212 °F

Sometimes I wish we could just put a lid on it all. Politics USA and the everlasting commercials which have now become infomercials, the yo-yo stock markets world wide, the Nebraska Safe Haven Law which resulted in 24 children, some mentally ill, being brought from far and near by parents and care givers, our fractured family, all of the things that go bump in the night have come out of Pandora's Box and clutter the floor of my life. It is all almost too much to bear.

I am not keen on socialism, have never liked television commercials, arguing is awful, mental illness is horrible and we are getting it in spades both in the family and in Nebraska as the Safe Haven Law gets more national press, as far as things that go bump in the night...we haven't seen anything yet. Halloween is only days away.

Of course the only thing left in Pandora's Box is Hope. Even Hope has a slippery handle. Maybe I will crawl into the box myself and snuggle up to Hope until everything under the lid boils over and puts out a few fires; or maybe till hell freezes over.

A Time for Burning

Too long gone, but back once more. Life has a way of slipping by.

Our adjustment to moving here from the Black Hills, SD, included my own first experiences with racism. Riots and burnings, marching and murder were the headlines those first few years. "The Education of a WASP" was the first book I encountered after we settled in. Omaha was not the quiet little Midwestern city I had imagined. It was frightful.

It very well could erupt with racial violence again, given the political, economic, and cultural situation today.

Not too many years ago I attended some Lay School Ministries sessions at Augustana Lutheran church on the edge of the black community known as the near north side. There I enjoyed a group of people that discussed topics of the day with someone knowledgeable about the particular topic. For instance we studied the Human Genome Theory when it was a theory. One of our discussion leaders was a medical ethicist from Creighton University Medical School.

A Time for Burning is in the Omaha news again. The film explored the attempt of the minister of Augustana Lutheran Church in Omaha to persuade his all-white congregation to reach out to neighboring black Lutherans. A Time for Burning, a 1967 Oscar-nominated documentary about the interactions between two segregated churches in Omaha, Nebraska, during the height of the civil rights movement, will be screened at the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences‘ "Monday Nights with Oscar" on Monday, October 20, at 8 p.m. at the Academy Theater in New York City.

The young black barber featured in the film, will be a part of the on-stage panel discussing it. Ernie Chambers, completed law school and was elected Senator to the Nebraska Legislature in 1970. By 2005 he had become the longest-serving state Senator in the history of Nebraska.

1925 Malcom X born in North Omaha.

• 1966 The documentary A Time for Burning is released and nominated for an Academy Award.
• 1966 On July 5 the National Guard is called to quell two days of rioting among African Americans in North Omaha.^[17]
• 1968 Riots erupt in North Omaha in response to assassination of Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr..
• 1968 Robert Kennedy visits Omaha in his quest to become president.
• 1969 Riots erupt on June 24 after an Omaha police officer fatally shoots teenager Vivian Strong in the Logan Fontenelle Housing Projects.^[18]
• 1970 On August 17 a bombing occurs at a house at 2867 Ohio Street, killing one policeman. Black Panther members are implicated.

Nebraska's Safe Haven Law

Last night an Iowa teen was dropped off at the Omaha Creighton University Medical Center. It was the first time an out-of-state youth has been left under Nebraska's unique safe haven law. This child is the 18th to be left at a hospital, or in one case, at an Omaha police station by a parent or guardian intending to use the law, which went into effect July 18th.

The law protects people only from being prosecuted by Nebraska authorities for abandoning a child at a hospital in the state. Because the law sets no age limit, most of the children being dropped off are teenagers or preteens labeled uncontrollable by their parents or guardians.

The Legislature's Judiciary and Health and Human Services committees have scheduled a hearing at 1:30 p.m. on Nov. 13 in Room 1113 of the Capitol.

Among topics expected to be raised are the current use of the law, possible amendments to it, and services availability for children living in crisis.

Nebraska was the end of the line for many children on the Orphan Trains out of New York City starting in 1854 and for seventy-six years thousands of homeless, neglected poor children were moved west to rural towns and farm communities. The plight of children has had a long and sad history. Even those of us who, hoping to do a good thing by taking a child into our home, has ended up wondering if we have done more harm than good.

Changes

Politics, finances, even the day to day mundane events change. It is bewildering sometimes.

The once contentious political debates seem to have taken a turn to the polite. It was nice to watch Palin and Biden as they exchanged ideas without raising their voices. Being the INFP that I am, I have an aversion to that verbal combat. It was great to be able to spend 90 minutes watching the word match the other night. Even the moderator seemed polite. Why is it that a civil debate is so amazing? I suppose because for years one expects every conversation to feel like a Sunday morning network news show.

Here in Nebraska, parents, guardians, and care givers drop wayward wards off at hospitals instead of do battle with out of control teens. A father of ten in Omaha took nine of his children to a nearby hospital to give them up to the custody of the State. Only the oldest, an 18 year old daughter, escaped his desperate decision. His wife had died, the youngest was a baby under two years old. I am sure he was overwhelmed. Safe Haven Laws were perhaps passed too quickly. Meant for newborns and desperate mothers has now become a social service for parents and caregivers who have come to the end of their wits.

We have a friend who experienced a similar thing as a toddler. He and his brothers were taken to an orphanage after his mother died and his own immigrant father could not cope with the ramifications of child care and making a living. His hell began when his dad remarried, brought his children home again and our friend endured the wrath of the evil step-mother.

It all sounds like a Dickens novel. It is too sad for words.

"Senator, you're no Jack Kennedy."

Twenty years ago, I took my high school television new crew downtown to the Vice Presidential debate between Dan Quayle and Lloyd Bentson. We were set up in the lower level of the Civic Auditorium in the spin room with all big shots. This was the real deal. Beside us were the CSPAN guys. Large monitors gave us a view of what was happening above us. The crowd was so out of control that Judy Woodruff stopped to admonish them more than once before Bentson let fly his zinger of the century.

According to the Omaha World Herald, David Karnes, an Omaha lawyer, sat beside Marilyn Quayle and remembers not wanting to look at her when Bentson delivered his body blow that is remembered by a little news crew and their teacher. Two of the Karnes girls were in my classes.

We heard the gasp from the auditorium. The spinners spun out of control. In spite of it all, the zinger didn't cinch the election. I was proud of my students, who had captured an important event for our city-wide broadcast. We were part of a little bit of history that unfolded around us.

The Wild West

The Rapid City Journal features a couple of videos of the annual Custer State Park buffalo round up. It looks like great fun.

http://videos.rapidcityjournal.com/p/video?id=2233501

Making Things

I have decided that when I never make any thing, I feel useless and stagnant. It seems as though my entire life is devoted to cleaning things that other people have made. Just think about it. A few days ago I made some whole wheat bread. I discovered that I could use a bread machine to mix up the dough and then I could roll it out flat and make a facsimile of my grandmother's Finnish flat bread. She used to bake hers on the floor of the old wood/coal stove so mine never replicates hers in either taste nor texture. It is barely o.k.

But making something, doesn't mean food. I mean objects out of cloth or wood, even paper would count. I have always wanted to make stepping stones from concrete, never have. Or carve a rock. I am not much good with tools as I have so little hand strength. So my life is lived away by cleaning the things that other people make.

I am certain that I broke a bone in my hand a couple of days ago; I was cleaning as usual. As I was pushing a couch off of a rug I heard a sharp snap in my right hand and ever since have experienced some swelling, discoloration, and pain. It hasn't affected the use of my fingers for which I am thankful. If I get careless, I am reminded that everything isn't quite right in my hand.

It is probably a miracle that we don't break bones in our hands more often, considering how much we do with them. Obviously I am not going to be making anything of consequence anytime soon.

Cave Hills Lutheran Church

A cousin's friend sent this photo the other day. They had spent some time in the Cave Hills and shared some photos of this hallowed ground.

The organist who played the little pump organ just celebrated her 95th birthday at the senior center. Tyyne's family is now planning the party for her 100th.

The church was officially closed a few years ago. The last service I attended there was a memorial service for my mother officiated by a cousin who she was so proud of.

In the cemetery to the left of the church lies four of my grandparents, my dad, my brothers, aunts, uncles, a cousin, and most all of the Finnish speaking neighbors of a time gone by. Tyyne's parents donated the land, the neighbors collected the money and helped build the church. Her father, killed in a tragic accident during those homestead days, was the first person buried on the land he gave, and with the help of loving neighbors, her mother raised five little babies alone and farmed the land.

The two Bryces and I sat on the church steps one balmy autumn evening and watched the stars take a whirl for a couple of hours and enjoyed a couple of shooting stars.

Star light, star bright,
First star I see tonight.
I wish I may, I wish I might
Get the wish I wish tonight.

Mercy Me, A Maytag

To quote a grandson: "YES i am actually washing clothes in it. it works Great, about 6 min with the suds, 6 min rinse, and then run it through the rollers. funny how something made 78 years ago is faster than today's units. the only downside is no TV time between loads it requires your full attention. "

Another Undecided Voter Decides

My son, the writer of "Abandon the GOP" to the right of this has finally written again. He keeps his dad, Who Must Be Obeyed, on edge with his politics. I had to hold my own breath reading his last post.

Another Friday

This week has been enjoyable. The Harvest Moon has been noticed and enjoyed as we swim again. I wonder if our perfect days are simply a short reprieve before fall lowers the temperatures permanently and we celebrate the autumnal equinox in a couple of days. I saw the first of the falling maple leaves on the driveway this morning. If I look closely across the city, I see a few yellow leaves.

I am learning to use a new computer on which I can access the Internet through a wireless connection. To tell the truth it made me happy to be able to configure that myself. I did have to go out for a mouse, as my clumsy arthritic fingers were like using clothes pins on the device under the keyboard. It used to be called a roller ball but now it is an unmanageable little flat disc. This machine is fast. Do people still call their computers a machine?

If I was on the other computer, I would show you what a grandson is washing clothes with. He has a 1930's washing machine that he bought for the motor...and his automatic washer shorted out. I recieved a few photos from him and it looks like something my mother and I used in the '40's. I was too small in the 30's to be of any help and would have probably run my short little arms into the wringer. He said there was no time to watch television between the washing, wringing, rinsing, wringing and whatever he does to dry them. There wasn't much time for anything in those olden days but trying to keep children alive and fed.

Like father like son. His dad, our son, was inventing welders in the third grade by finding an old cut off power cord, plugging it in and then putting the two bare wires together. It was a welder all right! I just about had a coronary when I discovered him. A mother could easily kill a boy's curiosity trying to raise them to adulthood, or even getting them to the sixth grade. I must not have yelled too loudly, for his curiosity never diminished and he can make or fix just about anything made of mineral. He is pretty good with animals and vegetables also. He has people under his spell as well.

Roald Dahl Day in Cardiff

In May of 1996 my high school friend, Carol, and I accompanied a choir tour group of college people to the United Kingdom. One of our stops was Cardiff, Wales. She and I hiked over to the Norwegian Sailor's Church founded in 1868 to serve the thousands of Norwegian sailors that were employed in the Norwegian merchant fleet.

It was a place for sailors, where they could read newspapers and magazines from home, where they could relax and chat with friends. The church's exterior was corrugated steel and had been constructed in Norway, dismantled, shipped to Cardiff and reassembled there.

Without maintenance the building fell into dis-repair and was vandalized. In 1987 the Church was carefully dismantled by the Norwegian Church Preservation Trust and re-opened in 1992.

Today, on the 13th of September, 1916, Roald Dahl was born of Norwegian parents in Cardiff. His family worshipped at the Norwegian Church and he and his sisters were christened here. To honor him a party is held for children within the church every September.

From the Writer's Almanac today. " He was sent off to private boarding schools as a kid, which he hated except for the chocolates, Cadbury chocolates. The Cadbury chocolate company had chosen his school as a focus group for new candies they were developing. Every so often, a plain gray cardboard box was issued to each child, filled with 11 chocolate bars. It was the children's task to rate the candy, and Dahl took his job very seriously. About one of the sample candy bars, he wrote, "Too subtle for the common palate." He later said that the experience got him thinking about candy as something manufactured in a factory, and he spent a lot of time imagining what a candy factory might be like. Today, he's best known for his children's book Charlie and the Chocolate Factory."

Roald Dahl also wrote James and the Giant Peach. In the olden days when I worked as an elementary librarian, I read it to a group of third graders during a few minutes of their library time. Yes, I had heard that a person should never read a book to children cold. A section of it struck me so funny I got the giggles and just about fell off of my tiny little chair. Soon the children started to laugh and would have fallen off their tiny little chairs had they had them.

Canning Grape Jelly

I woke up to noise and chaos. It was the kind of chaos that happens when a person is about to embark on a project. During this project I am the helping hand, never in charge of anything but stirring and clean-up. Everything was ready, the sterilizing, the measuring, the utensils laid out as if for surgery, the beautiful purple mixtures in two tall heavy bottomed kettles ready for boiling.

As I stirred the boiling mixtures, I wondered if my grandmother had good help. It would never have come from my sheep ranching grandpa, but as long as they were on the homestead she had sisters and children. The last beloved child was in his teens, and would have been great help, when they sold and moved to town only a couple of years before my grandpa died of TB. Her jelly was wild plum and buffalo berry, the reluctant to jell chokecherry was made into syrup.

Helping is good as stirring stirs up such good memories of smells better than back yard concord grapes. A mouse click on the picture might surprise you.

Two Weeks of Late Night TV

My goodness gracious. We were mesmerized and entertained by the extravaganza in Denver with the democrats a couple of weeks ago and this week we lost sleep with folks in St. Paul, Minnesota. About the time I thought that nothing could ever beat the theatrics at the Bronco Stadium, the Grecian columns from some theater supply house, the fireworks and the promises; then came that dynamo from Wasilla, Alaska who woke up the republicans, young and old. Maybe woke up or shook up more than the conservatives. We will see.

I didn't have anyone to "talk" to about it. "I am listening" was my standard answer even during the commercials; which were almost non-existent on PBS and C-Span. Even I, who usually dismiss such speech making as repetitive and not terribly interesting, was quite moved by a lot of it. I have a couple of cousins that would have been great fun to visit with these past days.

Did you too, enjoy the humor, the sincerity, the promises, the contrasting of personalities and life experiences, all the children with their imperfections, the flummoxed journalists who were vilified by the VP candidate who was one herself by college degree. What was not to like and enjoy? Even the late night hosts had some funny new material. No all the snow is not in Alaska...a lot of it was in the audience in St. Paul.

Wasn't it fun. I am glad it is over though, now we can get some sleep before midnight again.

The Sweetest Language

"Friday, May 9, 2008
Nothing can be softer or more harmonious
The Finns still retain their own language where their geographical situation cuts them off from frequent communication with the Teutonic and Cimbric races. "Both the Lapland and Finnish languages," says Dr. Clarke. ''are pleasing to the ear, and admirably suited to poetry, owing to their plenitude of vowels. They constantly reminded us of the Italian; and we might cite several instances of words common to all the three. Acerbi, as an Italian, sometimes understood words used by the natives of Finland. Nothing can be softer or more harmonious than the sounds uttered by a Finland peasant, when reciting his Pater Noster. It is full of labials, nasals, open vowels, and dipththongs, and is destitute even of a single guttural.''

Edward Isidore Sears: The National Quarterly Review (1863)
Posted by Kaisa Kyläkoski at 12:35 AM From Kaisa's Virtual Bookshelf, virtually a treasure trove!

Yoked Together

Carhenge

Driving through Nebraska on I 80 last week we veered off into Alliance on our way to Crawford to visit a son; on the way we stopped along the road to take a couple of photos of Carhenge. This is a humorous task a family undertook on a family reunion. I think it took a couple of years to complete. I liked it. Sometimes a person can look at art and not find anything funny about it. Wikipedia does a good job of explaining it and names the family responsible for constructing it. Now, I have seen them both. The real deal in England isn't funny.

The Reader and the Read To

Yesterday in Bernie Hunhoff's southdakotamagazine online gem he wrote: "On This Day: August 19 In the summer of 1931, Nebraska poet laureate John Neihardt accompanied Oglala holy man Nick Black Elk to the top of Harney Peak, where Black Elk re-told of great visions he had seen during his lifetime. That conversation, and many more that continued into the spring of 1932, would form the basis for the famed Indian spirituality book, Black Elk Speaks. In his visions, Black Elk told Neihardt that he had met the guider of the universe. Reports vary, but it is believed Black Elk died on this day in 1950 at the age of 86."

On our quick four day trip to the Black Hills I read "Pirate, Pawnee and Mountain Man: The Saga of Hugh Glass" by John Myers to He Who Must Be Obeyed. Somewhere in the text Myers wrote of John G. Neihardt having acquired some information on Glass. Neihardt's "The Song of Hugh Glass" 1915, and the "The Splendid Wayfaring" 1920 are listed in the Bibliography. Myers' adventerous tale took us across two interstate highways, and two states which ate up most of two days on our own four day adventure.

Being so steeped in the history of our own childhood home lands, one thing leads to another as it always does in life. When we recovered from our rigorous travel I poked around in my various book shelves and found a book I bought at the Chadron, Nebraska Museum of the Fur Trade a few years ago, John G. Neihardt's "The Mountain Men: The Song of Three Friends-The Song of Hugh Glass-The Song of Jed Smith." New and unopened, I was delighted to find a drawn map of Hugh Glass's trails beginning at Ft. Atkinson a few miles north of our home on the Missouri River and ranging along rivers and streams to the headwaters of the Missouri and down the Platte. How I longed for a map as I read on the road.

I had always thought that Neihardt was too hard for me to read, especially to read aloud. The first chapter was lovely and of course I can read it! The rest will be saved for our afternoon recovery periods and maybe, as HWMBO suggested, take the place of evening mindless television.

Wagon Trains to Deadwood

Bull Train Up Staged by Plumber


Been Gone/Back Again
"Going Home" never means exactly that. It is putting our feet on the soil of West River South Dakota. We did precisely that last week.

The culmination of the event, besides visiting a grown son and daughter, In-Laws, friends and a cousin, we situated our lawn chairs across the street from the famed Franklin Hotel in Deadwood and watched the wagon trains from Cheyenne, Sidney and Ft. Pierre meet in the street in front of the hotel with yippies, excited yells, and some speeches from wagon masters and city mayors. MC-ing the event was a nephew of a friend.

I couldn't figure out how to get these videos here but they are both well worth watching. One is from Fort Meade on the way to Deadwood and the other in Deadwood.

http://videos.rapidcityjournal.com/p/video?id=2078950

http://videos.rapidcityjournal.com/p/video?id=2083513

The event had not happened for the last hundred years. As the locomotive replaced the horse and wagon in that area, goods came by rail instead of wheel and it connected our pioneers and homesteaders with places outside of this hinterland, as one of my college professors called it, when I went away to school in 1953.

Up to our Necks in Cleome

I left the air conditioned house to take a few photos. The heat and humidity were so thick that the camera lens immediately fogged over.

This is sometimes called Spider Flower and is currently taller than I am.

Tomorrow is a grandson's 28th birthday. He was our first grandchild and born on our wedding anniversary. Tomorrow we celebrate 54 years of wedded bliss.
The birthday boy's dad, our son, is in a hospital in California. We far away old parents are concerned and wish we lived close to help with his post op recovery.

I still long for the days of generational close proximity and the security that it provided every one, young and old.