Trap Count

It is nice to make people happy. Happy people are nice to be around. Of course that doesn't mean that I don't want to be around friends who are sad or discouraged. But it might make one guilty to be so happy, when so many are not.

I am happy. Today I recieved two photos by email and a packet full of them. Old times were good and today was better. If I can scan them in into my little maternal history tomorrow that will be the best day of all.

So far one opossom, one dinosaur, one racoon. No squirrels so far, and only a dozen pears left. Tomorrow that will probably be less, and then none.

Ah well, as long as I cannot seem to make photos upload here, I will stop and mind my history business again. Am I the only one that thinks scanning and page set up are tedious?

The Red Tent

He Who Must Be Obeyed is enduring listening to this former children's librarian read to him again. He is shocked and sometimes tells me "that is enought for today," as I read "The Red Tent" to him. It is a pleasant enough time for me as we are each stetched out in our similar recliners; which are more like big beds, it seems. They look out to the street if the front door is open, eliminating the appearance of living in a cave; and I am not nearly so shocked at the treatment of women in the time of Jacob. I am shocked at the treatment of women in the Third World of some women in the western world today

Life is pleasantly eventful, even with out a Grecian Festival. We have the three chicks to tend, little dinosaurs, I call them. I was hoping for a hen. They all apperar to be cockrels. Will we eat them or send them to the farm, with the rest of the hatch? That remains to be determined.

Because we have wild life in the middle of Omaha, we bring them in for the night and catching them is a thing to behold. It isn't a pretty sight to watch, but is good for hilarity, and they say that laughing is good for a person. We have learned that the darker it is the easier they are to put into the box.

Because of the threatening wildlife, He Who Must Be Obeyed went to the humane society to rent a live trap. On the first setting last night he caught an opposom and released it at the humane society cages. He can bring all he can trap in a week. I know we have a racoon as I can tell by the muddy tracks around the pool. And the squirrels have harvested almost all the pears, so we are hoping to relocate them also.

A funny thing just happened. We caught one of the dinosaurs in the trap that was baited with a peanut butter 'sandwich.'

Obnoxious Photographers

It was a nice evening, good food, rousing music, lots of color, energetic dancers.




He Who Must Be Obeyed is ever curious. I wonder what he saw in that tent. You know the old cliche' about the camel's nose.

O! Grecian Festival

If the O! were New Times Roman it would be the Omaha logo.

Saint John the Baptist Greek Orthodox Church hosted a city-wide festival complete with a band from Chicago, young dancers from their congregation, Greek foods and desserts, and beer. It was on the Missouri River at the Lewis and Clark Landing.

We have attended several of these over the years. He Who Must Be Obeyed got a kiss for his entrance fee. He was mighty disappointed that I didn't see it. He thinks every Greek girl is a goddess. I have news for him, those young dancers are a sight for sore eyes. Two of them lived up to the name of the troop, the Olympians.

We ate and I stalked the dancers and the audience with a camera. Photographers are all the same; they are as obnoxious at Grecian Festivals as they are at weddings. If you haven't hidden your introverted self behind a camera you haven't lived. I almost feel invisible.

Good News/Bad News

My bad news is that a beloved pastor is leaving St. Tim's. The good news is that he is about to become the senior pastor of another Lutheran church not too far away. The best news of all is finding out that the church he is going to has a Saturday service. It is something like having your cake and eating it too. We will remain faithful worshippers at St. Timothy's; but I can see going to Holy Cross on Saturday evenings.

Envisioning how the world works and how it will work in six months can be as unlike as fraternal twins.

I have made motel reservations in my home town for the upcoming Harding County Historical Tour of the Cave Hills where both my maternal and fraternal grandparents homesteaded and built the church that closed its doors last year. The emphasis will be on the Finnish Immigrant history of that area.

I need to get some leather Keds, rattlesnakes and cactus, you know. Maybe I should drag out the high top lace boots. A son will pilot us there, weather permitting.

New Zealand

Actually I should have used the title, "Steve Goble," as that is the name of his blog. I added him to my links to the right for three reasons. I found him on the list of top blogs, he writes in a breezy, interesting style, and I loved my trip to New Zealand. The link to "Top Blogs" are some blogs registered under Religion. The Salty Vicar is alway up near the top. I always suspect, shamefacedly, that the only reason I am even on it is because I look at my own blog. I wonder if I am the only one who does that?

Today Photos Appear

It amazes me when things work, because most of the time they don't. Actually, it amazes me most of all when He Who Must Be Obeyed works. Last night he mentioned that he should set the covered pail of chick starter in the house. He didn't. This morning the darned racoon, that nightly has covered the floor of my outside shower with muddy footprints, has scattered chick starter from hell to breakfast. I Clorox the shower floor till I am nearly out of it.

Chicks: Pets or Produce?

A daughter and her husband brought over three fluffy little two day old chicks in a cardboard box last night. They are little eating machines and after the eating and drinking they fall asleep on their feet. I wrap them into a hand towel and put a lid on them until the next eating and drinking session. The difference between houseplants and three baby chicks is that the houseplants can go for a week at a time without a glance. Of course they are not nearly so cute...or so noisy. It would be nice to have a couple of egg layers but I could have aggressive roosters on my hands here. I had to promise not to have roosters for dinner and instead get them to a farm; where we all know what happens to them. But it won't be me chopping heads off and scalding them in boiling water.

The whole chick bit is that this daughter is the Activities Director for a local nursing home and the Douglas County Extension Service provides eggs and incubators for schools, 4H clubs, and nursing homes, obviously, and will collect the whole business when the hatching is over unless they provide places for the chickens.

The worst case scenero is that they hop into the pool and drown; the best, that they are all pullets and the eggs will be home grown, free range and start in December. Free range means eating bugs in backyard flower pots. Grandmothers, granddaughters, and chicks have happened in this family for about 68 years, but it was the grandmothers that were doing the giving not the receiving. Change is good, but then this is day one. An egg layer can do double duty as a pet and as a provider.

Photos: the Real Deal!

Isn't it amazing when a person's brains kick in! I have created a link to my Flickr photos also.

This past week I wrote an article for St. Tim's monthly newsletter. As a part of the Passionate Spirituality team, I wrote a reflection on prayer. It came to me fairly easily, but then it is a part of my life and has been for as long as I could speak in my childish Finnglish.

Although one would never know it by the picture, the main object of this photo is Chimney Rock.

Portable Toilet Falls, Kills Biker

When I die I hope the headline is not the one above. Not that I am a biker, nor am I usually spending much time around portable toilets. One never knows. You just never know. The moral of the story is don't follow trucks transporting portable toilets too closely. If I linked to the Rapid City Journal that carried the story, it would not be in their archieves long enought for the bother of the link. But it happened. Today the lead story is "I Hate Sturgis." I suppose a lot of folks do during the motorcycle rally. I have freinds and in-laws that leave the Black Hills during it; a half million bikers are noisy and incessant, like wasps at a picnic.

Hell Canyon

To make a trip to Rapid City and back to Omaha in three days is to spend a lot of time in the car. On our way out of the Black Hills we spent a night in Hot Springs and that evening drove south, past Cascade, to the Black Hills Wild Horse Sanctuary. We were hoping that we might catch an evening event. The place was quiet; the female wrangler who stepped out of the office and strided to a barn looked neither to the left or right and certainly didn't take notice of our car in the parking area.

That sagebrush dotted land is always more beautiful at sunset than at any other time of day; but looking over to the west was the most beautiful canyon that I have ever seen. That might not say a lot; I haven't seen the grand one. Hell Canyon is breath-taking with setting sun shining on the rim-rock shooting up the north wall. The link to it describes the hiking trail.

On June 24, 1988, I attended a class through what is now the Black Hills State University at Spearfish. The course was designed primarily for South Dakota teachers and called "Ghost Towns of the Southern Hills" taught by Dr. Art Prosper. It was probably one of my most valued experiences as a student. I was teaching and getting some of those mandatory summer credits.

My project was a photo journal; the entry for Cascade was "This town grew, not from gold exploration, but as a health resort. Capitalists built a sanitarium, dancing pavillion, a four story, hundred room hotel, and other buildings on the thirty-six blocks they laid out. Because they held extremely high land prices the Burlington and Missouri River Railroad took another route. The town was founded in 1888 and by 1900 it only had 25 people and a post office. The stone from the hotel was preserved and is presently a home. Cascade was a dream that failed to materialize." The W. Allen Bank, made of sandstone, is now a home.

I learned a lot about the history of the Black Hills and saw the remnants of the first white rush for gold throughout the beautiful Paha Sapa. Much of what remained in 1988 in those places, has now metamorphosed into topsoil.