tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-55579189002157902842024-02-07T10:13:20.572-08:00Rhyme and Reason with Proud PapaOur Writerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11754926893496843169noreply@blogger.comBlogger118125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5557918900215790284.post-40444678228334844822012-07-31T16:54:00.000-07:002010-11-06T05:58:19.806-07:00GREETINGS FROM EMIL SCHMIT<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='280' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dw9z_HstdHbr8IMEXvGRBZ76bhWrRC60aKR-mcRldz0hrlmLDCzhNO2mmhDnWnAhKeAJuTS1uH6oK2VJ1Wb6Q' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe>Our Writerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11754926893496843169noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5557918900215790284.post-81715150509710106552011-02-09T08:32:00.000-08:002011-02-09T08:32:42.572-08:00Writing the great American dream<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNJOwNQ6zYkLdxJZgZUkg8tO8iW7eL9W1s98u_wn2fSlwlqbevVq3wXGIqyOnffu3dmO95i_n-TStFPoddtXsHQ25Ut38qmPRGf4irfgNLSPBFnfEjBz0OYUvH2YUM2L5v-UxoZ2fDtiI/s1600/writers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNJOwNQ6zYkLdxJZgZUkg8tO8iW7eL9W1s98u_wn2fSlwlqbevVq3wXGIqyOnffu3dmO95i_n-TStFPoddtXsHQ25Ut38qmPRGf4irfgNLSPBFnfEjBz0OYUvH2YUM2L5v-UxoZ2fDtiI/s320/writers.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Ask almost any writer, "How is the novel coming along?" Chances are the conversation will be off and running. Most writers "have a novel. Extremely rare, though, is the author who has actually had one published. Slightly less rare are those who have really finished such manuscripts. And then there are we plodders – some with practically finished stories and others who have yet to touch pen to paper (or fingers to keyboard) but with a head full of ideas and a heart filled with good intentions.<br />
<br />
Yes, every writer knows that one day he or she will find the time. When the kids are all in school. Or when the kids are all out of school, married and moved away. Or after retirement. Just wait and see. Most of us have a lot of great ideas - and have been taking notes. And have started working on an outline. Maybe next year we will enroll in a typing class - or a computer class.<br />
<br />
My own magnum opus is about 80 percent complete, lying in a box, where it has remained, untouched, for almost 10 years. Who knows? Maybe when I've tamed and mastered this wild and headstrong computer...<br />
<br />
Until then, we are all still "dreaming the dream" – which is pretty much what life seems to be all about.<br />
<br />
THE NOVEL<br />
<br />
The evening sun tires<br />
Of its work in the heavens,<br />
Beds down for the night <br />
Beyond the western sea.<br />
<br />
Blackness closes tight<br />
'Round the sleeping wharf, quiet – <br />
Waves murmur – telling<br />
Strange old stories to me.<br />
<br />
Tales from ageless days<br />
Of time immemorial – <br />
Until now, untold,<br />
Mysteries yet unsolved.<br />
<br />
Lost creatures of old<br />
Now extinct and forgotten...<br />
Dim, dark days before<br />
Humankind had evolved.<br />
<br />
Some yarns are about<br />
Sailing ships and grave dangers,<br />
How brave seamen once<br />
Plied the deep with full sails.<br />
<br />
Whalers and jailers,<br />
Roving fierce cutthroat pirates – <br />
Adventurers who<br />
Bravely blazed strange new trails.<br />
<br />
Soon clear, vivid scenes<br />
Fill my imagination,<br />
Breathe color and life<br />
Into a growing tale – <br />
<br />
Material destined<br />
To be the next best-seller <br />
A great masterpiece – <br />
At last – my Holy Grail!<br />
<br />
Small waves murmur on,<br />
The half-moon surfs the cloud curls.<br />
New chapters are born,<br />
Quite enough to fill reams.<br />
<br />
Then, too soon, my eyes<br />
Close; my quick pen falls idle.<br />
The novel takes form...<br />
But only in my dreams.Our Writerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11754926893496843169noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5557918900215790284.post-14455726068833673222011-01-02T10:47:00.000-08:002011-01-02T10:47:38.578-08:00ANOTHER NEW YEAR<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3EoJypQi1MrInDyZf5vA6sTcBLLrU50EY10-ILVRmmg-_ExbVuQ_TvathKjxc4ppSzJN9PdsnpyNIhhn-tKykHL96JzY-pZo47tZ0ubjc-37ePCrnrCgVU63MR5gpfVXkdc7PzHVedOM/s1600/welcome_2011_by_luphydzzz-d34x3x2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3EoJypQi1MrInDyZf5vA6sTcBLLrU50EY10-ILVRmmg-_ExbVuQ_TvathKjxc4ppSzJN9PdsnpyNIhhn-tKykHL96JzY-pZo47tZ0ubjc-37ePCrnrCgVU63MR5gpfVXkdc7PzHVedOM/s320/welcome_2011_by_luphydzzz-d34x3x2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Now, having burned one week of Year 2011, it may be a good time to check out all of those great New Year’s resolutions we made and see just how well we are doing.<br />
<br />
Sorry to say, I’ve never taken these promises to myself as seriously as I should. I’m sure that if I, and at least a few other folks, were to look very hard we’d be able to see at least several – or perhaps many – changes we could make in our lives that would result in our becoming better, happier, and even healthier people. And, in so doing, make a number of those around us happier, as well. <br />
<br />
OK, why not? That shouldn’t be too difficult. So we make a mental list. But a few days into the New Year these resolutions are forgotten, old habits again hold sway, and life goes on just as before.<br />
<br />
Robert Burns said, “The best laid plans o’ mice an’ men gang aft agley (go oft’ astray)” Many priests, ministers, politicians, and folks of various other walks of life make good and frequent use of the old saying, “The road to hell is paved with good intentions.” <br />
<br />
I’ve listened to a number of public speakers who claim to know the secrets of personal and financial success. Most of them advise their audiences to first study their lives, assess their current situation, and identify any problems that have been hindering them. Quite often when people zero in on the stumbling blocks in their path to success and happiness, they are surprised to find that the most harmful of these are really simple things such as laziness, procrastination, and/or their inability or refusal to take and carry out orders.<br />
<br />
These obstacles are often just bad habits picked up along life’s way. Old ways of thinking and methods of doing things that have been built and strengthened by years of repetition. They can best be starved out, or crowded out, and eradicated by the constant, frequent practice of the good, new habits. First, a goal must be established, and a list made of the actions that will be required to reach that goal. This list of plans and resolutions must be written down and then kept in a prominent location. Some handy place where it will not be lost or forgotten, but will be seen every day, preferably at least twice per day, morning and evening. Plans for the day can be made in the morning. Then in the evening, successes and failures can be totaled up and compared, and plans made for more positive progress.<br />
<br />
While some folks constantly seek improvement and perfection, a few seem perfectly content with the status quo. One old fellow constantly assures his friends and anyone else who will listen, “Sure, I could quit drinking any time I want to, but as flimsy as the national and local economies are right now, I don’t think anyone should do anything to upset the apple cart. The alcohol industry brings in a ton of tax money. And the owner of the Corner Bar here has just bought himself a new SUV and I know that ain’t paid for. And if I quit smoking and chewing, what would happen to all those small farmers who are growing tobacco up there in Vernon County? No sir, if our country slips into another Great Depression I don’t want a lot of people poking their fingers at me!”<br />
<br />
Some optimists feel there is no need for major change, and are confident and content just going through life with a positive attitude. <br />
<br />
ANOTHER NEW YEAR <br />
<br />
At heart, I’m no “down and outer,”<br />
Not a whiner or a pouter,<br />
I’ve learned negative <br />
Thoughts don’t pay worth a dime.<br />
<br />
And, though I’m not good at saying<br />
Lots of fancy words, or praying,<br />
I can sound quite<br />
Optimistic at this time.<br />
<br />
New Year’s Eve often sees drinking,<br />
Followed by some fuzzy thinking,<br />
But I’ve grown too<br />
Old now to participate<br />
<br />
I prefer philosophizing,<br />
Perhaps even moralizing.<br />
These days I’m in<br />
Bed early more nights than late. <br />
<br />
I do no stewing and fretting<br />
And a lot more gray hair getting,<br />
Worrying what’s<br />
Around life’s next turn or bend.<br />
<br />
I’m don’t get in a big hurry,<br />
And I don’t wonder and worry.<br />
Usually things<br />
Turn out OK in the end.<br />
<br />
With this New Year now upon us,<br />
May the Lord’s blessings be on us.<br />
May our hearts and <br />
Souls be filled with joy and cheer.<br />
<br />
May our New Year’s resolutions<br />
Provide the needed solutions<br />
To what problems <br />
We’ll be forced to face this year.Our Writerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11754926893496843169noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5557918900215790284.post-86428105415506075042010-12-05T05:40:00.000-08:002010-12-05T10:47:49.862-08:00YES, VIRGINIA, THERE IS A CHRISTMAS TREE<a href="http://www.illoluv.com/wallpaper/xmas2_1024x768.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://www.illoluv.com/wallpaper/xmas2_1024x768.jpg" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a> At Christmastime, when I was young, we sang carols and church songs like "Silent Night," also the lively, jolly "Jingle Bells." Through the years these were joined by some good new numbers like "I'm Dreaming Of a White Christmas" and "Blue Christmas." Dickens' "A Christmas Carol" and "The Night Before Christmas" were our standard stories. Later new song-stories came along, including "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer," "Frosty the Snowman," "Angie the Christmas Tree Angel" and "Little Drummer Boy."<br />
<br />
I still enjoy the beautiful Christmas songs and music that saturate the airwaves and our lives during the holiday season. for two weeks--or three--at the most. Then I decide that cold, dark, snowy January maybe won't be so dreary after all.<br />
Shopping is not all bad. I love to watch the drivers in the mall lots jockeying for parking slots near the main mall entrance. I am amazed at their skill and guile--at their brass and attempts at downright intimidation.<br />
<br />
Later, inside the store, they can be seen using much the same strategies and evasive moves while operating shopping carts--cutting each other off at the corners, and effectively blocking off a small display of a scarce item while deciding whether or not to make a purchase.<br />
<br />
I spend a fair amount of time looking at the animated decorations. The sleeping, breathing, snoring Santas. And the tiny mechanical animals and elves that festoon artificial trees, barking, yelping, and belching out tunes like "Jingle Bells" and "What Child Is This?"<br />
<br />
One thing I miss from the Christmas past is the whisper of currency that has in so many cases been replaced by the sounds of the verification of "plastic pay." Accompanied by the occasional sad, silent shriek of a credit card that is being stretched far beyond common-sense limits.<br />
<br />
I am amazed at recent increased participation in and celebration of the Great Day. At times, entire city blocks of homes and lawns are completely decorated with lights--flickering and flashing all over the place. Some neighborhoods remind one, incandescently, of the Las Vegas Strip.<br />
<br />
But I often wonder whether any of the warm illumination of these displays ever finds its way into human hearts. What a wonderful world we would have if each of the tiny bulbs actually represented a true expression of love or a real act of kindness.<br />
Christmas is a wonderful time. A beautiful tradition to remember and to enjoy, and to pass on to our children.<br />
<br />
I think the owner of a small shop, without giving it a lot of thought, said it best. When asked about the degree of success of his business, he quickly replied, "Thank God for Christmas!"<br />
<br />
<div><div><div><br />
YES, VIRGINIA, THERE IS A CHRISTMAS TREE</div><div><br />
Scrawny Christmas tree, discarded,</div><div>You've seen better times, I know,</div><div>As your yellowed needles fall to</div><div>Make a carpet on the snow.</div><div><br />
For two weeks you lit your corner,</div><div>Adding to the season's cheer,</div><div>Then your ornaments were taken,</div><div>Boxed up for another year.</div><div><br />
Out in the back yard they threw you,</div><div>In a corner, in the snow,</div><div>But you still serve a good purpose,</div><div>Something most folks could not know.</div><div><br />
You've made yours a life of sharing,</div><div>Would have it no other way,</div><div>And despite sad circumstances,</div><div>You are still giving today.</div><div><br />
A small bird, your branches shelter,</div><div>With a painful, injured wing;</div><div>If I help you out, and feed it,</div><div>It will live to fly and sing.</div><div><br />
Christmas brings a bounteous harvest,</div><div>Precious joys that we can reap;</div><div>First, the warmth that comes with giving,</div><div>Then, the memories that we keep </div></div></div>Our Writerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11754926893496843169noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5557918900215790284.post-62345061926370919272010-11-06T05:57:00.000-07:002012-04-24T16:54:27.358-07:00MEDIOCRE MEMORIES<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<b>MEDIOCRE MEMORIES</b></div>
<br />
Homecoming weekend was in full swing at the University of Wisconsin. The city of Madison was fairly overrun by grads sporting cardinal red blazers. The supper club we chose for our evening meal was no different.<br />
<br />
One of the fellows clad in UW red walked past our table--or almost past it. Then he stopped, turned around, looked me over and exclaimed, "Great Haircut! I like your haircut!"<br />
<br />
Good grief! Elroy Hirsch...old "Crazylegs" himself! Former Big Ten football star--later a pro football standout--then athletic director of the University of Wisconsin.<br />
<br />
And, as one old gray burrhead to another, he had stopped and admired my haircut! I remembered the Hollywood movie, "Crazylegs," the story of his life. I wondered how many Badger fans were still around who recalled the famous backfield of Hirsch, Pat Harder, Mark Hadley Hoskins and Jack Wink. And the late, great All-American end, Dave Schreiner.<br />
<br />
So...Crazylegs stopped and talked to me? Maybe no great shakes as memories go--perhaps even only a mediocre memory--but one that will continue to live on for as long as I have a need or a desire for pleasant memories.<br />
<br />
MEDIOCRE MEMORIES<br />
<br />
Bits of tattered, shattered memories<br />
Tend to clutter up my mind,<br />
Ideas of no real value,<br />
May best have been left behind.<br />
<br />
Deeds that demanded no special<br />
Skills or education vast,<br />
Charting the life I've been living<br />
Won/lost record of my past.<br />
<br />
Simple things and not earth-shaking<br />
Healed no wounds, righted no wrong.<br />
Common day-to-day existence<br />
As, through life, I've moved along.<br />
<br />
Thoughts that won't make me a nickel,<br />
Buy a home, pay for a car,<br />
Still, I like to tiptoe through them,<br />
So, they'll remain where they are.<br />
<br />
Memories of my youth, and older,<br />
Gleanings from my work and play,<br />
Good or bad, they all add up to<br />
Much of what I am today.Our Writerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11754926893496843169noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5557918900215790284.post-75004044805754491432010-09-10T05:36:00.000-07:002012-12-05T13:09:23.806-08:00EARLY AUTUMN<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Once more, autumn returns to our special, beautiful part of the Midwest. Again, the river bluffs and rocky crags of the unglaciated “Driftless Area” are afire with the bright colors of the leaves of the various hardwood trees and a variety of other plants that cloak many of our hills. Often these areas of brilliant hues are accented by the dark green of small stands of pines, cedars, and various other evergreens. Hopefully, this year we will have a lot of that “October’s bright blue weather” a famous poet once wrote about. With the blue sky above and the sun shining brightly, the scenery is often indescribably beautiful.<br />
<br />
Perhaps we become easier to please as the years go by. These days I find a lot of enjoyment in just watching what is going on around me. In her great outdoor theater, Mother Nature can put on quite a show. And you don’t have to make reservations in order to get good seating, or shell out your hard-earned cash for admission tickets. <br />
<br />
The Mississippi River is one of my favorite places for sightseeing. There are many parks, boat landings, and other public areas along both sides of the river that are equipped with plenty of benches and picnic tables. If you prefer, you can almost always find a good place where you can set up a folding lawn chair. And just sit back and enjoy.<br />
<br />
Some folks really like watching the traffic on the river. The speed boats, jet-skis, and water skiers. And a variety of fishing boats. On rare occasions, we may even see a sailboat. The huge barge tows are always interesting. We can try to guess what they are carrying and what will be their destination. And we can determine how heavily each barge is loaded, by how deep it rides in the water. And then there are the trains. There is a lot of railroad traffic these days. And still that kind of “romantic something” about the sight and sound of a freight train.<br />
<br />
And then there are always a goodly number of finny, furry, or feathered critters for us to watch. For me, no “river watching” time beats early October. <br />
<br />
EARLY AUTUMN <br />
<br />
I sit here in shady comfort,<br />
Thanks to a big fleecy cloud.<br />
Speed boats out on the Big River <br />
Go a-roaring by, real loud. <br />
<br />
I watch antics by daredevil <br />
Kids in wet suits, with ski-jets. <br />
These half-warm, half-cool fall days are<br />
About as good as it gets. <br />
<br />
To the north, the sun is shining, <br />
Lighting up bright colored trees.<br />
Up close, the water is rippling<br />
In the gentle autumn breeze.<br />
<br />
This world offers many pleasures,<br />
Such as hearing wild birds sing – <br />
If we relax and enjoy them,<br />
We can feel rich as a king. <br />
<br />
Outdoor sights and sounds surround us, <br />
Pleasing to the ear and eye, <br />
But we must reach out and grasp them<br />
And not let them just slip by.<br />
<br />
In this wonderland, I find I’m <br />
Almost never bored at all,<br />
With this wealth of nature’s wonders<br />
Right here at my beck and call<br />
<br />
I watch a hungry woodpecker <br />
With a jackhammer-like bill<br />
That seems almost as effective. <br />
As a big pneumatic drill. <br />
<br />
Every now and then I see a <br />
Pair of mallard ducks fly by.<br />
From somewhere high in the clouds. I<br />
Hear a lonely wild goose cry.<br />
<br />
A bald eagle slides down out of <br />
The gray sky, seeking a fish,<br />
But this time he comes up empty – <br />
With unfulfilled, hungry wish.<br />
<br />
I can see some fellow fishing <br />
Over there in State Line Slough<br />
He’s been throwing back some small ones,<br />
But caught a “keeper” or two.<br />
<br />
A huge barge tow moves down river <br />
With murmuring, muffled sound,<br />
Loaded full and riding low, it’s<br />
Most likely New Orleans bound.<br />
<br />
I listen to the soft sighing <br />
Of a lonely autumn breeze<br />
Sifting, sorting its way through the<br />
Leaves of brightly-colored trees.<br />
<br />
Nature’s full line of enjoyment <br />
Waits right here for you and me.<br />
A great show, and not expensive.<br />
It is mostly all for free.<br />
<br />
About all this day will cost me <br />
Is time, and the wear-and-tear<br />
On the seat of these old britches<br />
And my old folding lawn chair.Our Writerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11754926893496843169noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5557918900215790284.post-16397277536272374542010-07-28T15:09:00.000-07:002012-12-05T13:10:16.578-08:00MASTER SHOWMAN<br />
<br />
<div style="font-style: italic; text-align: center;">
Jack Buschbom</div>
<br />
<br />
When a new family moves into a small town, everyone in and around that neighborhood usually takes notice. The Buschbom family's move into Bloomington, Wis. was no different. We were told they came from Kansas, by way of Iowa, and were "rodeo people." The father, Bill, Sr., was a horse trainer and showman, and he had taken a job with Sheriff Joe Greer's rodeo. The boys, Billy, Jr., who was my age, and his younger brother, Jack, wore cowboy boots and learned the trade early.<br />
<br />
While Billy was still in grade school he was already performing with his lariats and trick ropes at rodeos, also shows at the Blake's Prairie Fair at Bloomington and at the Twin Picnic (now the Twin-O-Rama) at Cassville. The family later moved to that river town where the Greer Rodeo was quartered at the old Governor Dewey Farm (now the site of Stonefield Village Museum).<br />
<br />
We all admired Billy...for the great skills that won him widespread popularity. And we envied him a bit whenever we saw him in his fancy hat and boots...and one of those colorful, shiny western suits he wore when performing.<br />
<br />
Later, as the red-haired Buschbom brothers left each year to follow the professional rodeo circuit (where both gained international fame), many of the hometown fans followed their careers, reading stories of their success in the newspapers and often going to see them whenever they performed in the area.<br />
<br />
Jack excelled in competition and for several years was the World's Champion Professional Bareback Rider. Billy ranked well up among the better pro bulldoggers and calf ropers, but gained his greatest fame as an entertainer, first with his sensational rope spinning tricks, and later with his trained horse acts. He had a rare knack for working with horses--for being able to teach a horse to work alone in a small circus-type ring, without a rein or lead-line, and to do various tricks and respond to commands, given either vocally or with the snap of a whip. While a large audience "ooh-ed" and "aah-ed," his beautiful golden horse, Sir Roger, would, time after time, leap up, strike out with his forefeet, then kick out with his rear hooves, while still high in the air. Billy developed and performed with a number of other acts, including those with horses named "Mr. Nifty" and "Little Boy Blue."<br />
<br />
Billy and his family owned and operated "Buschboms' Cowboy Cafe" in Cassville, Wis. for a number of years. In his spare time, the cowboy-showman taught many impressive and educational lessons on the local pool tables. But during the rodeo season, he and his big car and horse trailer could wind up almost anywhere in this country or in Canada. Anywhere that afforded him an opportunity to compete and to perform for an appreciative, cheering crowd.<br />
<br />
Billy seemed as "at home" in the center of the rodeo arena in the Cow Palace or in New York's Madison Square Garden as he did on Amelia St. in Cassville. His travels and performances afforded him the opportunity to meet and become acquainted with a wide slice of the populace, including many people of prominence. His list of friends included many of the cowboy movie heroes and other show business celebrities.<br />
<br />
Billy died young--far too young--in 1976. When I visit my grandparents' graves in a cemetery near Glen Haven, I usually stop by Billy's plot. The large monument is appropriately decorated--etched with sketches of a lasso and cowboy boots. The stone not only tells Billy's name and dates of birth and passing, but also informs us that he was a "World Champion Trick and Fancy Roper," and the "Trainer of Sir Roger, Mr. Nifty, and Little Boy Blue--World Famous Horse Acts."<br />
<br />
Goodbye, Sir Roger--Farewell Mr. Nifty--and Little Boy Blue.<br />
<br />
Happy trails, Billy Buschbom.<br />
<span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />MASTER SHOWMAN</span><br />
Bill, we recall your singing ropes,<br />
Your big gold-plated dreams and hopes,<br />
Those bright and shiny western suits,<br />
White Stetson hat and ostrich boots.<br />
<br />
Trick roper in your early years,<br />
Later roped calves and wrestled steers.<br />
With horse trailer and Cadillac<br />
You crossed this country, forth and back.<br />
<br />
Your life was built 'round rodeo,<br />
Horses and ropes...the Wild West Show!<br />
You found the thrill success can bring,<br />
Playing "The Garden," center ring!<br />
<br />
Your horse, Sir Roger, thrilled each crowd,<br />
Jumped higher, as their cheers grew loud.<br />
You're missed my many, there's no doubt,<br />
Our world dimmed when your flame burned out.Our Writerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11754926893496843169noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5557918900215790284.post-45970472188433325752010-07-02T04:10:00.000-07:002012-12-05T13:12:40.206-08:00HAPPY FOURTH OF JULY<a href="http://i26.photobucket.com/albums/c124/jerowan2001/FlagEagle2.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://i26.photobucket.com/albums/c124/jerowan2001/FlagEagle2.jpg" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a><br />
<div align="left">
<strong>Old Glory - long, proudly may she wave</strong><br />
I remember the Fourth of July in a small midwestern town. Flags lined both sides of the two block along Main Street. Their wooden staffs fitted into metal sockets that were cast in the concrete, near the edges of the sidewalks. And Old Glory flew proudly and colorfully in the breeze.<br />
<br />
If rain threatened, the local businessmen watched the sky. As the first raindrops hit the sidewalk, they raced out to retrieve the precious banners before they got wet. And heaven help any clumsy lout who allowed the Colors to even touch the pavement.<br />
<br />
It seems that no one tossed flags on the ground and trampled all over them back then. No one urinated on flags ... or burned them. Perhaps people were well-enough educated and intelligent enough then to express themselves and their beliefs and ideas in words, spoken and/or written. Or maybe they realized that it would just not be worth the effort and the pain involved in attempting to do otherwise.<br />
<br />
Today's world, with all of its guaranteed freedoms, only makes my childhood memories all the more precious. Lord knows, I have never been accused of being a "flag waver," but sometimes ... enough is enough.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
FLYING HIGH</div>
<br />
From the East Coast to Hawaii<br />
I've seen beauty everywhere<br />
And way up high above all of those lands and seas<br />
<br />
There is a proud and mighty banner<br />
That's been there two hundred years.<br />
I thrill to see that flag a-flying in the breeze.<br />
<br />
At times, I am sad and lonely<br />
And I can't even find a smile,<br />
And just can't quite seem to see the woods for trees.<br />
<br />
There's just one thing that lifts my spirits<br />
And makes me my blessings count –<br />
The sight of that old flag a-flying in the breeze.<br />
<br />
This great country is my homeland.<br />
It's here that I was born and bred;<br />
Here I can do just almost anything I please,<br />
<br />
And I never have to worry,<br />
I know that freedom is still mine –<br />
I still can see that flag a-flying in the breeze.<br />
<br />
Sometimes I get feeling grateful,<br />
And then I thank the Lord above,<br />
And when I pray, I get right down there on my knees.<br />
<br />
Then I thank Him for His kindness,<br />
For I have been truly blessed,<br />
I have seen that flag a-flying in the breeze.<br />
<br />
Thank God,<br />
I've seen that flag a-flying in the breeze! </div>
Our Writerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11754926893496843169noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5557918900215790284.post-1563588860477267432010-05-30T06:40:00.000-07:002012-12-05T13:15:34.015-08:00TALES OF THE RIVER BANK<br />
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<br />
<br />
And old friend and I often compare notes. We agree that our reading habits have followed much the same pattern. As small boys, our favorite part of the daily newspaper was the “funny page,” while our parents were concerned with the news. Later, we concentrated on the sports pages, and noticed that our parents turned first to the obituaries. Then, far too soon, we found ourselves doing the same thing.<br />
<br />
Recently two old comic strip friends, Calvin and Hobbes, have returned for a brief re-run visit. Once again, I turn to the comics first. I’ve never failed to be amazed at Bill Watterson’s discontinued strip. His imaginative genius seemed endless. There was constant variety, with Calvin seeing himself as anything from a disgruntled six-year-old boy to a spaceman or the superhero Stupendous Man or an old Mike Hammer-type private eye.<br />
<br />
The art work was always outstanding, with everything from simple close-ups of the main characters to crowd scenes to broad scenic views rendered in brush and ink in the finest cartoon style. And when Hobbes, a stuffed toy, suddenly turned into a fierce life-sized tiger, there was action to burn.<br />
<br />
I often think of another great comic strip of years gone by. Walt Kelly, with his Pogo Possum, a cigar-smoking alligator named Albert, and a host of other Okefenokee Swamp animal residents, created an entire make-believe world. Fantasy, yet somehow almost believable. A world of political and social satire that often left us thinking, perhaps at times even slightly embarrassed, and laughing at our own human faults and frailties: “We have met the enemy, and he is us.”<br />
<br />
Animals about which I write rarely speak English or try to impersonate humans, but seem perfectly content in their own animal world.<br />
<br />
<br />
TALES OF THE RIVER BANK<br />
<br />
For me, the best time of the day <br />
Is when the sky turns to gray<br />
At twilight, just as the <br />
Evening’s coming down.<br />
<br />
Soon many wild critters appear,<br />
Large and small, both far and near,<br />
Along the stream that flows<br />
Two miles east of town.<br />
<br />
Out in the main stream, a large fish<br />
Makes a “splash” and then a “splish,”<br />
”Mooch,” the muskrat, pokes his<br />
Nose from his damp den.<br />
<br />
From far off, a lonely shore bird’s<br />
Sad and lonely cry is heard.<br />
A great horned owl gives a<br />
Loud “Hoot” now and then<br />
<br />
<br />
Wily “Riley,” the sly old mink<br />
Loves to slither and to slink<br />
Near the water’s edge where<br />
He’ll likely find food.<br />
<br />
He is quite mean, a surly chap<br />
Who just does not “give a rap,”<br />
His demeanor can be<br />
Described as quite rude.<br />
<br />
”Shifty Ritchie,” the sly raccoon,<br />
Beneath the big bright full moon<br />
Wears his burglar’s mask as<br />
He proceeds along,<br />
<br />
He is always careful to stay<br />
Out of old ”Stripey” skunk’s way.<br />
Stripey’s been known, at times,<br />
To come on real strong.<br />
<br />
Silently,”Huck,” a young buck deer<br />
Trusting his sharp, and keen ear,<br />
Tip-toes to the shallow<br />
Stream’s edge for a drink.<br />
<br />
An aged crayfish named “Uncle Spud,”<br />
Climbs up his chimney of mud<br />
Stops there awhile and takes<br />
Time out just to think.<br />
<br />
Out in a large patch of tall reeds <br />
And other assorted weeds <br />
A happy chorus of <br />
Toads sing their love song.<br />
<br />
Perched on a large half-submerged log,<br />
”Boomer,” a pop-eyed male frog,<br />
Tunes up his deep bass voice<br />
And sings right along.<br />
<br />
Such riverbank night life goes on<br />
Till the long, dark night is gone.<br />
Whether morning’s skies bring<br />
On fair skies or rain,<br />
<br />
No one seems overly concerned.<br />
Most likely they’ve never learned<br />
They’re part of Nature, and<br />
Of the whole food chain.Our Writerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11754926893496843169noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5557918900215790284.post-62527343916431276552010-04-25T21:15:00.000-07:002012-12-05T13:18:43.258-08:00ME AND GRANDPA<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUwPgqm2FJAn4J6plpXF5YI8vUUfLJCtr-rAkRuw7O9SGoI6X8skNyKD1xrrcJA72wlPmV7bKXsobiXwrViockooRFThBqpgZ_-umysXFzpd9YCiqAsObTGtL3MejFGDXb5zjGCA6AfNM/s1600/23.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="257" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUwPgqm2FJAn4J6plpXF5YI8vUUfLJCtr-rAkRuw7O9SGoI6X8skNyKD1xrrcJA72wlPmV7bKXsobiXwrViockooRFThBqpgZ_-umysXFzpd9YCiqAsObTGtL3MejFGDXb5zjGCA6AfNM/s320/23.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
Recently we spent several days getting acquainted with a new grandson. We are almost certain that this little fellow will be the last of the lot. From here on, we will most likely see only more great-grandchildren. But little Noah joins a great group. We have enjoyed many hours, days, and weeks with our grandchildren.<br />
<br />
We often hear that the best thing about “our children’s children” is that we can enjoy them. And then when we are finished, we can send them home. But at our house, I don’t remember a time when we were thrilled or even happy to see them leave and go back to their homes. Our youngsters have not only brought us a large measure of joy and happiness, but have done their part in helping keep Grandma and Grandpa young.<br />
<br />
I don’t remember seeing a lot of grandparents holding children on their laps or spending a lot of time with them back when I was a child. But today, in stores, restaurants, and various other public places it is common to see the old and the young together. And enjoying it. In a lot of homes these days both parents are working. And the grandparents are retired, mobile, and still young enough to enjoy the interrelationship with small ones. And what better babysitters could be found?<br />
<br />
While putting together a collection of children’s poems recently I decided that I lacked a real “Grandpa-type poem.” So I wrote one. And we may as well try it out here.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
ME AND GRANDPA<br />
<br />
Grandpa likes to tell me stories<br />
Of the days of long ago,<br />
Although Daddy says he sometimes<br />
Makes up parts he doesn’t know.<br />
<br />
Grandpa likes us kids around him<br />
When he’s finished with his nap.<br />
Some of our best times are when we<br />
Are on his well-padded lap.<br />
<br />
Grandpa doesn’t move real swiftly<br />
His thin hair is silvery gray,<br />
And he spends a lot of time in<br />
His rocking chair every day.<br />
<br />
He likes telling tales about times<br />
Back when he was just a lad.<br />
To hear him, he minded his folks<br />
And was almost never bad.<br />
<br />
Each morning he got up early<br />
To help his dad with the chores.<br />
When he wasn’t busy working,<br />
He played, mostly out of doors.<br />
<br />
<br />
Some of his tales are exciting,<br />
Yarns about the old Wild West<br />
Of all the things he tells us, I<br />
Like those cowboy stories best.<br />
<br />
I like hiking with my Grandpa<br />
Through the woods and by the streams.<br />
He says, “Nature is conducive<br />
To dreaming up worthwhile dreams.”<br />
<br />
Down by the pond he explains how<br />
Water floats a heavy ship.<br />
When he throws a flat stone “sidearm”<br />
He can really make it skip.<br />
<br />
Grandpa says when I’ve grown larger,<br />
But before I get real big,<br />
He’ll teach me to make a whistle<br />
From a smooth green willow twig.<br />
<br />
He says one day he will teach me<br />
How to make a baseball curve,<br />
and to face a fastball pitcher<br />
And not ever lose my nerve.<br />
<br />
I’ve asked Grandpa about football.<br />
He said, “That game’s rough and tough.”<br />
But he will teach me to play when<br />
I am big and old enough.<br />
<br />
<br />
He’ll teach me to throw a spiral<br />
And we’ll study all the rules.<br />
Before long I’ll kick long field goals<br />
Like they do in the big schools.<br />
<br />
Today I’ll wear my green sweatshirt<br />
And my Green Bay Packers cap.<br />
We’ll go out and play as soon as<br />
Grandpa finishes his nap.Our Writerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11754926893496843169noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5557918900215790284.post-47163577740544817882010-03-21T11:08:00.000-07:002012-12-05T13:19:08.498-08:00SPRINGTIME<br />
<br />
<br />
The older I get, the more I appreciate our Midwest with its four distinct seasons of the year. Maybe that is because I was born and raised here. I can’t really say that I enjoy winter, but I think I would miss it. I am sure I appreciate spring all the more because of it. We often hear that anticipation is at least half the joy of anything. I’m sure that a lot of us begin anticipating spring when the snowdrifts are still “hip-high to a tall…person” (Shucks, there goes another of my favorite old sayings that my politically correct friends won’t let me use anymore).<br />
<br />
I do occasionally run into folks who don’t exactly look forward to the seasonal changes. A few just don’t care much for change. And then there are some that are pessimists who aren’t really pleased with anything. While complaining about the cold, snow, ice, wind-chill factor, and frosty forecasts, they don’t like to be interrupted by someone telling about a newly developed variety of seed potatoes he or she is going to order from that colorful seed catalog that came in the mail yesterday.<br />
<br />
Believe it or not, such people really don’t look forward to spring. There is all that unsettled weather to look forward to, weeks of mud to contend with, followed by days of hard work raking and cleaning up the winter’s supply of fallen tree branches and trash and gravel from the lawn. And indoors, how will they ever find time to get all their spring-cleaning done? Then there will be all of that never-ending work in garden. And spring gives them nothing to look forward to but all of that lawn mowing and other hard work and, worst of all, the intolerable heat that summer will surely bring.<br />
<br />
And that hot season will give them nothing to look forward to but fall. How could anyone enjoy a busy time of year like that? All of those dry, fallen leaves from the neighbors’ trees that the wind will deposit on their lawns will have to be raked up and burned, or bagged up and carted off. The garden has to be “put to bed” for winter. And then there is fall housecleaning. And soon there will be the cold and the deep snow, the icy, slippery, dangerous roads, and the huge fuel bills.<br />
<br />
And when winter is finally finished, along comes that busy, messy, muddy season we call “spring.”<br />
<br />
<br />
SPRINGTIME<br />
<br />
A few drab and shabby snowdrifts<br />
Still insist on hanging ‘round,<br />
But if we’re quiet, and listen,<br />
From the woodland comes the sound<br />
<br />
Of the spring’s very first robin;<br />
We stop just to hear it sing,<br />
As it does its level best to<br />
Turn our winter into spring.<br />
<br />
As that season rounds the corner<br />
Judging by these signs we’ve seen,<br />
Soon the lawns and pastures will all<br />
Turn from dull, drab brown to green.<br />
<br />
Trees and shrubs will all be leafed out<br />
In their lacey finery<br />
As they do their best to please and<br />
To thrill folks like you and me.<br />
<br />
<br />
We can see the buds now swelling<br />
On the maple’s branches high,<br />
Praying for warm springtime sunshine<br />
As they brush against the sky.<br />
<br />
Waves of snow-white and pink flowers<br />
On apple and wild plum trees<br />
Will fill mild air with fragrance to<br />
Awake winter-weary bees.<br />
<br />
The brook’s music will assure us<br />
That, once again, spring has sprung,<br />
Nests and dens of many creatures<br />
Will be homes for brand-new young.<br />
<br />
In farm fields, the newly plowed ground<br />
Will echo the tractor’s roar.<br />
Awaiting the new birth and growth<br />
This great season has in store.<br />
<br />
As we look around, we can’t help<br />
But feel we’ve been truly blessed:<br />
All these wonders of creation<br />
Displayed at their very best.Our Writerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11754926893496843169noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5557918900215790284.post-57432585019661405532010-02-13T17:13:00.000-08:002012-12-05T13:19:29.863-08:00LOVERS’ MOON<br />
<br />
<br />
The moon has been of great interest to people since the beginning of time. Large, bright, and near enough to the earth to be easily seen and studied in many of its phases, yet not so brilliant as to discourage or prevent people from watching it, as is the case with the sun.<br />
<br />
As soon as primitive people discovered that the full moon came around regularly, they could use it to measure and record time. Native Americans often referred to something as having taken place a certain number of “moons” ago. People in some parts of the world still measure their year by the moon’s cycles. The moon determines the date of Easter Sunday.<br />
<br />
Some early people worshipped the moon as a god or a goddess. For others, it played a big part in their superstitions. Still today, some people wouldn’t even consider looking at the moon over their left shoulder. Many continue to plant their field crops and gardens “by the moon.” They study the almanac to determine the best days for planting. They insist that some crops do better when planted in the “dark of the moon,” and others in the “light.”<br />
<br />
A lot of folks feel certain that the moon has a decided effect on certain people’s thinking. The word “lunacy” comes from the word “luna,” meaning moon. Anyone acting irrationally at the time of a full moon is often considered to just be acting “kind of loony”. I’ve never studied any statistics, but a number of police officers tell me that crime rates, especially crimes of violence, increase dramatically when the moon is full. And the old stories tell us that is the time for werewolves to grow hair and fangs, and for Count Dracula and his vampire buddies to become active.<br />
<br />
The moon is the major force that creates the tides in the oceans. Many who have studied the distant ball of rock have seen a “man in the moon”. And down through the years, a few optimists never doubted for a minute that the day would arrive when man would walk on the moon. Its silver light has inspired writers, artists, songwriters, and musicians. An early autumn full moon gives farmers an extra measure of twilight time to harvest their crops, and is called a “harvest moon.” The next full moon is considered a “hunter’s moon.” It is possible for the full moon phase to occur twice within one month. The second such stage is commonly referred to as a “blue moon.” Such double appearances of the full moon within a single month are infrequent, so in describing something that happens only on rare occasions, we use the expression “once in a blue moon.”<br />
<br />
And then there are many occasions when the full moon is considered by romantics to be a “lovers’ moon.”<br />
<br />
LOVERS’ MOON<br />
<br />
The old couple rocked<br />
In their chairs on the front porch,<br />
Looked up at, and studied,<br />
Autumn’s rising full moon.<br />
<br />
Smiling, they held hands,<br />
As they counted their blessings,<br />
Later heard the horned owl<br />
And sad cry of the loon.<br />
<br />
The old lady smiled,<br />
Whispered, “We’ve been so lucky.<br />
Many of the Good Lord’s<br />
Blessings have come our way.<br />
<br />
“We’ve worked and we’ve prayed,<br />
While we raised a good family.<br />
Sometimes those early years<br />
Seem like just yesterday.<br />
<br />
“It’s hard to believe<br />
The time passed by so swiftly.<br />
Our children, once babies,<br />
Have all so quickly grown,<br />
<br />
“Matured and scattered<br />
Like dry leaves in the autumn<br />
All seeking new goals, and<br />
Doing well on their own.<br />
<br />
“That same moon was up<br />
There back when we were courting.<br />
It seems almost to be<br />
A good and trusted friend.<br />
<br />
“It’s lighted our way<br />
Through dark nights of our journey,<br />
As it most likely will<br />
All the way to life’s end.”<br />
<br />
He whispered, “Yes, dear,<br />
Our life’s been great together.<br />
We have been a good team<br />
All this time we’ve been wed.<br />
<br />
“But we’re both aware<br />
That one-day soon we’ll rejoin<br />
Those old friends and neighbors<br />
Who have gone on ahead.<br />
<br />
“Side-by-side we walk,<br />
Traveling down life’s long highway,<br />
As we both wend our way<br />
Up toward heaven’s throne.<br />
<br />
When we arrive there,<br />
Once more we’ll see the faces<br />
Of our kinfolk and friends.<br />
There we’ll not be alone.”Our Writerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11754926893496843169noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5557918900215790284.post-19501178439971125122010-01-24T20:50:00.000-08:002012-12-05T13:19:47.305-08:00Paddle Or Drift<br />
<br />
Now and then I get criticized for being a bit too “preachy.” And this may be one of those occasions. Some years ago I had the opportunity to work with several other people on an inspirational and motivational project. And I found that I kind of like that sort of writing. Asking people to smile and look for rainbows seems to make more sense than pointing out to them all of the things that are wrong with our world.<br />
<br />
There are so many inspirational and self-help books already on the shelves that it is difficult to come up with thoughts and methods that are original. But the facts remain the same. Life is usually pretty much what we make it. Oh, sure, we all have some real tragedies in our lives. Unhappy experiences over which we have no control. But we can determine the manner in which we handle such matters.<br />
<br />
Many times dealing with the smaller problems and trying to make the best of bad situations strengthens us and helps prepare us for other, larger problems we will encounter along the way. But only if we handle each matter in a positive fashion. To wimp and whine and enjoy feeling sorry for ourselves only tends to weaken and make us less well prepared to face up to life and the real world.<br />
<br />
Why waste time worrying about how we wound up in this awful mess we are in? It makes more sense to spend our time deciding where we want to be and what will be the best possible highway to take to get there. Why not be brave and dream the dream. If we focus on a positive path, and stick with it, we can’t help but find our way. And arrive at our goal with a smile!<br />
<br />
<br />
PADDLE OR DRIFT<br />
<br />
Who knows just where<br />
Life’s road may lead<br />
Or where this trail will wend?<br />
There could be a<br />
“Hazard” sign hid<br />
Around most any bend.<br />
<br />
The path may be<br />
Rocky and rough,<br />
Steep—uphill all the way,<br />
With cactus, stone,<br />
And bramble bush—<br />
No one can really say.<br />
<br />
Our way can be<br />
Thickly strewn with<br />
Problems, both large and small.<br />
At such times—with<br />
The going rough—<br />
We all stumble and fall.<br />
<br />
It’s only just<br />
A waste of time<br />
To whimper and to cry<br />
About brass rings<br />
We’ve failed to grasp,<br />
Fortunes we’ve let slip by.<br />
<br />
If we feel that<br />
We’re failure bound,<br />
That bad luck’s beat us down,<br />
The mean monster<br />
That we call “life”<br />
Will rob us of our crown. <br />
<br />
So grasp that rude<br />
Beast by the horns—<br />
Failure’s not worth a dime—<br />
Let’s live life the<br />
One way we can:<br />
Just one day at a time.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
On life’s journey,<br />
We find there’s just<br />
One thing that we can do.<br />
Hang on, take the<br />
Good with the bad<br />
And see the project through.<br />
<br />
It makes no sense<br />
To idly sit<br />
And watch life pass you by.<br />
Get right back up<br />
Dust yourself off,<br />
Give it another try.<br />
<br />
Picture this life<br />
You’re blessed with as<br />
A special, precious gift.<br />
The golden prize<br />
Goes to paddlers,<br />
Not to those who just drift.Our Writerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11754926893496843169noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5557918900215790284.post-29117180334397743522010-01-01T07:05:00.000-08:002012-12-05T13:20:15.123-08:00New Years Past<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<br />
<div>
Another new year! One more set of 365 days that we hope to enjoy. And, as time goes by, each of these years becomes more precious.<br />
<br />
New Year’s Day has always been a church day for me. Both a holyday and a holiday. But as youngsters we all regretted that it fell during Christmas vacation and didn’t give us another day off from school.<br />
<br />
Many, many years ago there was a time when it was almost an absolute must for many of us young fellows to be out and about and making the rounds on New Year’s Eve. Provided the winter weather and road conditions cooperated. For a number of years the huge Checkerboard Ballroom at Prairie du Chien was a great place to congregate. There we were certain to run into almost everyone we knew – friends from all of the neighboring towns. There was no better place for music and dancing, and at midnight, hats, horns, whistles, noisemakers, confetti, balloons, and everything it else required to make for an enjoyable and memorable evening. On New Year’s Eve, most dance bands didn’t pack up at one o’clock, but continued playing at least until “halfway to daylight.”<br />
<br />
As the years have gone by, I’ve found less and less need for New Year’s Eve socializing. Less desire to fight the cold and the snow, and take chances on icy roads. And to contend with the unusually heavy, speeding traffic, with many of the drivers not in condition to operate their vehicles at their skillful best. Home is now a comfortable place to be. There is no longer any reason or need to stay awake until midnight to “see the New Year in.”<br />
<br />
The year 2000 has treated me well. With health, home, family, and a car that runs well and gets at least 30 miles per gallon of $1.50-plus gasoline, I feel that I just about have it all. I attended my first cat show this past summer. And, to my surprise, I really enjoyed it. Then, this fall we attended the “annual grape stomp” at a large winery, complete with grape stomping, grape spitting, and cork throwing contests.<br />
<br />
In November we made our first-ever journey to Bankston, Iowa to wish Cousin Grace Gotto a happy birthday. And to help her and her family, friends, and relatives celebrate. The large hall was filled and the crowd included a lot of my Iowa cousins, many with names like Ellerbach, Wilwert, and Hayes. Also quite a few younger Gotto cousins. It’s always great to see those folks again. I’ll say one thing for Bankston. People there really know how to celebrate a birthday.<br />
<br />
But the year hasn’t been all fun and games. I attended far too many wakes and funerals this year. An unusual number of my relatives and close friends, both young and old, failed to survive the year. Some day I suppose I will delete the late, great Tom Gifford’s name and e-mail address from my computer’s address book. But for the time being, it will remain. Just for old time’s sake. What an individual! What a great writer! What a great loss his untimely passing was for all of us!<br />
<br />
I’ve never been much for New Year’s Resolutions. But maybe I should be. Making the resolutions isn’t usually all that difficult a chore. Down through the years I’ve tried a few. Decided that I would make changes that would improve my health, happiness, and success. Usually we can easily find a few faults, flaws, and weaknesses in our makeup. At least I have no problem there. It’s actually the keeping of the resolutions that presents the problems.<br />
<br />
<br />
NEW YEAR’S, 2001<br />
<br />
Now is the time to celebrate<br />
The birth of a brand-new year,<br />
A time for faith and hope and trust,<br />
Not for worry or for fear.<br />
<br />
No time to mope about the past,<br />
But to look forward, instead.<br />
Focus on a brighter future,<br />
Envision great days ahead.<br />
<br />
We know with each day problems come,<br />
Every month’s another test,<br />
Our whole lifetime’s built out of years,<br />
Let’s make this new one the best.<br />
<br />
We’ll seek out progress and success<br />
As this new year passes by.<br />
If we fail, let’s make sure it’s not<br />
Because we just didn’t try.<br />
<br />
We often can blame just ourselves<br />
For defeats in early years.<br />
We’ve ignored the success blueprint<br />
Hidden right between our ears.<br />
<br />
We’re all seeking a better way,<br />
Hoping to “get in the groove,”<br />
But things don’t just “fall into place”<br />
We have to make the first move.<br />
<br />
Most times there really is no need<br />
To relocate, rove, or roam,<br />
Often our “acres of diamonds”<br />
Lie hidden right close to home.<br />
<br />
So let’s get those brain cells working,<br />
Be prepared to plan and dream.<br />
Keep looking for the bright side, and<br />
Find that winning theme or scheme.<br />
<br />
Happiness follows clear thinking,<br />
Persistence and strength of heart,<br />
Making New Year’s Resolutions<br />
Seems the perfect way to start! </div>
Our Writerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11754926893496843169noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5557918900215790284.post-86503666014463100812009-11-01T14:34:00.000-08:002012-12-05T13:20:38.686-08:00NIGHT FINDS THE RIVER<br />
<div>
<br />
It has been almost a year since I have devoted one of these columns to the Mississippi River. And at least several river-loving readers are becoming restless. So once more we will return to that powerful, timeless, hard-working stream and its beautiful valley.<br />
<br />
When I was just a youngster our family sometimes drove to Cassville and took the ferry across the river to visit our Iowa relatives in and around Holy Cross, Rickardsville, and Sherrill. The distance was considerably shorter than was a highway jaunt down through Dubuque.<br />
<br />
The original Cassville ferry boat was a far cry from the present craft. I imagine it was owned by the Klindt and Geiger Canning Co. and its main purpose was to carry men, horses, wagons, and machinery across to the Turkey River bottoms and to haul back loads of sweet corn, cabbage, and peas the company grew there.<br />
<br />
I’ve lived all of my life within a dozen miles of the river, but never became a real “river rat.” Oh, I’ve done some fishing out there on the peaceful lakes and sloughs. I’ve never kept score, but the worms and night crawlers I’ve drowned would most likely outweigh the pounds of fish caught.<br />
<br />
I’ve enjoyed some pleasure boating. My attempts to learn to swim and to water ski were none too successful, but I’ve enjoyed many good times on the Mississippi and its sand bars. I’ve also spent a number of sad nighttime hours in a boat helping search for an unfortunate person who did not return from a day on the river.<br />
<br />
These days I’m quite content to just sit on the shore, preferably on a warm day, and in the shade of a large friendly tree. The Big River can be mirror-smooth and peaceful on a calm day, and appear wild, rough, and angry on windy, stormy days. Its surface can appear blue as a lake, or silver, or the color of lead, depending on the sky above. Or it can be wearing its plain muddy brown work clothes. For me, the bank of the river always seems a good place to do some thinking; an ideal surrounding for coming up with a good new idea or two. Also for rethinking and enjoying a few older thoughts and memories.<br />
<br />
<br />
NIGHT FINDS THE RIVER<br />
<br />
Bright sun seeks the west horizon,<br />
Prepares for the coming night.<br />
Blue skies mirrored on the river<br />
Become pale, then silvery white.<br />
<br />
I watch trees on the far island<br />
Turn from green to inky black.<br />
Downstream, I soon can barely make<br />
Out the old fisherman’s shack.<br />
<br />
In the distance I soon see the<br />
First faint lights of a far town<br />
On the smooth, calm, waiting river,<br />
Night comes softly settling down.<br />
<br />
<br />
The bald eagle has returned now<br />
To its cliff-top aerie high.<br />
An adventuresome nighthawk darts<br />
Out across the darkening sky.<br />
<br />
There’s a scurry on the shoreline<br />
Near small stumps beavers have chewed,<br />
Where a hungry raccoon family<br />
Washes clean some new found food.<br />
<br />
Out on the main channel all of<br />
The big fish are not asleep.<br />
A loud “slap” tells us they’re feeding<br />
Where the water’s swift and deep.<br />
<br />
Somewhere, far off in the distance<br />
I hear a strange wild bird’s cry.<br />
In the east, a full moon rises<br />
Up to rule the nighttime sky.<br />
<br />
Silver moonlight rides small ripples,<br />
Bright, nearby, then fading, faint –<br />
Such a living, moving picture,<br />
I know I could never paint.<br />
<br />
High up on the hill, a horned owl<br />
Calls out loudly to its mate.<br />
I must be moving along now<br />
As the hour is growing late.<br />
<br />
This big, mighty Mississippi,<br />
As it rolls along its way,<br />
Is a constant source of beauty<br />
Any time, both night and day.<br />
<br />
Such splendor – all we must do is<br />
Look around us, here and there.<br />
In this river valley we’ll find<br />
Beauty almost everywhere.</div>
Our Writerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11754926893496843169noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5557918900215790284.post-48784544981846928192009-09-27T16:13:00.000-07:002012-12-05T13:20:59.326-08:00THE VALLEY<br />
I enjoy talking to, and exchanging ideas with people of various ages. Most of the younger ones have dreams. But for a good share of the older ones, the dream has flown.<br />
<br />
For many of the youngsters and at least a few of us older folks, some of our best dreams and plans will ever remain in the dream stage. And will never grow and bear fruit, for lack of determination and effort. I think a wise person once said something like: “The formula for success is 10% inspiration and 90% perspiration.”<br />
<br />
Some of the younger people will forge ahead and, refusing to be sidetracked, will continue to work their plan until they achieve success. As will a few of the older ones. We have always been told that Colonel Sanders financed his initial Kentucky Fried Chicken shop with his first social security check.<br />
<br />
At least a few of the older people I meet have given up the dream. And, sadly, they now spend a lot of their time looking backward and thinking of the way things might have been. They feel that their greatest hopes, dreams, schemes, and plans were smashed or suffocated by unfavorable conditions or circumstances.<br />
<br />
Some will feel the full reason for their failure was a personal health problem. Others will point out family or other responsibilities or the lack of a good credit rating. For others, it is the national economy, or a high unemployment rate. For many, it will never be anything other than just an unnaturally long streak of bad luck.<br />
<br />
The older we get the easier it becomes to place the blame for our failures on misfortune, or on other people. Without the big, bright dream to fill their hours and days, most retired folks now find plenty of time to focus on advancing age, failing health, and a whole host of unhappy things. Also on current local, national, and worldwide situations and conditions that are definitely not in their control and not to their liking. Too often when we ask an older person what he or she thinks of the Golden Years that question brings a quick and surprisingly sarcastic answer.<br />
<br />
But, whether asked or not, we old codgers are usually ready, willing, and able to come up with advice.<br />
<br />
<br />
THE VALLEY<br />
The old man sought out the barroom<br />
On a hot, late August day.<br />
He was thin, with sagging shoulders<br />
His long beard shaggy and gray.<br />
<br />
The stranger looked the place over,<br />
Said, “I’ve not been here before,<br />
But I’ve seen bars just like this one –<br />
Hundreds, maybe thousands more.”<br />
<br />
<br />
The bartender said, “You’re lucky,<br />
Gramps, today the first beer’s free<br />
Provided you share your outlook<br />
On life, with my friends and me.”<br />
<br />
The old man agreed, then smiled as<br />
He blew the foam from his beer.<br />
He began, “Life’s like a valley<br />
And it’s all uphill from here.<br />
<br />
“I have met a lot of people<br />
As I’ve traveled round about,<br />
And like you gents, there are many<br />
Whose hopes are seasoned with doubt.<br />
<br />
“When you’re young and growing up you’re<br />
Kind of brassy ‘cause you know<br />
That, later, in grownup life you<br />
Will be the boss of the show.<br />
<br />
“But often life has a way of<br />
Giving things a different spin.<br />
The hills that confine life’s valley<br />
Sometimes get you all boxed in.<br />
<br />
“If you seek success and fortune,<br />
You must climb life’s steep, long stair.<br />
Take the path of least resistance<br />
And you won’t get anywhere.<br />
<br />
“Life hands out nothing for nothing,<br />
Everyone must pay his dues.<br />
If there’s an easy way, I fear<br />
I can’t give you any clues.<br />
<br />
“I keep heading up life’s valley,<br />
Up around each turn and bend.<br />
And I’m kind of hoping heaven’s<br />
Just beyond life’s valley’s end.”<br />
<br />
As he talked, a large crowd gathered,<br />
Joining those who were there first.<br />
The cash register played a tune<br />
As new patrons slaked their thirst.<br />
<br />
The bar owner thanked the old man<br />
And shook his old, withered hand.<br />
Four free beers for entertainment’s<br />
Cheaper than a three-piece band.Our Writerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11754926893496843169noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5557918900215790284.post-49736413501019466272009-09-02T05:46:00.000-07:002012-12-05T13:21:10.665-08:00A World Now Almost Unknown<br />
<br />
The talented young presenter at the creative writing seminar did her best to convince us that we should choose subjects we know, and then write about the people, places, and things with which we are most familiar. Her closing words were “Strive for authenticity!”<br />
<br />
“But,” I wondered, “If I write about my world, will there be any readers out there who have the slightest idea what I am saying?” Not wanting to waste the valuable seminar lessons, I decided to give it a try. So here goes:<br />
<br />
I remember well the day when our family got its first telephone. That was definitely a highlight in my life, so there may be a good place to start this tale. Today everyone is familiar with phones. But I can hardly describe the excitement of getting our first phone without mentioning that we were on a “party line.” And that will require more explanation. And I’ll have to convince some readers that the early phones had no pushbuttons or even a dial, but only a crank you turned to make all your calls. Back then, each phone on a party line had its own special series of long and/or short rings, such as “short-long-short,” or “long-short-long.”<br />
<br />
The combination of two, three, or four such rings told everyone on the party line whose number was being called. A person from that household answered, while there were usually at least several other people on the line who just ‘listened in” or “rubbernecked” to keep up on the local news. For calls out and beyond the party line, one medium-length ring was used to connect the caller with the local “central office,” usually in a nearby small town. The “operator” there would manually make the necessary connection to put through a medium or long distance call. And one long, continued ring was the 9-1-1 of its day, and was used to summon everyone on the line to the phone. They would listen for the message that followed the “long ring,” and if there was an emergency, they would all come running to help out. Back then, many phone numbers consisted of only one, two, or three digits.<br />
<br />
Today, when a large part of our world appears to be powered by “double A” batteries, many of the readers I hope to reach just might not believe there was a time when a radio required several different sizes of dry batteries, plus a six-volt storage battery. When that big battery started to run down, it could be exchanged with the one in a car, and thus get recharged by the car’s generator, provided it had not been run down so far it lacked the power to crank and start the engine. Just to make sure, some folks parked their car at the top of a steep hill before making the exchange.<br />
<br />
Before television became such a big part of our lives, magazines made up an important part of the entertainment of many. I remember those publications as being quite “reader friendly,” and did not require wading through many pages of advertising material to find a good readable, enjoyable article. And I don’t remember any of those nuisance “reply cards” that annoy us today, and that many of us tear out and discard before reading a magazine.<br />
<br />
The better magazines contained very well-written and useful articles that were educational and dealt with life and the world around us. Some, including The Saturday Evening Post, Colliers, and Country Gentleman had great fiction stories, some short and some long enough to be continued in three or four issues. A number of these stories were of high enough quality to later be made into movies. I remember one in particular, “Scudda Hoo! Scudda Hay!” that was filmed with June Haver, Lon McAllister, and Walter Brennan in the starring roles.<br />
<br />
Perhaps some of my words will find a few readers out there who grew up on farms back in the 20s, 30s or 40s. They will understand if I tell of a time when you didn’t eat breakfast until after the cows were milked. There may even be a few who remember balancing on a one or two-legged milk stool while learning to milk a cow by hand. Also using a three-tined fork to feed the cows hay and a five-tined fork and shovel and perhaps even a wheelbarrow to clean up at the other end of the animals. Some may remember “hog chores” and “chicken chores,” including gathering and washing eggs.<br />
<br />
Most farm kids and quite a few town kids once learned, at an early age, how to plant and take care of gardens. Also how to harvest fruits and vegetables and help prepare them for canning. We learned how to cut potatoes into seed pieces, making sure there were two buds or “eyes” on each piece. And how to drop them into shallow holes or trenches, step them down firmly into the ground and kick loose dirt over them. We always tried to drop them with the cut side down and the eyes up, so the sprouts would have the shortest possible route to the top of the ground.<br />
<br />
In addition to the garden work, there was usually a lawn to be mowed by “kid power,” with a reel-type “push” lawn mower. Often, in those days before chemical herbicides, there were weeds to hoe or pull in the corn fields. And each summer there was grain to be shocked, and the haymaking season always required a youngster to “lead the horse on the hayfork.”<br />
<br />
I can only hope there still a few readers out there who played “baseball” in a cow pasture, using a tennis ball and a piece of 1 X 4 lumber for a bat, and with tall weeds, burlap sacks, blocks of wood, or dried out cow pies for bases. People my age who attended one-room country schools played kick the can,<br />
<br />
hide-and-seek, and ante over at recess and noon hour. And in the winter, rode their sleds, played fox-and-geese, and made angels in the snow.<br />
<br />
Some readers may remember a time when all of the water used for drinking, cooking, and washing was pumped by hand and carried into the house in pails. Hot water was not obtained from a faucet, but from a “reservoir” built into the end of the wood-fired kitchen “cook stove.” Or a teakettle on the stove’s flat top. Water for washing clothes was heated on top of the stove in a “wash boiler,”<br />
<br />
I hope I can make contact with some readers who remember a time when some farmers still drove into town with horse-drawn wagons or buggies, and in the winter with bobsleds or lighter vehicles that had sleigh runners instead of wheels and were commonly called “cutters.” A time when there were few paved roads, more graveled roads, and dirt roads – which became “mud roads” when it rained. And days when there were few trucks on the road and many farmers still hauled their fattened hogs to the stockyards in horse-drawn wagons.<br />
<br />
Back then, farm children were still quite small when they learned to carry in wood from the woodpile or woodshed to fill a “woodbox” in the house. And later how to split firewood to “heating stove size” with an axe. It had to be split up into even smaller, slimmer chunks for the kitchen range. Some was split ultra-fine for use as “kindling wood” for starting the fires in the morning.<br />
<br />
Hopefully I can share these thoughts with a few who, on crisp, cold winter evenings, were fortunate enough to hear the music of real honest-too-goodness sleigh bells singing out their merry tune to the rhythm of a team of high-stepping, spirited horses.<br />
<br />
As I write, I can only wonder how many readers will stop and think of their own many and varied experiences along life’s way, the bad as well as the good, both the hard work and the play, and realize that these were, for the most part, what shaped our lives and supplied many of the building blocks that made (or make) us what we are today.Our Writerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11754926893496843169noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5557918900215790284.post-22787947482566116842009-07-13T15:57:00.000-07:002009-07-13T16:03:00.552-07:00THE PAGER<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_XTKTRUeenDQ/Slu9HaV7spI/AAAAAAAAA5M/2z83hLuR2wQ/s1600-h/T7400A_09MD.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 181px; height: 200px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_XTKTRUeenDQ/Slu9HaV7spI/AAAAAAAAA5M/2z83hLuR2wQ/s200/T7400A_09MD.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5358084116715385490" border="0" /></a><br /><br /> Martha McCutcheon picked up the electronic pager. Behind the desk, a middle-aged lady wearing a practiced, but tired, smile instructed her, “Please remain here in the waiting room and keep the pager in your hand. It will ‘buzz’ and vibrate to let you know when the doctor is ready to see you.”<br /><br /> Martha took one of the few empty chairs. Once comfortably seated, she looked around the crowded room. Some of the waiting patients were reading newspapers. Others leafed nervously through five-year-old magazines. Most of their faces displayed varying degrees of boredom, unhappiness, or worry.<br /><br />A hint of a smile crept across Martha’s face. Slowly she raised the pager to her ear and began talking softly into the cute little gadget. Soon she appeared to be engaged in a conversation. Her tone of voice – warm, soft, and friendly at first – cooled a bit, then grew louder, taking on tones of downright displeasure. Her expression changed to one of complete disgust as she slammed the pager down into her lap. Then she closed her eyes, and apparently dozed off.<br /><br />By this time, she had attracted the attention of almost everyone in the room. Some smiled. Several poked each other and cautiously, silently laughed at her weird behavior. At least a few may have been sympathetic. One or two probably said a private prayer of thanksgiving for still having their full faculties.<br /><br />After several minutes, Martha opened her eyes and began to study a large painting that decorated the opposite wall. With the pager in her left hand, she slowly raised and pointed it at the peaceful rural scene. She pressed it repeatedly with her thumb. When the picture refused to change, she began to poke the pager deliberately and forcefully with the index finger of her right hand. Once again, an unhappy, dissatisfied look crept across her face. With an exaggerated, exasperated shrug, she again placed the “remote” in her lap, closed her eyes and once more appeared to drift off into a peaceful sleep.<br /><br />A barely noticeable smile tugged at Martha’s lips. Time is just too darned precious a treasure to waste on worry when you are eighty years old (and then some). Especially for someone who has a sense of humor and sufficient imagination to be capable of self-entertainment. And if, while making one’s own world seem a bit brighter and more pleasant, it is possible to entertain a roomful of others and take their minds off of their worries, cares, and their upcoming doctors’ prognoses, a visit to the medical clinic can be almost enjoyable.Our Writerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11754926893496843169noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5557918900215790284.post-77295352675623819812009-06-21T10:56:00.000-07:002009-06-21T16:27:18.349-07:00Emil Schmit's Valedictorian speech from 1941<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_XTKTRUeenDQ/Sj7BYWrNdFI/AAAAAAAAA0I/jvehq_lz-U8/s1600-h/EMIL_-_1941.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 140px; height: 200px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_XTKTRUeenDQ/Sj7BYWrNdFI/AAAAAAAAA0I/jvehq_lz-U8/s200/EMIL_-_1941.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5349926031510565970" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_XTKTRUeenDQ/Sj51AIINhrI/AAAAAAAAAz4/dw8bLW4Ukes/s1600-h/VALEDICTORY+-+1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 146px; height: 200px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_XTKTRUeenDQ/Sj51AIINhrI/AAAAAAAAAz4/dw8bLW4Ukes/s200/VALEDICTORY+-+1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5349842052405102258" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_XTKTRUeenDQ/Sj51FGUZlbI/AAAAAAAAA0A/PGhU5t_cmNY/s1600-h/VALEDICTORY+-+2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 136px; height: 200px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_XTKTRUeenDQ/Sj51FGUZlbI/AAAAAAAAA0A/PGhU5t_cmNY/s200/VALEDICTORY+-+2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5349842137818699186" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:180%;">Friends, teachers, classmates:</span></span><span style="font-size:180%;"><br /></span></div><br /><br /><br />We think of the days of our American Revolution as time of Great change but as we, the class of 1941, graduate we find ourselves in a world where the changes are even greater.<br /><br /><br />These are historic years, and the privilege of living in them is too little realized. Perhaps no graduating class ever has been or ever again will be confronted with conditions that compare with those of our present time. Since about 1935, Europe and its surrounding territory have been unstable. This didn’t seem very serious to us until Sept. 1939 when England and France again declared war on Germany, beginning a struggle which will soon enter its third year. There is doubt now in many minds as to whether or not we can stay clear of entanglements.<br /><br />Although from some angles, the outlook for a country threatened with war cannot appear bright, this present state of affairs which has resulted in our vast National Defense Program offers us excellent opportunities for employment immediately, so that whether the jobs prove permanent or not, we will be able at once to gain work experience and acquire references and recommendations. Besides the selective service draft, and the extensive drives being put on by the Army and Navy for more enlistments, a good many young men and women are being searched for to supply offices and factories where the work of making supplies for the Armed Forces is going on.<br /><br />No doubt some of you remember conditions of ten years ago --193l. The Depression was then nearing its worst stages. Students were graduating from high schools and colleges.Jobs were hard to get, and graduates with little work experiences and no references could not get a start, no matter how cheaply they offered their services. Five years ago, in 1936, the conditions of the country were somewhat improved, yet many graduates had to join the Civilian Conservation Corps or work by the day. Even last year--1940--when conditions seemed to be pretty good, they could not begin to compare with those of this year. Although most of these defense jobs require the employee to be slightly older than we are, the government is offering some of us apprentice training, and besides, the hiring of older persons will leave many vacancies in various civilian enterprises.<br /><br />But there is reason to believe this rise in employment will not be a flash in the pan. Whatever the outcome of the war, the need for greater and greater defense will last for years. Besides, movements are stirring that give hope of vast new industries and many new uses of farm products, such as soy beans and casein being manufactured into automobile parts and furniture. The government has just set up four great laboratories in the four extremes of the country for the sole purpose of studying and discovering more of such new uses. If a motor fuel could be contrived from farm-grown products, think what that alone would mean toward increased industry for both country and city. So we of the class of 1941 have many reasons to look out with hope and ambition on our future.<br /><br />About 1 out of 3 of the members of our class expect to attend college, to learn professions, some will doubtless be employed in the trades, and rest will probably stay near their homes, engaging in agriculture or other rural enterprises. In all cases, chances for success are good. Colleges report they now have more requests to fill positions than they have students qualified to fill them. There is a crying need for skilled mechanics and as for rural labor, many farmers are having ¬trouble securing help for their summer's work. In our high school we have taken courses which should prove valuable in future life -- vocational subjects such as business, agriculture and home economics. And so, with conditions as they are, and with high school training finished, any member of this class who seeks employment should be able to obtain it.<br /><br />And now, speaking for the class, I would like to bid farewell to the school and to our schoolmates. We have had a lot of good times together and are really sorry now that we must leave. And to our parents, our teachers, and our other friends who made this course possible, we owe a lot. To them we express our deepest gratitude.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_XTKTRUeenDQ/Sj51FGUZlbI/AAAAAAAAA0A/PGhU5t_cmNY/s1600-h/VALEDICTORY+-+2.jpg"><br /></a>Our Writerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11754926893496843169noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5557918900215790284.post-56583595508722583422009-06-04T14:14:00.000-07:002009-06-04T14:27:42.511-07:00APATHY, MY DEAR SCARLETT<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_XTKTRUeenDQ/Sig7YlF7OdI/AAAAAAAAAzw/Leo26AqsoY4/s1600-h/a_arhett_1119.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5343586251334957522" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 278px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_XTKTRUeenDQ/Sig7YlF7OdI/AAAAAAAAAzw/Leo26AqsoY4/s320/a_arhett_1119.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div></div><br /><div>Before the advent of the Internet, the goal of most of the writers I knew was to get their thoughts, ideas, and feelings down on paper and then into print by submitting their finished manuscripts to newspaper, magazine, and/or book publishers. They strove to get their writing into printers’ ink wherever they felt it would find and could be shared with the greatest number of readers. </div><br /><div><br />Then the newfangled Web sites came along and rapidly gained popularity. On the positive side, they appeared to be the way to go for a writer to reach the largest reading audience. But they usually did not earn any money for the writer. Also, we were frequently warned that with Web sites there was the possibility we could lose control of our written material. That our precious creations would be hanging out there in the ether, unprotected, and fair game for anyone who wanted to steal them. </div><br /><div><br />I never actually worried that such a thing would happen, I granted permission to several family members to include some of my rhymes on their Web sites, and to the TH to include my “Rhyme and Reason” column in the on-line version of the newspaper. I doubted that my type of material would tempt a lot of literary thieves or plagiarists or make any of them very wealthy. Thus far, I don’t think I have suffered any losses. </div><br /><div><br />Having my published writing and also my e-mail address available over an almost limitless area has provided more than a few happy occurrences and an occasional ego boost. Every now and then I am pleasantly surprised by an e-message from someone who is a complete stranger lives many hundreds of miles away. </div><br /><div><br />Now and then I’ll hear from someone who has left this area but still keeps up with local happenings by reading the on-line version of the TH. Best of all, sometimes the message will come from a good friend from days gone by. Someone like Gene Hilger, once a Glen Haven boy, who is now retired from the military and lives in Des Moines. Or a compliment and a “Keep up the good work!” from Dick Krogman down in sunny Arizona. Wow! I hadn’t seen or heard from Dick, an old Bloomington friend, for 50 years or more. </div><br /><div><br />Recently, quite by accident, I was surprised to find that one of my poems has been used on the Web sites of two strangers. They both gave me credit as the writer. One of these sites is a tribute to the great old movie “Gone With the Wind.” It is beautifully and professionally done, with great use of color and design. The site includes quite a number of great reproductions of pictures of Clark Gable, Vivien Leigh, and others, also of Tara. And it ends with my old poem “Apathy, My Dear Scarlett … .“ </div><br /><div align="left"><br />Finding my work on this Web site, I did not have the slightest feeling of having been “ripped off.” In fact, I felt highly honored to have had my poem included in a production of such high caliber. Maybe my old “Rhett Butler” poem is really better than I ever thought it was. This may be a good time to dig it out again and dust it off and give it a second look.<br /><br /><br /><br />APATHY, MY DEAR SCARLETT</div><br /><div></div><br />Some folks will climb a mountain<br />Just because that mountain’s there.<br />Others will face great danger<br />When someone makes them a dare,<br /><div></div><br />But I am satisfied with<br />What and who and where I am<br />And, just like old Rhett Butler,<br />Frankly, I don’t give a damn.<br /><div></div><br />Some people seek new records<br />For distance or time or speed,<br />And world-wide recognition<br />Seems to be their greatest need.<br /><div></div><br />Politicians woo the public><br />With lots of that old flimflam<br />But, just like old Rhett Butler,<br />Frankly, I don’t give a damn.<br /><div></div><br />Some folks attend sports events<br />Where they join a noisy crowd,<br />Then cheer and clap and stamp their<br />Feet and carry on real loud,<br /><div></div><br />But if the home team loses,<br />Each goes home meek as a lamb<br />While, just like old Rhett Butler,<br />Frankly, I don’t give a damn<br /><div></div><br />.Some girls will go to great lengths<br />Just to catch some fellow’s eye – <br />Artificial lashes, nails, and paint<br />And heels six inches high.<br /><div></div><br />One wise girl says, “To win my<br />Love, you’ll take me as I am."<br />Like Rhett Butler, she really, frankly,<br />Doesn’t give a damn.Our Writerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11754926893496843169noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5557918900215790284.post-26283701708114637662009-05-17T19:23:00.000-07:002009-05-17T19:28:58.577-07:00GOING FOR BROKE<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_XTKTRUeenDQ/ShDH4BySN1I/AAAAAAAAAzo/FnFx0u7Gid8/s1600-h/playrespsign.gif"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5336985323799983954" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 163px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 159px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_XTKTRUeenDQ/ShDH4BySN1I/AAAAAAAAAzo/FnFx0u7Gid8/s320/playrespsign.gif" border="0" /></a><br /><div></div><br /><div>While listening to the TV news recently, I learned that some "experts" have decided that certain people are compulsive gamblers because of their genetic makeup. That they just can’t resist the impulse to take a chance. And that there is good reason to believe that soon the medical profession will have a medication that will dull that burning urge to wager.<br /><br />An older friend once told me that those of us whose parents and grandparents came from Europe "have that gambling thing bred right into us." He went on, "Our ancestors were the kind who were ready and willing to take a big gamble. They came to this strange country where they did not have the slightest idea what the future held in store for them. These brave men, women, and even small children weren’t even certain that they would survive the trip across the ocean. They had no idea what they would do, once they had arrived here, or how they would earn a living and support their families. But they were real gamblers. Willing to risk it all. And we have inherited their gambling spirit."<br /><br />I wasn’t in the mood to really discuss the matter. I could have mentioned that gambling, as such, is usually an attempt to just trust to our luck and to "get something for nothing." I’m sure our ancestors were ready to "pay their way." And anything they hoped to receive from this new land they were ready to earn with much hard work and sweat.<br /><br />No doubt a medical cure for problem gamblers would be great. But what would come next? A "booster shot" or "Viagra-type gambling pill" for those of us who lack the craving or bravery needed to go after the big stakes?<br /><br />GOING FOR BROKE<br /><br /><br />The old man entered the barroom<br />And sat down on a tall stool,<br />Searched his pockets, even<br />Turned them inside-out.<br /><br />He said, “Fellers, I’m an expert.<br />For the price of a few drinks<br />You can learn what gambling’s<br />Really all about.”<br /><br />“I’m a rambling gambler and we<br />Rolling stones gather no moss.<br />I’m a sucker for all<br />Kinds of games of chance.<br /><br />“I’m ready to take my chances,<br />Quick to lay my money down,<br />About all I own are<br />These old denim pants.<br /><br />“I’ve made and spent lots of money,<br />Made choices that were unwise,<br />Bad investments in card<br />Games and rolling dice.<br /><br />“None of them have paid much interest<br />Or big dividends, or such.<br />Mostly they have been a<br />Poor deal for the price.<br /><br />“Shooting for ‘something for nothing’<br />Is what gambling’s all about.<br />We may win big, but won’t<br />Know, if we don’t try.<br /><br />“Anywhere there is a question,<br />Betting seems the normal thing.<br />When we lose we rarely<br />Stop to wonder ‘Why?’<br /><br />“I have bet on almost every<br />Kind of contest known to man,<br />Even on the date of<br />The first killing frost.<br /><br />“I’ve bet on ball games and horses,<br />Even the Chicago Cubs,<br />Also on some dead-sure<br />Things, but still I lost.<br /><br />“Yet, regardless of the odds, I’m<br />There, ready to ‘ante up.’<br />There’s always a chance, if<br />You know what I mean.<br /><br />“Every game, contest, or conflict<br />Is almost sure to produce<br />Some big winners, though they’re<br />Few and far between.<br /><br />“I’ve rubbed elbows with high rollers,<br />Guys who play for the high stakes.<br />I pretended to heed<br />Every word they’d say.<br /><br />“All we gamblers are alike. We’ll<br />Never stop dreaming the dream,<br />And I wouldn’t have it<br />Any other way.<br /><br />“I’ve purchased a few casinos,<br />They’ve all been bought and paid for.<br />I’m well known in Vegas,<br />I will have you know.<br /><br />“But the sad thing is I have no<br />Deeds or bills of sale. There is<br />Nothing on paper, not<br />One damn’ thing to show.” </div>Our Writerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11754926893496843169noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5557918900215790284.post-83428902760623828012009-04-27T04:58:00.000-07:002009-04-27T05:03:18.176-07:00LIFE’S CAROUSEL<div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_XTKTRUeenDQ/SfWeHq_b7NI/AAAAAAAAAzg/-Abq5r_05O4/s1600-h/christmas-carousel.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5329339588699483346" style="margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; float: left; width: 320px; height: 256px;" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_XTKTRUeenDQ/SfWeHq_b7NI/AAAAAAAAAzg/-Abq5r_05O4/s320/christmas-carousel.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /> One of my friends has a “catch all” expression that he uses frequently. Whenever anyone does something unexpected, unusual, or inappropriate, we are likely to hear the old fellow repeat, “It takes a lot of people to make up a world.”<br /><br /> He once told me that it is fortunate that we are not all alike. “All types are important. We need thinkers and dreamers to come up with new inventions. We need entrepreneurs to take chances and start new companies and places of business to supply our needs and to furnish jobs for those who are content to punch a time clock and work for a regular wage. Also the world requires at least a few of us who readily tire of a steady job and are always ready and available to fill new positions and part-time jobs.<br /><br /> “There ain’t nothing wrong with working on the same job day after day and year after year, if you enjoy the work and don’t mind the conditions,” he went on. “But if you are a member of a team of Eskimo dogs pulling a sled, you’ll most likely find the job a whole lot less boring and the scenery much more interesting if you can work your way up to being the lead dog.<br /><br /> “Our lives often tend to become quite a bit like a carousel. But I suppose those wooden merry-go-round horses don’t really have it all that bad. They are well cared for and work where there is a good deal of activity. There are always a lot of people around, also lights and music. And they don’t have to worry about a thing. They don’t ever have to be concerned about thinking or making decisions. Like a lot of us, they just keep going ‘round and ‘round.” <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />LIFE’S CAROUSEL<br /><br />Mostly I try not to think<br />Of how low folks’ hopes can sink, <br />How depressed and sad, at times,<br />People can feel <br /><br />When they’re not winning life’s race, <br />But kind of “taking up space,” <br />Each, just one more bent spoke in<br />Time’s rusty wheel. <br /><br />Years can surely take their toll<br />On the spirit and the soul.<br />Time can grind one’s confidence<br />Into the ground. <br /><br />It wears down more than a few,<br />And the same thing must be true,<br />For each painted horse on a<br />Merry-go-round. <br /><br />In a large amusement park, <br />From morning till after dark <br />Beautiful horses run with<br />Smooth grace and pride. <br /><br />Their home, the merry-go-round<br />Has a cheery, tuneful sound.<br />For many children, it’s their<br />Favorite ride. <br /><br />On it, the circle of steeds<br />Of uncertain wooden breeds<br />Have shiny hides and hooves that<br />Reflect the sun.<br /><br />Whites and blacks, spotted, and bay,<br />Carry the children all day,<br />’Round and ‘round in a daylong<br />Circular run.<br /><br />They all move equally fast –<br />There is no first place or last –<br />All day long these steeds make their<br />Appointed rounds. <br /><br />Running, as long days drag by,<br />Never pausing to ask “Why?” <br />The calliope cheers them on<br />With jolly sounds.<br /><br />’Way back when I was a child,<br />Of those horses, fast and wild,<br />One big blaze-faced bay was my<br />Favorite nag. <br /><br /><br /><br />“Thunder” had great strength and speed,<br />More than any other steed,<br />But I have never been one<br />To boast or brag.<br /><br />We’d gallop around that track,<br />Close behind a speedy black,<br />With Thunder’s head high, and me,<br />Bursting with pride.<br /><br />I was dead certain, of course<br />That mine was the fastest horse,<br />And we could pass them all if<br />We really tried.<br /><br />Today I can only pray<br />Thunder’s still happy today,<br />Content with how his life’s race<br />Is being run.<br /><br />And when each evening sun sets,<br />My old horse has no regrets<br />And, for him, running with the<br />Pack is still fun. <br /></div>Our Writerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11754926893496843169noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5557918900215790284.post-74277193597461605292009-04-12T11:46:00.000-07:002009-04-12T11:51:12.815-07:00BUTTERFLY<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_XTKTRUeenDQ/SeI4DtqxRnI/AAAAAAAAAzQ/yMWHqE4uqx8/s1600-h/blue-butterfly.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_XTKTRUeenDQ/SeI4DtqxRnI/AAAAAAAAAzQ/yMWHqE4uqx8/s320/blue-butterfly.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5323879345955096178" border="0" /></a>For the last several years the big talk in the farm seed industry has been about new technology that makes possible the biological engineering of plants in ways that make them vastly superior to normal versions produced by natural means. One of the most successful has been the new “Bt” corn that is now planted on many acres here in the corn belt. The ability of a specific type of bacteria to produce an insecticide has long been a matter of great interest. Modern plant engineering has now made it possible to incorporate that factor into the corn plant, to design new Bt hybrids that can create their own “insecticide,” and actually kill the European corn borer larvae that would feed on, weaken, and destroy them.<br /><br />Many serious environmentalists, along with numerous other assorted individuals and groups, take a dim view of this sort of progress. They all warn of the possibility of creating a Frankenstein-like monster. Some even put a religious spin on it, saying that when we bypass God’s natural laws we are sure to create many new problems that will vastly outweigh any gains. They like to use<br /><br />Atomic-fission and atomic-fusion as horrible examples, often adding quotes by famous people such as Gen. Douglas MacArthur and the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King.<br /><br />This summer, someone came up with data indicating that pollen from the tassels of Bt corn, when landing on the leaves of milkweeds, can weaken and even kill the monarch butterfly larvae that feed only on these leaves. I discussed this with an old friend, a corn breeder who has recently received a good deal of well-earned recognition for helping develop a corn hybrid that is currently one of the more successful in the state of Iowa. We kind of lamented: Of all the insects and other assorted bugs in the world, why did it have to be the monarch butterfly? What other bug is as widely known and universally loved as is the monarch? Scotty didn’t seem to take too kindly to my suggestion that the next move would have to be an attempt to develop a Bt-resistant monarch butterfly.<br /><br />In late July a group of us visited the Olbrich Botanical Gardens in Madison, Wisc., to see their special show, “Butterfly Bonanza.” Thousands of butterflies of assorted species were turned loose in the Bolz Conservatory, an indoor tropical jungle, where they fluttered and flitted about to their hearts’ content among the banana, breadfruit, and countless other rain-forest trees and plants. Giant Swallowtails, Monarchs, Queens, and Viceroys; Painted Ladies, Zebras, White Peacocks, Julias, Malachites, and many others gave us a colorful show of their flimsy, faltering aerobatics.<br /><br />Arrangements were made to supply a variety of flavors of nectar for them to sip. In a special “birthing area” many chrysalis hung in rows, giving viewers a chance to watch newly-formed butterflies emerge, to dry their wings, and fly away.<br /><br />The enthusiastic crowd that enjoyed the lively display included many family groups. Small children bustled about, searching the plants beside the paths for the brightly colored insects, anxious to report their finds to their parents and grandparents. Together they would try to identify each newly-found butterfly by comparing it to the 24 colored photographs in their beautiful brochures. Those with cameras recorded their sightings of various “Lepidoptera” on film.<br /><br />Watching the fragile-looking creatures flutter slowly from plant to plant, it seemed difficult to believe that a monarch butterfly can attain a speed of 20 MPH, or fly as high as 10,000 feet above the ground. Much less survive a 2,000-mile migration from Canada to Mexico.<br /><br />A large banner proclaimed: “A world filled with the magic of butterflies is a world of natural diversity!” All of the happy, smiling faces at the “Butterfly Bonanza” convinced me that many people have a soft spot in their hearts for the flutter-bugs. And that butterflies do have their own brand of beautiful, colorful, magic.<br /><br /><br /><br />BUTTERFLY<br /><br /><br /><br />Pretty butterfly,<br />As you flutter by<br />On your hither-thither way,<br /><br />I sure hope you know,<br />As you come and go,<br />That you brighten up my day.<br /><br />What a jolly sight,<br />With your colors bright,<br />As you clear my garden wall!<br /><br />Soft, warm breezes blow,<br />You come and you go<br />Even above trees so tall.<br /><br />You’re a welcome guest<br />(The one I like best)<br />In my garden by the lane.<br /><br />Tomorrow, at noon,<br />If that’s not too soon,<br />Please, flit by this way again.<br /><br />If I could but be<br />Light, footloose, and free<br />As you, off, away we’d fly<br /><br />On our wings of gold,<br />We would flutter, bold,<br />Exploring the broad blue sky.<br /><br />Air-borne jewel bright,<br />In the summer’s light,<br />Thrilling mere earthlings, like me,<br /><br />Once some girl or guy<br />Much wiser than I<br />Reasoned: “Butterflies are free”Our Writerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11754926893496843169noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5557918900215790284.post-9704127320483783062009-03-30T05:06:00.000-07:002009-03-30T05:11:30.340-07:00TELLING IT LIKE IT WAS<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_XTKTRUeenDQ/SdC2uF7q5zI/AAAAAAAAAzI/21VntUJPJfM/s1600-h/cowboy.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5318952062907246386" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 278px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_XTKTRUeenDQ/SdC2uF7q5zI/AAAAAAAAAzI/21VntUJPJfM/s320/cowboy.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />Every now and then a reader asks when I’m going to write another “cowboy column.” Maybe all the boyhood time I spent playing cowboy didn’t go to waste after all. Or the time spent watching cowboy movies and TV shows.<br /><br />I can never qualify as a real cowboy poet. That requires a writer to actually be a working cowboy or cowgirl, or to at least own and operate a ranch. But at least I can try to think and write about the Wild West.<br /><br />I’ve met a few real working cowboys along the way. And a whole passel of rodeo cowboys, including several of the very best. I’ve met only one real cowgirl. Last fall I wrote a column titled “Roman Rider.” It told the story of Prairie du Chien’s Elaine Kramer who once thrilled rodeo and circus audiences all across this country and Canada with her fantastic daring and exciting Roman riding act. I’m more than happy to say that this month Elaine will receive a great and well-deserved honor, when she is inducted into the National Cowgirls Hall of Fame down in Fort Worth, Texas .<br /><br />Here is the tale of a barstool-riding cowboy:<br /><br /><br />TELLING IT LIKE IT WAS<br /><br />“Rusty” Clayton is a cowboy,<br />Right out of the old Wild West,<br />Wearing hat and boots and Levis,<br />Jingling spurs and sheepskin vest.<br /><br />He has a Southwestern accent<br />And can talk the cowboy talk.<br />He saunters into the barroom<br />With a John Wayne style of walk.<br /><br />He tips his hat and says, “Howdy.”<br />No one feels it one bit strange<br />If he calls somebody “Pilgrim,”<br />That’s how it’s done on the range.<br /><br />When people listen, he takes them<br />Back to his “cow punching” days<br />He tells about big fall roundups<br />Where they gathered up the strays,<br /><br />And about those long nights when the<br />Dry, hard prairie was his bed,<br />When one small blanket warmed him and<br />His saddle pillowed his head.<br /><br />Fighting rustlers is just one of<br />The risks a real cowboy takes,<br />Along with the prairie dog holes<br />And sidewinder rattlesnakes.<br /><br />One night a short-tempered drinker<br />Snarled, “Tex, I think you’re all mouth.<br />Why not close your trap and mount your<br />Stick-pony and ride off south?<br /><br />”For two hours I’ve sat and listened<br />To you till my ears were full.<br />I think your big cowboy talk is<br />Nothing but a load of bull.<br /><br />”I’m sure I’m not wrong when I say<br />You’ve never herded a cow,<br />Or roped and branded young dogies,<br />Hell, I don’t think you’d know how!<br /><br />”You ain’t killed any sidewinders<br />Or so much as a horned toad.<br />That barstool you’re straddling is as<br />Rank as any bronc you’ve rode.<br /><br />”I’m declaring you’re no cowboy,<br />Here’s one thing that makes me sure:<br />You’re fancy old cowboy boots ain’t<br />Never tasted horse manure!”<br /><br />Rusty slowly got to his feet,<br />Sneering, “I don’t take no lip<br />From no greenhorn who ain’t never<br />Slept west of the Mississip’.<br /><br />”There’s just five guys who have tried me.<br />Three healed up, after a spell.<br />The fourth one still walks with crutches<br />And the fifth woke up in hell!”<br /><br />The bar owner grabbed big Rusty<br />And rushed him right out the door,<br />Shouting, “Rusty, you’re just trouble,<br />You ain’t welcome here no more!”<br /><br />Once outside, he whispered, “Rusty,<br />You know this is just an act.<br />That wise guy leaves town tomorrow,<br />And I know that for a fact.<br /><br />”You know you’re the most consistent<br />Patron that we have, by far.<br />If you stayed away, we’d miss you,<br />You’re a fixture in this bar.<br /><br />”You’re our only entertainment,<br />Best of all, you work for free.<br />Be back here tomorrow evening,<br />All your drinks will be on me.”Our Writerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11754926893496843169noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5557918900215790284.post-91135460224356384852009-03-20T08:52:00.000-07:002009-03-20T09:02:59.240-07:00SPRINGTIME<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_XTKTRUeenDQ/ScO9-ZNsMLI/AAAAAAAAAzA/eTGZbMf4EaQ/s1600-h/untitled.bmp"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5315300864845164722" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 160px" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_XTKTRUeenDQ/ScO9-ZNsMLI/AAAAAAAAAzA/eTGZbMf4EaQ/s200/untitled.bmp" border="0" /></a><br /><div>The older I get, the more I appreciate our Midwest with its four distinct seasons of the year. Maybe that is because I was born and raised here. I cant really say that I enjoy winter, but I think I would miss it. I am sure I appreciate spring all the more because of it. We often hear that anticipation is at least half the joy of anything. I'm sure that a lot of us begin anticipating spring when the snowdrifts are still hip-high to a tall person (Shucks, there goes another of my favorite old sayings that my politically correct friends wont let me use anymore).<br /><br />I do occasionally run into folks who don't exactly look forward to the seasonal changes. A few just don't care much for change. And then there are some that are pessimists who aren't really pleased with anything. While complaining about the cold, snow, ice, wind-chill factor, and frosty forecasts, they don't like to be interrupted by someone telling about a newly developed variety of seed potatoes he or she is going to order from that colorful seed catalog that came in the mail yesterday.<br /><br />Believe it or not, such people really don't look forward to spring. There is all that unsettled weather to look forward to, weeks of mud to contend with, followed by days of hard work raking and cleaning up the winters supply of fallen tree branches and trash and gravel from the lawn. And indoors, how will they ever find time to get all their spring-cleaning done? Then there will be all of that never-ending work in garden. And spring gives them nothing to look forward to but all of that lawn mowing and other hard work and, worst of all, the intolerable heat that summer will surely bring.<br /><br />And that hot season will give them nothing to look forward to but fall. How could anyone enjoy a busy time of year like that? All of those dry, fallen leaves from the neighbors trees that the wind will deposit on their lawns will have to be raked up and burned, or bagged up and carted off. The garden has to be put to bed for winter. And then there is fall housecleaning. And soon there will be the cold and the deep snow, the icy, slippery, dangerous roads, and the huge fuel bills.<br /><br />And when winter is finally finished, along comes that busy, messy, muddy season we call spring.<br /><br /><br />SPRINGTIME<br /><br /><br />A few drab and shabby snowdrifts<br />Still insist on hanging round,<br />But if were quiet, and listen,<br />From the woodland comes the sound<br /><br />Of the springs very first robin;<br />We stop just to hear it sing,<br />As it does its level best to<br />Turn our winter into spring.<br /><br />As that season rounds the corner<br />Judging by these signs we've seen,<br />Soon the lawns and pastures will all<br />Turn from dull, drab brown to green.<br /><br />Trees and shrubs will all be leafed out<br />In their lacy finery<br />As they do their best to please and<br />To thrill folks like you and me.<br /><br />We can see the buds now swelling<br />On the maples branches high,<br />Praying for warm springtime sunshine<br />As they brush against the sky.<br /><br />Waves of snow-white and pink flowers<br />On apple and wild plum trees<br />Will fill mild air with fragrance to<br />Awake winter-weary bees.<br /><br />The brooks music will assure us<br />That, once again, spring has sprung,<br />Nests and dens of many creatures<br />Will be homes for brand-new young.<br /><br />In farm fields, the newly plowed ground<br />Will echo the tractors roar.<br />Awaiting the new birth and growth<br />This great season has in store.<br /><br />As we look around, we cant help<br />But feel we've been truly blessed:<br />All these wonders of creation<br />Displayed at their very best. </div>Our Writerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11754926893496843169noreply@blogger.com0