Hiatus

Being away from my friends and readers hasn't been by choice. My sweet little heart slowed down and quit beating long enough Friday morning to land me on the floor. He Who...bundled me up in my bathrobe and drove me to our hospital five minutes away. "We have a "Red" here," I heard shouting down the ER hall. I was very soon on an external pacer. "We are going to give you a little 'something' and use the paddles on you." Twice. Nothing. 95% of the time it works. Just like an INFP..I have to be that 5% anti-average.

The little machine zapped me over and over for almost six hours until the permanent one was put in place in surgery.

No more of the whirling dervishes for me. I will now enjoy working on Aunt Liz's biography without having to hang on to the computer table just to stay on my chair. That didn't keep me from hitting the floor Friday morning.

An Aside: there have been so many hits here on the poem by ee cummings regarding my entry of his "In Just." I approved a comment today by someone pointing out my ignorance in poetry analysis. Naivety might be my middle name. I am guessing that the universities are assigning this poem to students as the hits are increased at the beginnings of semesters. Apparently this is an evil and perverse poem, lilting on the tongue as it is. But isn't that the way of persons that prey on children...or the elderly.

Thanks for the Advice

According to "The Power of Paying Attention" by Laura Rowley, "If you want to be happy, pay attention."

She goes on, "Perhaps first and foremost, "you have to choose your target." "...If you don't choose a target, your brain will choose one for you -- the brain is out scanning around and saying, 'Let's stare at that screen, let's listen to that infomercial.' When you focus on something, your brain photographs that sight or sound or thought or feeling --and that becomes part of your mental album of the world. So it's important to make those choices count."

That is great advice. Once-upon-a-time my parents helped me with that habit. Teachers were good at it. Babies were the best. One had to pay attention to them or they would remind you what time it was, the younger they were the better. Now, I am on my own with it and sometimes I am hopeless. Some tasks take all of my attention, all of my brains, and a huge amount of discipline. A helper that taps my knuckles with a stick, so to speak, when I dilly-dally only annoys me and I go eat ice-cream.

"What makes you happy is paying rapt attention to something that interests and absorbs you," Rowley says. Paying attention sounds like a no-brainer, but it's similar to the platitude "Live within your means" -- it makes a gigantic difference in your well-being, yet many people can't figure out how to do it."

My Shepherds.

The old photo is much like the tasks of my shepherds.

It comes from a rich source, the American Memory collection at the Library of Congress.


Tonight our Pastor spoke on the Old Testament Lesson, Psalm 23 which we read responsively. It has a calming effect on a lot of us. The Gospel reading was John 10:11-18 "I am the good shepherd," which is about sheep herding and hired men.

He pointed out that there is only one person in his congregation that has had experience as a shepherd, and that of course being He Who Sits Beside Me in Church. Needless to say I loved the service. My father was a herder when he was young. I think our Pastor is a gifted shepherd.

Our dear, dear Elsa is in hospice and no longer sits beside us in her chariot. My shepherd herded it with her, to the communion rail for several years.

Squeeky Cheese

My grandmother, Jennie Haivala Tuovinen, made what my cousins called 'Squeeky Cheese.' I never learned to make it. One of my cousins, either second or once removed, did though and I admire her for it.

It, as well as the familiar cardamom bread, was served on the refreshment table in Astoria during a play performance during the FinnFest 2004 held there.

Finnish Cousins Galore

This has been the warmest week, not only of the Fahrenheit kind, but also as in company of the warmest kind. This very day we had two sweet sisters that exchanged Finnish immigrant history with me. We reminisced about the elderly immigrant Finns that settled or homesteaded with our grandparents. Gone are the days when children dressed up and went visiting with their parents, to be seen and not heard. But always welcomed with the adults at the coffee table.

These two drove a long way to attend the two day professional bull riding event at Omaha's Quest Center; only girls that grew up on a ranch with rodeo stock, cowboys, and boots in their lives, would do such a thing.

Two days ago we entertained seven cousins and a friend at our own coffee table and later on at our dinner table. Every Finnish American is a long lost cousin of our hearts...but two of these actually were cousins. They gathered here from five states. There is is a whole lot of laughing with a group of retired women on a trip. The beautiful daisies were a gift from them!

But the big surprise was when I was contacted by a woman who I believe is truly a cousin, one who I never knew existed until I got the unexpected and delightful email query. Yes, I was a Buffalo, SD Sacrison. Her grandmother was a Finnish immigrant Kyro-Sacrison to Lead, SD.

It is Fahrenheit warm as well. The old fashioned lilacs in the planters are beginning to bloom. That makes me very happy.

Pictures are Worth a Thousand Words

It is a pleasure to obey this kind gentleman.

The Power of the Printed Word

A grandson was here from California for dinner on Maundy Thursday. On Good Friday and Saturday He Who Must Be Obeyed had a manly-man garage sale of machines and large equipment. Men of all sizes and descriptions drove up in vans and pick-ups. Men do love a manly garage sale and every one was lonely and talkative, or so I was told. I felt sorry for the ones who wanted a little something to buy that didn't cost them an arm or leg. Next time I am going to have a table of those extra hand tools that seem to reproduce themselves, filling up every shelf and nook in the garage.

One lady drove up and waited till 8:00 and then asked "Where are "Willo's things?" She should have been invited in to pick out what ever she fancied. I was flattered, even so. Maybe I will have to set up a table of the things that multilpy in my kitchen drawers and on my book cases; such as the lonely lead crystal swan who lost her mate in the last house cleaning episode. He lost his head with one swat of a long handled duster and crashed to the floor.

Yesterday He Who... went to a funeral while I had my quarterly visit to my Nurse Practitioner. My blood pressure fluctuated in the office and I was told to take it at home several times before Thursday. It fluctuates here as well and my pulse races from 83 to over a hundred. I don't know what that is all about. It seems to occur with a whirling bout of vertigo.

Maybe I am just giddy over our recent computer crash. We purchased a new tower that wasn't compatible with our printer. It is going back to the store as I type. The old tower is being updated and the data has been recovered. It is not exactly like 'the same old w____ in a different dress,' but more like the same one with different underwear. I rather like shiny new things; but then new "underwear" is always nice too.

We are now reading "Frederic Remington's Own West: Written and Illustrated by Fredric Remington." Remington is as gifted with the pen as with the brush and we are enjoying his ability to describe his surroundings, the people he rides with, and the bloody incidents with the buffalo soldiers. TV violence is a poor comparison to our own bloody past with those that first peopled our land.

We are ever aware of the power of the printed word.

A Beautiful Boy

How Blessed with babies we are!

The Blue Hazzard

Could you speak louder, please? Very good.
“Lima, that must be Peru? Not Peru? Oh, India."
“Take the case off. I need my book to see how.”
"Willo, I need a flashlight."
“Do you mean the Rim, the Rom? The Ram? It is silver colored?”
“I removed the one closest to the battery.”
“There are silver cords all over.”
“The third one is the second from the battery.”
“The first one from the battery, right.”
“I have this thing plugged in, should I unplug it?”
“O.K.”

“I think I am connected."
“I need to shut the computer off and then unplug it.” I am laying it on its side again and opening up the case.”

“Should I push Enter again?"

“Who will do this?”
“OK, A local service guy that will charge me? Uh huh.”

“Do you have a service guy in Omaha? You are in India? You don’t know service guys in Omaha?”

“Alright, Alright.” “A local tech?” “Thank you. Bye.”

Learning Life Skills

Life is one great experience after another!

Life's Little Pleasures

Diddle, diddle dumpling, my son John,
Went to bed with his stockings on;
One shoe off, and one shoe on,
Diddle, diddle, dumpling, my son John.

I was reminded of this Mother Goose Rhyme as we drove home from the shoe shop. No not shoe shopping, shoe repairing. I took in a pair that needed a seam resewn, and upon looking down at my ancient leather Ked on my right foot, I was reminded where my big toe had pressured it into holiness last summer in the garden. "Yes, I can fix it," the butcher-sized fellow behind the counter said,"but I will have to put a patch on the inside so the hole will still show on the outside. "Bring it back when you pick up the one with a ripped seam tomorrow."

He Who Must Be Obeyed told him I would leave it right now, thus saving us the gas for an extra trip. He followed me to the Wrangler and took it back into the repair shop. Hence the Diddle, diddle.

Shoe repairing is a fascinating business. I have always thought so. It started with me leaning on my elbows watching my dad slip one of my shoes on the iron last bolted to his work bench and hammer on a new heel, or paste on a sole. Some tasks take on a pure and holy demeanor; polishing shoes, same thing. My dad polished my mother's, mine, and his own; a Saturday night ritual, while I was having my weekly bath in a little tin tub off the kitchen.

One of our dear friends, Fritz, a hero from the Grand Generation, had a shoe shop in South Dakota when he was just back from WWII and starting his family. In my small home town, Mr. Zoldie, a Jewish immigrant in that land of Finnish, Norwegian, and Irish immigrants, owned the shoe shop. If a job got too complicated for my dad, our shoes went to Mr. Zoldie and I had the opportunity to listen to his lovely Yiddish accent. He reminded me of Geppetto, a cobbler, in the Pinnochio book my Aunt Olga gave me for Chistmas.

He was found in his shop hanging one day, no family, no synagogue, he was alone in the hinterland; probably lonely, hopefully not hated.

Cow-Boys and Colonels

Reading, reading, reading. The weather and our colds have prompted reading overly much. We used to interrupt our busy days to stop and read a while. It has almost gotten to the point where we interrupt our reading to do a few household chores.

Our reading Black Hills of South Dakota history has been enriched from the standpoint of Lakota women, Josephine Waggoner and Susan Bettelyoun; from that of a distant shirt tail relative, Ed Lemmon, who had a government contract to deliver beeves to a couple of Indian Reservations in the 1800's; and from notes, diaries, letters and stories from the miners, immigrants, and ranchers who lived there in the late 1800's and early 1900's.

Most of it has been written with utter seriousness. Presently, we are reading it from the angle of a French Baron, Edmond de Mandat-Gracey who had been schooled by Jesuit Fathers in Paris. The Baron was writing it to excite readers all over France with his one month day-by-day adventures throughout the Black Hills with his traveling companions, Monsieur de Bouverie; in Rapid City they joined Gifford Parker who acted as their guide for the visit.

Parker took them to a hoped for spa that he intended to create out of a piece of land at Cascade which is South of Hot Springs. He described how excited Parker was at showing him his intended layout, "making us galop (sic) over the plain in every direction, for to please him, we must see everything. The Americans in speculation have a kind of blind, habitual enthusiasm which becomes contagious, and in the long run, one no longer has a very clear conscience with regard to what is actually a fact, or what is merely in the inchoate stage of a project." "Here is the stage station, here is the depot, the bank will be here and the hotel there."

I myself, have seen that very enthusiasm for some cockamamie idea from the men in the family that I have married into.

He explains "a special malady of the American brain, developed particularly in the West, where there are few men who do not manifest these symptoms. It's diagnosed in an irresistible desire to take in the left hand a piece of wood, and to reduce it to morsels the size of a match by a gentle and regular movement of the right hand armed with a pocket knife, a razor or a bowie-knife."

His telling that the proprietors of hotels provide their guests a block of wood to whittle or they whittle up the benches on their porches. This is a wonderful humourous history as seen through the eyes of a French Baron.

Short Toes and a Hefty Gluteus Maximus

Endurance running proponents believe that being able to run for extended lengths of time is an adapted trait, most likely for obtaining food, and was the catalyst that forced Homo erectus to evolve from its apelike ancestors. More to the point, a distance-running legacy happened when 26 markers developed on the human body, including short toes, a hefty gluteus maximus and Achilles tendon, springy tendon-loaded legs, and the little-known nuchal ligament that stabilizes the head when it’s in rapid motion.

I can understand the urge to run. There was a time that I could run a fair distance at a pretty good clip. I could jump the horse pasture fence, sprint to a small grocery store/post office and race for home leaping a couple of fences on the return trip. That was during the idylic couple of years in the middle of the Black Hills in a small community of 45 folks.

So what happened, I wonder, for I still have short toes and a hefty glute. I couldn't run anywhere let alone leap a fence. Maybe someting happened to my nuchal ligament.

Unequal Equinox

The word “equinox” comes from Latin and means “equal nights.” Around March 20, sunrise and sunset are about twelve hours apart everywhere on Earth. Because of that, a lot of people think that day and night are of equal length on March 20. But actually the day is a little longer than the night on this date. There are a few reasons for that. Sunrise occurs when the top of the sun (not the center) is on the horizon. But the sun actually appears to be above the horizon when it is in fact still below it. That’s because Earth’s atmosphere refracts or “bends” light coming from the sun, so we see the sun a couple of minutes before it actually rises over the horizon. If you add the daylight that persists after sunset, you’ll find the day on the equinox is several minutes longer than the night.

That is a mouthful. My mother taught me that Easter always falls on the first Sunday after the first full moon after the spring equinox. And who was I to question that?

I almost went googly-eyed when I 'Googled' both spring equinox and Easter. I like my mother's explanation for the different dates for Easter much better. What brought this on was looking at the icicles on my header and thinking it is time to have a more positive image up there. I am keeping my eye out for the ferns to lift their fiddle heads.

Faith vs. Fear

So what is to be fearful of? I could list a lot of thing that make me personally fearful, but that exercise would only emphasize those very things I find distressing.

I read that of all the Biblical instructions to "Fear not" is the most common. That is reassuring. On reading Amazing Love The writer states that there are 366 "Fear Not" instructions.

It was always faith that enabled me to do the things that needed doing. Over the years there were some seemingly insurmountable obstacles to a few personal endeavors I took on. Was any of it just dumb luck? I don't think so. Maybe it was a combination of prayer and Finnish Sisu.

At any rate I did accomplish a few little things. Learning to read music and play the cello when I was 65 comes to mind. The truth of that matter was to see if a TIA that ripped out some vision from both eyes, also ripped out the rest of my brains. The rest of that silly story is that my vision returned and now nearly 10 years later, I have parked the cello for a weekly dusting.

As the days pass before my eyes and in and out of my hearing aid, I do not fear this unsettling time in our world. My America is as beautiful as it was when I was being formed in 1945. Yes, I heard a lecture in which the premise was made that people form their values, their viewpoints, and their personality when they are ten years old. The perceived events, both personal and national, are held throughout life. How thankful I am for my own and the extended family that molded me as they shared their beautiful world with me.

Dow Falls Below 6800

According to the Wall Street Journal stocks on the DOW are down 52.25% from its high on Oct. 9, 2007. Does it make me want to go upstairs and throw myself from the window there? Not yet, probably never. Our Oracle from Omaha entertained his stockholders this past weekend. That poor guy lost billions on a long shot on oil which is down to around $40 a barrel today.

There are ways to hold on to the loose change in our pockets and the bill$ in the bank. My Grandmother would be proud of us baking bread every week, making chicken soup, and eating beans. Well, to be honest, I sort of wish that my cook, HWMBO, would add a few more recipes to his menu. My Mother would not believe that we are eating oatmeal for dinner. No not instant. Yes, nearly nightly.

This is a personal challenge and as it is self imposed, not unpleasant...yet. Good thing for all those grocery savings, my dental bill this week is close to a thousand. Old teeth can be a pain in the pocket book. We are loving this financial challenge.

I listened to the best interview on C-Span last night. "Info: Our guest is Matthew Continetti who writes for The Weekly Standard. His most recent article "The Age of Irresponsibility" outlines his thoughts on political and moral corruption. He writes, "There are moments when it seems as though every figure who waltzes across the public stage is a cheat, a fraud, a liar, or a failure."

What a remarkable mind 27 year old Matthew Continetti has. I thought maybe his kind were extinct. He did not fall for the University teaching of what he called "Liberal Speak," but he knew he had to use it to get grades. Imagine that, a young man that did not fall for the myth. I could hardly believe my ears. He is reviled, satirized, and denigrated by the liberal left.

The Imposition of Ashes

Lent, the season for somber reflection; will I give up something that will remind me of the Passion of our Lord? Or will I take on something that will also cause me to reflect on the Passion for 40 days. It began yesterday and will continue for 46 days until Saturday, April 11th.

Lenten Activity
Make a resolution to do something during Lent which expresses a different set of values or priorities than that of the culture. It could involve your use of time or money, the way you relate to people, the way you act at work, the way you recreate.
—Living God's Word: Reflections on the Weekly Gospels, Year B

Last night we went to the 7:00 p.m. service at Holy Cross an hour early to go to our pastor's study prior to the imposition of ashes. Later on the Circle group which I belong to will serve one of the Lenten Wednesday night meals.

Challenges

I suppose one always is faced with challenges in life. We falter if they come in twos and threes. As I worked on my biography project of my Great Aunt Elizabeth day before yesterday, I hit a key and every page became enlarged, center justified, and in some script font. Before I could find out the easy and simply way to undo the unwanted edit, I had it so messed up in the attempt, that I saved it as it was, and walked away from the computer. How is that for dealing with a challenge?

Tomorrow I will attempt to repair the damage, nearly finish the text and start inserting photos. One would think that this would get easier with a new little lap top and a new MS Word '07 Vista. It isn't. However, it is still just as much fun and as interesting as can be. Probably a learning experience as well. Something for old brains to enjoy.

I was surprised by a package from a sister-in-law yesterday. She sent a couple of books that I opened and read of few pages of each immediately. They are so inviting. One is "Pioneer Years in the Black Hills" by Richard B. Hughes. This is a wonderful history by a pioneer newspaper reporter. His diary entries of 1876-1877 are in an Addendum. This book is beautiful, it feels at home in my hands, it is as useful as can be with so much information and best of all it is indexed. I can hardly keep my hands off of it. I am so thankful to get them. The other is "God's Promises for Women" and is just what I need for the faith and hope I wish to keep alive.

The Honorable Grands

I have added a link, that of a grandson, one of the twelve Grands that we honor and cherish. He shares lovely hours with us during his Christmas visits to Omaha. I could call them the twelve apostles, the literal meaning is 'one sent.'

They have been originally sent from the loins of He Who Must Be Obeyed. Each one is gifted in a particular manner as were the Apostles of Christ. However, none of us had a choice in this matter. Harking back to the old saw, "You can choose your friends, but not your family." We have been especially blessed by this generation.

Having twelve, six of each, is rewarding in itself. Without the Internet, it would be almost an impossibility to stay connected, but not quite. They are aware of my presence and I of theirs. Being separated by great distances, they are not often present at our table; when they are, we cherish the moment and the memory. And best of all we know them by their blogs and family email.

So, I introduce you to Bryce Andrew Boe, one of my bloggers of consequence.

Temporary Dental Work

This morning my dental appointment took an hour and a half, more than was expected; but then there was much to do. To exacerbate the situation at hand, my dear dentist, his assistant, and myself had a little visit about the mortgage mess we are in here in the US of A. Each of us got a bit worked up until the dentist said, "when your dentist has steam coming out of his ears, maybe it would be a good idea to drill on another day." He was kidding, but we were all a little worked up over the situation.

Before he started working on the task at hand, I told him I felt a little hook behind one of my front teeth which he cleaned out and put in a temporary filling before the real work began. That will get fixed properly in a couple of weeks.

The old molar crown came off in two sections, half of it flew down my throat to be either pulled out with forceps or by some good belting coughs on my part; which kept the jagged metal out of my digestive system. Then the amount of decay was horrifying for them. I never experienced a tooth ache, nor was it showing up on the x-ray to that extent, and of course with my mouth jacked open and I couldn't see anything. Maybe the steam was coming out of my own ears by then.

Prayer can never hurt anything, so with a three hands in my mouth as well as most of the tools in the room, I did a fair amount of having a word with God. After the "knockting" with a hammer to get the crown loose made me wonder if a person could get a concussion this way. Jack hammering comes to mind.

God are you listening? As I was getting the temporary crown, Doc said, "the situation is this: In a few days you could get a very bad toothache, and if you do, call immediately and I will give you a root canal."

I asked him if I should get Dental Insurance. "No it is a waste of money."