breakfast that's hot, then on to the bus<br />
Morning museum with nary a fuss<br />
The planets glide by, the sparklers appear<br />
Two bears--two dogs in the sky--not to fear.<br />
Then hist'ry of province and ship named Nunsuch<br />
Displaying it's bosoms on stern oh so much!<br />
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A taste of the French is our stop for lunch<br />
Receiving high praise from our motley bunch<br />
Then ' other museum, high tech--bits and bytes<br />
Remind us of tenets--of wrongs and our rights.<br />
'Twas supper came next, then hotel did call<br />
The morning comes early--good night one and all!<br />
<br />
Day 3--Jour trois<br />
<br />
We're working real hard to stifle a yawn<br />
For leaving was at the butt crack of dawn,<br />
To airport we head, board plane that will go<br />
To Churchill, our goal, and wait for the show.<br />
The morning? Explore! Then what do we do?<br />
Why eat...need you ask...let's try something new.<br />
There's ops for photos and Myrtle, a hoot<br />
Be strong and be brave, but your own horn don't toot!<br />
Comestibles done we gear up and go<br />
The breath we do hold while waiting for show<br />
Aurora provides--Amazing, Devine<br />
A long day is done, it's time to unwind!<br />
<br />
Day Four--Jour Quatre</span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6ZGvhH4Y09QM0-HaRRR_j_FU-mFEw8lV8WW216ESO2eriFuOEZA9oUdxj4LOpyftwAt6BzGeK1maMoV-XddFOQmmw3FeRva6U-55MjUYLOjuZxefE63h-P8OJgMglHOk1fkDkH3lm3VI/s1600/bear.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6ZGvhH4Y09QM0-HaRRR_j_FU-mFEw8lV8WW216ESO2eriFuOEZA9oUdxj4LOpyftwAt6BzGeK1maMoV-XddFOQmmw3FeRva6U-55MjUYLOjuZxefE63h-P8OJgMglHOk1fkDkH3lm3VI/s320/bear.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">Good breakfast is done, we pull up a spot<br />
Samantha informs of things we know not!<br />
But thankful are we that she knows a bunch<br />
Two trivia champs when we go eat lunch!<br />
A tour through a part of Center quite large<br />
A bear's mouth a slide? It gives us a charge.<br />
Itsanitaq lore--aboriginal things<br />
Like carving, and stories, the history brings.<br />
A stop at Parks Can., then home for a rest<br />
Before we eat more, it's what we do best!<br />
And following supper, a film and a drink<br />
One made us sleepy, one made us think<br />
But now is the time for eyelids to close<br />
To rest for what comes--tomorrow--who knows!<br />
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Day five--Jour cinq<br />
<br />
Appropriately named--a church on a hill<br />
A hist'ry lesson with our host named Bill<br />
The stained glass window that if it could talk<br />
Would tell us a story our minds it might shock.<br />
Of course there was lunch--we shall not abstain<br />
The thought of a diet goes right down the drain<br />
Then curling begins, the stones we do throw<br />
We choose up our sides--we won don't you know!<br />
And special this day, not just cause it's cold<br />
We celebrate Barb...my god she's how old?<br />
The birthday dessert gives just the right touch<br />
To send us to dome--to see lights and such.<br />
And two stay out late--for them light teasers<br />
The rest head to bed...I guess we be geezers!<br />
<br />
Day 6--Jour six (pronounced sis)</span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoG701usyH7DTi0ttvL8WaxIY_aW7qFkeMWwPtZ6GLYsNE21nJSMYWAq-Tl2s5G18OTBhHavRx9iRqLKUIukLhTFCKL1rGa6rCZM64XLNzH0BUxB5-ClavCeMhZ4_6Fo4wctlB8jD70Yo/s1600/igloo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoG701usyH7DTi0ttvL8WaxIY_aW7qFkeMWwPtZ6GLYsNE21nJSMYWAq-Tl2s5G18OTBhHavRx9iRqLKUIukLhTFCKL1rGa6rCZM64XLNzH0BUxB5-ClavCeMhZ4_6Fo4wctlB8jD70Yo/s320/igloo.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /> </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">No way that this day could start any better<br />
The toast it was great the coffee seemed wetter<br />
And what was the cause? Of course you must know<br />
Potatoes for breakfast! We're ready to go.<br />
On bus we do gather to head to our spot<br />
Researching up north--some learnin' we got<br />
And snow cut with saws and piled up just so<br />
The igloo was built while the wind it did blow!<br />
Then Gypsies for lunch, desserts were our start<br />
From Fred and mom Helen, we sadly depart!</span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyKWfOmVyQkgoymerA1Ht2MkPVwIvQY0dCAAsNWT0AC_jqFjcCscl7A46V4XL5hNlpKNtwnhazpFPgVVPc72YwNnqY851Lpynu6Jntd_n_C_JVU9B3UZp7tqm3JENnKqgTdGOdtWVCMWk/s1600/mushing.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyKWfOmVyQkgoymerA1Ht2MkPVwIvQY0dCAAsNWT0AC_jqFjcCscl7A46V4XL5hNlpKNtwnhazpFPgVVPc72YwNnqY851Lpynu6Jntd_n_C_JVU9B3UZp7tqm3JENnKqgTdGOdtWVCMWk/s320/mushing.jpg" width="240" /></a><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">It's back on the bus, to mushers we go<br />
The very best way to get through the snow!<br />
One final attempt to capture the lights<br />
Alas sweet Aurora she gave us no brights. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> So home for one more--one time we do sleep<br />
We're needing our rest for schedule to keep <br />
<br />
Epilogue<br />
<br />
We start with plot twist, we end the same way<br />
The last day has changed--we learned it today.<br />
The shoes for the snow we give up quite hard<br />
But early we leave thanks to Mr. Blizzard.<br />
We break our fast then we get in the van<br />
Sweet Lawrence does drive, he's such a nice man.<br />
We'll finish the trip--Fort Garry we'll sleep<br />
And say our goodbyes, but mem'ries we'll keep.<br />
Life's not defined by the places you end<br />
It's simply about the joy of a friend.<br />
And that's what we are and because this is true<br />
It's safe to say thanks...we truly love you!</span></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17588787549462601947noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1924899706586372724.post-45094306635232444412017-02-28T09:31:00.002-06:002017-02-28T09:31:37.873-06:00A "tasty" ventFood blogs--an interesting phenomenon! 32,850 pictures. Descriptions that would make WAR AND PEACE seem like a light, short read. By the time you get to the recipe, thoughts of retribution float through your head, along with the overwhelming belief, "This had dad-gum better be worth it!" And some are. Most aren't and in the time you have taken to get to the recipe, you could have solved world hunger, walked on the moon, visited (and returned from) Mars, or at least have had a cup of coffee and a piece of left-over pie!<br />
Not this blog! <br />
Here's the recipe you REALLY want to try--good at first bite--good for breakfast warmed over (or up!). Try it, knowing how much you are loved!<br />
<br />
<b>Mushroom Chicken Sausage Casserole</b><br />
3/4 cup cubed chicken (I also have used left-over turkey!)<br />
1 pound Jimmy Dean Hot pork sausage<br />
2 stalks celery, chopped<br />
1/2 onion, chopped<br />
1/2 pound mushrooms, sliced<br />
8 oz. cream cheese, softened<br />
1 head cauliflower, broken into flowerettes and steamed in the microwave until crisp tender<br />
8 oz. cheddar cheese, shredded<br />
Salt and pepper to taste<br />
<br />
Brown the sausage with the celery, onion, and mushrooms. Stir in the softened cream cheese and stir until well blended. Add the chicken, cauliflower and 6 oz of the cheddar cheese. Turn into a greased 9X13 pan. Sprinkle remaining cheese on top and bake at 350 for 40 minutes.<br />
<br />
Recipe says makes 8-12 servings. Fat chance. Your first serving might be normal. After that, you will begin with a little more, and perhaps go back!!!! ENJOY!Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17588787549462601947noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1924899706586372724.post-44696294598422302932017-02-25T09:50:00.000-06:002017-02-25T09:50:15.332-06:00The biggest question...<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">Who speaks for me?<br />
Obviously not the president of the United States. He thwarts the first
amendment by denying public media access to information. He thwarts
decency by calling that same media the biggest enemy of the people. He
surrounds himself with people who obviously live in an alternate
reality, averring "alternate facts" and "fake news" when they can't
explain their lies. <br />
Obviously not our senate contingent, who voted to seat a Secretary of
Education who has no experience in or knowledge of public education,
citing the battle cry of "local control" as their reasoning...never
explaining how Secretary DeVos or her privatization of education would
enhance local control. Instead, their lock-step support of a partisan
vote totally ignored and discredited the thoughts of the educators in
the state who vehemently opposed this nomination. And don't get me
started on economic support of their campaigns! Really? You didn't
know, Senator Rounds, where $47,000 of campaign support funding came
from? That's frightening!<br />
It's time! The answer to the original question is...I! Complacency is no
longer an option. It's time to speak out...to decry the usurpation of
my constitutional rights. To question just exactly who our
"representatives" represent. There are those of you who will take
exception to this post. Good! There are those of you who might
consider things from a different perspective. Better! And the answer
is not only I. We ALL need to speak for us, before we no longer have
the right!</span></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17588787549462601947noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1924899706586372724.post-16434659044366641852017-01-29T12:03:00.002-06:002017-01-29T14:01:23.290-06:00Stand up!<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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When the flag passes, I stand and salute.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I respect the emblem of our republic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When a state or nationally elected presiding
officer enters the room, I stand out of respect for the office.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I always have.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But what happens when you have no respect for
the officer?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What happens when a man,
selected by a minority of those voting, tramples on the constitution and/or the
principles I espouse?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then I stand for
my country.</div>
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The question?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What
can Mr. Trump accomplish in his first 100 days?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>With a flourish of his pen, he can attempt to completely altar the
constitution of the United
States.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Executive order Trumps rights.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>With cronyism at its worst, he can put in place a cabinet that has
little or no regard for what it takes to make a living for the majority of the
country.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Power Trumps rights.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With inflammatory rhetoric and a smirk to
match, he obfuscates the truth with “alternative facts”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Bold faced lying Trumps rights.</div>
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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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By nature, I have a tendency to be a-political.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m not a party person.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m an issues person.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I take issue with this president.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As you trample on the right to free
expression, I take issue.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As you profile
people based on ancestry, I take issue.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>As you destroy faith in a fair republic, I take issue.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As you inflame peoples across the globe, I
take issue.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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To the elected representatives who are allowing this to
happen, I ask you to stand. Stand up for the constitution.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Stand to protect those of us who do not
suffer the problem of privilege.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Stand
to withhold confirmation of cabinet members not suited for the job.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Stand for decisions based on facts, not
“alternative reality”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I ask you to be
the check on unbridled power and corresponding ego.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I ask you to provide the balance that must
exist for our nation to survive.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We
cannot, we MUST NOT wait 100 days.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If
the choice is to “stand by”, none of us will be left standing!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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</o:shapelayout></xml><![endif]-->Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17588787549462601947noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1924899706586372724.post-20621638786664434502017-01-26T21:36:00.001-06:002017-01-26T21:36:35.724-06:00It's all about me<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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For the three people in the world who don't know, today is my birthday. 67. It will be a good year. They all have been. Every one. I'm sure there have been some episodes in that era that may have provided ammunition to dispel that belief, but hey, I'm old. Why choose to remember those? Instead, I will dwell on the most positive thing I can. Today.<br />
<br />
Episode 1<br />
It started early. Since I was born at 4:00 am, I got up at 4:00 am. After all, I had this post to do on Facebook. And while I was sitting at the computer, I realized the beast had pretty much covered a 360 square mile area of the basement floor with dry food, so as the coffee dripped, I swept. Then it was coffee and one of the most exciting gifts of the day--the Dakota Style salt and vinegar potato chips my lovely bride had found. If you are amongst the uninformed (as I was until I asked), they no longer are making those. This was a "vintage" bag we had somehow managed to ferret away (maybe one, maybe two) years ago. The thrill of unsealing the bag--the aroma--the first touch of the piquant vinegar to the tongue--the after effect of salt on the lips--the chorus of angels singing in the background--all was right with the world.<br />
Now, with a fresh coffee fix coursing through my veins on its way to assuage my one true addiction, I have printed the puzzles and will accede to my throne--the recliner in the front porch--to test my mental acuity, to solve the problems of the world, and to prepare to deliver the PACH totes this morning. As the day progresses, I shall return to update you. Try to control your enthusiasm.<br />
<br />
Episode 2<br />
The totes are delivered, there are fewer chips, and breakfast has been consumed. What was for breakfast, you ask (I heard you, you asked!)? What does everyone have for breakfast on his birthday? Baked creamed pheasant and grilled sour dough bread! The pheasant was provided by Bradley--one of our children with whom we are well pleased! The sour dough was mine! Even in retirement, our former students amaze and sustain us! Fortified, it's onward and upward--go pick up the birthday cake!<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI6Fa35Kr6QRGtlu3Wxju5jEmcmvGYtW6zVU7Me2AYuz6z3TMeINhTCdGVSdrSUSjLzhLDmCo5GmCkLhuFUQvryTtlEAIsI7K4GtUbCANMN10iRkjSzSD4_LoGDuv8Ek0cUbpLd7gPKyA/s1600/cake+1.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI6Fa35Kr6QRGtlu3Wxju5jEmcmvGYtW6zVU7Me2AYuz6z3TMeINhTCdGVSdrSUSjLzhLDmCo5GmCkLhuFUQvryTtlEAIsI7K4GtUbCANMN10iRkjSzSD4_LoGDuv8Ek0cUbpLd7gPKyA/s320/cake+1.JPG" width="226" /></a></div>
<br />
Episode 3<br />
Running of the beast. Cath had book club at Our Redeemer, so the beast and I delivered her. Never one to fail to opportunize (I'm old, I can make up words!), I took the flinger and the ball with us on the trip. Big parking lot. No cars. Beast friendly. Get out of the car. Toss the ball. Walk the length of the parking lot to toss from the other side. For those of you who have never experienced the parking lot at Our Redeemer, it makes Chicago wind seem like a gentle zephyr. And cold? Sweet Mary, the word bitter does not begin to describe. After what I considered the absolute minimum beast fetches (and the maximum cheek freezing!), we bundle back into the car and head home, awaiting the call to pick up my bride and go to Dempsey's for lunch. Okay. Go to Dempsey's for fries! And probably an adult libation. Have I mentioned it's my birthday?<br />
<br />
Episode 4<br />
The fries. The amazing thing about Dempsey's is the menu rarely changes but the food does. Sometimes, the chicken strips are beer battered. Some times they aren't. Aren't today. Usually, the fries are coated in a beer batter and deep fried. Pretty much regular fries today. That is NOT a complaint. Regular fries are still fries, and I managed to eat all mine and 99.5% of Cath's. I do believe I'm attempting to set a record for salt intake in one day! Anyhow, we came home to prepare for bridge tonight. Believe it or not, there are no fries on the menu. Chips. Lots of chips. And a new cheese dip that is baked in a loaf of Italian bread. And curried chicken salad. And home-built buns. And to keep it healthy, there are the vegies (to dip into the cheese dip)! We may even play bridge!<br />
<br />
Episode 5<br />
The afternoon passes, and it's time to heat up the oven for the dip, get the ice bucket out, and generally start putting it all together. Oven set to 375. Sit in the porch until it is pre-heated. Buzzer announces process has completed. Somewhat put off by the aroma coming from the oven. Whoever baked something last must have let it run over. Hmmmmm. Come to the kitchen. Can't see the back porch. Smoke and questionable aromas greet me. Turn on the fans. Open the doors. Pray. Our guests probably didn't know we believed in burnt offerings. Thankfully it's still an hour until they get here. By then, we should be set. Cold, but set!<br />
<br />
Episode 6<br />
Bridge. What can I say? The food was good, the company was better, and the cards? Well, let's just say the food was good and the company was better. I may have whined a little. A lot! But what an amazing group of ladies with whom to share my natal day. And we were done by 9:00. That's only 2 hours past my nap time. Not bad.<br />
<br />
Epilogue<br />
As per our usual, everything is put away, the dishes are done, the left-overs stored, the house in its pre-company form. Years and years and years ago we made a pact never to go to bed with the onus of a dirty house greeting us on rising. And now, as my eye lids sag (along with a phenomenally full stomach) it's time to reflect on the day. Started early. Stayed busy. Ran long. And you would have to sand blast the smile off my face. I am overwhelmed with the greetings on Facebook. I am overwhelmed by the kindnesses extended. I am overwhelmed by how bad my cards were (who says I have to quit whining?). I shall sleep tonight with the knowledge that I am decidedly the luckiest man in the world. I am full. I feel loved. After all, it's all about me!Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17588787549462601947noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1924899706586372724.post-27662365071276282462017-01-14T08:25:00.001-06:002017-01-14T08:25:59.028-06:00The promised recipeHome built sourdough bread:<br />
<br />
In an eight-cup bowl, combine<br />
3 cups all purpose flour<br />
1/4 tsp. dry yeast<br />
1 1/2 tsp. salt<br />
Stir to combine<br />
Add 1 5/8 cup tepid water (1 1/2 cups plus 2 Tbs.)<br />
Stir to combine. Cover with sprayed saran wrap and let rise in a warm place for 12 to 14 hours!<br />
Remove to a floured surface and knead slightly.<br />
Clean original bowl, spray with a vegetable spray, and return dough to bowl. Cover and let rise for another 3 hours.<br />
When ready to bake:<br />
Place heavy covered casserole (or heavy enamel pot with lid) in oven and preheat to 400 degrees.<br />
Carefully remove pot, uncover, and spray with vegetable spray. Roll the dough from its bowl into heated pot. Cover and bake for 30 minutes. Uncover and bake another 30 minutes. When done, tip onto cooling rack and allow to cool as long as you can stand it!<br />
This truly is a bread ANYONE can make. Start it right after supper. You will have amazing bread for lunch the next day!Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17588787549462601947noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1924899706586372724.post-66569826278744637642017-01-11T10:57:00.000-06:002017-01-11T10:57:44.043-06:00In my opinion...<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The only thing
necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing.</i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: right 5.5in;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Edmund
Burke<br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
<br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Dear Mr. President elect,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I just finished reading the farewell speech delivered by
President Obama.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Quite literally with
tears in my eyes, I was reassured that my opinion of and support for him were
both justified.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The use of language to
inspire, not denigrate; the use of a call to unify, not isolate; the
re-clarification of our democratic principles; the call to come together; the
call to action; all resonated within my soul.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The peaceful transition of power is necessary for our republic to
survive.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Therefore, Mr. President elect,
I pledge to you my support for proposals you put forward to advance our
nation—to uplift those in poverty—to add equality both in rights and the
ability to make a living—to keep us in good standing in the international
community.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I do not, will not support
any effort to undermine the true bastion of democracy—our public education
system.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I do not, will not support any
effort to impose social values that belong in the purview of the
individual.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I do not, will not, cannot
support a new form of “bully platform” in which the advancement of one person
or group occurs by diminishing those who disagree. </div>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">Mr. President elect, you have an amazing challenge in
front of you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wish for you the
intelligence to know that there are two sides of every issue, the grace to
occasionally recognize you may be wrong, and the wisdom to surround yourself
with people willing to disagree with you—for only then can advancement take
place, and only then will we survive as a nation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With all my heart, I wish you a term that truly
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">keeps</b> us GREAT.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And most fervently, Mr. President elect, I
hope you lose your Twitter account</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17588787549462601947noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1924899706586372724.post-54279788801600888742016-12-29T06:38:00.000-06:002016-12-29T06:38:17.486-06:00Flying away<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 16.0pt;">It’s a Wonderful Life</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 16.0pt;">When celebrating a life like
Little Ruth Marie Nelson Chase Olson’s , especially at Christmas time, one
immediately thanks Frank Capra.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He posed
the question:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What difference could her
life possibly have made?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Having had the
opportunity to play Clarence, the angel in waiting, it’s only fair I get to
answer that question!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 16.0pt;">Born a daughter and a sister,
Ruth’s formative years began in metropolitan Goodwin, South Dakota.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sandwiched between her two brothers and
“guided” by an older sister, she quickly developed a loyalty and love for them
that was boundless.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And of course, there
was Miss Cookie!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>An amazingly strong and
resourceful woman, she raised Ruth to recognize her own worth—to make lasting
friends—to fiercely protect the animals in her (and everyone else’s) care.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Miss Cookie raised four highly intelligent,
independent thinkers.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 16.0pt;">Graduating from the
cosmopolitan town of Watertown,
(Class of 55, an amazing amalgam of phenomenal people) Ruth was off to SDSU,
where she received her teaching degree AND established life-long relationships
with the women affectionately known as the Knight House Girls.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>These friendships would grow and deepen over
time, with every effort to stay in touch through letters, cards, e-mails, and
the yearly pilgrimages they would make to exotic locations like The Blue Belle
Inn near Rapid City and a trip or two to holy
city--Saint Cloud.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 16.0pt;">It was back to Watertown to teach, to
meet her handsome prince, to marry, and to live happily ever after.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or so was the plan.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mark, her handsome prince, died unexpectedly
one summer while away from home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her “once
upon a time” did not have the expected ending.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>But no one was better dealing with (or teaching for that matter) plot
shifts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With the help of supportive
friends, life went on. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 16.0pt;">Enter Clarence, or more
specifically, the loud, obnoxious, freshman debate coach.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Suspect from the start, Ruth and friends were
completely unsure as to what had just happened.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I’m not sure how, or for that matter, why, but they accepted me,
nurtured me, and began a life-long friendship that even death cannot destroy!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 16.0pt;">Once upon a time becomes
twice upon a time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ruth and Chuck meet,
discover in each other a part missing from their lives, and have spent the last
38 years traveling, gardening, raising and loving their cats (whose names
seemed to change periodically!) and completing each other.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 16.0pt;">Retirement.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While a viable concept, no one would say it
applied to Ruth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Although she no longer
taught, she enmeshed herself in her community.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Friends of the library flourished.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The Mellette House had its own girl guide.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Historical Museum
had an avid crusader.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Retired School
Personnel had a champion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Town Players
enjoyed the fruits (and savories) of her kitchen labors.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And her friends and family had Ruth!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 16.0pt;">So that’s her life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Did it make a difference?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 16.0pt;">Ask her husband.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ask her brother.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ask the nieces and nephews and great nieces
and nephews.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ask the Knight House Girls.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ask the class of 55.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ask her life-long friends.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ask any of the organizations to which she
gave her time and energy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ask anyone who
was the beneficiary of one of her greeting cards.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A couple favorites stand out—there was the
Easter card with the dyed eggs on the front, and when opened, you were
confronted with an extremely bellicose chicken screaming “Who painted my
babies.?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And my all time favorite—the
birthday card from Ruth and Chuck that very simply wished me a happy
birthday—from the Jungle Stud and his Amazon Temptress!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 16.0pt;">But most importantly, ask the
children whose lives she touched, whose minds she molded, whose souls she
changed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Upon announcement of her death,
over 100 responders spoke to her abilities…her deftness at “learning them” and
making them feel good.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is what one
of them wrote to her only last week.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 16.0pt;">I wanted to say a few things
to someone who has touched my life so profoundly.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 16.0pt;">Not only do I value the
things you taught me in the classroom, but far and away the most important and
valuable thing to me is our friendship and what that has become. I am always
excited to email you and tell you news from life. You encouraged me to go to
grad school, to complete the dissertation beast, and always make me feel like
you are proud of me. You support me in my academic, and now professional,
endeavors. Having you as a cheerleader means more than you may realize. I
have come to think of you as part of my family and love you as such. I am angry
that we won't get enough time to continue our friendship. I am also angry that
something like this happened to such a beautiful person. I am so glad I walked
by your classroom saying hi everyday, and am thankful for everything that came
after. You have touched many lives, none more than Chuck's, but you have
certainly influenced and made mine better. There should never be a day that the
earth turns without you in it, but I am so happy I got to spend some of those
turns with you. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 16.0pt;">Today we celebrate our
turns.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Today we give thanks for all the
joy and smiles.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Today we eat and drink
because she wanted us to, we put away our tears and pain for just a while, and
we raise our glasses…To our Amazon Temptress.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The time has come for you to fly away.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Let us give you your wings!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17588787549462601947noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1924899706586372724.post-36057895714188269572016-12-24T05:22:00.000-06:002016-12-24T15:15:52.790-06:00The annual Christmas letter--abbreviated version!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzHNlzxMTUGM0vzxB8Vt_RmTad8_Dgxzdoyj-PqNbJtGs8CmXs3vVRT-gDij7guBYS00-NympZpc30Dr_6arFB1vAtUMevWQDB31OmN6rHrYJz2X2K4feEMYk4sfCiP_PGmbF_k0RG5eE/s1600/pink+plumaria.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="275" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzHNlzxMTUGM0vzxB8Vt_RmTad8_Dgxzdoyj-PqNbJtGs8CmXs3vVRT-gDij7guBYS00-NympZpc30Dr_6arFB1vAtUMevWQDB31OmN6rHrYJz2X2K4feEMYk4sfCiP_PGmbF_k0RG5eE/s400/pink+plumaria.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
2016</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
He<br />
wrote a book.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
She<br />
enjoyed a myriad of organizations.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
They<br />
traveled.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
You</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Have Been</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Are</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
and</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Will Be</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Loved!</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
May your hearts be merry and bright!</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Merry Christmas</div>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17588787549462601947noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1924899706586372724.post-75173503109500438732016-12-14T18:11:00.000-06:002016-12-14T18:11:50.094-06:00At no other time.<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
I sit in the basement because it is as close to sticking my
head in the sand as I can get.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
ostrich syndrome has struck, with a vengeance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I just finished listening to the weather.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Brrrrr.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Just Brrrrr.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I’m a South
Dakotan, born and raised, and a little cold weather will not defeat me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A little snow will not defeat me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I choose to live here and I enjoy it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Where else is there as much grist for the
complaining mill?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not why I am in the
basement.
<div class="MsoNormal">
Unfortunately, the 5:00 o’clock “local” news is followed by
the 5:30 national news.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Russian
interference in our electoral process.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Bombing of children in Aleppo.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Reminder of Sandy Hook.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Presidential cabinet appointments.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I headed to the basement.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No television.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No radio.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>No reminder of the evil that lives in the hearts of certain men and
women.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Alone with my computer, the dryer working to finish the
laundry, the wonderful sound of the furnace warming the house, and the hum of
the freezer (which has just called my name to consume a sour cream raisin bar),
I find it possible to center.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Internally
I rage at a foreign power affecting my very life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I marvel at how travel to foreign shores has
broadened my knowledge.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I cry for the
lives of the innocent.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I thank God for
the men and women who teach them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
decry the violence that comes from guns.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Unfortunately, I “got nothin” to counter that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am frightened at the direction our country
will turn if the president-elect gets the cabinet he wants.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am thankful they must be approved.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I do my best to surround myself with people brighter than
I.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I do my best to surround myself with
people more caring than I.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I do my best
to see the good that is there and avoid the bad that exists.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am a person of action.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> Tonight, and every night until Christmas, I shall light a candle in the window hoping against hope that some will "see the light." </span>But today, at least until The Big Bang Theory
comes on, my action shall be ostrichesque!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Thank god there is a good supply of sour cream raisin bars!</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17588787549462601947noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1924899706586372724.post-42529655333399171372016-07-21T07:03:00.001-05:002016-07-21T07:07:09.297-05:00It has to be said<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sometimes I sleep.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Sometimes I think.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This morning
was a combination of both.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My heart weighs
heavy with the all too frequent out pouring of violence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The deaths of innocents have seemingly brought
about the death of innocence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We are bombarded
each day by the media describing the inhumanity of man.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Police officers killed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Races profiled.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Terrorist attacks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The most despicable deeds performed in the
name of vengeance, retribution, or worse yet, religious fervor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And we wring our hands and lament, “My God,
the world is a terrible place.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
No!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The world is NOT a terrible place.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There are terrible people.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And as trite as it seems, the musical “South
Pacific” has the reason set to song.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You
have to be carefully taught.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span>You've got
to be taught</i></div>
<i>
</i><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>To hate and fear,</i></div>
<i>
</i><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>You've got to be taught</i></div>
<i>
</i><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>From year to year,</i></div>
<i>
</i><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>It's got to be drummed</i></div>
<i>
</i><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>In your dear little ear</i></div>
<i>
</i><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>You've got to be carefully taught.</i></div>
<i>
</i><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>You've got to be taught to be afraid</i></div>
<i>
</i><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Of people whose eyes are oddly made,</i></div>
<i>
</i><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>And people whose skin is a diff'rent shade,</i></div>
<i>
</i><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>You've got to be carefully taught.</i></div>
<i>
</i><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>You've got to be taught before it's too late,</i></div>
<i>
</i><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Before you are six or seven or eight,</i></div>
<i>
</i><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>To hate all the people your relatives hate,</i></div>
<i>
</i><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>You've got to be carefully taught!</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Teach—a verb—an action word.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We teach by our actions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Tell
someone something, they might believe it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Show someone something, it might matter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Model the action and it is observed, and internalized, and
repeated.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Edmund Burke is credited with
the quotation, “<span class="tgc">The <b>only thing necessary for the triumph of
evil</b> is for good men to do nothing.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>By our inactivity, we teach fear.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>By our acceptance of evil, we breed hatred.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>By our shoulder shrugs and desire to crawl in
a hole and ignore the world, we allow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="tgc">But what?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>What should we do?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What can I
do?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As difficult the question, the answer
is amazingly simple.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Do good.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Be good.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>CELEBRATE GOOD!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">MODEL GOOD!!!!</b><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We raise millions of dollars each year to help the helpless,
feed the starving, and clothe the naked.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We do good.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We teach our children
that one rule is “golden”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We do
good.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We help our neighbors and care for
the sick.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We do good.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Put your mouth where your money is.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>TEACH those around you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>MODEL what you want to see in the world.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But for all that is holy, Don’t “do nothing.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I used to play a game.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>“What do you want them to say at your funeral?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My answer, selfishly, for years has been, “I
miss him.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think I’ll change the
answer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My mother used to say it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My wife says it frequently.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Two of the most important women in my life
can’t be wrong.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Here’s what I want said
at my funeral.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You done good!”</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17588787549462601947noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1924899706586372724.post-83802890244794836932016-06-06T20:17:00.000-05:002016-06-07T07:24:07.613-05:00My toolI've lost my tool! I've used it as long as I can remember. I occasionally used it in high school. College saw an increase in its use. I probably used it every weekend during my first year of teaching, and once I got married, I used it almost every day. With humility, I can honestly say it never failed me. Oh, as we've aged and changed our habits, its use declined. But whenever I needed it, it was there! And now...nothing. I was preparing for a main event...a celebratory occurrence...I was in a groove--on a roll--and then--what was one thing became three! One side split left. One side split right. And the center shaft stayed intact. What once was extremely utile was now useless. Oh, I understand. I watch the news. I know that you can now have them replaced. But I brought this one with me into the marriage and I thought I would take it out with me. Alas. I fear they just don't make vegetable peelers the way they used to!Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17588787549462601947noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1924899706586372724.post-42151725849368357272016-05-13T22:06:00.001-05:002016-05-13T22:06:54.739-05:00Photo opAs all good photographers will tell you, being in the right place at the right time yields the most significant pictures. Let me set the scene for you. We had just arrived home from a performance by the South Dakota Symphony. Well, members of the South Dakota Symphony. I claim a little musical ability, an above average ear, and appreciation for skilled instrumentalists. I am NOT a fan of music composed in a combination of minor keys and major dissonance. Scratch the first two numbers. Intermission. We stayed. The third performance was an oboe quartet. That would be one oboe and three string players. It had its moments of brilliance. The last piece was a trio of piano, violin, and French Horn. Brahms. Amazing how one of four can make the whole experience worth it. Anyhoo, we get home to discover that the pickup is taking up too much space in the garage so the Edge won't fit. Move the pick-up. Once inside, we let the horse out (that would be Teddy, the labradoodle) from his kennel and I head downstairs to change out of my symphony clothing. It's almost time for bed, so I just throw on my robe of many colors. Back upstairs, only to discover that Teddy wasn't ready to settle down. He wanted to romp in the back yard. I open the door. I find a chair. I almost freeze my who-has off. Back inside. I get my hoodie. I am now sitting on the back deck in my robe with hoodie. There's wind. I come back in and grab the afghan. I wrap it around me and watch the dog frolic. There's wind. With one hand, I hold the hood up and with the other hold the afghan tightly around my legs, not to mention who-has! My only thrill is, there were no good photographers in that place at that time, but I'm willing to bet you have a mental picture that may keep you up at night!Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17588787549462601947noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1924899706586372724.post-45636450927511589672016-05-05T21:06:00.001-05:002016-05-05T21:06:50.151-05:00FrustrationPicture it--a gorgeous summer-like evening. Perfect for a late mowing. The soaker hose is giving the perennials next to the fence a much needed drink. And then the flash of white. With a lot of black. Have you met our new labradoodle puppy? Actually, he's probably 16 months old, but oh, is he a puppy. Like any youngster, mud is a significant attraction. So too is the dog next door. The fence between the two properties provides an excellent demarcation, keeping Gus the Schnauzer in his yard and Teddy in ours. Actually, what it did was keep Gus at home and Teddy at home giving them reason to run up and down the fence line. Gus? Carefree! Teddy? Happy as a pig in mud--and twice as dirty. Mud up his legs. Mud on his stomach (you should see how low to the ground he gets when he's a running fool!). And after all that running, a drink was in order--from a puddle of mud! I'm upset. Who was the idiot that let the dog out to run through the mud? In fact, when my lovely bride comes out, I ask her that question. I omit the idiot part, but I'm pretty sure I implied it. She informs me she didn't let him out. Well, I know I didn't, and he's a bright dog, but doesn't yet know how to open the door. Then the truth. When I went out to mow, Teddy was upstairs. Apparently, I didn't shut the door as I went outside. The idiot was I! And try as hard as I could to blame anyone else, there it was. The two of us managed to clean him up. One of us pounded my chest and wailed "mea culpa" vociferously. Actually, I did say I was sorry for blaming her. But oh, the frustration of self realization of stupidity!Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17588787549462601947noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1924899706586372724.post-82118950781515420862016-05-01T09:17:00.000-05:002016-05-01T09:17:14.715-05:00It has been busy...Juxtaposition. A noun. That time when everything seems to need to be done at exactly the same time. We agreed to help with the Boys and Girls club fundraiser. Starting now. We are state board members of the State Retired School Personnel. Convention activities begin tomorrow. It's national teachers' week and we are involved. We needed to go to Woonsocket to present a scholarship. Fudge needed to be made. Materials needed to be gathered. And yet, this morning, when all these things coincided, as I walked from coffee in the front porch to take dirty dishes to the kitchen, a glimpse of the back yard caught my eye. The grass, highlighted by the sun(!) was the most gorgeous shade of vernal green. The perennials were establishing their right to return. The class of 2000 pine showed new growth. And it quite truthfully elicited a sudden gasp-like intake of breath. What a glorious morning! The tasks will be done to the best of our ability. Time management skills will allow us to prioritize and complete. Stress does nothing. Action does. And here's the most important thing. We are alive and able to act! Amazing Mother Nature reaffirmed our place in the universe! We're here to revel in her work! And, apparently, to be busy!Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17588787549462601947noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1924899706586372724.post-20438683979242037332016-04-21T15:07:00.000-05:002016-04-21T15:07:12.380-05:00Customer service and the Geeks!<div id="AppleMailSignature" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleTallBody; font-size: 17px;">
My first experience with the Geek squad was not necessarily a pleasant one. The initial contact was okay, but he was unable to help me and transferred me to the printer division. I did not have a printing question. I had a question concerning hooking our new Inspiron to an lcd projector. The printer guy said I had to talk to parts, so he transferred me to some young lady who would NOT listen to what I was telling her. Instead of listening, she seemed to have her own ideas of what I should need. She was wrong. Once I finally was able to convince her I really did know what I wanted, she informed me that you don't carry "that part" and I needed to contact Dell. Mistake! Obviously Dell outsources their customer service to Pakistan, and as such, while I was an English teacher, most of the time I had no idea what he was saying. By now, I find it hard to believe you can fathom the depths of my frustration. I contacted the geek squad again and was finally told (after an entertaining attempt to explain what I was trying to do) that you can't get there from here. The only connection possible was with an hdmi cord. That I have. It is now 55 minutes after placing the original call. Of course the projector to which I had to connect didn't have an hdmi input....so while I ordered the new computer for the express purpose of today's presentation, we took the old one, connected it immediately, and were off and running. Part of the presentation speaks of a hike in the wine country of Argentina. We provided samples of a nice Malbec wine. We raised our glasses, but as you may guess, it wasn't to outsourced customer service, it wasn't to Dell computers, it wasn't to the "parts girl" of the Geek squad, and as a result, it wasn't to Best Buy or their squad of geeks. It was to patience, and I think you should appreciate that!<br /><br />Sent from my iPad</div>
<div style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleTallBody; font-size: 17px;">
<br /><blockquote type="cite" x-apple-mail="AppleTemporaryPresentationElement">
On Apr 19, 2016, at 12:09 PM, Geek Squad <GeekSquad@emailinfo.geeksquad.com> wrote:<br /></blockquote>
</div>
<blockquote style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleTallBody; font-size: 17px;" type="cite">
<img height="1" src="http://click.emailinfo2.bestbuy.com/open.aspx?ffcb10-febf13787263057f-fe2910717d63057e711c72-fef41d77766c04-ff9b1771-fe241071776c0474701c76-ff5d15797d&d=10051" width="1" /><table bgcolor="#f4f4f6" border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" style="table-layout: fixed; width: 100%px;"><tbody>
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<tr><td align="left" bgcolor="#f4f4f6" class="padding-left" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; padding: 10px 10px 10px 20px;" valign="top" width="440">Save this e-mail for your records.</td><td align="right" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10px; padding: 10px 20px 10px 0px;" width="200">View: <a href="http://click.emailinfo2.bestbuy.com/?qs=fc0c383641f60e70c0035adacecb89c4ee2a75f6b3f15cbe404eb5d475229debc4182140282dc6a5" style="color: #004691;" target="_blank">Web</a> | <a href="http://click.emailinfo2.bestbuy.com/?qs=fc0c383641f60e700eaede30e6d6163b9ca2564dafa9893a72fc8bfcbe1477be4c50a6ee9a536a91" style="color: #004691;" target="_blank">Mobile</a></td></tr>
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<tr><td align="left" class="headline" style="color: #f3752a; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 26px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 26px; padding: 0px 0px 20px 20px;" valign="top"><br />Your purchase summary</td></tr>
<tr><td align="left" valign="top"><table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" style="width: 100%px;"><tbody>
<tr><td align="left" bgcolor="#ffffff" class="padding-left-right" style="color: #737474; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 16px; padding: 0px 20px 20px;" valign="top">Hello Bill,<br /><br />Thank you for your recent Geek Squad<span style="font-size: 0.8em; line-height: 0; vertical-align: 3px;">®</span> purchase. You now have access to the technical expertise of over 20,000 Agents.<br /><br />Please keep this e-mail and your original sales receipt. Proof of purchase may be required to confirm coverage.<br /><br />For your plan's specific details, please visit our <a href="http://click.emailinfo2.bestbuy.com/?qs=fc0c383641f60e70c55eb7c29b1219065f3a59c12cd5c0b9121d54592c73f60203e8563bf354803e" style="color: #004691;" target="_blank">Terms & Conditions</a> page.<br /></td><td></td></tr>
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<tr><td align="left" class="block" style="border-bottom-color: rgb(204, 204, 204); border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: 1px;" valign="top"><table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" style="width: 100%px;"><tbody>
<tr><td align="left" class="padding-left-block" style="color: #737474; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 14px; padding: 20px;" valign="top" width="320"><br /><span style="font-size: 14px; font-weight: bold;">Office 365 Personal (1 Mac or PC + 1 Tablet) 1 YR</span><br /><br /><strong>Member No.</strong><br />MSQQ200309006796730<br /><br /><a href="http://click.emailinfo2.bestbuy.com/?qs=fc0c383641f60e7025747606b35391ced07a4b95d9a1eadebb5ad54dd7cbaa8bc6e1efa9becb0dc5" style="color: #f3752a; font-size: 16px; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">Install Now ></a> </td><td align="left" class="padding-left-block" style="padding: 20px;" valign="top" width="320"><br /><img border="0" src="http://image.emailinfo2.bestbuy.com/lib/fef41d77766c04/m/52/OCIS_MicrosoftOffice_Icon.png" style="display: block;" /><br /></td></tr>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17588787549462601947noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1924899706586372724.post-18080164786110119722016-04-12T14:06:00.001-05:002016-04-12T14:15:55.401-05:00My very first timeThey say you never forget it. It was bound to happen sometime. But one never knew when. After all, it is simply a matter of urge. Having grown up with Ms. Lucy spouting words of wisdom, "Wait for it, it will be better", I waited. But the time comes when you simply can't wait any longer. The hormones conspire with the brain stem. Do it now. Do it now. Do it now. It will feel good. But I had the dog with me. What to do. Tie him outside. Bring him in. Since I wasn't sure he would be safe outside, I opted for B. <br />
The hormones and brain stem were right. It was wonderful. What a relief. But I can honestly tell you, going to the bathroom for the first time in a porta-potty <u><b>with</b></u> a moose of a dog taking up the entire floor space did not make the experience easy! Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17588787549462601947noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1924899706586372724.post-65463990244889987682016-04-10T17:01:00.001-05:002016-04-10T17:01:10.395-05:00Low Carb does NOT have to be boringOkay. At times, finding low-carb alternatives can be a pain in the derriere! Most are acceptable, but nothing about which to write home. Or for that matter, about which to blog. (June LaRose, there are times when I wish you had NEVER mentioned ending sentences with a preposition!) Every rule deserves an exception. Tonight's casserole was exactly that. The combination of taste and textures was exceptional. Coupled with a double cheese pepperoni nacho (fun and easy!) and a glass of boxed red wine...an amazing dining experience to be enjoyed in front of the Master's (oh wait, the channel just changed and it's the Twins...oh wait, it's the Master's...the Twins...have you figured out we're dining in Cath's lair and one of the two of us does NOT have control of the remote?) I don't care to know the caloric intake of this meal. I'll settle for low carb and claim exemption! And here's the kicker--even if you are not low carbing, I think you would enjoy this immensely. Give it a try and let me know. <br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;"><b>MUSHROOM CHICKEN AND SAUSAGE CASSEROLE</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;">1 small head cauliflower flowerettes, cooked until tender in chicken broth</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;">4 slices bacon, chopped and cooked until crisp
<br />
3-4 cups diced cooked chicken <br />
1 pound Jimmy Dean pork sausage
<br />
2 stalks celery, chopped fine
<br />
1 medium onion, chopped
<br />
1/4 pound fresh mushrooms, sliced </span><br />
<span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;">1 small can mushroom stems and pieces, drained<br />
8 ounces cream cheese, softened
<br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;">1/2 cup sour cream<br />
8 ounces cheddar cheese, shredded
<br />
Salt
<br />
1/2 teaspoon pepper </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;">Separate cauliflower into flowerettes. Cook in a small amount of boiling chicken stock until tender. Drain and place in a large bowl. Cook bacon and place in same large bowl. Cook seasoned chicken pieces in bacon grease until done. Remove and place in bowl with bacon. Drain liquid from pan. Cook pork sausage in same pan. Remove and place in afore-mentioned bowl. (By now you should figure out you need a BIG bowl. Hit the dollar store before you start cooking!) Saute the celery, onion, and fresh mushrooms in same pan. Pour into bowl. Add the shroom stems and pieces. Soften cream cheese in the microwave for 30 seconds. Add the sour cream and the cheddar cheese. Pour over bowl ingredients and stir until incorporated. Turn into a greased 9X13 pan, smoothing the top. Cover and let sit until ready to bake. Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Remove cover and bake for 40 - 50 minutes. Let set for 5 minutes, cut into 8 pieces, and enjoy (especially with the glass of boxed red wine!)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;"><br /></span>
I believe food can be love. And you are! <br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17588787549462601947noreply@blogger.com0