Raintree's Village

Handmade Christmas

2011-12-08T12:27:00.001-08:00

In the last few years, I've noticed that when Christmas rolls around, gone is any desire on my part to shop. This may or may not have something to do with my overall stubborn nature in regards to societal 'Do's and Don'ts'. Perhaps I'm tired of seeing dead animals wash ashore after an oil companies 'oops' moment, or hearing about plastic garbage choking wildlife or washing out to sea. Maybe it has something to do with debt and my fear of any more of it, or the fact that most of the people that make these toys can't afford them for their own children.

Whatever this drive in me is, I've come up with something I'm rather excited about this year, and I think the kids will actually enjoy it, too. Here it is-

I've decided to make stuffed replica's of things my kids have drawn this year. My first project is a stuffed train for my four year old, Joe.

Here is Joe's train picture (he loves trains and draws them all the time). You'll notice that he's named this particular engine- Sam.

I've begun with the last car on the train~

Here, I am working on the windows- trying to get them as close to the picture as possible~

And here is a photo of the completed car with the next car in the works~

Stuffed animals (or stuffed trains) are one of my favorite things to knit. There's something about the feeling of bringing a character to life in this way.

So, here's hoping that I'll be able to finish before Christmas Eve:)

The Futility of the Christmas War

2011-11-26T17:36:00.001-08:00

Every year. I don't get it, but every single year we see the stores gear up for sales that people stand in line for, we see Christmas Trees for sale in mid-November. We see the holiday of Thanksgiving (certainly one of the more poignant holidays, in terms of meaning, that we have) totally skipped in our market places, minus the non-superstore groceries that still count on holidays like Thanksgiving for a little monetary boost during the year...

And somehow, some way, some of us are convinced there is a "war" on Christmas.

As a child, I remember receiving cards in the mail that said "Happy Holidays". No one was complaining then, and the fact that they are now tells me this one thing: We are easily led by the powers that be. We are easily divided, for the powers that be. And... this is not a good thing.

About four and a half years ago I joined a website called Cafemom, and inside that website, I joined a religious debate forum. I don't think I've ever had a better learning experience. From the get-go, I was seeing the world through the eyes of others, and understanding began to bloom. World religions was always a favorite subject of mine in school, so it was a natural draw, this forum, and I ended up making friends there that I may not have given a second thought to in real life. Actually, I may have avoided them in real life.

Avoiding people who are different because they're different isn't something that I would call a "Jesus" thing. Probably the opposite, actually.

And this brings me to what I've noticed more often than not- for non-Christians, the message they're receiving from the majority of Christians is this: You don't matter unless you conform. You aren't an American until you conform to our primary customs. You are, in fact, anti-American until you stop being a jew/muslim/hindu/buddhist/pagan/atheist and start telling us "Merry Christmas" when we want you to. Get over it or get out.

Further, the picture people are getting from the actual celebration of Christmas goes something like this:

Rather than this:

That isn't the fault of anyone but those who participate in it. This isn't the fault of Muslims who celebrate Ramadan- occasionally- around Christmas time. It isn't the fault of Jews who celebrate Chanukah. It isn't the fault of Pagans, who celebrate on or around the 21st of December every year. It isn't the fault of the atheists, who often celebrate Christmas along with *most* everyone else.

It's the fault of laziness in communication during the holiday season. Once upon a time, people chose to say "Happy Holidays" to each other rather than, "Happy Thanksgiving, Merry Christmas, Happy Boxing Day, Good New Year" which is a mouthful. It is also the result of thoughtful communication in areas of this nation where there are larger pockets of Jewish people who don't always appreciate being told Merry Christmas for reasons that should, at this point in history, be obvious.

While we're on the subject of history, how about a little introspection on the history of modern Christmas celebration? What is the first sign that it's coming on Christmas? That's right- we're cutting down trees. Why trees? Because once upon a time- before Christianity enveloped Europe- people worshiped the sun, and on the shortest day of the year, the winter solstice, they would decorate their homes with plants that stayed green during the winter as a reminder that spring would come again when the sun god grew strong again. Similar meanings are behind wreaths, candles, mistletoe, holly, and the colors red, gold, green and silver- all things that our culture has adopted and renamed to suit our preference- and we demand that no one else does the same.

Another thing that comes to my mind is the fact that so many Adventist friends and relatives have taken on this task, full bore- and with SDA eschatology? I find it ironic for SDAs in particular to suggest that people conform or get out. Think about this for a minute if you are an SDA. What happens when we force conformity in religious matters? What happens when we are forced to conform??

Basically, what it comes down to is this. Be nice. Take folks like Bill O'Reilly for what they are; angry, frightened people interested in dividing a nation that needs, more than ever, to stick together. We are a colorful, diverse nation, and thank goodness for that - you learn nothing when nothing is different and challenges never arise. And Jesus said there would be challenges- and he said to love your neighbor, and to hand your cares and burdens to him.

He didn't say to yell at people for saying the wrong greeting on his birthday (or the day that we chose to celebrate on in hopes that the pagans of a certain region would have an easier time conforming to the new religion). See? There's that conformity thing raising its ugly head again.

Stop demanding it. More flies with honey.

A Nest For Celeste (a little review)

2011-09-15T19:48:00.000-07:00

For the last couple weeks we've been having tea at night with our four children while we read books and just sit together at the end of a day. The first book we've completed during this new tradition is A Nest For Celeste: A Story About Art, Inspiration, and the Meaning of Home by author and illustrator Henry Cole.

The story opens inside a Plantation House in Louisiana, and inside the wall- just under the sideboard in the dining room- lives Celeste, a mouse who enjoys making baskets, and is busy making her newest creation when the two rats that live alongside her come along to bully her into finding them dinner for the evening. From here, the plot moves along rapidly, and characters are quickly introduced- one being John James Audubon, who is staying at the plantation with his young assistant Joseph Mason. Much of the human story is true- the plantation and the family who lived there, the presence of Audubon and Joseph; an accident involving Joseph- but all of it is told through the eyes of Celeste, who is simply trying to find home.

The book is illustrated with fine pencil drawings by the author, and is organized into 37 chapters.

Basically, you should give it a look if you've got kids in the 4- 12 age range at home- or, if you just like good books.

Oh, and aside from Celeste, our favorite character of the book is an Osprey who Celeste befriends. Reminding us faintly of Foghorn Leghorn, he provided comic relief in touchier moments of the book.

The Wild One

2011-09-14T17:59:00.000-07:00

*Sigh*

For the last two years I've been helping out a particular feral cat that showed up at our trash can, regularly. I figured it was easier to feed him than to watch him tear up the trash every morning- and with that- my conscience. He is a beautiful, tawny colored tabby with intense green eyes and a nick in his ear from a long-ago cat fight, I assume.

For the first year, he was untouchable. I would see him out on the front porch, grab some food and take it out for him, while he beat a hasty retreat to the security of the middle-yard until I went back into the house. For awhile, I was able to get him close to the porch while I stood there waiting. Then I upped the ante. I broke out the canned cat food, and after that, he couldn't just wait. He had to have that food- and our trust grew.

But then he disappeared.

We had gone on vacation in the summer, and I arranged with a neighbor to leave him his daily ration of food until we returned. But he didn't eat anything. I thought the worst- he'd been hit by a car, or eaten by a coyote- whatever, he was gone.

And then, a few months later, in November, he reappeared. I was opening the door to take the trash out, and there he was. Once again, beating a hasty retreat- but when I called to him, he stopped, turned around, and waited.

Three weeks later, I was able to pet him for the first time, and as he came to trust us more, I was able to put him in the old dog kennel I had in the garage during the nights when it was so cold. Last winter, he didn't suffer frost-bite on his feet, and he actually put on weight. He came into the house for long periods during the quiet of the day- and he would nap on my desk, the first time I had ever seen actually relax. We decided to call him "Boo" after Boo Radley from To Kill A Mockingbird because it just seemed to fit.

Summer came, and I had moved Boo into the outdoor, covered kennel we have on the side of our house. There he had shelter, a place to potty, clean water and his daily ration of food. When we returned from this summer's vacation though, he was changed. He seemed angry, and I didn't know what to do. He is a feral cat, and I wondered if being kept inside something was bothering him. I let him out, and he stayed out for days at a time. He looked a shambles, he dropped weight, and once again, he wouldn't allow me to pet him- and when I tried, he would lash out. I felt guilty, and I also began wondering if male cats have some kind of weird hormonal shift in the summer that makes them anti-social and mean. Chop those suckers off- is the obvious answer- but be careful trying to get him to the vet is the caveat. I'd like to keep my arms, thank you.

Its getting cool again. And for the last couple weeks, Boo has gentled down again. He has begun sleeping once more on the porch furniture, and purring for his daily can- and accepting pets. He was beginning to look better than he had all summer, and then he came home this evening looking like he had fought five rounds too many in a boxing match. In short, he got his butt kicked, and so, that was it. Back into the kennel he went- slight protestations aside.

I don't know. It's hard to know what to do for these guys. Apparently my house has an aura recognizable to cats in need of assistance- two of my neighbors have confirmed that our house was the stray-cat house long before we ever moved here.

Anyway, Boo is safe for now.

Double Chocolate Banana Bread....or possibly Cake

2011-08-18T17:58:00.001-07:00

I've never had much luck with banana bread. No matter the recipe I'd try, it had this bizarre tendency to burn on the bottom before the middle was anywhere near cooked through.

It isn't that I'm a bad baker. I have my moments, but generally speaking, I'm fairly decent. This banana bread issue was beginning to make me wonder if I ought to just hang up the apron. I mean... banana bread? Who has problems baking banana bread? Souffle? Of course that's difficult. Very understandable to have problems with souffle. A trained chef will occasionally have issues with a souffle. Creme Brulee? Yeah, you need a fire tool for that. Completely frightening. But banana bread?? Something referred to as a 'quick' bread?

Please.

Anyway, in a tinkering mood one day, I decided to try my luck again. Well- and I had a whole bunch of just south of the sell-by bananas drawing fruit flies. So, that was another reason. And- I think this is the one, folks. Although this recipe is huge, and makes a very large sheet-cake size thing, you can halve it to make one large loaf, or several cupcakes.

Here's the goods~

pre-heat oven to 350º and grease your baking pan with oil or butter. Butter is better.

8 bananas, mashed
2 Cups granulated sugar
3/4 C melted butter
1 Cup cocoa powder
4 eggs
2 teaspoon vanilla
1 teaspoon salt
2 1/2 tsp baking soda
4 Cups All Purpose Flour
1 Cup chopped walnuts- or more if you like. Or less. We all know someone who hates nuts.
2 Cups semi-sweet chocolate chips

Whip together all those wet ingredients at the top, and in a separate bowl, wisk together the salt, soda and flour. Add slowly to wet ingredients, and then add your walnuts and chocolate chips. Scoop into your baking dish and shove that sucker in the oven for a good 30 minutes. After that time turn the temp down to 325º and keep a close eye on it. Check again in 10 minutes and stab it with a toothpick or thin knife to gauge your progress. Keep in mind that if you've halved this recipe, baking time will change and probably lessen.

Although.. I have this one bread pan that makes everything take forEVER to bake. So, you've got to know your equipment and be willing to keep an eye on it if necessary.

This would be marvelous with a dallop of whipped cream on top. The real stuff. Not that synthetic 'cool whip' stuff that comes ready made in a plastic pail. Unless you're just that lazy. Which I can completely understand.

Happy Baking!

The Garden in the Front

2011-07-18T11:07:00.000-07:00

When most of us think about crime, we think about people who hurt other people. When we think of criminal actions, we think of theft, murder, rape.

What we probably do not see are front gardens with vegetables growing in them, and the vegetable gardeners themselves.

When Julie Bass decided to replant her front yard with vegetables - in neat, raised beds- after replacing a sewer line, she didn’t know that she breaking the city of Oak Park’s code for front yard planting. What she did think was that she was doing something to mitigate her grocery bill, to teach her children about food, and to ensure her family had ready access to organically grown produce. A very American notion, yes?

Not according to Oak Park city planner Kevin Rulkowski, who has insisted that the word ‘suitable’ in the code means ‘common’, according to Webster’s dictionary. (Feel free to look up the definition here, and make sure to read the comments on the bottom of the page.) In one interview, Mr. Rulkowski insists that most people do not want to “see that” in their neighbor’s front yards, leading one to believe that Mr. Rulkowski is offended by vegetables. Vegetables as porn, perhaps?

So, Julie Bass was charged with a misdemeanor, and faced three months in jail as a result. Rather than complying with the city in order to have charges dropped, she decided to fight, and an aggressive public campaign has ensued, putting Oak Park on the map, and driving the town council underground. To add insult to injury, two misdemeanors were added for failure to license the families dogs. In compliance with this, Julie and her husband tried to license the animals (again, the law was vague, and Julie did not know she was outside this ordinance), only to find that the offices were closed on Friday, due to budget cuts. She licensed the dogs the following Monday, and was told to “bring the documents to court, and they will probably be dismissed”, according to Bass.

When she brought the documents to court, the prosecutor verbally dismissed them before going forward on the garden charges. Later on, a judge from another district dismissed without prejudice the garden charges, and the prosecutor’s office reinstated the charges for the dogs, and Bass will have to appear in court on the 26th of this month. To dismiss without prejudice on the garden charge means that those charges can still be reinstated at a later date. The case has effectively not been dropped.

Bass also attempted to obtain a copy of the town ordinances, but was told that hard copies were not available to the public. She could look up the ordinances at the library- but it is closed for renovation at this time.

In trying to reach a city council member, I have only had contact with Gerald Naftaly, the city mayor, who sent me this message; “There’s nothing obvious to you. you’re not hearing the facts, just one side. ‘you’re entitled to your own opinion, You’re not entitled to your own facts’. -- moynihan I have no obligation to anyone but our oak park residents. Thanks.”[sic] In other interviews, Mayor Naftaly said that Bass would not be put behind bars, and that the ordinance would be reconsidered if residents and local organizations object to the ordinance as is.

Now, there are people out there that believe that front yard gardens are an eyesore, but has this always been a prevalent attitude in our history? No, it has not. In fact, Americans have often gardened during times of economic stress, war, and for basic survival. Not until the peaceful post-war era of the 1950s, when people flocked to suburbia and the “American Dream” did vegetable gardening fall out of vogue- and out of necessity for many Americans. This was also a time of high taxation, and healthy employment. There is a pattern, here, folks.

But there is also a pattern of creeping control. Compliance, or “forcing compliance” have become frequently heard words that find most of us automatically nodding our heads in agreement, without any practical or critical thought on the individual issue. Today, with our food system in decline, our private property rights under scrutiny, and our jobs disappearing into other lands, it becomes apparent that critical thought is a must if we want to ensure any sort of valuable legacy to our children and their children. Compliance is hardly ever a “must”- it is more often the way in which the Bill of Rights is ignored in favor of a patriarchal government, whether at the village level, or at the federal level. It is more often something to be fought, and it is rarely “for our own good”.

At best, the folks running Oak Park at present are, perhaps, stuck in a bygone era. A time of cookie-cutter front yards and houses and families. It is an impractical mindset, and one that needs reevaluation, perhaps from the confines of forced retirement by the voters of Oak Park. At worst, they came into government with a plan to ensure their own happiness above the rights of the residents of Oak Park.

As it happens, election time is almost here, and there is a challenger to Mayor Naftaly, who has released this statement: “Oak Park is going through a very difficult time with record numbers of foreclosures, property values sinking, and crime an all too often occurrence and threat. Devoting scarce public safety resources to prosecuting a vegetable gardener does not reflect our needs. Sadly, when oak Park residents hear crime, they think of theft, arson, hate crimes and burglary- not vegetable gardens. We need city leadership to focus on jobs, fighting crime, and building safe neighborhoods.” - Marian Meisner McClellan.

Food and the Future

2011-06-02T11:46:00.000-07:00

I've always been interested in food and the politics surrounding it, but its one of those subjects that can make one want to disconnect for awhile and forget. Problem is, that's the main problem. Right there- the forgetting, the head-in-sand moments or years that go by when we stop thinking about what is behind most of what we eat.

When I was a little girl, the grocery stores carried only very specific types of each vegetable. Want an onion? Here's a white one. Want a potato? Russet. Want some lettuce? Iceburg. Tomato? Beefsteak. Apple? Red Delicious- which I always felt was a bit of a bet, sometimes tasting like apple-y styrofoam than a crisp, fresh apple. We ate a lot of canned vegetables back then, and a good amount of frozen. I don't remember one time actually seeing broccoli not from a plastic bag. My mother grew a large-ish vegetable garden most summers, and that's where I realized that fresh is ever so much better than not fresh. I would stand in the garden in sundress and sandals, picking pea pods and opening them, and staring at the perfect line of waxy, green peas before placing each one in my mouth and delighting in that sweet taste with a texture oh-so-different than what came out of those hideous cans.

Europe is in an e-coli crisis at the moment, with 18 dead as of today, and many more sickened and threatened lives. Food is not simple. Food is not easy. It was never easy, and it never will be. The growing of it has become- for the large part- 'easier'. But that has brought with it risk and a certain level of violence that is at present uncheckable once unleashed. Do we believe that we can sterilize fields, feed livestock diets that cause them illness and just get away with it? Do we feel entitled to easy food? I think we often do.

Below are several links to further information and reading if you're interested. Change is under way, but it is also under attack. The only prevention of fruitful change is active pressure-

http://www.slowfoodusa.org/

http://www.edibleschoolyard.org/

http://michaelpollan.com/

Food, Inc.

The Garden

Fair Food Project

The Food Revolution

The Future of Food

Fast Food Nation

Food Politics

Community Supported Agriculture

The Summer I Take Back the Yard

2011-05-31T11:33:00.000-07:00

So, a little over a year ago, I decided to go back to school, and while this has been a somewhat resounding success- if I do say so myself- I have noticed some slippage in other areas. For example, I seem to have gained the freshmen, well, ten in my case. I've tried to convince myself that this has nothing to do with seducing myself into a non-stressed haze by scrolling for hours through facebook and cafemom. No. That couldn't be it.

Then, because I went straight through last summer- full time with four children at home-more scrolling-as-stress reliever in my front room office, and there were moments- many moments- where I would look through the windows that line this room and shudder at what had become of my yard. Little creepy tendrils of stress would creep up the back of my neck, forcing my gaze back onto the comparative neatness of the computer screen. Ignore it. It isn't happening. There isn't a rainforest where a neat garden used to be, and wild marijuana is not growing profusely in the back alley. Not happening.

Another issue with last summer was the lawn mower. Yeah. I have issues with lawnmowers. They either don't start for a mechanical problem- or I just can't start them. One or the other, and both rendering the thing useless to its owner. Being in school full time did not seem conducive to using the little rotary mower (that I love, by the way), so I hired out the job, and spent 20 minutes every Thursday just waiting for the lawnmower man to run over some pile of concrete block, hidden under the savannah grass in the back yard and ruin his mower, believing fully that mowers aren't destined to live long in this little corner of the universe. Then there was the fact that the summer before had been the summer of "the storm", which will remain "the storm" until one can come along to top it. It was one of those storms that didn't do enough damage to get any insurance money out of it that we could use on the yard. All up to us. We little people vs. entire trees. Thankfully there are enough people with tractors here, that if we could just get it to the street, they'd chain it and drag it to "the pile".

So, we were recovering from "the storm", I was in school full time, the lawnmower didn't work, and yeah. Bad, bad things happened to our yard. If you decided to walk to the garage via the neat little sidewalk that runs between it and the house, you needed something to cut things down with. Shameful.

And so, this summer, I decided to take off school, opting instead for the restoration of sanity.

This morning, I drug my four children out the door- okay, they actually wanted to go out.. at first. I hung out some laundry on the line, and asked the older two boys to cut strips of landscaping fabric for the garden. This could have gone better. Instead of folding the fabric to make neat, straight lines, they allowed it to billow around, while yelling at each other for help. Guess who cut the fabric? Next, we decided to take down the poppies, which are done blooming for the year, and the little boys were actually quite helpful, taking wheelbarrow loads to the compost pile. We got about 2/3 of this done, when I decided to finish cutting the grass in the area I had suggested be mowed today. I had to do this, because the older boys had decided it was just "too hard". Hear that in as whiny a voice as possible, because that's the way it sounded. I pulled the wash off the line, as it was finally dry and asked the older boys to finish cutting down the poppies while I took the little boys inside for showers and to make lunch. Hearing fighting outside- I stuck my head out the window and said, "Do you want me to fire you two and give your allowances to your little brothers?"

Anyway, it finally got done. Mainly. I'm sure there is detritus to be cleaned up tomorrow. At any rate, the sun is out, the air more dry than before the thunderstorm that came through last night. All in all, a decent day outside.

mittens/halfmitts/wristlets/fingerless mittens- whatever!

2011-05-23T17:59:00.001-07:00

Made these recently for my step-sister's birthday. Being a knitter of mittens and warm things is sort of... inconvenient when the people you love are born in the warm months. That said, I usually harden my heart and make them something anyway, considering the idea that not being able to use whatever it is now will just delay their birthday for a longer period of time.

Hats!

2011-05-23T17:48:00.000-07:00

This one is going to be picture heavy, because I've been remiss in not getting to the other computer- the one all these photos were on- and downloading them myself. Why these weren't on my computer had something to do with the fact that we have too many computers for the size of house we live in. And.. we're not the most organized people ever.

At any rate, my husband took these photos for me, and they turned out so nice, I feel the need to post them everywhere.

I call them the neapolitan collection, for obvious reasons~

Note, this post and all knitting related posts can now be found at www.villagetreedesign.blogspot.com

Loss

2011-05-17T10:36:00.000-07:00

Its the last day of school today. Last day for our school forever. Lot of tears, lot of anger seeping through- frustration.

I'm not sure what it is precisely, but there is a level of mistrust between the town that ate our school and our little village. It may not be personal but it feels that way when we overhear them complaining about the 35 extra mouths they have to feed with their taxes...which is odd, considering all of us pay into the same system and have been for years. I suppose I have to wonder where that kind of vitriol comes from? When is it okay to complain about children who've lost their school through no fault of their own. We weren't over here cheering on the decision, after all.

And then there was the guy taking pictures of the building the other night. Furtively standing on the corner with his nervous wife. What was that about anyway? We feel- in this issue- that we just simply aren't being told anything- on purpose. Feeling this way becomes the norm when previous experiences- including the decision to close the school- are done in similar fashion- as quietly and quickly as possible, with intent to disclose as little as possible, and mesmerize people with double talk. Sometimes it works- with some people it works. With others, it does not.

The children are encouraged that this change will be better somehow. It was just a few words in the principles speech today- but it struck me as false on a certain level. How is this change better for our community? How is it better that our little kids will be on buses for much longer times everyday now- away from home that much longer. How is it better that the classrooms will be larger, with fewer teachers to students? No, there IS a downside to this- just not for the people whose lives are tied to the larger place, and whose thoughts don't often remember what those of us here, feel and know.

Mostly I'm just sad and angry. I don't like people with abusive proclivities to power. They suck. And I like to be told when changes are in the works. We're grownups, and taxpayers, and parents- and we have the right to a say in what happens. We have a right to say what happens with our children's education. We have a right to say what happens in our community. Those taxes the Milford parents were complaining about are there for the taking- diverted from our community and given now entirely to theirs. Why do they believe they're shouldering this on their own? Simple minds, I suppose.

But anyway. That's that. Meh.

Goodbye to the Village School

2011-03-17T12:32:00.000-07:00

Three weeks back I received a message on facebook (remember that for later on) telling me that our local school board would most likely vote to close down our village school.

A little history. Our town had its own school at one time. With the population dwindling over the years, we joined forces with the larger district to our west. Our school was something like a satellite of the elementary school there- we shared a principal, and decisions were made by one school board. Some of the older members of our community refer back to long-lost agreements about a representative on the board and a promise that we would never be closed. But as years went by, grades were pulled to Milford, and our little school grew smaller and smaller.

The threat of closure came up every few years it seemed. The last time had something to do with Milford- the larger town- wanting to build on to their building, and funding that with the closure of ours. This didn't go over well- we were told by a board member who lived... sort of close to Pleasant Dale that they had discussed this option in a meeting. When we confronted them, they were resistant to answer questions, and even openly mocked our concern. Eyes were rolled. Board members wondered aloud if we were allowed to ask "these questions" during "their" meeting. In the end, it came to nought- they didn't have the room, nor the complete funds to build on at the time, I expect.

So, the facebook message came along, and I wasn't surprised to get that message on a social networking site, rather than by, I don't know, a letter maybe? From the Board? To the townspeople and parents concerned? Is that too much to ask?

Guess so, because once again, we hear after the fact, and just before the vote. The way it went down was, the superintendent showed up at a PTO meeting without any warning and gave them the news.

A meeting was called- by us, by the way- requesting members of the school board to come speak to the parents. They came, and thanked us for coming to their meeting. Someone reminded them that they were asked to come- that they had called no meeting. The superintendent decided to read aloud the letter he had finally gotten around to sending out after receiving several phone calls and emails, just in case we weren't able to read it ourselves? And then they opened the floor for questions.

This was where it began to get a little heated. Concerns were brought up. Concerns for our children, concerns for our little town, concerns that we were being taxed without representation- which was really more of a reality than a concern. These concerns were met with clueless shrugging by the board chair and members.

Thing is, this isn't their town. None of them live close to Pleasant Dale- I imagine most had not set foot in Pleasant Dale for quite some time until that meeting. None of them had bothered to attend our programs- which differ from their own elementary school. Our school is at the center of our community. Nothing really brings us together like it does, and nothing will unless some significant planning and changes take place after this school year. We will lose Nature at Nightfall, the yearly Bedtime Story night, the Christmas play. All of it gone. Milford does not have these institutions, and the school board members- while assuring us that they "always mean to represent Pleasant Dale along with Milford"- never bother to show up for any of them.

We are not the first or last village that will lose our school, but it is important to acknowledge the importance of the village school to small towns. Without them, towns have a hard time attracting new, younger families, and they eventually die.

Over these weeks, I've wondered what we could have done differently. Should we have participated more fully? Should we have been louder and more obnoxious? I've had visions of throwing grapes at the board ala some mother in Detroit a few years back. (Which, by the way, I would never do, but it was fun to think about..) All this time, we were secure in the knowledge that we had our little school here- while the Milford school board always saw our school as a waste of money that had to be dealt with. We just didn't share a common reality.

This story feels familiar to me, most likely because it was foretold by Ted Kooser- Nebraska resident, writer, and the thirteenth poet laureate of the United States. From his book of essays, Local Wonders: Seasons in the Bohemian Alps~

"On the other hand, you can put just about anything over on a small community if you go about it so slowly that you do not alert the wolf in the people who live there. Want to dump some hazardous chemicals in the local landfill? Just bring it a bucket at a time, casually, as if you were carrying water to the chickens. Want to dam up a river? String out the process for so many years that the debate itself becomes a kind of stability. Want to shut down a local school in favor of busing the students to a central place? Just do it a grade at a time.
Our consolidated school district, centered in our county seat, Seward, was successful in slowly closing down services in the schools of the small outlying communities like Garland. The board, recognizing the natural wolf sight of rural people, drew out the pace of this dismemberment for so long that most of the parents in the little towns grew accustomed to the process. The school officials lopped off a few grades at a time, starting with the high school, then the junior high, then sixth grade, then fifth, and so on, not every year, but every few years. It became a matter of course. The students who lost their classrooms were picked up and bused to the big town. The process of attrition reduced the enrollment in the outlying schools, and the school board then noted with mock surprise that, because of decreased enrollment, more of the local schools' services should be cut back. One of my neighbors who still has good wolf sight observed that this was like having the school board members hold open the gate to the corral while they remarked upon how many of the horses were getting away. And so it went, just a bucket or two of this hazardous waste at a time. Sure, there was a shock of disappointment whenever another grade got shorn away, but the parents were so worn down by the inexorable patience of the board that most of them gave up. the wolf in them got old, and its teeth fell out. Its eyes grew clouded by cataracts from having watched this process go on for so many years. What the school board considered progress- consolidation- was to others the death of a valuable institution, the village school. But at the final meeting with the school board, only a handful of parents showed up. Those few people who attended were still alert enough to notice that the ashtray had finally been moved from one table to another."

{mini book review- for heaven's sake, if you haven't read this book, do it.}

So, there it is. Another loss for the little guy. Another gain for the bigger guy. Could we have stopped it? I don't know. Probably not. The economy is terrible, the money not there. But what would the picture look like if our school went past the third grade?

And what would we feel like if the discussion had happened in a more forthright manner- if we had not had to force that discussion? I, for one, would not have felt better, but I would have had more respect for the people on the Milford school board. The vision of grape pelting would probably not have occurred to me.

The Blessing of Birdseed

2011-02-04T08:41:00.000-08:00

My desk sits in our little front room, and is surrounded on the north and east by windows that look into our front yard. This morning, as I was wrestling with a particularly difficult section of an assignment on diversity, I noticed some movement on the ground outside that north window. There were ring-necked doves, a few starlings, two jays, a cardinal and a woodpecker, a handful of sparrows, one little junco- and happiness! a robin- all pecking about hopefully on the little square of exposed earth between the two pine trees. Not seeing anything resembling food out there, I remembered the bag of seed sitting outside my front door, and went to remedy this situation.

I sprinkled birdseed liberally over the exposed earth, and came back inside. Just a few minutes later, there they all were- and are- happily pecking about under the tree, cheek by jowl, no fighting, just happy munching.

There are people out there that get angry if a starling eats out of their bird-feeder. Did you know that? Eh, not me- I'll take whoever comes along. Diversity in nature- as in society- can be enriching. We need not be afraid. We need not be selfish. Consider the birds of the air- today, anyway- they met peacefully under my pine trees.

Yarn

2011-02-02T07:25:00.000-08:00

It seems I've always crocheted. When I was a little girl, my mother taught me the single crochet stitch, sat me down with some red yarn and had me make what turned out to be a wonky, somewhat ugly scarf. During this time, my friend Fawn, who lived outside of town on a little farm decided that she wanted to learn how to make a sweater. Being Fawn complicated things.

Myself, Shane, and Fawn on Fawn's farm circa 1985/6ish

On Fawn's farm, there was an old farm hand's house just behind her house that she used for her own personal museum, which consisted of feathers and bones, rocks and other bits of nature that she'd collected. There was one time when she'd found a dead hawk, and had attempted boiling it on the stove to remove the flesh so she could display the skeleton. So, learning to make a sweater didn't involve a trip to Kmart and the purchase of a ball of red heart yarn and some knitting needles. Oh no. She had to know the entire process, from the sheep onward. So, because my mom knew of a ranch that sold wool, spinning and knitting supplies, the four of us, mom, Fawn's mom Joyce, Fawn and I piled into the car one day to check it out.

I don't remember much about the place except for the actual store front they used to sell their wool. It was a small building that overlooked a field of sheep, with mountains jutting out of the sky on either side. The sunlight drifted easily into the little room that housed the spinning wheels, roving, and yarn. We bought little spinners like these-

and some roving and got started. Fawn produced a small ball of yarn, and that was about it. But if it didn't do much for her (or perhaps it did, and anyway, I'm forever grateful she had this idea), it did something for me. While I wasn't enamored at the time with the spinning idea, I wanted to learn to knit, but alas- no one in my family knew how. I was never sure how Fawn was going to learn- perhaps she thought she'd use a book, or maybe she knew someone who would have taught her. But with one thing and another, I never found the time to ask.

Later on in highschool, I spent hours working the front desk phone system. Before anyone is further confused, I attended a boarding school and worked part time all four years to help support myself. At night in the winter, the doors would open and cold air would blast in, and my little cold hands would get colder. I began to crochet again about this time. Instead of doing homework at the front desk, I would sit and crochet more scarves, a hat or two, a blanket- and it helped keep me warm. Another benefit was that it helped give my somewhat fidgety hands something to do, and it calmed my anxious mind. Crochet became a type of meditation.

One problem I had with crochet was that I couldn't read patterns. I say problem, but I sometimes wonder if this wasn't a little bit of a blessing. Because of this, I had to figure it out for myself, and I did. For a kid who didn't feel overly intelligent at the best of times, it gave my self-esteem a little boost. And I still wanted to learn to knit.

Years went by, and this last summer found my husband asking again and again what I wanted for my birthday in August. I honestly couldn't think of anything I really wanted or needed at the time. And then my sister mentioned that she was thinking about taking a knitting class- and this reawakened my old idea. So, my birthday present led me back to yarn. So far I've made several scarves for various people, and this time I know how to read patterns. Here are a few of the pieces I've finished since October-

sample scarf

fish hat pattern- http://www.knitty.com/ISSUEwinter08/PATTfishy.php

Pro-life? Or pro-budget?

2010-03-19T08:20:00.000-07:00

I just read about the decision to 'bracket' LB 1110 in the Nebraska legislature. What does this mean? It means that there are low income and (shocker) immigrant women who won't be covered for prenatal care, until, you know, later, when uh... the budget is cleared for it.. maybe... probably not, actually.

Regardless of the fact that those immigrant women are carrying what one lawmaker referred to as 'anchor babies' (gag, spit) or you know- little citizens of the United States- what has officially trumped the move for coverage is simply money and hatred for immigrants.

This is a little how the conversation went between myself and Senator Adams' secretary today on the phone.

me: Can you tell me how the senator stood on this issue?

secretary: Well, he was initially going to support it until the concerns came to light about budget and legal status for those covered.

me: So, money and issues with race trump the pro-life thing, huh?

secretary: Oh, absolutely not!

me: You can act as apologist all you want, but what you just said is that he was going to support this bill until money and immigration got in the way. There ya go. Common sense. Money is the really, really important issue here, and the senator is probably scared of the anti-immigration crowd, so, screw the babies.

secretary: *slightly burbling sound*

me: Look, I used to work on the floor at St. E's that deals with this very issue. I had to call husbands to come in for emergency c-sections occasionally. You want to address the illegal immigration issue? Here's what you do. You go after the companies that hire illegal immigrants. Try calling up some of the local meat plants and asking for a specific person for a good start. They'll deny that person works there until you lean heavily on them- with threats, etc. They advertise for workers in Mexico- nothing new there- but you do nothing about it. This isn't rocket science. Of course, you'll have to figure out what you're then going to do with money, because I assure you- it will become a big issue if you go after these businesses. Sometimes being a politician takes courage. Which the senator obviously doesn't have.

----------

So, here's the thing. While it's completely noble to watch the budget, and have rules for immigration, it's equally, if not more important to care for the least of these- and those unborn children are literally and figuratively- the least of these. It's also important to go about things in a manner that doesn't reek of special interest- as in pandering to the large agribusiness firms in our state while they use illegal immigrants to fuel their (and probably many senator's) profit margin. It's also likely that while the state budget is probably a concern- the personal budgets of lawmakers are probably more the concern in these pathetic meanderings through what we all hope would be, ethical lawmaking. And of course, it is anything but.

So, Nebraska- if you're serious about claiming the pro-life mantle, there are some considerations you're going to have to face. When it comes to the choice between the life of a child and the budget of your state- which will you choose? When it comes to the choice between the life of a child and illegal immigration- which will you choose? These choices could determine the suitability of calling yourself pro-life.

2010-02-10T07:56:00.000-08:00

Two weeks ago, I lost my friend Mary. She passed away, suddenly, in her home. She was 33.

We originally met when she was four and I was nearly six. She, her sister and mom had moved in with us for awhile after her parents divorce. We became fast friends and started referring to each other as 'cousin'. This probably had something to do with the fact that neither of us had many actual cousins our own age- at least nearby- and since our mothers were good friends and often confused for sisters themselves, we claimed the title.

Mary was precious to me. As a child, she was funny, giggly, warm, kind. We hardly ever disagreed with each other- just enjoyed each other's company to the fullest. So many other girls that I grew up with were difficult to get along with, jealous, plain old mean sometimes. Not Mary. Not ever Mary. I remember our only argument that seems to pass down my own memory trail was whether Ireland or Scotland was better. I voted for Scotland at the time- she for Ireland- both of us clueless that we probably each contained about the same amount of blood from both nations as each other. But you know- there it was. Our one disagreement.

We often spent part of our weekends together. Sometimes she'd come to our house and we would attend church then drive up into the mountains and hike in the afternoon. I remember one time, when we were very young, she started asking to be carried up the hill when we were hiking. My mom looked at her and said, 'Mary, you need to work on your mountain goat feet, or I'm afraid you won't be able to come with us anymore.' The next week rolled along, and Mary fairly swept up that mountain- having discovered those mountain goat feet that she'd had all along. Sometimes we'd spend time at her house, playing outside, walking along the railway tracks and talking. I tried the other day to remember what we spoke about. Well, everything. Like I mentioned above, there were never many disagreements and I think that's why it's hard for me to come up with specifics when thinking about her. Since we were so much in agreement with one another the specifics don't stand out. I believe I have simply folded her into my own memories in a way without separation. I think of my childhood and the picture that pops up is of she and I. Never me alone.

I hadn't talked to Mary in years- when college came, we went our separate ways. I'd often asked about her, and apparently she'd asked about me, but we just never got down to the business of picking up the phone and calling one another. This is sad for many reasons, not the least of which is the 'wishing' that always occurs when these things happen. But, as it's said, you can wish in one hand and crap in the other, and see which hand gets filled up first, and apart from the slightly off putting ideas that old saying puts into my head- it's right. I wish I could have talked to her once more, but the more important thing now is, what am I going to learn from this? What can I do to make sure Mary's memory is honored through my own life? For starters, I'll always tell people how I feel about them. If you've been a friend of mine- a good friend- and we haven't talked in awhile, I will track you down and tell you I love you. I'll do this for me, for you, and for Mary. It's the least I can do for a friend who seems to have possessed a big chunk of my heart. Well, she always will.

2009-11-12T11:29:00.000-08:00

I love this poster- and you can buy a copy here.

The Storm of '09

2009-11-12T11:13:00.000-08:00

I just came back inside on this rather cool and blustery day. I'd gone out to watch Cliff and Leroy flush the sewer system. Also just to have a chat, because they're two of my favorite village experts. Cliff no longer lives here, but drives out several times a week to help with assorted town business. Leroy, I'm convinced, knows how to do everything. He probably knits, for all I know. The guy is a storehouse of handy information regarding sewer systems, water pumps, broken pipes, assorted tractors or small engine use and repair, solar panels- anything. They've been working on the town sewer system for the last several days- we've had water shut down, etc. One day, the water shut down right as I was getting ready to rinse out my hair in the shower. I called Leroy to ask how long it would be off, and explained my situation. Now, he's been updating me frequently, and kindly. We're lucky to have him.

It's been a rather quiet fall. I haven't been out as much as usual, the kids and husband have been playing a few hundred rounds of duck-duck-goose with the current virus- I'm the only non-player so far in this fun, and that relegates me to being the pharmacist- although- after dealing with this for more than a month, I'll admit to be tired and less patient than I should.

We had a HUGE storm in August. Woke the entire town up around 4 in the morning, and proceeded to cut electricity, knock 1/2 the trees over, ruin rooftops (I got a new one!), and scare the heck out of all of us. And of course- no electricity means no air conditioning, and... it was August. Pretty miserable. But, it was also one of those days when the community showed it's stuff. Most of workers took the day off- from whatever their jobs are- stayed home and cleaned up. Neighbors helping neighbors, it had the feel of a block party at times, with everyone out, talking in the sunshine- and not just about the storm.

I admit to being occasionally frustrated living in this small place. Maybe that's because I don't always go out of my way to build that community that I've talked about so heartily. Maybe I've stayed inside too much lately. Anyway, I'm going to try to right those wrongs, and begin afresh. Hence the talking to Cliff and Leroy in the street, accompanied by the sound of flushing sewer line.

A Tale of Abandonment

2009-10-29T07:19:00.000-07:00

Here is an essay I wrote after another stray animal episode a few months back. For some odd reason, I couldn't sign into my account for awhile, and therefore- it got past me and I forgot:)

You'd think there were a sign above my door. Something to the effect of- Cat hotel and diner! Free shelter and food! Inquire within!

Over the years, we've taken in, nursed, fed and housed countless stray cats before finding them other homes, taking them ourselves, or like today, nursing them through their last illness, and making the decision to put them to sleep.

I've often wondered exactly what goes through the mind of a person who takes a cat they've raised from kittenhood- indoors- and dumps them far away from home, in a small town, thinking they'll find a good home. Well let me tell ya- 'good' homes are few and far between.

Here's what usually happens.----------

Six month old tom cat, completely reliant upon people for food and safety is dumped on the roadside, and watches while his people drive away. He looks around. What to do? He wanders for awhile. Looking around and hiding underneath bushes. He streaks across roads. Nightfall comes and it begins to rain. He finds shelter under someone's parked car. He watches the nighttime animals about their business. A raccoon approaches, and he backs away and hisses. The raccoon comes closer and swipes at him- he narrowly escapes into a storm drain. The next morning, his coat wet and his stomach grumbling, he begins once more to look for something- someone. Some food? Where to find food. He smells something in a garbage can and jumps inside. After knocking a bag out and tearing a hole in the side, a man comes outside and kicks him away. He meows at the man. Surely, he'll help? Nope. Just another kick, this time to the face. He scrambles away. The next night, he walks around a corner into an alleyway. Maybe he can find some food somewhere here. His face is still smarting from where the man kicked him. His eye is a little blurry. Maybe that's why he doesn't see the large tom cat approach from that side. A second later, he finds himself embroiled in his first real cat fight. The tom is large, and bites him in the tail- hard. He scurries away and hides. Awhile later, bleeding and exhausted, he falls asleep.

The cycle continues. He doesn't get enough to eat- most of these new people are cruel to him, and he isn't savvy enough to defend himself against seasoned street cats.

One day, he turns a corner around a house just as a woman comes out her front door. He prepares to run, but stops as he hears her call him. "Kitty, kitty. It's allright. Come here'' she says as she bends down and puts her hand out for him to smell. 'Let's get a look at you. You've not been getting enough to eat, have you? And you've got three absesses that I can see. Let's get you into the garage with some food and water, okay?' He let's her lift him up and walk him into an old, dusty garage. But there's a chair for him to lie on, and a window to look out of. She places an old towel on it, and puts him down. 'I'll be right back!' A few minutes later, she returns with some food and water. While he digs in, she leaves again, returning with an old cat pan filled with new litter. 'Let's see if you know how to use this, okay?' He does.

The next few weeks go well. She says she's keeping him there until she can afford to have him to the vet for tests. She puts him on anti-biotics for the absesses though, and he begins to heal. But, it's all too late. Just as he begins to feel better, the virus that he was given that first week on his own, in his first cat fight, begins to take hold. He loses weight. She deworms him. When that doesn't help, she knows. 'It's either FIV, FLV or FIP,' she tells her children. 'We'll know when it's time.' His last week comes, and she brings him into the garden while they work on the flower bed. He watches from under a tree, laying in the sunshine. His strength is almost gone, but it's nice here. The children are gentle, and he likes them. A big storm comes through later in the week, and he is frightened, and manages to get out of the garage. She sits with him on their front porch, feeding him boiled chicken and petting his fur until the storm passes. Then she takes her flashlight and puts him in the old dog kennel with a big horse blanket, his food water dish and litter box in the garage. He falls asleep. The next few days, he loses control of his bladder. This is embarrassing, but she doesn't get mad, just cleans him up, and continues to love him. On his last day, he can no longer walk. She comes in to check him at midnight, pets his head for several minutes and talks to him in a whisper. 'I'm sorry, Gus. I wish I could have done more. I'll come first thing in the morning.'

When she comes that morning, he can't see her any more. He is only semi-responsive. She brings a clean towel, and places him on it, talking all the while. He begins to purr. He knows her voice. He purrs at the vet clinic, until the medicine takes effect and he falls into forever sleep.

-----------------

For everyone thinking about getting a pet, but not sure if you'll be able to handle the responsibility, please think long and hard about the commitment. If the above is even a remote possibility, DON'T get the pet. If you have animals, PLEASE make sure to spay and neuter each one. If you still get the pet, and attempt to abandon your animal later on- I'll give you fair warning. You'd better HOPE you can outrun me.

I had Gus put down this morning at 8 am. I only knew him for a couple months, but I'm glad I was here for him when no one else was. Rest in peace, Gus. In the end- you were loved.

Why Woodchucks Are Not Pests

2008-12-28T20:37:00.000-08:00

I wrote this essay a few months ago, and forgot to post it. The events contained happened during late September of this year. Enjoy!

What is it about days when you are still in pajamas and robe at 10:00 in the morning- thats the day all the neighbors decide to pay you a call.

Anyway, that's the way it's been this morning. Started with Jim, our local handyman/carpenter who brought over a mock up of a dollhouse set up I'm going to paint. I can't hide, because we have a french door, and voila'- there I am in my pjs and my hair up in a messy pony tail. I also smell like peanut butter, because that's what Josiah just wiped down my leg. So, he shows me how to put it together, and I thank him profusely and he leaves.

Twenty minutes later, my neighbor John comes by. I sigh, open the door, and say- 'I'm still in my pajamas.' To which John replies- 'well, when you have a minute, I've got the animal in my back yard.'

This is in reference to the woodchuck he's been trying to catch for the better part of this week. It's been rather enjoyable to watch, simply because I like little furry woodland creatures, and I also like to watch John on a mission. And on a mission he has been. At the beginning of the week, Allan comes home and asks if I've noticed any animals chewing on my plants. No, I say, why? And he tells me that's what Donna across the street was wondering just now.

A little later, I go over to ask, thinking it was probably a rabbit, and John tells me he's found 'the hole the little booger dug under my shop'. So, we go have a gander, and sure enough- large gaping hold under John's shop- big pile of rather nicely tilled dirt to the side.

Of course, my first thought is- 'you're not going to kill it are you?' 'No..' John replies in that tone of voice he uses when speaking to an idiot. Then he rolls his eyes. 'I got a live trap from Vern.'

Good. You never know.. this is Nebraska..

So, I go on about my business. On Tuesday evening, while walking to the school for parent teacher conferences, I see John kneeling by the alley, looking into the drainage tube. Drawing closer, I notice he has a live trap at each end, and he's getting ready to turn on the hose. Oh boy, he's serious..

About an hour later, I return to find no sign of John in the alley- the traps are gone too. I ask Allan if John caught 'the animal'- and he said no. I wondered how long he ran the hose before he gave up.

And that brings us back to the morning of pajamas and no sleep. When John turns to leave, I throw caution to the winds and grab Joe and yell to Ben- "Come on! Let's go see the woodchuck!'' and out the door we go. Pajamas, robe and messy hair. Because you just can't toss out an opportunity like that. Not only did we connect with a little bit of nature, we built community, made memories, and energized our tired morning.

And wow. Woodchucks are cute!

2008-05-27T11:54:00.001-07:00

These photos are of our garden over the memorial day weekend - I hope you enjoy them! As you can see, our veggies are doing well, and our columbines are putting on quite a lovely show this year!

The Lesson of the Dandelions

2008-05-19T10:43:00.001-07:00

So, my neighbors son-in-law came over last night to rototill the rest of my garden space, and proceeded to lecture me about my dandelions. I sighed, listened, and had to agree that they do look pretty bloody awful this year, but as I'm not so into spraying poisons around my yard, they'll have to be got out the old fashioned way. Digging/pulling by hand. Of course, I am feeling the very beginning of desperation, so my mind begins trying to find the excuse I could use to go spend money on said poison.

Yes, we have lots of them this year- the amount of rain we've gotten certainly helps- and our friendly to all growing things soil. But, what to do, what to do. It isn't like I don't want any dandelions. What would the kids pick and bring to me? Also, I'm not opposed to making a little dandelion tea once in awhile- it's good for detoxing the liver, after all. I suppose if I were feeling adventurous, I might think about adding some young leaves to my salad - they are high in calcium, iron, potassium, phosphorus, vitamins A,B,C, and D. Heard of watercress sandwiches? Yes, you can do the same thing with young dandelion leaves. One thing is certain- I miss Harley, our guinea pig who died at the ripe old age of 6 last year. Dandelions were one of his favorite treats.

As I see it, dandelions are a lesson in determination. Theirs, not ours. As for us, I believe we've gotten overly concerned with having the perfect lawn. What good is a lawn, anyway? I mean, except for a soft/ and undusty place for the kids to play- but who needs a whole half acre of lawn? Also, the spraying thing is simply a sign of our laziness, more than our ingenuity. I'll bet that the time spent on the perfect lawn might be consequential to our salvation. Imagine having to explain to St. Peter at the gate why you spent so much time, money and water on something that you..walk on.

So, for now, I'll battle them the old fashioned way- and maybe use some in the process. Wish my back a good helping of luck.

Cats, Cats Everywhere...

2008-05-11T19:50:00.000-07:00

Well, anyone who knows me personally knows that I'm a nut about animals. I love them- all of them! In fact, I'll go so far as to say that looking back at my life and childhood- compassion towards animals was what my spirituality was about (probably should say is).

So. Should it come as a surprise to anyone that my house seems to possess a hidden signal of safe haven to every single stray animal in our area?

2001- Coming home from church, and found a black and white cat with a severed tail in our back yard... had him to the vet, neutered, tail doctored, and found out that he was FIV + (feline aids), and so couldn't keep him in our house- so, he lived in the garage for a month until All Feline Hospital had their FIV adoption day- for people who wanted to adopt a companion for their already FIV + cat. He was the first to get adopted:)

2003- House taken down over by the village park, and the owners abandoned their very lovely cinnamon tabby. Took to The Cat House in Lincoln.

2004- Early May, and a dog had been running around town for about two weeks. Something was wrong with his ear. My neighbor and I finally caught him, and I checked him out. Full of fleas/ticks- possible ear hematoma, unfixed, no tags, about a year old. Took him to the vet, and for a little over $200.00 he was all better, and ours. His name is Darby:)

2005- Scared black and white dog found in our yard- very sweet- WITH tags!! Hallelujah- spent the day with us, called owner and they picked her up later that day. Apparently, she was scared of thunder, so they thought it was a good idea to have her sleep outside.. umm...??

2005- Absolutely dripping with ticks caramel colored cocker spaniel in great need of a hair cut. No tags- after a great amount of trouble- was groomed and taken to the Humane Society.

2007- Found black and white kitten in drainage area of our front yard. The next day, found his presumed brother eating a grasshopper in the middle of the street. Same voice/same age/totally different in looks- except they're both huge! Oliver and Chester have stayed with us.

2008- Early April, and we found an elderly mixed breed dog in our yard. Wet and cold- no tags... asked around, and found out that she belonged to some people about a mile down the road. Got their names and called, and they picked her up- but... she didn't want to go.. which made me nervous. So, I called later to check on her, and the lady of the house explained to me that she is also scared of the thunder, and doesn't like to come home during thunderstorms- apparently, this is a pattern with her...

2008- Yesterday, getting ready to leave for town, and the kids come inside and say- "Mom! We found a kitten in the yard!!" Open the door to find Matthew cuddling a very scrawny, yet fuzzy black and white kitten about 4 months old. Very hungry, and extraordinarily friendly. Don't know what we're going to do yet, but Matt has him named already (which I tried to discourage...) 'Tibby'. I told him he ought to name him Henry VIII as he's hungry all the time, and number '8' .

I haven't even mentioned the 20 or so animals I've taken into wildlife rescue over the years. Baby birds, thrown out of their nest during storms, orphaned baby ducks, a bat, a squirrel, a rabbit,and a canada goose with a broken wing that I chased through a city park while pregnant, after seeing it walking across a very, very busy street... all alone:(

So, what does this make me? Am I the crazy cat lady?? I don't want to be... Of course, I take extraordinary care of them-my house doesn't smell (I have a sensitive nose...)- my vet is priceless (and has helped me out over and over again with cost), I do have a 'limit' which is more feeling than number... I don't know.. Last year, we lost our older dog Micah during that whole dog/cat food scare. She collapsed, went into shock, was stabilized, but later in the week did it again, and much worse, so I had her put to sleep. Held her in my arms, felt her body go limp, and kissed her goodbye. It was hard. But what is harder for me is knowing that I could do something to help- and then don't do it. Like Oliver and Chester's brother. My neighbors found him and I wasn't sure about the situation, but I didn't want to butt in. They live in a trailer down at the edge of our block, they have two children and a pit-bull (who needs to stay in his yard...) and they didn't seem to be overly careful with him- or careful at all. He came over to our house quite often and would meow around the side of our house until we noticed and went out to say hi. That's all he ever wanted, to say hi. I know, because I'd go outside and pet him for a few minutes. He'd 'talk' to me, and then he'd disappear around the side of the house, off to do whatever it was he did during the day. Last week, as I was driving into town, I saw his crumpled body on the side of the road, and my heart jumped into my throat. I felt sick. I felt guilty...

And when the kids found 'Tibby' (who looks a lot like that little lost soul) yesterday, I felt a little bit like I was getting another chance.

In my church, there was always a lot of talk about spiritual gifts. I wonder if this is mine. I'm the cat whisperer! I know that most people suppose a spiritual gift to only apply to service toward humanity- but I have to wonder. After all, we were asked to care for creation- it was our first job. Have we forgotten that? Have we lost the connection between ourselves and the other creatures on our planet who also carry God's divine spark within them? Genesis 1:21 describes animals as chay nephesh- Hebrew for 'living souls'. This is the same phrase used to describe people in Genesis 2:7. Different translations have messed with this a bit and given the word 'creature' in place of souls when speaking of animals, and left that soul part only for us. Obviously, someone was bothered by that fact, and therefore changed it. Were they feeling a little guilty for treating animals inhumanely perhaps, and were trying to justify the continuation of that behaviour? We'll never know. But one thing I do know-

If I ever catch anyone dumping animals in the country to 'find good homes'- they should probably hope they can outrun me...

The Beauty of Clotheslines

2008-05-08T06:33:00.000-07:00

When we moved into our house, I was delighted to see a clothesline set up in the backyard. It was in need of some care- new line and new paint- but nothing that would hamper my using it occasionally. Others in the neighborhood had them to, but the only one in use was down the street at the home of an elderly woman who appears to be the very epitome of frugality. Which I also sort of dig, as an example of what I'd like to be rather than what I actually am..
So, the very first chance I had, I began doing laundry, and for those things deemed too difficult to dry efficiently with the dryer, I hung them outside and enjoyed watching them flap in the breeze while I was outside picking pears and peaches and raspberries, and tending our vegetable garden. I'm such a hippie. I should also mention that I would dry Elijah's cloth diapers on the line, and I must say, there is something aesthetically pleasing about seeing a line of cloth diapers drying in the sunshine, stained or not!
Of course, I hadn't thought about what my neighbors might think about my clothesline. Luckily, in my neighborhood, people really don't seem to care, and if they do, they don't voice their opinion. But I've heard about people not approving of clotheslines elsewhere. In fact, there are organizations concerned with this very issue- Right to Dry! is the war cry. Richard Monson of the California Homeowners Association says that having a clothesline in a neighborhood can lower neighboring properties values by 15%, and that 'seeing people's underwear drying on the line" is "unsightly". How he would have handled seeing women's underwear flapping in a victorian breeze is up for question. Something that was a fact of life has been added to the pornographic image catagory by the ultra-prudes in our society once again. For a little extra proof, in the book Home Town Tales, author Philip Gulley talks about his 3 stringed clothesline and how it has hampered his ministry.
'People come by to visit, and we sit outside underneath the shade trees while our family underwear flaps on the line. My slender sons have tiny Mickey Mouse and Tigger underwear. In comparison, my underwear are large and ratty. They beat the air like flags. My fellow Quakers steal glances at them and shudder. It's hampered my ministry with them. I stand in the pulpit and preach about such lofty, wondrous things as salvation by grace, and they ignore me. They've seen my underwear.'
Back to the Right to Dry organizations, many of them have been set up to fight against those homeowner associations, with whom, I have no desire to ever tangle with. I'm not of the frame of mind that purchasing property includes the requirement to ask some bozo if I can grow tomatoes in my own yard, or hang my clothes out to dry, or plant pansies in the front window boxes. If bought with my money, it should be my decision. End of story.
So, I relish using my clothesline. It has 4 strings, and I'm thinking of training some morning glories along the sides this year. We'll see. I like the fact that doing a good job of hanging the clothes prevents the need to iron, and prevents them from wearing out so quickly. And I like the surprising speed with which the job is done on a good windy day.
We've become so dependent on machinery to make our lives more simple- but sometimes that machinery just chains us down. Makes us hide who we really are. Makes us hold ourselves up higher than we ought to. Makes us forget that we are all people behind those ratty boxers and brassiers hanging on the line.

I love clotheslines and all that they stand for: beautiful and proud, art installations with clothes, the flags of our life. So join me as I hang my clothes. Save energy, take time to whiff the blue breezes, feel the sparkling yellow sunshine, beautify Poughkeepsie and hang a clothesline. In Venice, when one woman wants to compliment another it is said: "She hangs a beautiful line."

-Marian Dioguardi to the Mayor of Poughkeepsie when she voted to restrict clotheslines to the backyard only, September, 2007

my lawn mower, my friend

2008-05-08T06:15:00.000-07:00

Eight years ago, I was pregnant and we were searching for a house to buy. The market was crazy at the time, interest rates were high.. but we took the plunge anyway. When it came down to it, we had to decide between two houses. One larger house on South Street in Lincoln, NE with absolutely no yard, garage or driveway, or a much smaller house on a large corner lot with a very large detached garage about ten miles west of town. Allan said..'I like this one, it'll be good for the dogs'.. about the latter, and I had to agree. Every time we'd visited the birds were singing, children were playing outside in the neighborhood, and neighbors waved from car windows as they passed by. South street was just that. A street. The house was nice, but when you walked out the front door, there was the street with 4 lanes of traffic two feet in front of you. Probably not good for dogs, or for our little one on the way. Anyway, we settled on our house, and after much weeping and gnashing of teeth, everything was settled and we moved in.

This is where the problem started. When we had talked about how nice the large yard would be, I'd completely forgotten that I had married the polar opposite of anything resembling handy. It isn't that he can't be handy when he wants to be, it's that he rarely wants to be.. handy. Soon, our grass began growing up around our ears, and Allan went to purchase a mower. Seeing as we'd just plunked our very meager savings down to buy the house, we went with a very simple little push mower for which we paid a little over the hundred dollar mark. Problem was, I couldn't start it. Allan mowed the first time, and when the grass started to grow, I decided one day to mow. So, I'm standing in our front yard, 8 months pregnant, pulling the stuffing out of the darn thing to no avail. I heard a large truck behind me and turned to see the Schwan's man coming up my sidewalk. 'Should you be doing that', he asked. 'Probably not, but I need to. Do you think you could start it for me?' 'Umm, sure, just be careful.'

And thus started my first day of mowing. Later that week, I mentioned to my doctor that the reason I had a sunburn was because I'd mowed, and he scowled at me and wrote out on a prescription pad... "Allan will mow the lawn'. I took this home and showed it to Allan and I think it embarrassed him a little.

The following summer, Allan decided that rather than mowing the yard in a traditional fashion, he would mow a maze into it. He kept reminding me that he is the graphic designer in the family and any objections I had were because I didn't have any creative vision. All I knew was that people kept driving by our house, slowing down and staring at our yard. Finally he mowed it down.

After that, I decided it would be a good idea to find a mower that I could actually start on my own. That way, I could mow the yard without having to nag anyone about it. I hate to nag. Prefer doing things on my own. Plus, I figured that I could mow a little at a time every day while the kids were outside playing. This worked for a long time. Until last summer, when the realities of neglect happened upon my mower.

Philip Gulley talks a lot about the importance of maintenance in a few of his essays. How you should drain the fluids, wipe it down with gasoline, have the blade sharpened- all before you store it for the winter. This is not something we've ever come close to doing. Actually, the mower has been lucky for the past several years if it gets fully shoved into the garage before the first snowfall. Therefore, my mower went kaput. In a big way last year. People kept saying things like, 'They don't make them to last like they used to' in order to soothe my troubled spirit.

Well, this year is different. A good portion of our yard is in use as a large vegetable garden, and therefore, much less mowing will be done. However, it will still need to happen. For years, I've been tempted to try an old push reel mower and if you don't know what that is, it is an old fashioned motorless mower like you can see in the opening credits of Leave It To Beaver. But, I'd bended to the opinion of everyone I come across that 'They're hard to push'. Well, after doing some research, and finding out that the people saying this had never, actually, technically used one- so therefore were unqualified to make this statement, I've taken the plunge. Last night, Allan put my new mower together. It came in a rather small box, and took him about 20 minutes to assemble (see, he can be handy when he wants to be). Then, I mowed the front and side yards. It was fun! Like giving the grass a haircut. Made a gentle swooshing noise. You could technically get up and mow at 6am if you wanted to, and no one would care! I can mow the lawn while still being able to hear the kids! I get better exercise, too. It was certainly not hard to push, and in some cases, I actually found it easier than the large one I had before. It doesn't slip sideways down into the ditch, for instance.

So, the point is, sometimes it's good to listen to your inner voice. In the selection of a lawn mower- an item that I use at least 4 times a month- I needed to pick what was right for me. I am a hard worker, but when I'm working I prefer to not have to worry about whether or not something is going to work or not. We waste a lot of time that way. Buying things to make our lives supposedly more simple- sometimes has the opposite effect.

And.. at least in one area of my life, I'll be able to give the finger (so to speak) to the oil companies! Ha!! Take that!!

As I Sit Here Weeping

2008-03-03T07:02:00.000-08:00

So, I've known about all this for a long time. Factory farming is on my list of practices I'd like to see end... but of course, its also on my list of practices that I mostly try to ignore because it is very painful to think about. I'm an animal lover, and I find that most of the time, I have an easier time being empathetic towards animals. However, I'm not sure that I've been called to sit here turning my head the opposite direction to save myself some pain. I believe that when Christ asked us to 'do unto the least of these' he may have included these unfortunate animals. As a person of faith, I find that very often I am butting my head against a wall when I've expressed that feeling to other people of faith. I don't understand why that is- but it is a disappointment to me. I guess my feeling has always been that if God called something good, and then told the nearest humans to eat fruits and nuts.. umm.. maybe meat eating wasn't ever the ideal. And especially not the over consumption of meat. Calves kept immobile in crates (to encourage anemia for that wonderful white veal), baby roosters thrown away alive, ducks overfed for their fatty liver, pigs imprisoned, cows separated from their babies, cattle skinned before they die- it goes on and on. How long will we allow this lack of compassion?

This past week, Christian Vegetarian Association sent out a link to this movie- Take an hour to watch this beautiful documentary - and keep the tissues handy. -

Maybe you'll be inspired and moved enough to become a full time vegetarian. For myself, this is much more than just showing kindness to creatures that we share the planet with- it is what will ultimately save our souls.