Sunday - 9:26 p.m.

I was late for church this morning and as I walked up to the front doors I could hear the congregation already singing. "Open Our Eyes, Lord" The simple melody and words allowed the tiny group gathered inside to sing so loud and strong. As I reached out to pull open the door I closed my eyes and listened from the sunny outdoors as they sang the verse 'open our ears, Lord, and help us to listen...'

Help me to listen...I had received the message I needed before joining with friends inside.

My friend Jan is teaching me how to knit. I purchased the necessary supplies and sat down with her after church today so that she could 'cast on' and get me started. We may need to back up a couple of steps and begin by working on my fine motor skills. Maybe I should start with stringing cheerios or macrame.

This yarn will eventually be a 'prayer shawl'. I love the concept...weaving prayer into every stitch. I'm so clumsy and awkward with the needles though and Jan, a woman who has the patience of a saint, even leaned over me from behind, taking my hands into hers to try and help me. The instructions state to knit three, purl three, to the end of the row. Turn and knit the purl and purl the knit... You see, this could be a bit of a problem for me as I don't know what that means.

So, this is where I am. Instead of praying with each stitch, I'm swearing. That's not the kind of blessing I'm suppose to be giving this yarn. Maybe I'll have to keep this particular shawl and give away the next one. Stacy wandered in this afternoon and looked at me with doubt. She says if I get something that resembles a shawl for a a barbie doll she will be impressed. She knows me too well. I'm really glad there isn't an urgency for this to keep someone warm. The women at church claim it's therapeutic to knit...I'm not sure for whom, but I'm not giving up just yet.

Miss Tiffany - speaking of theraputic... I spent some time in the grass with her this weekend at the Castle house.
It's like looking in a mirror... She IS the queen of their castle.
Stacy with her babies - Tiffany, Jack and Zoey.

This car has been stored for 7 years and today we took it for a spin. The kids let me drive...5 speed, fast little sporty celica - I love it! I can remember climbing into the back of this car with Stacy in my arms. She was just a baby when Uncle Jack came driving up in this the first time.
Scott gets all the credit for getting it back on the road after all these years.

I ended the weekend with an evening motorcycle ride. This church is in New Trier and I always love the way it looks from the road.



The sun is setting on Cannon Falls newest art. They are painting this on the side of the new winery.

"I did not die"

Do not stand at my grave and forever weep.

I am not there; I do not sleep.

I am a thousand winds that blow.

I am the diamond glints on snow.

I am the sunlight on ripened grain.

I am the gentle autumn’s rain.

When you awaken in the morning’s hush

I am the swift uplifting rush

Of quiet birds in circled flight.

I am the soft stars that shine at night.

Do not stand at my grave and forever cry.

I am not there.
I did not die.

--Melinda Sue Pacho

In loving memory of my Aunt Ludi...


CLICK ON PICTURE TO ENLARGE
Aunt Ludi in black books, Laura right behind her, Cathy in the middle, Connie on the right.  Lisa at the top giving a peace sign.  Don't remember the name of the other lady - one of my uncle's girlfriends.  

Time to say goodbye

You arrived - quiet, shy, eager, ready to learn.Slowly,
one by one,
you each began to display
your unique personality.

No longer quiet and probably never really all that shy -
our hallways were filled with the ever present hum
of your whispers, giggles and chatter.
All happy sounds, a gift of your spirit
you freely gave to us every day.

Thank you for all your hard work and high energy this summer.

Don't forget to write!

P.S. Ladies, I think I have now seen every flip-flop known to man.
Do you ever wear shoes?

Who we were

Jeff, John, Cathy, Lisa, Laura, Tim, Connie, Donna, Jay

It must be late 60's or very early 70's.
We were instructed to toss corn husks
into the air at exactly the same moment.

I love this picture of us!

Mississippi River (Lake Pepin area)

No eagles out along the Mississippi River today, but there was a lot to see. I took off with my camera and my journal, a credit card and a tank full of gas ($8 for a day of entertainment). Listened to Tolkien's "The Hobbit" which gave the day a surreal edge and ate lunch with my toes in the water of the Mississippi River. Was a perfect day!


I left Cannon Falls by motorcycle this morning, drove to Rochester and then made my way across Hwy 14 - where I found Considine (previous post) and the pictures of the old bridge and railroad tracks. Then I drove through Winona, raced up Hwy 61 at 85 mph trying to keep pace with a train (that was exhilerating!) and took a break by the river in Wabasha.

There are numerous poetry barns around southern Minnesota. I've never found them all, however, I'm told this artist/poet from the city went from farm house to farm house asking if he could paint poetry on side of their barn. I was told that each barn has a part of the same poem. Can you imagine the farmers reaction when this poet guy shows up asking for a place to sleep, a ladder and some white paint?

I made a detour off of Hwy 14 and found these old railroad tracks and stone tunnels. I got a glimpse of it from the road and had to stop to check it out. There is a noisy little river that runs through that stone tunnel - very interesting hollow sounds in there. So pretty with all the wild flowers too.



















All of these places are stunning in the Fall when the leaves change and then again in Winter when everything is white.

I'll keep you posted as the seasons change - I'll just have to change my mode of transportation.

Cross the bridge and you leave Wabasha MN and enter Nelson, Wisconsin

Mississippi River or Lake Pepin near Lake City on Hwy 61
one of the prettiest drives in the country.

Considine

I don't know who she is...

She stands in a tiny cemetery in Lewiston, Minnesota,
a little town in the southern part of the state near the Mississippi river.

I felt sad for her when I left...

motoring around the countryside

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I have to write about penguins.

I can't stop thinking about them.

Did you know that when the mother penguin lays an egg, she has to transfer it to the father without letting it touch the ice? If it touches the ice for even a second, the baby inside freezes and dies.

Have you ever seen a penguin? They have long bodies with really fat bellies (to hold all the fish that must sustain them through the winter) and no usable limbs. So, the mother penguin lays this egg directly on her claw like feet where it sits protected under her belly from the cold.

Now, since the mother has not eaten in a while, because she is unable to go to the ocean and feed while carrying her egg, she has to give the egg to the father and leave for a couple of months of feeding. What?!?

The mother and father must then enter into this little dance to transfer the egg from her feet to his, which sort of reminds me of the kind of dancing we did in high school where you stand toe to toe, with really loud music blasting and move your bodies to the music without actually touching each other.

Anyway, if they are successful the father is left to shuffle around for months, balancing this precious egg, while mom goes off with the rest of the female's to eat. Even after this extremely precarious move, many things can happen to the egg. Like oops, one foot is raised off the ice just a little and off slides the egg, or yikes, don't bump in to me other stupid penguin, look what you made me do! What's interesting is the father's reaction. They just sort of stand there staring down at the destroyed life. It's as if you can feel their shame.

I've talked about penguins to anyone that would listen - ad nauseam if you ask the right people - all because I watched the movie "March of the Penguin" The cinematography, the music, the narrator (Morgan Freeman) all left me captivated by these delightful creatures!

Check out this link: http://www.gdargaud.net/Antarctica/Penguins.html

Oh, and how can you tell a male penguin from a female penguin? Well...you can't, unless it's mating season, and then you just look for the footprints on the females back. Really, that's what the expert said...

Dave

I’ve always loved “Horton Hears a Who!” and find, beyond the message of social justice, the Christian message that I’ve personally always attached to it, and the political parable that Ted Geisel’s intended, that is a has a great quantum physics lesson as well.

Theodor Seuss Geisel wrote "Horton Hears a Who!" as a political parable and protest of the post war, American occupation of Japan. Saintly Horton (notice even his ears are drawn to look like angels wings) is the story of an elephant named Horton who hears someone calling to him from a tiny speck of dust. This little speck turns out to be a planet and home to the Who's ( busy little beings in their own tiny little world). In trying to save them, Horton is ridiculed by the other animals in the jungle because he believes in something that cannot be seen. Horton repeats the line "A person's a person, no matter how small" through out the story.

“Theodor Seuss Geisel (1904-1991), the man known to the world as the famous
Dr. Seuss, was an enigma. Both an idealist and a curmudgeon, Geisel spent much
of his life trying to improve a society he knew was inherently flawed. He had a keen eye for hypocrites, bullies and demagogues, and ridiculed them whenever he got the chance. He was a man of strong opinions and deep convictions,…”

Drawing a line from you to Ted Geisel may not be fair or even accurate, however, he "struggled to remain hopeful in spite of the "dissemination of stupidity" he saw all around him." and he had "strong opinions and deep convictions...". That's you! The first time we had a conversation about quantum physics I thought of Horton and those tiny Who's and wondered if Dr. Seuss had any notion of electrons, protons, and neutrons. I don't think he did, and neither did I until you uncovered that tiny world to me.

Whatever the depths to which you need to "withdraw to a safe place and rant against the staus quo" please continue to remind people, from time to time, that you are still here. Whether by a tiny Who-like 'Yop' or a grandiloquent Welch like speech, the world needs to hear you.

Happy Birthday, Dave!

My house mates...

Well, sort of....One fondly signs all correspondence to me as - YOOS (your other older sis) and the other barks. My home life wouldn't be the same without them. While one whines to come in and lay on the sofa; the other drinks my beer - it depends on the day as to which is which.

A story exists within the life of my YOOS; tidbits of which have unraveled before my eyes. It's really not my story to tell though. However, it lays out there, big, juicy and ripe for the taking. The lives of women, the hardships of women, the survival of women - laughing together, loving together, coping with grief and pain together.

The story of an 84 year old blind woman named Lillian and Linda, the daughter who loves her, my YOOS. I am privileged to glance in on them occasionally, like the little robin sitting at the window briefly taking in the scene within. Listening to the joyful noise of women talking and giggling about nothing, yet saying everything. The kind of spirit, dignity, love and devotion it's a pleasure to witness.

Linda at my kitchen table - she doesn't really
live here (and rarely barks).
She just "hides" here once in awhile.

Dusty - the one who barks.

Hey neighbor!

My "back yard" neighbor has been in the hospital. We walked over to visit with him after church today when we saw him sitting outside. While relaxing in his yard, I realized that I'm normally not privy to the vantage point he has of my place. My yard begins about where that stump is - grass that serves no purpose other than to give us a little breathing room, separates us. My white picket fence keeps my dog in and other dogs out.

My neighbor watches over me, knows my habits, offers to fix things and just plain smiles and waves when he sees me. He is good to me and my dog. I'm sorry that all he gets from me is a somewhat unpleasant view of the back of my garage and a tangle of leaves and weeds that tend to grow wild there. Maybe I'll put a flower box under the garage window, plant a little garden and name it after him. I think he'd like that. Perhaps next year...

Time is Life

(click to enlarge)

I learned to love writing in a journal nearly 30 years ago. I found this old journal from high school and laughed as most of the comments from the instructor are encouraging me to "use my time wisely"; advice one could give me today. I'm the kind of person that can spend hours reading through a thesaurus for the perfect word to complete a sentence, while laundry piles up, dust collects and bills go unpaid. I love the artistry of cooking, but find myself reading cookbooks rather than actually cooking from them. I've sauntered through the bottle shop at Old World Market Place reading wine bottle labels, only to walk out without making a purchase.

My personal agenda is loose and disjointed. I am suspicious of people who live in neat houses; where do they put all their stuff? When do they find time to clean? Tracking along side of someone with a tightly structured agenda, directly connecting task A to task B is unnerving. My time is wasted on a regular basis - finding my way back home, searching for a ringing phone, or the other shoe. Hours lost while driving back country roads, or people watching at a busy metropolitan cafe.

In Italy, business owners close their shops for three hours every afternoon. This time is spent meeting their spouse or friends, sipping coffee, eating food served to them on tables set with flowers, table clothes and linen napkins, relaxing, people watching, perhaps a stroll through an art gallery. It's part of the "good life" they are so proud of as a culture. The good life, they say is Life itself. In Italy time is life.

I love this quote from Goethe:
"One ought, every day at least, to hear a little song, read a good poem, see a fine picture, and if it were possible, to speak a few reasonable words."

Good advice!

As for that instructor from all those years ago, he also encouraged me to keep writing. I think he made his point.

(click to enlarge)

"What you don't feel, you will not grasp by art,
Unless it wells out of your soul
And with sheer pleasure takes control,
Compelling every listener's heart.
But sit - and sit, and patch and knead,
Cook a ragout, reheat your hashes,
Blow at the sparks and try to breed
A fire out of piles of ashes!
Children and apes may think it great,
If that should titillate your gum,
But from heart to heart you will never create.
If from your heart it does not come."
(from Faust I)

The old shack...

The woods behind Jay's old house have been destroyed to make way for condo's. That's his shed on the edge of the property line. The serenity of the back yard will certainly be lost and replaced by noise and lights. The beauty of the drive into downtown Cannon Falls diminished as well. What once was wild and natural woods - replaced with structured landscaping. Nothing much to distinguish us from the suburbs (which I admit I detest...) I wonder why someone would choose to move all the way out to a small town, only to purchase a condo in a confined area on a busy street? I don't get it. (pictures taken 8-11-05)




At a glance: Cannon Falls
BY MOLLY MILLETT
Pioneer Press
posted on Sat, Jul. 30, 2005

Thirty-four miles isn't as far away as it used to be.

That's the distance between Cannon Falls and St. Paul. It's 44 miles in the opposite direction from Cannon Falls to Rochester, so this scenic river town along U.S. 52 is attractive to commuters from both cities, especially as a halfway point for professional couples who work in each city.

As development pushes farther out into the outlying metro, communities like Cannon Falls are getting another look by Twin Cities developers as well as people looking for a small-town lifestyle within reach of a metro area.

Recently, Cannon Falls had requests by developers totaling 1,000 proposed housing units. To catch its breath, the city has placed a temporary moratorium on future housing projects so it can thoughtfully prepare and plan for the growth.

"We wanted to look at our ordinances and zoning, so it's not just pockets of development all over, without any rhyme or reason," says Mayor Lynne Berg. "Our goal is to maintain Cannon Falls' hometown feel and small-town community, to make sure the growth fits that vision."
It's easy to see why people are attracted to Cannon Falls. It has a charming downtown, antique shops, the Cannon Valley Trail, a new winery, three area golf courses and popular campgrounds.

CANNON FALLS
Population (2003 estimate): 3,877
Location: Goodhue County at the junction of the Big and Little Cannon Rivers.
Ambience: A small, picturesque river town at the midpoint between St. Paul and Rochester.
Known for: The Cannon Valley Trail and a hotspot for antiquing.
Nature highlight: The Cannon Valley Trail is 19.7 miles long, a former rail line, connecting Cannon Falls, Welch and Red Wing. Known for its spectacular scenery, including the Cannon River, cliffs and wetlands.
Recreation highlights: Canoeing, tubing or kayaking on the gently flowing Cannon River. Outfitters offer full service equipment rentals; many are also drawn to the area at Cannon Golf Club, a scenic, 18-hole championship course; Gopher Hills Golf Course; a scenic, championship 18-hole, par 72 course, plus a family-oriented executive 9-hole, par 30; Summit Golf Course, an 18-hole championship course, 9-hold par and driving range, ranked as "Best New Affordable Golf Course" in 2002 by Golf Digest; Cannon Falls Campground, near the Cannon Valley Trail; Lake Byllesby Regional Park Campground.
Bed and breakfast: Quill & Quilt Bed and Breakfast, an 1897 Colonial Revival home with Victorian elegance offering guest suites with private baths, four with whirlpools, three with fireplaces.
Real-estate snapshot: A home built in 1881, featuring modern updates, priced at $229,000. With 2,479 square feet, it has four bedrooms, three baths, central air, detached two-car garage, hardwood floors, porch, main-floor laundry, updated kitchen, whirlpool corner tub.
Landmark: Col. William Colvill Statue and Monument, at the Cannon Falls Cemetery, where Colvill and his wife, Elizabeth, are buried. Colvill led the first Minnesota Volunteers to victory at the Battle of Gettysburg, a turning point of the Civil War. In 1928, President Calvin Coolidge traveled to Cannon Falls for the dedication of this memorial.
Shopping: Includes Hi-Quality Bakery and Coffee Shop, a regional draw known for its specialty breads, and the historic Scofield Drug & Gift, which dates back to 1879. There are also many antique shops, include the Country Side Antique Mall. New to the city is the Cannon River Winery, downtown, offering wine tastings as well as guided tours of the winery and walking tours of the nearby vineyard. For more information, including a virtual tour, visit http://www.cannonriverwinery.com/.
Area shopping: For bigger shopping trips, residents head to Northfield, Red Wing, Hastings, the Twin Cities or Rochester.
You gotta see: The city's historic downtown, which has many buildings listed on the National Register of Historic Places. It is full of unique shops, the winery and restaurants.
Community celebration: Cannon Crusin' Days, Aug. 5-7
Major employers: Include Midwest of Cannon Falls (designer and distributor of holiday decorations, ornaments, collectibles and giftware) and the Cannon Falls school district.
Median age: 36.9
Racial breakdown: White, 98.2 percent; Hispanic or Latino, 1.1 percent; Asian, 0.7 percent; American Indian, 0.3 percent; African-American, 0.2 percent; two or more races, 0.3 percent
Owner occupied housing: 73.9 percent
Percentage of population over age 25 with a bachelor's degree: 14.3 percent (compared to national average of 24.4 percent).
Mean travel time to work: 20.2 minutes
Web site: www.cannonfalls .org

"I brake for butterflies"

Much converse do I find in thee,
Historian of my infancy!
Float near me; do not yet depart!
Dead times revive in thee:
Thou bring'st, gay creature as thou art!
A solemn image to my heart.
William Wordsworth

Thanks dw - an inspiration, as always!

I took these pictures at the Butterfly Pavalion in Colorado.