Furby’s Congregation

Recently, my son hollered at me to take a look out the kitchen window. He said, “Mom……it looks like Furby is being worshipped!” Furby is the cat on the stump in the photo. Preaching? Well……ahem…..probably not. Furby is a female and her congregation is made up of males…….all awaiting their turn. Seriously, that’s what’s been going on around here the last few days.

My son, the hollerer, is also the basketball player whose team lost on Friday night. Apparently, he needs to do more practicing HERE:

He did hit one 3-point shot Friday night. He banked it in! Not an attractive shot, but it counted, regardless.

Happy Last Day of February to you!!

Down-Tempo Game

Its game time. Its an important one……a district final. The victor moves on to a substate game. Are you ready for this? Are you nervous? Or, have you checked your emotions at the gym door? I tried, but was not totally successful. Why do we invest so much feeling in a silly basketball game? Where did people spend their emotions in the old days, before spectator sports became popular?

The opposing team's center is a Goliath.......6’8” tall! Our tallest player is 6'3". My son---our team’s designated center jumper---is 6’0”, with his shoes on. Can you guess who got the tip? Duh.

My son’s alter ego, Sir Fouls-A-Lot, made an encore appearance at tonight’s game, after an absence of several weeks. Earlier in the season, Sir F-A-L had the dubious honor of ranking 6th in Iowa in number of fouls committed. Fortunately, his statistics fell as the season wore on. But, not tonight…..nearly every time he guarded Goliath, he was whistled for a foul.

Here sits my son, next to the scorers’ table, waiting to re-enter the game after pondering his fouling fate on the bench for awhile:

My teenage niece went with me to the game. She seemed overly-willing to accompany her old auntie to this event. Hm-m……does that seem rather suspicious? Maybe she wanted to check out the boys from our school. Hm-m. (Seems like only yesterday she and my son were toddlers and I caught him pouring sand over her head in our backyard sandbox. Where did the time go?)

We arrived at the game early enough to have our choice of seating. We sat right next to the court, on the first row of bleachers……the first time all season. It provided a great floor-level view, making us feel almost like part of the game. Whoa……watch out for the ball coming your way, on occasion! The worst thing, however, was that we were sitting amongst a group of people who tend to yell at the referees alot. I don’t care much for that……it makes me cringe.

Oh, yeah……and by the way……WE LOST…….27-21. Yeah, a really tense, low-scoring affair. That’s what our coach likes to do do…..slow the game way down. Its a strategy which is sometimes successful, but not tonight, though we came close. The game was back and forth tied until the last 3 minutes of the 4th quarter. Actually, our defense did a superb job of keeping the ball away from Goliath most of the time.

After the game, I happened to walk by the opposing coach as he was being interviewed by a newspaper reporter who was scribbling on a pad of paper. I heard the coach say: “The game was not played in the up-tempo style that we were hoping for.” Ha…..they didn’t control the game’s tempo……our team did. So, by that standard……maybe we won……in a way.

Sigh. Now the basketball season is over. The community will now go through basketball withdrawal, trying to find other avenues for socialization. Ho-hum. Sigh some more. I will just blog on.

Turn the volume way up on this video to get a feel for the atmosphere in the gym near the end of the game:

Taxes, Loans, Dairy Ads, Laughter

What do taxes, loans, dairy ads, and laughter have in common? Nothing, really. They are simply the four things that occupied my time yesterday afternoon. (Oddly enough, this first picture---cut from a dairy magazine---shows my husband greeting the cows at the barn door in the morning. I was unaware he had posed for a magazine ad......I will need to discuss that with him. I noticed this ad late yesterday afternoon when I was tossing magazines into the recycling bin.)

First of all, after lunch yesterday, Husband and I went to pick up our completed tax forms from the accountant in order to comply with the law and mail them before March 1. The drive to the accountant's office was only ten miles long, but the overwhelming gray of the sky and drab brown of the landscape prompted my eyes to close in a drowse---of their own free will.

The post office was our next stop. First, we fogged up the pickup cab windows as we feverishly worked to sign the tax forms in all the correct places and scribble the required checks to accompany the forms to the IRS and Iowa treasury. Thank you and you’re welcome.

Then I scooted into the post office for the weighing of the envelopes and purchase of necessary postage. On my dash back to the pickup, I was drenched by a mutant rain/sleet/hail/snow mix, dumped suddenly from the low-hanging gray clouds. Yuck.

Then it was off to the bank to sign our lives away on a farm loan note. Not really. We took that particular plunge years ago when we began buying the farm from my father and mother-in-law. Now that they are both passed away, the bank becomes our loan source. Hooray……if all goes well, we will be done paying for the farm when we are 65!! Isn’t that exciting! I can hardly wait.

Actually---in my fuzzy view of things---owning land is not even possible. We pay dearly for the right to simply have a home on these acres and attempt to make a living from the tract of land. We don’t “own” the farm. If anything…..it owns us.

And, you know what it means to “buy the farm”, don’t you? Its the same thing as “kicking the bucket”. Are any of us anxious to do that?

As stated, later in the afternoon, I sorted through a stack of magazines which was weighing down a shelf by the kitchen table. Some of the dairy magazine ads were just too much of a hoot to throw out. And, here’s some dairy-related headlines, strictly for your perusal:

“Bartering Manure in Today’s Economy”

“Do Fats Improve Conception Rates?”

“Technology and Cow Handling Go Hand in Hand”

“Low Milk Prices Call For Positive Moves”

“Milking Herd and Livelihood Lost in Fire”

“Young Dairy Producers Deal With Crashing Milk Price”

“Doc, My Cows Aren’t Settling”

“Anatomy Reveals Which Cows Last Longer”

“Do We Need To Dip Navels?”

“Family Farms Need To Operate Like a Business”

“Dairy Industry Is In Crisis Mode”

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There……you may have just learned more than you realize about dairying, simply from reading those headlines.

Here's one more blurb I found interesting……it contained info about a farm womens’ conference. One of the sessions was called, “Living a Laughing Life”. The presenter was to talk about the history of therapeutic laughter and the latest scientific research on the subject. Her talk would include mention of “the exciting worldwide laughter club movement where people come together to laugh contagiously WITHOUT THE USE OF JOKES.”

Does anyone know anything about that? Have you ever heard of a laughter club? I would love to know more about it. (I missed the conference, though…..it was held last week.) Hey, maybe the world would be a better place if the road to laughter could skirt that annoying wilderness of JOKES. No more funny TV shows, comedians, humorous movies, comic strips, etc., etc., etc. What an existence we would have......laughter arising for no reason.......the laughing bug being passed from person to person, contagiously. Somehow......we would be missing something, though, wouldn't we?!

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Have a wonderful day. Laugh lots! Seriously.....you need a belly-laugh, and that's no joke. (Use laughter aids if you must.)

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SkyWatch #33

Here was the scene earlier this week, shortly after sunrise on Ash Wednesday morning.  The first brief rain shower of the season had just passed through, also:

Thanks for stopping by.  This SkyWatch Friday post comes to you from northeast Iowa, U.S.A.  Be sure to visit other SkyWatchers at Skyley.blogspot.com.  Have a pleasant weekend.

Saga of the Tent

(Subtitle: “The Singing Nurse Goes Tent-shopping”)

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This will serve as a “prequel” to a recent post,

Tincup Adventure.

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Beware……don’t peer too closely at the photo below…… that’s me up there singing in a duet at the graduation program for our practical nursing class. Yes, the authentic truth is that deep inside I wanted to be a singer. Naturally, it follows then that I decided to become an LPN (so I could sing at the graduation service), followed by a lengthy term as a farm homemaker and mother---not to mention, a custodian of clutter---and now, at long last, a blogger. As for my musical career, I croon with the radio in the milkhouse ……and sing alto or soprano in our on-again/off-again church choir which is rarely larger than a sextet.

Possibly it was on the drive home from this very exhilarating graduation ceremony that Husband and I hatched the plan to travel to Colorado before my hospital employment started the following week. Be sure I tell you about that job sometime……I worked in the “float pool”…….a dry place, actually……but never dull.

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Ok, so we decided to go to Colorado; Husband must have mentioned that fact to his dad while milking cows the next day. Father-in-law immediately---with all good intentions---suggested we stay with some old friends of his, Ralph and Edna, or some such names---in the Denver, Colorado, area. My in-laws did not believe in staying in hotels or motels; that was the most colossal waste of money they could imagine. To them, taking a vacation meant you drive, drive, drive, to some acquaintance’s house, and then spend most of the trip sitting in the back yard, drinking beer and playing cards, ignoring beautiful scenery that exists just over the horizon. Sorry, at that point in my life I could not go for that sort of thing, and I expressed that in no uncertain terms to my husband.

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Thus, Husband---poor guy---was forced to break the news to his dad that we would be utilizing hotels and motels on our trip. Before long, my in-laws were informing us that they had a tent we could use. Really? How thoughtful of them, though I was a bit mystified, as I had never seen a tent at their place, even for the kids to use in the backyard. (My in-laws still had several younger sons at home.) Next thing I know, Husband called me to come over and see “the tent”, which apparently had been set up just for me to look at before we took it along on the trip. We were planning to leave the next morning, by the way.

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At that time, Husband and I lived in a farmhouse a mile away from his parents’ farm, so I put down my suitcase-packing and drove over to see “the tent”. First thing that struck me was how BIG it was…….it was full-heighth and must have measured a good 12 X 8 feet. Good Lord, we didn’t need anything THAT big. Husband and his parents and twelve-year-old twin brothers were standing expectantly around “the tent”. Husband had his arms crossed and a blank expression on his face. The twins were grinning. I walked around “the tent”, which apparently had been languishing in some damp corner of the basement for quite some time. There were mildew stains on it and a big raggedy, gaping hole on the back side. Everyone just stood there in silence. For pity's sake……was I going to have to be the bad guy and say, “NO….sorry…..this just will not do!”? I didn’t want to hurt my in-laws’ feelings, but for crying out loud, we couldn’t take that ridiculous excuse for a tent along on our trip. Finally, I sidled up to my cross-armed husband and whispered, “No, no, we can’t use it.” Of course, he agreed, but was having a difficult time exerting his own will over his parents’. We were still fairly young, remember, plus he had to work with his dad everyday. Finally, he was able to shake his head and tell them, “Thanks, but no thanks.”

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We decided I would run to Waterloo to buy a tent. (Husband stayed at the farm to milk cows…..in case you're not aware of it, cows must be milked every morning and evening---day in and day out---come heck or high water......or tent shopping. Any dairyman worth his salt has to be very dedicated to his cows.). I decided to stop at K-mart first (no Walmarts or Targets around back then) to look at tents, and also buy sleeping bags and other supplies. It was VERY windy that evening. I pulled into a parking slot next to an apparently unoccupied car---a rather beat-up one (Oh, Lord, why didn’t you just prompt me to choose a different spot?). I opened the door of our Cordoba---a long, very heavy door---and a gust of wind caught it, causing it to bump against the adjacent car. Oh, my Lord……suddenly a most unpleasant face surrounded by scraggly hair rose up from the front seat, wearing the most awful glare I have ever seen. I hardly blamed the guy for being angry, of course, but seriously, my door had hardly hurt his car at all; his car fell into the junkpile category in the first place. Not that that makes any difference, of course. I was most definitely at fault for not having a firm hold on my car door when I opened it. But, it was nearing dusk and I was a young woman alone, so there was no way I was going to hang around and attempt to apologize to the irate stranger, so into the K-mart store I dashed.

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After my cart was filled with sleeping bags and other necessary paraphernalia for the trip, I kept watching out the store window, waiting for that other car to hurry up and exit the parking lot. I’m a chicken at heart and didn’t want to encounter that scary guy again. Finally, the car drove away and I checked out and rolled the cart out to my car. Yup, wouldn’t you know it---and, yes, I deserved it---the guy had left me a gift. There was a dent in my driver’s side door. He must have given the Cordoba a swift kick before he left. Perhaps it was a harbinger of things to come on the trip……a foreshadowing of the damage the car would receive from a rock along a road above Tincup, Colorado.

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By the way, I did find a tent to buy that evening……at Sears. We only ever took it on one trip…….to Colorado in that summer of 1980. That tent provided many years of use here at home, though; at some point every summer we’d put it up in the backyard for the kids to play in for a few days.

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Farmyard Matrix

Welcome to the farmyard matrix. I wasn't sure what matrix meant and had to look it up in the dictionary........"something that gives origin or form to something enclosed within it". Right, ok......whatever that means. Perhaps the farm gives origin to the livestock residing in it. Let's see what's going on in that matrix on this sunny late winter day:

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An attempt at integration of black & white chickens with black & white calves. Lola says, "SCRAM, you foul fowl creature!"

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"I fleetly flee, I fly.....yes, I really do......or, at least I try."

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Not sure what's going on here.......a fraternization of varying forms in the matrix:

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And, looky here......bright yellow spring flowers! Oh, wait.....let me put my glasses back on. Shucks, they're just a bunch of electric fence insulator attachments on rusty, old fence posts.

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Oh, well.......you can't win 'em all. May you be caught in a matrix of cheerfulness today!
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Basketball Lives On

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Big game tonight.......the district semi-final. Get a load of our opponent's candy-striped warm-up pants:

My son is the designated jumper.......he didn't get the tip this time:
Can you tell the team is receiving crucial instructions in the next photo? There's four seconds left in the game, we are up by 2 points, and the other team has possession of the ball. Yikes. The coach is staring right at the point guard and saying, "You can't improvise; you have to do it right!" I couldn't even watch the last seconds of the game. Historically---during this season, anyhow---things haven't gone our way in intense, end-of-game situations like this.

But, guess what......the patterns of history can be broken. WE WON! We survive to play in the district final in a few days.

The game was so nerve-wracking......I feel as if I aged five years tonight. My scalp is tingling from all the new gray hair sprouts.

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Windows Live Writer

(Actually, before doing yesterday morning's "first" post in Live Writer, I had done this experimental one.)

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I recently downloaded Windows Live Writer. You can create blogposts in it, so I am attempting one here. The Live Writer retrieves photos from your computer. It contains effects you can foist upon your photos…..such as:

A reflection:

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Polaroid-type photo framing:

Photo distortion……stretching, squeezing…….any way you like. Plus, there are ways to alter the “temperature” of your photo……the above photo was made “cooler” (and, given rounded corners). Below, we have a “warmer” version, complete with a bit of shadowing:

There are kinks to work out, but Live Writer might be fun to use once in a while.

Link to the Live Writer download site.

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More Colorado Snapshots (1980)

Bear Lake in Rocky Mountain National Park

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Looking up at the bridge over the Royal Gorge…..near Canon City

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Tram train which runs up and down the Royal Gorge

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Blue Mesa Dam on Gunnison River

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Above: Football field at Air Force Academy, Colorado Springs

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View from the tram on Mt. Manitou, Colorado Springs

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Hey……for this post I used Windows Live Writer for the first time. Live Writer contains the above options (among others) for displaying photos: instant photo, shadowing, snapshot, black border, rounded corners, reflection, tilting. I think you can also drag the photos around and pull them to whatever size and shape you want, but I haven’t figure that all out, yet.

You create your blogpost inside a separate Live Writer window. It has a sidebar with all the options available. You can preview exactly how your post will look on your blog……that’s handy. It alerts you to misspellings, a feature I’m not sure I care for; right now, its telling me that “blogpost” is misspelled.

I hope this publishes OK……my internet connection has been acting funny this morning and the links on my blog don’t seem to be working. So, phooey……I’m gonna run away to the grocery store…….the heck with this internet stuff. (“Gonna” is misspelled, too……darn.)

Download Windows Live Writer. (It took about a half hour with my "fast" DSL connection.)

Have a nice day!

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Tincup Adventure

Got a coin? Drop it into the slot of this blogocular-to-the-past......adjust the focus and zero in on the summer of 1980.

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Yup.....that's me you're seeing through the lens.......at just-turned-22-years-old, sitting on top of the world along Trail Ridge Road in Rocky Mountain National Park in beautiful Colorado.......specifically, at the Forest Canyon Overlook. Hunh?......speak up.......what's that you're saying......what was an Iowa farm girl doing in Colorado? She was on vacation during the week between her graduation from practical nursing school and the start of a hospital job. Look closely, you'll see she's clutching a DeKalb seed corn cap......so as not to get homesick or forget her roots.....apparently.

Certainly, this memory must be from another life......a life before children, before cell phones, before VCR's, CD's, DVD's, before the internet, before extra pounds, before a houseful and lifeful of the accumulation of many years of marriage and kids. Honestly, I can't even recall what it was like to be the person sitting in that photo......I don't know where she disappeared to; maybe she tumbled over the mountain's edge after the photo was snapped.

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In the summer of 1980, my husband and I had been married for two years, and as stated, I had just finished a one-year practical nursing course at a local technical school. The decision to drive to Colorado for a few days was done on a last-minute basis. We took our own accomodations along---a tent---the acquisition of which turned out to be rather complicated. The details of that will remain bubbling in the stewpot to serve up later in another blogpost.

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Suffice it to say, we left home early one morning in late June and drove as far as Fort Morgan, Colorado, where we pitched our tent after dark in a crowded campground. After a pitiful few hours of poor sleep, we packed up and headed for Rocky Mountain National Park and a cruise along breath-taking Trail Ridge Road, spending the next night at another crowded campground near Winter Park. The following day's route took us to Leadville, and then Aspen via Independence Pass, and then on to Black Canyon of the Gunnison National Park. Yes, we were making some pretty fast tracks, trying to take in as much as we could in a short time.

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From the Gunnison area, our plan was to motor east on U.S. 50 to The Royal Gorge and then Colorado Springs. While Husband steered our sickly-green Chrysler Cordoba, I perused maps and travel brochures for interesting places to stop. As we prepared to leave Gunnison that evening, I pointed out a little town called "Tincup".......the name seemed fascinating for some reason. I suggested we take an alternate route through Tincup and from there take a mountain road over Cumberland Pass and loop southward back to Highway 50. Whatever possessed me to come up with that idea, I have no clue. Perhaps the trickster was at work once again.

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It was almost dark when we found a nice little roadside campground northeast of Almont, across the road from the rushing Taylor River. No amenities, of course......the campground's water supply was a cold mountain stream bubbling gaily along amidst towering pine trees.

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The next morning---a Sunday---we left around 5 a.m., journeying past the Taylor Reservoir on the way to Tincup, thinking that later in the morning we could get some breakfast in Salida. Yeah, right.....what a plan......our naive, flat-lander sensibilities at work.

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Tincup turned out to be a tiny, sleepy mountain resort town; most of the residences looked like cabins. The photo below shows the sign which greeted us: This is God's country. Please don't drive through it like Hell. But---heck---there was a church in the background, meaning this surely must be a decent place. We also noticed the miniscule "Tincup Store" with its "CLOSED" placard hanging on the door.

Well.....bye-bye, Tincup......we were just passing through.......heading toward our pleasant, scenic Sunday morning drive through the mountains. Had it even registered in my head that the road I had chosen to traverse from Tincup was not paved? No, the little colorless squiggly line on the map held no sway over my poor judgement that morning.

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We began our ascent, not worrying a bit. The Cordoba---though rather low-riding, which would be its downfall---had lots of horsepower for surging up the progressively steeper mountain road switchbacks. Tall pine trees on either side stood with branches quivering in silent laughter, probably......knowing what lay in store for us. Husband and I were happily oblivious to the possible risks of this route, knowing we would soon reach the top of the mountain road which would surely offer a stupendous view of snowy Colorado peaks. Finally, we neared the point of reaching what appeared to be the top, from whence the road would surely curve around to the other side of the mountain. I was expectantly awaiting the stunning view from there. Ha......my vision was focused too far ahead to even notice what lay right in front of us.

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In retrospect......from a second or two after the incident, until now, almost twenty-nine years later......I am quite sure that out of the corner of my eye I did catch a glimpse of The Rock right before we hit it, or it hit us, or whatever the heck happened. It wasn't even very big, just a nondescript, gravelly rock, maybe 4 or 5 inches in diameter. It didn't appear capable of inflicting the extensive damage that it ended up doing. Evidently, it was simply not in the cards for us to travel to the other side of the mountain......perhaps something worse awaited over there. Anyway, one second things were fine---our car's engine humming along, its strength carrying us steadily along---the next second, a dull clunking sound and then an immediate, sickening clattering and vibration throughout the whole car.

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Husband braked and quickly turned the ignition off......"SON-OF-A-B____!" (That's his voice, not mine. He emits such exclamations only on very choice, specialized occasions.) We clambered out of the car and were met by the painful sight of a river of oil streaming from underneath the car. Several wounds had been inflicted, the most serious being a gaping hole in the oil pan.

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Our only recourse was to start walking back down the mountain to Tincup. Instead of following each curvy switchback in the road, we slipped and slid down the steep, pine-needle-blanketed slopes in between. At one point, we emerged on the road just as a Jeep carrying a man and a woman rounded a bend; they stopped when they saw us. The man rolled down his window and said, "Hey, you shouldn't be hiking on these slopes! There are abandoned mine shafts all over this mountain. You could fall into one!" And, then, "Do you need help?" We explained our predicament, and the couple kindly offered to turn around and drive us back into Tincup. I even remember the guy's name......Michael Carman.......he was the director of the Pioneer Museum in Colorado Springs.

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Once back in Tincup, we drove around trying to figure out what to do. Michael Carman stopped the Jeep in front of the Tincup Store, which, not surprisingly, was still closed at 7 a.m. on a Sunday morning. I don't recall for sure, but there must have been a notice posted on the door for anyone having an emergency outside of the store's operating hours. It must have given directions to the store owner's house, for next we drove to a house and knocked on the door. A tall, poker-faced, coffee-cup-clutching fellow answered our summons. Husband and I sheepishly related what had happened to our car. The man---the summer operator of the Tincup Store---was Joe Pinkerton, hailing from Texas at other seasons of the year. He was older, but not that old......I would say perhaps in his late fifties......which seemed much older to the 22-year-old me back then than it does to me now, of course.

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Joe's first utterance to us was a muttering about people who attempt to drive in the mountains without an appropriate vehicle. I could easily understand his annoyance with us, and surely he was not too thrilled about being bothered early on a Sunday morning. But---not to worry---by the next breath Joe was offering to use his rubber-bumpered 4WD pickup to push our car back down the mountain road to Tincup. The Carmans took their leave then; Husband and I hopped in with Joe for the trek back up to our stricken car. Once there, the guys prepared the car for a long roll downhill, making adjustments to prevent more damage to the car. Honestly, I can't recall which vehicle I rode in on the way down......it might have been with Joe. Husband had his hands full with managing the car with no power steering or braking on that steep downhill journey.

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Finally we coasted safely back into Tincup, Joe's pickup nudging the car gently into an empty lot adjacent to the store. There Joe and Husband did a more in-depth assessment of the car's injuries. Hole in oil pan, hole in exhaust pipe, small hole in transmission housing. Joe laid out the options........the nearest tow truck was 40 miles away in Gunnison and they would charge a big price to tow on Sunday, IF they would even do it. We didn't have alot of money with us, just enough travelers checks and cash to get by, and no credit cards. Joe then said he had "a few" tools that Husband would be welcome to use should he wish to attempt removing the oil pan by himself. If he could get it off, Joe knew a welder who lived near the Taylor Reservoir who might be able to repair it sufficiently enough to get us home. Then Joe opened the doors to the lean-to area behind his store......his tools were in there......absolutely every kind of tool a car mechanic could possibly want. Husband gaped in amazement and then said that, yes, he would work on the car himself. Joe said the oil pan would have to be off by 4 p.m. in order to fit into the welder's schedule.

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So, this was the scene for the next several hours.......Husband sprawled under the car, surrounded by idyllic, snow-dappled Colorado mountain peaks, a sight sadly unappreciated by us at that point.

The only way to get the oil pan off was to jack up the engine from below, so that was a challenge. Every so often, a few older guys would wander over to take a look at how things were progressing, shaking their heads pessimistically. I did what I could to help, which wasn't much more than handing tools to Husband, fixing him peanut butter sandwichs with bread I bought at the Tincup Store (yes, Joe sold tin cups in there, too), and keeping the Thermos filled with drinking water. The sun beat down and I was well-burnt by day's end. Husband ended up covered in grease and oil.

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Around mid-morning, I noticed cars pulling up to the church down the road, so I walked over there and attended the Sunday morning service, too. Most of the church-attendees were from campgrounds in the vicinity. Lots of families with young kids. I don't recall anything specific about the sermon, but one of the Bible readings seemed to fit the situation Husband and I were in, though I don't recall the reference anymore. (Yeah, like everything needed to be about us, right.) There were wildfires in the mountains north of Tincup and I recall that being mentioned in the prayers.

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After much frustrating trial and error, Husband was finally successful in finally removing the oil pan.....at 3:30 he and Joe headed down the road to the welding shop. I didn't go along......I recall walking across the road and sitting by a rushing river, maybe reading a book. Once the guys got back, then Husband's new challenge was to reinstall the oil pan. Also, he temporarily repaired the exhaust pipe by fitting another piece of pipe around it. The transmission housing hole was small and apparently not much of an issue, except that we had to keep checking the fluid level on the trip home.

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By 7 p.m., the car was sufficiently fit for driving again. Since Gunnison was an hour away, Joe kindly said we were welcome to pitch our tent behind the store if we wanted to. Husband and I were filthy, exhausted, and starving, however, and decided to take our chances with driving to Gunnison to try and find a motel room. We ended up getting the last room at the first motel we stopped at. I was never so happy to see a bed in all my life.

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Despite the patching of the exhaust pipe hole, our car ran very loud. At the Royal Gorge the next day, we felt most conspicuous as we rumbled across the tourist-filled bridge over the deep gorge. At Colorado Springs, in lieu of driving up Pike's Peak, we rode the train to the summit of Mt. Manitou, elevation 9440 feet. We also stopped at the Air Force Academy to see the unique chapel which looks like fighter jets lined up standing on end.

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The temps were over 100 degrees as we crossed Kansas on our way back home to Iowa. We couldn't run the air conditioning, and the floor of the car became too hot for bare feet to tolerate.

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We arrived home safely. The welded repair on the oil pan was so strong that it didn't need to be redone. We've never forgotten our encounter with The Rock on the mountain road above Tincup, and the kindness of the people who came to our aid, along with the fortuitous supply of tools in Joe Pinkerton's shed. We felt very blessed and loaded with a great story to tell family and friends back home.

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I'll leave you with this scene from near Tincup:

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Oh, yeah......by the way.......where were you in late June of 1980?

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Midnight by Farmlight

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I was still up at midnight last night, waiting and watching through the falling snow for my son to get home.

Well, I didn't have my eyes on the snow ALL the time. With last's Tuesday's advent of digital TV, we now receive a new channel......called "This TV". THIS particular movie,

The Fugitive Kind, starring a young Marlon Brando and Joanne Woodward, was on air for viewers' enjoyment or distaste.

Frankly, I enjoyed it, but what do I know, of course. I could identify well with Maureen Stapleton's character.......when she spoke of what painting meant to her......for me its blogging, of course. The film's story had some profoundly good lines and moments, in my opinion, though grogginess overtook my mind after my son's safe arrival home, meaning I did not see the film's end, which I sensed would not be a happy one, anyway. Turning the TV off and making my way to bed seemed like the better plan at the time, though I somewhat regret that decision this morning.
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An attempt to capture the falling snowflakes:

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Another blogger's recent post about a rock in a road has jogged loose the memory of a similar incident from my own past. This morning I searched photo albums to help recreate the scene in Colorado, though it remains remarkably clear in my mind after all these many years. The event was fraught with meaning, if only I can figure out what that is for sure......an obstacle on the road of life, perhaps. I'll be hunkering down for awhile to work on writing that story for a blogpost. We'll see how long it takes.

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Wishing you a restful weekend.

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Everything's Beautiful Duet

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Many years ago I fell in love with this duet by Dolly Parton and Willlie Nelson. Over time, I've mostly forgotten about it, but was pleasantly surprised to run into the audio of the song on YouTube today. I'll be listening to it over and over for awhile......like getting reacquainted with an old friend.

New Grand-dog

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Looky here, one and all. I just collapsed in front of the computer to check email after an exciting sectional basketball game. (We won!) This photo of my new grand-dog was in the inbox:

He's a bit on the adorable-looking side, I must admit. "Bodie" is his name. He's six weeks old, a beagle/spaniel mix; my son and daughter-in-law adopted him this week from the Humane Society.

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Oh, I am exhausted. The seating was cramped and crowded in the gym where the game was held; the loudspeaker kept urging us spectators to scootch closer together to accomodate more fans in the bleachers, which were on only one side of the gym. To my right was the opposing team's fans who stood most of the time, and to my left was our student section, who also stood for most of the game......making it difficult for us sensible seated people in the middle to see the game. Oh, well......I tried to absorb enthusiasm from both sides. Husband couldn't go because he had to stay home and milk the cows. Not wishing to attend the game solo, I drove many miles out of the way to pick up my mom and daughter for companionship. The camaraderie (sp?) was pleasant and we ate at Arby's afterwards.

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Now, don't go thinking that I'm cold-heartedly deserting my husband, leaving him all alone with the cows and chores. Believe me, he can handle it. Plus, he urged me to go, as this was a sectional game and one of us parents really should attend to watch our son play. Unfortunately, these tournament-trail games are held at 7 p.m., which is too early for Husband to get to. The games throughout the regular season started at 8 p.m., a more accomodating time for dairy people. Of course, accomodating dairy people is not on anyone's mind, because there are so few dairy people around in the first place. And, I realize there are other folks who work second shift and can rarely make it to evening events, either, so we are not alone in our predicament. Not that any of it matters in the least little bit, but it may explain why my social life is negligible and why I enjoy yacking on the blog. Yack, yack.

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SkyWatch #32

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Welcome! The photo is annoyingly blurry, but it is of a farmstead to which I have a connection, having lived there during the first eight years of my marriage. One tranquil summer morning a stage curtain opened for a brief moment and the trickster took a potshot at me along the road by this farm. Somewhere far in the wings, my guardian angel was cracking up with laughter. I was but a child and knew nothing of such things. To me, the experience was incredibly embarrassing and I chalked the whole thing up to atrociously bad luck. For protection, I draped the equivalent of a burqa over my mind. Fabric disintegrates after many years of exposure to the sunlight of life, however. Many years later the tattered old covering ripped into shreds and fell away.

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Thank you for stopping by! And, thank you for the kind comments on my SkyWatch guest host "sundog" photo and text last week. Appreciation always to the SkyWatch team......Klaus, Sandy, Ivar, Wren, Fishing Guy, and Louise. And, to Dot who gave birth to SkyWatch. Truly, I admire and am inspired by minds from which original ideas spring.

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Please visit the official SkyWatch launchpad to find links to other SkyWatchers.

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Sumac Head Makeover

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Emerging briefly from my supposed blogging "break" to show you this sumac head makeover photo:

Sometimes I purchase an item and then stuff it away in a closet for several months before deciding to use it, a habit probably symptomatic of some dire mental illness. The purchase was frivolous and inwardly I was aware of that, hence my hiding of the purchase to cover my guilt for time. Such was the case with this Photoshop Elements 6 which I bought last summer. (That's not the expensive version, don't worry.) It cost about $70, which is enough, of course. Last night, I summoned the courage to open the package and install it on the computer. Before turning in for the night, I fiddled around with this sumac head photo. Not anything fantastic, but it was FUN......therapeutic and beneficial to the psyche, even. Its a vicious circle.
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This & That

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Mookie is shy, but wants to say "Hi".....

We have what surely must be one of the last remaining general stores in Iowa right here in our neighborhood---the Klinger Store, truly a throw-back to a another era. Upon exiting that establishment recently, I was treated to this colorful sunset squeezing in between the buildings out back. The structure on the right is an old schoolhouse, now used for storage. (The colors are jazzed up a bit for fun.)

Do we really need a reminder of a frosty morning? Not especially.

Last month, the Waterloo Courier newspaper turned 150 years young. Cool retro front page layout:


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One day last week, I was scrubbing the "whale"---the bulk tank that holds milk in the barn---and listening to the radio. A woman was talking about laughter......pointing out how healthful it is. We should seek out laughter, even within serious situations. She said, "When you hear laughter.......move towards it." What a great thought. Maybe that will be my belated New Year's resolution.......to move towards laughter whenever possible.
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Sumac & Sphygmomanometer

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Circumstances of today prompted me to be out driving around. Not that I wanted to be. I tried to make the most of it, though, by finding this backroad guarded by long-lasting sumac heads standing tall and proud:

The reason for being out and about was that I needed to run my son to the doctor to have his sore throat assessed. The basketball coach is worried that his players might turn up too sick to play in the important sectional game coming up later this week. Let's see......that's about $90 for a friendly little chat with the doctor, and another $50 or so for a strep test, which was negative. Shall I bill the coach? Wish I could. You, of course, will know which one of the items in the photo is a sphygmomanometer. While working in a hospital as an LPN eons ago, I used one of those gizmos many times per day. I always felt the accuracy of readings could be iffy and possibly imprecise.......varying from one nurse's ear to another.
Later on, after depositing my son back at his school......I was involved in another drive-by shooting.......with a camera, of course:
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Here's the Wikipedia article about Aldo Leopold, for whom the wetland pictured above is named. And, here's another informative article about Aldo Leopold. See, blogging helps me learn.
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Seriously, I am going to try NOT to blog for awhile. Its like a disease.......the blogging bug creeps in and takes over my brainwaves. I should have asked the doctor to run a blogococcus test on me today!
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Stay warm and well.
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