Saturday, August 31, 2013
Friday, August 30, 2013
History and Agriculture
We have passed this marker literally dozens of times. Time to scrutinize it with more care.
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Seems that June 3 is the appropriate time to observe the anniversary of the organization of the county, so herewith we will remark the organization of Tipton County.
Our spin on the scooter took us through miles of corn and soybean fields. The browning at the base of the plants is evidence of a soon-coming fall. This field is quite typical of the corn in the area. The tip of the fingers on my right hand is seven feet, eight inches from the ground.
Thursday, August 29, 2013
Mounds or Almond Joy?
String Too Short to
Tie is brought to you today by the foolishness of the author. Sometimes I feel
like a nut, sometimes I don’t.
My email program, Windows Live Mail, offers a plethora of fonts. I have seldom played around with these, so today I thought to take a look at some of the options.
It really is quite amazing what one can do with this set of choices, but mostly this is provided simply for your frustration and my entertainment!
This particular font is called “Opus text” which is really quite readily legible, at least compared to some of the other offerings.
Suffice it to say, I believe I won’t submit my doctoral dissertation in this format. Nor in webdings, either.
Returning to non-nonsense, Happy birthday, Bernardine!
My email program, Windows Live Mail, offers a plethora of fonts. I have seldom played around with these, so today I thought to take a look at some of the options.
It really is quite amazing what one can do with this set of choices, but mostly this is provided simply for your frustration and my entertainment!
This particular font is called “Opus text” which is really quite readily legible, at least compared to some of the other offerings.
Suffice it to say, I believe I won’t submit my doctoral dissertation in this format. Nor in webdings, either.
Returning to non-nonsense, Happy birthday, Bernardine!
Wednesday, August 28, 2013
Pretty Girls of the Thirties
The lady on the right as you look at the photo is my mother. The shorter woman is her sister nearest in age to her. I have no idea what the occasion was that inspired this pose of Mother and Aunt Mildred. It is not Mom's wedding day, for she was married on Christmas Eve. Mildred's? I don't know. At any rate, this was probably circa 1930.
And how timely was the receipt of the picture, for today is the anniversary of Mother's birth, August 28, 1908.
Love you always, Mama.
Vera Morrell Lacy 1908 - 1991 RIP
Tuesday, August 27, 2013
Conversations with Random People: One
I am neither the most affable nor the most sociable person in the county, but people interest me. I find that if I show an inkling of that interest to a near-stranger, or even a complete stranger, an interesting conversation is likely to ensue.
There are snobs and too-busy-to-live types who won't give anybody beneath the rank of "Earl" the time of day; but I am not talking about them. I am talking about most people. For the simple reason that 1) I have not cleared the presentation of these accounts with the principals, and 2) in some cases I don't even know the real names of the participants, I am using random names from, well, a "What to Name the Baby" book, if you will.
In a campground in Texas which we have frequented on several occasions.
We met Candy and her husband Jim at Sunday morning church service. A conversation on our way out led to the discovery that while she is twenty years my junior, Candy and I were born in the same county in Southeastern Colorado. The two little towns of our nativity are less than eight miles apart. While my parents moved us away from there when I was yet an infant, Candy grew up in her home town and graduated high school there.
I have been in Candy's little town many times, and in fact when I was a child I had an uncle who lived there. We visited Uncle Wayne and his family on a number of occasions.
The lady asked me where Uncle lived, and I told her he was the section foreman for the Santa Fe and he lived in the company house beside the tracks at the west edge of town.
"That," said Candy, "is very interesting. My grandfather probably worked for your Uncle, for he was one of the Mexican citizens who came to the States to work on the railroad. He came to America with the promise of a job, and ultimately citizenship if he so desired. My grandfather chose to become an American, and that is how I happened to be born in Colorado!"
Interesting, indeed.
There are snobs and too-busy-to-live types who won't give anybody beneath the rank of "Earl" the time of day; but I am not talking about them. I am talking about most people. For the simple reason that 1) I have not cleared the presentation of these accounts with the principals, and 2) in some cases I don't even know the real names of the participants, I am using random names from, well, a "What to Name the Baby" book, if you will.
In a campground in Texas which we have frequented on several occasions.
We met Candy and her husband Jim at Sunday morning church service. A conversation on our way out led to the discovery that while she is twenty years my junior, Candy and I were born in the same county in Southeastern Colorado. The two little towns of our nativity are less than eight miles apart. While my parents moved us away from there when I was yet an infant, Candy grew up in her home town and graduated high school there.
I have been in Candy's little town many times, and in fact when I was a child I had an uncle who lived there. We visited Uncle Wayne and his family on a number of occasions.
The lady asked me where Uncle lived, and I told her he was the section foreman for the Santa Fe and he lived in the company house beside the tracks at the west edge of town.
It is I with Uncle Wayne and Aunt Stella in Southeastern Colorado.
"That," said Candy, "is very interesting. My grandfather probably worked for your Uncle, for he was one of the Mexican citizens who came to the States to work on the railroad. He came to America with the promise of a job, and ultimately citizenship if he so desired. My grandfather chose to become an American, and that is how I happened to be born in Colorado!"
Interesting, indeed.
Gandy dancers.
Monday, August 26, 2013
Thrown Rider Turns Entrepreneur #T
...I sold the brute and got all my money back, with a bit of increase. Beginning of my business life.
So concluded D. W. Lacy's horse story. The preacher continues:
Business life was among my brothers as they always seemed to have some need or desire for money, and I had a bit as I was inclined to be rich some day. A loan, yes, with interest. Miserly mind. I'll loan you five dollars for a pair of trousers (worth that much) and a lock box for business purposes. Business venture that opened my eyes on how to: It worked then and was some help later when I learned to pray. . . During the great depression 30s and early forties.
My business life venture had to include a Model T Ford automobile. Not much to look at, but then I was interested in its possibilities as a race car. It had been remodeled with about anything that would fit where, after it was twisted, bent, and bound together with a bit of baling wire, if necessary, and it was generally necessary in those days to have a spool of that kind of mending material for emergencies experienced along the road when far from help of any kind. I do believe that the Ford was brought into existence by Henry Ford as a powerful stimulant to the creative powers of the lower middle class people who were unable to pay for road service when caught far from town or home.
The directions to successful traveling included an odd type of jack & handle, a small patching kit with which to mend an inner tube. Of course there was a handle that could be used for other purposes after patching inner tubes on hot days. Distance travelers often patched as many as ten or twelve tires in one day. Oh yes, I almost forgot, a pump of sorts that could be used for inflating the tire; after all that perspiration loss and energy waste the handle could be used to beat the devil out of the car itself, or at least, that was the thought. I saw a deep dent lengthwise on a car's front fender. The driver's wife explained when the driver was too embarrassed to do. She merely said: "It wouldn't run, so Lester gave it a beating." Because these were depression days in the 30s, that old car wore its scars with pride for many years. The fender was patched up with a ball peen hammer, pushed back into an acceptable position and wore this sign: "Its quilted."
Temper tantrums were then found as observed by some as noted, but how times have changed. Too many times the driver with auto trouble takes a swig out of a bottle, does a little exercise with blasphemous words and then beats the devil out of his wife, scares the little kids nearly to death then leaves them all until his guilty soul lets him crawl back to his family without apology. Happy change when the two footed demon is safely incarcerated in jail. . . I do think that all society owes itself an apology for the nice places they have for these fellows to sober up in (drunk or just ungoverned tempers).
Part of my business life of running away from our home of ten children.
Here ends that particular document. The last sentence could be misconstrued, I suppose. He was referring to leaving his childhood home, not his own children, of whom he had far fewer than ten.
Also, Dad is no longer here for me to nitpick, but if he were, I would point out that by the time he left home at seventeen, his five older siblings had already flown the nest.
So concluded D. W. Lacy's horse story. The preacher continues:
Business life was among my brothers as they always seemed to have some need or desire for money, and I had a bit as I was inclined to be rich some day. A loan, yes, with interest. Miserly mind. I'll loan you five dollars for a pair of trousers (worth that much) and a lock box for business purposes. Business venture that opened my eyes on how to: It worked then and was some help later when I learned to pray. . . During the great depression 30s and early forties.
My business life venture had to include a Model T Ford automobile. Not much to look at, but then I was interested in its possibilities as a race car. It had been remodeled with about anything that would fit where, after it was twisted, bent, and bound together with a bit of baling wire, if necessary, and it was generally necessary in those days to have a spool of that kind of mending material for emergencies experienced along the road when far from help of any kind. I do believe that the Ford was brought into existence by Henry Ford as a powerful stimulant to the creative powers of the lower middle class people who were unable to pay for road service when caught far from town or home.
The directions to successful traveling included an odd type of jack & handle, a small patching kit with which to mend an inner tube. Of course there was a handle that could be used for other purposes after patching inner tubes on hot days. Distance travelers often patched as many as ten or twelve tires in one day. Oh yes, I almost forgot, a pump of sorts that could be used for inflating the tire; after all that perspiration loss and energy waste the handle could be used to beat the devil out of the car itself, or at least, that was the thought. I saw a deep dent lengthwise on a car's front fender. The driver's wife explained when the driver was too embarrassed to do. She merely said: "It wouldn't run, so Lester gave it a beating." Because these were depression days in the 30s, that old car wore its scars with pride for many years. The fender was patched up with a ball peen hammer, pushed back into an acceptable position and wore this sign: "Its quilted."
Temper tantrums were then found as observed by some as noted, but how times have changed. Too many times the driver with auto trouble takes a swig out of a bottle, does a little exercise with blasphemous words and then beats the devil out of his wife, scares the little kids nearly to death then leaves them all until his guilty soul lets him crawl back to his family without apology. Happy change when the two footed demon is safely incarcerated in jail. . . I do think that all society owes itself an apology for the nice places they have for these fellows to sober up in (drunk or just ungoverned tempers).
Part of my business life of running away from our home of ten children.
Here ends that particular document. The last sentence could be misconstrued, I suppose. He was referring to leaving his childhood home, not his own children, of whom he had far fewer than ten.
Also, Dad is no longer here for me to nitpick, but if he were, I would point out that by the time he left home at seventeen, his five older siblings had already flown the nest.
Sunday, August 25, 2013
Watch your 'tude
I met upon the street today a man more feeble yet than I
He hobbled toward me, leaning on his cane
A broad smile upon his face and a twinkle in his eye.
I greeted him with a cheery, “Good morning, Mr. D!"
It’s good to meet you this morning in the lane
Your smile is bright as ever; that is good to see.”
“The surgeon says he will operate on my knee.”
“You’ve been a few times around the sun;
Your decision will the right one be.”
“I am eighty-seven now,” he said, “and I can
barely walk anymore, much less run.”
“May God bless you, and guide the doctor’s hand.”
He ambles on, I go my way
I am chastised within my heart
I’ve met an example today
By which to live; for he wears a grin
While I grumble with each dart
of pain. Now convicted: that is sin.
A merry heart doeth good like a medicine: but a broken spirit drieth the bones.
--Proverbs 17:22
Therefore to him that knoweth to do good, and doeth it not, to him it is sin.
James 4:17
Therefore to him that knoweth to do good, and doeth it not, to him it is sin.
James 4:17
Saturday, August 24, 2013
Shadow
My Shadow
I have a little shadow that goes in and out with me,
And what can be the use of him is more than I can see.
He is very, very like me from the heels up to the head;
And I see him jump before me, when I jump into my bed.
The funniest thing about him is the way he likes to grow—
Not at all like proper children, which is always very slow;
For he sometimes shoots up taller like an india-rubber ball,
And he sometimes gets so little that there's none of him at all.
He hasn't got a notion of how children ought to play,
And can only make a fool of me in every sort of way.
He stays so close beside me, he's a coward you can see;
I'd think shame to stick to nursie as that shadow sticks to me!
One morning, very early, before the sun was up,
One morning, very early, before the sun was up,
I rose and found the shining dew on every buttercup;
But my lazy little shadow, like an arrant sleepy-head,
Had stayed at home behind me and was fast asleep in bed.
Source: The Golden Book of Poetry (1947)
Friday, August 23, 2013
Always in a Pickle
These little cartoons will serve as a nice summation to my recently concluded "What If" series.
Thursday, August 22, 2013
Charles I Challenges Parliament #T
It was on August 22, 1642 that King Charles I unfurled the royal standard at Nottingham Castle.
This signalled the beginning of the civil war between Parliament and the Throne.
Charles had been blessed, or at least impressed, with the notion of "Divine Right of Kings," the which concept is credited to his father, James I. The British peoples had a historically long-standing notion of independence and self-governance. The clash of these concepts inevitably led to serious difficulties. One might in fact say that the king lost his head over the whole contretemps he initiated.*
I have been reading Rebecca Fraser's The Story of Britain, an entertaining 800 pages of information with which I suppose I should have been familiar, but much of which seems to be new to me. I do not read English history because I am an Anglophile, but rather because, as is the case with world history in general, it sheds light on the entire enigma of how we got to be who we are.
It is my opinion that our young people would be well-served should our educational system return to greater emphasis on history and less perhaps on ego-inflating exercises that tend to encourage excessive emphasis on self-image and the entitlement mindset which accompanies it. We have for a generation now wrung our hands over our "place in the world" vis a vis science and mathematics education. These are valid areas of concern, and these are important subjects, but we must never barter our humanity in exchange for technology.
This started out to be a post about King Charles I and a brief period in the middle of seventeenth century English history. Oh, well. You have become somewhat familiar with my penchant for going down rabbit trails.
*"The death warrant was signed by only 59 of the 135 commissioners. The rest had slunk away, reluctant to set their names to a document of such dubious legality. Thus Charles I was condemned to death by a minority of the court, which had been established by a minority of the House of Commons, indeed by an illegal remnant thereof, and without the concurrence of the House of Lords." Fraser, Rebecca: The Story of Britain, p.349. She continues, "Death transformed the foolish, treacherous king into a martyr. . .", p. 350
That Charles himself might chase
To Carisbrooke's narrow case:
That then the royal actor born
The tragic scaffold might adorn:
While round the armèd bands
Did clap their bloody hands.
He nothing common did or mean
Upon that memorable scene:
But with his keener eye
The axe's edge did try:
Nor called the gods with vulgar spite
To vindicate his helpless right,
But bowed his comely head,
Down, as upon a bed. --from "Cromwell's Return" by Andrew Marvell
Charles I 1600 - 1649
This signalled the beginning of the civil war between Parliament and the Throne.
Charles had been blessed, or at least impressed, with the notion of "Divine Right of Kings," the which concept is credited to his father, James I. The British peoples had a historically long-standing notion of independence and self-governance. The clash of these concepts inevitably led to serious difficulties. One might in fact say that the king lost his head over the whole contretemps he initiated.*
I have been reading Rebecca Fraser's The Story of Britain, an entertaining 800 pages of information with which I suppose I should have been familiar, but much of which seems to be new to me. I do not read English history because I am an Anglophile, but rather because, as is the case with world history in general, it sheds light on the entire enigma of how we got to be who we are.
It is my opinion that our young people would be well-served should our educational system return to greater emphasis on history and less perhaps on ego-inflating exercises that tend to encourage excessive emphasis on self-image and the entitlement mindset which accompanies it. We have for a generation now wrung our hands over our "place in the world" vis a vis science and mathematics education. These are valid areas of concern, and these are important subjects, but we must never barter our humanity in exchange for technology.
This started out to be a post about King Charles I and a brief period in the middle of seventeenth century English history. Oh, well. You have become somewhat familiar with my penchant for going down rabbit trails.
*"The death warrant was signed by only 59 of the 135 commissioners. The rest had slunk away, reluctant to set their names to a document of such dubious legality. Thus Charles I was condemned to death by a minority of the court, which had been established by a minority of the House of Commons, indeed by an illegal remnant thereof, and without the concurrence of the House of Lords." Fraser, Rebecca: The Story of Britain, p.349. She continues, "Death transformed the foolish, treacherous king into a martyr. . .", p. 350
That Charles himself might chase
To Carisbrooke's narrow case:
That then the royal actor born
The tragic scaffold might adorn:
While round the armèd bands
Did clap their bloody hands.
He nothing common did or mean
Upon that memorable scene:
But with his keener eye
The axe's edge did try:
Nor called the gods with vulgar spite
To vindicate his helpless right,
But bowed his comely head,
Down, as upon a bed. --from "Cromwell's Return" by Andrew Marvell
Charles I 1600 - 1649
Wednesday, August 21, 2013
Historic Prophetstown, the House
I found the house and its furnishings to be quite fascinating. Everything is maintained in style and furnishings ala 1920. The house is a Sears product, and was listed in the 1919 Sears, Roebuck and Company catalogue at $3141.
I included this framed print which makes me think of Grandmother on the Colorado high plains. Style is derivative of Grant Wood, but I don't know the artist.
When I was a child we had a wood-burning kitchen range exactly like this one, only different. Ours was entirely black rather than the fancy-schmancy enamel job seen here. The galvanized tub was set on the kitchen floor on Saturday night. Baths for all, whether needed or not. Also about five of our houses would have fit inside this one house.
The telephone is bolted to the kitchen wall. No one ever said, "Dial my number; I can't find my phone."
This beautiful copper washing machine is double-action, both swirling the clothes around and stomping up and down. This machine was patented in 1909, and it is believed that this one was built in 1917. It is electric, and it works! I saw it with my own eyes.
I thought this clothes hanger made for a couple of interesting snapshots.
Uncle Ben and Aunt Fern had an identical separator in their milk room. Hand-cranked.
Walked past the wagon with hardly a glance; but then I did a double-take, stepped back a few steps and snapped the picture.
Tuesday, August 20, 2013
Forks in the Road: Reality
When the trustee offered me the additional money to stay, in reality I felt honor-bound to keep the agreement I had made with another school district. So making the move not only cost us the expense of moving, it cost us the additional money I turned down.
And in this new position I encountered the realities of consolidation of schools, for the very year I made the move, two townships joined together and I got to see up close and personal the sorts of things that entailed. I loved the people, the kids and my fellow staff members, but I stayed only one year. The politics, the grinding of opinions against each other, the power plays were all too much.
The "forks" I chose from this point on led me through a fascinating career, giving me the opportunity to practice my trade in a most satisfying way and leaving me at the end with the knowledge that I had had the best jobs in the world!
I am ending the fantasy series at this point, for in reality everyday offers numerous options. On some days, there are more forks than you have in your silverware drawers. Decision-making becomes such an integral part of who we are that we don't even realize sometimes that even the smallest decision may lead us in a totally different direction from what might have been.
The message on the answering machine. Shall we call back? Shall we ignore the caller? Should we eat out this evening? Should we stay in? Highly unlikely, you may say, that a choice one way or the other in dealing with such minutiae would have a lasting effect on your life, that one choice may send you down a totally different pathway than would the other. But such things have been, and we will never know!
May all your roads take you to happiness and well-being!
And in this new position I encountered the realities of consolidation of schools, for the very year I made the move, two townships joined together and I got to see up close and personal the sorts of things that entailed. I loved the people, the kids and my fellow staff members, but I stayed only one year. The politics, the grinding of opinions against each other, the power plays were all too much.
The "forks" I chose from this point on led me through a fascinating career, giving me the opportunity to practice my trade in a most satisfying way and leaving me at the end with the knowledge that I had had the best jobs in the world!
I am ending the fantasy series at this point, for in reality everyday offers numerous options. On some days, there are more forks than you have in your silverware drawers. Decision-making becomes such an integral part of who we are that we don't even realize sometimes that even the smallest decision may lead us in a totally different direction from what might have been.
The message on the answering machine. Shall we call back? Shall we ignore the caller? Should we eat out this evening? Should we stay in? Highly unlikely, you may say, that a choice one way or the other in dealing with such minutiae would have a lasting effect on your life, that one choice may send you down a totally different pathway than would the other. But such things have been, and we will never know!
May all your roads take you to happiness and well-being!
Monday, August 19, 2013
Dewy? Indeed He Do!
The following is from my father's writings. I go through his material from time to time and share some of his wit and wisdom on the weblog as I feel impelled to do.
The time of this incident, circa 1924, the setting, a farm in Southeastern Colorado. These memories were recorded when Dad was eighty years of age. I know this because the document is dated July 19, 1991.
When I was in my early teens, I came into possession of an outlaw horse, a very bad deal for the horse, as I remember, but game he was. He was always looking for a way to ditch rider and destroy life as well. Oh, that "strawberry roan," under fourteen hands high but mighty in determination and revenge. Falling with rider on back was his delight.
Number one: With eyes bulging, running full force, teeth set in the bit, he ran headlong into a heap of discarded woven wire. At that time I wasn't even classified to be called a Holy Roller, just an angry sinner, until I saw old Dewy doing the roll himself, trying to get untangled from his own mess, while I, bruised and angry went to his rescue, not for pity's sake, but to capture him so that I wouldn't have to walk home. With disappointment in his eyes, I saw, more than heard, him apologize for his wrong-headedness. A lesson learned that day from a horse. A good apology vents the soul from all venom. Indeed: Oh, yes!
Number two: When Dewy ran for vengeance he was trying to find a way to do the thing he had in mind, or did he have a mind? We always traveled full-tilt out on the farm, but why would he pull to one side and step in a hole? On purpose, I sincerely believe. He had a gambler's heart, innocent eyes, and seeming readiness for the run, just waiting his day. What a trip to the ground! A somersault on the horse's part, and a belly buster without any water for a landing place for me. Again an apology-- accepted with the understanding that he must carry me home, for I was bruised awfully.
Number three: This time a badger hole. I think my shoulder was broken, but I had to milk my share of the cows anyway, one handed, I must say. Dad didn't believe in Drs. nor did he have the money for such niceties. Nature would, in time, take care of that. About this time I thought of praying for relief from pain that lasted for days, but how was I to pray? I didn't know how, but I sure did develop a strong left hand for milking. Bad wind that blows no good, so I had learned the hard way.
Number four: An indentation in the road was sufficient excuse for another roll. By this time, I had heard others pray, but when I tried, it didn't seem to do much good. Does God hear prayers offered in profanity? Well . . .
Final fall: Across the ridges in a field. There must be a magic number some where, but I am not sure where. I sold the brute and got all my money back, with a bit of increase. Beginning of my business life, after recovering from my last ride on Old Dewy.*
Business life (to be continued)
Other snippets of Dad's writing may be enjoyed here and here.
*I heard Dad speak of Old Dewy many times. I pictured the name as "Dewey" ala Admiral Dewey. I first thought to change the spelling, then thought, Perhaps Dad did not name the horse after the admiral, but rather called him "Dewy" because he was always in a lather. You reckon?
The time of this incident, circa 1924, the setting, a farm in Southeastern Colorado. These memories were recorded when Dad was eighty years of age. I know this because the document is dated July 19, 1991.
When I was in my early teens, I came into possession of an outlaw horse, a very bad deal for the horse, as I remember, but game he was. He was always looking for a way to ditch rider and destroy life as well. Oh, that "strawberry roan," under fourteen hands high but mighty in determination and revenge. Falling with rider on back was his delight.
Number one: With eyes bulging, running full force, teeth set in the bit, he ran headlong into a heap of discarded woven wire. At that time I wasn't even classified to be called a Holy Roller, just an angry sinner, until I saw old Dewy doing the roll himself, trying to get untangled from his own mess, while I, bruised and angry went to his rescue, not for pity's sake, but to capture him so that I wouldn't have to walk home. With disappointment in his eyes, I saw, more than heard, him apologize for his wrong-headedness. A lesson learned that day from a horse. A good apology vents the soul from all venom. Indeed: Oh, yes!
Number two: When Dewy ran for vengeance he was trying to find a way to do the thing he had in mind, or did he have a mind? We always traveled full-tilt out on the farm, but why would he pull to one side and step in a hole? On purpose, I sincerely believe. He had a gambler's heart, innocent eyes, and seeming readiness for the run, just waiting his day. What a trip to the ground! A somersault on the horse's part, and a belly buster without any water for a landing place for me. Again an apology-- accepted with the understanding that he must carry me home, for I was bruised awfully.
Number three: This time a badger hole. I think my shoulder was broken, but I had to milk my share of the cows anyway, one handed, I must say. Dad didn't believe in Drs. nor did he have the money for such niceties. Nature would, in time, take care of that. About this time I thought of praying for relief from pain that lasted for days, but how was I to pray? I didn't know how, but I sure did develop a strong left hand for milking. Bad wind that blows no good, so I had learned the hard way.
Number four: An indentation in the road was sufficient excuse for another roll. By this time, I had heard others pray, but when I tried, it didn't seem to do much good. Does God hear prayers offered in profanity? Well . . .
Final fall: Across the ridges in a field. There must be a magic number some where, but I am not sure where. I sold the brute and got all my money back, with a bit of increase. Beginning of my business life, after recovering from my last ride on Old Dewy.*
Business life (to be continued)
Other snippets of Dad's writing may be enjoyed here and here.
*I heard Dad speak of Old Dewy many times. I pictured the name as "Dewey" ala Admiral Dewey. I first thought to change the spelling, then thought, Perhaps Dad did not name the horse after the admiral, but rather called him "Dewy" because he was always in a lather. You reckon?
Sunday, August 18, 2013
Wasps, Faith, Joy and Peace
May God, the source of hope, fill you with joy and peace through your faith in him. Then you will overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit. --Romans 15:13 (GNT)
How we desire to be filled with joy and peace! Yet how often it seems we are unable to receive the blessing. Early last week, I was prepping the motor home for our excursion into a quiet place. One of the many tasks is the filling of the water tank. Many RVers drive with empty water tanks, believing they save money by increasing their gas mileage. That may well be the case, but I prefer drinking my water from home to taking the pot-luck, so to speak, which is to fill at the campground. My experience suggests that the difference between 8.09 mpg and 8.17 mpg on a short trip is not going to break the exchequer When that is the case, I will quit RVing.
So I placed the hose in the filler pipe and had it running at a good volume. I know it takes several minutes to complete the fill. I stepped around the rig to tend to another item; but presently I heard water splashing on the ground. I went to the hose, and the tank was not taking the water, but allowing it to spill to the earth. I removed the hose and the tank burped. I replaced the hose, and in a matter of a few seconds, overflow again. Remove hose, tank burps. I now know that the vent tube is plugged, but cannot imagine why. I try again, same result. After say the fifth burp, when I reinsert the hose, a brilliant metallic-blue mud dauber crawls out of the vent tube! Aha! She has plugged me up.
I set the nozzle to fine-stream, top power and shoot the water down the vent tube. Voila! as Pierre might say. The pipe, she is clear and the filling process proceeds in a normal fashion.
Now as I completed this task, I was thinking that in spite of our desire for the joy and peace that the filling of the Holy Spirit brings, it is too often the case that our inner being, our tank, in a manner of speaking, is filled with air, trivial and meaningless matters, that must be vented to allow room for the infilling of the Spirit. Yet we have somehow allowed the wasps of worldly cares to plug the vent, we hold onto what must be expelled, and thus fail to receive the joy and peace that should be ours.
How to correct the problem? Our faith is the jet-stream that will clear the vent-tube of the soul.
Saturday, August 17, 2013
We're Back!
from another great camping experience.
Our expedition this past week set us up in Prophetstown State Park. This is the third time in the past seven or eight years that we have gone to this "newest" of Indiana State Parks. The park is some 3000 acres at the confluence of the Tippecanoe and Wabash Rivers. The goal in establishing the park was to recreate an ecology which consisted of the flora native to the area prior to the arrival of white settlers. Thus it is now one of the finest examples of a tall-grass prairie to be found anywhere. Great pains have been taken to remove non-native trees and other plants and replace them with native species.
It has been interesting to watch the return of the land to a prairie. Many areas over which one could have walked a few years ago are now densely covered with grasses and prairie flowers five and six feet tall.
Contained within the park is Historic Prophetstown, which is a 300-acre working farm. But the farm is managed in the style of early twentieth century farming. Draft horses do the work, cows and chickens and hogs provide produce and the farm raises feed for its own livestock. The only crop raised which is sent to outside market is wheat.
Our expedition this past week set us up in Prophetstown State Park. This is the third time in the past seven or eight years that we have gone to this "newest" of Indiana State Parks. The park is some 3000 acres at the confluence of the Tippecanoe and Wabash Rivers. The goal in establishing the park was to recreate an ecology which consisted of the flora native to the area prior to the arrival of white settlers. Thus it is now one of the finest examples of a tall-grass prairie to be found anywhere. Great pains have been taken to remove non-native trees and other plants and replace them with native species.
It has been interesting to watch the return of the land to a prairie. Many areas over which one could have walked a few years ago are now densely covered with grasses and prairie flowers five and six feet tall.
Contained within the park is Historic Prophetstown, which is a 300-acre working farm. But the farm is managed in the style of early twentieth century farming. Draft horses do the work, cows and chickens and hogs provide produce and the farm raises feed for its own livestock. The only crop raised which is sent to outside market is wheat.
Friday, August 16, 2013
A Morning at the Mid-America Threshing and Antique Show
Demonstration of well-drilling equipment, hit-and-miss engine.
Massey-Harris was the featured equipment of this year's show.
There's a tractor name with which I am not familiar.
One of my favorite pieces.
Wonder how many arms were snapped by that crank.
First tractor I ever drove was an Oliver much like this one.
I am fascinated by pop-and-spin engines. These Sandwich engines are very cool!
Someone came to the show of vintage equipment in his vintage pickup.
Minneapolis-Moline logo.
A nice line of golden M-Ms.
Look at that steam engine!
Perhaps the coolest logo.
This Massey-Harris was my pick of the featured brand. It is not restored; it is well-used and shows it. It has been lovingly cared for, though, for she could still pull a plow!
Thursday, August 15, 2013
Fork in the Road: 5.2
I composed a letter to the trustee of the school district which had so recently hired me, thereby tendering my resignation from a job I had never worked. I stayed with my first school job.
The slight twinge of conscience I felt was soon quieted and the job of educating the prepubescent youth of the community continued apace.
Half-dozen years down the halls of time. Schools all across the state were being encouraged (not saying coerced) into merging with other small school districts in the interest of efficiency and supposedly better educational opportunities for the kiddies. In any event, the township school district in which I was working merged with two adjacent townships to form a metropolitan school district.
Soon there were plans on the drawing board to build a new high school to serve the students of the newly created district. The building was erected and in 1971 the high school students were removed from the premises in which I worked. The elementary students stayed in the old building. However, few years managed to slip by before talk of a new elementary school was in the air. This provided the staff with the opportunity of working with the board and the architects in the design of this facility. Very interesting times, yet a certain trepidation niggled around the edges of my consciousness as the building neared completion. The new facility opened in 1979.
I now had to drive six miles to work, whereas before I could walk to and from school. But the new surroundings were state of the art, and meeting new people with whom I would work was an interesting time in my life. It was about a year later that I began to see the children of the first students I taught show up in my classroom.
By the time I retired, I was teaching grandchildren of my first students. But the sense of community that I developed as I grew with this small town and with the new school district was a real boon. I watched the children grow to adulthood and select their own paths in life. I became an integral part of something much greater than myself. I was growing older, but so were the people I had taught along the way.
The slight twinge of conscience I felt was soon quieted and the job of educating the prepubescent youth of the community continued apace.
Half-dozen years down the halls of time. Schools all across the state were being encouraged (not saying coerced) into merging with other small school districts in the interest of efficiency and supposedly better educational opportunities for the kiddies. In any event, the township school district in which I was working merged with two adjacent townships to form a metropolitan school district.
Soon there were plans on the drawing board to build a new high school to serve the students of the newly created district. The building was erected and in 1971 the high school students were removed from the premises in which I worked. The elementary students stayed in the old building. However, few years managed to slip by before talk of a new elementary school was in the air. This provided the staff with the opportunity of working with the board and the architects in the design of this facility. Very interesting times, yet a certain trepidation niggled around the edges of my consciousness as the building neared completion. The new facility opened in 1979.
I now had to drive six miles to work, whereas before I could walk to and from school. But the new surroundings were state of the art, and meeting new people with whom I would work was an interesting time in my life. It was about a year later that I began to see the children of the first students I taught show up in my classroom.
By the time I retired, I was teaching grandchildren of my first students. But the sense of community that I developed as I grew with this small town and with the new school district was a real boon. I watched the children grow to adulthood and select their own paths in life. I became an integral part of something much greater than myself. I was growing older, but so were the people I had taught along the way.
Wednesday, August 14, 2013
From Vanilla's Clipboard
Thousands upon thousands of words have been submitted to the local newspaper as "Letters to the Editor."
The discussion has progressed, naturally, given that it is an argument amongst human beings, from reasoned debate based on findings of fact to ad hominem attacks on citizens with whom we have all lived for decades.
This is probably the most divisive issue that has arisen here in a half century, and perhaps ever. STSTT does not purport to be the voice of reason, presenting the solution to the problem and making everyone happy. There is sufficient wrong-headedness on both sides to go around. We need not add to the clamor.
I am sad. Present me no arguments for or against "green energy." Instead, if you can, reassure me that people are basically reasonable, good, and altruistic, being concerned for the welfare of all. Currently, I have my doubts.
Tuesday, August 13, 2013
Fork in the Road: Five
In the real world, I chose the fork that led to the sixth-grade classroom. Other than having completed a four-year degree in philosophy and possessing a willingness to give it a shot, I had virtually no preparation for dealing with eleven- and twelve-year old kids. Thus it was that without doubt I learned a great deal more than did my students.
At the end of my third year the trustee presented me with a new contract for the following year. I requested more money than he offered. He asserted that the offer was quite generous, and though they loved my work, no more money would be forthcoming. I delayed the signing of the contract and started looking for another position. I was offered a job in a community forty miles distant at a salary $100 greater than I had been offered. That was $100 more for the year. I signed the contract and wrote a letter of resignation which I hand-delivered to my trustee. He was floored. "Well," he said, "we bring new teachers into the fold and groom them into quality employees, then they leave for more money."
Mr. T came to my classroom two days later with a new contract, the amount offered was yet another $100 more than what I had signed for. "I have already signed with another school district," I reminded him.
"Not a problem," he replied. "So long as one resigns a couple of weeks before the school year starts everything is perfectly fine. People do it all the time."
Another fork in the road. Do I break my agreement with someone I don't know and accept more money from someone I do? Do I honor my signature?
Monday, August 12, 2013
#:3& in the Morning
The irresplendent pink unicorn landed in front of me, folded its wings, and skidded to a
stop. “In what manner may I resist you?” he asked.
“Be away with you, you rhinosterous pseudoequine phantasmagorical fig pudding of my
imagination,” I shouted.
“And to think,” the Unicorn replied sweetly, “I was ready to desist you
from this slime-pit in which you swallow. Tsk, tsk.”
At the gutterance of the word “swallow” there alighted on the sparkling
horn of the beast a small middish bird with forked tail. “You sang? I assist you,
beak and caul.”
“Explain,” said the imaginary beast, “to this hard-polled ninny that our
efforts can distract him from these pickles into which he has fallen.”
“Your good will, Sirrah, is all that is required,” said the Swallow. “We
insist to be of surface.”
And at the squeaking of the word “surface,” aghast fixture opened beneath the
creatures, and both were engorged in a trice.
I opened my left eye and peered through the blur of sheep captive within
it. The green numerals on the bedside clock looked like this: #:3&
Sunday, August 11, 2013
Lilies of the Field
Thirteenth day after first shoot broke ground.
Jesus taught us saying, "And why take ye thought for raiment? Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they toil not, neither do they spin: And yet I say unto you, That even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these.
Wherefore, if God so clothe the grass of the field, which today is, and tomorrow is cast into the oven, shall he not much more clothe you, O ye of little faith?"
Pete Wilson in his study of Christ's sermon said this: "Worry isn’t the result of your problems. Worry is the result of you thinking you can control your problems.
Pete Wilson in his study of Christ's sermon said this: "Worry isn’t the result of your problems. Worry is the result of you thinking you can control your problems.
I know it’s easier said than done, but Jesus is in essence saying “I want you to stop obsessing about the future and trust that I hold the future.”
Saturday, August 10, 2013
Mid-America Threshing and Antique Show
The show opened and I had an opportunity to walk through before the crowds gathered. Hope to share more later.
Friday, August 9, 2013
Signs
This sign clearly does not mean what it says, and yet its meaning is clear. It is the nature of signs to employ succinct, nay even terse, wording. Utilization of space available.
If the gate were in fact kept closed and locked at all times there is an immense waste of posts, hinges, and locks, for all that would be needed is fence.
When I was a child we visited the grandparents in Southern California on occasion. For some reason I was taken with the "PedXing" signs. So much so that I found it fun to say. Repeatedly. And the parents found my saying it repeatedly to be quite annoying. At least I assume that is the case, as they told me to knock it off. (I still, on very rare occasions, and talking strictly to myself, find myself muttering a mantra which sounds a bit like "PedXing." I am not nuts.)
How easily I run off into uncharted territory. At any rate, back to signs. Some of these international signs elude me; but then, I don't "get" many of the icons on phones and computers. For instance, I would think that the circles would require a "/" through them if they mean "do not." E.g., I would think I could ride my bicycle down the path marked by the first sign in the second row. And who sponsors the last sign in the first row, "MaidenForm"?
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