ON THE THIRD PITCH, HOME RUN

Love the lady with all my heart
Love that lady with all my heart
Love the next one with all my heart.

Blessed.

Old Trunks flew high enough when I talked with Soozi.

Even higher when Mary Ann called.

And up there with the Blue Angels when Barb came to town.

WOW.

How hard her friend laughed when we told her about beating up on a guy who broke into Barb's house and cooked steak. Armed with leather quirts, used to convince horses to move, we beat the crap out of him in the movie theater. And we laughed.

And Barb told me about her grand daughter and how the stud horse and her had a relationship that neither of us never had. We shivered at the magnificent friendship.

And then Barb hit the road in her red short bed truck and I left in my yellow short bed truck.

Friendship. Phone calls or visits, all time disappears between visits.

Never out of step.

Thanks, Soozi, MaryAnn, and Barb.

e

MESSY SOCK DRAWER?

Old Trunks thinks people take drugs to think up ideas to allow people to judge themselves. Honest.

Does it really matter what state your sock drawer is in? The article states that the most orderly people have the messiest sock drawers. How about yours? What is the state of the affair of the drawer?

Since I can't really tell the different between dark navy and black anymore nor can MST, we have a system; black to the back whether it be slacks OR socks. It works.

For now, I think I will go stir up the sock drawer and call myself organized!

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ANITA, WHERE ARE YOU?

Old Trunks had a flash this morning. She remembers a person she met in grade school who would be a best friend for a few years. We went to confirmation together. Her name was Anita. She was born on this day.

She was the kind of a friend that would buy matching red and green plaid pants. Oh my, they were so ugly. Mother was right, once you wore them, everyone knew you had them!

She was the kind of friend who would to to S & L store and try on hats until the clerks closed in on us.

She was the kind of friend that would shave her bony legs, only to see the blood run from her ankle to her knee and I befriended by putting toilet paper on her leg so her mom would not know. Yea, right her mother never missed a thing.

I stayed at her house one night. In the morning, he Dad went to his business with American Breeder's Association as an artificial inseminator. Mother was dropped off at the laundry when she ironed white dress shirts.

While they were gone, Anita and I decided to bake a cake. But we left the house while it was baking and the cake burned up. We threw the pan in the woods and opened the window. Just how she knew the pan was in the woods, we will never know. Certainly the house smelled charred. I think we decided to take her uncle's car for a driving lesson.

In about eighth grade, she and I would dress for the day and change clothes once at school. Why did we start that? Mrs. Pound, the Home EC teacher made fun of Anita's clothes, the two of use where going to get past in. My wools were lined, they hung better. But still that nasty old women said Anita needed to wear a girdle. For crying out loud we were just 14 or so.

She would marry at 15 and we didn't see much of each other after that. I do remember picking her up in Ragdoll and riding around. The sun was i her daughter's eyes while another friend held the baby. Anita wanted the baby turned, friend said, "She has a bone in her neck she can turn her head".

She had become a mother. She grew up. She didn't play silly games like we did.

Happy Birthday, Anita.

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BEST OF GADGETS

When I asked my sweet Thomas what he thought the best ten gadgets ever, he had to have more information. The did a broad brush, that is, all electricity was lumped together, all computer like gadgets were lumped together. He wanted to hear combustion engine was in the top ten.

It made for a lively discussion that went bump somewhere. Maybe I should say belly up.

Because to him the light bulb, (10) was part of electricity. Cell phones and computer (numbers 1 and 5), were lumped together.

And what was the deal with the alarm clock, (9) even being on the list?

The rotary telephone (7) didn't belong on the list.

How could radio (2) be higher than TV (3)?

He did agree much of the southwest did come to be populated because of air conditioning (6).

There was no comment about the syringe (4) being on the list.

He was certain the people who did the list must be very young. But they weren't honest. The program went on to explain there is a trend toward phonograph (8) records returning. The alarm clock was on the list because for the first time, people had a way of getting up and to work on time.

As for the radio being more rel event than TV, it stated people listen to the radio in their cars.

The smart phones which began just a few years ago with the applications are deserving number one. On any given day, whether it is someone walking past our house or someone sitting on a dock at the lake, phones are in use. People use them in the cafe while eating; as that couple talking to one another OR are they talking to different people.

How many man hours are spent at work with people having private conversations, including texting? How many people are checking messages on company computer?

I don't mean to sound like I came over on the Mayflower but when I hired on at a durable medical company I asked in the interview if my son could call to check in when he got home from school and the owner did not answer right away.

Is it instant life? What is your gadget status?

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HOW DO YOU WRAP A SANDWICH?

Recently an aroma triggered the site of the lunch room in the old Washington Grade School. It was in the basement. The odor was of wax paper and old milk. Bleck. I can see that dingy room with desks as tables in a not so straight row. Years later, we would have our lockers in that room and it still smelled the same. Perhaps it wasn't the lunch room at all, rather, just a basement.

I thought about the lunch box and how the sandwich was wrapped in wax paper with the fold at the bottom in the bottom of the lunch box. Insulated bottles may have started the year but one forlorn day, many of us would hear the clinking of the glass liner in our not so cold milk.

I didn't thinking packing a sandwich in the bottom was efficient. Why not wrap it in such a way that it could be placed on the top above the apple which, when on top of the sandwich squished the bread?

And how long had wax paper been around anyway? Did Grandma's grandma use it? Perhaps. It is said that Thomas Edison invented it but then, doesn't he get credit for everything anyway?

I suspect that Grandma's grandma did use it. Most likely over and over. Lunch pails were tin then and just the idea of the lid sealed in the moisture. Now, I imagine if one opened that pail it was a full aroma of yeast on a warm day.

Is it wise to reuse any sort of food wrapping? I am thinking about a family down the street when the children were young. Sack lunch. Reuses the sack and the food bags over and over. With all the information out there on food born illnesses, it is simply amazing these kids never got sick. Maybe our bags were too clean.

Making lunches day after day is a pain. We had a plan. Pack a week's worth of lunches at a time and freeze them. Just grab your sack out of the freezer in the morning add fruit and go. Doesn't that sound like a great plan? Have the kids help! Meat and cheese on the sandwich, chips, and a cookie; bag it up. Except one of the children grabbed a bag AFTER school as well as FOR school.

When Grandpa was working he most certainly would have brought lunch. What I remember was quart jars with coffee. OR nectar. Root beer nectar. How odd for us, who have provisions to heat coffee or make it in less than five minutes OR to put it in a insulated container and keep it warm for hours to know people actually drank air temperature coffee.

Yet I do know someone who drinks air temperature soda. After all, if one is fishing on a hot day, that open soda is not going to stay cold very long. So there is a point. After all, the purpose is to hydrate. Well, then, water, perhaps.

I tried the room temperature soda for one summer and went back to a small cooler with an ice pack. My soda at home is in the fridge. I dare say I haven't bought much ice. A guest once asked if he could have ice and a glass. There was no ice. I since learned that many out there still use ice and buy a small bag for company. The last over night guests never used it. Most likely it is still in the big freezer in the basement.

What about an ice maker, you say? Well, the old fridge had one. Fargo's water does not make good clear ice cubes. I spent more time cleaning out the tray and lines than using it so the new fridge is simply a box with no frills.

So how do we wrap a sandwich? We have basket lunch on the way to the lake each week. A room temperature soda, a cold soda, and a container of milk go to the side. Fruit goes on the bottom followed by a cookie. The sandwiches are in zipper bags. One is marked, "T" because "T" likes more mayonnaise. MORE? Slathered is more like it. All of this is covered with a railroad hank, which goes on Tom's knee. We do not reuse bags for food.

It does not smell like wax paper
It does not smell like old milk
And the truck does not smell like Washington Grade School lunchroom.

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FATHER KNEW BEST

You may not have favored a parent; I did. It was Daddy.

A friend recently asked why people hadn't put their dad's picture on Face book like they did their mother's photograph. I adore this lady and she deserves to know it was hard to do.

How do you post a picture of someone when you are flooded with memories to the point of tears? How can you not post one of him making Diamond sit on the lawn mower? How about him on the back of Suntan when he rode in the Dairy Day Parade? How about him scratching the back of the Hereford's? How well could you see him in the picture of him and I on Christmas Day in the cutter?

Last Sunday when we came home from the lake, I took the time to look at the pictures of Daddy from when he was just standing to the summer of 1981 when we celebrated, what would be his last birthday--the was 67 and Rachel baked and decorated his cake.

Every picture shares a tie. Something sparked at each picture and a learned lesson.

Stan wasn't a handsome man. He didn't have a sexy look about him. He was short and in his work clothes with his hanky sticking out of his back pocket, he looked like any other working man in our town.

Yet, he was handsome to me. He was kind and good to me. We had a good relationship. I was lucky, his alcoholism didn't get in the way. I was able to separate the disease from the person.

Perhaps I find good fortune in the good, the bad, and the ugly. What amazes me is what I remember is the good.

On this Father's Day, I honor him. I am listening for his laughter and his voice. Let's hope you can do the same.

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SO BIG

Recently I watched a 1932 film called So Big starring Barbara Stanwyck. I had only known the film by the same name made in 1953 starring Jane Wyman.

We know books, in this case, Edna Ferber's, called So Big was made into movies. including a silent version in the mid twenties. But only twenty years between the last two?

My question is: How many movies are repeat performances? Better yet, how many repeat performances in life.

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CUSTOMER SERIVCE

The article stated that 67 percent of 1000 people polled had customer service issues.

Although I am of the age to have grown up watching customer service happen to my parents, children were not recognized as customers. It wasn't they were rude, we just weren't recognized even if our 10 cent purchase was money spent.

After all, if Mrs. Anderson could go to Penney's and spend a nickel on a spool of thread and be treated with please and thank you, why couldn't a group of happy girls get that sort of treatment at the Fountain Cafe for Cokes all around? Hey if Evonne was along, there was even a bill for French Fries--bring the mustard. Yvonne?

And no matter what we are told, we are still responsible for every nit nit we do. And small towns don't forget or don't let you whereas, one should not be held liable for decades. Regardless if it is good or bad.

Manners, whether I meant them or not, were drilled into me. DRILLED. You WILL say please and thank you. And so I did. And decades later, at my mother's funeral, a lady who worked at the Fountain came up to me and said, "Oh, Elodee, I am so sorry your mother has passed". She went on to say she remembered me from the Fountain and I was always nice to her.

And the funny thing about it is, she glared at us. She appeared to glare at us. Who knows what was going through her mind. But we were not privileged to full citizenship. And, as a teen, I didn't give any thought to what she may be going through. I don't think I wondered anything except glaring, or appear to be glaring was certainly not part of being a waitress.

It was many years before the DRILLED came back to me in the form of a German Baptist owner. Customer Service was top billing and all of his staff would be loving that person regardless. It wasn't hard, the people where worth it. My private life was not at work. I was not paid to bring it to work.

The biggest complaint in the survey I read was about tech support. I am inclined to believe we can blame a runny BM on them. It is all their fault. It is all the computer's fault. And, it may be but where is the follow up?

I tend to chew on things awhile before I spit it out. But when I went to have a physical and someone had keyed in the information on a new computer system saying my dad died because of heart surgery, it really pissed me off. He died because they gave him blood with the AIDS virus in it. The nurse didn't have a pen so she wrote numbers in a magic marker. The doctor couldn't access the computer to write RX. There was no follow up to squelch damage control. It was all the fault of the computer, right? WRONG!

But customer service is coming back! Employees are saying please and thank you. Why? Why is it that after shopping for greater than 10 years at a up scale department store in FM area I have only once been asked if they could help me? Bucks. Someone had caught on that servicing your customers is not a novel idea, it is what service is all about.

I am enlightened. I am aglow. A man who is retired fixes rods. He is customer oriented. FINALLY.

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I CAN NAIL THAT IN IN THREE BLOWS

Sounds like a huff and puff, doesn't it? Well, with a 20 pound hammer, my brother did do it. He was strong and when focused drove a nail and laid wood flooring faster than anyone. When focused.

Old Trunks comes from a long line of nail bangers. Grandpa Benhard built barns all around a sixty mile radius from Rosewood. He used to tell me, "I built that one--and that one---" Perhaps that is the foundation for me wanting to build a house that looked like a barn. Perhaps that is why I am sad when I see a barn caved in.

A story in the Rosewood News talks about how he and his buddy moved a school across country. They used logs. Roll, move logs, Roll, move logs. Talk about physical! More like brute strength, don't you think?

His son, Stanley was also a carpenter. Later, he would not swing the hammer, rather have the right to draw the plans, hire the sub contractors, and watch his crew make the dream a reality. I can still go to my home town and whisper, "Daddy built that". Unlike Grandpa's barns, most of Daddy's work still stands.

Why am I writing about this today? In a storm about 10 days ago, a tree fell on the roof of a house just two houses to the west. Today, the workers are installing new rafters. But the crew doesn't swing the hammer anymore, so there isn't the bang, bang, bang rather a caw-thunk as the electric equipment drives in the nail.

Let's hope all of them know how to handle the electric nail gun. Someone I knew didn't. While kneeling, the gun went off in the side of his knee and caught the meat of the long leg bone. They took him to the hospital in the back of a pick up because his leg 'nailed' into position.

Whether your day is caw-thunk or bang, bang, bang, hope you accomplish your mission.

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GITTIN' ON THE BAND WAGON

Projects get started, often times laid aside because of weather, time, or 'other'.

Grandpa used to say, "Gittin' on da band vagon". I supposed it meant, being inspired to do or help. He used it in conjunction with planting a garden. "Come on Ma, get on da vagon". Help.

Old Trunks wonders if jumping on the band wagon is more like I wanna do it too!?

So instead of 'gittin' like Grandpa, let's say JUMP!

We have a 9' chain sawed bear in front of our garage. His name is Howard, because that means protector. Howard is one of three bears carved out of a white pine. We have had him awhile, he came home on the bunk trailer for the Warrior and was stood up with an engine puller. He is rough cut and had no finish on him. He came with a fish, which he held high over his head.

Well, the Johnson's would rather fish in the summer than do maintenance at home so for the few days we are here, we work on what needs to be done. But this spring, I asked Tom to take the pike off the bear so I could repaint him. Perhaps I would finish the project before fishing season. Perhaps.

It has been a cold spring, and the pike lay in wait on a cardboard covered table in the garage. The little boat had been towed to the lake and there was plenty of room. With the Honda out of the garage during the day, I could spray in that direction without getting it on the sunshine truck.

And I waited until a reasonable day and started to spray. Nothing. Pike too dry. Paint didn't have any gloss to it as it all soaked in. We went to Menard's for items and since they sell a brand of paint that I think sticks to anything, I picked up a quart for the pike. Not a water wolf color but after all, someone else thought it was a muskie so a little fish fantasy might do!

The weather turned nice and I did a coat of the olive front and back. Then did the white, and detailed the body fanning another color of green and yellow. All I had left was the red in the gills and the iris. Tom did find the red paint I had purchased in an ice cream bucket, so one side got done.

And then, the most interesting thing happened. Tom jumped on the band wagon. It was too hot to mow but guess it wasn't too hot to stain Howard. We are two eyes and a gill plate from finishing the project!

Jump! You might find it is fabulous. And remember to praise the jumper.

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HOME LIKE

Another spin off from 6/2 mentioned crepe flowers for the office.

Think about this: Isn't making acquaintances based on something mutual? I would, for example, blend with someone who fished. Or someone that liked to take pictures. Because I might meet them as I did those things. If one is in a quilt shop, the mutual discussion is quilting. Are you with me?

One of the things that has always bothered me about professional offices is there professional decor. Stiff. Not at home. Nothing to attach to. And maybe it is there for a reason. Yet, I have come to believe we HIRE these folks and I think our radar is looking for a hook up before we are eye to eye with the 'hired man'. Or to some, a woman.

It doesn't have to please me over all, it just has to identify. Certainly I am not the only one that feels this way. How about you?

When Tom bought the optical shop I wanted to warm it up. I wanted others to come in to the shop and identify with some thing. Didn't have to be huge, they didn't even have to mention it but I wanted a connection for them. Homey. Is that a word?

This is lake country. This is fishing country. This is snow country. Tom said nothing. He just put the tackle box, the old lures, the nets, along with a straw hat and old rods and reels. He hung the old window with only one pane left from the ceiling. He put the berry swags on it and mounted seasonal pictures in the waiting room. He clustered bird houses together and put sunglasses on Nard, the chain saw bear. In the winter, he would wrap a wool scarf around his neck and stand him by the evergreen. The idea was to be seasonal. We actually do have more than three days of summer, tough sledding, and snow. Really.

At first nothing. I told him to wait. People would not say anything because the idea of home-like in a business was 'new' to them. We made a loon book so they could look at something else while waiting for their glasses fitting. And when they came back, most certainly, they made mention of something. For one lady, it was try to buy the cast iron fish. For many it was "where did you get that"? But for most, it was, "I fished when I was younger, my husband and I had a cabin", Men say they had decoys like that for hunting. Some come back for an adjustment to say, "Oh, you have something new". They are looking for more common identifiers.

In the fall, he can say 'we' took that pictures at Pickerel Lake. We couldn't believe there were two trees arched over making a frame for that old barn.

Now? Frogs. Lots and lots of frogs. One bought and gold leafed in green to make him shine and a crown added. It is probably the most time spent to get him to have a personality. Now he is touched. People like to touch. They feel with their soul. If, by sight they can not determine if something is real or silk, they touch. Comfort. Iris will be added the first of the week because that is when they bloom around here. It is a touch thing.

Our mission is accomplished. It is all about being comfortable in ones surroundings, isn't it?

Your mission is go to a professional office and look about. Do you identify? Is in cozy so you feel you may touch? And then, why not.

GRANDMA MAE AND THE TISSUE PAPER

Grandma's Mae's gifts were always wrapped in white tissue paper and tied with red, grained paper ribbon which was curled on the end of the bow. Sometimes there were stickers. The only boxed gift I ever received was when she crocheted little clothes for Bobby and Betty. Yes, I still have the clothes and Betty. Bobby wandered off.

I am not saying there is anything wrong with tissue wrapping. On the contrary, it is a wonderful memory and tissue paper and Grandma Mae will always be united. And other than a watch my Dad wrapped in butcher style for me for Christmas one year, I don't really remember the outside of the gift.

To clarify the watch wrapping, I was about six. Daddy put the box in the corner of the paper, and wrapped and rolled. I told him it wasn't wrapped very well, and he said, "It isn't how it is wrapped that counts, it is what is inside". Well, what does a six year old know anyway. :)

Although I loved him dearly, I can not agree. Something has to be said about the mystery of what is inside of the box by the outside. Besides, I dearly like to wrap and always have. I like the package to be a treat in itself. I like to use boxes. I like to use tissue to wrap a wear able garment. And there is somewhat of a game because one of the Christmas guests, takes all the tissue from the opened gifts, so you see, it is recycled.

I do not wrap in tissue for one reason: You can't crease the corners. I like the edges of the boxed item to be, as Tom says, "So crisp I could cut my finger". It is a thing with me. Saving the paper for scrap book pages is also recycling!

I am thinking about MST. On an occasion where a gift is presented, he know he will have to have his pocket knife to break the seal of tape on the box. But I am going to fool him! I am going to start using a glue gun! Why? Because the flour, water, and salt paste the other grandmother used never worked. :)

Tissue. Nice and won't cut your fingers!

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CREPE PAPER

It is an old project soon to come back to life. For years, I could not keep two things straight:

1 Crepe paper verses tissue paper

2. Lettuce verses cabbage

Don't ask and I won't have to tell.

Then, when Bud was in kindergarten, he wanted to give his teacher a flower--his favorite--a dandelion. And I learned about crepe paper, the kind that you can flounce, whereas tissue paper was just a rich man's way of wrapping a shirt to be put in a box and then wrapped even if Grandma Mae always wrapped the outside of the gift with white tissue paper. Always and never in a box.

So it came to be you could buy crepe paper at the dime store and I found bright yellow. I suppose it was about 20" wide and who know how long. I just know that I cut slits to make it look like dandelions and made a HUGE dandelion for him to present to her.

I had not thought about crepe paper until the other day. A friend's mother has dementia and when she sees the dandelions in the grass at the nursing home, she is happy. Could I still make them? Couldn't be that hard, could it? Aren't old buried in our minds crafts nothing more than letting the spirit flow?

When I looked on line, the first hit was for a large chain store. First item listed? Crepe dress. Second: Crepe pan. Looking down the line of hits, I did find a pure crepe site. Real crepe. Also real tissue paper. Yes, I did know the difference.

In a few days, when the package arrives, I will make dandelions and send to my friend to bring to her mother. After all, nursing home rooms need some bright yellow, bright pink, and bright red, don't you think? Doesn't every where?

And since I was ordering anyway, why not pick up some gold and wine for fall at the office? After all, isn't it all about homey, even if it is a business? But that is another subject for another day.

And to you, Soozi, Crepe Suzette!

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THERE IS SOMETHING ABOUT LILACS

Flowers seem to captivate us.

For Grandpa Ranum, it was roses. He liked getting them as gifts and he had a way about him that was nurturing. Mother liked marigolds around the foundation of the house, (although Daddy always said evergreens were the best for foundation planting). Mother didn't care, she bought flats of marigolds and fed them lots of fertilizer and made them into bushes with huge blossoms. Grandma Mae had her garden of glads and Grandma Ranum had her stand of Hollyhocks. Mother's birth mother, Clara, had climbing roses on a trellis, as did Atropa in Kansas. And Ella, the children's other grandmother had petunia's lining her walk from the curb to her front step.


Perhaps for me, the best of all, are lilacs. It is a spot of heaven. On a road trip, we passed a farm with lilac bushes on two sides. They had not bloomed yet, just loaded with buds ready to pop. A short cut to our house goes by a stand of them. From the sun room, I can see they have now bloomed from two days ago.

I have pictures of my daughter holding lilacs. The bushes at the house in KS where under her window and the scent drifted in. The bushes had been a garden gift from friends. We had dug them up in their yard and moved them.

Perhaps I need to think more about daisies, which swing and sway in the wind and when the seeds are cast far from home, they seem to take root, grow, and with their yellow centers, capture the sun and dance in the wind.

Perhaps dancing in the wind and casting seed here and there is my wannabee spirit. Perhaps it is my spirit.

For now, a touch of heaven in the blooming of the lilacs.

Flower. Bloom where you are planted.

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PAINTING OLD WOOD

Old Trunks looked at old photographs with weathered houses. She wonders why the houses weren't painted (better). Have you ever painted weathered board?

The project this week is to paint the pike which Howard the bear, (who stands in front of the garage) holds above his head. Two cans of spray later, it just now starting to show. All the paint is soaking into the thirsty pores of the wood. Will there ever be a sheen?

Isn't that the same with the old weathered houses in the pictures? Did they not go so long without being treated that the first order of business was to 'wet' the wood? Is this why primer was invented?

I wonder what paint cost per gallon then. It was all oil base and certainly had lead in it. No matter the cost, if that amount was needed for groceries or shoes, it is understandable houses stood silently and did not question when they were going to be made Sunday best.

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IT'S A DUCK!!!

It is walleye opener in Minnesota. Many were on the point at one past midnight hoping for a creel filled with good eating. Today, boats have been zooming by going from one place to another. Are the fish that scattered?

We are not fishing. We are waiting until next weekend which is bass opener. Although we considered going out, the weather has just adjusted to sun and 61. And now, MST is on yet another task, this one, outdoors with neighbor Paul as his helper as he removes the front of the deck to get set to have the trailer straightened this week.

Yesterday's project was to hang new blinds. I can't praise the company enough. We have one minor mistake which can be corrected by just telling them about it. As we worked on hanging the blinds in the bedroom, we saw two pair of wood ducks, one male in full color and a younger couple where the male was just beginning to get its unique feather color pattern.

The supreme joy of the inside project was spotting this couple in the swamp behind us through the screen and through the window. We know them as skittish water fowl and wondered if we could get the screen off and the window open without spooking them. We did and with elbows braced on a stack of pillows hoped for an opening in the brush. And this is the result.

The first time I saw a wood duck decoy, painted by a man who took it up as a hobby after he became wheel chair bound, I was certain he was making up his own feather color pattern. Alas, the return to Minnesota has taught me there is such a thing as wood ducks and they really are marked in this magically way. Yet with all that color, they are lost in the natural colors of their surroundings.

GARDENING?

Old Trunks is thinking about gardening today. Oh, no! Not for me or us rather about my grand parents. And for everyone out there in the cloud, I do admire you for your efforts and the nurturing you do to grow product for your own table. I don't have the gardening gene.

My grandparents always had a garden I never remember them not having one. The first one I remember was when they lived with us when mother was in the San with TB. The garden was right outside the back door along the fence between our property and Botham's crap apple orchard. It was sacred ground. NO ONE stepped on that area. NO ONE. The next summer it was moved to the back of the lot to host a larger garden and water was pumped from the river to water it. Previously it was close to the house and a hose was used.

What I remember most about that garden was that Grandpa grew watermelons. He saved the seeds. For some reason, he put the seeds in the oats box where Babe the Welsh pony took her grain. I could never understand how he could be so mad at Babe for eating something he placed there, but he was!

Now the garden was always masterfully groomed. It seemed to happen magically. I never saw them pull a hoe or pick a weed. Of course, it was tended daily and that is why it always looked like it was a model garden.

Although to a five year old, it seemed as if they stated they wanted a garden in a certain place and it happened. I didn't know about how they had to make the soil ready and all the raking and breaking up of clumps that had to happen. I did learn later that once all of that hard work was accomplished, Grandma would take two stakes and a string and mark off rows with space in between to walk and hoe. Between these stakes, she would form a mound and poke her finger in to make an indent in which to put the seed. Then, back breaking walk down the rows and drop one seed in each hole. Later she would retrace her steps and gently bury the seed. When she was completely finished, she would sit at the kitchen table and separate the seeds because as she planted, she just put them in the pocket of her apron. She did NOT put them back in the package, as the package was over the stake at the row's end so one would know what was planted there, although I suspect she had a system of how things were planted.

Perhaps her system had something to do with the way things matured OR how it looked. The corn, being the tallest crop was always along a fence line or on the out side edge of the garden. And because part of having company over on a Sunday afternoon for lunch meant looking at the garden, one had to have it as perfect as it could get.

Looking at the garden and the flowers was always a big thing. It generally happened after an afternoon lunch of cookies/cake and coffee. Once the garden was viewed, people generally left.

I wonder how many times a day the garden was visited. I heard a song when I was young called, "In the Garden". One of the lines was, "I come to the garden alone, while the dew is still on the roses". I was certain it was about Grandpa and Grandma. Alas, it was not.

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KILL-DEE said the KILL DEER

A killdeer is a little shore bird who runs about on skinny legs and lays its eggs in the pebbles. It is a member of the plover family. Although it is considered a shore bird, they don't always nest in wet places. They especially like plowed fields for those worms, grubs, and bugs of various kinds.

Perhaps the most interesting thing to watch is when the incubating bird is flushed from the nest, the bird appears to have a broken wing(s) as if it can not fly. It also rolls and screeches to take the attention away from their ground next. It will almost act breathless. Meanwhile, the other partner flies and swoops and continues to protest until the intruder leaves.

It is said a law was past in 1918 protecting the Killdeer from being hunted for sport. The are not edible. They are, however, useful by destroying great quantities of noxious insects which includes mosquitos!

And just in case you don't know the difference between a loon and a kill deer, the loon has red eyes and the killdeer has orange. :) I am a wanna be birder. Before the move back to the north and attending the lake country, I had only heard a loon and had never seen a Killdeer. I have much to learn.

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TOUPEE?

The mister and I come to an agreement but not without compromise. I think drama and pattern. He thinks practical and light walls. And so when it came to buying a toupee for the floor at the lake it would be an adventure. I think you will have to agree we can drag in buckets of sand and loose it in the loops! We could almost hide a killdeer in it!

We did find one piece but only big enough for one room and since we live in a mini place the choice, whatever it would become, had to be the same, (my rule). We had looked at another blend which would work except, it was too formal for a place where table clothes and china are not used. We don't even use cloth napkins, (although it took several years to 'break' me of it).

We went from one carpet place to another, too expensive, not enough threads per square inch. Yada yada. We went to a dealer in Dilworth, which is a blink beyond Moorhead. As we drove out, we saw another dealer, the same name as in West Fargo, (which is a flicker away from Fargo to the west). We found the toupee but did not buy it because we didn't have the measurements. I thought we had written them down. We hoped, because the roll was big, there would be enough. There was 60' on the roll.

From the carpet store, we went directly to the pain(t) store. Although I thought the paint was too light, we did find something we could agree on. The painting would happen over the weekend. We would, for the most part, tease the pain(t) unto the walls all weekend. And we did. And we are proud.

This morning, I called MST and asked him for the style or color of the carpet because I wanted to get something started on on having it cut in two pieces, tightly wrapped, and ready to ride in the boat. I had the business card and the measurements.

"What was the name of that carpet"?

"It is on the back of his business card"

"Is isn't, hon, I think you wrote it down in your book".

"No, not here", he said.

I hoped that we made some sort of a splash so the clerk would remember us. Now, what is the first thing you do when you have a question? Write an email of course, and follow it up with a phone call.

The email had all the information in document form. I could not send a picture. The salesperson came on the floor at 1P, I called and talked with him. He did remember. He remembered when we talked about two pieces and carrying it in the boat. All I had to do was put down some payment and they would cut it and have it wrapped for pick up.

I still don't know the style name or color, but as long as he does, I think we are home free! Well, not free but we have our toupee and the floor will be happy! There was forty feet on the roll when I called. Someone with a 14' idea will have plenty!

What is a Killdeer?

Tomorrow.

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TOO LATE FOR ME!

Today's news states that sleeping on your back is best for your spine and neck. It also is the best way to ward off wrinkles and maintain perky breasts.



Well, ain't perky and have lots of wrinkles. Obviously, I do not sleep on my back. I am a side sleeper but wake up on my stomach.

The article goes on to say--which we already knew--that back sleepers snore. Side sleepers snore less, and stomach sleepers do not snore.

It is said that stomach sleepers cause the greatest harm to their necks and joints because nothing is aligned. I think about all the nights I put my babies on their stomachs to sleep and now it is said not to do that. Poor R, B, R!

MST is a back sleeper. I can tell when he comes home from work how much noise he is going to make when he sleeps. And he tells me to wake him and tell him to move. The funny thing about that is that when I do tell him, he states he wasn't asleep.

Now the thing is to look about and see who is wrinkled and not perky. I will KNOW how they sleep! Marjorie Main who starred in Ma and Pa Kettle movies, was for certain a stomach sleeper, she was NOT perky and she was wrinkled.

And that, dear ones, is the news from Fargotown.

I wish you well.

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THE RETURN OF THE WATERFOWL

There is something so refreshing and so great a promise that spring and summer in some form will arrive in the north country. This past weekend was like that. Although our hopes were to see a heron rookery, which we did not, we certainly saw waterfowl and shorebirds.

Something has happened. Just a few short years ago, there were only a few swans and wood ducks. Imagine our surprise to see wood duck pairs in more place than one. We even talked to a man who sits in his dining room window and watches several swimming near the resort. He reminded us how very skittish they are. They are gone before you can raise the lens of your camera.

The mergansers are back and the female with her red feathered head, (some feather's even sticking out) are so fun to watch. She looks like she runs the show and moves about while her mate seems to have no clue. SEEMS. She was having a bad hair day. Until this weekend, I thought the red head was the male!

We saw our first loon at Park Rapids as we crossed the bridge over Fish Hook River. What a site. I get excited and could only point. The killdeer run through the brown grass, still hard to see because of their coloring. The Northern Shoveler with its big big swam with its head down, almost as if its bill was too heavy. He was, of course, straining food from the lake.

But my favorite sight of all was two Mallard drakes with a female. And just who was going to be the man who got her. They swam in circles with the female aside as if to say good grief. Tom said there is an art to getting a picture of Mallard's in the swamp. Mostly it was inching along on the road looking for a place to poke the lens through and find something to aim at and wait for the ducks to circle.

Swamps, of course, are full of dead trees, over hanging mini branches, dried foliage next to the road, and there is no X that says, FOR A PICTURE, STAND HERE. Well, if you get out of the vehicle, they will disappear, so you stay in the vehicle, find something to aim at deep enough in and hope all the clutter is only on the edges.

By the time we go to the lake again, all the stuff that looks dead but isn't will have greened up making the Mallard's world a little safer from a yellow truck with two old folks holding their breathe as they watch one little part of mother nature's world. Refreshing. Stand still moments.

But then, maybe the white tail deer standing next to a tree near the road will be easier to see. As it was, he blended so well that it took me awhile to even see him. He did not move, twitch his ears, or blink. He just stood there. Well, with a group of friends, as when he did scamper off, we saw five flags instead of just one.

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ADHD

Why is it that about 5% of children across America have ADHD anyway? And just how long has this been available as yet another handle?

Someone I know recently said she had it. She is, oh, maybe in her mid to late forties. She was educated to be a teacher. I knew her when she was a little girl and I never saw her running about doing weird things, actually at each visit, she seemed very normal.

We didn't have special classes for ADHD people when I was growing up. Everyone was lumped together. If you didn't pass the grade, you were held back. If you where too smart for the class, too bad, there wasn't anyplace to put you then, either.

My question is: Is there a stigma? Do other children point and tease? Do you look different? How? Look, not act.

And so I go back to the mid forties lady and I wonder if some of the diagnoses she carries are plunked on her by the medical staff because they didn't know what else to do. Her list of drugs is scary.

Sometimes I wonder if doctor's just write scripts because they don't have a clue. I do know there isn't time to listen. Sometimes folks can't walk in and blurt out what the problem is and others blurt--maybe the louder the blurt and more pills. It is a case of the squeaky wheel being oiled first? Can people research an illness and know just what to say?

Does western medicine have to learn to listen FIRST? Do we need another group of professionals that do the listening? Oh, they are already out there. Oops.

If a person can only do a half a listen to directions then isn't it possible they can learn by watching instead of giving them the DX of ADHD? Think about it.

TWENTY FIVE YEARS AGO.........

Where has the time gone? It seems like just a few Easter's ago the kids were trying to decide who held the bunny.

And now the writer, the singer, and the artist are all grown up BUT I have the bunny!

I loved spring in Kansas. I liked to find the first dandelion because that was the herald of the new season.

One Easter it was so warm, we actually saw the buds on the trees become leaves.

If you are not a believer in Easter

then

at

least

be

a believer

in

spring.

Happy Easter to all

Happy Spring time to all.

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OH VANITIES OF VANITIES

Old Trunks always is amazed at how thoughts string together and how one thing can trigger something else. Yesterday, MST brought home three boxes. A relative of his deceased wife went to assisted living in 1993 and her house was packed up by her son. At least we assume it was 1993 because that is the newspaper date in which the items were wrapped. It was time, Bill said, to get rid of the stuff. He had been in to have his glasses adjusted and he and Tom were talking about it. Tom remembered a lamp which belonged to Pat that she let Lee use. When Pat wanted it back, Lee had claimed it. That was the lamp Tom wanted. Instead he got a lovely hurricane lamp and two vanity lamps. The thought process is about vanities. As you can see, the picture on this blog is of a vanity with a lamp on either side of the drop down. This is only a photo found on line, it is not the vanity we had at our house. Mother went to the San in 1949; my grand parents came to live with us. The oak furnishings in the master bedroom were moved to my brother's room. Greg and Daddy shared the master bedroom in twin beds and my grandparent's slept in Greg's room in the Oak double bed. I actually think my parent's had twin beds before this because I remember a lamp melting a spot in the plastic head board but for the sake of the story we leave that alone. So in my brother's room was an oak bed, a chest of drawers, and the vanity. And since my grand parent's never left the room without being dressed, I am guessing grand mother sat on that bench and combed her hair and made ready for the day. Most likely there was a brush and mirror on the step down all nicely placed on a doily she may have made. I don't know what she would have kept in the drawers. Most likely those metal curlers and extra hair nets. But I do think grandma sat at the vanity more than anyone else ever did. In the early fifties, we were living in a house on Kneale Avenue. My grand parent's came to visit. Most likely the idea of the vanity came up and Mother made the decision to give it to them. Greg would have been a teenager and most likely it was thought he didn't need a vanity anymore. Greg came home just about the time they were taking it through the living room and took it back. After all, it was his furniture. He was not smiling. The interesting thing about it is, that vanity disappeared and by the time we got to the farm, it was gone and it was not at my grand parent's house. But mother still put two lamps on a dresser unit with a mirror on the new furniture. I remember the lamps well, they were shaped like a little pitcher with a bowl and had a shade with ruffles out of lace. What I remember most about them was the parakeet liked to sit on the shade and if you ever had a parakeet, you know they crap everywhere. Greg and I were not allowed to crap on the shades, just encase you wondered. Not only did she put two lamps on her dresser but mine as well. At the farm, in town when we moved back in 1960 and lived next door to the Johnson's but also in her house on Kendall where she lived until she deceased. The lamps, by the way offered poor lighting. Just as the ones Tom brought home which as deep rose colored glass with lots of bangles to reflect the light. I have not put a bulb in them yet nor have I washed them and put the bangles on them. They look like 1940. They may be newer. Yet beyond the lamps themselves, they offer a reflection into the past of Grandparents, Greg, rounded oak furniture, hair brushes never used, mirrors with names engraved, powder in drawers, hair in drawers, bobby pins, metal curlers, and hair pins as well as little worthless lamps, and parakeet droppings. What does it signal for you? e

OH YEA, I BLOG

There is no excuse for not blogging. It isn't like the paper is wet from the flooding. It isn't like I have to drive over I--29 to get to a computer. I think it is spring and spring fever to me is simply, brain doesn't focus OR is that tries to focus on too many things at once and the body finds itself sitting on the porch soaking in much needed sunshine. Maybe. It has nothing to do with another attempt to clean the garage. A miserable state of affairs where things get shuffled more then shifted or sold or given away. Although I am proud to say we actually did have a mini moving party this weekend when three sets of dishes, a huge box of stuffed animals, and a 2005 Schwinn bike with lock left the building. I am honored to say the Christmas decorations from the office are out of the little boat and up in the attic. WHY where they in the boat? When it is 25 below zero you get them out of the house and into the garage but there is no rule that you have to take them to the attic. And so, yet today, both MST and I are recovering from rafter rash. We both know the only place you can stand up completely is at the pitch of the roof. Why in the name of heaven we kept hitting our heads is beyond me. Spring intelligence, perhaps. Knock some sense into those people! Anyway our heads are covered with little bumps, almost like when the earthworms mound up in the front yard. Maybe rafter rash is necessary to let the sunshine in and take it with a grin. Oh yea, I blog. e

THEY DID NOT HISS AT US

Tom pulled the truck into the parking lot near Lake Sally. I glanced for open water and there they were! Actually, I said, THERE THEY ARE!!!!

We don't see a lot of swans in this area. It has only been the last few years that we have seen them as well as taken a picture. It isn't that Canada Geese aren't impressive it is just we see them everywhere in all stages of growth. So the swans, somewhat mystic to me, are a huge treat to see.

After all, most of the swans I had ever seen where on wallpaper and shower curtains and knew little of them but loved the what they could curl that long neck. After lunch, we had gone to a shop in Detroit Lakes called the Red Willow. We have been there before. It is an old house filled to the rafters with stuff. She has gone into pots and knives now but in the last room, I saw a wooded swan with a curled neck. It looks old but it isn't. She reminded us of someone named Bonnie with a skin condition so we call her Bonnie the Swanny. When we left the store, (after a long discussion about knives), I was certain it was the only swan I would see that day.

We had hoped to see open water. We expected to see geese, and of course ducks. There were no loons, although at first glance on the edge of the open water, we did see white breasted something 'walking on the water'. They turned out to be Buffleheads trying to get away from the eagle who was swooping near them.

We drove back roads until we found ourselves in the middle of the Hamden Slough Refuge. How pretty that will be when the wild flowers bloom in the summer. It is about 6,000 acres of grassland and wet lands with the hope to draw shore birds, waterfowl, and song birds. We saw greater than a dozen song bird houses in one small area. In Kansas, at the Girl Scout Camp, there are blue bird houses, that is what these looked like.

I had noticed that the internal winter within myself had lifted a few days ago. Why else would I hear myself saying, "Oh I can hardly wait to taste the coffee in the morning". And now, the geese are back in great numbers and so are the swans!

This weekend, a day trip SE to a migration pattern and hopefully, more water fowl to admire.

No hissing allowed.

No hollering, "THERE THEY ARE!!!"

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IT IS JUST A CLICK AWAY

In the late fifties, it took 7-10 days to get pictures back from the processing plant. It took 10 days to two weeks to get an 8 x 10 enlargement. And what you thought you took, wasn't always what you got. I don't remember the price. I do know many people used black and white only and sent the film, often pronounced fill-um away to be processed to a place called Brown's. I mostly just pestered Mabel at Ekeren Drug. Fast forward a half a century into a photographer's paradise when what you see is what you get but FAST! The story isn't that I saw a frog at the department store and passed on it because I had to figure out how I could jazz him up. It isn't about going back for the frog and polishing him with emerald gold left, (which is like shoe polish in paste form). It isn't even about MST turning the frog so I could put primer on the crown make it ready for painting it gold. What it is about is before and after pictures. Something people nearly always did before remodeling or refurbishing a room. This is about a frog picture. Something I would not do if it wasn't for digital. And it is about trying to explain putting the French doors back on the sun room even if they are always open. Because if you haven't been to our money pit, how would you have a clue. So it is before and after. But what started the thought process for this note was based on a stair rail we had installed. Because someone I know and love asked me to send a picture of it. Now, I want you think about this. Keep yourself at the age you are. If it was the mid 50's, you wouldn't be doing a play by play letter as it is with email. If it was the mid 50's, most likely you would not take pictures of a frog, stair rail, or door in production, if you took a picture at all. Most likely you would save the fill-um for Christmas, Easter, Birthdays, or Halloween. Are you with me? Think about if you did take those photos, Take, finished the roll, because NO ONE ever took at few and sent it in with pictures without finishing the roll. (Although I was known to do that simply because the process charge was the same for 1 or 12--forget about 24). OR take 8 pictures of the same thing to use up the roll. Like the dog standing in the sun and the shadow blotting him out. And now, the pictures are back and if you didn't get doubles, you either send the picture and ask for it back or go without. Asking for it back was a big thing. By the time you get the pictures back, the stair rail, frog, or doors are old news. So you probably won't send it anyway and now you have double prints of something you did but never wrote on the back of it so generations beyond aren't going to have a clue as to what it represented and when they sift through all your pictures, they are going to toss it because there is no person in it. It today's marvelous world of digital, one can snap, email or process the picture. If you are married in April, you don't have to wait until December to put it on a Christmas card. Huzzah for digital and email friends who want pictures of frogs, stairs, and doors. Why? Mostly because they humor me. Joy to you on your stairway to the stars to dance on the Milky Way in your top hat and tails or in your long shimmering gown. Be sure to get a picture! e

B 9 AND IT ISN'T BINGO

The case of the crater is closed. MST biopsy was negative. Now all that has to happen is the crater fills in, since the dentist wouldn't do it.

Since I am here.........are you a bingo player? I thought about going to the senior center this winter but I am not ready for bingo. Actually, it is a passionate sport to elders and if you don't think so, get between two of them when they are gunning for a prize!

I went to see my mother one day and she wanted to take me to the senior center for a lunch of hamburger gravy followed by bingo. I bought her nine cards to play all at once. I wanted to see how she would do. Oh, she kept up and then, before the game was over, she said that was enough and left to have a smoke. Mrs. Morbin who was a watcher, stood over me while I played mother's 9 and my one. We didn't win.

But for today, B-9 means celebrate MST nose.

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AND THE LAVA FLOWS

The off brand adhesive strips didn't stick. MST went back to the drugstore and got the real thing. Band Aid brand. WHAT WAS IN THE BOAT BAG? WHAT COULD HAVE BEEN CUT DOWN? Band Aid brand.

Last night, after supper, NOT during, I had my evening peek a poo. The dried blood which made it look like a black hole was being pushed out of the crater by lava. Well, not really but I had to get the line in somewhere. A watery like substance was nature's cleaning.

When I was little, I always imagined that there were little delivery like trucks in my body hauling healing properties where they needed to be. All the trucks were either red or blue. I suppose the blue trucks were taking out the trash but I didn't think about being trash filled. Therefore, I only had red trucks.

So the little blue trucks took the old stuff away from the crater and little red trucks brought in the good.

Nevertheless, MST is off to the dentist this morning. He thought he would ask Dr. J if, while filling the cavity in his tooth, he could fill the crater too.

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REPORT FROM THE BLACK HOLE

We left off yesterday wondering about circle adhesive strips. MST did go to the drugstore. He bought a box of Band Aids. One of those mixed boxes, you know, the kind that has all the worthless little strips in it. Because that is the only way you can get the circle size he wanted.

And then...........................

The circles were too big. (Why does this sound like a nursery rhyme)?

So he used a little worthless one.

Now, yesterday was a wild weather day. We had wind, (of course), rain, snow, sleet, thunder and lightening. And yes, it rained on the clean windows.

And...when Tom finally did get home. (giggle, giggle) one side of the worthless strip was no longer stuck down. He said the wind blew it loose. Now if you believe that, I have a bridge to sell.

Tomorrow, we find out if the crater is cancerous OR NOT. I wonder if he will call before or after his dentist appointment.

Stay tuned.

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IT'S A BLACK HOLE!!!

The man wears a hat and uses sunscreen. What else is there? A veil? But even MST had to have a doctor-who-does-biopsies have his work on his whiffer.



He called me after it was over to tell me how it was done. Of course, he had to tell me about the long needle to deaden his nose, followed by the orange disinfectant, and then, the plunger like cutter the doctor use to take a sample.



But what he didn't tell me was he was going to come home with a adhesive bandage across his nose which made his glasses sit a kilter. Now, all of us who are married, KNOW our husband's are the most handsome man in the universe. Okay, Soozi, Elvis in his prime is the all time winner. And MST, (My Sweet Thomas) even out ranks him because he is alive. :)



After supper, he took the tape off and offered to let me look. Well, I wanted the 50 yard line so I got out my double magnifying head gear with a light to look at it. I think the doctor must have burned it shut because I couldn't see just why he had it covered. After all, the client he fits with glasses all have had it done or knew someone who had it done and it was a perfectly round little crater that looked like a mini black hole. Honest.



The doctor said if he felt any pain, he could take Tylenol.



Now, there is a pharmacy in the building where Tom has the business. What does a pharmacy sell? Tylenol.



And, for those of you who are unaware, they also sell Band Aids.



And the drugstore is open all day.



So last night, about 8P, MST says, "Do we have any round bandages"? I looked in the linen closet, the store-all-don't-know-what-is-in-here-basket, and in the boat bag. No round bandages. To me, if you are going to bleed, go big. Use 4x4 gauze with tape or better yet, a sanitary napkin. So, no, we had NO round bandages.



Then he says, (you can see this coming, right?) "Do we have any Tylenol"? No, we didn't have that either. Well, we had some Tylenol with codeine and a bottle of Tylenol for arthritis but that was out of date by three years. (I told you that bast had stuff in it that we didn't know about).



"Are you in pain"?, I asked

"No", he said

"Then why are you asking about Tylenol"?

"Just in case", he said.



I suggested he not dress his nose for the night. I suggested he NOT cover it during the day. It was sealed and nothing was going to leak out. A covering would draw more attention

than his skin gap.

He left for work with his crater exposed.



The question is, will he buy Tylenol and round Band Aids today?



And no, it is not on the tip of his nose, oh my, I would even have vanity with that.



And no, it isn't so big I could fall in!





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BEWARE THE IDES OF MARCH...AGAIN

Reading the Sunday paper is a Sunday thing and when it came and went because of a priority project, I didn't lament. I could, after all, read my favorite cartoon on line.

Yet, yesterday, while using newspaper to fill in a box, the mid section front page caption was

BEWARE THE IDES OF MARCH

It had nothing to do with Shakespeare or Miss Barzen. This was a real live blizzard that hit on Saturday, March 15 in 1941.

The In-forum had looked back on the blizzard and the cost of lives on this surprise storm. The day started out sunny and 30 degrees. Around six in the evening, wind speeds at Grand Forks were 85 mph. Seventy-two people died, most of them frozen. One little boy actually died when the strong winds took the breath right out of him as his dad carried him home.

It tells of four brothers who went to town to go roller skating. The oldest two, 17 and 15 where found the next day. A short distance away, the searchers found a waving hand. Although the twin waving his hand died, his brother survived.

Another group of seven where stranded in the ditch on Highway 75 south of Moorhead. The stayed with the car and all survived as did a man of 60 and his son who buried themselves in the snow and kept kicking their feet to stay awake and warm.

In today's standard's the mechanics of weather watching and public notice have come a long way since then. Recently, a friend wrote to say we were in a blizzard. I looked out all windows and didn't see a thing. The paper was saying BLIZZARD. Cancellations abound. It must have been much like that day in 1941, clear sky, mild temperatures. The only thing different is they kept harping about the blizzard.

Yet, although informed, more than 800 people where rescued from stuck vehicles. Most of the cars where within 75 miles of Bismarck, which is central North Dakota. It is said it settled in quickly. And yes, I am going to think those stranded folks thought they could beat it out. Makes you wonder if they went around those 700 miles of roads that where closed.

Although it sounds like a crime scene scenario, they actually did use a helicopter with a heat sensing unit to find people stranded in their vehicles.

I was telling someone recently that if my mother got wind of a storm coming it, she had to make a trip to town to get 12 loaves of bread at the bakery so we would have enough, even though none of us ate much bread, except for toast.

So there is, in real life, a story about the Ides of March, right here in North Dakota.

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