Guitars, Violins, Cellos

I am not quite certain why I got on such a rant on hunger and ethanol. You know the saying that the butterfly across the world can change the weather somewhere else. I don't believe that, even though there is something about the chaos theory that I find intriguing.

I have Google Alerts on several names and several subjects, one being South Dakota oil exploration. Through it I noticed that seven new wells are being drilled in Harding County by a company that hasn't drilled there before.

Another Alert came in on my eldest sister-in-law, who entered four events in the Senior Games in PA and took a gold, two silvers and a bronze. M runs like a gazelle in the over 75 age group. I have seen and photographed her mid-air in a running broad jump, in which she flew over 12 feet. Watching that through a camera lens takes a person's breath away.

Tomorrow our son and family from the Northwest will arrive for their summer visit. They drive away from the misty, balmy, beautiful area into Nebraska at its hot and humid best. We have one aspect in common with that area, we are both green. Everything grows like crazy here. We have planted a assorted bulbs a couple of years in a row and have been amazed by lilies that are blooming under the pear tree.

The father of my brood was properly honored yesterday. His children certainly hold him dear in spite of his continual guidance that sounds more like admonition to me. After a call from his youngest son, he turned to me after he hung up and said, "He probably didn't expect that." It is a wonder any of them call. It was a ghastly litany. Mothers would never get by with it.

He Who Must Be Obeyed is sending his number two son a twelve string guitar this morning. It is a beautiful black Gibson. Incidentally, after the work was done on the little yellow stickered violin, the nice man at Nielson's Violin Shop estimated it was worth several hundreds of dollars. Our number three son will get it next time he comes home. Number four son wants to buy his cello back from me along with my two and a half years worth of lesson books and a very nice metronome.

I would have given anything to have been able to take music lessons as a kid. I flatter myself, thinking I would have been a fair musician. Even at 65, taking my first lessons on the cello and my first time reading music, I was fair. My hands were so arthritic, I had to ice them down to be able to hold the bow. But I was determined and loved the learning. When my back got so bad I couldn't sit to the instrument, I had to give it up and have surgery.

It occurred to me that this visiting son, number one, will be 50 this fall. I always have 20 years on him. Sometimes it feels like he and I grew up together; he is the wiser of the two of us, however. He is an incredible husband and father, his wife tells me. To have a daughter-in-law tell you that is as good as it gets.