Birds and cedar berries!

      Cedar trees produce berries that are favored by birds. Fences are popular roosting spots for birds. Birds sitting on fence lines defecate cedar berry seeds. The consequence is cedars growing wild in fence lines. As the trees grow they complicated fence maintenance. This complication especially impacts electric fences. 

    One of my fence lines had a number of young cedars growing. They were still small enough to cut with had shearers. That was my task today but 20mph wind and 25 degree temperature made it unpleasant. The wind made eyes water, bending to cut off the cedar caused my watery eyes to smear my glasses. Give me 90 degrees any day. Though, either hot or cold, the wind is tiresome.

    Kaia thought it was great fun. She ran energetically until I stopped at tree. Then she'd come over to see what I was doing. When I moved she'd resume her running.  Her reliability at staying with me opens up many possibilities for our time together. 

   It's my story and I'm sticking with it.

Takk for alt,

Al

White caps on the pond!

    When the little pond across the street has white caps it's indicative of  a strong wind.  It's a weather whiplash with a 50 degree drop in temperature since yesterday. Yes, March is a windy month and now almost expired.

    Kaia passed the test as hostess dog. Once the house guests learned to close the bedroom door so she didn't retrieve their socks, etc., it went better.  She's forgiven for dumping the bowl of tortellini sauce on the floor. It's a habit that needs changing...that, standing on her back legs to see what's on the counter. It was a love match between the girls and her. Once again she's limited to boring me. It's nice to be able to entertain again.

Takk for alt,

Al

Kaia's company!

     Who is most excited? Kaia or the granddaughters?  It's Kaia's first experience of company since she came to live with me. She likes the attention. 😀 81 degrees and 30mph wind take the fun out of bike riding. The Little House certainly warms up with company. Life begins to move toward normal.  

    Perhaps a bit like a stuck record but of all people in the year of COVID i suffered least. Soooo much for which to be grateful...and I am.

Takk for alt,

Al

Palm Sunday

       One of the realities of my quarantine for the pandemic is that I've lost touch with the liturgical calendar. With my planned excursion to Minneapolis for Easter I suggested a lunch on Friday. This pastor replied "Sorry, can't do it on Good Friday." While I knew Easter was that Sunday it hadn't occurred to me that that Friday would be Good Friday.  Uffda.

      There were no palms for me on this Palm Sunday.  A fifty degree day with full sun makes it a beautiful day. Still, I miss the Palm Sunday procession and especially the children waving their palms. What have I missed most during my isolation?...being with my family, and second to that, not being able to go to church.

     The time is coming! 😀

Takk for alt,

Al

Jack Southam, February 2, 1935-March 24, 2021

      Jack grew up in Mohall, N.D., and came home to run Mohall Drug Store and gift shop with his wife Roberta. Both Jack and Roberta were pharmacists. They took over the drug store from Jack's father, Clair. They operated it until their retirement some years ago. Sometime after their retirement they relocated to Fargo and wintered in Mesa, AZ, until a year ago. On our return to trips to visit Mohall after we had moved away, Joanne and I would stay with the Southams. 

      Not only am I saddened by Jack's death that grief is compounded by not being able to participate in the funeral. Jack's death was not COVID related but virus protocols limit participation. News of Jack's death exacerbates missing Joanne.  She'd participate fully in the conversation about our times with the Southams. So much of grief is the loss of shared memories. It's moments like these when I feel lonely.

Takk for alt,

Al

On a lighter note here's Pickles.

"Grief speaks the truth" Part III

     Continuing to reflect on Nicholas Wolterstorff article (see the last two day's posts) he writes "....:my faith endured. But it would be a different kind of faith, a faith that incorporated Eric's death and my grief. And that would reveal to me a different kind of God, more mysterious. My relationship with my fellow human beings also changed: I felt an emotional affinity, often unspoken, with those whom I knew were also in grief."

    There are a couple of layers in that quotation with which I agree. When Joanne died I found most religious talk unhelpful. Largely because that talk was too sure about realities that can best be described as hope. Of course we hope; but we don't know.  When he writes of emotional affinity with those who were also in grief, that is so true. There is a unique companionship with other travelers in the land of grief.  Wayne and Sindy usually sat near us in church. Sindy's death was near Joanne's.  Now (before the pandemic) when Wayne sits with me at church I say "Welcome to the widower's bench." Sam, who kindly sent me this article for my reflection, and for which I'm grateful, also is widower sojourning in the land of grief. After Joanne died, and before his beloved Mary died, he regularly reached out to me reminding me that I was not alone, and now we travel together in that land.

Takk for alt,

Al

PS Life returns! My new reading lamp arrived today. While I was waiting I turned to Kindle and downloaded Nomadland and got a good start reading it. 

"Grief speaks the truth" Part II

      More from Nicholas Wolterstorff writing about his grief after his son died in a hiking accident in Germany.  He quotes from his book A Lament for a Son, "I am not angry [at God] but baffled and hurt. My wound is an unanswered question. The wounds of all humanity are an unanswered question."  This, of course, is the mystery of evil.  If God is good what is the source of evil?

     Death of a college age son poses different questions than the death of  an 82 year old spouse. Why? Why? If God is good how does this happen? We are confronted with the mystery of why bad things happen to good people.

    Wolterstorff writes "Eventually, the realization sunk in, all the way down, that he was dead. I had to learn to live around that gaping wound and with that grief. Grief was not just an additional component in my life. I had to live a new kind of life, one for which I had no practice."  He had entered what I call 'life in the land of grief in the presence of absence.'  He writes "Grief, I have come to think, is wanting the death or destruction of the loved one to be undone, while at the same time knowing it cannot be undone. Grief is wanting the loved on back when one knows he can't come back....My grief was wanting intensely for Eric to be alive when I knew he could not be."  Yes, that describes the agony of grief, wanting something desperately that cannot be. 

     There is more, but needing some time for reflection I'll leave it for the morrow. 

Takk for alt,

Al

"Grief speaks the truth"

       As 1996 bridged over to 1997, Joanne and I travelled to Phnom Penh, Cambodia to visit Lisa. It was Joanne's first trip to Asia so she wanted to see Angkor Wat and other Cambodian sites. Lisa and Joanne headed off to Angkor leaving me behind recovering from food poisoning. Two years earlier I had visited Angor with Lars. 

      Completing our Cambodia visit, a driver from Church World Service where Lisa worked, drove the three of us to the border of Vietnam. We walked across the border and, after clearing customs, we took a cab to Saigon, Vietnam. From Saigon we flew to Hue, and then on to Hanoi. In Hanoi we stayed at a small boutique hotel in the central city.

     As our stay was winding down to the last night we returned to our hotel after dinner and the hotel's proprietor met us. He'd obviously been waiting for us with news that had been relayed from Lisa's colleagues in Phnom Penh. The news was grim...my brother, Richard, had died at his home in South Dakota. He'd gone out to shovel snow and that's how he died, at age 62.

     This memory flooded back as I read an article that Sam, a widower like me who also lives in the land of grief,  sent me from the January 16, 2019, Christian Century. (Thanks, Sam.) The article Grief speaks the truth, by Nicolas Wolterstorff. It opens with his report of a telephone call telling him that his son, Eric, had died mountain climbing in Germany. This article contains his reflections on his son's death and his experience of grief. During the year after his son's death he wrote A Lament For A Son's Death which he frequently references in the article.

      When Joanne was in hospice she often commented that she was glad that she wasn't dying as Richard had. While her death was rapid, 23 days in home hospice, for most of that time she was alert and able to receive the outpouring of support that came. Likely she'd agree that she died a good death. The fact that she didn't suffer much was a blessing to all.

     Wolterstorff writes "In the face of death, we should not talk much." This is so true because death is such a mystery that much of what is said doesn't make sense. Confronted with death, if speaking to the bereaved, talk about the one who has died. Defy the tendency to treat conversation about the dead as taboo. The dead person is mostly who the bereaved is thinking about, so talk about him/her.

     There will be more from Wolterstorff tomorrow,

Takk for alt,

Al

      

 With old friends, conversation is simple: you open your mouth and there’s a big balloon full of words. With new people, it’s like a job interview. 

Daily Delight.

      Today it was talking to Frode on his 98th birthday. Frode's forgotten almost nothing, neither recent nor long ago. He was a bomber pilot in WW II, flying a Douglas A-20. Frode, Dick and I played golf weekly from 1990? until 2017. Dick and I witnessed one of Frode's hole in ones. It was at an elevated tee box so were able to see his ball role into the cup, at the Forks at North Fork. When I visited the Air Force Museum, Dayton, OH., a couple of years ago I got to see an A-20. After the war Frode worked many years for the FAA.  Talking to people is my daily delight and it being Frode's birthday I called him. 

      True to the weather forecast it's rained all day, a beautiful spring rain and suddenly green grass appears in the lawn. With windy rain I went back to the shop for the first activity since fall. It has warmed enough now to make activity there pleasant. Kaia thinks it's boring and she didn't get much of a run today. I'm keen for the activities in the shop and the field as spring progresses. 

     After finishing Becoming Wild, about which I posted yesterday, what did I find at the post office today? Yes, another book!  Lost Gutenberg: The Astounding Story of One Book's Five-hundred-Year Odyssey. Now I know what I'll read tonight.  Thanks MJV! 😀

Takk for alt,

Al

"A wise man once said nothing."

Animal culture.

         When an individual animal learns to use a tool that's one thing. When that animal's offspring or mates learn to use that tool for a similar purpose, that's culture.  Carl Safina, in his book Becoming Wild, elaborates on three animal species cultures.

        He begins with the culture of sperm whales. Sperm whales live in defined groups, each group, has songs and clicks of communication that are specific to that group. The book is rich with whale lore both historical and contemporary. Riding with whale researchers who are able to identify specific sperm whales by their distinctive flukes, he accompanies them as they visit pods with whom they've become familiar over many years.  Occasionally, during my time at sea while in the Marines, we'd see whales spouting and dolphins playing in the wake of the ship. There's also much about dolphins and other sea life in this section of the book.

      In the Amazon Basin Safina connected with researchers who study scarlet macaws. There are approximately 19 species of  macaws among the 350 parrot species worldwide. Scarlet macaws also have cultures specific to their groups. He quotes Gaby, one of the researchers, talking about babies  when they first leave the nest, "After macaw chicks leave the nest, at about three months of age, they sit around in nearby trees for a week or so. 'The young ones are not strong fliers,' Gaby explains....'they are dumb, they don't understand the world; they don't know what to do.'" P. 147  The parents spend years teaching their chicks what they need for survival.

     Safina describes a dawn visit to a salt like where a river bank has exposed ancient sea bed that's laden with salt. Salt is necessary for the birds diet and difficult to find in the Amazonian jungle. They are rewarded by flocks of parrots, including macaws, coming to the lick. After Lisa and I hiked to Machu Picchu, Peru, we flew to Puerto Maldonado in the Amazon Basin. We stayed in a eco-conservation camp in the jungle. Our trip to a salt lick was not rewarded with flocks visiting the day we were there.

    Not surprisingly the third animal culture he describes are wild chimpanzees in Uganda. Again he spends time with researchers. Their presence has been accepted by the chimps so they can fully observe the culture of these bands. Chimps are organized with an alpha male in dominance. The position of alpha is highly and violently contested and there is significant violence in the bands. This is in contrast to bonobos, the same species as chimps, but geographically separate.  Unlike chimps, bonobos are matriarchal and non-violent. Safina points out that both elephants and sperm whales are also matriarchal and non-violent.   

    It was a fascinating read not least becasue of all the extraneous information about the animal kingdom that's included.

Takk for alt,

Al

   

Vernal equinox!

        Happy first day of spring! "Spring has sprung, the grass has riz I wonder where the flowers is?" Well no grass rising here yet but much of snow has melted. One of the features of the surveying of this prairie is that roads were platted one on mile squares east/west and north/south. This means that the sun will rise on the eastern road today and set on the western one. Giving directions here using north, south etc. works.

    Joanne grew up in St. Paul, MN where streets seldom align true to a specific direction. She grew up with directions always given via right or left. When she settled in Canton, S.D., to teach at Augustana Academy, she went to the local Ben Franklin store. In the store she asked a clerk where to find a specific item. The clerk said "It's toward the west end of the south shelf." Joanne said "HUH?"  She did master her directions but it took a bit of learning.

     Today is the late Mary Quam Hatlestad's birthday. Mary and I worked together for a year at First Lutheran, Sioux Falls. Mary was the office administrator.  It was my first church job, and it was as assistant custodian and night watchman. Living in the church apartment below Mary's office it was logical for me to lock up the building at night. This was during my senior year at Augustana. The late Jim Olson, who's funeral was Monday, had that position before me. He alerted me to the job he was vacating as he graduated and went to seminary.

Takk for alt,

Al

Cemetery obserrvations.

      Trips to the cemetery have been a daily occurrence lately. It's hard to comprehend the grief of parents who have buried a child and the grief of those who buried more than one. Noticing the dates on markers, there's one where the widow lived 45 years after her husband's death! As cemeteries go it's not old. Sinai Lutheran Church was founded on the site in 1889.

    Joanne's been dead a little less than three years. It stretches my mind to think she knew nothing of a COVID pandemic. That's acceptable. What is less so, is missing the growth in her granddaughters, in whom she took such delight.

    These are some of my musings in the land of grief as I negotiate the presence of absence.

"The reality is that you will grieve forever. You will not 'get over' the loss of a loved one; you will learn to live with it. You will heal, and you will rebuild yourself around the loss you have suffered. You will be whole again, but you will never be the same. Nor should you be the same, nor would you want to."

Elizabeth Kubler-Ross and John Kessler

Takk for alt,

Al

How to avoid a cold.

 Three steps to avoiding a cold:

     1. Social distance

     2. Wash hands thoroughly and regularly

     3. Wear a mask in public.

  Does this sound familiar? What we call the 'common cold' is, of course, caused by a virus. So avoiding COVID meant that I also avoided a cold. As my second vaccine soon becomes effective, and I cautiously begin to move out in public, should I expect to get a cold?  In four days it will be two weeks since my second Moderna vaccine. What is to be expected? 

    I'm keen for the snow to melt, fields dry up and be able to be in the fields. Yes, yes, I know "it's only March" but there's my argument that "March is the cruelest month" not April.

Takk for alt,

Al

Honoring Joanne.

       My late wife, Joanne, had many LSS connections. Her first LSS stint was as a contract counselor with LSS of South Dakota when we were living in Sioux Falls in the late '70s. From there she went to LSS of Illinois in their office in Moline. Eventually she became the director of the Western Illinois office of LSS. Her next stop was as Vice President for programs of LSS of Minnesota. After she left her position as Founding President and Executive Director of Lutheran Services of America she accepted the position of  President and CEO of LSS of South Dakota. In her retirement she served on the Board of Directors of LSS of MN.

      When LSS of South Dakota invited me, via Sara, to a Zoom meeting of LSS Founders, I decided to attend in Joanne's honor. Betty Oldenkamp succeeded Joanne as President/CEO and has held that position for 15 years. In the Zoom meeting she announced her retirement. The agency has continued to thrive under her leadership.

      Joanne would have been thrilled to learn that, LSSSD, now sponsors street workers in Sioux Falls and Rapid City, working with vulnerable youth ages 10-21. LSSMN has long had such a program and Joanne was very supportive of it.

Takk for alt,

Al

Memory triggered!

         In yesterday's post the item about our local telephone company, yesteryear in Sinai, reference was made to the telephone operator sending out announcements via a general ring to all phones. Occasionally the announcement was for a public bridal shower. (Are there still public bridal showers here? I need to inquire.)  During one of those public bridal showers many years ago I was staying with my mother. She returned from the shower with a story to tell.

      At the shower she was seated with two women who were in conversation with each other. When one of the women commented that the bride was pregnant it elicited an interesting response from the second woman. In reply to the assertion that the bride was pregnant she said "Yes, but isn't it good that they caught it in time?"  That tickled my mother's funny bone. 😁  Arrested development???

     Ah, yes, the good old days. Our one room school didn't have a phone, we were lucky to have electricity. Through my 4th grade year the school was heated by a coal stove. During the summer after that year the school was fitted with an oil burning stove. The oil burner was allowed to burn overnight at a low setting so there was a modicum of heat when the teacher arrived in the morning. All she had to do was turn up the heat rather than fire up the coal. About the same time our farmhouse replaced its coal stove with an oil burner. Progress came in small steps.  

Takk for alt,

Al

Just for fun...Joanne never asked me to accompany her to a fabric store, maybe it was my looks.

Telephone

         Adie was talking about her experience as a telephone operator in Hollywood, CA., during the 40s. The operators were warned that movie stars would call but the operators were to be professional and not bother the stars. Addie was at the switchboard and took an incoming call. The caller said "This is Bing Crosby and I'd like to call Palm Springs." Addie responded loudly, "BING CROSBY". Addie's supervisor rushed over and unplugged the connection and asked "What did we just tell you?"  Then she asked a crestfallen Addie, "What are you going to do about it?"  Addie said "I suppose I could apologize." The supervisor said "That would be a start." Addie patched into the line again and apologized. Bing laughed and said "I wondered where you went. Don't think a thing of it, sweetheart."

      This came up in our conversation as we were talking about the changes in telephoning. When I enlisted in the Marines in 1959 we still had a crank phone on the wall of the dining room. Our ring was four shorts. After my discharge in 1962 I returned home to a more modern phone, but still a party line. Sinai had its own telephone company with an office with a switchboard on main street. In my three years in the Marines I think I called home once.

      "General rings" were signals sent for everyone to pick up their phone. The announcement might be that school was cancelled because of snow, all are invited to a bridal shower for (name of bride), there's a barn fire at (name of farmer). Because the phone rang in everyone's home when one was called it was tempting for others to pick up the phone and listen in. One neighbor solved that issue by speaking Danish to his family.

     Now I have a phone that is way smarter than I. But, it's been a significant lifeline for me during this pandemic. Daily calls from and to family and friends have kept me connected and ameliorated the isolation. Now that it has been a week since my second COVID vaccination I'm anticipating being face to face with people again. 

Takk for alt,

Al 

Winter wonderland!

        Awakening this morning we discovered a winter wonderland. Snow, 8"? 10"? 12"? Who knows...it's March so it won't last long. Kaia loves it running full tilt in snow up to her belly she never seems to tire. It's all very pretty but now the sun can come out and take it away. Beware of the ides of March, indeed. 

     Shoveling my sidewalk I discovered that the snow was already melting from the bottom. Using Google I discovered...

"Does snow melt from the top or bottom?

The simple answer is that snow can melt BOTH from top to bottom and from the bottom to the top… depending on the conditions. During the day, the snow reflects a majority of the sunlight but some of the sun's energy evaporates the solid snow directly to the vapor phase."

    Some of the rays of the sun penetrate the snow and when they strike something dark beneath the snow they heat that surface. As that surface heats the snow melts from the bottom. 

    Maybe I should just go make a snowman! 😀

Takk for alt,

Al

Blast from the past.

      In a conversation with J yesterday, who has sold her house and is moving into a two bedroom unit in a co-op, we discussed the relationship of things to memories. As she down-sizes her mantra is "it's just stuff."  Retaining the stuff is not necessary to retain the memory. While Joanne and I were doing that a few years ago friends told us that as they downsized they would ask "What are the memories connected to this object?" Then they would wonder "Do we need to keep this thing to maintain the memory?" If the answer was "no" then they would dispose of the item.

      In a totally different context I was recently reminded of a memory of riding a train in Japan. This brought to mind a specific memory. When our Marine unit was shipped from Okinawa to one of the larger Japanese Islands, in November 1961, for cold weather training, we were situated in a tent camp at the base of Mt. Fuji.  Ed and I decided to visit my cousin, Oliver Bergh and his wife Judy, who were missionaries in Shimizu.

     We boarded a train in Gotemba, the nearest train stop to our tent camp. It was not a mainline track and the train was powered by a steam locomotive, which filled the passenger cars with smoke going through the tunnels. It wasn't a long trip. When we arrived in Shizuoka, sister city to Shimizu, we departed the train at the central train station. Lacking directions to Oliver's house, and not speaking Japanese, we walked to a nearby taxi stand. We showed a taxi driver an envelope which had Oliver's return address. The driver quickly hailed other drivers who clustered around the first driver in animated conversation. In a few minutes the driver opened the door of his cab and motioned for us to enter as all the other drivers smiled  and nodded...we were off. It was a bit of a ride but eventually we pulled up in front of Oliver's house where we spent the weekend.

      The world really runs on trust. News is made when trust is broken. My 200? pictures of Mt. Fuji are still on slides or I'd attach a picture. 😄 

Takk for alt,

Al

Robins in the yard!

     Robins in the yard make me glad!

      Kaia and I returned from our foray to the cemetery and made our customary stop at the post office. There was one piece of mail in the box and it was for Kaia. She celebrated her 5th birthday recently and the mail in box was a birthday card for her. She's only been with me for about a month but I'm almost certain that this is her first personal mail. Moving from life in a kennel to living in a house seems to suit her just fine. She's happy sleeping in a comfortable crate at night, goes into it of her own accord when I'm preparing for bed. Teaching her stay on her rug while I eat was quickly accomplished.

      Daylight Savings Time begins tonight. What should I do with all the daylight I save?  Perhaps I should bank it for use in December and January. Any suggestions on how to capture it? Six months of fatigue will now ensue until we regain an hour of sleep when we 'fall back.' 

Takk for alt,

Al

Kaia, while I was eating lunch today.

Earl's hearing is like mine.

Cemetery rambles!

          The cemetery is a good place to perambulate now that the snow has melted. Occasionally I'll see a gravestone bearing a name I don't recognize. Most of those buried there are either known to me or I know their family. Joanne's decision to be buried there has been a gift to me, allowing me to make frequent visits to her grave. Her presence near family and friends comforts me. The walk there and back is 1.6 miles so a good stretch of the legs. It is natural that such visits also awaken the presence of absence. 

       A one percenter...that's the way I frame my life with COVID. I'm in the one percent category of having suffered the least from the pandemic.  It's been a slight dislocation but compared to the real suffering of so many, it's nothing. Yes, I'm grateful!

Takk for alt,

Al

Pity me, living without adult supervision.  My niece, Angie, recently stayed in my condo and left the refrigerator the cleanest it's ever been. I asked her if she wanted to clean the refrigerator in The Little House. 

I'd vote for March!

       T.S. Eliot would have us believe that 'April is the cruelest month.'  March would be my choice for that designation. Strong winds, sleet, snow, hail, tornado warnings yesterday...I rest my case. And, today?  37 degrees, sunny and a 9 mph wind. Is it winter, yesterday?, or spring? today?  

   April is the cruelest month, breeding?

 Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing

Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.
Winter kept us warm, covering
Earth in forgetful snow, feeding
A little life with dried tubers.
    –T.S. Eliot, “The Waste Land”

    It's been a year since I left my Minneapolis condo for the hospitality of Lisa's house. Then, the thought was that this isolation would last a few weeks. As it became clear that the pandemic wasn't ending any time soon I moved to The Little House on the Prairie, May 1. Since them I've been here with the exceptions of a few days back in the condo. 

     By Easter my COVID vaccinations will be effective so I will be back in Minneapolis able to be with my family. It will also give me the chance to connect with friends. Yes, I'm keen for this.

     Yet, I'm surprised by how quickly the year has passed. That, of course, is a feature of my age where years get shorter. When I was 5, a year was 20% of my experience and now a year is much smaller percentage of my experience.

     Alive, well and grateful!

Takk for alt

Al

Snow day!

      Perhaps I should use the excuse of reaction to my second COVID shot for staying inside. The truth is I have no reaction. Today I treated as a 'snow day'.  Snow days weren't very frequent in my childhood but they were much loved. My tree planting forbearers, grandfather and father, had planted several rows of trees south, west and north of our farm house so even in the worst blizzards our yard was an oasis of calm. Weather had to be frightful before school was cancelled in our little, one room, schoolhouse but when they were it was bonus vacation. The winter of 48-49 was particularly snowy. There were places that winter where the snow had drifted so deep that we could step over the telephone wires. The National Guard was used to open roads with their bulldozers. 

      When snow and wind was predicted for today I opted to mostly stay inside and Kaia had no choice. The wind came, 20 mph, but the snow turned out to be sleet. The north windows of The Little House are opaque now, plastered with ice. Quite a contrast to yesterday when the temperature reached 66!

      Reflecting on 'snow days' brought one of my recent teaching trips to Thailand to mind. Bangkok declared 'smog days,' and closed their schools for a few days becasue of air pollution. Smog isn't much of an issue in Sinai.  

      Last year, when I was in Asia, a cold developed into bronchitis. Medical help in Bangkok cured me just before I returned home. That was the last time I was sick. It has been a year without a cold, flu or any other illnesses. Isolation has its benefits.

      Takk for alt,

       Al

      The one room school house as it looks today. 8 years of education in that building.

Black Lives Matter, too!

      Southern perpetrators of "the lost cause" theory of the American Civil War would have us believe that the war, also called The War Between The States, was not fought over the issue of slavery. Alexander Stephens, Governor of Georgia said this as States were seceding from the Union. 

"May we not, therefore, look with confidence to the ultimate universal acknowledgment of the truths upon which our system (Confederate) rests? It is the first government ever instituted upon the principles in strict conform ty to nature, and the ordination of Providence, in furnishing the materials of human society. Many governments have been founded upon the principle of the subordination and serfdom of certain classes of the same race; such were and are in violation of the laws of nature. Our system commits no such violation of nature's laws. With us, all of the white race, however high or low, rich or poor, are equal in the eye of the law. Not so with the negro. Subordination is his place. He, by nature, or by the curse against Canaan, is fitted for that condition which he occupies in our system(slavery). The architect, in the construction of buildings, lays the foundation with the proper material-the granite; then comes the brick or the marble. The substratum of our society is made of the material fitted by nature for it, and by experience we know that it is best, not only for the superior, but for the inferior race, that it should be so. It is, indeed, in conformity with the ordinance of the Creator. It is not for us to inquire into the wisdom of His ordinances, or to question them. For His own purposes, He has made one race to differ from another, as He has made "one star to differ from another star in glory." The great objects of humanity are best attained when there is conformity to His laws and decrees, in the formation of governments as well as in all things else." 

     In his book The Zealot and the Emancipator: John Brown, Abraham Lincoln and the struggle for American Freedom, H. W. Brands, clearly articulates that slavery was the cause of the war. The book is a biography of John Brown and could be called an annotated biography of Lincoln. Brands focuses on Lincoln as emancipator but does not cover all other aspects of his life. Lincoln clearly was anti-slavery but some of his attitudes toward blacks are hard to read. 

      The book is a good addition to the topic of race relations today, showing the roots and causes of much of our current distress. 

     Non-sequitur:  Today I received my second COVID vaccination! 😁  I'm filled with gratitude to all who made it possible. This year of self-isolation has passed rather quickly and I feel very blessed. Among all I've probably suffered least and I am thankful.

Takk for alt,

Al

            I have much in common with Earl!

Red letter day!

       Two packages awaited me at the post office today. It took only 10 days for my repaired hearing aid to return! Without it, telephone conversations were less satisfying because the sound came only to one ear. It also made listening to music, or the sound on Zoom, problematic. It had to be reprogrammed to sync with my phone. When I was not up to the task I got the best, most patient, service tech on the phone. With her help if feels as if life has returned. Phone conversations are my link to the network of family and friends.        

    The second package was from LSS of South Dakota. It contained thank you gifts for both me and Kaia. Now, how would LSS know about Kaia? Included in the package was a lovely letter from the LSS staffer, Sara, who had mailed it. She said that and her family had been re-settled in America, likely as refugees, by LSS! This was in 1997, and now she works for LSS 😀. So how did she know about Kaia? She found my blog on Google and has been following it. How delightful!

     There is so much for which I am grateful...yes indeed!

Blessings,

Al

Out of sequence.

      Marilynne Robinson has written four novels in her Gilead series. Now I've read the fourth, Jack, after having read the first two but not the third, Home. Perhaps that was a mistake, though Jack stands quite well on its own. MJV sent me her notes, six pages, of a quality that would qualify for publication in The New Yorker. It's good to see what I missed. Theological themes, Calvinist, abound in Robinson's writings. One possible interpretation of Jack is that it is Robinson's commentary on Black Lives Matter. It's not the easiest read but full of profundities.

      Reading it reminded me of Norwegian author Knut Hamsun, (1859-1952) (Mysteries is an example.) who was one of the first novelists to give voice to protagonists inner voices. Much of Jack is the inner reflections of Jack, the elderly minister's prodigal son. 

With the literary theme of this post here's a literary pun. "I have a pencil that belonged to William Shakespeare but it has been chewed a lot. So, I can't tell if it's 2B or not 2B."

Takk for alt

Al

Plan ahead!

       With the onset of cold weather last fall working in the shop wasn't desirable. It has a furnace but that huge, uninsulated space isn't practical to heat. Not that there have been several days in the fifties I ventured into the building. Sure, it was 55 degrees outside, but, inside it was 34. Surprise, it was a short effort. The shop faces south with the vehicle entrance so opening it in the morning and letting in the sun and warmer air would make it more tolerable. Plan ahead!

Takk for alt,

Al

Another talent!

      In the eleven years that Trygve lived with me he probably barked a dozen times if we don't count barking while he was dreaming. He just wasn't a barker, which suited me fine. Yesterday a UPS delivery person opened my porch door and dropped a couple of packages inside. This brought out the watchdog in Kaia who barked a warning. It wasn't a spasm of barking, just a number of "woofs" alerting me to the entry of a person to the porch. She perks an ear occasionally to a vehicle that passes but doesn't bark. Watchdog was not a talent that I expected in Kaia.

      My friend, Nelson, gifted me with these exquisite salt and pepper grinders that he crafted (see picture below). They are from walnut that he harvested in 1985 and has been drying ever since. Unusual for walnut there is a bit of burl in the grain. He'd previously given me a coffee scoop, which like the grinders, came from me wood shop. My experience in woodshop in high school mostly revealed that wood working was not the path to success for me.  

Takk for alt,

Al

                                               Beauties.

Harbingers of spring!

        Paul Douglas, who writes a daily weather comment in the newspaper, mentioned that we've passed metrological spring. We're into the month of March as noted by the calendar. Temperatures are in the 50s these days. Yet, none of these have signaled "spring" to me as powerfully as seeing flocks of geese in their northward migration. Kaia took delight in flushing a flock of canada geese that landed on the ice covered pond across the street. Seeing migrating geese is a sign that most of winter is past. Sceptics who doubted that I could happily and successfully winter in The Little House were mistaken.

       "How to Write an Obituary"  is the headline of an short article in the February 7, 2021, New York Times Magazine, P. 19. The article quotes Victoria Chang, a Los Angles-based poet and writer.  "After watching her mother die, Chang understood in a visceral way for the first time that, she too, would die. She thinks if people spent more time acknowledging their mortality they'd live differently--kinder more present. Writing an obituary can be a wake-up call. 'This person is dead,' Chang says, 'You're alive.'"

Takk for alt,

Al

Mare's Shank!

  Father was a great walker. Headed out to the fields to look at the crops, as a boy, I thought we should take a tractor, but not Dad, we walked. My brother walks almost every day, and so do I. This morning before breakfast Kaia and I went out on the pond across the street to play fetch. The grassland beyond the far side of the pond called to us so we went to explore. Kaia immediately went into her hunting mode  sweeping the grass in front of me like me like wipers on a windshield. This is not done at a trot, as she dashes back and forth at full throttle. Her efforts were rewarded by the flush of a sleepy pheasant.  Today's temperature is 54 degrees and with full sun there's a question of how much longer we can play on the pond. After breakfast we did our daily walk.

     She got her first introduction to the truck today. She was delighted, and there will be many more to come. One vehicle rests in the shop and the other is parked in front of The Little House. Now it's the truck parked there because it's the daily vehicle...though many days go by without its use.

Takk for alt,

Al

She's doing her part!

      Frequently, over the years, I'd comment that Trygve kept me from being a slug. On my recent trip back to the condo I was reminded of that as I'd put on shoes and coat to take Kaia out. Before breakfast this morning we went out on the frozen pond for a session of fetch, which she does with enthusiasm. After breakfast she accompanied me on my daily walk. We'll walk one more time before bedtime. She's certainly doing her part to keep me active.

    She has one quirk that amuses me more than annoys. She likes to carry things, particularly cloth, around the house. Covering the laundry basket and closing the bedroom door has limited what she can find to carry.  For some reason she's not interested in shoes. Kaia doesn't hurt what she carries and doesn't chew on anything that she shouldn't so this carrying behavior is very benign. It helps, too, that she's well crate trained and doesn't resist entering it or being in it.  O, did I mention that I arise earlier in the morning since she came?  

     I think I'll keep her. 😉

Takk for alt,

Al

    

    

Grief redux...

     Today Lois Hope, nee Hiaring, age 84, wife of Marvin, was buried.  Hopes were neighboring farmers in my childhood. There's not a time in my memory that I didn't know them. They went to our country school, our church and our high school. Marvin's brother, Lloyd, and I are the same age so we were classmates for 12 years. 

     Standing in the cemetery at Lois' committal service was quite emotional. In addition to the grief of Lois' death her grave is about 50 feet from Joanne's. Naturally memories of Joanne's burial, now almost 3 years ago washed over me.  Grief touches grief as Joanne was fond of saying. It makes me sad to contemplate all Joanne has missed since she died and, all the time with her, that I've missed. Being at Lois' graveside service awakened in me the presence of absence. So it is in the land of grief.  

Takk for alt,

Al