Do You Bare Arms?

Here's a link to an article from a recent Waterloo Courier:

“Right To Bare Arms: Michelle Obama’s Toned Biceps Spur Envy, Imitation”.

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The article prompted some thoughts........

Most certainly, Michelle Obama is beautiful and the same can be said for her arms. Never in a million years could my arms ever look as good as hers…..even if I did the weekly limb workouts that Michelle does. How do I know that? Because she possesses something crucial that I don't: WIDE shoulders attached to those lovely arms. See the fabulous green dress Michelle is wearing……look at the way the straps are fashioned……hanging assuredly on capable, wide-set shoulders. That style would never stay put on my narrow, rounded shoulders. No how, no way.

(Photo by Saul Loeb/AFP)

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From my first days of wearing the dreaded undergarment of the female upper torso, there was a constant battle between slipping straps and my sloping shoulders. Front-hook and racerback designs had not yet been discovered back then (male designers were mesmerized by the challenge of the back clasp, for some reason), so there was no recourse but to wear the only style available; it had straps attached in a widely-spaced manner which placed them precariously on either edge of my measly shoulders. Cliffhanger straps, they were. All through junior high and high school, I employed the disappearing hand trick every few minutes, dip-scooping deep inside my collar to retrieve straps which had slipped waywardly down my arm. I rarely saw other girls make similar moves, but it took me years to figure out that my narrowly-built shoulders were to blame. As the years went by, poofy sleeves and shoulder pads were good friends of mine.

In recent years, when I was required to shop for "alluring" MOB* apparel, followed a year later by a search for a "youthful" MOG* frock, my exasperating shoulder shape was definitely a factor, winnowing away many of the dress choices displayed in the stores. (As a side note……I was at a mens’ formal-wear shop recently, accompanying my son who was getting measured for a prom tux. While waiting, I perused a catalog of 2009 wedding dress styles. Guess what! Straps and sleeves are coming back! Like I care, of course……but I can hardly believe it because strapless styles have been all the rage for several years.)

Anyhow, back to Michelle Obama’s gloriously toned arms. I am truly very happy for her and as far as I'm concerned she can show those arms off whenever she wishes. However, fashion designers better not get the inane notion that the rest of us women harbor a burning desire to gad about in a bare-armed state. I go sleeveless here at home in the summertime, for yardwork or fieldwork (Got to get that tan, you know, for vanity’s sake, and I do tan very easily, though its a rather pointless pursuit anymore, really.). How pleasant to feel the warm breeze on bare arms, however…..I can hardly wait for that. Sunshine on the skin is good for lifting moods and prompting our bodies to produce vitamin D, but I wouldn’t be caught dead leaving the farm with bare arms at this point in my life.

When I go out in public, like for shopping or church, I don’t wear any sleeve shorter than a 3/4-length. That’s just about right, as forearms tend to keep their shape fairly well, relatively speaking. Why upper arms can’t just stay shapely on their own, too, I’ll never know. No, they have to get thick on top with muscles and then sport a droopy handle of fat underneath, too. What an attractive combo. My upper arms have always been rather bulky anyway…..my wrists and elbows are large, too, for some strange reason. My arms are extra long, also. A grand mix: narrow, rounded shoulders and long arms. Its hardly any trouble at all for me to be convinced that slumpy, round-shouldered, long-armed apes might inhabit the far distant branches of my family tree. Blouses and button-cuff shirts never fit me right…..the sleeves are too short and the cuffs won’t button. Its an uncomfortable hassle to deal with, so I never wear such shirts or blouses…..ixnay on the ousesblay. And, you know those nifty, stretchy-woven shirts with the 3/4-length sleeves that button just below your elbow......well, I wear them, but with the cuff buttons undone to accomodate my arm's girth. Sigh.

Sigh again. Over the next unknown number of years, I will gaze wistfully at the First Lady's beautiful, photogenic arms, knowing that such are not in the cards (or photos) for me. But, as long as I have arms to utilize, that’s all that matters!

Raise your hand (and, arm, of course) if you agree that Michelle Obama has gorgeous arms!!

Also......here's the article that goes with the photo above.

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[*MOB = Mother of the Bride, *MOG = Mother of the Groom]

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SkyWatch #35

 

Welcome!  These photos of this morning’s sunrise are from northeast Iowa, U.S.A. 

 

The dark blue steam cloud is emanating from an ethanol manufacturing plant about ten miles away.

Have a pleasant weekend of skywatching!  Visit HERE to find the other “SkyWatch Friday” links.  Thank you for your time and efforts, SWF team.

I Am Straightened

Ok, this is your massage reporter checking in with a report of how I felt the morning after my arduous session of being worked over by the massage therapist. First let me say that there was much soreness throughout the day of the massage, mostly in my upper back. A long afternoon nap might have been just the ticket, instead of being on my feet all day preparing for our supper guests.

Digression: After the lasagna was eaten and dishes packed into the dishwasher, I sank into the plushness of the couch and listened comfortably to the conversation continuing around the dining table. We enjoyed getting acquainted with my daughter’s new friend. My initial impressions of him were positive, but I’ve been down this road before with my older kids, and, the fact is…..you just never know how things will go.

More digression: One thing in his favor---he was quite interested in my collection of field rocks, which litter the house here and there. Yes, I love “pretty” rocks……I just can’t pass them up out there in the field. He especially liked the Great Lakes/Lake Superior agate I found here on our farm several years ago. Its not pictured in this photo, but if you search “agate” in my blog’s search bar, you’ll find a post about it. Our former milk truck driver, who has now gone back to teaching high school science, is a rock hound, too. He said my house will never blow away in a windstorm because its weighted down with so many rocks! Alright! I can dig it!

After my daughter and her friend left around 10 p.m., I grabbed my laptop from its resting place below these lighted fake branches and wrote the previous post while the details of the morning’s massage were still fairly clear in my mind. When finished, I gulped down two ibuprofen and hobbled off to bed, wondering what on earth I would feel like in the morning.

Well, guess what……I slept very well, for once totally oblivious to my husband’s log-sawing. Upon awakening, I was at first afraid to move, but then did, and felt……well, no pain or stiffness in my back, that’s for sure. My ankles were a bit stiff, as usual, protesting the fact that they must tote me around for another day. But, amazingly, my back felt great.

I’ll try to explain what I mean. Slouching has been a lifelong habit for me. My mom used to yell at me, “L.J., straighten up!!” And, she meant that literally……”straighten up your shoulders!” Sometimes she made me walk around with a book balanced on my head in hopes of posture improvement, but I simply never felt comfortable throwing my shoulders back and thrusting the chest out. Egads.

I recall that one of my grandmothers had a dowager hump in her back and lately I’ve felt headed down the same road. Its been a painful effort recently to hold my shoulders out and straight……it would hurt so bad between my shoulder blades that I’d rather just collapse inward, and that’s bad for lungs and heart. But---get this---this morning it felt completely comfortable and normal to stand perfectly straight. No pain in the areas between my shoulder blades and spine……and, that is exactly where the therapist did her most intense kneading and digging, causing me much discomfort during the massage. There was much cracking and thunking going on inside my back at that point; it must have been like undoing a knotted rope.

Ok, that is the actual truth, folks. I want to be honest about this massage experience……it did hurt immensely, but perhaps the discomfort will turn out to have been worth it. And, perhaps the pain was so intense because it was my first time. I’m going to wait a month or so before using the other gift certificate. Someone commented that the second day after the massage might be the worst, so I’ll let you know if that happens.

When I said that the massage therapist got her start while training horses, that really is true, but not from massaging horses. She told me she would walk up behind other trainers and rub their shoulders and they would say, “Oh, that feels so good……you should think about becoming a massage therapist.” And, she did. She attended a school called “Healing Hands”, and, well, maybe that is a part of what they’re able to accomplish.

Massage reporter signing off now……have a wonderful day!

The “Gift” of Massage

Last Christmas Eve, I was thrilled to receive two gift certificates to visit a massage therapist in our area……one certificate from my two youngest children and the other from “Miss Kitty and Betsy”. What affection they must surely possess to prompt the giving of such a thoughtful gift……so I thought......oh, so very naively......

Yesterday morning I had an appointment to use the first certificate. Upon arrival at her office, the therapist---with whom I’m casually acquainted---had me fill out a questionnaire. One of the questions was: “What is your reason for getting a massage?” I circled “relaxation” and also, “personal growth”. Hmm……that second one may have been a mistake. What is one way to experience “personal growth”? Yup……through PAIN!

As we turned to enter the massage room, the therapist said this: “For your information…….if you say or do anything inappropriate, I will kick you out.” I’m sure she's required to say that to everyone, but it caught me rather off guard. Without thinking, I blurted out, “Ok, I’ll try not to be inappropriate.” And, then I laughed. The therapist didn’t crack even the tiniest hint of a smile. Perhaps my fate was sealed right at that moment.

The massage room was dim, with soft music playing, a pleasantly-scented candle burning, the snowman water fountain gurgling, and that Aztec or Mayan pyramid photo looming ominously……(Didn’t they do human sacrifices at such places back in the bad old days?)

Soon I was comfortably situated face-down under warm flannel on a warm massage table. Heavenly! Then the therapist placed her lotioned hands on my back and began her work. Now tell me what you do in situations like that……do you talk or do you remain quiet? When I’m with talkative people I tend to keep quiet, but if I find myself with a quiet person, then I start babbling. Perhaps she wanted me to keep still, but I got the ball rolling by asking her where she took her massage therapy training. It seems the pain began right then……wow, she was really applying pressure around my shoulder blades. She told me she got started doing massages when she was a horse-trainer……and, I had no trouble believing that……I was quickly learning that she was a very strong girl.

Maybe I should have said, “Ouch……could you use less pressure, perhaps”, but I didn’t want her to think that I was a wimp. I instead asked her about the farmhouse and acreage she shares with her husband. That led to the therapist mentioning that she was trying to start a perennial flower bed. As her hands kneaded my back, I intermittently bit my lip and mouthed “Ow” sounds towards the floor and tried to distract myself by thinking of and saying the names of perennial flowers that grow around the house and buildings on our farm. Coneflowers…Black-eyed Susan…Butterfly plant…Phlox…Bleeding Hearts….which prompted the therapist to exclaim that she loved Bleeding Hearts, and I was worried that quite soon my heart might begin to bleed, actually, if she pressed any harder.

On and on it went……my certificate was for a half-hour......and the pain triggers were hit in the bulls' eye. Evidently, this was a “deep tissue” massage, not some paltry, shallow, half-hearted backrub, like I used to give during evening cares when I was an LPN eons ago. It could be that my back has a low threshold for pain......whenever I wear a shirt that has even the littlest bit of a tag, it feels like someone is pressing a bristly hairbrush on my upper back and neck. Those sensory nerves are working overtime, for some odd reason.

Finally, my time was up……no small relief, that’s for sure. How often haven’t I heard people speak of having been “through the mill”……well, this time I literally felt that way, too. But, the therapist surely knows what she’s doing and perhaps there will be therapeutic value to her intense working over of my back. Who knows……maybe she healed me of something. I know what you’re thinking……”Please heal Jeannelle of that disorder which causes her to write long, drawn-out blogposts.”

I’ll be interested to see how I feel in the days following this massage. The therapist encouraged me to drink “lots of water” the rest of the day. I’ll be keeping the ibuprofen bottle within easy reach, too. Please don’t let this single, isolated, iffy massage report pressure you into not getting one……a massage might be good for what ails you.

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P.S. – We had fun meeting my daughter’s friend. They both look so young, it almost hurt my eyes. He is quite a conversationalist, and told me the supper was “awesome”. Yeah…..its always good to butter up the mom, especially a sore, aching mom.

Sandbagged Ice House

Suddenly this morning, my slow brain recalled that somewhere in the wilderness of my photo files exists a few shots of the Ice House in Cedar Falls.

 

These were taken last June, shortly after the big flood.  The pictures are not the clearest, this second photo shows the row of sandbags around the base of the round Ice House.  Floodwaters did overtake the interior of the Ice House; some of the Museum artifacts were ruined, but not all.

Here was the scene near the Main Street bridge…….long rows of colorful sandbags piled high.  Hundreds of volunteers sandbagged through a night to prevent downtown Cedar Falls from being flooded.

Ok, that’s all.  I have a busy day on tap……busy for me, anyway.  It will include my first back massage ever (a Christmas gift from my kids) and making supper for my daughter and her boyfriend.  I met him for the first time at the UNI play on Sunday.  He was in the show……he is a singer, ballroom-dancer, rock-climber…….and, believe it or not, a farm boy……from western Iowa.  Guess how they met……yeah, it was through rock-climbing. 

Have a great day!

Cedar Falls River Sights

 

These photos were taken this past Sunday afternoon in Cedar Falls, Iowa, U.S.A.  The first scene shows the Ice House which sits next to the Cedar River and is now a museum.  In a former era, the building was used to store ice blocks cut from the river in wintertime.

To reach a point where the river would be in view, I had to climb up the side of the levee, made slippery by newfallen snow.  From there my footsteps went squish, squish, squish as I neared the river’s edge.  The next scene is the Cedar River dam below the bridge on County Road V-14, which becomes Franklin St. in Cedar Falls.  Clearly visible is the surging rush of early spring waters.

Forget about sands through an hourglass……

Like muddy waters rolling over a dam in spring……

So are the days of our lives……

Here’s the old railroad bridge, still standing after its encounter with massive floodwaters last June:

 

Squish, squish……back up the levee I trudge.  This  charming little red schoolhouse sits along West First Street:

 

And for those of you who enjoy a little railroad track with your schoolhouse:

 

Thank you for stopping by this MyWorld Tuesday post!  Please visit the official MyWorld website to find more links for your traveling pleasure.  Thank you, MyWorld team!

UNI Theater Production

Yesterday afternoon, amidst a sudden downpour of icy snow globules, I picked up my mom in Cedar Falls and we took in the musical double feature, A Day in Hollywood/A Night in the Ukraine, presented by Theatre UNI and the Music Department of the University of Northern Iowa. My daughter was part of the backstage crew.

The program described A Day in Hollywood as “a musical revue performed by the ushers of Grauman’s Chinese Theatre, in the heart of Hollywood. It is a salute to early Hollywood—the magic of the movies, the charisma of the stars, the talents of the directors, writers and composers creating those lavish, fantastic movie musicals and screwball comedies of the 1930’s.”

“A Night in the Ukraine is based on a mythical Marx Brothers movie based on an actual Anton Chekhov play, The Bear. The director’s comments included: “What a pleasure to rediscover the remarkable world-wrecking comedy of the Marx Brothers……an opportunity for our performers to explore commedia, stand-up, slap-stick, and sheer mayhem….”. No kidding……the audience was treated to hilarious, wacky chaos which could easily be summed up as “world-wrecking”!

It was my first visit ever to the Strayer-Wood Theatre on the UNI campus:

The courtyard between the theatre and music buildings:

After the show, we spent a few minutes chatting with my daughter, before she had to join the rest of the crew for the “strike”. Do you know what that is?

By the time Mom and I exited the theater, the snow had stopped falling and the streets were simply wet.

Reminiscere

Today is “Reminiscere”, the second Sunday of Lent. Last year, while researching for a blogpost, I learned that each Sunday in Lent has a name. Never in all my years of attending church have I heard that fact mentioned by a pastor or anyone else. I happen to enjoy historical details like that and I’m sure others do, too. Last Sunday was “Invocavit” and next Sunday will be “Oculi”.

It appears that the names are derived from the Introit designated to be read on that particular Sunday. Today’s is from Psalm 25, verse 6: Remember, O Lord, Thy tender mercies and thy loving-kindnesses, for they have ever been of old.

Loving-kindnesses……well, that’s a nice word. Hopefully, I can keep it in mind today.

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Yesterday was rainy, gloomy, and drab, but one flower was brightly in bloom:

Have a pleasant “Reminiscere”.

Recession Jokes

These jokes are from the SURVIVE RECESSION group at Facebook. New members welcome.
http://www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=56461425777

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George W. Bush was asked today what he thought of the credit crunch. He replied that it was his favorite candy bar.

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I went to the ATM this morning and it said "insufficient funds".

I’m still wondering is it them or me.

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A lobbyist on his way home from his office in Crawford, Texas, is stuck in traffic. Noticing a police officer, he winds down his window and asks: "Officer, what’s the hold-up?" The policeman replies: "Former President Bush is so depressed he's stopped his motorcade and is threatening to douse himself with gasoline and set himself on fire. He says everyone believes he and his political and business associates caused the recession. So we're taking up a collection for him." The lobbyist asks: "How much have you got so far?" The officer replies: "About 40 gallons, but a lot of people are still siphoning."

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Like most countries, Japan is now hurtling towards bankruptcy. In the last seven days, Origami bank has folded, Sumo Bank went belly up and Bonsai Bank announced plans to cut some of its branches. Yesterday, it was also announced that Karaoke Bank is to go up for sale and will likely go for a song, while shares in Kamikaze Bank were suspended today after they nose-dived. While Samurai Bank is soldiering on after sharp cutbacks, 500 staff at Karate Bank got the chop and analysts report that there is something fishy going on at Sushi Bank, where it is feared that staff may get a raw deal.

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Stalking Fowl Shots

[First of all......an apology: I forgot to stretch the photos to a bigger size before transferring the post from Live Writer to Blogger. You may have to squint to see them. Sorry.]

The weather is improving by leaps and bounds, warming to a spring-like feel. Yesterday morning my husband informed me that he’d heard a robin chirping, so a-searching I went, but never found the robin.

The chickens were prancing about, though. Though its most surely insensitive of me, I enjoy stalking the chickens with the camera in hopes of catching them in some goofy fowl moves. I know, I know……how would I like it if someone tried to take pictures of me doing stupid things. (And, I engage in plenty of those.) Perhaps I should be charged with a foul for taking fowl shots!

I’ve taken a stab at adding captions to the photos below. You may come up with something different……let me know in a comment. The more, the merrier!

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“A push-me-pull-me......poultry style…..”

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“Turn around, Stanley! Let’s face it……we BOTH need underwire support. Henrietta’s Secret is having a clearance sale……let’s go!”

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“Pardon me......the ol' wingpits need an airing-out. Forgot to apply my anti-perspirant this morning.”

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[I’m no good at coming up with political captions, but this final photo could accomodate one, perhaps. The calf on the left is “Unity” and the one on the right is “Reagan” (named after Husband's niece).]

(Notice the aqua-colored cast on the rooster’s tail feathers. That color brings my antique fruit jar collection to mind.)

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Have a pleasant day!

SkyWatch #34: End of Snow

 

Hopefully, these will be the last snow sightings of the winter.  Spring is right around the corner.

 

Thank you for visiting this SkyWatch Friday post from northeast Iowa, U.S.A.

Visit Skyley.com to find the multitude of other beautiful sky scene links for this week.  As always, many thanks to the SkyWatch team.

Laundry’s Languish

Here’s the result of me becoming immersed in writing the previous blogpost about some of Iowa’s wildlife (specifically, badgers and foxes). The clean laundry was forced to languish in a forlorn heap until such a time as I saw fit to commence folding. The situation provided a handy prompt for this blogpost’s subject, however. Who needs Plinky?

Sigh……laundry, laundry, you’ve been my almost daily companion for nearly as long as I can remember. My mother used a wringer washing machine, and when I became old enough to be trusted not to allow my hands and arms be squeezed through the tight rollers, doing the laundry became my weekly job on Saturday mornings. This may sound gross, but all week long our family simply tossed their soiled laundry down the basement steps where it grew into a mountain. On Saturdays, I would sort it by colors into piles, fill the washer and rinse tubs with water, and begin the washing procedure. Whites were washed first, of course, then successively the darker piles of clothes met their washing and rinsing fate. I’m not sure what my mom was doing during this time……fixing dinner or gardening or yacking on the phone, probably.

Doing laundry in a wringer washer set-up required much hands-on attention. After the clothes agitated in the wash tub for ten minutes or so, you fished the clothes out of the water (with a long wooden spoon if the water was really hot) and directed them into the rollers to be squeezed into the two tubs of rinse water, and then they were extruded through the roller again, to emerge as flat planks which dropped into a basket. Being cautious around the wringer rollers was crucial; I was acquainted with someone whose arm had once become trapped between the tight rollers……she had a lengthy, very conspicuous scar on her forearm as a permanent reminder. In warm, sunny weather I carried the wet laundry outdoors and pinned it on the clothesline. In winter, it was hung on lines in the basement and certain items were dried in the dryer, such as nicer shirts and blouses, and underwear and socks, which were just too numerous to fit on the clothesline. Remember, I did the whole week's worth of laundry on Saturday, so there was quite a large volume of it.

One reason I didn't mind doing laundry was that I could listen to my choice of music on the radio which sat on top of the dryer. Mom was upstairs or outdoors, too far away to notice. She didn’t care at all for the popular music of that time (the early 70's), even the tame fare I listened to, and would scowl in disapproval when strains of Chicago, or Boston, or Three Dog Night, or The Eagles, or America, or other such musical acts reached her ears (Now that style is "Easy Listening".) Being very sensitive to Mom’s frowns, I would flip the radio dial to the hymns on KNWS Christian radio when she was within earshot.

I used a wringer washer for the first few years of my married life, too. In truth, I loved doing laundry and hanging it outdoors. It was a most pleasant activity. Perhaps, deep down, it is my life’s vocation and everything else I do is just extra-curricular flimflam. Washing clothes may run in my bloodline…..my great-great-great-grandmother Mary Ann was a wash-woman in London. I assume that means she washed clothes, though I suppose it could have been dishes or floors, or something else. She also is said to have “told fortunes in the hand". Now, don’t gasp in shock and turn away, thinking she was an occultist. I believe, more than anything, she probably provided entertainment for people. Perhaps she was simply very observant and could ascertain deeper information about people. It was way back in the mid-1800’s……think about it……folks weren’t inundated with entertainment opportunities back then as we are nowadays. Honestly, I can't help it she's in my family tree; I'm impressed that she had enough gumption to leave England and come to America in the first place.

This next photo brings back pleasant memories of peaceful afternoons spent outdoors in the company of a small child just beginning to discover the world. This may be the only photo I have that shows the old outhouse privy that was in the backyard of the farmhouse we were renting at the time. An adorable little building it was, though not in use anymore as originally intended; I stored garden tools there.

That’s a basketful of clean cloth diapers in this next scene. The clothesline ran north and south, a fact I didn’t much care for because the breezes were usually from the south and the clothes would blow so that they wrapped tightly around the lines and ended up wrinkly instead of billowing outwards and drying nicely straight.

Let me take this opportunity to put in a plug for cloth diapers---though I'm quite sure they will never regain generalized popularity---CLOTH DIAPERS ROCK! I'm convinced that potty-training happens more quickly and easily when the child is wearing them. Think about it......a WET cloth diaper would feel pretty darn icky, while a Pamper or Huggies or whatever is touted as taking wetness comfortably away. Yeah.....the child cannot feel the wetness and so has less incentive to give up wearing the disposable diaper. He or she feels only the weight of the liquid in the disposable diaper. The child in the photo above was potty-trained by 24 months, and she basically did it on her own, because I had no idea how to do it in the first place. The child in the photo below was 3-1/2 years old before I could finally get her out of wearing Pampers and Huggies. Yes---sadly---I had succombed to using disposable diapers by then, due to an increase in the hecticness of my life; the older two children were in school and I was running around alot on their behalf.

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Goodness.....sorry to get sidetracked on that diaper tangent. Now back to laundry and clotheslines. When we moved to where we live now, I was happy to gain clotheslines that ran east and west, making more efficient use of the frequent southerly breezes.

Yes……I utilized my children as slave labor. They survived…somehow, just as I survived being my mom's slave. Just kidding. Heehee......chores are good for kids.

Yaquina Lighthouse

 

The photo below was featured in my previous post, where I had asked for help in pinpointing the location of the scene.  All I knew was that it was somewhere along the coast of Oregon, and there is a lighthouse in the distance.  Well, bless her heart, Egghead of

The Little Egg Farm blog mentioned that it looked similar to the Yaquina Point Lighthouse where her daughter’s wedding was held.  The above photo was emailed to me by Egghead.

What do you think?  It appears that the rock formation to the left of the lighthouse in the above photo may match the formation to the right of the lighthouse in the old photo below.

Thanks, Egghead, for the information and for allowing me to post your beautiful photo of the Yaquina Point Lighthouse.

Hickory Nuts, Etc.

Because I mentioned hickory nuts in yesterday’s post, here’s more info about them. Most of you probably know what a hickory nut looks like, but in case you don’t, here is one. Its the whitish thing in the middle of the picture. The shell is very hard, of course and must be cracked with a hammer or nutcracker, and the nutmeats must be removed with a nut pick…..a tedious task.

As far as flavor is concerned, I like hickory nuts better than walnuts. Walnuts can be bitter-tasting, in my opinion. Hickory nuts are sweeter, perhap, but the taste is difficult to describe. They aren’t quite like pecans, either. Hickory nuts are delicious in cakes, brownies, sugar cookies, and probably other dishes beyond the ken of a nonadventurous cook like me.

A thick green rind encases the hickory nut shell as it grows on the tree. After dropping to the ground in early autumn, the rind turns brown and falls away, revealing the whitish shells, which are easy to spot for gathering into a pail, basket, or sack. There are a few rind sections in this photo:

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Yesterday I spent the afternoon with my college daughter who happens to turn 20 years old this week. The next photo shows her at age four or five, cuddling kitties and being a Little-Miss-Muffet-wannabe, on a tuffet of straw in the upper level of our old hoghouse. Of course, she CLIMBED up there……she’s always been a climber, and still is. Many a time, I glanced out the kitchen window to see her clambering up the branches of a pine tree. Dashing outside, I would holler for her to “STOP climbing right now and come back down……carefully, please.” Now, in college, she has taken a liking to rock-climbing, of all things. She absolutely loves it……the crazy girl!

She seems well-adjusted to college life. Last year, as a freshman, she struggled with meeting new people, but by now she has an ever-widening circle of friends whom she chatters about freely. Its funny……she has several friends named Megan; and when our older daughter was in college she had several good friends named Kristen!

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So, tell me……did you feel young at twenty? I don’t think I did. It may have had something to do with being an eldest child, and spending lots of time watching out for much younger siblings. I felt like a mother when I was a teenager. And, then I got married a month after turning 20. Then, I put my nose to the grindstone of LPN school, worked one year, and then had my first baby. This will sound awful, but I was a bit dismayed when I became pregnant…….I thought, “Oh, great…..now I’ll have to take care of kids again all the time.” The past several years, I’ve been starting to feel young in ways I never did before simply because I’m not tied down to watching out for little kids all the time.

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The other day, I did something I haven’t done for ages……I rented a movie. I was picking out bananas at the Kwik Star convenience store (Readlyn’s only option for groceries) and then walked over to grab a 12-pack of Coca-Cola. I made the mistake of glancing at the DVD cases displayed nearby……and, oh goodness…..Richard Gere’s face on the cover of Nights in Rodanthe forced me to take rental action.

The movie is set on an island in the outer banks of North Carolina……I looked it up on a map……there actually is a “Rodanthe” on Pea Island. The movie’s locale was gorgeous, of course……the story was……well, you know……contrived, as most stories are. Like, would it ever really happen that two such attractive people would just happen to meet and be thrown together alone for several days in that amazingly romantic old house on that incredibly beautiful beach. Give me a break. Or, maybe things like that happen all the time and I am simply out of touch with the real world.

Should I tell you how the movie ended? No, I won’t do that. Perhaps you already know. My favorite line was when Diane Lane’s character is telling her daughter to hold out for the love that gives her courage to be more than she can be. There is such a thing.

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Coincidentally……considering that my daughter is turning 20……here is photo of me at age 20, and just happens to be showing one of the two times in my life when I played the role of beachcomber. Hey……I loved the ocean! Loved that deep, rhythmic, rumbling roar. It made me feel tiny and insignificant……and strangely comforted.

This photo was taken on the Oregon coast, but exactly where, I do not recall. There appears to be a lighthouse in the background. If anyone recognizes this spot and can tell me where it is……you will totally make my day!! (By the way, that is my hair blowing toward the shore; its not a grotesque facial profile, as it may appear.)

Speaking of Trees

Ok, we’re back here in Siggelkov Park. In truth, its with more than a little bit of reluctance that I share this next experience with you. If you don’t believe a word of it……that’s OK……its probably better if you don’t.

Do you see the icy park road in the photo above? I had switched my vehicle into 4WD and was creeping slowly along, not wishing to slide into a tree……or worse, into the Wapsi River, which is visible on the right side of the road there in the photo. At some random point, I braked gently and gingerly stepped out onto the ice to snap a few photos of the intriguing intermingling of late afternoon sunlight and shadows.

This is the sincere truth, I was shuffling along as carefully as possible so as not to fall down, but since I’m a rather clumsy individual, as I raised the camera, my balance fled from me; feet went flying, and down I went, instinctively clutching the camera to keep it safe. The back of my head must have hit the ice pretty hard, for the surroundings suddenly swirled into a mass of gray and then went briefly black. I was quite sure my eyes flicked opened again immediately, but can’t say for certain. All I know is that when I looked up, there was a crowd of trees peering down at me, compassion and concern written all over their faces. THEIR FACES?! And, PEERING? What the heck…….

Yes, ‘tis true……though the photos show no proof……. the trees DID have faces, each one distinguishable from the other, similar to how a crowd of human onlookers would have appeared. That slim tree in the foreground in the above scene began speaking……yes, SPEAKING! “We know you. We know who you are.” I rubbed my eyes and poked at my ears. How could this be? How could trees be talking? And, how would they know ME, for crying out loud.

“We knew your great-great grandmother, Harriet, who lived on that farm over there.” With her lowest branch, the slim tree---who informed me her name was Slenderette---motioned in a westerly direction. Shading my eyes against the late afternoon shafts of sunlight pouring in amongst the trees, I gazed to the west. The gears in my mind began to catch……why, yes, my ancestors had owned that farm over there at one time, but---good gracious---Harriet had been dead since 1905. These trees couldn’t have been around so many years ago; they were too skinny to be that old.

“Harriet used to take walks down here in the river woods”, Slenderette said softly, “Faldwynne was acquainted with her.” Finding my voice, I hoarsely croaked, “Faldwynne? Who is Faldwynne?” Then the living trees introduced me to One-Felled-By-Wind---Faldwynne, for short---shown near the center of the next photo. Slenderette told me that Faldwynne used to tell stories of the Old Days. Turns out, Faldwynne had been a live hickory tree back in the late 1800’s and early 1900’s. (Sadly, she was felled by a windstorm one spring, and encountered a logger's ax after that.) Faldwynne had provided shade and hickory nuts for my great-great grandmother, Harriet. Harriet and her children would spend crisp autumn afternoons in the river woods, gathering hickory nuts in burlap bags. Later on, in the winter, the children spent many an hour around the wood stove, cracking hickory nut shells and picking out nutmeats to be used in bread and cakes. Harriet’s sons were later in the lumber business and Slenderette was quite sure that they got their start right here in the Wapsi River woods.

I gaped in astonishment at the historical knowledge---local though it be---that these trees possessed, and then to my even greater surprise, Faldwynne began trying to utter sounds. I leaned in closer and heard her struggle to whisper, “Harriet was a Free-Thinker.” Hm-m…….that peculiar piece of information had been told to me by human sources, also, so perhaps these trees---and stumps---knew what they were talking about. In fact, carved on Harriet’s tombstone are the words, SHE DARED TO BE HERSELF. I mentioned that to the trees gathered around me and they began nodding, “Yes, we’ve been told that by our friends, The Tall Pines, who stand guard in the cemetery.” Wow, my jaw dropped……these trees are even literate. Sakes alive, nobody is going to believe this……no way, no how.

Suddenly, the realization soaked in that my back felt very cold. The surroundings swirled once again into a blurry gray and I became aware of my hands clutching the camera for dear life. I sat up quickly, with the intention of snapping a photo of the trees’ faces---for proof---but strangely and mysteriously enough, the faces had disappeared. Muteness had returned to the tree trunks gathered around me, with their shreddy hickory bark and dark red leaves of oak hanging silent, with nary a breeze to nudge a rustle out of them.

Picking myself up carefully from the ice and stiffly making my way to the vehicle, I shook my head in disbelief at what had taken place. Should I even attempt to tell such a tale? Who would believe it? It might get me committed to a psychiatric unit. Oh, well……I decided to take my chances and tell the odd happening on the blog. (By the way, everything about Harriet is true, though I'm only guessing that she might have gone hickory-nutting, as that is something we did most every autumn when I was a kid.)

(Also, Slenderette gave me a gift……..and, in fact, I am clutching it in my Super Hero portrait in yesterday’s post. I hope you have surfed to The Hero Factory to get yourself decked out as a Super Hero, too, because you most certainly qualify as one.)

You Are A Super Hero

Hold onto your hat.......I, boring Jeannelle, have something FUN for you to try! Admittedly, I swiped it from someone else's blog......

Poetikat's Invisible Keepsakes.

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Believe it or not, I am a SUPER HERO by the name of "Professor Splintery Splinter". There I am in living color.......I'm thrilled to finally learn my true identity!!

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Go to The Hero Factory to build yourself into a super hero!! Then post the results......we can then gang up and save the world!

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Hop to it.......I'm waiting anxiously to see who you really are!

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Siggelkov Park

On a whim late Saturday afternoon---when the angle of sunlight seemed right---I ventured a few miles to a county park along the Wapsipinicon River. Notice who is there to greet me……in the upper right corner of the first photo…….two bald eagles, one with the mottling of youth. Giving the photo an autumnal look are the oak trees which have retained their leaves of deep bronze.

Actually, several eagles were flying around near the park entrance. There are three in this next photo……one is at the bottom and only partially caught in the scene:

The Wapsie is still mostly ice-covered:

The park road boasted a slippery coating of ice, too:

Eagle-eyed observers were still on alert as I exited the scene to head home for evening chores:

In other seasons of the year, I would probably not venture to this park alone in the late afternoon. At heart, I’m nothing but a chicken, worried about encountering people who might be up to no good. Winter’s frigidness, of course, discourages folks from hanging around in the woods, temporarily giving a boost to my wimpy bravado.

I’ll post more photos from Siggelkov Park as the week goes on.