The Ordinary is Cause for Celebration!

Today, I was heading up the driveway after my walk and off in the distance, I could hear the little campanile at Reiman Gardens playing its tinkly version of God Bless America. I had to laugh because it sounded so laborious. At first, I wasn't sure what I was hearing, but when I stopped to really listen, sure enough, it was God Bless America. Why was I hearing that song? Then, aha!, it was the 4th of July. Why not that song?

Several years ago, I was taking a course at Iowa State, and as I was walking across campus, I heard a playful, and vaguely familiar, tune coming from the campanile. This is the real campanile on Central Campus, the one in which a professor from the School of Music climbs the stairs daily at 11:45 AM to hammer out a recital for all to hear. I was struggling to name that tune and when I looked around, everyone seemed to be listening, walking just a bit slower with head cocked, trying to identify this song.

B-I-N-G-O! That was the tune, B-I-N-G-O. After a few refrains, there was this collective realization, a true Aha Moment!, where it clicked for all of us standing there on Central Campus. Something so ordinary and familiar from our childhood changed our demeanor as we continued on our way to class. We allowed our silly grins to show on our faces and we stepped a little brighter in celebration of this much beloved music.

With that moment of recogntion in my driveway this morning, I also realized something that I heard Garrison Keillor say the other night on "Prairie Home Companion". As he walked through the crowd in the closing moments of the show, he commented that he loved this country. At first I thought it kind of hokey, but then realized what he was really saying. It didn't have anything to do with politics, or religion, or flag-waving, or patriotism. It had everything to do with the people sitting there in his audience, listening to him spin his stories about Lake Wobegon. It had to do with the good people who live on the farms, in the cities, and everywhere in between.

For me, it has to do with the people we meet at the Highlandville Dance on a beautiful summer's evening in NE Iowa, or at the church service on Sunday morning at the Presbyterian Church Camp next to Lakeside Lab in NW Iowa. I love this country because of the people listening to the Nadas perform on this 4th of July in Bandshell Park in Ames, IA. It has everything to do with my family, friends, and neighbors who play such an important role in my daily existence here on Friley Road.

When the neighbors all got together tonight to drink beer and fresh strawberry margaritas!, to roast weenies, then watch the fireworks explode over our heads in celebration of the 4th of July, I sat back and relished how we all clicked, having been together just like this many times over the years. When I (the oldest) was holding the baby (the newest) so Mom and Dad could sit down to eat their food, I realized how good it felt to be part of something as simple as sharing food, drink, and stories. I also realized how important something as ordinary as B-I-N-G-O, or God Bless America is always and truly cause for celebration.

out of the office....washing windows today

The Highlandville Waltz

Last night our neighbor, who had been wringing his hands for days over successfully making home-made ice cream, finally gave in to his 2-yr old and whipped up some extraordinary strawberry ice cream. And he shared with us!

That first spoonful of fresh strawberry flavor was um,um good. It brought back some special memories of Highlandville, a little hamlet in NE Iowa, the summer dances, and the Big Canoe Lutheran Church Strawberry Festival and Ice Cream Social. Several days back in a post about the Sattre General Store, I promised a story about strawberries. This seems like a good post for today since people are again sharing fotos of their fresh harvest.

When I lived in Decorah, every Saturday night during the summer, there was a dance at the old Highlandville country school. The youngest band member was in his late 60's and the oldest, the fiddler, was pushing 90. The Highlandville Players had entertained those attending these dances for years. I had the time of my life, dancing with strangers and with friends, with my doctor, my dentist, and my accountant, all in one night! All that dancing generated a lot of heat, so cold beer from the coolers strapped in the pickup beds and moonshine passed in quart jars were welcomed refreshments during the stroll outside to cool off.

In late June, Big Canoe Lutheran Church would hold its annual Strawberry Festival and Ice Cream Social. Again, there was music from the Highlandville Players. There were beautiful white tents set up in the gardens around the church. And there was strawblicious home-made ice cream, strawberry shortcake (with home-baked biscuit cakes), strawberry angel food cake, strawberry-rhubarb pie, big bowls of fresh, whole strawberries, and strawberry pop from Spring Grove Bottlers.

Those church ladies sure knew a thing or two about fresh, home-grown food and how to throw a party. People came from far and wide to this little church out in the middle of nowhere to celebrate the goodness of this earth.

I checked the church calendar this year, hoping maybe to catch the festival when I journeyed up to NE Iowa for BioBlitz 2009. They still have their ice cream social, but no mention of strawberries. I caught a note on their website that the membership numbers are at their lowest ever. It seems that all those church ladies are no longer in their strawberry patches, or in the church kitchen serving up their strawberry-rhubarb pie, but perhaps out back in the cemetery, watching over all those who came to socialize and eat their bowls of plain old vanilla ice cream.

Happy Birthday, July Babies!

Energizer Bunny Hits Home!

Boy, have I been busy in the garden. It's like I have a new set of eyes and I am seeing so many things that need attention. I guess the beautiful June days might have something to do with it. No heat, no humidity. Just bliss outdoors!

Yesterday I was talking to a friend across the street and seeing my house from her front yard, I noticed how the low-hanging branches on the trees blocked the view to my house. So I got busy. With heavy-duty pruners, a hand saw, and my Felco #8's, I went to work and carved out a space that now reveals the white picket fence, the front entry and the colorful window boxes.

Early this morning I met the garbage men to purchase yard waste stickers. Then I rode my bike out to Lowes for a sprayer hose attachment, so I could hose down the screened porch. Once that task was complete, I left it to dry in the breeze before moving the furniture back in. I headed back out to the front yard to bag and bundle the trimmings from the shrub- and tree-pruning.

I headed back inside for a few minutes to start my bread dough. Once I had that assembled and left to rise, I gathered, sorted, and started the first load of laundry. Then I headed back out to empty the compost bucket and ended up in the veggie garden for some major weeding. Gigi's four hours of pulling weeds yesterday left me feeling a tiny bit neglectful of the tiny plot I farm. I found a pepper, 3 kohlrabi, some radishes, and 4-5 smallish onions. I have tiny beans growing and the cilantro is scrumptious!

Once I had that finished (sort of ;{), I decided to mow the back yard and the way-back garden. I swept the patio, sawed some broken tree limbs for the fire pit. By now the porch floor and furniture were dry, so I carried everything back into the porch, and headed inside to clean up.

Tess needed a ride to downtown to meet up with some friends B4 swimming, so I showered, then started a list for groceries. As we were pulling out of the drive, a white BMW pulled up beside us and asked where a certain street was in town. He was on the wrong side of town, so I told him to follow me; we were headed that way. He followed us into town and found his business, so I guess I did my good deed for the day.

I stopped by the bank, then headed for the grocery store, where I ran into 2 of my best friends. We chatted as we shopped, which made for a delightful passage of time on a rather mundane task. The second friend suggested that we get together on Thursday for some kayaking on Ada Hayden lake, Ames' newest city park. I look forward to that. (She called when I got home and asked if we could kayak tonight instead; something was already scheduled for Thursday. I just got back and it was awesome!)

Once home, I put the groceries away, and here I am recounting my day, but need to wrap this up and start supper. The troops are going to be home shortly! Oh, I forgot, I made the rolls and baked them, so we have fresh bread for supper tonight.

It feels good that I got so much accomplished today. It has been pretty lazy around here this last week. But it's late, so I think I'll call it a day. Good night.

Miss Deb

Reality is sinking in tonight. A family living next door in the duplex for the last 3 years has moved away. When I saw the U-Haul yesterday parked in front of the house, I had to face the fact that, yes, they were really moving. Mom is pregnant with their 4th and a two-bedroom, half-a-duplex just doesn't cut it anymore. We are best friends. All of us. The whole family with our family. They are a young couple, but so easy love and cherish.

When they bought the duplex 3 years ago, I assumed they would live elsewhere and rent it out. But that next weekend, the U-Haul pulled up and they became our neighbors, the best neighbors in a neighborhood that was already filled with wonderful friends

This family is so special. I met The Boys first, a 4 year-old and 2 year-old. They spotted the big sandbox in my yard one morning when they were hanging on the fence. I invited them over, but they had to ask Mom or Dad first. Mom came over to introduce her family. We were exchanging names and ages when Daniel looked up to ask his mom what he should call me. Mom suggested a Mrs. or Ms. would be the most respectful. I told her that was too formal; my first name would be OK. Little Caleb, who could hardly say but 10 words, blurted out, "Miss Deb!" and we all agreed that would be perfect. Now there is a 3 year-old sister, a little chatterbox, and she always calls me, "Mom, I mean, Miss Deb."
We got everything moved into their new home located in a little town south of here. It is actually faster to drive to their new home than it takes to drive up north in Ames. But the easy access is gone. Many mornings when I was on break from school, I would call over and ask if The Boys wanted to come over for pancakes and Legos. Boy, they'd come arunnin'. PJ's, slippers and robes flying out behind. Breakfast at Miss Deb's was always a treat.

When Mom told me they bought a house, I knew it was coming, but a cried. I couldn't not cry. I am not an official grandma; not yet, thank god! But I have enjoyed the "grandma-like" experience over these last few years. We take bike rides, do weenie roasts and some-mores in the backyard, and spend hours building sandcastles in the sandbox. We hang when Mom and Dad need a night out. And they always run for me when they see me come home in the car, or on the bike after class. They taught me to play Super Mario Cart on the Wii, although there have been a few times when Daniel has taken the control away from me because I could not keep the cart on the track. "That's OK, Miss Deb, you can just watch!"

I am not sure how this is going to work, not having them in my life daily. I know they are not that far away, but they are a world away tonight. Before I know it, they will be a head taller, a grade further in school, have a new sister, and all new friends that I don't know.

Reality bites!

A Woman of a Certain Age

I was kind of weirded out the other day shopping with my daughter. We were in Chico's looking for a summer dress, and when I glanced up, all the women in the store were, let's say, grandmotherly. I couldn't help thinking I needed to get out of that store. I did not belong here shopping with these "older" women. Don't get me wrong, they were well-dressed, coiffed, seemingly affluent (this is the chi-chi mall in the 'burbs), but they were of a certain age, i.e., grandmotherly. Not in looks, but in age. My age!!!

I've found myself using this phrase lately, so when I googled it, an article by William Safire, appearing in the NY Times, popped up. Here is what it had to say about a woman of a certain age..

Safire quotes a woman who offered, "...remembering it from my more youthful days in France as an insulting kind of polite elocution but one that remains rather wonderful and precise." Back in the early 1800's, the poet Byron used the phrase with regard to spinsterhood. Its long history with the French suggests the opposite. It has nothing to do with marriage, but with sexuality...in French, femmes d'une certaine age.

In 1979, Lillian B Rubin used the phrase in her book Women of a Certain Age: The Midlife Search for Self. Is this certain age bumping upward as we baby boomers age? Rubin offers that back in the late 70's when she wrote the book, late 30's to early 40's described these women. Now with longer lifespans, and too, the sway (and say) of baby boomers, these women have added ten years. Now we are, say, 50 or 55.

With July just around the corner, I'll be 56. So, am I post-certain age? Or just settling in.

deja vu

'a compelling sense of familiarity'

Last Saturday when I was traveling the back roads in NE Iowa on my way to the BioBlitz, I needed to make a pit stop before arriving at basecamp. My directions included a right turn at the Sattre General Store, so I thought this might be a good place to stop.

There it was up ahead, a yellow building with a neatly hand-painted sign, "Sattre General Store". It reminded me of an outpost, a stagecoach stop, from earlier days. I pulled up in front and hopped out. Do I lock my car, or not? This was truly the middle of nowhere, so I decided not to act too much like a city-slicker. I had lived in NE Iowa 25 years ago and understood that these 'outposts' dotted the countryside throughout Winneshiek County. Little burgs, with a handful of houses, a store or body shop, popped up around many a sharp bend in the road.

It was hot and bright out front. When I pushed open the heavy front door, I was greeted with a dark, dusty coolness. I entered, then pushed the door closed with a quick bump of my hip. No one was around, but the place was packed full to the ceiling, literally, with knick-knacks, antiques, canned goods (beans, ,Spam and SpaghettiO's?), t-shirts, hunting jackets, rubber farm boots, and cases of Spring Grove soda pop. There was a deli case and a separate cooler full of all flavors/forms of cheese. I remembered the hand-written sign on the front door, "Fresh, squeaky cheese curds". I also remembered the landscape outside that door, dotted with Holstein dairy cattle grazing the green, sloping pastures and big white dairy barns perched on the hilltops. Squeaky, huh? I understood.

I called out a greeting, but no answer. I stood for a moment in the silence, listening for footsteps, but still heard no one. And then a strange feeling came over me. deja vu...I had been here before. I had stood in this very spot. It was like I was recalling a dream the morning after...the smells, the wooden floor worn by the passage of feet over the years, the fullness of the shelves, the cool darkness...It was a long time ago, but I had discovered this place while out on one of my Sunday morning drives searching for that perfect trout stream around the Decorah area,

As my brain was idling in a state of recall, a voice redirected my attention. A woman approached me from a pitchblack doorway behind the counter, all smiles and sunshine. This was Rayella Rude, proprietor of Sattre General and Antiques, closely followed by her husband Dwayne.

Rayella Rude was in her selling mode. She tried to sell me t-shirts. She tried to sell me a sandwich. She tried to sell me knick-knacks. She really pushed the cheese curds - 2 lbs. of fresh, sqeaky cheese curds! I offered that I was going to the BioBlitz, so the cheese curds might spoil in the heat before I got them back to Ames. When I mentioned the BioBlitz, she shifted gears. She started pushing antiques. The McCoy pots with "plants and animals", the china dinner platters with "floweres and birds", the old cake carrier with "old-fashioned roses". "These botanical things would be great memorabilia of the BioBlitz! Wouldn't this little frog on the lily pad be darling to have as a keepsake?"

I spotted the stack of Spring Grove soda pop, so I offered to purchase a couple 6-packs to take back home. There is a little bottling company just a few miles north, across the border in Spring Grove, Minnesota. I picked out root beer, lemon sour ("That sells the best. It flies out the door. Hard to keep it in stock"), and my favorite, strawberry (That is another story for another time). I paid for my purchase. "No credit card, but a check or cash would be fine." She never batted an eye at accepting my out-of-town check. Never asked for an I.D.or a phone number. That was great customer service!

As I was backing out the door carrying my soda pop, she followed, telling me that both her mother and mother-in-law died several years back and left their only children- Rayella and Dwayne- farmsteads packed full to the ceiling. Said they just "boxed up everything, brought it down the road and put it all in the shed out back." Most people would envision the shed as being something to store the lawnmower and some garden tools, but I saw the shed out back. She meant a machine shed! And she claimed it was packed full to the rafters!

"Every other week or so we open a couple of boxes, and find a nice surprise. I guess if we wait long enough things will come back into fashion. All Mom's things are considered collectibles now. We just put them on the shelf and antique dealers come from all over and buy up everything. It's the funniest thing to see them come in here and start hauling it out. Business has been good. Are you sure you don't want any of those cheese curds? They're fresh."

In the Middle of Nowhere....

Yesterday, I decided to reread Local Wonders, a book which I recently sent a copy to a friend. The author Ted Kooser is our former U.S. Poet Laureate. Mr. Kooser hails from Nebraska, but spent his childhood in Ames. His writing is filled with grace and wisdom. It reads with such ease.

My son Evan gave me a copy of this book for my birthday in July of 2006. Mr. Kooser had come to Ames, around that same time, to do a reading in celebration of "Ted Kooser Day". I, not knowing of Ev's purchase for me, wanted to present him with an autographed copy because he was the one who introduced this man's writing to me.

I had something else going on the day of Kooser's appearance. I decided that I would race to the Octagon to hear the reading, purchase a signed book, then dash back to the other engagement. However, when I arrived, all copies had sold out. I hurried over to our local bookstore to nab an unsigned copy, hoping to catch Mr. Kooser afterwords. I raced back to the reading, but by the time I parked the car, everyone had left. I was so disappointed.

As I walked back to the MINI, I noticed a group gathered on the sidewalk ahead. At center was Mr. Kooser! Completely out of breath, I introduced myself, then explained how much it would mean to Ev to have an autographed copy for his book shelf. Mr. Kooser asked where Ev was and I told him he was at Boy Scout Camp Mitigwa for the week. He had just been inducted into the Order of the Arrow and could not make the reading. Mr. Kooser's face broke into that boyish grin of his; he had been a Boy Scout and understood that July meant summer camp for the scouts. He wrote a special note to Ev, I thanked him and he shook my hand. I practically skipped away, having met such an humble and honorable man.

Back to my original thought...in searching out my copy, I re-discovered the delight I had experienced the first time I turned the pages. The book is divided into 4 sections, each carrying the title of a season. It starts with Spring, but knowing the temperature outside was shooting up to 95 degrees with 99.999% humidity, I flipped thru to Summer and dove right in.

Immediately, I was immersed into his life in the country, driving the gravel roads, living in the Bohemian Alps of Nebraska, out on the Great Plains of these United States. His farmstead is in the middle of nowhere, with its various outbuildings assigned their individual duties. My nose tingled from the sharp tang of musty air with his opening a long-closed door to his "library" shack. Memories of my life on the farm, exploring the granary, or the old chicken coop, flooded my brain.

Of late, I have been thinking about living in the country - away from the city. I live in an incredible city, a college town that carries all the advantages of academia, arts, and diversity of culture. I also live in a perfectly beautiful neighborhood, with neighbors who have become great friends over the years. My home is comfortable and out front is that white, picket fence. But this longing has surfaced and I pine for a small farmhouse with a metal roof so I can lie in bed and hear the rain. It would have a wrap-around porch so I could refresh in the breeze, or enjoy a rain shower, and watch my garden grow. I would want a small flock of chickens for their fresh eggs. I sense it is my childhood spent on the farm that is pestering me to reconsider a change to this life of country. It would be my little slice of heaven.

I am not an empty-nester yet, but it won't be long before Tess is off on her own. And then I see myself working from home as a landscape architect...a woman of a certain age, growing old in this little farmhouse, living out in the middle of nowhere, under stars pressing down from above.

I snapped this picture as I came over the rise of a goat prairie up in NE Iowa. It's nonsense, really, but as I study it, the colors and movement seem to capture my mood of late. Today, I am so antsy, yet pensive. I have sudden flashes of bright thoughts and good feelings that make me smile; then dark moments of deep realization. (And no, I am not on medication, or think I should be..;[) I find myself pacing, wanting to be somewhere else...

I was up early and before my feet hit the floor, I knew I was going to have one of these days. I've been keeping busy since I got home last nite - unpacking, sorting, sweeping my floors! and sorting laundry. This morning I got busy making bread, doing dishes and laundry (the new dryer is great!), and finally paying some bills.

I have been so busy these last few months with school, Lakeside Lab, then this last weekend, that it is difficult to just relax and do nothing. I keep feeling like there is such a limited amount of time left to accomplish what I want, so I need to keep pushing to do it all. It sounds crazy, but I push because I want to someday be able to stroll, to just hang and be. Where is this possible in today's world. If you have a suggestion for me, I am all ears...

Today I just want to get in the MINI and drive.